Dear Friends,
You know how if you’re having trouble making a minyan for prayer, you can use the Torah to count as person number ten? One of the sources behind the idea comes, in part, from a midrash on this week’s parsha. Abraham asks God to save Sodom from destruction if there are forty-five righteous people there – but there are five cities within Sodom, and 45/5 = 9, and 10 is the magic number, so what gives? Nachmanides explains, “Nine for each city and You, the Righteous One of the World, join them.” Not only did Abraham want God to imagine that there were enough righteous people in Sodom to save – Abraham wanted God to bind Godself to the people of Sodom; to consider Godself as one of them. This is in the context of God witnessing incredible wickedness there. This is in the context of God planning to burn the whole thing down. Abraham asks God to join them. God is willing.
Rabbi Aviva Richman describes it like this: “The Ramban explains that Avraham expects God to join the “righteous” people of Sodom and, by doing so, to tip the balance in favor of saving the entire city. Avraham’s expectation is that God not remain merely a neutral judge, nor aligned against Sodom, but rather stand with the small minority of good people within it—so that their merit might save the whole.” I’m moved by the idea that the goal is to align with a righteous minority, even if it means that an awful majority doesn’t get its comeuppance.
It’s making me ask myself the question: Who feels like Sodom to me right now? Who do I look at and see – they are beyond reach; there’s no righteousness there? And then what would it mean for me to desperately search for the righteous within them? What would it mean for me to bind myself to the idea that there must be good there, and to bind myself to that good?
This could mean feeling horrified by MAGA, but desperately seeking Republican allies to work with in service of our country. It could mean feeling horrified by Hamas and the Gazan majority that elected it into power, but refusing to give up on the safety and dignity of Palestinian people. It could mean feeling horrified by Netanyahu, his government, and the Israeli majority that elected them into power, but desperately seeking connection with Israel and Israelis, and refusing to believe that this is the only way it can function. It could mean feeling horrified by the leftist tendency to completely write off anything that has to do with Israel, but choosing to stay in the conversation, working to bridge those divides, and not deepen them. These are incredibly difficult commitments to make. They are also so very holy.
For me, the lesson I’m taking from Avraham Avinu is that when I see a group of people that I feel alienated or disturbed by, I want to respond to that feeling by reaching out, listening more, sharing of myself, and connecting. I want to open myself up to the possibility of feeling uncomfortable and even hurt, because not joining myself in that way feels even riskier. Our bubbles are comfy, but remaining within them isn’t helping us grow as a society, and it’s also not helping us fully connect with God. In another ode to Avraham v’Sara, let’s be brave enough, together, to venture out into the unknown.
Shabbat shalom,
Rabbi Hannah