Torah and its story of the Israelite
nation, a nation we define as “our people,” is a fascinating document. As a history book, it could never withstand
the rigors of serious historical inquiry.
It’s veracity is only documented by it’s own narrative.
From the very start, in the first
chapters of Bereshit, of Genesis, contradictions
arise that can only be explained by conjecture and imagination (or what we Jews
call midrash). Even the “Big Ten,” as I like to call them, The Ten Commandments
that we read each year, as our students did tonight, to mark Shavuot and the
commemoration of the giving of Torah at Sinai, has two different versions
expressed in the Torah. And, despite
claims of some travel companies in the region, we don’t know where
this defining event took place. Even Mount Sinai
remains firm entirely in our imagination.
So, why do we elevate this narrative
as our own sacred history when the events contained therein are inexact at
best? Isn’t that exactly what you are
taught not to do throughout most of your schooling? Perhaps though, as taught by Rabbi Nina Beth
Cardin, a prominent, local rabbi known for her work on environmental issues,
“in codifying the imprecision, [the Torah] is striving to tell us that the
pursuit of an accurate historical account is quite beside the point.” (Tapestry, 170)
Religious memory is not the same as
history, and to hold it to the standards of scientific inquiry defeats the
entire purpose of religious memory.
History seeks data and explanation.
Memory seeks meaning. Memory is
spun, not from factual information, but from the soul and the heart. History is a record of events. Memory is a recollection that forms and
informs identity.
Whoever is responsible for the final
redaction of the bible – whether you believe that work was done by a Divine
power, or like myself believe it was done by the scholarly human hands of that
generation, the ability to
provide a more factual account must have been possible if indeed providing such
a history was the agenda at hand. I
believe the discrepancies and contradictions were purposely retained in the
text. Those final editors knew what they
were doing. They were not working to
document history. They were working to
create memory, a narrative that could serve to define a people while at the same time demanding our
involvement in it. The lack of clarity
in the text leaves the critical and necessary process of interpretation open to us. Moreover, it allows for multiple explanations
and understandings of the past and of God.
This uncertainty can leave us
unsettled. Many find it too unsettling
and either reject Torah (and religion generally) out of hand or seek comfort in
a fundamentalist view that doesn’t allow for individual inquiry. I hope that your education here at Temple
Emanuel has provided you the ability to embrace this lack of certainty. I hope we
have provided you the tools to create your own midrashim, you own interpretations
and stories that expand on the text and that ultimately enrich your lives.
Judaism, even in its ancient
expression, was meant to be fluid and open to human engagement. As a Reform Jew, I believe it is my mandate
to ensure that Judaism remains an open and responsive vehicle for the
expression of Jewish law and custom. My
sincere hope is that as you move forward from today, that you too, shoulder
that mandate. Progressive – Reform
Judaism remains so only if we as a people continue to engage with the tradition
keeping it relevant for the future.
You – the class of 5776 - are the
last Confirmation class of Temple Emanuel. Imagine if you had to document the
values and customs of your entire experience at Temple Emanuel, what would you write?
Imagine how you would expand on your identity statements that you presented
tonight. I expect there would be
contradictions and inconsistencies among your varied voices; and yet, just as
your short reflections offered tonight were each as valid as they were varied, so
too each and every reflection would be an accurate source of memory that would
inspire those who later read it.
So, seize the uncertainty. Don’t look for absolute truth in the
text. It isn’t there. Recognize the history, however, that
surrounds the text – that contextualizes the narrative, so that you can
understand where it came from and perhaps what the authors were trying to tell
us about their worldview. And then, don’t stop there! Add your own reflections. Continue to connect to tradition by making it
yours and adding your voice to leave as part of the legacy we call Torah.
