Oasis Songs: Musings from Rav D
Friday, November 5, 2024 / 4 Heshvan 5785
Summary: The level of free-floating anxiety around this election is immense. Part of the reason for this sense of overwhelm is how it has been framed in near-religious language so that it is easy to imagine that nothing else matters and that the fate of the world hangs in the balance. Yet life is so much more than our politics. In even the most oppressive societies, people still danced, created art, fell in love, raised their families, and labored for themselves and others. In this edition of Oasis Songs, I explore how a verse in this week’s Torah portion can help us recover a wider perspective that can hopefully diffuse some of our panic or rage.
Reading Time: Eight minutes
Don’t Take the Bypass When You Go on a Roadtrip
Abram and Sarai (before their names are changed to Abraham and Sarah) are on a road trip, one initiated by God’s powerful command to lekh lekha. Go forth! Go to yourself! Go for yourself! But go, get out. Leave where you have been, because I have something to show you, a place I want to give you, a promised land.
It would be difficult to overstate how much commentary those two words of lekh lekha have generated. What has captured a bit less attention is Genesis 12:8, in which we get an update on their travels. “From there he moved on to the hill country east of Bethel and pitched his tent, with Bethel on the west and Ai on the east; and he built there an altar to YHVH and invoked YHVH by name.
Why should we care about this rest stop? What reason could the normally pithy Torah have for supplying us with an otherwise minor or even irrelevant detail. This was not the destination God had promised. The Kedushat Levi offers a profound explanation to justify the inclusion of this travelogue minutia.
Before we examine this insight, it’s worth noting how in the contemporary world, political ideologies often fill the psychological space that was once occupied by religious belief. We expect our politics to provide the same goods that religious faiths offer—salvation, messianism, and victory in a fantastical battle between good and evil that brooks no nuance.
In a volume of selected writings by numerous authors, entitled Cultural Complexes and the Soul of America, Thomas Singer considers that during moments of crisis, such as political upheaval, cultural complexes are activated, leading people to engage in politics with a near-religious zeal. This very dynamic can lead us to imagine that nothing is more important than our politics, while convincing us that the fate of existence hangs in the balance. Once we are activated by this cultural complex, it is difficult to see anything else. In essence, we are thought by the complex, rather than the other way around.
Can Abraham and Sarah’s camping spot in the hill country east of Beth El wake us from the hypnotic lulling by which we replace religion with politics? That’s a big ask, but Kedushat Levi offers a start in this endeavor to deprogram ourselves.
The author of Kedushat Levi, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev (1740-1809), sheds light on why the Torah would detail the hill country where Abraham and Sarah camped. According to him, these geographic details are not merely historical markers but metaphors laden with spiritual significance. He explains that a righteous person must remain connected to the concept of “ayin” (אין)—a state of negation or nullification of the physical world (יש), which we understand as the “reality” of material existence. This attachment to the ayin represents a profound focus on the divine, transcending physical distractions and realities.
Rabbi Levi Yitzchak connects Ai, which is associated with ruin (עי), to the challenges and shortcomings of the physical world. On the other hand, Bethel, the “House of God,” symbolizes divine presence and blessing. The placement of Ai to the east and Bethel to the west in the verse signals that Abraham positioned himself between the challenges of the material world and the spiritual realm. His ability to draw down divine blessing, transforming the figurative ruin (Ai) into a sacred space (Bethel), exemplifies the power of spiritual focus and intention.
The Balance Between Spiritual and Material Worlds
The Kedushat Levi’s insight serves as a reminder of the critical balance that must be maintained between the spiritual and material realms. Our engagement with ayin allows us to draw divine goodwill and blessings into the physical world. In the context of Abraham, his profound attachment to the divine was not an escape from reality but a way to uplift it. By building an altar and invoking the name of God, Abraham created a healthy balance between our physical, emotional, and spiritual needs. Rather than bypassing one or another, he finds a way to integrate them, thus avoiding the pitfalls that occur when we elevate politics to a religion, or religion to politics.
Because of this, the Kedushat Levi’s commentary provides an opportunity to reflect on the pitfalls of spiritual and material bypassing. Spiritual bypassing involves using spirituality to sidestep personal growth or emotional challenges, leading to a disconnection from the tangible realities of life. Conversely, material bypassing occurs when individuals focus solely on physical and material pursuits, ignoring the spiritual, emotional, or existential dimensions of life.
Abraham’s model demonstrates a path that avoids both extremes. He did not retreat into a purely mystical life disconnected from reality; nor did he immerse himself solely in worldly endeavors. Instead, he combined both realms, maintaining a deep spiritual connection while engaging actively with the material, political world. His life teaches that spiritual focus is not about escaping reality but transforming it, uplifting the physical through the power of divine consciousness.
Abraham’s actions teach that we must engage in the world but do so with an awareness that connects us to something greater than ourselves, transforming our physical existence into a dwelling place for divine light. The story of Abraham pitching his tent between Bethel and Ai and building an altar is thus more than a historical detail. It is a lesson on how to live with intention, where spiritual focus empowers material engagement, and neither is bypassed. In this balance, we find true harmony, enabling us to live fully, embracing both the seen and the unseen aspects of existence.
May each of us find our way to lekh lekha, to step away from a geography of false binaries in which our next step might cause the destruction of the world.
Life goes on, for which we should be grateful.
Rav D
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