Turn It Again: Torah Wisdom for Today
In Pirkei Avot, a book of maxims in the Mishnah, an ancient rabbi, Ben Bag-Bag said about Torah study, “Hafokh bah, va’Hafokh vah, d’khola bah.” Turn it over and over, for everything is in it. For two thousand years, that’s what Jews have done. Here is another turning.
Parshat Ki Tetsei 2024
When a Le’Chayim isn’t about Life
The premise of these Turn It Again reflections on the weekly Torah reading is that the Torah has addressed every aspect of what it means to be a human. While the technological basis of life has changed, our moral, spiritual, and ethical challenges have not. It is why someone writing commentary a thousand years ago still has something to teach us. This eternal character of the Torah and our engagement with it explains why this small band of Jews still exists; it also provides us radical perspectives that allow us to see the otherwise invisible assumptions of our own era.
Yet every so often, the distance in understanding needs to be addressed directly, without spin. For example, in this week’s reading, Ki Tetsei, we read about the rebellious child, the ben sorer u’moreh. Deuteronomy 21:20 tells us that the rebellious child is a glutton and a drunkard. Rashi, our preeminent commentator, has nothing for us here. He remains strangely silent. Ibn Ezra, the 11th-century Spanish scholar, meanwhile, has this to say:
“AND A DRUNKARD. Sove refers to one who drinks a lot. It refers to a drunkard. This individual is essentially a heretic. He desires life in this world only for eating and drinking” (trans. Menorah Publications 1988-2004).
While most ancient societies were aware of the harm that excessive alcohol could cause, as well as how it brought out the worst of a person’s moral characteristics, they lacked our modern understanding of addiction, nor did they possess a medical model to explain alcoholism. Even today in Iran, someone who is drunk in public can be flogged as punishment.
Perhaps that cultural practice helps us understand why the Torah’s only way to deal with such an individual is to apply the death-sentence. Thankfully, later rabbinic codes tell us this was merely a theoretical punishment that was never used, but its painful existence in the Torah opens a window to a society that didn’t know what to do with its vulnerable addicts and the isolation such individuals must therefore have experienced.
Even today, many people who struggle with substance use don’t want to imagine that they suffer from a medical malady that requires serious intervention. It is often more comfortable to believe that things are under control. One of the most primal human drives is our need to feel accepted. Although the stigma around substance dependency is far less than in previous periods, it still exists, forcing many people to hide in shame rather than seeking the help they need.
Eventually, however, Judaism catches up and provides a spiritual basis for previously neglected topics. Over the past few decades, a contemporary library of Judaism and addiction has been created by numerous practitioners, from rabbis, addiction counselors, and the addicts themselves. One of those is a friend and colleague.
Paul Steinberg and I started in rabbinical school together. He had been a college athlete and didn’t fit the standard mold of rabbinical students, which I could relate to. Unfortunately, he was also an alcoholic. Like many high achievers, he managed to be a functional alcoholic for a long time; in a society like ours, which cares about efficiency and productivity, he was cut a lot of slack and given multiple chances that others might not have received. Until the disease proved too powerful for his ambition, leaving behind a wake of harm to himself and others.
Ultimately, his struggles resulted in a book, “Recovery, the 12 Steps and Jewish Spirituality,” in which he was able to explain how Judaism and AA together helped him embrace recovery. His experience is also a story of learning not to confuse one’s soul with one’s role, for part of recovery involves deep self-acceptance of all our parts. Like many people, Paul conflated his work with his truest identity as a person struggling to make sense of his life. Isn’t that all of us?
It is that last aspect which makes this Torah verse about a rebellious child meaningful to all of us, particularly in the month of Elul in which we engage in self-reflection while making amends to those we hurt. The preceding Torah verse is helpful here, for the parents of the alcoholic make a public declaration that “This son of ours is disloyal and defiant; he does not listen to us…” We may never know what happened within that family system, but there’s scarcely a person alive who hasn’t contended with a breakdown in one of our fundamental relationships.
As the High Holidays approach, we are reminded that when it comes to strengthening the love in our relationships, most of us can benefit with our own road to recovery.
