Lekh Lekha (Genesis 12:1 - 17:27)
There is a legend about Rabbi Shimon ben Shetah finding a precious gem (TJ Bava Metzia 8c). It’s one of those familiar stories of the type that are often told about righteous people.
In this one, the rabbi’s students buy him a donkey. The donkey has a gem hanging about its neck. The rabbi tells his students to return the gem to the man who sold them the donkey. The students, of course, argue that there is no legal obligation to return the gem, but Shimon ben Shetah insists.
The Talmud states that the reason for this extraordinary gesture was that Shimon ben Shetah wanted the seller to avow the greatness of the God of Israel.
In this week’s Torah reading, we find a somewhat similar theological approach expressed in regard to a story about Abraham. An invading army seizes the wealth of Sodom and Gomorrah, and takes Lot prisoner. Abraham goes to war to save his nephew Lot, and in defeating his captors he retrieves the property taken from Sodom. The King of Sodom offers Abraham a share of the booty, but Abraham refuses. Abraham says to the King of Sodom: “I will not take so much as a thread or a sandal strap, or anything that is yours, lest you say, ‘It is I who made Abraham rich.’”
The traditional commentators explain that Abraham made this statement as an affirmation of faith in God’s promise. Abraham does not have any need for a share of the spoils of war, because he relies on God’s pledge to make him great. Abraham’s reply is a lesson in faith, just like Shimon ben Shetah’s.
On their face, the moral lessons deduced from these stories seem exalted. Yet there is something a little frightening about them. I’m not bothered by the idea that someone might act nobly as an expression of faith. What troubles me is setting that as the ideal. Doing something for God alone strikes me as an abdication of responsibility. It seems to me to be more than a little dangerous. When the sole purpose of human actions is the glory of God, when our motivation is theological rather than moral, the question of good and evil succumbs to that of obedience. And then terrible things can be done in God’s name.
Of course, if you look at the story as it is presented in the Bible (Genesis 14:21-24) you’ll find that Abraham’s reply does not mention God’s promise. Abraham’s reply reflects an ethical standard that goes beyond the letter of the law that grants him a share in the booty. We have already been told, “the inhabitants of Sodom were very wicked sinners against the Lord (13:11).” Abraham would simply prefer that no one attribute any part of his success to dealings with the likes of the King of Sodom.
It may well be that as a statement of faith in God, Abraham’s refusal to accept payment from the King of Sodom teaches us an important lesson. A symbolic gesture can imbue our daily conduct with holiness. But if Abraham’s refusal is viewed solely an act of faith, then we are left free to accept favours, and solicit contributions from stock market swindlers and other criminals who are eager to buy our respect by making us their accomplices. The issue is not one of morals, but of faith. If accepting a few stolen millions will further a noble cause, we can persuade ourselves that we are working for the greater glory of God.
But as a statement of moral conduct, Abraham’s refusal makes a far more serious demand upon us. It asks that we not allow the end to justify the means. It shows us that the intrinsic morality of the act itself is important, not just its purpose.
The same holds true in regard to the story about Shimon ben Shetah. His exemplary conduct is supposed to teach us about sacrificing for the greater glory of God. But his altruistic gesture says nothing about our own basic honesty if his purpose is to praise God’s name. If we think a little greed will build us a better chapel, we may convince ourselves that “finders keepers, losers weepers” serve’s God’s glory better than “love thy neighbour as thyself.”
Interestingly, like Abraham, Shimon ben Shetah does not give a theological explanation for his conduct. When his students ask him why he insists on returning the gem, he states his reason quite simply. He says: “Do you think Shimon ben Shetah is a barbarian?”
Shimon ben Shetah’s response it is not a statement about faith or theology but about good and evil, right and wrong.
Viewing these examples theologically can be very convenient. We can feel good without actually having to be good. We can believe in lofty ideals, while behaving like pirates.
Viewing these stories in a straightforward manner presents a real problem and a moral challenge. If we accept them at face value, they make serious demands upon our conduct. They require that we consider the ethical nature of our daily actions. They require us to act justly, fairly, and humanely. They demand that we do the right thing.
Attributing higher motives, lofty meaning and theological significance to these gestures - making them symbols of faith and devotion - may seem noble, but it can be dangerous if it frees us of the need to weigh the morality of our conduct. Once we do that, we only have to persuade ourselves of the nobility of our purpose. And maybe not even that. When we romanticize the conduct of our role models, their deeds become ideals that do not impinge upon our daily lives. We may admire those ideals, but we need not strive to express them in our own conduct. After all, we are not saints. We can admire those ideals from afar, but not practice them ourselves.
That is a common attitude toward ideals. We admire all kinds of great idealists without actually feeling obligated to emulate them. So by turning the ethical conduct of Abraham and Shimon ben Shetah into acts of theological principle, into acts of supreme faith, we can free ourselves of the constraints of morality, and not even trouble ourselves about our motives. We can keep the gem. We can accept payment from the King of Sodom. We don’t even have to put the booty to good use. What’s to stop us?
Sometimes, in our search for deeper theological or spiritual meaning we lose sight of basic values. Being good isn’t enough. And so, being good becomes unimportant.
I do not doubt that there are deeper theological messages to be found in the Bible. The Bible can be read on many levels. But if we ignore the plain message of the text in our search for deeper insights, we cast aside basic values. In our quest to be better, we lose sight of being good.
I don’t know if Abraham was reaffirming his faith in God by refusing payment from the King of Sodom. But I am sure that he was preserving his own dignity and self-respect. He was maintaining his own sense of honesty. Shimon ben Shetah may or may not have been trying to glorify God’s name by returning the lost gem. But he clearly didn’t want to prosper at the expense of another man’s misery. Regardless of what conclusions we may wish to draw about their faith, first and foremost, Abraham and Shimon ben Shetah were making a choice between right and wrong.
Viewed simply in terms of what they actually said and did, Shimon ben Shetah and Abraham may very well exemplify man’s faith in God, but more importantly, their choices justify God’s faith in man.
Avinoam Sharon
© 2007 Avinoam Sharon
