Rabbi Andrea’s Sermon 30th November 2024 / 29th Cheshvan 5785

We are like Isaac

Not that we all have been on that mountain with our father trying to kill us. But we all have seen something we did not want to see in our parents. Isaac saw how his father's faith in God could be harmful. We have seen the limitations of our parents; we see them growing old, and we would like them to stay young and healthy.

We are like Isaac. As adults, we grapple with our own set of challenges. We understand the struggle of accepting our parents' imperfections while continuing to love them, especially when they need us the most.

We are like Isaac. His unexpected encounter with love mirrors our own experiences. Like Isaac, we may have been caught off guard by love, with the person destined for us crossing our path when we least expected it. While they may not have been riding a camel like Rivkah, the surprise and joy of falling in love that day is a shared experience.

We are like Isaac. As our family grows up, we see tensions and fights between siblings and cousins... "Two people are fighting in your belly", said the Eternal to Rivkah. Caught in the middle of family tensions, we try to bring peace but find ourselves siding with one part against the other.

Isaac was almost blind when Rivkah took advantage of his weakness and manipulated him. So, Isaac gave his blessing to the son he did not want to bless.

Sometimes, we, like Isaac, feel manipulated and blinded by those we trust. We find ourselves in situations where family members take advantage of us, exploiting our vulnerabilities. In these moments, we are like Isaac, navigating the complexities of family relationships and the potential for betrayal.

We are like Isaac: we try to earn a living for ourselves and our families, and things may go well, and we may be comfortable, but bad luck can happen—like a bad year—and we may be forced to move elsewhere.

Come to think about it. How does the history of the Jewish people resemble the biography of Isaac?

Our ancestors' faith resembles Abraham's faith, so pure and intense. Jewish history contains stories of successful entrepreneurs, businesspeople, and innovators. But then the envy of the neighbors arises, like in the story of Isaac. So, the Jews are forced to leave, like Isaac indeed. This is sadly the story of the Jewish communities expelled from Arab Lands and from Iran, to which we pay honor today, as masterfully described by Herbert Pagani in his 1987 letter to Qaddafi read at the Conference of the World Sephardi Federation.

“We're like bees, Colonel. If the farm owner steals our honey in September, we make more of it before winter. We continue stinging you with our requests for reparations, more out of dignity than out of interest. To remind you of your debts and, above all, of your loss. We are producers of goods, materials and morals, and we always have been. You know that because we're not afraid of work, because, for us, work has never been a punishment but creativity and a blessing”.

We are like Isaac because, like that Patriarch, we seem not to have a great relationship with God.

According to the Biblical text, God does not speak to Isaac at all in the first part of his life, until the marriage, or even beyond. When the struggle in her belly perturbs Rivka, God tells her that the twins will be the forefathers of two nations. But it's unclear in the text whether Isaac was even present when his wife consulted with God!

We are like Isaac. When God makes important decisions about our lives, we are often not even in the room!

How different is God's relationship with other Patriarchs… God speaks to Abraham at least twelve times; almost all these encounters mark significant moments in Abraham's journey through life. God tells him to leave Ur Kasdim and set for the Promised Land. God shares with Abraham His plan to destroy Sodom and teaches Abraham how to pray. God appears to Abraham to announce Sarah's pregnancy, etc.

God appears to Yaakov seven times, always to support and sustain him. When exhausted and terrified, Yaakov falls asleep and dreams of the ladder. When he travels to Egypt to meet his son Joseph after 22 years. It is God -perhaps- who changes the name of Yaakov into Israel the night before he meets with his brother Esav.

Abraham and Yakob's encounters with God are always meaningful and epic, marking important parts of their lives.

Isaa's relationship with God is different. At a plain reading of the text, it seems God speaks to Isaac only once. When Beer Sheva -where he lives- is struck by a famine, Isaac sets himself in motion towards Egypt, like his father did. Then God appears to Isaac to warn him to remain inside the boundaries of the land of Israel. According to a plain reading of the text, that is the only moment when God speaks to Isaac. God tells Isaac that if he stays in the land, he will be blessed with many offspring. Isaac listens to God and remains in Gerar rather than continuing the journey towards Egypt. That's it. This is the only moment in the Torah when God appears to Isaac. Only once, not a great deal if compared to his father and son.

We, indeed, are like Isaac, you know. God does not speak to us as often as we wish.

Or does He?

Perhaps something in the text of the Torah has escaped our attention.

Let us consider that Isaac never left the Promised Land. Abraham and Yaakov both ventured to Egypt, each of them because of a famine. Isaac trusted the Almighty and, even in hard times, remained inside the boundaries of the land of Canaan, the land that God had promised to him and his offspring,

A land that -to Isaac, and his family at least- speaks about God. There are perhaps tens of other encounters of Isaac with God that the Biblical text does not report. Or, most likely, his life is all shaped by that feeling of connections with God, of Holiness, something similar to what we experience when we see the Kotel for the first time or when we walk around places in the Land of Israel and realise that Abraham, King David, and all our Prophets have walked the same places, seen the same moon, dreamt and hoped under the same stars. That strange sense of connection we experience when we see Hebrew writing (the language of prayer) as part of daily life, of signs on the streets, advertising, indication...

The Torah does not report many encounters of Isaac with God because Isaac lived in the Holy Land. To him, God was a constant presence.

That day on Mount Moriah, his father did not literally sacrifice him, but he brought him closer to God. Remember that in Hebrew, the two words sacrifice וקורבן korban—and closeness קרוב karov—are very similar, and for a good reason.

Isaac was close to God throughout all his life.

Here, we are different from Isaac.

Despite all the biographical similarities, we do not feel close to God; we do not experience God's constant presence in our lives—we do not live in the holy land, after all.

But we can try to be like Isaac. We can try to feel God's presence in our lives. We can make space for God and perceive God's holiness in the blessing of having a family (as complicated and complex as it may be) and the blessing of being part of a community like this one.

We can make space for God in our very busy and hectic lives, counting our blessings and being grateful for the good we have, like our friends on the other side of the Ocean are doing this weekend.

Or, if you are like me and do not think that Thanksgiving is very Jewish, we can do the Jewish thing: Shabbat.

We can unplug the connections that take so much time from our lives and space from our minds. We can break from the constant impulse to do, to build. And -for one day a week- enjoy being, enjoy the fact that we are, rather than feeling compelled to do

In other words, one day a week, on Shabbat, we can be a bit more like Isaac. We can connect to Judaism, prayer, and God.

We can be more Jewish.

Rabbi Dr Andrea Zanardo, PhD

Herbert Pagani

from LETTER TO MUHAMMAR GADDAFI (read at the 1987

Conference of the World Sephardi Federation)

"…So, what are you complaining about?" the Colonel would say in his tent. "You wanted to leave, and we let you leave." Yes, of course, you even encouraged us to go, stripping the few crazy ones who were still attached to the land of their rights and property. Don't worry; I'm not writing to you out of homesickness.

This community of ours is very much alive. It's growing and is prospering. It has made a new life for itself, 'hamdullah', praise be God, because after we lost everything, we had no choice but to move

ahead.

We're like bees, Colonel. If the farm owner steals our honey in September, we make more of it before winter.

We continue stinging you with our quest for reparations more out of dignity than out of interest, to remind you of your debts but, above all, of your loss.

We are producers of goods, materials, and morals. We always have been, and you know it: we're not afraid of work because, to us Jews, work has never been a punishment but rather the expression of creativity—and a blessing.

The proof: after just a month in refugee camps in Latina and Capua, our people left the hovels and set off in search of work. Italy, which gave us shelter and citizenship, thought she was giving us alms, but soon she realised that she had made an investment.

Pagina 1 di 3 But you, like all the governors of the new Arab world, wanted to wash out the Jews of your social fabric. In so doing, you've ruined its fibres: trade, craft, farming, professions, everything has been lost, loose, and has been swept away, like sand in the Ghibli, and all the expertise you purchase from the Soviets will never replace our ancient wisdom and knowledge, we, whose vocation has always been the communication: between human beings, between groups, between disciplines, between kings, between states, between civilisations.

That same vocation of ours had been indispensable for the grandeur of Islam, the Russian Empire, the Ottoman Empire, and pre-Nazi Germany. You could have made it yours if you had just wanted to.

Think about it, dear cousin. I am a songwriter born in that slice of hell in the middle of nowhere you rule.

With the inexplicable, almost perverse love that Jews have for the stepmother-land that adopts them, I could have made wings for your kings, for your heroes, for your saints and martyrs.

I could have sung the praises of your desert with words that would have made blossom that rose of sand you have instead decided to turn into a desert.

But Allah, who is great and sees everywhere in space and time, had chosen for me to depart by your hand so that I could go away and sing my songs under other skies.

So that your nation could continue to fulfil the mission it has pursued for centuries: to be the empty white page in the Great Book of Islam.

Shalom ve Salam

Herbert Avraham Hagigah Pagani