October 23rd: Lech Lecha
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
One of the most curious (and frustrating) things about communication is how different people hear the same message differently. Examples abound, and we can even find one in our Torah portion:
“The Lord said to Abram, ‘Lech lecha: Go forth from your native land and from your father’s house to the land that I will show you.’” (Genesis 12.1)
The phrase, Lech lecha, is usually understood as a doubling of the word Lech/Go to increase its intensity: “Go, go!” or “Go, get going!” God’s message is emphatic. However, Lecha (the second word) can also be read as “to yourself.” (It is the combination of the preposition to and the second-person personal pronoun you.) As such, God’s imperative could be understood as “Go to yourself,” or go on a journey within—a spiritual journey. As it turns out, Abram hears and responds to both messages, moving both geographically and religiously.
While the multivalent meanings in God’s instruction to Abram gives us profundity, sometimes double messages can be confusing. One of my daughters once came home from fourth grade, quite agitated by her teacher’s stern message. The teacher had “yelled” at the class and told them that they were not doing enough homework. This troubled my very diligent child because she was already studying more than was assigned. Must she increase her study time? As we came to find out, though the message was delivered to the whole class, it was only meant for some students who were not doing their homework. One can only hope that they heard it.
People in coastal areas are often subject to a similar kind of multi-valent messaging. When a hurricane approaches, some weather reporters (non-State College based!) pull out their most dramatic personae and scream dire warnings at entire regions. They may think that they are speaking to the people who live on low ground or waterfront property—who urgently need to batten down the hatches or evacuate, but many of those people are not listening. Since most of these dire predictions do not come true, many coastal dwellers stopped listening long ago. They ignore the warnings and stay home. Meanwhile, many people who are already prepared and not in danger of imminent destruction hear the frenzied histrionics and get very anxious. Some even leave their homes and get caught on the highway trying to evacuate. (In 2004, one couple evacuated from Pensacola (Hurricane Ivan) and were killed in a hurricane-related flashflood in North Carolina.) If one were to analyze this communication strategy, the question might be asked: Are the melodramatic performances helpful—or just showmanship, or counterproductive? If the goal is to warn people about danger, perhaps some adjustments would be wise.
Similar miscommunications often take place in the war-of-words around Climate Change. Some people listen, and others do not. So, in order to get the non-listeners’ attention, many activists and reporters intensify their warnings and make their predictions direr and direr—and insert them into more and more quasi-related news reports. This creates great anxiety among those who listen—who “believe” in Global Warming, but it seems to create a negative reaction among those who find the histrionics annoying and who thus reject many ameliorating strategies. When the message is not connecting with the intended audience, should not different rhetorical strategies be employed?
The same question can be asked of the “1619” advocates—those who quote the 1619 Project and insist that slavery is a permanent and irrevocable rot at the center of everything American. For some, this is an urgent matter, and they work very hard trying to convince others that our entire governmental and societal systems need to be completely revamped. When others disagree—agreeing that Slavery was a terrible thing but doubting that all of our modern ills are its consequences, many 1619 advocates increase the stridency and fury of their campaigning. I wonder about this communication strategy. Is it furthering their cause, or is it annoying allies in the Civil Rights work that still needs to be done?
Different people hear messages differently, and a successful communicator works with this reality if he/she wants to communicate effectively.
This is not a new problem, and I conclude with an example from Pirke Avot. When Simon the Righteous said:
“Al sh’loshah d’varim: On three things does the world stand: on Torah, on Worship, and on Deeds of Lovingkindness” (Pirke Avot 1.2),
he was speaking to an audience of scholars and students—listeners already devoted to Torah learning and prayer. His concern, I suspect, was their commitment to the third leg. With all their praying and studying, were they also paying attention to neighborliness and social justice? So, he used the first two priorities as a set-up for his real message—his “moral punchline”—that true holiness also involves Deeds of Lovingkindness. When you sit on a three-legged stool, you need all three legs.
Fast forward 2000 years to the Labor Zionist Movement. When the Chalutzim and Kibbutzniks who built up modern Israel heard this proverb, they heard a different message—translating Avodah/Worship as work. In the original context, it does mean work, but it refers to the holy work performed by the Priests in the Temple’s Sacrificial Service. That is why most translations render Avodah as worship. However, the Chalutzim believed that building up the Land of Israel was also holy—was their Avodah/Holy Work. Same proverb; different understanding.
In our times, we may need yet another message from this classic proverb. Many modern Jews see their Judaism as primarily a matter of good deeds and social justice. We may even sing Reb Simon’s advice with enthusiasm, but many only hear the part about Deeds of Lovingkindness. Good deeds are clearly crucial to a life of holiness, but I suspect that Reb Simon would urge us to pay attention also to the first two components. For the world to stand, we need all three: Deeds of Lovingkindness AND Torah AND Worship. There are many levels in this ancient wisdom, and we need to consider how the ancient words will be received.
Perhaps we can get some perspective from the Torah’s description of God’s “Voice” at Mount Sinai. In Exodus 19, we read. “Moses spoke, and God answered him in thunder…” The wisdom of heaven comes to us in many ways and in many different words. Let us listen carefully, and let us be careful with what we say.