Sermon 9.13.07 - Rosh Hashanah: The Binding of Isaac and the Societal Need for Sacrifice

Rosh Hashanah Morning Sermon – The Societal Need for Sacrifice
Rabbi Jonathan Jaffe
Congregation Emanu-El
9.13.2007 – 1 Tishrei 5768


And Abraham stretched forth his hand, and took the knife to slay his son. And the angel of the Lord called out to him from heaven and said, "Abraham, Abraham." And he said, "Here I am." And the angel said, "Do not raise your hand against the boy, or do anything to him. For now I know that you fear God, since you have not withheld your son, your favored one, from Me.” And Abraham lifted up his eyes, and looked, and behold behind him a ram was caught in the thicket by his horns. And Abraham took the ram and offered him up for a burnt offering in place of his son.
Each year we read this section of the book of Genesis to remind us how Isaac was spared and to reaffirm the value of life. And yet a question remains: why does the ram have to die? Why can't Isaac escape and everyone simply move on with their lives? Why must something die so that something else may live?
Christian theologian and former Stanford professor Rene Girard views the story of the binding of Isaac as an example of the societal need for controlled violence. He explains that human beings exist in a state of constant competition. As the struggle for the possession of objects gives humanity a natural propensity for physical aggression, the danger of retribution and revenge threatens societal stability. To prevent such violence, a victim is chosen from the periphery of society, from whom there is no threat of reprisal. This victim is sacrificed in the public arena, thus satisfying the community’s need for blood. Thus “good” violence is used to counter bad violence. Under Girard's system, religion provides a mechanism by which humans defend themselves from their own violent natures. We read the story of the ram each year so that we may avoid actual violence in our personal lives.
While I realize that Girard presents a rather dark view of humanity; one we might not be so proud of, the Bible is full of examples of uncontrolled violence and attempts to contain it through animal sacrifice. The first of such acts found in the Torah is that of Cain and Abel. If you will remember, Cain and Abel both make offerings to God. When Abel’s is accepted and Cain’s rejected, Cain rises up and murders his brother. It is interesting to note that it is Abel, the shepherd whose job mandates that he regularly kill animals, who does not bow to violent inclinations. It is Cain, the agrarian without such an outlet for violence, who rises up to kill his brother. The murderer is the brother who does not have the violence-outlet of animal sacrifice at his disposal.
Perhaps Mark Twain had this story in mind when writing The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. While traveling down the Mississippi river, Huck stumbles upon two families, the Grangerfords and Shepherdsons, who are engaged in a 30 year feud. When the daughter of the Grangerfords elopes with the son of the Shepherdsons, a bloody war erupts. As the word “granger” is a synonym for “farmer”, what we see here is basically a rivalry between the farmers (the Grangerfords) and the Shepherd-sons. Twain’s choice of surname is no coincidence; it is Cain and Abel all over again. The unmitigated violence erupts due to the lack of the control mechanism of ritualized violence such as animal sacrifice. The ram sacrificed by Abraham in today’s Torah portion releases the pressure which led Cain to murder his brother Abel.
In an interesting twist, according to rabbinic midrash, the ram sacrificed by Abraham is indeed the very same ram which was originally sacrificed by Abel and later by Noah after the flood. We are told that its horn becomes the great shofar heard on Sinai, which we symbolically blow today. The ram is repeatedly brought back to life in order to serve as a substitute for human sacrifice. Good violence represses bad violence. Or as Rabbi Berechya says in Pirkei De’ Rebbe Eliezer, a 9th century rabbinic work, “The sweet smell of the ram rose to God’s holy throne and satisfied him as much as the sweet smell of Isaac.” (PDR, 31)
A similar motif between brothers can be found in the story of the children of Isaac, Jacob and Esau. Like Cain, it is Jacob, the brother removed from regular violence who feels the need to take advantage of his brother, stealing his birthright. When Jacob seeks his father's blessing, he must impersonate his brother Esau, a skilled hunter, by demonstrating a familiarity with bloodshed. In a scene reminiscent of God being pleased by the ram’s savory smell, Isaac orders Jacob to bring him a portion of "savory meat.” Jacob then impersonates his hairy and rugged brother by covering himself with the skins of slaughtered goats. The nearly blind Isaac is fooled and the blessing is given to Jacob instead of Esau. The savory meat and animal skins serve to divert the violence directed towards Jacob. He must seek refuge, literally, in the skins of the sacrificed animal. The animal serves as a sort of insulation, preventing the direct contact that could lead only to violence.
Additional tales of violence avoided by substituting an animal for a human are found beyond Hebrew scripture. For example, the Greek character Odysseus performs a similar trick to that of Jacob. As you may remember, Odysseus and his shipmates are captured by the Cyclops and kept in his cave, the entrance blocked by a large stone. However, the Cyclops allows his sheep to pass when going out to pasture. Odysseus escapes by first blinding the Cyclops with a spit from the fire and then clinging to the thick wool on the underside of a sheep as it leaves the cave. In a scene reminiscent of the blinded Isaac, the sightless Cyclops runs his hands over the back of the sheep as it goes out to pasture. Comparably, in today’s torah portion, an animal is introduced at the crucial moment to prevent violence from striking its designated victim. And so yes, the ram must die in order for Isaac to live. Ritualized violence is necessary to protect the human subject from direct hostility.
Curiously, each of these stories, as well as many others, features the sacrifice of specifically a goat or a sheep in place of a human being. In the Iliad, the warrior Ajax slaughters a herd of sheep when the Greek army refuses to award him Achilles’ weapons. In ancient Greek mythology, Zeus sends a golden-fleeced ram to save Phrixus, who is to be killed by his father, King Athamas. Through all of these myths, you would think that violence would be avoided through the sacrifice of a more violent animal than a sheep or a goat. Especially in the case of the Torah, we expect a less noble animal such as a snake would be chosen as the victim. After all, the creation story of Genesis has already indicted the snake as a cruel enemy to humankind. Why can’t it be a snake or violent beast which becomes entangled in the thicket?
The animals chosen for sacrifice seem to be the most gentle and subdued. These are mammals; herbivores who are prized above all else for their usefulness. In short, the victims are those animals most human in nature. The switch is as close to perfect as it can possibly be. Society seeks to deflect upon a relatively indifferent and yet undoubtedly human-like victim, a 'sacrificeable' victim, the violence that would otherwise be vented on its own members, the people it most desires to protect.
We must recognize in the story of the binding of Isaac and indeed through the entire Torah the large step forward from human to animal sacrifice. The Torah is aware of rituals of human sacrifice and openly discourages them. Throughout history, human beings have indeed been relegated to the realm of sacrificeable victims, especially when they lacked the ability or standing to threaten retribution. For example, the slaves of Rome were often offered as sacrifices to animals and gladiators. Fifth century Greece – the Athens of the great tragedians – practiced similar human sacrifice. The Salem witch trials targeted individuals viewed by the public as less than human, and burned them alive in the name of society’s greater good. In each of these cases, those sacrificed come from the fringes of society, the marginalized individuals who are incapable of sharing the community’s social bonds. Such victims are rendered to be sub-human – close enough to receive society's violence but distant enough so that their disappearance will not threaten the larger group. Perhaps the best example of such scapegoating was the Holocaust, when European Jews were dehumanized and murdered for the collective ills of European society.
And so we have one class of sacrificeable human victims – those who lie at the bottom of society. But the opposite also exists. While the king sits as the very heart of the community, his position also serves to isolate him from him fellow men. He escapes from society via the roof whereas the slave does so through the floor. Think of the public executions of Louis the 16th or Queen Marie Antoinette. Such cases are most often thoroughly regulated, highly ritualistic affairs, allowing the community to direct its rage towards an outside figure. And while the king himself may at times avoid harm, history is littered with the corpses of court liaisons and dignitaries. In fact, one of the most tragic mistakes of Jewish history remains the rise of the court Jew. Throughout the feudal period, Jews were often appointed as royal court secretaries; given their lack of citizenship, their rise to power would not create a threat against the royalty. These Jews were then employed in the most confrontational matters, such as collecting taxes or evicting tenants. When the peasantry would rise in rebellion, the court Jew and his immediate community was often the first to suffer. They became the less than human royal sacrifice. And so throughout history, Jews have played the part of both the under and over privileged sacrifice.
While the thought of such ritualized violence may seem repugnant in the modern era, I would argue that we practice it all the time. Our society regularly engages in human sacrifice, of both the under-privileged and over-privileged, in the name of entertainment and societal control.
Let’s start with the bottom of society. I would ask you to compare America's Sunday church attendance with NFL viewership. The truth is, the sports stadium has largely become our society's great cathedral of carnage, with its own hymns, rituals and public ceremonies. And who participates in these games? Most often individuals from the fringes of society; economically depressed backgrounds and more likely than not, minorities. We Americans cannot get enough of seeing these modern Goliaths, often abnormally enlarged through drugs once reserved only for animals, running into one another as fast as they can. Our violent culture has also given rise to Ultimate Fighting, a combination of boxing and martial arts, which happens to be the fastest growing sport in America; because, I guess, regular boxing isn’t violent enough.
And sports represent only the tip of the iceberg. If you watched every summer movie released by Hollywood since the beginning of May, you would have witnessed almost 19,000 deaths this summer alone. The best selling video games create virtual universes of sheer violence and mayhem. Consider TV shows such as COPS in which petty criminals are hunted down on national television, or Dateline NBC, in which sexual offenders are made to squirm for public enjoyment. Our culture is punctuated by opportunities for public victimization and sacrifice. And again, in each case we have chosen the sacrificeable elements of society, the slightly less than human which may be targeted without fear of recrimination or retribution. Perhaps the most extreme example of such a policy is the bill currently making its way through congress, offering citizenship to immigrants upon completion of military duty in Iraq. We sacrifice the fringes of society in order to protect the base.
But again, what about the royal class? Where do we see the sacrifice of the over-privileged within the modern era? I would argue that our culture features an abnormal fascination with celebrity, building it up and then tearing it apart, piece by piece. Magazines, TV shows and websites regularly update us on which celebrities have fallen into rehab, broken the law, or worst of all, gotten fat. Like modern athletes, these individuals come from the periphery of society, only at its ceiling rather than its doormat. For the general culture, Paris Hilton and Brittany Spears are not real people, and so we may tear them down in order to comfort ourselves. The most useful celebrities are sacrificed again and again, like the ram who is first sacrificed by Abel and then resurrected to be slaughtered by Abraham. Once their usefulness fades, they are discarded into oblivion, remembered only in obituary or brought back to life for the latest reality show. The same goes for politicians, who are regularly satirized and skewered in the media’s limelight. We celebrate their downfall with an endless news cycle, peeking into the most private aspects of their lives. We become obsessed with their personal activities, even down to a $300 haircut. And so yes, I do believe we participate in this same sort of ritualistic sacrifice in the modern era. The story of the binding of Isaac resounds deeply within America’s culture.
So where do we go from here? Stepping back, we see that the high holidays are bookended by two stories of sacrifice. Here on Rosh Hashanah morning, we read the story of the binding of Isaac and the slaughter of the ram in his place. In 10 days, we will recongregate on Yom Kippur to read about the scapegoat. According to the text, each Yom Kippur the high priest lays his hand upon a goat and confesses over it all the iniquities and transgressions of the people. The goat is then sent into the wilderness, carrying with it the sins of the people. While the fate of the goat is not entirely certain, it is clearly not to be killed. And perhaps there is a final message here: Just as the story of the binding of Isaac represents a step forward from the human sacrifice of Cain and Abel to an animal replacement, the Yom Kippur story represents the culminating step away from violence altogether. We move from the human sacrifice of Abel, to the animal sacrifice of the ram, to Yom Kippur’s concept of simply letting our victims go.
After the destruction of the second temple, the rabbis of the Talmud declared that prayer had replaced sacrifice as the means for communication with God. No longer would God be petitioned through acts of ritual violence. They looked to the great prophetic tradition, where individuals such as Isaiah and Jeremiah responded to the catastrophic fall of the first temple with words of optimism and comfort. In the face of violence, Isaiah speaks of the wonder and majesty of God, the power to lift up the fallen and heal the sick. He declares that God does not want bloodshed; does not need sacrifice; but rather seeks only our hearts. And so whereas Yom Kippur was originally a day steeped in violent sacrifice, it became the day of piety and reflection which we experience in modern practice. During these high holy days, we likewise seek to rise above our natural inclination towards competition and hostility, responding instead with hope and confidence. And so we read this story today, as we strive to transcend our violent natures, asking for forgiveness from our greater community, and renewing the promise to once and for all, let our victims go. Shana Tovah.