Learning and Unlearning Breishit (Genesis)
A few months ago, one of my roommates and I began learning Sefer Brieshit (Genesis) together. Every week, we read a portion of the text in English and discuss our thoughts on the topics and stories at hand. Our chevruta allows me the opportunity to be in a consistent conversation with the Torah and continue unraveling new layers of old, complex and influential narratives. My fantastic and insightful study partner, Jordan, is not too familiar with the bible and therefore is meeting the text with fresh eyes. As a result, what often happens is she will viscerally react to the text and I will add in commentary and understandings I have been exposed to within various Jewish institutions that relate to the particular narrative. I often forget to let her respond first and therefore divulge pre-formed ideas on what the text means. In many of those instances, the understandings that I share fail to align with Jordan’s reading of the same passage. These moments of disparity have opened me up to many new questions regarding the actual content of this sacred text, the value attached to it and its cultural significance.
The Tower of Babel by Pieter Brueghel the Elder (1563). Image from Wiki Commons.
An example of one of these disparities arose when we read and discussed the Migdal Bavel (Tower of Babel) story. I, and perhaps you, have learned (over an over again) that the reason why God mixed up the languages of all the people on Earth was because they were attempting to build a huge structure for the purpose of conquering heaven. As Jordan pointed out to me, that reason is not present anywhere in the plain text; rather that explanation was developed later on by commentators. This dimension of the story embedded in its widespread telling seems to justify God’s actions. But what if the builders’ motives had nothing to do with waging a war on heaven? What if they simply were an efficient, united group of people whose abilities left little need to put all of their faith in God? Then some might say that the problem perhaps may lie more in God’s actions of separation and destruction rather than the actions of the builders. Yet to others, that may be a dangerous message, one that paints a negative image of God. And maybe that is why we receive a more simplified version of the story that stands upon an idea developed outside of the text.
Jordan often responds to these stories with deep disappointment, confusion and anger. Each time we have learned together, she has raised the questions (or something along these lines) “how can this be the Torah? How can this be the foundation of my religion that everyone praises and loves? What am I missing?” She has identified a clear gap between the words themselves and the cultural understanding and significance they have acquired; and I completely understand (even as the voices of my past defensively respond with superficial examples of ethics and beauty).
Clearly, reading Breishit at face value is not an easy task, especially in contrast to the dressed up, abridged stories of my childhood. Taking it out of its cultural, historical and religious context, it is a book packed with destruction, flawed characters, a vengeful, immature God and glaring hierarchy. God flood’s the world, destroys cities even after claiming to be peaceful and demands child sacrifice just to name a few difficult, appalling events. Additionally, most of the human characters mentioned betray or deceive one another at some point. Suffice it to say, this is a loaded and challenging text. Yet many of us were taught a simplistic, diluted version of this book, one in which the characters are all role models who espouse lessons of kindness and steadfast faith upon the countless generations that have followed them. And though those of us who discussed these topics in high school or college likely finally embraced the complexity, we are now challenged to read these texts with a critical eye, so that we can unlearn the simplicity and be open to the true chaos of the first chapter of human history.
Many parts of the text on their own, without viewing them through a traditional Jewish lens, are inherently problematic when put in conversation with our modern and, for many of us, liberal sensibilities. Living in a society in which we preach values of equality, of complexity, of questioning the systems that govern us, is contradictory to a biblical world of set hierarchies, unquestioned Divine authority and a clear boundary between right and wrong. As a result, I wonder how anyone who did not go to day school, Hebrew school or synagogue on a consistent basis can be expected to easily find meaning in or relate to this book.
As Jordan is grappling with how this foundational text can be meaningful to her, I find myself struggling with my own passive acceptance of the value of the text. I think much it is tied up with the Jewish cultures we live in as well as the messages our leaders desire to espouse and actions they expect us to execute. I do not think that this is an inherently flawed strategy, but perhaps it does not give the naked text the credit it deserves; perhaps it does not reveal the difficulty attached to the pursuit of finding it meaningful without the fabricated background of institutionalized Jewish education. This process deems the Torah more one-dimensional than it is in reality. These characters are not perfect; many of them did awful things and were told to do so by a figure that so many of us hold to the ultimate esteem. Can we acknowledge that? Can we refrain from clinging to a particular understanding of the text that supports a religious ideology that came centuries, millennia later? Can embrace and grapple with the density and strength of this book?
But then again, if this were the only dimension of Torah, perhaps it would be of lesser significance; perhaps it would seem pointless to participate in this conversation in the first place if it is such a problematic text with little guidance. Therefore it is important, in my mind, to acknowledge that Torah is not only the five books of Moses; it is a living, fluid process that has been documented and lived throughout human history (from the five books to the Prophets to the Mishna to the Talmud to medieval commentators to those of the modern day). I think this aspect is of immense value. It connects us to our past, gives us a framework in which to live out our present, and sets a path forward for the generations that will follow us. And therefore Genesis, the Torah is not the complete basis of the world, of Judaism, rather it is our starting point, it is a foundation upon which a deep, complex history has been constructed. And understanding the progress we have made over the past however many millennia is beneficial to developing an understanding of who we are and who we can be. As a result, I think it is all the more necessary to study this text, to know our source and recognize our progress…and along the way remain cognizant of its true body.
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David Eber said:
WOW! This was fabulous to read. Thank you so much for sharing. You have an amazing gift as a writer, because everything you said was so clear and well articulated. If you can’t tell…I’m impressed.
Sunnie Epstein said:
Rachie, this is your mom speaking…. So, first of all, you ARE the daughter I brought up to question, fight with and ask something more from Torah and Judaism, as is the case with your sisters, brother and my many students. I really agree that the point is NOT to justify and blindly accept Torah, but rather to fight and question. We are REQUIRED to think and realize the limits of humanity and who we are as B’nai Adam (all of humanity). Only by accepting the challenge of this fight, can we get to the point as the Tanna long ago reported that G-d laughed and said “My children have won! My children have won!” We MUST fight each other, ourselves and all of humanity to bring out the best of who we even dare to hope to be. G-d forbid, we do not accept the challenges and lessons taught by the weaknesses of the human personae in our Torah, in our Rabbinic literature, or today.