Yoga Drash for Parshat Vayera: Mindful Striving

icarus photoWe’re back to the Akedah, or the binding of Isaac, one of the most challenging stories in the Torah, one that rabbis often work hard to justify by commending Abraham on showing his complete faith in God (just a reminder: the Akeda is the story of Abraham’s sacrificial binding of his son Isaac on Mount Moriah, and God’s last minute intervention to substitute a ram instead).

Let’s try to understand it differently, springing off of Rashi’s 11th century commentary. According to Rashi, as relayed by Rabbi Gerald Zelizer, God never really told Abraham to slaughter his son but only to “bring him up” as if for a sacrifice. “When I said to you ‘Take your son’… I did not say to you, sh’chateihu, ‘slaughter him,’ but only ha’aleihu, ‘bring him up.’” When Abraham picked up the knife to slay his son, according to Rashi, he goes beyond what God ordered and God’s angel has to stop him. Zelizer says that the Talmud says that the thought of Abraham actually killing Isaac never occurred to God.

Zelizer reads Rashi’s commentary as saying that just as God made a demand of Abraham that he ascend Mount Moriah, God makes demands on each of us, as well, rather than just accepting what we already do. So, the Akedah stands for striving to go beyond what comes naturally to us, but on the other hand, just as Abraham misunderstood exactly what was expected of him, we, too, don’t always get it right.

Rabbi Paul Kipnes is another commentator that relies on Rashi, agreeing that the story is a clear indication that Abraham failed the test. Instead of wanting Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, Kipnes says that God really only wanted him to spend some spiritual “quality time” with Isaac. Kipnes also focuses on the intervention of the angel of God, who, acting with love, stopped Abraham from killing his son. God, through the angel, reaffirms to Abraham how much he/she loves him, but the angel’s intervention signals that Abraham and the Israelites should no longer employ cruel means to show their love for God.

The angel’s actions remind Kipnes of that parent who walked into his freshly painted house, greeted by his son, who happily tells his father, that he wants to show him how much he loves him. The boy brings his father inside and proudly shows him a picture drawn in magic marker on the living room wall, a heart with the words, “Daddy, I love you.” How does a parent respond, asks Kipnes? Most of us, he says, would yell. But if we stopped to think, we might respond with tears in our eyes, and saying, “I love you too. Try to use paper next time. And you may not write on the walls.” Similarly, through the words of the angel, God, who cherishes Abraham, teaches love and forgiveness as an example for future generations.

Commentator Marc Angel is a little tougher in evaluating Abraham: He says that “God’s challenge to Abraham was a challenge we each face: to think and perceive more lucidly” and “not to let out eyes be darkened by egotism or erroneous judgment.”

One more thought on the parsha: “Hineni,” or I am present, is used three times in the Akedah. Abraham says “hineni” to God, when God asks him to take his son up the mountain and make an offering of him, and then says “hineni” to Isaac, when he asks his father where the sheep is for the offering, and finally, Abraham says “hineni” when the angel calls out to him as he stands with the knife above Isaac. Whether Abraham is making the right decision or not, he is saying that “I am totally here, in the present.” One rabbi says that the use of the word “hineni” is an acknowledgement that mindfulness is part of the Jewish experience, is useful in helping us deepen our Jewish journey, and is “an essential part of the Jewish toolbox.”

So where do we go with this parsha in terms of our practice, and I would say, in terms of how we lead our lives as well?:

Three things jump out from these interpretations:
1) We strive for perfection, to be both physically and mentally where we think we ought to be or where others demand us to be. Perhaps it’s a posture we know is beyond our grasp, but we go for it anyway, maybe because we’re told to do it: We cause ourselves physical injury or emotional distress because we can’t get where we think we should be.
2) We should be more forgiving or loving of ourselves, no matter what we can achieve. OK, we can’t get into that posture, but we can appreciate how far we were able to get, assuming we use good judgment by only going to our edge.
3) The idea of hineni can become a model for how we approach yoga, and life, by being completely present.

In our practice today, we’re going to set as an ultimate posture feet behind our head, accept that we probably can’t get there–I know I can’t–but work toward perfecting it without ego, using good judgment in not going past our edge, adopting loving kindness toward ourselves and reveling in how far we get on that journey. And, we’ll practice the concept of hineni, by being present in our practice this morning.

 

Image by LifeSupercharger used with permission via Creative Commons: Attribution License

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