A Particular Concern (or, Concentric Circles of Care)

Last week, inspiration (in the form of a philosophical quandary) landed right in my inbox! Rabbi Jay sent an event reminder out to Kavana's Mussar group, which has been slowly working through Rabbi Shai Held's new and acclaimed book Judaism is About Love this fall. In the reminder email, Rabbi Jay wrote:

Here's your juicy quote from elsewhere in the chapter: "Morality, it is commonly held, is meant to be free of bias or prejudice; under most circumstances, 'playing favorites' is considered immoral... [Others] reject this kind of thinking out of hand, allowing that 'it is (not merely psychologically understandable but) morally correct to favor one's own,' those with whom we have personal ties of some kind." (p. 139)

These lines resonated with me, because I have already been mulling over this philosophical question for some time, without exactly being able to give voice to it. The topic had sprung to my mind just the previous week, in fact, when it was declared that Omer Neutra -- an American-Israeli previously thought to have been taken as a hostage on October 7th -- had died on that day. The six-degrees-of-separation concept simply does not apply when it comes to Jewish geography; I did not know Omer Neutra personally, but we were separated by only a single degree of separation in multiple directions (and for some within the Kavana community, there are no degrees of separation whatsoever!). I listened to the funeral service that was held for him on Long Island, feeling like I had lost a member of my own extended family... which in a way, I had.

Our Torah portion this week, Vayishlach, puts a spotlight on familial relationships and the ways that they stir us to emotion and action. Right in the middle of the parasha, we find the story that's often titled "the rape of Dinah." In it, Dinah, the daughter of Jacob, "goes out" and is promptly snatched and seemingly forced into a sexual relationship with Shechem, son of the local chieftain, Hamor. Shechem is smitten with Dinah and sends his father to try to negotiate a marriage. Hamor approaches Jacob and his sons, Dinah's father and brothers, who express their willingness to make this union happen, but insist that Hamor and all of the men of his tribe must first become circumcised. Surprisingly, Hamor agrees to the condition, and a mass circumcision of all the men of Hamor's town takes place. (If this story is new to you, I highly recommend reading it in its entirety in Genesis chapter 34. As an aside, I also feel the need to note that this story takes place in a society that is problematically patriarchal. There's lots of great feminist commentary on Dinah's story too; I recommend this article from the Jewish Women's Archive as a good starting point with a great bibliography for further exploration.)

Picking up inside the story, the text of Gen 34:25-26 then recounts: 

"On the third day, when they were in pain, Shimon and Levi, two of Jacob’s sons, brothers of Dinah, took each his sword, came upon the city unmolested, and slew all the males. They put Hamor and his son Shechem to the sword, took Dinah out of Shechem’s house, and went away."

The Torah text as it unfolds from here and many rabbinic commentaries on this story are highly critical of Shimon and Levi's behavior, raising serious questions about the ethics of their violent and vengeful actions. (That is not my topic for this email, but I do think it's important to note that these critiques of their overzealousness come from within our tradition and are taken quite seriously. If you're interested to hear more about this, please join us tomorrow at Kavana's Shabbat Morning Minyan, where I know Chuck Cowan will be addressing this in his Dvar Torah.) 

Returning to the theme I began addressing above, though, this week I am especially struck by the familial relationships, the circle of concern, and the "favoring one's own" that we see emerge so clearly in Shimon and Levi's actions. Family ties and lines of connection are absolutely stressed throughout the entire Dinah narrative. (This is true of all the characters; it's never "Hamor and Shechem," but rather "Hamor and his son Shechem.") With regard to the verse I've cited above, Rashi notices a "problem" in the text: Shimon and Levi are called "Dinah's brothers," and yet they are only two of twelve brothers. Rashi's commentary on this verse cites an ancient midrash which addresses this issue:

“Dina's brothers” – was she only the sister of the two of them? Was she not the sister of all the tribes? It is, rather, because they endangered their lives on her behalf, that she is called by their name. (Genesis Rabbah 80:10)

Despite all the many critiques of Shimon and Levi's behavior that we find elsewhere, Rashi's note feels like a positive comment, reading the fact that Shimon and Levi jump to action and are willing to put themselves on the line on their sister's behalf as an act of loyalty and love that merits them being described through their relationship with one another.

In Chapter 6 of Judaism is About Love (the same chapter Kavana's Mussar group was reading together last week), Rabbi Shai Held explores the pulls in Jewish ethical thought between partiality and universal concern. He argues that ultimately, Jews are obligated to love both the "near" and the "distant" -- that is, to care for one's own people and for humanity as a whole. He is unequivocal in arguing that a "family first" approach must not be allowed to devolve into "family only" (see page 134). And yet, he asserts that "family first" is an ethical Jewish stance, writing (for example):

"If love is essential to the good life -- and it hardly needs arguing that it is -- and part of what it means to love someone is to be partial toward them, then some degree of special concern for those we love seems permissible and even required" (142).

This line of reasoning very much resonates for me, as I try to unpack my own emotional response to the events unfolding in the world around me. I am interested in and care about so many of the events unfolding worldwide and the fate of the individuals involved, but it's also a fact that some events strike me more deeply and personally than others. So, for example, when I read reports last week of an arson attack on a synagogue in Melbourne, Australia, the incident felt far closer than the miles of physical distance might suggest they should. And, I continue to feel my own heartstrings tied up in the fate of the hostages and their loved ones.

Next month, two Israeli/American clinical social workers who are part of the Kavana community, Michal Inspektor and Michal Goldring Keidar, will be offering a workshop for members of our community interested in exploring some of these themes and interconnections. They write: "The traumatic conditions faced by approximately 100 hostages held captive in Gaza extend beyond the individuals and their families, affecting our entire community. While many may not have a direct connection to them, the mental health consequences ripple outward, impacting our collective well-being." I am very much looking forward to this opportunity to further probe the familial ties that bind us to Jews elsewhere, and how we can transform our distress into meaningful action and advocacy. (If these topics sound meaningful to you as well, please save the date for Sunday evening, 1/26, and stay tuned for further details about this workshop in next week's newsletter.)

Meanwhile, may this Shabbat draw us into closer connection... with Torah, with one another, with the Jewish people, and with all of humanity. In the words of Rabbi Shai Held once again, may our love grow in "expanding concentric circles," "in and from the particular," such that we can "love our own, and everyone else too." 

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Rachel Nussbaum