Stranger Things

There are two atlases: the one
The public space where acts are done,
In theory common to us all, 
Where we are needed and feel small…

The other is the inner space
Of private ownership, the place
That each of us is forced to own,
Like his own life from which it’s grown,
The landscape of his will and need
Where he is sovereign indeed…

Each lives in one, all in the other
Here all are kings, there each a brother…
(from “New Year Letter” by W.H. Auden)

One of the rewards of Torah study is gleaning insight for distinct yet related realms. Torah is both an explicit attempt to mandate a just and holy society, concerned with “the public space…in theory common to us all”, and a resource for inner reflection and growth, helping us wisely traverse “the landscape of [our] will and need.” Judaism is both civilizational and spiritual, political and personal. 

This week’s parashah, Ekev, gives us many opportunities to weave together those two realms. I was particularly drawn this year to these three verses (Devarim 10:17-19):

“For Adonai your God is God supreme (elohei ha-elohim) and Lord supreme (adonei ha’adonim), the great, the mighty, and the awesome God, who shows no favor and takes no bribe, but upholds the cause of the fatherless and the widow, and loves the stranger, providing food and clothing.

“You must love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.”

God is characterized as supremely powerful to underline that true strength means caring for the vulnerable. Human authorities might mistake power for an excuse to abuse and exclude, but there is a higher authority we can model ourselves after. 

“The great, the mighty, and the awesome God (he-el ha-gadol ha-gibor v’ha-nora) is a phrase that makes its way directly into our prayers, in the opening section of the Amidah called “Avot (Ancestors”). In that prayer, we are invoking the ancestral connection to the Source of Everything and stepping into that loving Presence. It is a profoundly spiritual moment tying us to heritage and hope.

But remembering the context of this phrase wrenches us out of our inner yearnings and into action - to pray to this God means to recommit ourselves to acting in the public sphere the way God would, with concern for the most vulnerable. Prayer and justice intwine. 

To use Auden’s language, in prayer we yearn to encounter the King of kings, which inspires us to pattern our inner world after God’s attributes and be kings (ethical agents) of our own lives, and see each fellow human as a sibling to act with loving responsibility towards. 

But there’s something strange about the argument these verses make. The first two verses describe God but in a way that provides a template to describeour ideal actions. This is the argument for imitatio dei, a Latin phrase meaning “imitation of God.” 

The opening of the third verse seems to make this explicit: “You [too] should love the stranger.” The first problem is that the stranger is singled out, without mention of refusing bribes or taking care of orphans and widows. The second problem is the verse continues, “…for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” We have a whole new argument, not based on God’s model but on our own experience of suffering and subsequent capacity for empathy.

I think these verses are yet again weaving together the public realm of action (following God’s model) and the inner realm of emotion and desire (where memory and empathy also reside). 

The 19th century commentator Haamek Davar adds: “For you were strangers in the land of Egypt. And in any case you are today abundantly in order. So too, this stranger in dire straits - who knows what strength is hidden within them..?”

For the Haamek Davar (literally: deepening of the matter), we weren’t just supposed to empathize through remembering our own difficult experiences. We are supposed to remember not just falling down, but getting back up. To see in those who are vulnerable not just what they lack but the tremendous possibilities ready to shine forth. 

Our own inner meditation is meant to spur us not just into action, but into really seeing each other as the fully dignified beings we are, sovereign whether on home soil or a stranger, siblings in the great human family. 

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Jay LeVine