Text, Faith, and Friendship

Text, Faith, and Friendship | Parashat Mishpatim
By Rabbi Sarah Berman

Last Sunday, I braved the 14-degrees-below-zero windchill to go to church.

I’m not suggesting that services at Central aren’t enough for me…

But last Sunday I met members of our winter interfaith text study class for worship at St Bart’s Church, our friends around the corner on Park Avenue.

I am so glad I was there.

Set off by beautiful music and inspiring scriptural passages, my friend and our host Rev. Meredith Ward preached about this challenging moment in which we are living.

In the face of “violence and terror,”^[1] she pointed us towards the wisdom of our sacred texts, the comfort of faith, and the strength of fellowship (or friendship) to help us make it through.

In times of upheaval, of transition, of fear, in times when we cannot anticipate what will happen next--how can we respond?

We need real strength to remain upright and move forward when facing uncertainty.

Rev. Ward was right: Text, faith, and friendship are powerful tools.

Tools we can rely on today, just as our ancient ancestors did long ago.

This week’s Torah portion--Mishpatim^[2]--reminds us that disagreement, change, and fear are nothing new.

The Israelites were in a moment of transition. They had witnessed plagues, fled slavery, crossed a sea toward the unknown, gathered at the foot of a mountain, and quaked in fear when confronted with the voice of the Holy Eternal One.

They had left behind all that they had known, and venture forth to create something entirely new.

What could possibly have comforted them at this moment?

What could have strengthened their steps forward?

Their new tools of text, faith, and friendship.

For the Israelites, the texts they leaned on were the brand new laws--the mishpatim-- presented to them by Moses. They were the first generation to receive these laws, a new narrative that would guide their actions in the world.

For this first generation, their faith was in the God who had brought them forth from Egypt--and whose promise of continued presence lived in those new laws.

And the friendship they relied on was the peoplehood forged in the fires of slavery, formed in the miracle of freedom, and bound by these rules that would help them create a new society.

In response to all they had received (and all they were being offered), our ancient ancestors responded with one voice.

Na’aseh v’nishma^[3] they said—

We will do these things, and we will continue to listen.

Spoken in the first person plural, this extraordinary statement was one of communal identity, built on ongoing listening, learning, and meaning-making. They were becoming Am Yisrael, the people who wrestle with the Divine, as they were finding a way to live together as a people.

Generation after generation, we are still these wrestlers: looking to our texts to see how they have evolved over time; testing our faith to find new meaning in our relationships with God; and turning to our friendships--with one another and with those beyond our people--to find the strength and comfort we need to face an imperfect world.

Just as na’aseh v’nishma teaches--this is work we cannot do alone.

Over the past three weeks, the 90 registered members of our Central and St Bart’s interfaith text study class honed these tools together.

We read Jewish and Christian responses to the existential crisis of the Temple’s destruction; the philosophical and political reshaping of the world during the Enlightenment; and the complete rupture in the fabric of reality and morality that was the Holocaust.

We asked one another, Where was God for these ancestors of ours? And where, now, might we find God, together?

From 2,000 years ago, to 250 years ago, to the last century--thinkers, scholars, and leaders have wrestled with the nature and presence of God in trying times.

This class used our ancestors’ answers to find our own.

We pondered whether, like scholars 2,000 years ago, we could find the Divine in the act of communal study and gathering,^[4] or individually in our own hearts.^[5]

We weighed whether God was in the “truth of reason”,^[6] or perhaps in acts of “toleration”^[7] -- the Divine presence according to thinkers 250 years ago.

And, like those struggling in the wake of the Holocaust, we considered whether God, perhaps, had died at Auschwitz^[8]--or might still be found in the kindness and care shown by one human being towards another.^[9]

Our study these past weeks was serious, challenging, and inspiring.

Most importantly, the words came off the page and entered into our souls--presenting, in the words of one class member, “a call to action,” calling us towards text, faith, and friendship.

Our sacred texts emerged in times of great turmoil:

The sudden freeing of slaves;

The destruction of a city and a nation;

New philosophies and politics reshaping the world;

The utter rupture of reality.

Today, these historical moments provide a guide to us today.

They give us texts that put our meaning-making tools to good use.

They invite us to seek the real presence of God among us.

They lead us toward friendship and community.

Like our ancestors in the Torah, and those who lived in the time of the destruction of Jerusalem, the Enlightenment, and the Holocaust--we are experiencing our own social turbulence and cultural upheaval.

We cannot anticipate what will come next.

We might feel afraid.

We might feel alone.

Where is God in this moment, for us?

Na’aseh v’nishma –

God is with us when we listen…

When we struggle with our texts…

When we explore our faith…

When we find friends within our community – and beyond it…

When we use the tools gifted to us by our tradition…

This is how we find the strength to stand and to move forward.

This is where we find God.

Here, facing towards whatever future awaits us.

Together.

^[1] Reverend Meredith Ward, sermon on Epiphany 5A, “An Embarrassment of Riches”

^[2] Exodus 21:1-24:18

^[3] Ex. 24:7

^[4] Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai, BT Gittin 56a-b

^[5] Tertullian, Apology

^[6] Moses Mendelssohn, Jerusalem, section 7

^[7] John Locke, A Letter Concerning Toleration

^[8] Paul Tillich, Richard Rubenstein

^[9] Melissa Raphael