As a religious person, I am moved by a sense of divine purpose. While we as Jews do not use the word "calling," I do feel that I work in the service of realizing God's will on Earth. As a rabbi and Jewish communal servant, I have a sense of what it means to sacrifice happiness for a cause. How many nights do I spend away from my own children working to enrich the lives of other people's children? Avraham is a model of someone who lived with divine purpose. Even if God directed Avraham, as a father it is hard for me to imagine that Avraham kicked Yishmael out and almost sacrificed Yitzhak. Did he not love his sons? If he did, why didn't Avraham protest on behalf of his sons as he did for the people of Sodom (Genesis 18:23-33)? In that case, God actually listens to Avraham and engages him in debate. Or, even better, why didn't Avraham just politely "take leave" of God for the sake of his sons? At the beginning of the Torah portion, three strangers approach Avraham in the desert. Commenting on this, the Midrash says that "he turned to God and said, 'With purity of heart, Master of the world, let the Shekhinah [the divine presence] wait for me until I welcome these guests'"(Midrash HaGadol on Genesis 18:2).
What was Avraham thinking when he drove his son Yishmael away and made him wander in the desert? What was Avraham thinking when he brought Yitzhak up to Mount Moriah to sacrifice him? In the case of Sodom, God is willing to engage in debate. In the case of the strangers, God understands that Avraham's turning away is not disrespectful but in service of another value. Is anything so sacred that we would be unable to welcome those who feel marginalized, are in danger, and need our help? What if they are our own children?
Since the publication of "Promises for My Gay Children," Pastor John Pavlovitz and I have carved out some time to Skype. We have only begun to talk, learn, and reflect together, but we have much to share regarding how we decided to come out in support of people who might be lesbian, gay, bisexual, or transgender (LGBT). We realized that despite our differences of our faith, religion, and culture, we both share some fundamental things. The most obvious one is that we both have a profound love of our children as well as a deep love of all God's children. For both of us, it is our faith itself that has led us to where we are. We were also both moved to speak about the staggering statistics. Here are a few:
- An LGBT youth is more than twice as likely to be homeless. (National Coalition for the Homeless)
Rejecting who our children are is tantamount to asking them to sacrifice themselves on the altar of our expectations. With these stark numbers, we cannot be silent. Shetikah KeHodaah Damia -- silence is acquiescence (Ketubot 14b). We need to argue and debate as if our children's lives depended on it. Not being intentional and explicit about our unconditional love might drive them out of our lives.
In Vayera, last week's Torah portion, we read all these stories of Avraham's trying to manifest his divine purpose on Earth. We should humbly choose which narratives of Avraham to tell in order to ensure that our children are not made to feel like strangers. In the Midrash, Rabbi Aha depicts a speculative dialogue between Avraham and God at the binding of Yitzhak. There we read, "When I [God] commanded you [Avraham], 'Take now your son [to sacrifice him]' (Genesis 22:2), I will not alter that which has gone out of my lips. Did I tell you, 'Slaughter him?' No! But, 'Take him up' (Genesis 22:2). You have taken him up. Now take him down" (Genesis Rabbah 56:8).
If we think our tradition demands we risk our children's lives by not accepting them, like Avraham, maybe we are misreading our tradition. God does not need our defense, and God will most certainly be there when we get back. All our children are angels who are just waiting to be welcomed into the tent.
This post originally appeared on saidtomyself.com.