Genesis - Cycle One - 2519-2809 - Toledoth

Sometimes conflicts seem to descend on us like the Philistines. They block our source of light, our flow to the divine.

All it takes is one. In less than a second it grows to monstrous proportions, creating a desert of dry hearts. As we run around trying to fix the mess it seems that our efforts are futile. It’s as if our recognition of conflict throws more dirt, more anger, more pain into the very well that nourishes us.

Just yesterday I had the opportunity to attend a bar mitzvah. The boy was an angel. At some point during the service a newborn started crying. After a while I looked around. Many people were shifting. We could not hear the rabbi, forget the fine chanting of Torah. I remember kindly suggesting to the mother that she leave the sanctuary until the baby might calm down. After the service I was approached by a woman with standing at the temple. There was an urgency, an escalation, a challenge to her tone of voice. There had never been a conflict between us in the past. Still, it was as if she was expecting me to fight back. I agreed to do as told. Her monologue took ten minutes. My words to the mother had taken ten seconds. No longer reeling from the beauty of the service, I approached the rabbi. He agreed with the woman. If you hurt the mother’s feelings, he said, my advice is to apologize.

Not in the mood to rush into it I went and got some food. No sooner was I sitting and in conversation with a friend when the same woman approached again. She told me where the mother could be found, once again excusing herself for telling me what to do but telling me just the same. My friend got involved:

“We want the temple to be welcoming to new members,” she said. I didn’t know what to think anymore. This wasn’t about babies crying or apologies or membership at the temple. This was about something bigger, much bigger. I left the falafel (half eaten) on my plate, stood, walked across the huge sanctuary passing the stained glass of healing blue hands, birds of peace, trees of knowledge… to the mother, and apologized. She told me off. I apologized again. She told me off again, her voice stained with accusations. I tried once more but did a mad dash before giving her one more chance. I found my table, sat and was swallowing a glass of wine my boyfriend had poured for himself when (five minutes later) the same woman appeared again. The mother was planning on leaving soon and I better apologize now. I told her I just had and what had happened. She said that was unfortunate then walked away.

That evening, I wasn’t too happy. What could have been remembered as a radiant experience had been plugged up, and not by a friend or two and by the daughter of acquaintances, but, in my mind, by the Philistines themselves.

I decided to call the rabbi and let him know the results. I was leaving a message for him when half way through it I burst into tears.

Then it hit me. This conflict had revolved around much more than a few words said to a mother with a baby. It was as if all conflicts about any and everything in and out of temple had been consolidated into one huge moment.

So, this is what I must ask: Given the exponential nature of conflict and the spiritual connection of life to death and life to life, how do we keep the former from growing beyond all reason and blocking the latter? How do we stay open?

Let’s look at how Isaac deals with the wells in Toledoth. What happens is this: The Philistines, jealous of Isaac and his wealth, plug up the wells that Abraham’s servants had dug in the time of Abraham. The King of Egypt then orders Isaac to leave. In his new home Isaac digs more wells that had been plugged up by the Philistines after Abraham’s death. He then digs two more, both of which are disputed. He names them Challenge and Accusation. By naming them he emphasizes their wholeness despite the troubles they cause. So, to review, we have old wells blocked. We have new wells disputed. It seems there’s no chance of peace.

Finally, the next well, named Wide Spaces, is not disputed. And the next is not disputed and also finds water. It is named Shiba, or seven; eternity.

So much digging. So many wells. But it pays off. We see and learn that even if conflict is born from the womb, the flow of water precedes it (Bereshith). The flowing well (Shiba) is therefore the status quo. And while all we need is one good one, if plugged we are in conflict with the rest of the world, within our own hearts and with God.

My guess then is that in order to fix a simple conflict, we need to recognize the authority of the well. If plugged we need to unplug it. If disputed we need to dig more. It’s a non issue, an obvious process. And, like Isaac, we want to do it in peace and without drama or despair. We just want to do it. Maybe it’s hard because the act of digging is not only related to wells but to burial (see Chayay Sarah). But that’s another d’var Torah.

Now let’s get back to the bar mitzvah. As for myself, I had recently been in another conflict, one that had ripped open an old wound. The only problem was (at the time) I didn’t know it. I wasn’t my usual open self. I certainly have my own work to do. As for the other women, it’s for them (and hopefully their husbands) to continue to dig deep into their own need to challenge, the need to accuse. I hope they can. I hope that they can at least try. It’s not a process that’s ever finished. And we need it everywhere, in places of community, in this community.

It has been said that when Jacob tells his father that he’s Esau that the lie is simply Masoretic interpretation. Jacob could have easily said I am. Esau (is) your first born.

Truth, just like conflict, is our own creation. It’s my opinion therefore that in order to fix plugged wells or get beyond disputes we don’t have to get dirty. We only need to increase the flow of light and water and watch as it surges up and frees us in a magnificent act of release. We only need to let ourselves be carried by this flow up to the eagle’s nest, to the highest place possible. From there, we can look down with the eyes of God, the eyes of love. Certainly, if these eyes can change the way we see Isaac’s blessing, they can work miracles on us as well. So, may this d’var Torah allow some release. May we feel the exhilaration of the light as it floods up and through us. May we know of our love and be able to show it with gentleness. May we make it a regular and calm practice to dig well after well, to unplug them, and to find water as we move from one moment to the next, one generation to the next. May we flow with the beams of light as they stream into the warmth and high clarity of divine consciousness. And finally, may our smaller and larger communities do the digging of both life and death, for ourselves, for peace, with compassion, and for each other.