Avraham’s Prayer—Seeing the Spark in Sodom: Vayeira 5786

 This piece by Rabbi Joel Kenigsberg was first published in this week's Hanassi Highlights.

When God reveals to Avraham His plan to destroy the city of Sodom, Avraham does the unthinkable: he argues back. We are told “Vayigash Avraham”—“Avraham stepped forward”—a term elsewhere used to describe battle. Avraham, the man of faith, goes to war with Heaven itself.

But why? Why fight for Sodom, a city whose cruelty and corruption were beyond repair?

At first glance, Avraham seems to be pleading for the righteous minority. “Will You destroy the righteous with the wicked?” he asks. Yet as the dialogue unfolds, something deeper emerges. Avraham doesn’t just ask that the righteous be spared; he pleads for the entire city to be saved - “Perhaps there are fifty righteous people within the city; would You not forgive the place for their sake?”

This is not a technical argument about justice. It’s a vision of hope. Avraham sees potential not only in the innocent few but even in the wicked many. As the Taz notes, Avraham didn’t need to argue for the survival of the righteous—Hashem would never punish them unjustly. What Avraham was really praying for was Sodom’s redemption, not its survival alone.

To understand this, it’s helpful to contrast Avraham’s approach with that of Noach. Chazal fault Noach for failing to pray for his generation. Rashi quotes the statement of our Sages that Noach was “mikatnei Emunah”—lacking in faith. The Kedushat HaLevi explains that Noach’s flaw was not a lack of faith in God but really a lack of faith in himself and, by extension, in others. Noach didn’t believe he could change his world. Avraham, by contrast, had faith on three levels: in God, in himself, and in humanity.

Sodom was everything Avraham opposed—a society that outlawed kindness and punished compassion. Yet he still believed that even in Sodom there might be a spark of holiness waiting to be rekindled. Ultimately, God revealed that it was too late for the inhabitants of Sodom, but Avraham’s struggle stands as a testament to his faith in human potential.

Avraham taught us that to believe in others is to help them believe in themselves. That belief—seeing people not as they are but as they could be—remains his legacy. To live as children of Avraham is to look at others with eyes of possibility - to see the Divine spark even in those who seem distant, and to help bring it to light.

Shabbat Shalom

Rabbi Joel Kenigsberg

Together: The Test of Our Generation

We are living through exceptional times—times that future generations will one day study as a turning point in Jewish history. We are witnessing events that pierce the heart and stir the soul. Rabbi Paul Bloom explains.

On one hand, we are surrounded by heartbreak and horror—unspeakable atrocities committed against Am Yisrael, acts that defy comprehension. The suffering of individuals, families, and communities has reached depths that words cannot capture. And yet, within this darkness, something extraordinary has emerged: the radiant light of unity. Across Israel and throughout the Jewish world, Am Yisrael has come together in a spirit of generosity, volunteering, and love unlike anything many of us have ever witnessed. The strength of this unity—the achdut of the Jewish people—has become a wellspring of hope and resilience for our nation.

Three Words That Define Our Strength

This unity has deep roots. It is embedded in three words that appear in the Torah’s description of the supreme test of faith in Jewish history—the Akeidat Yitzchak, the Binding of Isaac. What are these words? The Torah tells us: “Vayelchu sheneihem yachdav”—And the two of them went together (Bereishit 22:6). Father and son, Avraham and Yitzchak, walking side by side toward the greatest test of their lives. Each knew that something incomprehensible was about to occur, yet they went together—united in faith, in purpose, and in an eternal bond.

The Akeidah was a test of emunah that stretched the limits of human endurance. Yet, as the Zohar teaches, it was not only Avraham who was tested—it was also Yitzchak. And in some ways, the test for Yitzchak was even greater. Avraham heard directly the Devar Hashem—the clear word of God. As a prophet, he had absolute certainty of what he was commanded to do. Yitzchak, however, did not. He heard the command only through his father. His faith was not just in God—but in his father, in mesorah, in the unbroken chain of transmission that defines our people. That, says the Zohar, was the moment when the foundations of Torah sheb’al Peh, the Oral Torah, were laid. For Yitzchak’s trust in his father mirrors our trust in the sages, in the chain of mesorah through which we hear the word of God echoed across generations. “Vayelchu sheneihem yachdav”—they went together: faith transmitted, unity forged, generations bound in all eternity.

A Covenant Misplaced

But the Akeidah has another dimension, one that carries a painful contemporary relevance. The Torah introduces the episode with the words, “Achar hadevarim ha’eileh”—“After these things” (Bereishit 22:1).   After which things? The Midrash and classic commentaries, including the Rashbam and the Ralbag, explain that the Akeidah followed a significant episode—Avraham’s covenant with Avimelech, the Philistine king.

Avimelech ruled over Eretz Pelishtim, the coastal strip of the Land of Israel—what we know today as the Gaza region. Avraham entered into a covenant with him, promising peaceful coexistence and effectively conceding part of the land of Israel. But, says the Rashbam, this was a mistake. The land had been promised to Avraham’s descendants by God Himself. It was not Avraham’s to give away, even as a gesture of diplomacy or goodwill.

The Midrash Tanchuma teaches that as a result, Avraham’s descendants suffered for generations. When Yehoshua later entered the Land of Israel, he was unable to conquer the territory of Eretz Pelishtim—Ashdod, Ashkelon, Ekron, and Gaza—because of that covenant. It remained unconquered for centuries until the days of King David.

In this light, the Akeidah was not only a test of faith—it was also a form of atonement, a painful consequence of Avraham’s earlier misjudgment. He had trusted in a political covenant rather than in the eternal covenant of God.

A Lesson for Our Generation

We, too, have witnessed the tragic results of yielding parts of our land in pursuit of peace. The withdrawal from Gush Katif and the Gaza Strip was done with hopes of security and coexistence. Yet the bitter reality that has unfolded since then echoes the words of our sages: Eretz Yisrael cannot be secured through covenants with those who deny its divine promise. The lesson of the Akeidah is clear. The future of Am Yisrael does not depend on treaties or fences—it depends on faith, on courage, and on unity.

Our Test: Going Together

Just as Avraham and Yitzchak faced their supreme trial “together”, so too must we face ours. The unprecedented unity we witnessed over the past two years—families opening their homes to evacuees, soldiers risking their lives for their brothers, Jews around the world giving, praying, and standing with Israel—is the modern echo of “Vayelchu sheneihem yachdav.” Through our shared acts of kindness, our tefillot, our mitzvot, and our collective resolve, we are weaving the spiritual armor that protects Am Yisrael. Every mitzvah, every gesture of solidarity, every prayer for our soldiers, for those held hostage and their families builds unseen walls of protection—malachim born from unity and faith.

May the zechut of our togetherness—our faith and our unity—bring safety to our soldiers and comfort to the bereaved. And may the light of “Vayelchu sheneihem yachdav” continue to guide Am Yisrael toward redemption—together.

Do we see the Vision?

We are again delighted to host a perceptive and provocative devar Torah on the week's parsha from Rabbi Paul Bloom. Thanks, Paul, for all your efforts--and for remembering us.

This devar Torah discusses an often-overlooked element of the Pesach Seder—the fifth cup of wine—and the profound lessons it holds for our lives. Our Sages teach us that the four cups of wine correspond to the four “expressions of redemption” found in Sefer Shemot (Exodus):

'לָכֵן אֱמֹר לְבָנֵי־ישְׂרָאֵל אֲנִי ה וְהוֹצֵאתִי אֶתְכֶם מִתַּחַת סַבְלת מִצְרִים וְהַצַלְתִּי אֶתְכֶם מַעֲבֹדָתָם וְגאַלְתִּי אֶתְכֶם בַּזְרוֹע נְטוּיָה וּבַשְׁפָטִים גדלים וְלָקַחְתִּי אֶתְכֶם לִי לְעָם וְהָייתי לָכֶם לָאלֹהִים וְיִדַעְתָּם כִּי אֲנִי ה' אֱלֹהֵיכֶם הַמוֹצִיא אֶתְכֶם מִתָּחַת סְבְלוֹת מִצְרִים

1. “I will take you out from under the burdens of Egypt,”
2. “I will save you from their bondage,”
3. “I will redeem you with an outstretched arm and great judgments,”
4. “I will take you to Me as a people, and I will be your God.”

These four stages mark a transformative process—from physical liberation to spiritual redemption. Yet our tradition also alludes to a fifth expression, a culmination of the journey: entering the Promised Land and achieving our full potential as Hashem’s nation.

וְהֵבֵאתִ֤י אֶתְכֶם֙ אֶל־הָאָ֔רֶץ אֲשֶׁ֤ר נָשָׂ֙אתִי֙ אֶת־יָדִ֔י לָתֵ֣ת אֹתָ֔הּ לְאַבְרָהָ֥ם לְיִצְחָ֖ק וּֽלְיַעֲקֹ֑ב וְנָתַתִּ֨י אֹתָ֥הּ לָכֶ֛ם מוֹרָשָׁ֖ה אֲנִ֥י יְהֹוָֽה׃

I will bring you into the land which I swore to give to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and I will give it to you for a possession, I Hashem.”

וַיְדַבֵּ֥ר מֹשֶׁ֛ה כֵּ֖ן אֶל־בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֑ל וְלֹ֤א שָֽׁמְעוּ֙ אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֔ה מִקֹּ֣צֶר ר֔וּחַ וּמֵעֲבֹדָ֖ה קָשָֽׁה׃

But when Moses told this to the Israelites, they would not listen to Moses, their spirits crushed by cruel bondage.

The question that the Commentators ask is what does, מִקֹּ֣צֶר ר֔וּחַ, shortness of spirit mean? The Ramban teaches that their inability to listen was not due to a lack of faith. They believed, but they were utterly exhausted—physically and spiritually crushed under the weight of slavery. The Midrash takes this further, explaining that Bnei Yisrael were so immersed in the culture of Mitzrayim—its paganism, its worldview—that they couldn’t comprehend the magnitude of Moshe’s message.

This is not just an ancient story; it’s a mirror for our lives today. Just as Bnei Yisrael struggled to reframe their identity and rise above their circumstances, we too often find ourselves trapped in modern forms of galut. Immersed in the distractions of secularism, materialism, and the relentless demands of daily life, we can lose sight of the spiritual messages calling to us.

A Wake-Up Call: The Ten Plagues

The ten plagues were not merely punishments for Egypt; they were a shock to awaken Bnei Yisrael. Each plague shattered illusions of Egypt’s supremacy, revealing Hashem’s power and presence. This was a necessary process to free not only their bodies but also their minds and souls from the “shortness of spirit” that clouded their vision. We, too, need moments that pull us out of the relentless cycle of work and worry. Without these interruptions, we risk losing perspective, becoming so consumed by immediate concerns that we neglect what truly matters.

Stephen Covey, in his famous book The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, illustrates this with the metaphor of sharpening the saw. A man sawing tirelessly through a tree is told to pause and sharpen his saw, to which he replies, “I’m too busy sawing to stop.” This captures a profound truth: relentless activity without reflection leads to burnout and inefficiency.

Shabbat is one of our antidotes to this “shortness of spirit.” It is the time we step off the treadmill, reconnect with our inner selves, our families, and our Creator. On Shabbat, we pause to hear the voices of our loved ones, to study Torah, and to reflect on our purpose. It is in these moments of stillness that we regain clarity and strength.

The Fifth Expression: Choice and Destiny

The Sforno and Or HaChaim offer a fascinating insight into the fifth expression of redemption. They note that the first four stages of geulah were gifts from Hashem—unconditional and imposed upon Bnei Yisrael, primarily because B'nai Israel did not want to leave Egypt. The fifth stage, however, required their active choice. Entering the Promised Land, building a holy nation, and living with emunah were predicated on their willingness to rise to the challenge. And in fact, mo-one (except Joshua and Calev) who was over the age of 20 at the time they left Egypt ever entered Israel because of the Sin of the Spies.

This duality—between the gifts we are given and the choices we make—is central to our lives. Hashem bestows upon us countless blessings: our families, talents, and opportunities. But how we use these gifts—whether we dedicate them to a higher purpose or squander them—is up to us.

Lessons for Today

The story of Bnei Yisrael’s redemption is not just a historical narrative; it is a timeless message about human nature. Like our ancestors, we often become so overwhelmed by the “urgent”—the daily demands and challenges—that we lose sight of the “important.” If you ask a struggling businessman about his five-year vision, he might respond, “I’m just trying to get through this week!” This mindset is natural, but it is also limiting. True growth requires stepping back, refocusing, and embracing the larger vision.

Do the Jews of the Diaspora face similar challenges to those of Bnei Yisrael in Egypt? Are they caught up in the urgent while ignoring the important? Have they grown too comfortable with the materialism of the Diaspora, losing sight of Hashem’s vision for kibbutz galuyot (the ingathering of exiles) and returning to Israel? Will the miracles of the past 15 months serve as a wake-up call?

The fifth cup reminds us that, while Hashem provides the foundation, it is up to us to build upon it. It challenges us to differentiate between the wheat and the chaff, the urgent and the important, and to align our lives with the divine vision.

A Blessing

As we reflect on this parsha, may we find the strength to rise above the distractions and burdens that weigh us down. May we pause to sharpen the saw, to listen to the voices of Torah and those around us, and to embrace our role as Hashem’s partners in building a better world. Let us see the vision Hashem has given us and follow it with clarity and purpose.

Walking together: Vayeira 5785

 One of the more salient lessons that we derive from this week's Torah reading regarding Abraham and Isaac is the emphasis that the Torah places on the fact that they ascended the mountain of Moriah together. This is because continuity, the bond between generations, has been the hallmark of Jewish life throughout its long history. 

Every generation differs in many aspects from the generation that preceded it—and this is especially true regarding the generations of Jews who have lived over the past few centuries. Scientific discoveries, enormous social changes, technology and communication that was previously unimaginable, plus an entirely different set of social and economic values, have transformed the Jewish world in a radical fashion. It is much more difficult, if not sometimes impossible, for parents and children to walk together towards a common goal. 

The secularization of much of Eastern-European Jewry during the 19th and 20th centuries testifies to this fact. Even though different generations will always see matters in a different light, there has perhaps never been such a radical and almost dysfunctional separation of generations as we have undergone during this period. 

It is basically true that the generation of the 20^th Century also wanted to climb the mountain of Moriah, but they did not want to do so in the company of their elders. In discarding the preceding generation, its teachings and way of life, the new generation ascended many mountains, but they never climbed the right one. And much of Jewry today is stranded on strange peaks and at dangerous heights. 

The challenge of the continuity across thegenerations is an enormous one. No matter how hard each family may try, not one has a guarantee of 100% success in maintaining the great chain of Jewish tradition. In fact, in my opinion, the challenge and task of today's generation, to somehow remain connected and to retain their values and purpose in life, is far greater than when I was a child. 

Being able to walk together, facing the enormous challenges of modern life, is a rare blessing in our time. It is not merely a matter of education, of finding the right schools and raising children in a positive environment: it is even more importantly the development of familial pride, with its warmth and love that are important and necessary to achieve the goal of generational continuity. 

There is no magic bullet, no one-size-fits-all solution to this type of challenge. There is a famous metaphor attributed to one of the great Eastern European rabbis who said that we are all but ships traversing the sea to arrive at our final destinations. Every ship leaves a wake in its passing to mark where the safe passage exists. However, that wake soon disappears and every ship must make its own way across the sea of life. The same is true about binding the generations together. The attempt to do so must be constant and one should never despair. It can be achieved. 

Shabbat shalom, Rabbi Berel Wein