Sermon: Hineini – Student Rabbi Nathan Godleman

Written by Writings & Sermons by others — 1 October 2016

He stood a foot taller than me, bare-chested, a long beard shaped into thick strands swept backwards, gold metallic trousers that stopped above the ankles and bare footed, a long knife in his hand, and a faraway look on his ancient face. Yet it was a familiar face and I was pleased to see him, especially in that place and on that day.

It was Avraham avinu, Abraham our father, and he was standing on a plinth in Liverpool’s beautiful Catholic cathedral, forever looking out into the nave, a ram caught in a thicket at his feet, and it was the day before Rosh ha Shanah. I hadn’t expected to be taken to the cathedral by the chairman of Southport Reform Synagogue and his wife within minutes of arriving at the station. I was even more surprised that the next stop on our impromptu tour of Liverpool was the gentlemen’s toilet of a particularly ornate Victorian pub in theatre land. Then it was on to the seaside beyond the docks, and a hundred life-size figures dotted along the beach, each identical and modelled on the form of artist Anthony Gormley. Nitsavim ha yom, lifney ha yam! Forever stood looking out over the Irish Sea. There was a lot more to Liverpool than this southerner had expected and I was obviously in the company of attentive, and slightly eccentric, hosts, which was all right by me!

There is a certain Hebrew word that we associate more than any other with our ancestor. In fact, in English it is a phrase, and he seems to use it quite a bit. When we meet him in Bereishit, he is still known as ‘Avram’. He hears the call of a being that we assume he understood as God, and he answers ‘hineini’, ‘here I am’. God tells him to ‘go forth’, lech lecha, which he does, immediately, leaving home and land behind him. ‘Hineini’, has become Abraham’s badge of courage, emblematic of perfect faith and trust in God; an example to us all, perhaps.

Many events occur in the lives of Abraham and his wife Sarah before we come to the Akedah, the binding and near sacrifice of Isaac, the son of their old age. Through all of these events, Abraham’s faith remains constant and he is never likely to answer with anything other than ‘hineini’ when called upon, to the point where he is known in the tradition as ‘God’s friend’ (Isaiah 41:8). There is much to admire in this and to take pride in. Yet, we would probably stop short of calling him heroic. Biblical figures are not heroes in any conventional sense; they are too human for that, too flawed, they make mistakes. Part of the enduring relevance of these stories is that we can see ourselves in them and relate to the patriarchs and matriarchs in our own lives. They are like us. They are us.

Abraham may be the most flawed and the scene on Mount Moriah the least edifying in the entire family saga. It is a problematic episode for many a rabbi and many a lay person, too. It doesn’t help that it follows in the wake of the banishment of Hagar and her son, Ishmael, sent into the wilderness at the instigation of Sarah, but by the hand of Abraham. With one son left to the mercy of God, he methodically prepares to sacrifice the other. If we accept the biblical narrative that Abraham is being tested, how can we equate this with a God who is omniscient and will know the outcome already? If the test is for Abraham’s benefit, what does he learn from it? In terms of Isaac, he never speaks to him again. Many of us will believe that Abraham fails the test, because he should have answered not with ‘hineini’ but with ‘lo’, ‘no’. He had already argued for the righteous to be spared in Sodom and Gomorrah, so why not for his beloved son?

These are well-worn paths in sermons and commentaries. However, perhaps a little more could be said about that word ‘hineini, ‘here I am’. It occurs three times in the story. On each occasion, Abraham is responding to someone different. At first, it is God who calls out ‘Avraham! Avraham! This is when he receives his instructions and sets about them unquestioningly. The second time is in answer to his son, who meekly asks his father what the animal to be sacrificed is. ‘God will provide the sacrifice, my son,’ he is then told. (Or, ‘God will provide the sacrifice – my son.’) Finally it is an angel, a messenger of God, who calls out urgently ‘Avraham! Avraham!’ at the moment that Abraham is about to slaughter Isaac. The same word, but did ‘hineini’ mean the same thing each time?

If hineini means ‘here I am’, was Abraham fully present, emotionally or spiritually, in every instance? The answer seems to be an emphatic ‘no’. He is present to God, or at least appears to be, in that he answers, listens carefully and obeys exactly. Yet, how can he be present to his son, the intended victim of an act that is allegedly ordained by God? He seems to be almost sleepwalking up the side of the mountain, going through the physical acts and not connecting emotionally at all. He replies to Isaac’s question, chillingly, but he has erected a barrier between them. They are not really ‘yachdav’, together. Abraham’s trance-like state is only broken by the cry of the angel, at which point he seems to become aware once again, but his relationship with Isaac is forever broken. We have witnessed Abraham the fundamentalist, and there is an obvious, if uncomfortable, parallel to be drawn with certain other knife-wielding men, convinced that they are doing God’s will, numb to the suffering they cause in acts of the utmost barbarity. And how can they, how could Abraham, be truly present to God, when totally absent to other human beings?

These are, thank goodness, extreme examples. However, not being present to others is a problem we all face, sometimes in very mundane ways. For example, my late mother always became very frustrated when a particular granddaughter visited her, as she was constantly distracted by her mobile phone, talking to or texting others, planning for later. She was not fully ‘there’ in the moment. Channel hopping or checking social media while supposedly conversing with our partners after work is another example. A former work colleague of many years’ standing always seemed to be halfway out the door, mentally if not physically, and it affected our relationship. Trying to speak to someone who is half absent is not easy!

Maybe this is modern life; the result of technological innovation and over-busy work schedules. However, it contrasts sharply with a story I once heard about Rabbi Hugo Gryn, of whom it was said that he gave every person he spoke to his absolute attention, and they felt it and appreciated it. Martin Buber, the great German Jewish theologian, learnt the lesson the hard way. Visited by a man in his study one day, Buber continued with his mystical wanderings as the other spoke. His mind was elsewhere and he was not really listening and certainly not feeling the other’s pain, which must have been great, as the man is said to have taken his own life shortly afterwards.

There is a lesson for us in all this. I don’t think that anyone in synagogue today is likely to be a religious fundamentalist, (Please correct me if I am wrong!) but the danger of not being fully present to others is one we all risk. We may even have lost touch with ourselves to some extent, who we are and where we are meant to be. If so we need a wake up call, a shofar blast, because life is short, as we realise more and more with the passing years.

Thankfully, there is the penitential period to help us, with the time and space to reflect upon our lives and to set about change. Being fully present to ourselves, to others and to God, in that order, I think, and with each a part of a greater whole, might well be a fitting aim, worth considering today on Shabbat Nitsavim, where we stand on the verge of the High Holy Days; days which offer an opportunity, uncomfortable though it may be, to stand before a mirror and examine ourselves.

What are the potential benefits? A deepening of our relationships with those we love; greater openness to and awareness of those around us, who may look to us for friendship or need our help; and more than anything, an increase in the quality of time we have before us. The quantity of time we have is outside of our control, but not the quality, if we decide to fully live in the moment and are able to declare in each interaction with others, and really mean it, ‘hineini’, ‘here I am’.