Binding of Yitzchak

In this sermon, Student Rabbi Dani Zekhry examines the binding of Isaac (the Akedah) to show how true faith must never suspend ethics. Drawing on the Talmudic midrash, Kierkegaard, and Levinas, they argue that seeing the "face of the other" replaces blind obedience with moral responsibility. Listeners will leave with a concrete way to apply this ethic to contemporary conflicts, from football hooliganism to the Israeli‑Palestinian situation, especially during the reflective Shabbat Shuvah.

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What is Kolot: Voices from The Ark Synagogue?

Welcome to Kolot, the podcast of The Ark Synagogue, a bold, experiential and caring Progressive Jewish community in Northwood, London.

Through sermons, reflections and conversations from across our community, Kolot explores Jewish life, learning and values in the world we live in today. Rooted in tradition and open to new perspectives, these episodes bring together voices that inspire thought, connection and belonging.

Whether you are Jewish, exploring Judaism, or simply looking for meaningful reflection, you are warmly welcome.

To learn more about The Ark Synagogue, visit arksynagogue.org.

We are experiencing Shabbat Shuvah, the Shabbat of Return. On this Shabbat between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, our tradition invites us to pause, and to continue looking at our actions and reflecting on the paths we are choosing for the year that is beginning.

After all, more important than the days between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, are the days between Yom Kippur and the next Rosh Hashanah!!

On the morning of Rosh Hashanah, I read with you in the Torah the story of the Akedah, the binding of Yitzchak. It is a narrative that leaves us uncomfortable. And, to be honest, it really ought to bother us. The image of a God who asks a father to sacrifice his own son is an absurd request, and the willingness of this father to obey is deeply disturbing.

We are not the first to feel this discomfort. A long time ago, the ancient rabbis also had immense difficulty dealing with the absurdity of this demand.

The Talmud brings a Midrash (Sanhedrin 89b/Bereshit Rabbah 55:4) recounting that Satan — the voice of provocation — went to God and argued that Avraham had thrown great feasts to celebrate the birth of Yitzchak, but had not offered any sacrifice to Elohim. And, stemming from this provocation, God allegedly tested Avraham.

Therefore, according to the Midrash, the text begins with:

“Vayehi achar hadevarim ha’eleh vehaElohim nissah et Avraham” - “and it came to pass after these words, and the Elohim tested Avraham” (Gênesis 22:1)

these words would be the provoking words of Satan!!

We must have the clarity and humility to recognise that this Midrash does not solve our problem. It does not focus on the tension between fanaticism and ethics. In truth, it merely attempts to justify an absurd request.

Ultimately, this ancient interpretation ends up agreeing with the idea that faith, when taken to the extreme, allows for the suspension of ethics.

Centuries later, the philosopher Søren Kierkegaard (Fear and Trembling, 1843) consolidated this idea, arguing that Avraham’s greatness resided exactly in what he called the “teleological suspension of the ethical”.

In other words, the dangerous idea that, in the name of faith and the absolute duty towards God, moral behaviour could be cast aside. That which we might call blind faith!!

As progressive Jews, we reject this view. We do not believe that ethics can be suspended. The belief that we can ignore the suffering of the other in the name of an ideal, of a religion, or of a higher order is, purely and simply, the seed of all fanaticism.

In clear opposition to Kierkegaard, even if not directly, the Jewish philosopher Emmanuel Levinas teaches that ethics must be above all else, and that ethical behaviour and morality are born the moment we perceive “le visage de l’autre” - “the face of the other”.

So, how should we read this story today?

I invite you to look closely at the exact words of the Torah.

At the beginning of the narrative, God says to Avraham:

“Take your son, your only son, whom you love...” (Gênesis 22:2).

Notice the language. The text speaks of possession. Yitzchak is described as your son. At that moment, Avraham sees the boy almost as an extension of himself, his property, the guarantee of his own continuity and his mission.

But, at the climax of the story, when Avraham is about to commit the act, the voice of the angel interrupts him with a different phrase:

“Do not lay your hand on the boy” (Gênesis 22:12).

The Torah changes from “your son” to “the boy”.

What happened here?

Whilst studying the work of Levinas, I noticed something that he does not mention directly in his texts, but which fits perfectly into his worldview.

When Avraham raises his hand and looks down, he ceases to see “his son”. He ceases to see a possession or an extension of his own religious ego.

Blind faith gives way to the vision of a boy’s face.

He sees an individual, separate from him, who has an autonomous life.

And when we see the face of the other, obvious ethical behaviour imposes itself upon us: the duty not to interfere in the life of the other in any way, much less through violence, whether ritualistic or not.

Ethics does not allow us to violate the existence of anyone whatsoever.

Avraham stops because he recognises the humanity of Yitzchak.

To understand how the suspension of ethics works in practice, we do not need to look very far. Let us think about the history of football supporters here in England, the famous Hooligans.

For decades, we saw people who lived in the same city, who shared the same language and the same culture, attacking and even killing each other in the streets.

Why?

Only because the other person was wearing a shirt of a different colour.

Fanaticism does exactly this. It makes us look at the shirt — be it a team, an ethnicity, or a religion — and use this difference as an excuse to suspend ethics.

The only way for us to break with this violence is to understand that, underneath our team’s shirt, we all ought to be wearing the same shirt: the shirt of human beings.

When we recognise ourselves as part of the same team of humanity, the differences diminish, and the motive to suspend ethics disappears.

Unfortunately, when we look at Israel today, we see the tragedy of groups that insist on wearing only the shirts of their own tribes. Fanatics on both sides opt, daily, for the suspension of ethics in the name of God, of religion, and of the survival only of what is “theirs”.

But there is a majority, of both Israelis and Palestinians, who reject this suspension. A majority who value the existence of the other, who understand that respect for differences and for shared humanity is the only possible path.

In just over 30 days, there will be parliamentary elections in Israel. And, more than a partisan choice, it will be a moment of moral decision.

It is the choice between supporting the politics of the suspension of ethics — which leads to the annulment of the other — or supporting the politics of respect for humanity and for differences.

It is the choice between seeing only our own pain, or having the courage to see the face of the boy, the face of the other.

On this Shabbat Shuvah, may our return be a return to ethics and to moral behaviour, and never to blind faith.

May we know how to look beyond the shirts we wear and be able to see the inalienable humanity in every face that crosses our path.

Shabbat Shalom, G’mar Chatimah Tovah.