I recently had the pleasure of listening to a recent talk by Dr. David M. Elcott of NYU, organized by Valley Beit Midrash, on the topic of “Faith, Nationalism, and the Future of Liberal Democracy”. Dr. Elcott brilliantly distilled and presented the disconnect many of us are feeling between shared values and the state of democracy, both in the US and Israel. Near the end of the lecture, Dr. Elcott shared his own experience with his family who fled Germany near the start of the Shoah. He notes: “The ones who survived, their house was destroyed with ‘Death to Jews’. The idea that there could be Jews, young Jews, who are going to Arab homes, Palestinian homes, and burning their homes and writing death to Arabs on them. It’s almost impossible to imagine. But as opposed to condemning them, I’ve got Torah to teach, right? I’ve got Torah to teach them instead. And I think that our failure to speak powerfully theologically is a failure on the part of all of us. Jews have been willing to speak against authoritarianism.We’ve been willing to speak against absolutism.” Dr. Elcott went on to summarise the famous story of Avraham aveinu on the doom of Sodom: “Shall the G-d of justice not do justly?” One thing that I love about the VBM lectures is that they always leave time at the end for open discussions and conversation with the attendees who are typically only a few dozen at most, but always enthusiastic about sharing their questions and opinions. When an attendee noted that this was a strong case for tolerance, Dr. Elcott surprisingly pushed back: “I’m not thrilled with tolerance. I like love. I like respect. Meaning, there are things that I’m no longer willing to tolerate. I’m not willing to tolerate anti-semitism or is Islamophobia. I’m not willing to tolerate misogyny. Now, to not tolerate doesn’t necessarily mean I’m going to silence. I’m going to try with love and with respect to be able to engage and say there are other ways to look at this. Let’s let’s it it just just I don’t need to tolerate you know the ugliness but I do need to engage it. So I need to think how can I most effectively engage other human beings always keeping in mind they too are an image of G-d.”

This week’s prayer, a kavanah, is missing in most Ashkenazic siddurim but follows the 16th century kabbalistic Sefardi guidance of R. Hayim Vital who instructed his students that the Ari(z”l), R. Issac Luria, instructed his students to recite this commitment before beginning their prayers. Like Dr. Elcott, it calls on us to love, not tolerate, our neighbors. These words each carry as much weight as they do ambiguity. The Hebrew word used directly, ahavah, is translated in the Septuagint as ἀγαπάω (agapao), recognized in Greek philosophical terms to be benevolent or valuing love in contrast to ἔρως (érōs) erotic / desirous love, φιλία (philía) friendship / civic love, στοργή (storgē) familial/instinctive affection, φιλαυτία (philautía) self-love, or  ξενία (xenía) love of the stranger / hospitality. Modern English love comes through Middle English love from Old English lufu (noun) / lufian (verb), meaning affection, friendliness, desire, or devotion. Neighbor comes from Middle English neighebor / neibore, from Old English neahgebūr, literally “near-dweller.” Indeed, the multiplicity of translations of this verse show how it can mean, or be construed to mean, a wide range of behaviors and circles of responsibility as can be seen in the plethora of translations of this phrase. For me personally, a final challenge arises: upon self reflection, my regard for myself is frequently not high, so does this mean the love I should have for my neighbors should be bounded by my lack of love for myself, or if I exceed it for my neighbors, would that give me encouragement to try to love myself as much as I love others? 

The classic questions around this phrase include: How can we be commanded to feel something? If we’re not commanded to feel, what could love mean? And who are our neighbors? Before we dive into these questions, an additional curiosity stood out to me. Most often in progressive circles the net is cast wide to consider even strangers as neighbors, but while this phrase calls on us to reaffirm our commitment to this mitzvah to Love our neighbors, it does not use the language available just a few verses later where we are commanded to love the stranger as ourselves. Let’s dive in to see what we can learn, and whether to use, tweak or omit it.

I hereby accept the obligation of fulfilling my Creator's mitzvah in the Torah:
Love your neighbor as yourself.

I hereby accept upon myself the positive commandment to love my fellow Jew.