One of the many powerful narratives in Parshat Vayera is the destruction of Sodom and Gemorrah. You’ve heard of Sodom and Gemorrah - the degenerate ancient metropolises that are utterly annihilated by God through burning sulfur raining from the sky.
Interestingly, if you inverse the fire for water, you’ll see that the cities’ destruction closely parallels the earlier flood narrative. They read similarly.
First, wickedness is endemic to humanity. In the flood narrative, for example, we learn that every single human was corrupt with “every plan devised by the human mind [being] nothing but evil all the time.” In the case of Sodom, Abraham famously bargains with God to save the city if he can find at least 10 good people within it. Yet despite his effort and optimism, it turns out the good can’t even make a minyan.
Then there’s the total deletion of the humans and vegetation in the area. The flood “blots out” all living things on earth while the sulfur rain annihilates all organic material in the Mesopotamian plain.
And finally both narratives share an account of a surviving father and his offspring (Noah and his sons; Lot and his daughters) who commit a terrible sin amid the post-apocalyptic emotional chaos.
It’s almost as if the Sodom and Gemorrah narrative comes to show us that while God vows to not destroy the ENTIRE world again, that won’t stop God from rendering judgement upon SOME of the world and taking appropriate action. Because humans, it turns out, still haven’t learned the lesson of the flood. Not in Sodom’s time, not in ours. No generation is immune from the moral decay that renders creation unstable and worthy of rebuke.
In parshat Vayera, three heavenly messengers depart from Abraham’s home. Abraham, not surprisingly, treated them with dignity befitting a guest. They head to Sodom, where Abraham’s nephew Lot takes them in. He knows how corrupt the city is and assures them it is for their own safety. The text says that the men of the city pursued the messengers, surrounding Lot’s house. They demand that Lot give up the messengers so they can rough them up. When Lot defends his guests, the men of the city mock him as a migrant saying “this guy came here as an alien, and already he acts the ruler to us!” Not only are they thugs - they’re bigoted thugs. Although what generation does NOT go after immigrants and when their power is in jeopardy?
I wonder, though, just who were these guys, these “men of Sodom”? The Hebrew actually refers to them with two names: אַנְשֵׁ֨י הָעִ֜יר אַנְשֵׁ֤י סְדֹם֙. A most faithful translation would say “the men of the city, the men of Sodom.” Linking these two similar designations together, though, the text probably intends to convey all of Sodom’s society, that is, the insignificant people and the influential alike. Turns out station in society doesn’t matter when the mob mentality takes over. Shared hate can be a really helpful glue between disparate people. That too, hasn’t changed.
Ok, so the Torah makes it clear that the whole city was corrupt. As I thought about this, I started to wonder if the “influential people” of the city included the leader of the city. Who was he anyway, and what hand did he play in the corruption and downfall of his city?
To answer that, we have to look back to last week’s parshah.
Torah says that in the days of Abram and his nephew Lot, a great conflict erupted in the Vale of Siddim, a valley near the Jordan River plain. For years, the cities of the plain — including the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah — had lived under the rule of the king of Elam. After thirteen years of tribute, they rebelled. A war ensues, known as the War of the Nine Kings - 5 allied kings against 4 allied kings. Two of those kings belong to Sodom and Gemorrah and they are named by the text: King Bera and King Birsha, respectively.
Bera, the rabbis say, is a name made by combining the words “ben” and “rah” - the son of evil. Berisha, therefore, is a mash up of “ben” and “risha” - the son of wickedness. These two men’s names indicate everything we need to know about them.
In the Talmud (Arachin 17a), the sages note how the demeanor of a people always follows the demeanor of the leader and vice versa, as one rabbi remarked, “The righteousness level of the generation follows the righteousness level of the leader,” while another says: “The level of the leader follows the level of his generation.” They reflect one another.
“But is this always the case?” the rabbis inquire. “Surely we can think of exceptions. Plenty of good people have ruled over scoundrels and plenty of scoundrels have ruled over good people.”
The Gemara clarifies: “What we’re really talking about is harshness and gentleness. One Sage holds that if the leader is harsh, then the generation will be harsh. If the leader is gentle and kind, the generation will be the same. The other Sage holds that if the people of a certain generation are harsh, they will have a harsh leader; if the generation is gentle and kind, the leader will be similar.”
It’s not so much about innate good or bad, the sages teach. It is about the tone. Whether it’s the leader influencing the people or the other way around, the lesson is the importance of creating a moral atmosphere - between leader and constituency and between all members of the citizenry.
The Talmud reminds us that a leader is not only in a position of authority, but their office is a shared reflection of who we are. Whether we’re talking about a king, a president or a mayor, we cannot forget that we are always engaging in an exchange of tone and spirit that shapes the moral temperature of our generation.
Sometimes leaders come along who make us feel hopeful; they champion the needs that have long been suppressed or ignored. Our leaders can also manifest our most base inclinations, inappropriately giving voice to the uglier parts of society. Ultimately, our tradition promotes kindness and inclusivity. Both ends of society, the leader and the people, have a right to ask this of one another.
Enter Abraham, humanity’s new standard-bearer. Abraham’s nephew Lot is the one who echoes Noah’s flaws. Notice how Abraham sets a new tone — not only by becoming the first Jew, but for showing a different way for heroes to engage with society.
Abraham’s narrative demonstrates how he knew when to press and he knew when to observe. He gained the acclaim of the people of the region for being diplomatic, pragmatic, and collaborative. It is important to note though, that even as adept as he was at collaboration and negotiation, he never settles when it comes to staking a claim in what is rightfully his and unapologetically protects his family’s future. That is also of utmost concern to him.
Abraham ultimately cannot save Sodom and Gemorrah. The cities were too entrenched in the old human tropes. What he does do, though, is show us there is another way forward.
So when a leader arises with whom we agree strongly or with whom we have major opposition, we must return to Abraham’s story. We must ask: What is our mission as Jews? What sets us apart? The answer, drawn from Abraham’s life is: We are here to spread kindness, peace, and safety for ourselves and for others.
Like Abraham, we pursue a “good name.” We endeavor to create an atmosphere of confident calm, a willingness to engage, and a commitment to balance our personal needs with the needs of the larger community, never losing the sense that we are just as deserving of protection as others.
Because we are not the children of Bera or Berisha, but the children of Abraham. And we, like Abraham, must pay close attention to what we are worshipping, not being afraid to break out of group-think or the generational norm. Emerson famously said, “A person will worship something, have no doubt about that…That which dominates our imaginations and our thoughts will determine our lives, and our character. Therefore, it behooves us to be careful what we worship, for what we are worshipping, we are becoming.”
If, as Emerson said, we become what we worship, then let us continue to worship the ideals Abraham embodied — hospitality, humility, and justice - for his own family and for others. We need not repeat the mistakes of the generations before us. In doing so, we become not the children of the flood, or the children of Sodom, but the heirs of Abraham’s vision for a kinder, steadier world, promoting that ideal in all cities, near and far.
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