The final section of Parashat Vayeira tells the famous story of "akeidat Yitzchak," Avraham's preparedness to kill his son, Yitzchak, in fulfillment of God's command. Targum Yonatan Ben Uziel (on 22:9) brings a fascinating Midrash regarding the altar Avraham erects in preparation to slaughter his son. Targum Yonatan tells that on this site, which later became the site of Beit Ha-mikdash (see Divrei Hayamim II 3:1), Adam Ha-rishon had constructed an altar upon which he offered sacrifices to God, but it was destroyed by the flood. After the flood, Noach constructed an altar and offered sacrifices on this same spot, but it was later destroyed by the Dor Ha-palaga – the generation of the dispersion, who built the Tower of Bavel. Avraham now rebuilt this altar to perform the akeida.

This image, of Avraham rebuilding the ruins of the Dor Ha-palaga, may very well reflect the entire nature of the mission for which he was chosen. Many commentators, including Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch, have noted the contrasting parallel between the goal of the Dor Ha-palaga – "we shall make for ourselves a name" (11:4) – and Avraham's frequent "calling out in the Name of God" (12:8, 13:4, 21:32). The builders of the tower sought to glorify the name of mankind, to assert their authority over both earth and heaven. As Rashi (11:1) cites from the Midrash, they declared war, as it were, on the Almighty, attempting to take control over His dominion, the heavens. They were out to prove that man can succeed without God, and can even overpower God. Avraham, by contrast, set out to glorify the Name of the Almighty. His message was that we are here to serve God, not ourselves. In this sense, then, Avraham rebuilt the altar that the Dor Ha-palaga had destroyed. They rejected the notion of sacrificing to God as a symbolic act of humble submission to His authority. Avraham devoted his life to rebuilding this fundamental religious ideal of "calling out in the Name of God," the belief in a God who controls our lives and determines our fate.

In addition, this Midrash also alludes to a conceptual connection between Migdal Bavel and the Beit Ha-mikdash. The illustration of the Dor Ha-palaga destroying the altar standing on Mount Moriah, the future site of the Temple, perhaps points to the fact that the generation of the Tower sought to destroy the fundamental message of the Beit Ha-mikdash. As Menachem Leibtag has developed at length (see http://tanach.org/breishit/lech.txt), the Beit Ha-mikdash's primary function relates to this theme of "the Name of God." In the second half of Sefer Devarim, the Torah repeatedly refers to the Mikdash as "ha-makom asher yivchar Hashem le-shakein Shemo sham" – the place God chooses for His Name to dwell. (For example, see Devarim 12:5,11,21; 16:2.) Similarly, in Sefer Shemuel II (7:13), God has the prophet inform David that his son will build a building "li-shmi" – "for My Name." (See also Divrei Hayamim I, chapter 22.) The construction of a huge building in the middle of a major city to glorify the Name of God marks the reversal of the trend initiated by the builders of Migdal Bavel, who wished to build a huge metropolis and enormous tower to celebrate human achievement. The process of correcting this flaw began with Avraham Avinu, who called in the Name of God, and continued through the building of the Beit Ha-mikdash – the house dedicated to glorifying the Name of God.

This, perhaps, is the underlying message of the Midrash cited in Targum Yonatan. The Dor Ha-palaga destroyed the altar, the concept of submission to and the service of God. Avraham began the effort of rebuilding that altar, a process that would reach its apex with the construction of the Beit Ha-mikdash on that very site.

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Parashat Vayera tells of God's command to Avraham to offer his son Yitzchak as a sacrifice, and Avraham's preparedness to comply with this command. Just as Avraham lifted the knife to slaughter his son, an angel calls out to him, "Do not raise your hand against the boy or do anything to him, for now I know that you fear God, since you have not withheld your son, your favored one, from Me" (22:12).

The obvious question arises, why only "now" does God know that Avraham fears Him? This is problematic for two reasons. Firstly, we should assume that Avraham feared God even before he withstood this particular trial of the akeida. Secondly, on the philosophical level, even if we can identify a unique dimension of "yirat Hashem" (fear of God) that Avraham displays by preparing to kill his beloved son, did not God know of this even prior to the akeida? Abrabanel formulates this question in philosophical terms, commenting that were it possible for God to lack knowledge of certain information and later acquire that knowledge, this would mean, by definition, that God's knowledge can undergo a change. Now since God and His knowledge are one and the same (a concept developed at length by the Rambam), any change in His knowledge necessitates the possibility of a change of His essence. Such a possibility, that God's essence can undergo a change, clearly violates the fundamental belief in the absolute Oneness of the Creator. Necessarily, then, God has absolute knowledge of everything, including future events. How, then, can God tell Avraham that only now has He become aware of his extraordinary level of "yirat Hashem"?

We will begin with the second of these two questions. The vast majority of the classic commentators, including Rashi, Rashbam, Rabbenu Sa'adya Gaon, Chizkuni, Rambam (Moreh Nevukhim 3:24) and Ramban, resolve this difficulty by reinterpreting the word "yadati" ("I know") to mean "hodati" – "I have made known." The test of the akeida served to prove to the rest of the world why God singled out Avraham and established a unique covenant and relationship with him. Thus, it is not the Almighty who now knows of Avraham's extraordinary fear of God, but rather the rest of the world (and, as Rashi adds, the Satan). This also appears to be the approach taken by Chazal in several Midrashic sources (Bereishit Rabba 56, Tanchuma Yashan – Vayera 46). Abarbanel, however, dismisses this answer with the simple argument that if the Torah meant "hodati," it should have employed this term, rather than the misleading word "yadati."

Abarbanel thus proposes two other approaches. First, he suggests that "ata" ("now") does not necessarily refer to the present to the exclusion of the past. In this context, it means "even now," before the future. God here tells Avraham that he need not follow through with the slaughtering of his son, for He is aware of Avraham's unwavering fear of God – to the extent that he would sacrifice his son – even without the actual execution of this command. We should thus read the verse as, "for already now I know that you fear God."

Abarbanel then suggests an entirely different explanation, one which appears in Seforno's commentary, as well. These writers claim that it is not God who is speaking here, but rather His angel. As we mentioned earlier, this entire declaration comes from the mouth of the angel who appeared to Avraham, rather than God Himself. Most commentators assume, though, that the angel simply delivers the word of God, and we should therefore read this verse as if God Himself is the speaker. Indeed, we can, at first glance, prove this point from the verse's final clause: "since you have not withheld your son, your favored one, from Me." Obviously, "Me" refers to the Almighty, not the angel, and thus it seems that we have no choice but to read this declaration as a direct citation from God, rather than the angel's own words. Abarbanel and Seforno, however, suggest a novel reading of this verse, whereby the word "mimeni" ("from me") actually means "more than me." The angel tells Avraham that now, after seeing Avraham's extraordinary loyalty to God's command, he understands that Avraham exceeds him – the angel – in fear of God. This follows the principle established in the Gemara, "The righteoare greater than the ministering angels" (Sanhedrin 93a). It is unclear, however, why specifically this act would demonstrate Avraham's superiority over the angels. This approach must also explain why the angel found it necessary to make this statement to Avraham, and why the Torah found this remark significant enough to record.

The other question concerning this verse, as to why only now Avraham's fear of God becomes manifest, will occupy us in tomorrow's edition of S.A.L.T.

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Yesterday, we discussed the verse towards the end of Parashat Vayera recording the command conveyed to Avraham not to follow through on God's original command that he slaughter his son Yitzchak. An angel appears to Avraham and cries, "Do not raise your hand against the boy or do anything to him, for now I know that you fear God, since you have not withheld your son, your favored one, from Me" (22:12). In yesterday's discussion, we addressed the philosophical problem with this verse's implication that God now knows something that He hadn't known earlier. Today, we will deal with a second difficulty in this verse: why only now has it become clear that Avraham "fears God"? Was this not obvious from his character and loyalty to God throughout his life?

The Vilna Gaon, as cited in "Kol Eliyahu," explains that Avaham demonstrated his "fear of God" by preparing to sacrifice his son specifically because it entailed an act of cruelty. Throughout his life, Avraham excelled in the area of compassion, sensitivity and kindness. But while these qualities undoubtedly earned him respect and admiration, they did not necessarily prove his fear of God. Some people perhaps assumed that Avraham was benevolent and sensitive by nature. He acted kindly not due to his devotion to God, but rather because of his innate character. It was therefore necessary for Avraham to display his preparedness to act cruelly in the service of God, to prove that his benevolent character stemmed not only from his nature, but rather primarily from his commitment to God's law.

The Netziv suggests a different explanation. He begins by posing a fundamental question many scholars have raised concerning this "test" of akeidat Yitzchak. Assuredly, Avraham believed that God could kill Yitzchak just as easily as Avraham could. Therefore, once God ordered that Yitzchak be killed, Avraham presumably understood that if he would not kill him, God Himself would. Why, then, does Avraham earn such acclaim for his readiness to comply with God's command, given that Yitzchak's death was certain to occur in any event? The Netziv suggests that the test involved not Avraham's preparedness to commit the act of killing Yitzchak, but rather his overall response and attitude to such a command. When a king orders a commoner to perform some irrational act, such as killing his son, the commoner would immediately comply without delay or protest. His fear of the king's power and authority would override all the pain and bewilderment involved, and he would obey the order almost instinctively. By contrast, a high-ranking dignitary who has established a close relationship with the king would certainly question such an order at very least, if not firmly object. This analogy, the Netziv writes, helps explain the nature of this test of the akeida. Now that Avraham has entered into a close covenant with God and become a high-ranking comrade, so-to-speak, of the King of kings, it was necessary for him to demonstrate that he still approaches the divine command as a commoner responds to a royal edict. Although he has reached the level of "ahava" – of love and communion with the Almighty, he nevertheless has not forgotten his status as a lowly peasant in relation to Him. This is how we must read the verse: through the akeida, Avraham has demonstrated that he still relates to God with fear and dread, despite the unique relationship of love that has been established between them.

Rav Aryeh Leib Baron, in his "Netzach Yaakov," suggests a different approach. Chazal comment in several places that Avraham (as well as Yitzchak and Yaakov) observed all the mitzvot of the Torah, despite the fact that God gave the Torah to Benei Yisrael only many years later. (See, for example, Rashi to Bereishit 26:5). How did Avraham know the mitzvot, if the Torah had yet to be transmitted? Some have explained that Avraham had reached the level of spiritual intuition that he figured out all of Torah law on his own. He did not need to be taught the mitzvot, because he understood them intuitively through his advanced spiritual insight and keen knowledge of the divine will. If so, Rav Baron suggests, then we can perhaps explain the unique dimension of "fear of God" that Avraham displayed at the akeida. Until this point, Avraham observed the commandments on the basis of his own understanding and insight. Now, for the first time, he receives a command from God that runs diametrically opposed to all the principles Avraham had determined over the course of his quest to grasp the will of God. Akeidat Yitzchak, therefore, marks the first instance where Avraham observes a divine command out of pure "fear of God" – for no reason other than the simple fact that God ordained it. Previously, his mitzva observance resulted from his intuitive thinking and reasoning. He therefore had to set the example of absolute and unconditional obedience to God's word, the willingness to comply irrespective of one's comprehension of the underlying reasoning behind the given mitzva.

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The opening section of Parashat Vayera tells the famous story of Avraham's hospitality to three angels who arrived at his tent disguised as nomads. We read that Avraham fed them butter, milk and beef (18:8). Several sources comment on the halakhic propriety of this meal, which consisted of both milk and meat. One Midrash (Midrash Tehillim, 8) remarks that Avraham indeed fed his guests meat with milk, in violation of Torah law. Since the prohibition against eating milk with meat applies only to Jews, Avraham had no reason to avoid feeding such a combination to these guests. Other sources, however, claim that Avraham served this meal in accordance with Halakha, and therefore made a point of bringing the butter and milk before the meat. The Sefer Ha-pardes, for example, cites this verse as a Biblical allusion to the permissibility of eating meat after dairy foods (provided that one washes his hands and "cleans" his mouth – by eating bread or the like – before eating the meat).

But other Acharonim raise another halakhic issue concerning this meal, namely, the propriety of serving milk at all. Although milk is obviously permitted for consumption according to Halakha, it may have been forbidden prior to Matan Torah. The Gemara in Masekhet Bekhorot (6b) cites several verses from the Torah that establish the permissibility of drinking milk. Were it not for these verses, standard rules of Halakha would have forbidden the consumption of milk. The Gemara there records a debate as to why milk would have been forbidden if not for these verses. According to one view, milk is to be perceived as a derivative of the cow's blood, and thus the prohibition against consuming blood would naturally forbid the consumption of milk, as well. The other view sees milk as a natural product of the animal's body and should have been forbidden under the prohibition of "eiver min ha-chai" – eating a limb taken from a live animal. Since milk is extracted from a live cow, the prohibition of "eiver min ha-chai" would proscribe drinking milk, if not for the verses cited by the Gemara.

The practical difference between these two views is the status of milk before Matan Torah. According to the first view, which perceives milk as a derivative of the cow's blood, the theoretical prohibition against drinking milk arose only once the prohibition against consuming blood was established – namely, at the time of Matan Torah. Therefore, according to this view, milk was certainly permissible before Matan Torah, since there was no prohibition against drinking blood. The second position, however, that milk should theoretically be prohibited because of "eiver min ha-chai" – which is included among the seven Noachide Laws incumbent upon all peoples even before Matan Torah. Thus, before Matan Torah, milk should have seemingly been forbidden for consumption. (After Matan Torah, when milk became permissible for Benei Yisrael, it likewise became permissible for gentiles, as well, by virtue of the principle that nothing permissible to Am Yisrael can be prohibited to gentiles.) How, then, did Avraham feed his guests milk?

Rav Yosef Engel (cited in "Tiferet Le-Yosef") and the Chatam Sofer (responsa, Y.D. 73) write that this would appear to prove that Avraham (and the other two patriarchs) had the halakhic status of Jews, even though Matan Torah had yet to occur. (The author of the Mishneh Le-melekh wrote a work entitled, "Parashat Derakhim" devoted entirely to this issue, of whether the patriarchs had the formal status of Jews.) Therefore, the rules of the Torah, including the permissibility of drinking milk, already applied to Avraham.

But why would this allow Avraham to feed milk and dairy products to his guests, whom he thought to be nomads (as opposed to angels)? After all, only he had the status of a Yisrael, and was thus permitted to drink milk. They, however, were still bound by the pre-Matan Torah rules, which, as we explained, prohibited the consumption of milk. Doesn't Halakha forbid assisting others in committing a transgression – a prohibition known as "lifnei iver"? Rav Yosef Engel suggests two explanations. Firstly, the poskim cite a view from the work "Emunat Shemuel" that the prohibition of "lifnei iver" applies only when the person rendering the assistance is included in the given transgression. In this instance, Avraham helped his guests drink milk – which was forbidden only for them, and thus he did not violate the prohibition of "lifnei iver." As Rav Yosef Engel acknowledges, however, even according to the view of "Emunat Shemuel," Halakha would still forbid assisting one to commit a transgression in such a case by virtue of a separate prohibition ("mesayei'a li-dvar aveira"). He therefore suggests a different explanation, which is adopted by the Chatam Sofer, as well. They explain that once Avraham Avinu assumed the status of a Jew, and was thus allowed to drink milk, milk became permitted to everyone else, as well. As we parenthetically noted earlier, there is a halakhic principle that determines that anything permissible to Benei Yisrael cannot be forbidden to gentiles ("mi ika midi de-le-Yisrael shari u-le-ben Noach assur"). These Acharonim suggest that this principle took effect the moment Avraham took on the status of a Yisrael. At that point, Halakha could not recognize any activity forbidden to others but permitted for him. Therefore, once Avraham was allowed to drink milk, this became permissible for all other people, as well.

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Parashat Vayera tells of Avraham's decision to settle in the city of Gerar, where his wife, Sara, is abducted and taken to the city's king, Avimelekh. God appears to Avimelekh in a dream and warns him, "You are to die because of the woman that you have taken, for she is a married woman" (20:3). God thus orders him, "Now, restore the man's wife for he is a prophet, and he will pray on your behalf that you may live" (20:7).

The Gemara and many later commentators have noted the difficulty in this verse, where God instructs Avimelekh to return Sara to Avraham "for he is a prophet." This seemingly implies that were Avraham to have been a man of lower stature, Avimelekh would not have to return his wife. At first glance, we might explain this verse as a continuation of God's initial warning to the king: "You are to die because of the woman that you have taken." God informs Avimelekh that he can atone for his abduction of Sara and thereby escape death through the intervention of Avraham, the "prophet." It is in his best interest, therefore, to promptly return Sara to Avraham so that he will pray on the king's behalf and spare him the punishment of death.

The Gemara (Bava Kama 92a), however, explains differently. The phrase, "for he is a prophet" does not explain why Avimelekh must "restore the man's wife," but rather responds to Avimelekh's attempt at justifying his abduction based on Sara's having identified herself as Avraham's sister, rather than wife. God responds, "for he is a prophet" – Avraham has already taught by example the proper way of dealing with strangers and extending hospitality to newcomers. But the people of Gerar, rather than learning from Avraham's example, greeted Avraham and Sara not by offering accommodations, but rather by asking if Sara was available for marriage, with the possible intention of killing her husband if she were married. Avraham was therefore correct in posing as Sara's brother, and Avimelekh and his kingdom are thus to blame for the sequence of events that transpired. According to the Gemara, then, "for he is a prophet" is not the reason why Avimelekh must return Sara, but rather affirms his guilt for what happened, despite his having been deceived into thinking that Sara was Avraham's sister.

Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch notes that according to the Gemara's interpretation of this verse, God found it necessary to clarify Avimelekh's guilt after ordering him to return Sara to Avraham. Immediately after instructing, "Restore the man's wife," God must address Avimelekh's attempted justification for his conduct and insist on Avimelekh's guilt. At first glance, this seems strange. Certainly, Avimelekh must return Sara regardless of his guilt. Even if one was to accept Avimelekh's plea of innocence, once he discovers Sara's true identity he unquestionably must return her to Avraham. Why, then, does God affirm Avimelekh's guilt when ordering him to return Sara?

Rav Hirsch explains that the Gemara apparently interpreted the phrase, "Restore the man's wife" as requiring more than Sara's physical return to Avraham. It implies reconciliation and apology, including the acceptance of guilt. Rav Hirsch speculates that the Gemara arrived at this interpretation from the term "eishet ha-ish" – "the man's wife." Rather than instructing Avimelekh to return "the woman," God emphasizes the infringement upon Avraham's honor for which Avimelekh must apologize and make amends. God must therefore substantiate this instruction by explaining why Avimelekh bears responsibility for what happened.

Rav Yaakov Mecklenberg, in his "Ha-ketav Ve-ha-kabbala," likewise claims that "Restore the man's wife" entails more than simply returning Sara. He contends that this meaning of the verse stems from the word "hashev" (translated in our citation as "restore"). This term, Rav Mecklenberg claims, at times denotes tranquillity and calm, as in the verse, "You shall be saved with stillness and quiet" ("Be-SHUVA va-nachat tivashe'un" – Yeshayahu 30:15). In our context, then, "hashev" refers to pacification and reconciliation. God here instructs Avimelekh not merely to return Sara, but to appease her and seek her forgiveness.

It should be noted that while both Rav Hirsch and Rav Mecklenberg explain that this phrase refers to appeasement and reconciliation, beyond Sara's physical return to her husband, their approaches differ in terms of to whom Avimelekh must make amends. According to Rav Hirsch's interpretation, Avimelekh must conciliate with Avraham, whereas Rav Mecklenberg speaks of Avimelekh's appeasement with Sara. In truth, from the ensuing verses, which tell of Avimelekh's compliance with God's command, it appears that he attempts to make amends with both Avraham and Sara. After returning Sara, Avimelekh says to Avraham, "Here, my land is before you; settle wherever you please" (20:15). In the next verse, he turns to Sara: "And to Sara he said, 'I herewith give your brother a thousand pieces of silver; this will serve as vindication before all who are with you… '" Avimelekh clearly appears to seek the forgiveness of both Avraham and Sara, perhaps indicating that God's instruction included reconciliation with them both.

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Parashat Vayera tells of the visit by three angels in the tent of Avraham, after which they proceeded to the city of Sedom, where they would rescue Avraham's nephew, Lot, before destroying the sinful city. The Torah describes the angels' departure from Avraham's home as follows: "The men arose from there and 'gazed upon' Sedom." This phrase – "va-yashkifu" ("gazed upon") – is somewhat unusual and caught the attention of several commentators. What does it mean that the angels "gazed upon" the city of Sedom upon their departure from Avraham's home?

Ibn Ezra, consistent with his general preference for the simple, straightforward reading of the text, translates the phrase as, "set their sights upon Sedom." Quite simply, this verse means that the angels left Avraham and began making their way towards Sedom.

Others, however, ascribe deeper meaning and significance to this term. Rav Shimshon Refael Hirsch claims that this verb – "sh.k.f." – denotes looking down upon the depths from a higher altitude. The more familiar word "mashkof," for example, means the lintel of a doorframe, which sits perched up high as if looking down upon the ground (see Shemot 12:7). Likewise, the Torah in Sefer Devarim (26:15) presents the text recited after one completes the process of tithing his agricultural produce, which concludes with the prayer, "Look down ['hashkifa'] from Your holy abode, from heaven, and bless Your people Israel and the soil You have given us." Here, too, the term "hashkifa" describes looking down from a position of height. In our context, Rav Hirsch writes, we should interpret "va-yashkifu" to mean that the angels left Avraham's home and "looked down to the plains of Sedom with criticizing gauging consideration." After experiencing firsthand Avraham's legendary hospitality and generosity, they looked downward upon the corruption and selfishness of Sedom with harsh condemnation. (Seforno and Malbim likewise explain this verse as underscoring the stark contrast the angels sensed as they left Avraham's home and headed towards Sedom.)

We should note that Rav Hirsch's approach can be traced to a much earlier source – the Midrash Ha-chefetz (cited in Torah Sheleima), which comments on this phrase, "from a high place," meaning, "va-yashkifu" denotes looking upon something from up high. Of course, as anyone familiar with the geography and topography of the land knows, this interpretation of the word "va-yashkifu" does not require us to explain that the angels looked upon Sedom with condemnation. After all, they had just left Avraham's home in Elonei Mamrei (18:1), which is situated in Chevron (13:18), a city that lies on the tip of the Judean mountain range. Sedom was located in the Dead Sea region in the Jordan River Valley. The angels thus looked down upon Sedom in the simple, topographical sense, as they made their way from the heights of the Judean Hills to the deep valley of Sedom.

Rashi, in his commentary to this verse, appears to adopt a different interpretation of the word "va-yashkifu." He writes that throughout Scripture this verb refers to looking upon something for purposes of bringing calamity upon it. The one exception, Rashi notes, is the aforementioned verse in Sefer Devarim when the farmer asks the Almighty to "look down from Your holy abode" to bless the people and land of Israel. Rashi explains that generosity to the poor has the effect of transforming God's judgment into compassion; hence, after distributing the required tithes, the farmer asks that God act kindly to us even when we might otherwise be deserving of "hashkifa" – harsh judgment and calamity. In any event, in our verse, the word "va-yashkifu" refers to the angels' preparation to destroy the city of Sedom.

Could the verb "sh.k.f." possibly relate to the word "mashkof" – lentil – even according to Rashi's understanding? The Maharal of Prague, in his "Gur Aryeh," claims that according to Rashi, a lentil is called a "mashkof" because the door slams against it as it closes. Since "sh.k.f." denotes punishment and calamity, it is used to describe the frame that the door strikes when it is shut.

Rav Chaim Hirschenson, in his "Nimukei Rashi," raises an interesting question concerning Rashi's comments to this verse. Why does Rashi find it necessary to comment in this context on the exceptional usage of the term "hashkifa" in Sefer Devarim? What matters to the reader regarding this verse in Parashat Vayera is the standard meaning of the term, as denoting punishment. The fact that in Sefer Devarim the Torah employs the term differently should concern us only when we arrive at that verse, and thus Rashi should have, seemingly, reserved his explanation of its usage there for his commentary to Sefer Devarim.

Rav Hirschenson answers that Rashi included in his commentary to this verse his explanation of the word "hashkifa" because it bears relevance to the current context, as well. Recall that according to Rashi, the farmer beseeches God with this term, which normally refers to anger and punishment, because after having distributed his tithes to the needy, he has the power to transform God's judgment into compassion. By mentioning this explanation here, Rashi alludes to the fact that Sedom, too, could have escaped punishment by showing sensitivity to the poor and underprivileged. The people of Sedom were notorious for their selfish refusal to offer assistance to those in need, such as guests, as evidenced by their anger over Lot's hospitality in this parasha. (See also Yechezkel 16:49.) Had they acted with compassion and generosity, they could have transformed the divine wrath – represented by the word "va-yashkifu" – into divine mercy.

In this context, Rav Hirschenson briefly makes a very bold assertion regarding the relative prosperity of American Jewry during his time (early 20^th-century). He claimed that God blessed the Jews in America with peace and prosperity despite their widespread neglect of Shabbat because of their extensive and generous involvement in charitable causes. By showing sensitivity to those in need, he claimed, the Jews in his time managed to escape divine wrath and earn God's protection and blessing.

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In the middle of Parashat Vayera, we read the disturbing narrative of the illicit relationships between Lot and his two daughters. After witnessing and surviving the destruction of their home city, Sedom, Lot's daughters fear that the entire earth – not just their city – had been overthrown, and only they and their father have survived. (This is how virtually all commentators understand this account; see Radak to 19:31 for a different explanation.) In order to ensure the continuity of human life on earth, Lot's daughters intoxicate their father and engage in relations with him. Indeed, each becomes pregnant with a son.

Chazal's complex assessment of this incident can be easily seen from two adjacent Talmudic passages in Masekhet Bava Kama (38b). The first contrasts the two names given to these sons of Lot's daughters – "Moav" and "Ben Ami." The Gemara considers the elder daughter's choice of a name for her son – "Moav" – an expression of brazenness and immodesty, as it makes explicit reference to her father ("av" – father), who also fathered this child. As punishment for her publicizing this act, God later grants Benei Yisrael permission to initiate hostilities against the nation of Moav. This appears to denounce the actions of Lot's daughters and deem it something worthy of concealment. Thereafter, however, the Gemara lauds their actions, claiming that the elder daughter, who acted first, was rewarded by having her descendant (Rut, who was from the nation of Moav) marry into Am Yisrael several generations before the descendants of her sister. (Na'ama, from the nation of Amon, married King Shlomo, a full four generations after Rut married Boaz.)

At first glance, one might simply explain that Chazal found the action itself praiseworthy, and criticized only the public expression the older daughter gave to this incident. The Midrash in "Aggadat Bereishit" (25), however, gives us a different perspective. Midrash comments, "Had the Almighty judged [Lot's daughters] in accordance with their actions, they would have deserved to be burnt. But the Almighty judged only in accordance with the thoughts they entertained." Meaning, according to their misconception, that they represented the only hope for human survival, they acted correctly and are even to be commended for this otherwise loathsome conduct. Practically, of course, their actions are to be condemned in the strongest of terms.

What lesson are we to extract from this incident?

One possibility is developed by Rav Herschel Shachtar, in an article written for the TorahWeb Foundation (www.torahweb.org/torah/2003/parsha/rsch_vayera.html). Halakha indeed recognizes the need in very few and extreme situations to knowingly violate the Torah. Most famously, of course, the concern for human life ("piku'ach nefesh") overrides virtually all laws in the Torah. Less commonly known is the halakha codified in the Shulchan Arukh (O.C. 306:14) permitting Shabbat desecration to save a Jewish child who was taken to be raised in a non-Jewish home. Indeed, had God killed all of mankind and spared only Lot and his daughters, the situation would have mandated the drastic measure of incest in order to populate the earth. The mistake of Lot's daughters, however, teaches that one must exercise extreme caution before concluding that he is "saving the world" and must therefore take drastic action. Situations often arise where the importance of a given goal or ideal leads an individual to justify bending certain rules or lowering his standards of acceptable behavior. At times, such measures are appropriate and even necessary. But the story of Lot's daughters serves as an example of how such a decision sometimes results from an exaggerated sense of urgency or disproportionately high stakes ascribed to the given situation. Important work is not always tantamount to "saving the world," and thus it does not always permit us to lower our standards on its behalf.

Thus, while under certain circumstances the ends may indeed justify the means, a very careful assessment must be made of the gravity of the given "end" (as well as the severity of the given "means". For as the incident of Lot and his daughters proves, not always is the situation quite as urgent as it might appear.