Rebbe Nachman of Bratslav (1772-1810) once said, “God is present whenever a peace treaty is signed.” This is one of the aphorisms of the great Hasidic leader Nachman of Breslov, a great-grandson of Rabbi Israel Baal Shem Tov (Besht), who is the founder of contemporary Hasidism. Honesty, simplicity, aith, and the desire to become physically and spiritually whole—this is the focus of Rebbe Nachman’s teaching, expressed in his massive Likkute Moharan, a collection of sermons and homilies. He is famous and beloved for his beautiful and fantastic stories of princesses, giants, beggars, and emperors (the Tales of Rabbi Nachman are praised as one of the classics of Jewish literature).
His practical wisdom and powerful words of inspiration attracted simple folk and scholars alike. And so he became “the Rebbe,” the spiritual mentor of numerous followers. He died of tuberculosis at the age of 38, but his influence continues until the present (e.g., Martin Buber was impressed by Nachman’s anecdotes), and the popularity of his enigmatic tales is unbroken.
Some other aphorisms of Nachman of Bratslav:
- A man must lose himself in prayer and entirely forget his own existence.
- Humility, for the sake of approval, is the worst form of arrogance.
- Melody and song lead the heart of man to God.
- Solitude is a great virtue. One should set aside an hour each day to be alone with God.
The Lord said, "The outcry against Sodom and Gomorrah is so great and their sin so grievous that I will go down and see if what they have done is as bad as the outcry that has reached me.”
“Then Abraham approached him and said, Will you sweep away the righteous with the wicked?”
The story of Abraham’s intercession for the sake of Sodom and Gomorrah is well known. We, however, never really get to see Lot’s role in the story. He comes across as a bystander who is quickly evacuated from the “scene of the crime.” Compared to Abraham’s central and courageous role, Lot seems only a secondary asset to the story. Abraham is the hero, and Lot is the bystander. There is, however, much to be learned from Lot. There is much to be learned about peace, about rupture, and about reconciliation.
The Day Before
There is not much in common between Abraham and Lot. Abraham chose the mountains, and Lot chose the valley, like the garden of the Lord. Abraham chose solitude, and Lot chose life among city dwellers: “Abram lived in the land of Canaan, while Lot lived among the cities of the plain and pitched his tents near Sodom” (Genesis 13:12). The text adds: “Now the men of Sodom were wicked and were sinning greatly against the Lord.” We generally tend to admire Abram’s choice, his giving first pick to Lot, but also his relinquishing the fertile valleys as if to preserve himself from the wickedness that there abounded. Yet the text at no point comments on or condemns Lot’s choice.
Moreover, Lot’s choice in no way suggests any assimilation on his part to the wickedness that surrounds him. Indeed, there is also a lot in common between Abram and Lot. There is especially one trait that Abram and Lot share: hospitality. Chapters 18 and 19 offer us two contrasting portraits of the two kinsmen. There is, however, a strange air de famille between the two portraits. The opening scene of chapter 18 features Abram “sitting at the entrance of his tent in the heat of the day.” A very similar situation with a somewhat different atmosphere is found in Chapter 19, where Lot is seen “sitting in the gateway of the city in the evening. The stances are the same: it is a welcoming stance of expectation and openness. Yet, the atmosphere is somewhat graver in Lot’s case. It is evening. The sun has gone down.
It is also interesting to compare the meals that the two men offer their hosts. Abram’s meal is more festive: “a choice tender calf.” Lot’s meal is laden with symbolic meaning: baking bread without yeast.”
There is already in this meal a premonition of what is to come. Bread without yeast is the bread of the fugitive (compare Exodus 12:39). It is as though Lot was already anticipating his flight.
These two contrasting portraits do give us a more somber image of Lot, but in no way suggest any moral superiority on Abram’s part. Abram simply seems happier than Lot. The two men are guided by the same goodness, the same inviting stance for the stranger, and the same generosity.
And yet we continue to be disturbed by Lot’s choice to live among the wicked. Abram still seems to us to be the more righteous of the two. A life separate from wickedness still seems to us morally superior to a life among the wicked. And yet we forget something. We forget that goodness lives not as a recluse. Goodness seeks neither isolation nor withdrawal but spreads everywhere. Otherwise, it is not good. Yes, goodness spreads, even to the wicked plains of Sodom and Gomorrah. A darker sort of goodness, a goodness that is part of a land where the sun does not shine, is still a goodness. And it is this goodness that preserves that land. It is as though the tie that Lot has with the land and with the people of Sodom is life-preserving. The land and the people are wicked, but because of Lot’s presence among them, their wickedness has not overtaken them yet, and they are preserved. Because of Lot, the people of Sodom are not yet completely evil, and their lives are spared. Just as the 36 Just preserve the world, as is narrated in Jewish tradition, Lot preserves Sodom and Gomorrah. This is why Lot’s presence on the wicked plains is so important. Because as long as he is there, wickedness cannot wholly triumph. As long as evil is in relation to good, evil is not wholly evil, and good prevails.
The Flight
But the story doesn’t stop here. The city is so wicked that God has decided to destroy it. There comes a time when good, in order to survive, in order to be itself preserved, must be separated from evil. Or so it would seem. And Lot is told to flee for his life: “Hurry! Take your wife and daughters who are here, or you will be swept away” (Genesis 19:15). Lot obeys, and his life is preserved. Apart from the incident of the pillar of salt, we are dealing with a “happy end.” The righteous are preserved, and the wicked are destroyed. All is well. All is back to order. The way of Abram, of solitude and separation, is once again confirmed as the only way for the righteous.
And yet, there is something disturbing about the rest of the story. Our “happy end” gets somewhat twisted into a pitiful story of slumber and incest, from which are born Moab and Ammon. Up until now, Lot had been associated with an open mind, heart, and home. Now, he seems to close up on himself. The relationship of incest only accentuates this closure. Incest is characteristic of closed societies, where there are no exchanges with the outside. His son Moab will give birth to a nation characterized precisely by its lack of hospitality. One remembers the reaction of the king of Moab when the Israelites requested permission to cross over his territory. This is the point to which the once generous and hospitable Lot, “sitting at the gate,” has come.
Leaving Sodom seems to have had a curiously bad effect on Lot. Instead of his becoming more virtuous, Lot’s separating himself from the plains of wickedness seems only to have exacerbated his downfall. Ever since Lot left Sodom and Gomorrah, things seem to have taken a very bad turn for him. Once hospitable, Lot withdraws into an incestuous relationship whose offspring will be characterized by precisely the lack of hospitality. The separation of the good from the wicked is not at all considered by our text a salutary. Both parties seem to suffer from it. The plains are destroyed, and Lot rots away in the mountains.
The Reconciliation
Reconciliation comes much later. The peace has been broken but will again return when a descendant of Moab binds herself to her mother-in-law. The book of Ruth narrates the resurgence of this “Highest Peace,” one that is not between two homogenous parties but between very different people, between a daughter of Moab and a daughter of Israel. It is this “Highest Peace” that will also pave the way for the Messiah, who will bring peace to earth.
In our quest for a Judeo-Christian dialogue, this “Highest Peace” should be sought after—a “peace between opposites,” a reconciliation that seeks not to kill the other but respects and learns from his difference. The peace between Jews and Christians is the “Highest Peace” in the sense that it preserves them both. The tension between the two communities only reinforces the vitality of each party and makes each one more aware of what is outside of itself and of what transcends it. "Peace between opposites” prevents the two communities from atrophy that comes from isolation and withdrawal to themselves. Only when a community is willing to go for this “Highest Peace” can it become, like Lot and Abram, a host “sitting at the gateway" in an open and welcoming stance for the one seeking solace.
Image: Depiction of the separation of Abraham and Lot. Wenceslaus Hollar. Public Domain