The Boat That Wouldn’t Row
by Rabbi Mordechai Rhine
In this week’s Torah portion we read of the Sotah, the unfaithful wife. A husband saw his wife “hanging out” improperly, and he warned her. Now she did it again. She was seen going privately with a man. The Torah outlines a procedure to clarify what happened. A portion of the Torah, including the name of G-d, was dissolved into water, and the potion was given to the woman to drink. If she was guilty, Divine retribution would strike her, and she would die within minutes.
Although the Sotah’s inappropriate behavior could happen for a variety of reasons, our sages alluded to a specific case that caused the tragedy. They speak of a woman who lost her sensibilities as a result of drinking wine. When she drank, her inhibitions left her, and she was willing to go with improper company.
One wonders. The Sotah wasn’t a one time affair. It was a specific case where she acted inappropriately at least once before, causing her husband to issue a warning about her behavior. If she knows that her behavior is caused by drinking wine, how could she continue to drink? With the exception of a full blown alcoholic addiction, which does not seem to be the case discussed by the sages, why wouldn’t this woman refrain from drinking if that causes her compromise?
I once read a story of a boy who loved to row. His parents were afraid to allow him to row on his own. So they made a deal. He could row as much as he wanted to, as long as the boat was tied securely to the dock.
Sometimes in life, a person professes a desire to improve. But even as they try vigorously to move forward, they remain rooted in place because they never really wanted to move forward.
I recall one of my first experiences in Jewish education, when I offered to teach Hebrew Reading in a synagogue. The Director of Education received my offer pleasantly, but informed me that she had no use for such a course. She explained, “We switched our service to English years ago because people didn’t know Hebrew. If enough people learn Hebrew, we might have to switch it back.”
What struck me most is that she made this statement in her office, which was filled with posters promoting Jewish Continuity and Jewish Education. I realized that she didn’t view lack of knowledge as a situation that should be rectified. She viewed lack of knowledge as a tactic by which she could perpetuate her ideals and level of observance.
I once read that in medieval times there were medicine men who administered “Devil’s Brew” to their patients. If they saw that a patient was getting better, but they wanted to remain the hero who kept the patient alive, they would mix a drop of poison with its antidote into the patients food. The potion would wreak havoc on the patient’s system. The patient would appear deathly ill. Then the antidote would start working, and the patient would appear to be recovering. The patient would have good days and bad days, but the main thing was that although the medicine man appeared to be helping the patient, he knew that his potion would ensure that the sick person would remain his patient forever.
I would suggest that the Sotah was well aware that wine was causing her problem. But she would not stop drinking wine, because she was very pleased with the experiences that resulted. Certainly she apologized to her husband for her misbehavior; but she truly enjoyed her misbehavior. She was very pleased to be able to blame it on the wine.
The message of the Sotah speaks to whatever area of improvement we think we should be addressing. We must not just profess to wanting to be cured. We must be strategic. As a community and as individuals, let us do whatever is necessary to ensure success. So, go ahead. Untie the boat, and row, row, row the boat…gently…down the stream…
© 2015 by TEACH613™
Rabbi Rhine,
I like this d’var torah. It brings back memories of when we move to Florida in 1964, with my father taking a new pulpit. As time went on, and more retirees move down, my father’s shul got bigger and bigger. Unfortunately, there were many retirees (60’s and 70’s years of age), who literally could not read Hebrew. Obviously, one reason could be they were probably working on Shabbos in the 1930’s through 1960’s. My father started an adult Hebrew class for these people and however he could do it, he added sheets of Hebrew prayers with transliterations to the siddur.
– Harry
RMR> That is a very meaningful example of “doing his best”.
Thanks for sharing!