By Marco Del Monte
Reflections inspired by a lesson by Rav Yona Metzger
In Parashat Lech Lecha we witness a surprising episode. A dispute arises between the shepherds of Avraham and those of his nephew Lot, and Avraham makes a drastic decision: “Let there be no strife, please, between me and you... Please separate from me.”
But how is this possible? Why would Avraham, the very man of Chesed, of loving-kindness, who brought people closer to the knowledge of Hashem and who would even go so far as to intercede for the inhabitants of Sodom, decide to send his own nephew away?
Rashi (Bereshit 13:7) explains that Lot’s shepherds, rather than acknowledging that their behaviour was wrong, sought to justify it through seemingly well-founded reasoning. It was not merely a matter of making a mistake, but of turning that error into something legitimate.
This is what psychology defines as rationalisation: constructing seemingly logical explanations to justify behaviours that we do not want to acknowledge as wrong.
This mechanism already appears at the dawn of humanity. When Hashem questions Adam after the sin, he replies: «The woman You put here with me—she gave me fruit from the tree, and I ate it». When Chavvah is questioned in turn, she replies: «The serpent deceived me, and I ate». Both admit the action, but try to shift the responsibility elsewhere. Yet there is an even more dangerous difference: it is one thing to recognise that you have erred while looking for extenuating circumstances; it is quite another to convince yourself that your mistake is actually right. Rav Yona Metzger recounts an episode attributed to Rav Yosef Shlomo Kahaneman, founder of the Ponevezh Yeshivah. During a public debate, two representatives of American Jewish communities both admitted to not observing Shabbat. The first, burdened by work difficulties, replied while blushing with shame; the second declared with disdain that he attached no importance to its observance. Rav Kahaneman explained that, despite the identical response, there was a vast difference between the two: the first recognised his mistake, while the second had turned it into a conviction. The Gemara teaches: «When a person commits a transgression and repeats it, it ends up appearing permissible to them» (Yoma 86b). And further: «He who commits a transgression and is ashamed of it obtains forgiveness for his sins» (Berakhot 12b). But the story of Lot conceals an even deeper lesson. The Torah specifies that Hashem spoke to Avraham again after Lot had separated from him. Rashi observes that as long as Lot remained by his side in that spiritual condition, the divine word withdrew from Avraham. Several Chachamim, recalling a mystical reading, present Lot as a symbol of the Yetzer Hara, the evil inclination. Avraham thus represents the person striving for self-elevation, while Lot portrays that force capable of insinuating itself even into our reasoning, convincing us that what we desire is necessarily right. But why then does Avraham intercede for Sodom and Gomorrah, deeply corrupt cities, while choosing to separate from his own nephew? The difference does not lie in the gravity of the faults, nor in the fact that the inhabitants of Sodom were more deserving than Lot, but in the nature of the relationship. Avraham prays for Sodom so that the presence of any righteous individuals might spare the city from destruction; with Lot, however, he has to deal with a cohabitation that threatens to compromise his own integrity. Praying for someone does not necessarily mean having to live alongside them. And indeed, when Lot is captured, Avraham risks his own life to save him. He had not stopped loving him: he had simply understood that sometimes, in order to continue doing good, one must also know how to keep one's distance. Chesed is not the absence of boundaries. True loving-kindness does not consist in accepting any behaviour, but in knowing how to distinguish between love for a person and approval of their actions. Sometimes, precisely so as not to become accomplices to what we consider wrong, we must learn to set limits without losing the capacity to love. The opposite of Lot's attitude can be found in David HaMelech. When the prophet Nathan rebukes him, David does not construct justifications, but pronounces: «Chatati laHashem, I have sinned before Hashem».
It is from here that Teshuvah begins, the return to Hashem. The Rambam teaches that the recognition of guilt is an essential part of repentance. The Torah does not ask us to be men incapable of falling, but men capable of recognising our own fall. Because as long as we know we have erred, we can correct ourselves. The true danger begins when, instead of looking for the way to get back up, we convince ourselves that we never fell at all.
Shabbat Shalom
Translated from the Italian with Google Gemini. The Italian text is the original.