Life is full of promises. Some we make to ourselves; some we make to G-d.
The former include those ubiquitous New Year’s resolutions. Regular gym-goers know to avoid health clubs during the month of January, when well-intentioned new members show up in droves. By February, gyms are back to normal. Not fulfilling a pledge to improve your health can of course impact your life, but that is largely your problem.
Promises we make to G-d have higher stakes. Quite often, they involve an exchange: if G-d does this, I will do that. And this type of vow isn’t limited to those who consider themselves “believers.”
Promises we make to G-d have higher stakes. Quite often, they involve an exchange: if G-d does this, I will do that. And this type of vow isn’t limited to those who consider themselves “believers.”
Look around when you are on a plane experiencing severe turbulence, or at a hospital alongside those nervously awaiting test results. Prayers abound. In a 1954 speech, President Eisenhower, a World War II hero, popularized a saying that “there are no atheists in foxholes.”
How many of us have said a prayer asking for G-d’s beneficence in return for doing some future good? The Torah teaches us not to take such vows lightly. “If a householder makes a vow to G-d or takes an oath imposing an obligation on himself, he shall not break his pledge; he must carry out all that has crossed his lips.” (Numbers 30:3)
In many cases, everyone benefits. Jacob, for example, promised that “If G-d is with me and watches over me… and if I return safely to my father’s house …” he would not only live a life of faith, he would also tithe – dedicating a tenth of his wealth to charity. (Genesis 28: 20-22)
But on the negative side, there is the horrific tale of Jephthah. According to the Book of Judges, Jephthah, prior to a battle with the Ammonites, recklessly promised that if the Israelites were victorious, he would, upon his return, offer in sacrifice whatever first came out of the doors of his house. Alas, it turned out to be his daughter. There is much commentary about whether Jephthah went through with his pledge, but I choose to believe that his daughter was spared, electing instead to dedicate her life to serving G-d.
On an infinitely more positive note, I was deeply moved by a story I heard the other day during Shabbat services. The speaker was the father of a bar mitzvah boy who, along with the boy’s mother, spoke touchingly about their son. But what really caught my attention was when the dad described a Birthright Israel trip in which he first encountered his future wife. He was captivated by her, but worried that she was out of his league. So when the group approached the Kotel (the Western Wall), where it is customary to write something on a scrap of paper and slip it between the rocks, he wrote that if he could win this woman over, and be blessed with children, he would raise them to be proud Jews. It was abundantly clear from his son’s impressive job leading the service that morning that he had fulfilled that promise.
What would you ask for and what would you vow in return? That question applies even if you are skeptical about the existence of a higher power. Cambridge University philosopher, Peter Lipton, of blessed memory, argued that one does not need to believe in an all-powerful G-d to believe in the moral value of faith. Religion, he said, provided an ethical compass for believers and non-believers alike. In other words, it makes perfect sense to act as if there is a G-d, whether or not you are all that sure. I have always found his argument to be quite compelling, and not just because he was one of the most beloved friends I have ever had.
With that in mind, imagine the following scenario: you are standing in front of the 2,000-year-old Kotel. You think long and hard before writing a message and placing it in the crevices of the ancient wall. You ask for something, and promise something in return. You walk away feeling closer to G-d, hopeful that your prayers will be answered, and your vows fulfilled.
What would you write?
Morton Schapiro is the former president of Williams College and Northwestern University. His most recent book (with Gary Saul Morson) is “Minds Wide Shut: How the New Fundamentalisms Divide Us.”
