When prophecy and morality clash, faith intervenes

Abraham’s journey introduced two fundamental traditions. For nearly 2 000 years, G-d had seemed remote and withdrawn from humanity. Dwelling in the heavens, He rarely conversed directly with people. As humanity fell into moral decline, He responded with severe judgements. Yet, during this period, communication with the divine remained limited.

Abraham revolutionised humanity’s relationship with G-d. Unlike previous generations who had little direct contact with G-d, Abraham not only received multiple prophecies about his future, but also engaged in direct conversations with G-d. He prayed fervently, received oaths and promises from G-d, and even hosted G-d in his humble tent while he recovered from circumcision. Abraham succeeded in transforming a distant, transcendent G-d into an immanent presence, making G-d a tangible, direct part of human experience. Abraham established the tradition of prophecy, confirming that G-d speaks directly to man.

Abraham also established a legacy of moral consciousness. He discerned a moral spirit embedded within nature, and assumed that there must be a moral architect to this grand machine. He recognised that G-d’s will wasn’t present only in the upper cosmos, but also in the moral fabric of life. With this understanding, he shaped his own personality to reflect these values, becoming an agent of moral welfare for others. He ended military conflicts, negotiated peace with enemies, and settled disputes graciously. He liberated his nephew, Lot, from captivity, hosted anonymous travellers, and defended the sinners of Sedom. Every action was driven by ethical standards, establishing a moral tradition of behaviour.

Throughout Abraham’s life, his prophetic conversations with G-d and his moral actions seemed aligned. Prophecy and morality were synchronous. Until they weren’t.

At the end of his life, Abraham received a chilling prophecy to sacrifice his son. Had he not already been convinced of the reliability and authenticity of previous prophecies, he couldn’t possibly have carried out such a command. However, the divine voice he heard was one he had come to recognise, and, as he had done countless times before, he responded with “Hineni” (Here I am), ready to follow G-d’s will without hesitation.

However, this prophetic command directly contradicted his moral principles. It implied that G-d desired human sacrifice, a practice Abraham had long rejected as part of the pagan cultures he renounced. How could he, a father, take the life of his own child? This divine instruction tested the foundation of his moral framework.

As a deeply religious individual, Abraham accepted the prophecy. He recognised that though human morality may clash with divine command, ultimate submission to G-d’s will was essential. Religious faith sometimes requires placing human moral reasoning beneath divine instruction. Human understanding sometimes fails to grasp the full moral reasoning behind G-d’s command, and religious commitment means trusting that divine decisions are inherently moral even when they appear incomprehensible. This is the hallmark of a devout personality, where faith and submission take precedence over personal moral judgement.

Yet, despite his practical submission to divine mandate, Abraham’s approach to the Akeidah (binding of Isaac) wasn’t one of emotional detachment or robotic obedience. Rather, he maintained a deep, personal connection with his son throughout the ordeal. Instead of viewing the act as an impersonal command, Abraham referred to Yitzchak repeatedly as “his son”, never allowing himself to depersonalise his child. While his obedience to G-d was absolute, he refused to sever the natural, instinctive love he felt as a father.

The midrash paints a poignant picture of Abraham’s internal moral struggle during the Akeidah. Despite his willingness to submit, he prayed fervently for G-d to rescind the decree, unable to quell the natural love and sorrow he felt for his son. The midrash further describes Abraham crying tears of a mournful father, even though his heart was overjoyed to obey divine instructions. This emotional complexity reveals the depth of Abraham’s character: he didn’t abandon his human emotions or moral spirit. Believing that prophecy and morality could, in the end, be reconciled, he also acknowledged that such reconciliation was beyond his immediate grasp. Facing this quandary and unwavering in his faith, he submitted to divine expectation while still acknowledging the moral moment.

We stand today, like Abraham, atop the mountain, facing the delicate challenge of reconciling morality and prophecy. After millennia of exile, we have returned to fulfil ancient prophecies in the land granted to us by G-d. We have acted morally both in settling this land and in striving for peace with our neighbours. We have tried repeatedly to avoid war and conflict, yet violence and war have been mercilessly and ceaselessly thrust upon us.

The baseless accusations against us of apartheid and genocide are nothing more than venomous lies, reminiscent of the many falsehoods we have endured for more than two millennia. These pervasive and toxic lies bear no semblance to reality.

Yet independent of this cacophony of lies and libels, we do face our own moral conscience. Unfortunately, our just war has caused the death and suffering of innocents. Sadly, we still aren’t welcomed peacefully into our prophetic homeland by those who also live in this region. Like Abraham, we shouldn’t quiet these questions, but like him, we shouldn’t abandon prophecy simply because we can’t solve the entire moral calculus.

Like Abraham, we know that ultimately, our adherence to prophecy is also a moral crusade. Our return to the land of Israel is part of a divine prophecy meant to bring about a better world, spiritually and materially. Redemption for the Jewish people isn’t just a narrow, parochial aim, but is designed to usher in an improved world for all.

Unfortunately, the world is still broken and unwilling to recognise or accept this prophetic vision. It struggles to comprehend the morality of our return, caught in scepticism and cynicism. See through the confusion. Our presence in Israel is both a spiritual and moral imperative, meant to benefit not just Israel but all of humanity. Don’t abandon prophecy, and don’t abandon moral spirit.

Not only is the world uneasy, certain Jews also remain morally unsettled. Biblical Jews, though not classically observant, still believed in ancient prophecy and our divine right to the land of Israel. They framed our return to Israel within the prophetic promises that guided it. On the other hand, Jews who don’t identify with Biblical prophecy face a more difficult time justifying our presence in this land and our efforts to defend it. Without a prophetic context, the spiritual significance of the return appears more ambiguous, impeding and complicating their understanding of its legitimacy.

Their inability to view our current condition through a prophetic lens also makes antisemitism more bewildering. For a prophetic Jew, the hatred and antisemitism, while tragic and evil, are somewhat comprehensible. As we strive to fulfil ancient prophecies and return to this land, those who oppose G-d’s presence in this world forcefully resist us. Their opposition isn’t just a political stance, but a spiritual conflict, intrinsically tied to the divine plan that they reject.

For those who don’t frame our return in prophetic terms, the disproportionate hatred directed toward us is baffling. Why the double standard? Why the rabid violence? Why are we the only country whose right to exist is challenged in international courts of law?

We remain the children of Abraham. Like him, we blend prophecy and morality. Even when their union isn’t immediately logical.

• Moshe Taragin is a rabbi at Yeshivat Har Etzion/Gush, a hesder yeshiva. He has smicha and a Bachelor of Arts in computer science from Yeshiva University as well as a Master’s degree in English literature from the City University of New York.