July 26, 2012

The Complete Jew -- Kol Nidre, 9/23/58

Like many rabbis, I’m sure, my father’s summers were focused in large part on preparing for the High Holy Days. For many years Rabbi Sidney Ballon’s summers were ideally suited for this as he acted as chaplain at a Boy Scout Camp in the Catskill Mountains[i], far removed from the daily grind of suburban New York. There, most of each week was devoted to leisurely reading the stack of scholarly books that he had brought with him. Even when he was not sequestered at camp, the summer provided more time for the scholarly pursuits he valued so highly and refers to in the sermon below. 

With so much attention placed on the four big sermons of Rosh Hashanah evening and morning, and Yom Kippur evening (Kol Nidre) and morning, Rabbi Ballon strived to make them his very best. Therefore, it is understandable that of the many hundreds of sermons in his archives a high proportion of those that I feel compelled to share with others were delivered at one of these services. With this posting we begin a string of such sermons that I will offer every other week right through Yom Kippur of this year. This sermon emphasizes two important traditional Jewish values—study and charity—and concludes with a parable that I heard him share on many occasions and that has always meant so much to me that I have shared it with others many times over the years. Evidenced in his use of the parable is a measure of the humility with which Sidney Ballon led his life.  
And now as I conclude may I say that very often after a sermon of a somewhat personal nature as this, there are people who turn to their neighbor and say, "That was good. He certainly gave it to them." The truth is, however, I did not give it to them. I give it to you and I gave it to myself.

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In the traditional prayer book for this most solemn occasion of Yom Kippur Eve, the Kol Nidre service begins with the statement, "In the heavenly court and in the court on Earth with the permission of God and the permission of this congregation, we give leave to pray with transgressors." Our reform prayer book has left these words out, and I wonder if it was not because some editors with a sense of humor thought to themselves, "Who else is there that we can pray with, if not with transgressors?" Judaism believes that only God is perfect, and people being what they are, all fall short of the ideal somewhere along the line. “No man liveth that sinneth not.[ii]” If we were to try to organize for prayer this evening a congregation of Jews without any failings, we surely would not be able to get a minyan[iii] together, and I venture to confess not even a rabbi to lead them.

Judaism tells us that the perfect man does not exist, but this is not to say that we as individuals have a right to take refuge in this thought and thus excuse ourselves for anything that we may do that is short of the ideal. Even as we recognize the inevitability of human failings, we nevertheless, are obligated to reproach ourselves for the failures and to improve ourselves as much as we possibly can. Yom Kippur asks us to make honest confession. Our prayer book, particularly in the passage Al Chet Shechatanu[iv], lists the sins of which frail man may easily find himself guilty. I should like to spend a few minutes with you in this Yom Kippur spirit, but I shall dwell not on Al Chet Shechatanu, on the sins we have committed, but rather Al Hamitzvos[v], on virtues that we have turned away from and should be striving to fulfill.

Several years ago a sociological study of the Jew of the towns of Eastern Europe was published under the title of Life is With People. A comment in this book tells us that "the word Yiddishkeit—Jewishness—carries, as an aura, the veneration of learning, [and] the acceptance of obligation..." Here, indeed, are two characteristic Jewish virtues, which we Jews in modern times ought to be more concerned with. In days gone by, a man's rating as a Jew approximated his rating as a Jewish scholar. A Jew without learning was an incomplete Jew, and if a Jew was not learned himself, he at least had a healthy respect for those who were. Many factors entered into determining the social status of the Jew, but the more removed he was from Jewish learning, the more prost—ordinary—he was considered. Wealth was not despised—our people admired success in business—but the primary value in Jewish life was learning. Highly respected Jews in the world of Eastern Europe were known as Shayneh Yiden—beautiful Jews. When someone said of another, “Er is a shayneh yid,” it was a supreme compliment. It involved a beauty which did not depend on physical appearance, but on inner content. Men of learning were automatically classified as shayneh yiden, if they didn't have a dollar. Men of money might attain the same classification, but then it did not come automatically because they had money. It depended entirely on how the money was used. If a man did not have learning, he at least had to spend his money in accordance with the ideals of the Torah which was the object of learning, and he had to live in accordance with its teaching. Men of learning were treated with derech eretz[vi]. Men of learning were listened to in matters of Jewish content, of community life, or even of politics, and their advice was sought out.

Today I am afraid that some of the same anti-intellectualism that has infected the general community, the same disparagement of eggheads[vii], has to a great extent infected Jewish life as well. We live today in an environment which glorifies the business world, and worships the dollar. To acquire wealth, rather than knowledge, is the ideal toward which we strive and if knowledge is acquired, its value is judged by how much income it will ultimately produce. This attitude, unfortunately, has serious byproducts. It influences our efforts in Jewish education with respect to our children, and it causes us to neglect our own adult Jewish development. We are satisfied today, most of us, with altogether too little in the way of Jewish knowledge for our children, and the smattering of education we do give them must not conflict with the convenience of the mother, the whims of the child, nor with a hundred other outside interests the child is involved in. As for adults, Jewish learning is for the rabbis, and rabbis are impractical people whom everybody asks in amazement, "What was it that made you want to be a rabbi?" And even learning in rabbis is not altogether appreciated in the congregation of today. Although many duties are imposed on the rabbi, few people are concerned whether he has time to fulfill the duty to study, and if he takes the time to do so, he is often considered to be taking advantage of the congregation.

I think it fitting, my friends, to remind ourselves on this night of Yom Kippur that on the scale of Jewish values, a man is measured by his mind and his heart, and not the bulk of his pocket; and one of the virtues of the good Jew is a proper appreciation of intellectual attainment and a proper regard for those positions in Jewish life which implies such attainment.

The other quality of a complete Jew that we previously mentioned was the acceptance of obligation. In the Jewish home of Eastern Europe, as described in Life is With People, there was always a collection of tsedoko[viii] boxes in which at appropriate times coins might be dropped. Some of these boxes survived even in this country and perhaps even within your own memory. In times of joy and times of sorrow, particularly before the lighting of the Sabbath candles—now too often a forgotten art—an offering was placed in these boxes which ultimately found itself used to help the poor, to support the synagogue and yeshivos,[ix] to build the Holy Land. Even the poor who receive charity were, according to the Shulchan Aruch,[x] expected to give to others out of what they received themselves. The Jew was helped to give this tsedoko graciously because he was more conscious in those days of the Jewish philosophy of life. It is a philosophy that teaches us that whatever we have is not ours. We find it in our Union Prayer Book for the Sabbath in the words, "We are but stewards of whatever we possess.... May we never forget that all we have and prize is but lent to us, a trust for which we must render account to Thee." Even the wealthiest is not to be smugly self-satisfied with his own achievements. Material possessions are acquired with the help of God and with the will of God, and still belong to God; and it is our obligation to give back in humbled appreciation at least a portion of what is after all not really ours. This is the Jewish spirit.

Our society today is not geared to the tin box type of tsedoko. Our social organization is much more complex than it was in the towns of Eastern Europe, but the principle endures. It is still our obligation to share humbly for the purpose of helping our fellowman and advancing Jewish causes. The box for the poor has grown into the Federation of Jewish Philanthropies. The box for the Holy Land has grown into the United Jewish Appeal. The box for the synagogues and yeshivos has grown into temple dues and contributions to our national religious institutions such as the Union of American Hebrew Congregations[xi] and the Hebrew Union College.[xii] Of course there are many other community causes that might be mentioned, but how many of us, in this land of wealth, manage to lose ourselves in the crowd? Perhaps we cannot contribute significantly to every appeal that comes our way, but we might very well ask ourselves on this holy night, "Have we assumed our fair share of the burden? Have we approach the ancient biblical prescription for tithing—the giving of one-tenth of one's income back to God? Have we demonstrated to proper degree that we have a social conscience?"

Tonight it is perhaps appropriate to add an extra word about our own synagogue. As you entered this evening your eye undoubtedly caught the display which demonstrates what is being proposed by our architects with regard to the new temple we have been planning for so long. I ask you tonight, my friends, do you really want this temple? Of course, if you are at all interested in serving the Jewish community adequately, you do. Of course, if you are at all concerned about our poor school and teenage facilities and the consequent problems, you do. Of course, if you want a house of worship that will indeed be invested with beauty and sanctity, you do. But you will have to remember that it must take effort and sacrifice, that we must all participate according to our abilities and cannot wait for others to do it for us. Temples are not built by people who abdicate their responsibilities, who are offended when the officers who do their work for them remind them of their obligations. Temples are also difficult to maintain when Jews come to them only when the children are of the right age, or when they are in for a bar mitzvah and out right afterwards. If a congregation is to be here when you "need" it, it has to be maintained at all times. If the religious training you give your child is to be meaningful, you must demonstrate its meaningfulness by your own loyalty before and after the formal education of your child. The sage Hillel, in the Sayings of the Fathers,[xiii] said "Do not withdraw thyself from the congregation.” The good Jew, the complete Jew, heeds very seriously this ancient admonition.

There is yet one more virtue that I want to consider with you this evening, and if I need any excuse for selecting this particular one above all other possibilities, other than the fact that my mood impels me to do so, I can find it also in the Sayings of the Fathers. There we find the words of Shammai,[xiv] "Set a fixed time for the study of Torah, say little and do much, and receive all men with cheerful countenance (1:15)." The first two parts of this statement are in the very same spirit as my previous remarks with regard to the generation of learning and the acceptance of obligation. Set a time for study and do much. What Shammai has linked with this is the very suggestion that I want to leave with you as my final thought for the evening. Thus I but follow the precedent of Shammai, when to my previous admonitions I also add the instruction, "Hevai mikabail es kol ha-adam b’sayver panim yafos —receive all men with a cheerful countenance." This is a very simple thought and a very elementary bit of advice, but how often we act as if we had never heard of it. This is, to be sure, a world full of various pressures and frustrations, and we often, indeed, do not deserve to be too harshly judged if our tempers are short and our words are sharp, but we must have a sense of humor about things and a sense of proportion. How often I meet people with long faces—not long with sorrow, not long with pain, but just long because they have forgotten to smile. Very often if they could manage the smile, the fancied problems which exist between them and another person would vanish with the frown, and the real problems, indeed, would be more easily settled. Did somebody aggravate us? A smile will lessen the aggravation. Did something happen in temple that annoys us? A sense of humor can bring tremendous relief. To walk about with a long face, to snap at people because they do things differently than we might have, to condemn because of human error, to resign and to sulk is not only to go contrary to the advice of our rabbis but to invite ulcers as well.

During the past summer a friend sent me, in jest, a printed card on which was written: “When I do something right, no one remembers. When I do something wrong, no one forgets.” When we are tempted to criticize, let us stop to remember the good of the past. It is not that criticism is bad and must never be offered, but criticism to can be yesurim shel ahava—chastisement of love, and can be offered with a cheerful countenance. The psychologists tell us that when we tear our neighbors down, we do so because of our own sense of insecurity and the effort to build ourselves up. Perhaps we would be less prone to excitement if we could remember always that the way we criticize reveals even more about ourselves than about the person we criticize. If I may be permitted to quote the Sayings of the Fathers yet once again, "Let the honor of thy neighbor be as dear to thee as thine own and suffer not thyself to be easily angered (2:10)."

And now as I conclude may I say that very often after a sermon of a somewhat personal nature as this, there are people who turn to their neighbor and say, "That was good. He certainly gave it to them." The truth is, however, I did not give it to them. I gave it to you and I gave it to myself. The Chassidic rabbi of Sanz[xv] used to say,  
In my youth when I was fired with the love of God, I thought I would convert the whole world to God. But soon I discovered that it would be quite enough to convert the people who live in my town. I tried for a long time, but did not succeed. Then I realized that my program was still too ambitious and I concentrated on the persons in my own household. But I could not convert them either. Finally it dawned on me: I must work on myself, so that I may give true service.
And so in the spirit of the rabbi of Sanz, let us, on this night of forgiveness and confession, not concern ourselves futilely with the faults of our neighbor, let us each—you and I included—begin working upon that inadequate person over whom we do have the greatest influence—our very own selves.





[i] Ten Mile River Boy Scout Camps, Narrowsburg NY, Keowa Division
[ii] From King Solomon's prayer at the dedication of the Temple, 1 Kings 8:46 “If they sin against Thee—for there is no man that sinneth not—and Thou be angry with them, and deliver them to the enemy, so that they carry them away captive unto the land of the enemy, far off or near...."
[iii] A minyan (Hebrew, literally to count) in Judaism refers to the quorum of ten Jewish adults required for certain religious obligations, especially public prayer.
[iv] The central prayer on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement is a confession of sins committed both individually and as a community. Each line of the prayer begins with “Al chet shechatanu, "for the sin which we have committed."
[v] Mitzvos (mitzvot in modern Hebrew) plural of the Hebrew mitzvah, "commandment," refers to a moral deed performed as a religious duty. As such, the term mitzvah has also come to express an act of human kindness.
[vi] Derech eretz (Hebrew, literally "the way of the land”) is broadly translated often as decent, polite, respectful, thoughtful, and civilized behavior, "behaving like a mentsh" (refined human being). In this context it suggests those given respect. 
[vii] The term "egghead," an anti-intellectual epithet, reached its peak currency during the 1950s, when vice-presidential candidate Richard Nixon used it against Democratic Presidential nominee Adlai Stevenson, loser to Dwight D. Eisenhower in 1952 and 1956. 
[viii] Tsedoko (tzedakah or Ṣ'daqah in Modern Hebrew) literally meaning righteousness but commonly used to signify charity. 
[ix] Yeshiva (Hebrew: literally "sitting"; pl. yeshivos, or yeshivot in Modern Hebrew) is a Jewish educational institution that focuses on the study of traditional religious texts, primarily the Talmud and Torah study. 
[x] The Shulchan Aruch (Hebrew, literally: "Set Table") is the most authoritative legal code of Judaism, authored by Yosef Karo in 1563. 
[xi] The Union of American Hebrew Congregations (UAHC),  now named the Union for Reform Judaism (URJ), is an organization which supports Reform Jewish congregations in North America. 
[xii] The Hebrew Union College-Jewish Institute of Religion (also known as HUC, HUC-JIR), with campuses in Cincinnati, New York, Los Angeles and Jerusalem, is the oldest extant Jewish seminary in the Americas and the main seminary for training rabbis, cantors, educators and communal workers in Reform Judaism. 
[xiii] The Sayings of the Fathers, also known as The Ethics of the Fathers or the from the Hebrew Pirkei Avot, literally Chapters of the Fathers is a compilation of the ethical teachings and maxims of the rabbis of the Mishnaic period (c. 10-220 CE). 
[xiv] Shammai (50 BCE–30 CE) was a Jewish scholar of the 1st Century, and an important figure in Judaism's core work of rabbinic literature, the Mishnah. 
[xv] Chaim Halberstam of Sanz (also Tzanz, or Zans), Poland(1793–1876) was a famous Chasidic Rebbe and the founder of the Sanz Hasidic dynasty.

July 8, 2012

Mr. Sputnik -- 10/18/57

It should come as no surprise that my father invariably saw the world through a rabbinical filter (although I was constantly in awe of his constant fixation in this regard). When, on October 4, 1957 the world was dramatically changed by the Soviet Union’s successful launch of the first man-made object to circle the earth in space—Sputnik, most Americans responded to this with fears of Soviet domination, criticisms of American science education, and other political concerns. For Sidney Ballon this was just another occasion to remind his flock of the supremacy of God and moral law above all else, especially above the highest orbit of a satellite hurtling through the heavens.
...the future of mankind depends not on the intercontinental missile or the rocket to the moon, but rather on the weapon mentioned by our rabbis, the weapon of Torah, the force of moral law.

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It was just two weeks ago that Mr. Sputnik[i] made his unexpected appearance and the world passed into a new age, an age in which man may soon see himself freed from the boundaries of this Earth and able to pass into interplanetary space. Of all the achievements of man this is certainly the most fantastic. The scientific age has produced many marvelsthe steam engine and the gasoline engine, the submarine by which we dive beneath the sea, and the planes which span the continents and the oceans in the air, atomic energy with its unlimited possibilities of providing power, but surely the creation of a satellite that flies steadily about the earth miles above us, the intimation that it gives us of soon being able to reach other planets, this is the most astounding, the greatest miracle man has achieved, the nearest we have come to encroaching upon the powers of the divine.

And yet it seems to me that such a momentous event has by no means produced the kind of excitement we might have expected. There was more reaction to Milwaukee winning the World Series[ii] than to the announcement of a man-made satellite running around the earth. It may be perhaps because man is getting rather blasé about his scientific achievements and takes everything in stride regardless of how impressive it may be. Or it may be perhaps because this new development is so overwhelming man is numbed by its magnitude and senses his own littleness in comparison to the power he has found himself capable of unleashing. Surely what reactions we have had to Mr. Sputnik fall short by far in measuring up to the significance of the moment.

The average man probably is conscious mostly of the destructive potential of the satellite and rather than to be worried about it tries either to shut it out of his mind altogether or says, as I heard one man say, “Mr. Sputnik is above us. Let's all have fun."

The politicians are all confused and contradict each other at every moment. The outs find it a convenient opportunity to criticize the defense policies of the ins and the ins say that what has happened will very shortly be surpassed by experiments in America still in preparation.

The scientists had yet another reaction. They are rightly quick to point out how a stupid governmental policy of harassing scientists working for the government can throw our nation back in scientific development and they now stress all the more the necessity of our youth to saturate themselves with scientific study for the sake of future survival. Dr. Elmer Hutchisson, the director of the American Institute of Physics, is quoted in the [New York] Times as having said that the nation’s youth must be taught to appreciate the importance of science or the American way of life is doomed to rapid extinction.

And yet another kind of reaction was quoted in the press as coming from such a man as Will Durrant.[iii] He admitted to not being too excited about the new satellite and said with a philosophical shrug,
I suppose it's something of importance from a national defense point of view. But to a philosopher these physical changes aren't too interesting. People will go on living about the same way as they have before. Food and sex are basic and the most important human goals, whether we live in this world or some other one.
Thus the average man, the politician, the scientist and the philosopher and what each has to contribute to the situation is possibly deserving of some thought, but there is I think a religious reaction to Mr. Sputnik that is far more significant for mankind than any of these.

Abraham Heschel,[iv] whom you have heard of on other occasions, wrote a book on the Sabbath several years ago, but it is amazing how some of his remarks in that book seem to fit the very situation we now speak of. Judaism, he says, is a religion of time aimed at the sanctification of time, and what we do with time, he suggests, is more important than what we do with space. Heschel says, 
Technical civilization is man's conquest of space…. To enhance our power in the world of space is certainly one of our tasks. The danger begins when in gaining power in the realm of space we forfeit all aspirations in the realm of time. There is a realm of time where the goal is not to have but to be, not to own but to give, not to control but to share, not to subdue but to be in accord. Life goes wrong when the control of space becomes our sole concern.

Ralph Waldo Emerson was not the mystic theologian that Professor Heschel is but in a different way he expressed somewhat the same thought also about time. When the first railroad successfully spanned the continent he was asked what he thought of it and he said, "It will certainly help man travel faster, but will it make him better." Mr. Sputnik may be more dramatic than a railroad, but for religion Mr. Sputnik, like the first railroad, merely accentuates the question of, “How is man to handle the power and the knowledge that he acquires?” Speed and distance are exhilarating and desirable but does not life indeed go wrong when the control of space becomes our sole concern?

The question is not a new one brought to our attention only in the modern world of science. The question is one that is as old as man. In the Torah portion of this week the first in the Torah[v] which speaks of the creation of the world, it is already alluded to. We read of the creation of the world and then of the creation of man. Man is then placed in the garden of Eden where life is perfect and there are no problems, but man ignores the command of God and so is driven out of the garden. To prevent his return a revolving sword of flame is placed at the entrance. The writer of the story does not, of course, use the word "utopia," but he nevertheless has written the story to explain the problems of society, the presence of pain and toil and conflict, and in his own unsophisticated way he has suggested that man has deprived himself of the pleasure of living in a utopian society because of his own disobedience of God's law. The rabbis later on, in their own reading and interpretation of this chapter, underscored this meaning. In the Midrash they speak of Adam standing by the entrance to the Garden of Eden and when he noticed a revolving sword guarding it, they say he cried out, "What will save my children from this revolving weapon of flame?" The answer came back to him, they saidthe weapon of Torah. Man's future and man salvation, they thus pointed out in a truth that remains valid, depends not on anything physical or spatial but upon his intelligent use of the weapon of moral law.

The revolving sword of flame is now a revolving satellite moving about the earth, but if we are wondering how to cope with it, the answer is the same now as it was in ancient times. Its challenge is no different than that which man has faced all through the ages. If there is a difference it is only that the challenge is more crucial and more immediate because of the greater power and speeds and distances that man now finds himself involved with, and the energies that he can loose but not necessarily control. And the answer is not in rivalries which produce competition among nations in scientific research, competition in the ability to manipulate great forces and in directing great missiles, but in broader cooperation, in the reduction of national pride, in the realization that the future of mankind depends not on the intercontinental missile or the rocket to the moon, but rather on the weapon mentioned by our rabbis, the weapon of Torah, the force of moral law.

We need not be altogether pessimistic. We are now in the midst of an international geophysical year. The scientists of the world with the blessing of their governments have joined in mutual cooperation to explore the secrets of the universe, to search out new knowledge and are pledged to share what they find. If we can achieve such cooperation in the finding of knowledge why should it not be possible to carry on similar cooperation in the application of this knowledge for the good of humanity and not its hurt? We have been banded in a United Nations where many political problems have been discussed and at least some shooting wars avoided. If only this process can continue until the habit is sufficiently fixed that there shall always be discussion and the shooting become altogether obsolete. The surface signs of cooperation however do exist and we need to exert ourselves earnestly to expand them. Standing as we do on the threshold of amazing new adventures for mankind, it seems hardly likely that anyone will run the risk of ending it all by intentionally calling down destruction.

Let us pray only that we may be spared the effect of unintentional blunders that get out of control. In next week's portion of the Torah there is another story which has bearing on our situation today. In next week's story[vi] we are told of the very first venture of mankind into space. Man united their efforts in order to build themselves a tower which would penetrate into the heavens, and they failed, and God scattered themwe are toldover the face of the earth. But why did they fail? In uniting their efforts and resources surely mankind was doing something worthwhile, something we are desperately trying to achieve today. But we are told man failed because of the motives that were involved. Man wanted to penetrate space in order to get himself a name. It was the spirit of arrogance that move them, and of rebellion against God.

Our penetration of space today is not by means of a tower, but by means of rockets and satellites, yet the same moral applies to us today. If there is arrogance involved in our achievements, then destruction will result and we shall be scattered. Above all, today we need to remain humble in our accomplishments. We must yet remember if Mr. Sputnik is above us, God is also above him and us together. Indeed, the more we venture forth into the unknown, the vaster and the more unknown the rest of the universe becomes and the more humble ought man to be. If we put our triumph over space in proper perspective, and if our achievements make us more conscious of the mystery of the universal and divine law which makes such a thing as a satellite possible and predictable, if this be what Mr. Sputnik will define, then what we do shall possibly be for the benefit of man and his ultimate glory. May it be our will and the will of God that it shall be so.



[i] Sputnik 1 was the first artificial satellite to be put into Earth's orbit. It was launched into an elliptical low Earth orbit by the Soviet Union on 4 October, 1957. The unanticipated announcement of Sputnik 1's success precipitated the Sputnik crisis in the United States and ignited the Space Race, a part of the larger Cold War. The launch ushered in new political, military, technological, and scientific developments. While the Sputnik launch was a single event, it marked the start of the Space Age.
[ii] The 1957 World Series featured the defending champions, the New York Yankees playing against the Milwaukee Braves. The Braves won the Series in seven games. Of the previous ten World Series, the Yankees had participated in eight of them and won seven. This was also the first World Series since 1948 that a team from New York did not win.
[iii] William James Durant (1885 – 1981) was a prolific American writer, historian, and philosopher. He is best known for The Story of Civilization, 11 volumes written in collaboration with his wife Ariel Durant and published between 1935 and 1975. He was earlier noted for The Story of Philosophy, written in 1926, which one observer described as "a groundbreaking work that helped to popularize philosophy."
[iv] Abraham Joshua Heschel (1907 – 1972) was a Polish-born American rabbi and one of the leading Jewish theologians and Jewish philosophers of the 20th century.
[v] Parashat Bereishit, Genesis 1-6:8
[vi] Parashat Noach, Genesis 6:9-11:32 After recounting the familiar story of Noah the weekly portion describes how the earth was repopulated through Noah's three sons. The descendants of Noah remained a single people with a single language for ten generations. They eventually returned to evil ways by uniting in an idolatrous religion that led them to build a “tower with its top in the heavens"—the so-called tower of Babel.