Man Of God, Man Of The People: A Tale Of Two Brothers--Korach.17

Man Of God, Man Of The People: A Tale Of Two Brothers

D’var Torah for Parashat Korach

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

June 24, 2017

Since olden times, in trying to make Torah more easily grasped, rabbis, teachers and even artists have attempted to distill its core and craft it into something like a Readers’ Digest version, one that omits the details while yet retaining the essence.

The famous story from the Talmud of Hillel and Shammai, the two leading rabbis of the early 1^st century, is an example.  In this story, a heathen approaches Shammai and asks to be taught the entire Torah while “standing on one foot.” The stricter of the two rabbis, Shammai, repulses the man with a builder’s yardstick.  The heathen then approaches Hillel with the same request.  The gentler Hillel teaches him: “What is hateful unto you do not do to anyone else; that is the entire Torah, the rest is commentary.” That is indeed a pretty good distillation of the Torah’s teaching.

I make no claims upon a shorter, more concise or abbreviated version of the Five Books of Moses.  I do, however, have two images in mind that illustrate what I see as the revolutionary message of the Torah and Judaism.

The first image is that of Moses parting the Red Sea.  In this powerful scene, Moses is instructed by God to lift his staff and extend his hand over the sea. The image has been illustrated countless times.  Retold over and again, it is embedded in our minds, recalling the Exodus, that great moment in our people’s history that crowns Israel’s emergence from slavery to freedom.

Less frequently repeated is another image, one found in this week’s Torah portion, Korach (Numbers 16:1—18:32).  Like his cousins Moses and Aaron, Korach was a Levite.  Disgruntled at being passed over for a position of greater power, Korach leads an armed rebellion.  Though he and his men end up being swallowed up by the earth, Korach’s rebellion is not over. The next day, the Israelites gang up on Moses and Aaron, blaming them for the catastrophe.  Displeased, God causes a plague to break out in the camp, triggering even more death and destruction.

It is at this moment that Moses—Moses, not God—sends Aaron on a mission. “Take your censer, your incense burner, take fire from the altar and go out among the people, for the plague has broken.”  Without a moment’s hesitation, Aaron obeys. He runs out into the conflagration and, standing “between the dead and the living,” holds up high his censer, putting a halt to the plague.

This image of Aaron standing in the midst of the chaos, between life and death, between darkness and light, is one that stands out for me more than almost any other in the Torah.

Moses and Aaron, two brothers, each fulfilling a sacred mission:  Each is grasping in his hand the tool that represents his task.  In Moses’s hand is the shepherd’s staff; Aaron holds the incense burner, symbol of his role as the High Priest.  Moses holds his staff high over the waters of the Red Sea; Aaron holds his censer up for the people to see.  The miracle that each performs is so great that in both cases the Israelites are saved from impending disaster and their faith in God is restored.

The images are similar, and yet the differences between them are telling.

Moses at the Red Sea is an extension of God’s might.  His outstretched arm reminds the people of God’s might.  Though it is a powerful image, it isn’t new to them.  They have seen Moses communing with God; they have seen him descend from Mount Sinai holding the Ten Commandments. More than anyone else before or after him, Moses is the quintessential Man of God.

Aaron, on the other hand, is a man of the people.  He knows the people well. He grew up among them—a slave, not a prince.  He suffered Pharaoh’s cruelty when Moses had run away from it.  Aaron understands the people’s passion, their jealousy, their doubts and their fears. His love for them comes from the common fate and life they shared.  And so, without giving a second thought to the danger he was putting himself in, Aaron runs to his people and plants himself squarely “between the dead and the living,” as though to stem with his own body the raging plague.

That, to me, is the essence of the Torah’s teaching, for it says to me that prayer is not enough. It isn’t enough to simply have faith in God; one must also follow through with acts of courage, loving-kindness and, sometimes, even self-sacrifice.

Moses was a unique, singular human being.  No one else ever saw God’s face or conversed with God as one would with one’s fellow.  But Aaron stands for each one of us.  If Moses is the quintessential Man of God, Aaron is the true model of a Man of the People. 

“Be of the disciples of Aaron,” the rabbis teach us.  And what they mean by this is that we must do more than merely bond in faith with God.  God’s goal for the People of Israel is to be a holy nation, a nation of priests.  And what that means is that we must be there for one another; to tend to our fellow human being; to feel his or her pain; to listen to their plaints; to offer a compassionate heart and a helping hand; to give them hope when hope is lost.

The two images—of Moses holding up his staff and Aaron, his censer—convey the revolutionary message of the Torah: that holiness is as much in God’s hands as it is in ours, and that the one does not exist without the other.

© 2017 by Boaz D. Heilman

The Commencement Speech I Would Have Given: Shavuot 2017

The Commencement Speech I Would Have Given:  Shavuot 5777

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

June 2, 2017

In a mock-commencement speech recently aired on the Stephen Colbert Late Show, comedian Hannibal Buress had some pretty depressing advice.  “Just know,” he said, “it’s statistically impossible for all of you to succeed.  That’s just life.  So good luck, or whatever.”

As humor goes, I’m not sure how great this line is.  Maybe it works better in context of the overall routine.  The Late Show, after all, is comedy, and often it’s very funny. 

And in a way, despite the gloomy send-off, perhaps there’s some wisdom in this advice.  After all, life is tough, and most fields are already crowded with people willing to do just about anything to succeed.  We shouldn’t lose sight of this. 

Still, even for a comedy show, in addressing a group of people who had just spent a fortune in time, money and hard work; who invested a tremendous amount of faith and hope; and who now, diplomas finally in hand, are facing the uncertain prospect of putting their education to practical use, a word of encouragement would probably go a lot farther than a dismissive dose of depressing reality.

The problem is in how we define success and how we go about achieving it.

For some, “success” is synonymous with power and money. It means having all you could possibly want or desire. It means being famous, number one, at the top of your field, with a million followers, surrounded by a fiefdom of yes-men and –women, all eager to satisfy your every whim and wish at a snap of the fingers. 

To achieve this goal, there are some who are willing to do just about anything.  They’ll spend outrageous fortunes to get there.  Some lie and cheat along the way, or take illegal performance-enhancing drugs. Some see nothing wrong with pushing others out of their way so they can stand up front and center, closer to the glare of the media, always in the public eye.

The problem with this system is, we can never have enough.  Whether it’s money, power, or fame, we always seem to want more.  There’s always someone ahead of us, always someone who seems to have more of what we want.

So inevitably, at some point or another, our pursuit turns futile, and we either wake up to this truth or we get crushed by it. 

But there are other standards by which we can measure success, and other, more certain, ways of reaching our goals.

A rabbinic midrash tells that when God wanted to give humanity the Ten Commandments, God searched far and wide for a people who would be willing to accept them.  However, one group after another refused God’s offer, preferring instead to follow more worldly pursuits.  It was only the Jewish People who agreed, sight unseen, to accept God’s commandments and observe them faithfully.

Maybe that accounts for the high success rate among Jews.  Through our Covenant, we have a closer, more immediate relationship with God, with an extra measure of blessing. Just note the number of Jewish Nobel prizes winners, or the number of successful Jewish lawyers, doctors, teachers and businessmen in our country. 

Or perhaps consider for a moment the fact that Judaism is the third oldest extant religion, the third longest—and still-practiced! —way of life in the whole world, just behind the Chinese and Hindus—two groups that together add up to about 50%, half of the world’s population.  Yet the Jews, who account for less than one-quarter of one percent, have managed, against all odds, despite persecution and exile, and even despite the terrible Holocaust of the previous century, to reach the respectable age of 3,600 years old, and still going strong.  Now that’s success!

Many people have wondered at this astonishing statistic.  Some ascribe it to DNA and good genes; some go ahead and call it God’s blessing.  There are others, however, who see more sinister forces behind our success.

But there is really nothing mysterious here.  The truth is that when the Hebrew Nation accepted the Covenant with God, we took upon ourselves more than a religion, more than a set of customs, rituals and beliefs.  We became an eternal people, a community that transcends time and space.  In accepting the Commandments, we became a nation defined by our values: Law, justice, compassion, freedom and hope.

The Jewish People accepted the Ten Commandments on faith, but we did not become blind followers of the law.  Part of our success is due to our having learned to examine the law, to cast aside irrational opinion and ancient prejudice, and instead adapt the law to the times and conditions we live in. 

Once, on a visit to the Yiddish Book Center in Amherst, MA, I was astounded to see a copy of Darwin’s The Origin Of Species, translated into Yiddish.  The Jewish People, while obstinately holding on to our ancient customs and way of life, have always also kept pace with new discoveries and new knowledge.  We explore; we question and inquire; we imagine and we create.  We never stop our quest for truth and knowledge.

The secret of our success is two-fold: It’s in the values we uphold, and in the ways we reach our goals.

The values come down to us through our prayers and through our ancient texts, where we learn what it is that God wants from us: To extend a helpful hand to the needy; to feed the hungry, to heal the sick, to bring light and education to benighted cultures and civilizations.

And we reach these goals by also following the guidelines the Torah teaches us.  There’s no magic there.  Our success isn’t the result of cheating, lying or some other illicit behavior.  Rather, it’s because we do not belittle others or mock them. We do not take advantage of the weak—we help them instead.  Recognizing the Image of God in every human being, we enable everyone to help the community in any way they can. Seeing God’s hand in every living creature, we take care of the world around us and make it better for all.

That is the secret of our people’s success through the past three and a half millennia. 

This, then would be my advice to today’s graduates.  I would tell them that success isn’t only measured by how much money you make or by how many possessions you accumulate.  I would quote the passage from Pirkei Avot, the tractate from the Mishnah that in English we call “The Chapters of the Fathers.”  There we learn:

Who is wise? The one who learns from every person…

Who is brave? The one who controls his or her passions…

Who is rich? The one who appreciates what he has…

Who is honored? The one who honors others…

Measured by these standards, we all actually can succeed.  It isn’t luck, only perseverance.  Stay on the right path, but be willing to make corrections along the way.  Life ahead may yet be uncharted, but using the guidelines our people accepted so long ago will help you navigate through the storms, through the wilderness. 

There is a traditional blessing we say whenever we finish studying a book of the Torah, and today we address these words to all our students, both those who are graduating this year and those who are still on their exciting path of discovery and exploration: Chazak chazak v’nitchazek—“Be strong and of good courage, and we shall all be strengthened together.” 

Congratulations, and may you go from strength to strength.

© 2017 by Boaz D. Heilman