By The Power Invested In Us
Shabbat Tzav, March 22, 2019
By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman
They say that you can’t judge a book by its cover. It’s true, and yet the first thing we look at when we buy or borrow a book, is its cover. Along with the title and the author’s name, we notice the colors, the picture and the layout. A dull cover, no matter how glowing the reviews printed on the back, will more often than not cause us to put the book right back on the shelf.
In the same way, our clothes say a lot about us. People often judge us by how we dress. An officer’s uniform, a king’s robe, even those outrageous outfits pop stars like to appear in—these tell us much about the role we play in life.
It’s true, of course, that on the inside, the content may be quite different from the outward appearance. The private individual is rarely as obvious as our public persona. But for the world-at-large, the masks we put on, the clothing we wear, identify, if not who we are, then at least, what we are and the function we hold.
Problems arise, however, when we confuse what we do with who we are; when we offer as merchandise not our craft, but rather our public image; when we allow our popularity to propel us through life, rather than our skills and services. Because when we let our status go to our heads, when we lose sight of our identity and our personal boundaries, then we run the risk of becoming a liability rather than an asset to society.
Endurance and survival depend as much on what we do for one another as on what we do for ourselves.
A few years ago, when the movie “A Beautiful Mind,” based on the life of Nobel laureate John Nash, came out, I was as impressed by the movie itself as I was by Game Theory, the mathematical application of social behavior that won Nash his prize. In his 28-page dissertation, what Nash proved was that success depends not only on one’s own talent and work, but also on the sacrifices made by others. Using math, Nash proved what every sports fan has always known: that if everyone contributes just a little bit, gives up just a little of themselves and their ego, then the entire team is much more likely to be the winner.
If only the Nobel prizes existed in the time of Moses! For that is exactly the theory that Moses spells out in the Torah, and specifically in its third book, Leviticus.
Leviticus lists, in minute detail, the various sacrifices that people can offer. There are sacrifices during war and peace. There’s a sacrifice you can offer when you want to say “I’m sorry;” a sacrifice to show gratitude, and one for when you pray, want or wish for something to happen. But that in itself isn’t what would have won Moses the special prize. Offering sacrifices is as ancient a ritual as humanity itself; nothing new there. Moses’s revolutionary theory, the one that would have won him the Nobel had that exited then, was that we really don’t have to offer God any presents—no food, no wine, and no gold. After all, God can create all those for himself with just a snap of His Divine fingers, just with a simple word: y’hi, “let there be!” God doesn’t need a sumptuous palace; God doesn’t have to wait for us to feed him. Moses’s great teaching is that the gifts we bring to God should rather be used for the public good: to feed the hungry, to heal the sick, to build schools and hospitals, and shelters from the storms of life.
Humanity is better served not by what we do for God, nor even by what we do for ourselves. Humanity is best served by what we do for one another.
I thought of this principle recently as the media reported on several new as well as not-so-new scandals: the ongoing crises of sexual abuse and human trafficking, and of course, the latest: the college admissions scandal.
Hearing about fabulously rich people faking entrance exams, photoshopping pictures, and paying hundreds of thousands of dollars to guarantee that their children be admitted to top-rated schools is yet another reminder of the unfairness of life. Buying an otherwise undeserved spot in our educational system prevents another, possibly more deserving candidate, from what they truly are entitled to. But there’s yet another aspect to this cheating scandal, one that takes us back to Moses’s—and John Nash’s—theory of how best to succeed in life. Rather than giving back, this is all about taking more than you deserve. It’s a power grab, an injustice that verges on idolatry.
Because the colleges that some people are so desperate to have their children attend don’t necessarily offer the best education and training. What they do offer is the best cover. An Ivy-league education supposedly guarantees success. Just as clothes make the man, so does a diploma from a top-rated school impressively tells the world that you are smarter than everyone else and are therefore more worthy of top job choices and selective breeding. It is Social Darwinism at its best, no more than idolatry, a false image that stands in stark negation to everything that we hold as true and valuable.
And that’s why we read, re-read, and strive to live by the lessons of the Torah.
In the first half of this week’s portion, Tzav (“Command,” Leviticus 6:1—8:36), we learn about sacrifices and the manner in which they are to be prepared and offered. The second half, however, focuses on the preparation of the High Priest for his role and office. The priest, we are told, is to be clothed in the splendid robes and crown that had been meticulously prepared for him. Made of the most luxurious and expensive materials, these clothes were woven of the finest linen, intertwined with threads of gold and silver, dyed with the most exclusive dyes available in the ancient world. As such, the priest’s clothes certainly identified him and made him stand out from everyone else.
Entrusted with immense powers, how easy it was for the Priest to let it all go to his head—which it often did. Perhaps that is why the final step in the process, the ritual, that elevated this individual to the highest position among his people, consisted of splattering his fine, luxurious and sumptuous robes with oil and blood.
Nothing like a dash of reality to remind you of what’s really important in life.
The lesson we can take from the Torah’s Ritual of Ordination is that the power entrusted to any leader ultimately isn’t about him or her, but rather about their role and function. It isn’t the accident of birth or status that make a person worthy of disdain or admiration, but rather what he or she gives back to society and the world. What truly defines us in the end isn’t what we take from life, but rather the sacrifices we make.
Royal robes are meaningless if the king uses his powers only to please and gratify himself. Priestly robes—or for that matter, diplomas from Harvard or Princeton—are pointless in themselves. The purpose of a good education is more than just to fill a student’s head with facts and numbers. Rather, it’s about learning to think for oneself; to realize that there is something we can do for others that no one else can; that each of us has a role to play, a gift only we can offer, towards the noble goal of making life better for the entire community.
Ultimately, it isn’t the clothes we wear, or the diplomas that decorate our walls, that matter. Rather, it’s the little acts of charity and humanity that best describe who and what we are.
© 2019 by Boaz D. Heilman
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