A man sat down next to someone on a train and was very rude to him over the course of the first part of the trip. At one point, a third person boarded the train and addressed the second man as rabbi. The man who had been rude to him apologized. “I’m so sorry, rabbi,” he said. “I had no idea.” The rabbi said, “you don’t owe me an apology at all. However, you do owe an apology to the person you thought I was.”
We come from a tradition that insists that we are to be held accountable for our behavior. The Torah, in Parashat Mishpatim, emphasizes at least three areas of accountability.
We are accountable for the language we use. מדבר שקר תרחק Stay far away from falsehood, we are told. (Exodus 23:7) The Torah also describes how, in situations where two parties disagreed about something, they would each be asked to take an oath which, ideally, would make them feel accountable for their words.
Unfortunately we often feel less accountable than we ought to for the words we use. People write things to others on social media that they would be far less likely to say face to face. We should be held accountable for what we write as well as what we say, even if we are writing in the privacy of our homes or offices.
We should be held accountable for things we said even if it was years ago, even if it was reflective of the spirit of the times. Accountable doesn’t necessarily mean that our reputations should forever be tarnished by what we said. We Jews believe in teshuva, repentance. If we genuinely ask forgiveness from the person that we have wronged and we do our best to make restitution for what we said and we don’t repeat the behavior, we have done teshuva. But that doesn’t mean we are unaccountable. To the contrary, the impetus to do teshuva comes from a sense that we are accountable. That our words and deeds have done damage that we are responsible for trying to repair.
Our words matter. I remember teachers of mine who said things to me and others that raised us up and I remember the words they said that brought us down. And I suspect that many of us remember the impactful things that people said to us over the years.
We are accountable for the damage that our property does in the world.
When someone opens a pit, or digs a pt and does not cover it, and an ox or a donkey fall into it, the one responsible for the pit must make restitution. (Exodus 21:33)
When a person lets livestock loose to graze in someone else’s land, that person must make restitution for the damage done to the other person’s land. (Exodus 22:3)
In our own day, accountability for our property should include being mindful of the ethical boundaries we ought not cross professionally and being aware of the impact that our homes and businesses have on the environment.
Finally, we are accountable for doing that which is right even if the majority is in the wrong.
לא תהיה אחרי רבים לרעות Lo ti’yeh aharei rabim l’ra’ot
You shall not side with the majority to do wrong. (Exodus 23:2)
This is so simple and yet this is a widespread phenomenon. There are so many ways in which larger groups exert influence over us. Peer pressure can be powerful, not only when we are younger, but well into our adult lives. Try to disagree with your family at the Shabbat table when you know that what is being said is unfair or untrue. Try to stand apart from your echo chamber in real life or on social media when you see things differently than most do.
The Torah reminds us that what is wrong is wrong, no matter how many people are saying or doing it.
A few days ago, Deanna and I saw "To Kill a Mockingbird," a play based on the 1960 novel about justice and racism, decency and indecency.
At one point, Atticus Finch, a lawyer who tries unsuccessfully to defend an African American man from false rape charges, says to his children, “A mob is a place where people go to take refuge from their consciences.”
The mob gives the illusion that we are not accountable. "I’m part of a larger force," we tell ourselves, allowing our consciences to atrophy. That larger force can't be wrong.
Yes it can, the Torah teaches us. We are accountable for our words and our actions no matter what everyone around us is saying and doing.
Chris Magyarics, an expert in white supremacy, was speaking recently on a panel in DC and he expressed his opinion that there would be a smaller turnout at the upcoming annual rally than there was last year. Why? Because a number of people who appeared last year (without disguising their identities) lost their jobs as a result.
Sometimes accountability is forced upon us, and that can be a good thing. Of course it’s best if it comes from within so that we regulate our own behavior.
Our tradition is a tradition of accountability going back to Biblical times.
We are to feel accountable for what we say and what we do, for the potential damage we can bring and the potential restoration we can bring.
Toward the end of "To Kill a Mockingbird," Atticus Finch is speaking with his housekeeper, an African American woman named Calpurnia who challenges him regularly to be forthright and accountable.
Thinking of the horrible things that have occurred, of the vile hatred that persists, Atticus quotes to Calpurnia from Psalm 30: “Tears linger at night but joy will come in the morning.”
And Calpurnia says to him, “The morning sure is taking its sweet time.”
That quotation should be familiar to us. We recite Psalm 30 right before we say the mourner’s kaddish. Tears linger at night, but joy will come in the morning.
Sometimes joy is an unexpected gift. But true joy, lasting joy - the joy of tzedek, righteousness, embracing all of humanity - doesn’t just arrive by happenstance. As our tradition from its inception teaches us, it comes through our efforts. It comes when we hold ourselves accountable.
Let’s commit to learning the painstaking lessons of accountability so that we can hasten the arrival of the morning.
We come from a tradition that insists that we are to be held accountable for our behavior. The Torah, in Parashat Mishpatim, emphasizes at least three areas of accountability.
We are accountable for the language we use. מדבר שקר תרחק Stay far away from falsehood, we are told. (Exodus 23:7) The Torah also describes how, in situations where two parties disagreed about something, they would each be asked to take an oath which, ideally, would make them feel accountable for their words.
Unfortunately we often feel less accountable than we ought to for the words we use. People write things to others on social media that they would be far less likely to say face to face. We should be held accountable for what we write as well as what we say, even if we are writing in the privacy of our homes or offices.
We should be held accountable for things we said even if it was years ago, even if it was reflective of the spirit of the times. Accountable doesn’t necessarily mean that our reputations should forever be tarnished by what we said. We Jews believe in teshuva, repentance. If we genuinely ask forgiveness from the person that we have wronged and we do our best to make restitution for what we said and we don’t repeat the behavior, we have done teshuva. But that doesn’t mean we are unaccountable. To the contrary, the impetus to do teshuva comes from a sense that we are accountable. That our words and deeds have done damage that we are responsible for trying to repair.
Our words matter. I remember teachers of mine who said things to me and others that raised us up and I remember the words they said that brought us down. And I suspect that many of us remember the impactful things that people said to us over the years.
We are accountable for the damage that our property does in the world.
When someone opens a pit, or digs a pt and does not cover it, and an ox or a donkey fall into it, the one responsible for the pit must make restitution. (Exodus 21:33)
When a person lets livestock loose to graze in someone else’s land, that person must make restitution for the damage done to the other person’s land. (Exodus 22:3)
In our own day, accountability for our property should include being mindful of the ethical boundaries we ought not cross professionally and being aware of the impact that our homes and businesses have on the environment.
Finally, we are accountable for doing that which is right even if the majority is in the wrong.
לא תהיה אחרי רבים לרעות Lo ti’yeh aharei rabim l’ra’ot
You shall not side with the majority to do wrong. (Exodus 23:2)
This is so simple and yet this is a widespread phenomenon. There are so many ways in which larger groups exert influence over us. Peer pressure can be powerful, not only when we are younger, but well into our adult lives. Try to disagree with your family at the Shabbat table when you know that what is being said is unfair or untrue. Try to stand apart from your echo chamber in real life or on social media when you see things differently than most do.
The Torah reminds us that what is wrong is wrong, no matter how many people are saying or doing it.
A few days ago, Deanna and I saw "To Kill a Mockingbird," a play based on the 1960 novel about justice and racism, decency and indecency.
At one point, Atticus Finch, a lawyer who tries unsuccessfully to defend an African American man from false rape charges, says to his children, “A mob is a place where people go to take refuge from their consciences.”
The mob gives the illusion that we are not accountable. "I’m part of a larger force," we tell ourselves, allowing our consciences to atrophy. That larger force can't be wrong.
Yes it can, the Torah teaches us. We are accountable for our words and our actions no matter what everyone around us is saying and doing.
Chris Magyarics, an expert in white supremacy, was speaking recently on a panel in DC and he expressed his opinion that there would be a smaller turnout at the upcoming annual rally than there was last year. Why? Because a number of people who appeared last year (without disguising their identities) lost their jobs as a result.
Sometimes accountability is forced upon us, and that can be a good thing. Of course it’s best if it comes from within so that we regulate our own behavior.
Our tradition is a tradition of accountability going back to Biblical times.
We are to feel accountable for what we say and what we do, for the potential damage we can bring and the potential restoration we can bring.
Toward the end of "To Kill a Mockingbird," Atticus Finch is speaking with his housekeeper, an African American woman named Calpurnia who challenges him regularly to be forthright and accountable.
Thinking of the horrible things that have occurred, of the vile hatred that persists, Atticus quotes to Calpurnia from Psalm 30: “Tears linger at night but joy will come in the morning.”
And Calpurnia says to him, “The morning sure is taking its sweet time.”
That quotation should be familiar to us. We recite Psalm 30 right before we say the mourner’s kaddish. Tears linger at night, but joy will come in the morning.
Sometimes joy is an unexpected gift. But true joy, lasting joy - the joy of tzedek, righteousness, embracing all of humanity - doesn’t just arrive by happenstance. As our tradition from its inception teaches us, it comes through our efforts. It comes when we hold ourselves accountable.
Let’s commit to learning the painstaking lessons of accountability so that we can hasten the arrival of the morning.
Very well written. IBM's trademark was THINK. We have to do that BEFORE we speak or write.
ReplyDeleteThank you. That's a fine trademark.
ReplyDelete