TIWRA - Truth Is, We Are Accountable

Over 25 years ago I got invited to tea in England.  The invitation came from a professor that I got to know through my involvement in the Jewish community during my junior year abroad.

I was 20 years old and what did I know?  I’m not proud of this, but I’m telling the story to make a point.  I was ambivalent about attending.  By way of rationalizing, I suppose, I assumed he’d invited tons of people, that it would be crowded and no one would miss me.  I didn’t go. 

Turned out, he didn’t invite tons of people and if you understand English teatime you know where this is going.  I found out subsequently that he’d set four places at the table in addition to those for his own family, and one of the four was for me, the American who, according to most of the people I met, was spending the year learning English as a foreign language.  That place was quite noticeably empty. 

When I found that out I felt terrible and called to apologize and he "kept a stiff upper lip" and was most gracious and life went on.  But I never forgot the incident and I’ve tried to be more respectful and careful.

You may have read a recent article in the Style Section of the Times about how people are cancelling appointments last minute by text messaging.  SCUSS.  Something came up, so sorry. . .

The author of article argues that people don’t feel accountable enough to begin with and text messaging or email reinforces a weak feeling of responsibility.  If you’re not able to attend an event that you’ve committed to, he suggests, you should have the guts and the courtesy to pick up the phone. 

Now of course, it’s harder to pick up the phone.  The text or email makes it easier to back out, which is why people use those media.

Judaism is all about accountability – not flaking out when it comes to our obligations and understanding that our actions and inactions have repercussions.

We know this, but every now and then a little reminder doesn’t hurt and I want us to think about this in a variety of realms.

The Torah directly and subtly traces a trajectory that reminds us that we’re accountable.

The classic articulation of lack of accountability is stated by Cain, who asks, השומר אחי אנכי hashomer ahee anochee – often rendered, “am I my brother’s keeper” and understood to mean, "am I accountable for the whereabouts and wellbeing of my brother?"

The answer of course is, yes, and you should have thought of that before you murdered him  There is an element of moral education that the Torah provides, but not in a simple way – it’s subtle, and you have to listen carefully to the way things are phrased, to words that repeat themselves for emphasis.

The lesson that we are accountable to each other, that brothers can’t just abandon each other with impunity, is underscored in what we read this morning.

Imagine yourself sitting around the campfire in ancient Israel, eating some falafel (original recipe) and listening to the story of Joseph and his brothers.

They dislike him על חלומותיו ועל דבריו al halomotav v’al d’varav – because of his dreams, and because of his words – and ultimately they place him in a pit, pull him out of the pit, sell him to a bunch of merchants heading off to Egypt, dip the nice shirt their dad got for him in blood and give the shirt to their father with the message הכר נא haker na  - please examine it – is it your son’s shirt or not?

The brothers seem at least as angry at their father as they are at Joseph. 

Is it OK that they put their father through this torment?  Is it not OK?  How do we know what we are meant to take away from the story?

So you’re sitting around the campfire in ancient Israel and then you hear the next story, about how Judah’s daughter-in-law, Tamar, to whom he promised his third son after the first two died of divine causes, dresses up as a harlot and has relations with him.  He doesn’t know who she is, she knows full well who he is.

She says, “cash or credit?” and he says, “I’ll send you a goat” and she says, “leave your seal and cord as a pledge,” the equivalent of his driver’s license.

Subsequently, when she is pregnant and he tries to indict her for harlotry, she produces the driver’s license and says to him:

Haker Na.  Please examine these.  To whom does the cord and staff belong?

And as you’re sitting around the campfire, swallowing your falafel, you say to the person next to you, “haker na – please examine – where did I hear those words before?”

And you have the connection.  Somehow, you are asked to connect the story of Joseph and the brothers with the story of Judah and Tamar, to suggest that there is accountability on multiple levels – the treachery of the brothers will not go unnoticed, just as Judah’s attempt to shirk his responsibilities will not stand.

Through brilliant layers of narrative artistry incorporating repetition of language, the importance of accountability  - brother to brother, son to father, father-in-law to daughter-in-law, etc – is stressed.

And you begin to understand.  You can’t torment someone and walk away forever.  You can’t ignore a promise you made and walk away forever.

Can’t type SCUSS and hit send.  Something came up so sorry.

Or SSRYWL.  So sorry.  Ruined your whole life.

Clearly, this has always been a problem – we human beings are wired to duck responsibility for our words and actions.

Modern technology is a mixed bag – on the one hand, it’s easier to send messages in an emotionally detached way; trouble is, we often forget that we’re publishing every time we send a text or an email. 

So, for ethical and practical reasons, we need to be careful.

Accountability is not always so natural, but it’s important; otherwise, the fabric that ties us together as civilized people is easily torn to shreds.

But there’s good news here, as well.  We are not simply wired to flake off, leave people hanging or worse, and then send a quick text message to make ourselves feel better.

We are also wired to feel and act upon our sense of accountability to other people.

So the same generation who texts SCUSS and goes to get ice cream, filled a bus a few weeks ago in record time to go down to Long beach to staff a distribution center.

With the support and encouragement of their parents, a group of teens under Danny Mishkin’s leadership went to Long Beach to help distribute necessity items in the aftermath of the storms.

Here are a few practical suggestions for all of us:

1.    If we’re talking to family or close friends, we should say the entire phrase “I love you,” complete with two pronouns.  So often, I hear people saying “love ya!” as they leave one another, and it suggests an unwillingness to be accountable for the significance of the full phrase.  Let’s try to feel accountable enough to recite the entire phrase.

2.    Think twice before you say or do something that will humiliate someone else.   We are arevim, accountable to each other, and should not be debasing each other.

3.    Come to the Hanukkah party tomorrow and support the Youth House Hanukkah carnival that is raising money for still badly needed storm relief.  We are arevim, accountable to each other, and should be supporting each other.

4.    Contribute, if you can, to our Israel Solidarity fund.  We are growing closer to a congregation in Ashkelon – we’ve been there several times.  The rockets have stopped for a while, but the threat remains.  We are arevim, accountable to each other, and should be uplifting each other.

Our tradition continues to say to each of us, הכר נא Haker Na.  Examine closely.  Recognize that how we RSVP matters, how we express love matters, how we choose our words matters, how we support each other matters.

Certainly in the long run, why would we want it any other way?