The moment when Moses says to God, “I want to know you. I want to understand you,” is a moment I think many of us can relate to.
Perhaps we have sought an understanding of God, or some divine reassurance, to help us make sense of our lives in ways existential and mundane.
We know, however, that our yearning for understanding and reassurance from God, and more specifically our claim that we have such understanding and reassurance, can lead us, individually and communally, to some pretty dark places.
As tempting as it is to want some divine reassurance about our beliefs and our actions, it's also dangerous. As we well know, we can look to God to help us justify all kinds of things that are problematic, ranging from garden-variety self-righteousness to truly vile behavior.
The Muslim suicide bomber thinks he is acting in Allah's name. The Christian shooter thinks he is acting in Jesus's name. The Jew who shoots scores of worshippers in a mosque thinks he is doing the will of Hashem.
Two major rabbinic leaders have dared to suggest that when it comes to our behavior we should put God second. Don't be quick to invoke God, don't be over-reliant on God's blessing. Just do what you know is right and worry about God later.
In 1920, Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook wrote, “Atheism (heresy) comes as a cry from the depths of pain to redeem man from narrow and alien straights—to raise him up from the darkness of the letters and aphorisms to the light of ideas and feelings until faith finds a place to stand in the center of morality. Atheism has the right of temporary existence because it is needed to digest the filth adhered to faith for the lack of intellect and service.” (Rabbi Steven Greenberg, "Holy Atheism")
Atheism – he is saying – serves a temporary purpose. It clarifies matters initially by separating our actions from the question of God’s will.
First we should do what we know to be right, unencumbered by statements about God’s will.
Faith follows ethics in Kook's definition, not the reverse.
More recently Rabbi Donniel Hartman wrote a book called Putting God Second which presents a similar thesis.
First do what's right. Then worry about God.
Hartman focuses on the famous story where someone who wants to convert to Judaism comes to the sage, Hillel, and demands, teach me the entire Torah while I'm standing on one foot.
Hillel says – What is hateful to you, don't do to your neighbor. The rest is commentary.
Rav Kook and Rabbi Hartman are not suggesting that we forget about God altogether, and neither am I.
But I do believe, with growing intensity, that it would help us enormously to get back to Hillel's humanistic simplicity.
How does it work?
Well as an example. Let's say that I'm involved in legislation and I'm working on a health care plan to benefit the people to whom I am accountable.
According to Hillel's formulation, I should ask the following:
What kind of health care do I want for me and my family?
And then, I should say, let me do everything I can to make sure that such care is available for everyone else and their families.
Hillel's approach can be illuminating when it comes to issues of ethnicity, race and gender.
The way I want to be treated, the freedoms that I want, the pay that I want for the work that I do – that's the way others should be treated, those are the freedoms others should have, that's the pay others should receive for the work they do.
Start with the basic ethical principle – I give, arrange, advocate for others to have that which I think I should have.
Tonight and tomorrow the Temple Israel players will be presenting their annual show.
The show is always terrific and good fun. Even more special, I believe, is the preparation. If you happen to watch a rehearsal, here's what you see:
Older people giving younger people advice. Younger people helping older people onto and off the stage. People supporting each other onstage and offstage.
Someone asked me once – what exactly is Jewish about the Temple Israel players?
Well, for one thing, the cast always does Havdalah together before the Saturday night show and from time to time there are shows or individual songs about specific Jewish themes.
But the Temple Israel Players is a Jewish organization in a far deeper way. When an 8 year old intuitively understands that an 80 year old might need slightly different help today than he or she did yesterday and provides it, I can't think of a more Jewish moment.
And such moments are common for the Temple Israel players, moments when people of all ages, intuitively, are providing for others the way that they would want others to provide for them.
From a sense of what I need, of the world I would want to inhabit, comes a sense of the work that I need to do to ensure that others’ needs are met.
At first blush this may seem selfish. I'm helping you because of what I realize I need, kind of an insurance policy.
But I don't see it that way. Rather, it’s more like, “I use the very real sense of who I am, what I need, what I deserve, to lead me to you.” And when I get to you, it’s with a full heart.
The world I want for myself is the world I should want for you.
Why did the ancient Israelites build a calf-idol?
We might think that they were yearning for a more tangible representation of God. It was frustrating, it was unsatisfactory, to worship a god whom you couldn't see. That's often the way we think about it and that's what I learned when I was a kid.
But the Torah's explanation is a bit more complicated than that. Indeed the Torah records that the people told Aaron to build a god so they could have a god to come and go with them. But the people also said:
כי זה משה האיש אשר העלנו מארץ מצרים לא ידענו מה היה לו
Ki zeh moshe ha'ish asher he'elanu me'eretz miztrayim lo yadanu meh haya lo
This man, Moses, who took us out of Egypt…We don’t know what happened to him. (Exodus 32:1)
They missed Moses the man, the person. They missed the human being who used to care about them.
.
Where was he? Did he still care about them?
The yearning for God was abstract. The yearning for a caring human being whom they knew and trusted was palpable.
With Moses in mind, with Hillel in mind, with the support of modern and contemporary rabbis, with the inspiration of so many within our community, let’s continue to apply the following measure:
Whatever I wish for myself. Whatever I feel I deserve. That’s what I should wish for you. That’s what I should ensure for you. In the halls of our houses of worship and the halls of Congress. Around the board room table and the dinner table. Onstage and offstage.
The rest, including what we say about God, is commentary.
Originally shared with the Temple Israel of Great Neck community on March 18, 2017, Parashat Ki Tissa
Perhaps we have sought an understanding of God, or some divine reassurance, to help us make sense of our lives in ways existential and mundane.
We know, however, that our yearning for understanding and reassurance from God, and more specifically our claim that we have such understanding and reassurance, can lead us, individually and communally, to some pretty dark places.
Temple Israel Players 2017
As tempting as it is to want some divine reassurance about our beliefs and our actions, it's also dangerous. As we well know, we can look to God to help us justify all kinds of things that are problematic, ranging from garden-variety self-righteousness to truly vile behavior.
The Muslim suicide bomber thinks he is acting in Allah's name. The Christian shooter thinks he is acting in Jesus's name. The Jew who shoots scores of worshippers in a mosque thinks he is doing the will of Hashem.
Two major rabbinic leaders have dared to suggest that when it comes to our behavior we should put God second. Don't be quick to invoke God, don't be over-reliant on God's blessing. Just do what you know is right and worry about God later.
In 1920, Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook wrote, “Atheism (heresy) comes as a cry from the depths of pain to redeem man from narrow and alien straights—to raise him up from the darkness of the letters and aphorisms to the light of ideas and feelings until faith finds a place to stand in the center of morality. Atheism has the right of temporary existence because it is needed to digest the filth adhered to faith for the lack of intellect and service.” (Rabbi Steven Greenberg, "Holy Atheism")
Atheism – he is saying – serves a temporary purpose. It clarifies matters initially by separating our actions from the question of God’s will.
First we should do what we know to be right, unencumbered by statements about God’s will.
Faith follows ethics in Kook's definition, not the reverse.
More recently Rabbi Donniel Hartman wrote a book called Putting God Second which presents a similar thesis.
First do what's right. Then worry about God.
Hartman focuses on the famous story where someone who wants to convert to Judaism comes to the sage, Hillel, and demands, teach me the entire Torah while I'm standing on one foot.
Hillel says – What is hateful to you, don't do to your neighbor. The rest is commentary.
Rav Kook and Rabbi Hartman are not suggesting that we forget about God altogether, and neither am I.
But I do believe, with growing intensity, that it would help us enormously to get back to Hillel's humanistic simplicity.
How does it work?
Well as an example. Let's say that I'm involved in legislation and I'm working on a health care plan to benefit the people to whom I am accountable.
According to Hillel's formulation, I should ask the following:
What kind of health care do I want for me and my family?
And then, I should say, let me do everything I can to make sure that such care is available for everyone else and their families.
Hillel's approach can be illuminating when it comes to issues of ethnicity, race and gender.
The way I want to be treated, the freedoms that I want, the pay that I want for the work that I do – that's the way others should be treated, those are the freedoms others should have, that's the pay others should receive for the work they do.
Start with the basic ethical principle – I give, arrange, advocate for others to have that which I think I should have.
Tonight and tomorrow the Temple Israel players will be presenting their annual show.
The show is always terrific and good fun. Even more special, I believe, is the preparation. If you happen to watch a rehearsal, here's what you see:
Older people giving younger people advice. Younger people helping older people onto and off the stage. People supporting each other onstage and offstage.
Someone asked me once – what exactly is Jewish about the Temple Israel players?
Well, for one thing, the cast always does Havdalah together before the Saturday night show and from time to time there are shows or individual songs about specific Jewish themes.
But the Temple Israel Players is a Jewish organization in a far deeper way. When an 8 year old intuitively understands that an 80 year old might need slightly different help today than he or she did yesterday and provides it, I can't think of a more Jewish moment.
And such moments are common for the Temple Israel players, moments when people of all ages, intuitively, are providing for others the way that they would want others to provide for them.
From a sense of what I need, of the world I would want to inhabit, comes a sense of the work that I need to do to ensure that others’ needs are met.
At first blush this may seem selfish. I'm helping you because of what I realize I need, kind of an insurance policy.
But I don't see it that way. Rather, it’s more like, “I use the very real sense of who I am, what I need, what I deserve, to lead me to you.” And when I get to you, it’s with a full heart.
The world I want for myself is the world I should want for you.
Why did the ancient Israelites build a calf-idol?
We might think that they were yearning for a more tangible representation of God. It was frustrating, it was unsatisfactory, to worship a god whom you couldn't see. That's often the way we think about it and that's what I learned when I was a kid.
But the Torah's explanation is a bit more complicated than that. Indeed the Torah records that the people told Aaron to build a god so they could have a god to come and go with them. But the people also said:
כי זה משה האיש אשר העלנו מארץ מצרים לא ידענו מה היה לו
Ki zeh moshe ha'ish asher he'elanu me'eretz miztrayim lo yadanu meh haya lo
This man, Moses, who took us out of Egypt…We don’t know what happened to him. (Exodus 32:1)
They missed Moses the man, the person. They missed the human being who used to care about them.
.
Where was he? Did he still care about them?
The yearning for God was abstract. The yearning for a caring human being whom they knew and trusted was palpable.
With Moses in mind, with Hillel in mind, with the support of modern and contemporary rabbis, with the inspiration of so many within our community, let’s continue to apply the following measure:
Whatever I wish for myself. Whatever I feel I deserve. That’s what I should wish for you. That’s what I should ensure for you. In the halls of our houses of worship and the halls of Congress. Around the board room table and the dinner table. Onstage and offstage.
The rest, including what we say about God, is commentary.
Originally shared with the Temple Israel of Great Neck community on March 18, 2017, Parashat Ki Tissa
No comments:
Post a Comment