What a time to be revisiting our Torah discussion from this past Shabbat, as we do each week.
And yet in some ways I think turning to the eternal rhythms of our weekly torah portion, that anchor in our week that steadies us in the most tumultuous of times, is an invigorating exercise, one which says to us that no matter the vicissitudes of the world around us—the turbulence, the uncertainty—we have a text which speaks to the eternal nature of existence: chayeii olam natah betocheinu. “Thank you Adonai,” we say after a Torah reading has been chanted, “shenatan lanu torah emet—for giving us a Torah of truth—v’chayeii olam natah betocheinu—for planting eternal life in our midst.” Or to put it another way, as a folk proverb concisely does, “they tried to bury us; they didn’t know we were seeds.”
So what did this eternal document, our Torah, say this week? Well it was parashat shemot, the first portion of the book of Exodus, and in arguably the most momentous episode in the entire Torah, we find Moses tending the flock of his father-in-law Jethro in the wilderness. And behold he encounters a bush that is all aflame yet is not consumed. From there God speaks to Moses. “Moses, Moses,” God calls. And Moses answers, “Here I am.”
A remarkable back-and-forth ensues with Moses resisting God’s exhortation that Moses go to Pharaoh to free the Israelites.
We’re left to marvel at Moses’ diffidence. Could it be that Moses wouldn’t want to take up the mantle of leadership? That he wouldn’t want to serve as spokesperson for Adonai?
A midrash (rabbinic explication) holds that in fact this was not the case. “Can you suppose Moses held back because he did not wish to go?” teaches Midrash Tanchuma Shemot 27 “Not at all,” it says.
Rather, Moses was considering an additional interest. “Moses held back,” it teaches, “only out of respect for Aaron.” It turns out that a verse in the Tanakh (Jewish Bible) alludes to the fact that Aaron had already been prophesying to Israel in Egypt for eighty years before Moses came on the scene. Moses’ purported reluctance, the midrash teaches, is based on his desire to extend kavod, honor and grace, to his brother Aaron while facilitating the passing of the torch.
God relents. “Very well,” God appears to say. “You, Moses, shall speak to Aaron and put the words in his mouth—I will be with you and with him as you speak, and tell both of you what to do—and he shall speak for you to the people. Thus he shall serve as your spokesman, with you playing the role of God to him” (Exodus 4:15-16).
And, lo and behold, it works. Whereas other sibling relationships in the Torah had completely broken down, to put it mildly—think Cain and Abel, Isaac and Ishmael, Jacob and Esau, Joseph and all of his brothers—Aaron and Moses had a loving brotherly relationship, as it says in a connected verse, “Aaron was setting out to see Moses, and when he saw him he would be glad in his heart.” (Exodus 4:14).
About them, the midrash teaches, the famous words of Psalm 133 speak: Hineh ma tov u’mah na’im shevet achim gam yachad—How good and sweet it is when brothers dwell together.
Leadership transitions are never easy. I know I struggle to balance the needs of everyone involved when such handoffs take place. But the one playing out in Washington right now is deplorable. A new low, with a president stoking fear and violence on his way out the door.
Let us instead take note of this depiction of our forebears who handled their transition with dignity and grace. May we learn from their noble examples.
