Navigating the Eternal and Temporal in Jewish Practice
First I want to share a word about how I approach Divrei Torah — this practice of writing reflections based on Jewish text, tradition, and history — differently during the week than for Shabbat.
On Shabbat, the emphasis is more on the Eternal: what are the ways that the Divine, as manifest in our sacred text and the ongoing conversation of the Jewish people, seems to be calling out to us for a response? What are the ways of sacred living that our people have landed upon that aspire to bring holiness into the world? How can our practice of being Yisrael, the people who wrestle with God, clarify our understanding of what we are called upon to do in this world?
The emphasis is on the parashah, the Torah portion, or related texts, and how its words might transcend any particular moment in time.
During the week, by contrast, I find myself grappling more with the Temporal: what is happening in the world in this moment in time, right here and right now? What might the long sweep of Jewish history have to say about this moment, and how we should respond to it? How might being part of the Jewish people call on us to engage with the surrounding circumstances, the surrounding debates, and the path of history?
I say this simply to note that there may be times where the writing appears more “political” — that is, relating to current public affairs. That is because to be Jewish — and frankly to be human— means never having the luxury of ignoring politics: too many times in our history, what was going on in the political world had massive reverberations for the quality of Jewish — and human— life. We can’t afford not to engage in, nor to refrain from, “political” debates.
At the same time, we also know that to be Jewish means to be rooted in a sacred heritage that transcends any particular moment in history. The words, rhythms, and rituals of our sacred life, even if they were formulated in particular moments in history, filtered through those historical periods, have been meant to immerse us in the Eternal, the ineffable, yearning to be at One with the Source of All Life.
To be Jewish is often to hold onto these two instincts — towards the Temporal and Eternal — at once. This duality shows up in the difference between my weekly emailed Divrei Torah, which are often more temporally focused, and our Friday night Shabbat Divrei Torah, and Saturday morning Torah discussions, which are often more eternally-focused, though each is always informing the other.
I welcome your participation in these conversations and feedback on this approach.
What follows, therefore, begins with a focus on the temporal.
It has been an absolutely head-spinning three weeks in the ongoing campaign to determine who will be the next President of the United States of America, arguably the single most important and impactful office in the entire world, affecting the lives of Jewish people—and all peoples—all over the world.
The lives and records of the two men campaigning to be President go back decades. Their respective characters and their track records as president — it is the first time since 1892 that the two men campaigning for president have both already been president — peak to how they would serve in the next four years, and the character and record of each should be taken into account, if they are the two people nominated by their respective parties, when we approach the voting booth.
Still, these three weeks were among the most tumultuous in recent political history: first, there was the fallout from the first presidential debate on June 28, which led one party, in differing degrees publicly and privately, to question whether it has the right nominee to lead the party to victory; then, on July 1, a stunning Supreme Court decision gave the other currently-convicted-and-under-further-indictment presidential nominee — and all future presidents — substantial criminal immunity; then, on July 13, in a deplorable, inexplicable act, there was an assassination attempt on the former president’s life; then another stunning ruling, this time from a District Court judge, dismissing charges against this same former president that he criminally held and refused to return classified documents (a decision which will be appealed), and then there was the selection of a 39-year-old to be the vice-presidential nominee on the ticket with the same former president whom that VP nominee once called “America’s Hitler.”
As I say, a head-spinning three weeks. Once again, when I ask myself what Jewish wisdom, Jewish tradition, and Jewish history have to say about how to cope with, and respond to, such a moment in time I’m left with the following: resist despair, cultivate hope, and practice perseverance. I am so proud of the volunteers of Society Hill Synagogue — and all across the country—who understand that the most impactful means of bringing about the change you wish to see in the world is through the ballot box, and who are therefore writing letters to turnout more voters. There are multiple ways to get involved in our community to help make sure more voices are heard in this most consequential election, situated as we are in a most consequential state. I encourage you to join us.
We reject and condemn political violence. We, through the strong fabric of community, support one another and navigate a pathway forward. Chazak chazak v’nitchazek, may we go from strength to strength.
Finally, I want to share the Torah portion we studied last Shabbat, collectively, in our sanctuary with participation from many members of the community, which in some ways highlighted the intersection of these two themes, the eternal and temporal.
We studied the death of Aaron, the High Priest, Moses’ brother, who, like Moses, is told by God he will not make it to the Promised Land, but will instead perish on the journey, because he is grouped in with Moses who struck the rock at to bring forth water, rather than speaking to it, as God had commanded (Numbers 20):
(23) At Mount Hor, on the boundary of the land of Edom, יהוה said to Moses and Aaron, (24) “Let Aaron be gathered to his kin: he is not to enter the land that I have assigned to the Israelite people, because you disobeyed My command about the Waters of Meribah. (25) Take Aaron and his son Eleazar and bring them up on Mount Hor. (26) Strip Aaron of his vestments and put them on his son Eleazar. There Aaron shall be gathered unto the dead.” (27) Moses did as יהוה had commanded. They ascended Mount Hor in the sight of the whole community. (28) Moses stripped Aaron of his vestments and put them on his son Eleazar, and Aaron died there on the summit of the mountain. When Moses and Eleazar came down from the mountain, (29) the whole community knew that Aaron had breathed his last. All the house of Israel bewailed Aaron thirty days.
This depiction of the events of Aaron’s death, and the transition of power from Aaron to his son Eleazar, paints a devastating picture: Aaron being stripped of his priestly garments can, under one read, be conceived as an ignominious last chapter.
On the other hand, a lengthy midrash, a rabbinic understanding of the events passed down through oral tradition, depicts this final act of Aaron’s life much differently:
When Aaron’s time came to depart from this world, the Holy One said to Moses, “Go tell Aaron of his impending death.” So Moses rose early in the morning and went to Aaron. As soon as he called out, “Aaron, my brother,” Aaron came down and asked, “What made you come here so early today?” Moses replied, “during the night I meditated on a matter in Scripture which I found distressing, and so I rose early and came to you.” “What was the matter?” Aaron asked. “I do not remember, but I know it was in the book of Genesis.” “Bring it and we’ll read it.” They took the book of Genesis, read each and every section in it, and said about each of them, “The Holy One wrought well, created well.” But when they came to the creation of Adam, Moses asked, “What is one to say of Adam, who brought death to the world so that I, who prevailed over the ministering angels, and you, who held back death [as depicted in Numbers 17]—are we to have a like end? After all, how many more years do we have to live?” “Not many,” Aaron answered. Moses continued talking until finally he mentioned to him the precise day when death was to come. At that moment, Aaron’s bones felt the imminence of his own demise. So he asked, “is it because of me that you found the matter in scripture so distressing?” Moses answered, “Yes.”
At once Israel noticed that Aaron’s height had diminished, even as Aaron said, “My heart doth writhe within me and the terrors of death are fallen upon me” (Ps 55:5). Moses Asked, “Is dying acceptable to you?” “Yes,” Aaron said. “Then let us go up the mountain,” Moses said. At that, the three — Moses, Aaron, and Eleazar — went up in the sight of all Israel.
When the three of them reached the top of the mount, a cave opened up for them. In it they found a burning lamp and a couch, both wrought by Heaven. Then Aaron proceeded to remove his garments one by one, and Eleazar donned them, until finally a celestial cloud enveloped Aaron’s body.
Moses said to Aaron, “Just think, Aaron, my brother, when Miriam died, you and I attended her. Now that you are about to die, I and Eleazar are attending you. But I—when I die, who will attend me?” The Holy One said to Moses, “As you live! I will attend you.”
Then Moses said to Aaron, “My brother, go up [and lie] on this couch,” and he went up. “Stretch out your arms,” and he stretched them out. “Shut your eyes,” and he shut them. “Close your mouth,” and he closed it. At once, the Presence came down, and as it kissed him, his soul departed. Then, as Moses and Eleazar kissed him on his cheeks, the cloud of glory rose up and covered him. The Holy One commanded them, “Go hence.” The moment they left, the cave was sealed.
As Moses and Eleazar were coming down, all Israel stood waiting apprehensively to see Aaron, because he loved peace and pursued peace. When they realized that while three had gone up, only two had come down, Satan began circulating among Israel, trying to incite all of them against Moses and Eleazar. Israel split into three groups holding differing views: one said, “Moses slew Aaron because he was envious of him”; another, “Eleazar slew him, wishing to inherit the high priesthood”; and the third, “Aaron died by the will of Heaven.”
The people seized Moses and Eleazar, and demanded, “Where is Aaron?” Moses replied, “The Holy One has hidden him away for life in the world-to-come.” The people said, “We do not believe you. It may be that he said something that did not suit you, and you imposed the death penalty on him.” And they were about to stone Moses and Eleazar. What did the Holy One do? He beckoned to some angels, who opened the cave and brought forth Aaron’s bier, which then floated in the air, while other angels intoned praise before it. Thus all Israel saw Aaron, as is said, “All the congregation saw that Aaron was dead” (Num. 20:29). And what did the angels intone? “He entereth into peace, as he resteth on his couch” (Isa. 57:2). (Yalkut Shimoni Hukkat 764).
There is so much we can say about this astounding text — and did in the course of our discussion Saturday morning, which you are always welcome to attend — but in brief we can note the difference in the portrayal of Aaron’s death and his passing of the torch to his son.
What, in one light, was an act of humiliation and shame, in another was an act of dignity and grace. We don’t all have the blessing — if you want to call it that — of knowing that our time is nigh, but in viewing the trajectory of Aaron’s response to his impending death—first shrinking and fear (“The terror of death is fallen upon me); then equanimity (“yes, dying is acceptable to me”); then a gift (taking off his own priestly garments and having his son “don” them) — we encounter a beautiful human response to mortality. Not superhuman transcendance; it took Aaron time to accept the reality of what was to come. Totally understandable. But then he managed to model for us the cultivation of a sense of peace in relationship to what we all must go through: the path of life and death.
Our tradition holds space for us to navigate these questions — aging, leadership transition, life, and death. I invite you to explore the meaning you make from these texts. If you have any thoughts, about this or anything else, don’t hesitate to email me.
