March 6th: Ki Tisa
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
Last week, we asked questions about the effectiveness of “speaking out” against oppression and wondered what other strategies may be more helpful. We also considered the ways that status and connections can affect such speaking out. We had two references. One is Purim in which a well-connected Mordecai and an even better-connected Queen Esther use their positions to help their people. The second is the well-known poem by Pastor Martin Niemoller:
“First they came for the Communists, and I did not speak out
Because I was not a Communist…”
The implicit message of the poem is that, had he “spoken out,” Pastor Niemoller could have stopped the Nazis, but I wonder about this. Whereas Mordecai and Esther had the “juice” to get things done, were people like Martin Niemoller in a position to stop the Nazi juggernaut? Could protests have stopped Hitler, or was the problem that the Germans with status, connections, and power thought that Hitler would save them? Could “speaking out” have stopped the evil, or was the storm inevitable? Could Pastor Niemoller have done anything effective?
I am not devaluing the democratic process or public protests. One of the responsibilities and privileges of citizenship is to share our insights and opinions with those in power. However, there are times when political and social trends are beyond our control—when, no matter what we think, say, or do, injustice will rise or oppression will continue. We dread such circumstances, but they have too often been the human experience. For all sorts of oppressed people and throughout millennia, the question was what could be done in the midst of bad times. When oppression or injustice reigns, how do we respond?
There is a kind of lesson in this week’s Torah portion, one taught by Aaron as he attempts and fails to stop the Golden Calf apostasy. Though a simple reading suggests that Aaron is a willing co-conspirator, the Midrash finds a number of clues that suggest a hidden anti-idolatry agenda. As you may remember, just before Moses ascends Mount Sinai, he leaves Aaron and a dignitary named Hur in charge. When Moses stays longer than expected, the people’s response is panic and apostasy, and, according to the Midrash, they besiege Hur, demanding that he help them build the idol. He refuses, but “…the people were out of control…and were a menace to any who might oppose them.” (Exodus 32.25) The mob murders Hur, and Aaron realizes that, if he refuses and is also murdered, there will be no one to officiate at the atonement rituals that will certainly be necessary. So, even though Aaron is against the idolatry, he pretends to take charge of the Calf’s crafting and tries several strategies to stop the communal sin:
(1) He tells the people to donate their own jewelry—thinking they will not.
(2) He throws their jewelry into the fire.
(3) He works very slowly, hoping to delay things until Moses returns.
(4) When the Calf is set up, he delays the festival until the next day.
(5) He declares that the festival will be for the Lord—and not for the Calf.
Though Moses yells angrily at Aaron, God is not angry with him at all, and God puts Aaron and his sons in charge of the Mishkan and sacred worship forever. God seems to understand that Aaron does his best in an impossible situation.
Though we can retrospectively imagine how Hitler and the Nazis could have been stopped, there was no way for many Germans to stop the gigantic wave of hate and destruction. For many, the more relevant question was what could be done in the midst of the nightmare—and there are hundreds of stories of heroism, self-sacrifice, and cleverness that show the human spirit standing tall, even when the forces of darkness dominate.
Among these stories is that of Rabbi Leo Baeck. A brilliant scholar and intellectual, the growing oppression of the Nazis led him to transition to the role of civic and charitable leadership. Whereas many Rabbis sought refuge outside of Germany, Rabbi Baeck stayed behind to help the community bear up under horrible pressure. Baeck could not change the Nazis, but he could help those who were suffering—promoting compassion, charity, dignity, faith, and courage.
He excelled as a communal leader for many years, but, in January of 1943, he was deported to Theresienstadt. When the Gestapo came to take him, he asked them to wait for a few minutes while he paid some utility bills. He knew where he was going but did not want to depart without fulfilling his obligations. That he could show such composure and principle in such a moment is amazing, but more amazing to me is that the Gestapo let him. They allowed him to sit undisturbed at his desk and write those checks and then post them.
What kind of presence must he have had? Rather than being roused from his bed and dragged off, his arrest was decorous and conducted with dignity. What kind of stature did this Rabbi present? What kind of reputation did he have that he was treated with such respect—even though he was being deported to imprisonment and possible execution? Here was a man with enormous stature, and yet his protestations about and to the Nazis could not stop the Shoah. Ultimately, his contributions were in helping his people face the unimaginable.
In Theresienstadt, Rabbi Baeck continued his communal and spiritual leadership up. But as the War was ending and the Allies approached, the Nazis started executing “important detainees.” Baeck was on that list, but, there was an administrative mistake, and another man named Leo Baeck was taken in his place. After the War, Rabbi Baeck continued his moral and intellectual leadership, achieving an almost prophetic stature among Liberal Jews all over the world.
Sometimes, we can affect or participate in the great waves that sweep over our lives. Democracy, civic engagement, and “petition(ing) the Government for a redress of grievances” have their places and may be strategically effective. But there are other times when “the moral arc of the universe” fails to wield enough influence, and we need to hunker down. The lessons from Aaron the High Priest and Dr. Leo Baeck teach us about this different level of influence and effectiveness. Perhaps it is on a smaller scale, but we do what we can do. As Hillel advises, “In a place where there are no human beings, strive all the harder to be a human being.” (Avot 2.5)