Good leaders know when to quit. George Washington left the presidency, demonstrating the need for an orderly transition of power. In modern times, Nancy Pelosi, the most effective Speaker in history, stepped aside on her own volition. Angela Merkel retired from politics after 16 years as Germany’s chancellor. Jacinda Ardern, Prime Minister of New Zealand, quit although still young for a politician. All were strong, effective, and inspirational leaders. Right down to, perhaps the greatest test of leadership, knowing when to step down.

Who didn’t know when to quit? Napoleon, Mussolini, and Tsar Nicholas II did not know when to quit as they were despots without limits or a viable endgame. Their legacy was chaos and destruction. And leaders who were too old and sick to lead, like Woodrow Wilson, left the wider world rudderless.

Torah offers insight into the nature of a leadership transition. Moses was already old when his leadership was  challenged time and again. Moses was not ready to give up his role. Yet he was guided by the need for new leadership and the will of God.

Joshua took Moses’ mantle of leadership. In a supreme act of transition, Moses laid hands on his protege and imbued Joshua with some of his power. Joshua was a man imbued with spirit, presumably a godly nature, but he was not Moses.

Sadly, the model of leadership never reset. The tribes would splinter, and Joshua struggled for unity. Eventually, the entire leadership structure would dissemble as no single political leader could replace him until King Saul. At that time, the Hebrews battled both with neighbors and among their tribes. The Torah offers both a method of transferring power and a tale about the dangers of disunity.

Knowing how to use one’s position to secure a transition and when to step aside are elements of the right use of power. When it comes to the transfer of leadership we hope Presidents will be well-informed, open to different views, and not be intoxicated by their power. With those elements in mind, a leader should plan for the transition to new leaders.

Until now, the two leaders vying for the presidency, lacked appropriate appreciation of how power should transfer. One connived and incited insurrection. The other stepped aside hopefully averting a calamity for our nation.

We have had leaders enamored with power. Fearing the loss of power, some don’t know when to quit. Their ego directs them to stay in charge and remain confident of their abilities. As seen in the Torah, disunity, chaos, and (God-forbid) conflict is the sequel to failed transitions.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

 

Mom and I watched the movie Forrest Gump the other morning in her hospital room. I presume that everyone has seen this movie many times. In the middle of the film, Forrest’s mother dies. Toward the end, he loses Jenny, his wife. Despite having seen this movie before, I still cried. This time I was sitting beside my 92-year-old mother in a hospital bed. I was not just grieving a movie character.

I have some experience with death having lost my father 20 years ago. Moreover, much of both my legal career and rabbinic work has focused on end-of-life planning. As a lawyer, I prepare legal documents. As a rabbi, I offer end-of-life planning. I understand that whenever someone dies, no amount of planning fully prepares those left behind. I also try not to judge how people mourn their losses.

In the Torah portion, Chukat, we read, “The Israelites arrived in a body at the wilderness of Zin on the first new moon, and the people stayed at Kadesh. Miriam died and was buried there. The community was without water, and they joined against Moses and Aaron.” Miriam, mother to the wandering Hebrews, was dead. How did the people react? They became a heated mob.

Yet, the story is more complex than the script. Kadesh, where Miriam died, was an oasis. If Kadesh was an oasis, why then would the community be without water? Perhaps the people were not without water at that moment but deprived of Miriam, the guiding matron of the Exodus.

The people did not know how best to express their anguish. Grief is a complex set of emotions. As Rabbi Jennifer Singer shared, “Sometimes we grieve the wrong thing because mourning the real loss is just too hard.” Yet, common to all grief is a thirst for comfort. Moses and Aaron could not provide the tender consolation that Miriam would have offered. Perhaps that is why they became the target of their grief.

During a break from the hospital, I thought more about how we behave when someone dies. As both rabbi and lawyer, I’ve seen families ripped apart when a parent dies. Often the anger is misplaced, with arguments about burial plans or jewelry.

When I returned to the hospital the next day, the nurse said Mom was rallying again. The doctor finished the discharge order, prescribed more medicine, and suggested we hire at-home aides.

I finished writing this blog from mom’s apartment, while she reads the New York Times and fusses with her hair. I’ve seen this movie before.

Through the lens of the Torah, I learned a cautionary tale about how to behave when someone dies. The Hebrews wrongly expressed grief through anger. I can’t predict my reaction will be when Mom dies. But, after the credits roll, I will long to watch the movie again.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

 

Since the Hebrews wandered Sinai, we were warned not to undervalue our strength. Twelve spies entered Canaan on a reconnaissance mission as a prelude to invading Canaan. Ten returned saying “We looked like grasshoppers to ourselves, and so we must have looked to them.” (Numbers 13:33). For their perfidy, God condemned the entire people to wander the Sinai wilderness for more than three additional decades. Accordingly, the Torah’s lesson is to exercise our power as a people. Yet, some Jews, specifically anti-Zionists, advocate a different narrative.

The Jewish people battled their way into the Promised Land and established a kingdom. Devastating invasions by Assyria, Babylon, and Rome squelched Jewish identity as a strong people. The world again regarded Jewish strength only briefly after the Six-Day War in 1967. Currently, young anti-Zionists assail Jewish power to protect and pursue those who would kill us.

As a backlash against Israel’s response in Gaza to Hamas’ murderous raid, anti-Zionism is increasing in the Jewish community. In reaction to Israel’s military actions, many Jews assumed a new identity. They support the boycott, divestment, and sanction movement to constrain Israel and joined protests decrying Israel’s actions in Gaza. They wrapped themselves in a cloak of moral superiority. We can debate whether or not Israel as a nation has overly expanded upon the Zionist dream.  But the anti-Zionists ignore the other moral values that speak to security and survival.

Jews are the perennially beleaguered people. Without a nation, we had no civil rights. Without participation in the majority religion, we had no religious rights. Regarded as sub-human, we had no human rights. Only a Jewish state truly reverses 2,000 years of persecution.

As Jews we cherish life. The Torah teaches us to care for our neighbors and even strangers. Yet, those are not the only values we uphold. My colleague, Rabbi Reuben Modek, a self-described former “lefty” wrote that in our “zeal for peace and justice, we have neglected to take seriously other core Jewish values” [such as] . . . “the preservation of life, my own life, my family’s life, and my country’s, would be one of them. Another is to “preempt the one who sets out to kill you by killing him/her first. (Sanhedrin 72a)”. Modek urges that the Jewish people must preserve and protect Israel and preempt attacks.

I share the longing for peace between Israel and its neighbors. I condemn extreme violence and mourn the loss of all lives. Yet, we should not be like “grasshoppers”, small and jumpy in the face of enemies. Jews and Israelis have finally achieved human rights and civil rights, not to be yielded to a violent adversary. If succesful in their advocacy, the Jews who value the rights of others to the detriment of our people, might condemn all of us to displacement and wandering in this world.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

 

After January 6, I grieved, outraged, and horrified. Our President encouraged insurrection as if he were calling for justice. There were no statements of remorse. After October 7, I struggled with melancholy, rage, and fear. I heard the world cheer the assault. Even as Gaza crumbles, the terrorists refuse to drop their weapons no less seek forgiveness. My indignation, however righteous, was not the only response.

Perhaps it is a Jewish trait that we yearn for justice and expect the perpetrator of evil to atone. We hope or even expect those who cause harm to regret their mistakes. The guidance comes from Parshat Nasso.

דַּבֵּר֮ אֶל־בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵל֒ אִ֣ישׁ אֽוֹ־אִשָּׁ֗ה כִּ֤י יַעֲשׂוּ֙ מִכׇּל־חַטֹּ֣את הָֽאָדָ֔ם לִמְעֹ֥ל מַ֖עַל בַּיהֹוָ֑ה וְאָֽשְׁמָ֖ה הַנֶּ֥פֶשׁ הַהִֽוא׃
Speak to the Israelites: When men or women individually commit any wrong toward a fellow human being, thus breaking faith with יהוה, and they realize their guilt,
וְהִתְוַדּ֗וּ אֶֽת־חַטָּאתָם֮ אֲשֶׁ֣ר עָשׂוּ֒ וְהֵשִׁ֤יב אֶת־אֲשָׁמוֹ֙ בְּרֹאשׁ֔וֹ וַחֲמִישִׁת֖וֹ יֹסֵ֣ף עָלָ֑יו וְנָתַ֕ן לַאֲשֶׁ֖ר אָשַׁ֥ם לֽוֹ׃
they shall confess the wrong that they have done. They shall make restitution in the principal amount and add one-fifth to it, giving it to the one who was wronged.

Our belief equates wrongdoing with breaking faith in God. The standard is true of any wrong toward any fellow human being. Whether breaking into the Capitol or killing a cowering family, all criminal behavior against another person offends God.

Even as we feel righteous and holy indignation, we consider the morality of our recourse against evil. While we strive for justice and retribution on behalf of those who have suffered, the Torah duly obliges us to control our emotions.

According to the Torah, God is the ultimate arbitrator of justice. Nonetheless, Torah establishes systems of adjudicating justice. The Torah  commands us to pursue “Justice, Justice.” Deuteronomy 16:20. Commentators presume the repeated word “justice” refers to the quality of justice we seek, one inspired by Godliness. At Leviticus 19:18 the Torah excludes vengeance from justice: “You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against members of your people. Love your fellow [Israelite] as yourself: I am God.” The line between justice and vengeance can become muddied. The desire for vengeance coopts and rots true justice.

Those calling for vengeance should always be suspect. Those who attacked and killed on January 6 and October 7, unrepentantly broke faith in God, and sought what they supposed to be justice through violence.  Palestinian leaders and their sympathizers who applaud murder and rape do so couched in the language of justice, seeking retribution for Israeli aggression. But Justice is not the provenance of those who scream loudest. Justice does not validate sexual violence and murdering children.

The people who encouraged the attack on our Capitol perverted justice in pursuit of their purportedly righteous and just cause. Thereafter, fair judicial processes were derided by those who suffer the consequences of their unlawful behavior.  Trump, instigator of the January 6 attack, seeks revenge robed in a call for justice. The language of Justice is altered and perverted. Justice does not mean achieving your goals by any means necessary. Righteousness can become a sword rather than a shield.

We need a new playbook for a world where vengeance and violence are cloaked as justice. The opening chapter of this new playbook begins with the Torah and requires all to recognize that violence offends God. The next chapters are beyond my imagination.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

Here’s some shocking news, Brad Pitt is not perfect. He has a condition known as facial blindness, the inability to recognize faces. I am familiar with the condition. I have a friend who also struggles to distinguish faces. Perhaps you can relate. You likely have had an occasion where you met someone who knows you, but you don’t know them. The situation is more than embarrassing. The impaired blessing of acknowledging another person becomes a curse.

Pitt’s condition makes him seem remote, aloof, inaccessible, and self-absorbed. When another person doesn’t offer us their recognition we feel less valued. But the truth is, Pitt’s ashamed that he can’t remember people he meets and means no harm when he doesn’t recognize them.

Meanwhile, on the other end of the spectrum, artificial intelligence is advancing in facial recognition. To the delight of travelers, facial recognition technology is increasingly used at airports to screen passengers boarding planes and through customs. Facial recognition technology will be coming to a device near you. Soon Brad Pitt will hold up his phone to identify any approaching person.

Facing another person acknowledges their humanity. Looking at someone creates a meaningful connection. In fact, there is holiness associated with facing another person. It comes from the Torah. The oldest formulaic blessing in Torah reads, literally, “May God bless you and keep you, May God turn God’s face to you and grace you, May God turn God’s face toward you and put peace upon you.” Numbers 6:24-26. By contrast, to forewarn the Hebrews to be faithful and obedient, God threatens with the words “I will set My face against you.” Lev.26:17.

Your ability to recognize and greet others is a blessing for you and a blessing you give. We enjoy being identified and welcomed just by a smiling face acknowledging us. When we are angry with others, or wish retribution, or harbor ill will, we turn our face. Denying our visage upon seeing another person is like cursing them.

When happening upon people who have hurt me or who I do not like, I try to hide my face from them. I do this to shelter myself from feeling badly. Perhaps Torah is teaching that the holier exercise is to offer our face to acknowledge the humanity of all people we meet. If I can fully offer my face to people who disturb me, how much more so can I show a loving face to the people who care about me. This is a difficult exercise but one that transforms us from feeling cursed to being a blessing – acknowledging that we must face every person to be fully the person God intended us to be.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame