Jacinda Ardern was only 37 when she became Prime Minister of New Zealand. A working mother, she smashed the glass ceiling. After five tumultuous years, she stepped aside with a simple message: “The decent traits of a human being should be the decent traits of leaders.” Her words are in sharp contrast to the behavior of many current leaders.

Leadership is not about personality; it’s about behavior.  That lesson carries forward from the Torah to leaders like Ardern. At Parshat Emor, the Torah sets out the rules of behavior expected of High Priests. Priests follow rules that elevate their status. They should not be exposed to the dead, must remain scrupulous in their relationships, and stay meticulous in their duties. Looking past the particulars of temple sacrifice or the limitations on marital relations, the message is clear, leadership’s behavior sets a standard for all of us.

Ardern reflected on her tenure in 2023: “The most important leadership principles can be found in what we teach our children — empathy, curiosity, bravery, and kindness.” Great leaders should have these traits in the 21^st century.

Soon after becoming Prime Minister, crisis tested Arden’s leadership. In 2019, a white nationalist live-streamed his attacks on two mosques in Christchurch.  Fifty-one people died.  Ardern’s response was exemplary. Within two days of her demand, the parliament banned semi-automatic weapons. Describing the victims, most of whom were immigrants to New Zealand, Ardern said: “They are us. The person who has perpetuated this violence against us is not. They have no place in New Zealand.” Ardern later remarked that “the characteristics we should necessarily deploy in troubled times are defined by the kind of humanity” we should always bring to leadership.

Ardern’s legacy challenges all leaders, especially in the United States. Americans must hold their leaders to the same standards of behavior as Ardern. If your people are hurting, hurt with them.  Protect threatened minorities. People who are militant and ethno-nationalist have no place in civilized society. Similarly, the new antisemitism of the intersectional left is equally hateful and underserving of space on campus or in political realms.

America needs leaders who appeal to our overarching goals as a nation of immigrants, ensuring freedom, security, and opportunity for everyone. This country’s journey must reflect these high ideals, encourage hope, and pursue standards of excellent behavior.

In an election year, we need Arden’s reminder: how leaders behave reflects the purpose of their position. In a time of petulant and egoistic politicians, Jacinda Ardern’s words seem prophetic. We should select leaders who cherish decency displayed by their behaviors – “empathy, curiosity, bravery, and kindness.” Leaders’ willingness to adhere to standards of proper behavior truly sets the standard for us all.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

Protesters on university campuses this spring embraced a culture of disobedience, prioritizing confrontation over constructive engagement. These protests prompt reflection: what motivates us to adhere to rules, and when is disobedience justified?

Drawing from the Jewish tradition, we find a delicate balance between the duty to challenge and to obey. Throughout history, we see instances of righteous protest, such as Abraham’s respectful objection to God’s plan to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah, guided solely by his internal moral compass. Talmud offers a radical statement of responsibility to object.  “If one is in a position to protest the sinful conduct of the whole world, and he fails to do so, he is apprehended for the sins of the whole world.” Shabbat 54b.

In Torah this week, Parshat Acharei Mot, Moses, and Aaron received detailed instructions about sacrifices for sin. These directions emphasize obedience. Yet, they are not given in a vacuum. As rules of atonement and sanctification, there’s an implicit acknowledgment that justice and morality transcend mere adherence to rules. The failure to adhere to the instructions would be dire. Disobedience that flaunts rules of behavior carries consequences, including the potential withdrawal of divine protection.

When I observe college campus protests, I naturally filter them through a Jewish lens. I can appreciate students’ zeal akin to Abraham’s, yet their disregard for civility and propensity for confrontation leads me to condemn their failure to respect basic rules of nonviolent and civil engagement. Criminal destruction and violence are not protests, they are criminal activity, plainly and simply.

Our tradition unequivocally rejects violent and hateful protest tactics. By comparison, Israelis recently held massive demonstrations, first to protest the government’s intervention in the Judiciary and later to bring home the hostages. I believe that the Jewish way to protest can be both peaceful and potent.

Some politicians criticize these student protests, under the guise of championing law and order. By contrast, they brand student protests as anarchic and subversive. Conversely, liberal commentators like Anand Giridharadas contextualize them within America’s tradition of revolutionary activism. Liberalism has its inherent danger, veering towards romanticizing activism supporting violent regimes like Hamas.

The lack of civility raises an important question: are these students enamored with disobedience culture? Could culpability also lie with their teachers and parents? In my mind, we must teach the value of obedience alongside the obligation to dissent.

Reflecting on my biases, I wonder if I might view pro-Israel protestors more favorably. Yet, I would not abide by anti-Muslim rhetoric or violence as a tool of protest. I cringed seeing pro-Israel demonstrators in forceful confrontations. But, these were rare incidents. On the other hand, the Jewish community at large was too restrained in response to the protests according to NYU professor Scott Galloway.

I also note that protesters have alternatives to campus encampments. They could opt for more personal advocacy methods like door-knocking or political lobbying, which foster dialogue over division. They resorted to disruption, chaos, and confrontation.

A lesson learned from American history is that violent protest further divides our country. Civil disobedience can only be a legitimate tool in a democratic society if it adheres to universal moral principles of non-violence, respectful engagement, and consideration for the rights of all individuals.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

A friend sought advice regarding a forthcoming seder. His hosts had issued a pre-Passover caution: the Haggadah they intended to use advocates freedom for Palestine and its people. This preemptive disclosure hinted at potential discomfort during the seder. I counseled my friend to recognize his hosts’ sincerity and compassion for Palestinians. Yet, he should also request mutual respect for his support of Israel in return. This guidance stemmed from the Torah which asks us to be uncomfortable with opposing expressions of holiness.

Since October 7, Jewish households have grappled with difficult discussions. Some are chiefly concerned about the loss of life in Gaza, while others prioritize safeguarding the Jewish homeland. I suspect that at least one invitation to my seder was declined because of my strong support of Israel. However, I am deeply troubled by the threat to Israel and the loss of life in Gaza. Viewpoints can sometimes seem contradictory or unsettling. This tension is inherent in the tradition of grappling with the Torah’s complexities.

From the outset, the Torah emphasizes the sanctity of every life. We all descend from a common ancestor and bear the divine image. This reverence for all human beings transcends geographical, religious, national, or racial boundaries. Yet, the Torah offers other directives that conflict with these initial, sacred values.

The Torah also recounts God’s pledge to grant the Hebrews the land of Canaan, which comprises present-day Israel and the “West Bank”; for some, this is Palestine. In the Torah portion read on the Shabbat of Passover, we revisit this divine promise: “Mark well what I command you this day. I will drive out before you the Amorites, the Canaanites, the Hittites, the Perizzites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites.” Spanning three millennia, the Jewish people have asserted their God-given right to this land. Yet, this claim requires the displacement of one people to accommodate another. Even with the context of Jewish history, the quest for a homeland in the Holy Land presents a discomforting aspect of the Torah.

Jews have been attacked and massacred in their homeland and I despair over lost Jewish lives. Israeli forces have carried out incursions, often couched in pursuit of peace, and I anguish over Palestinian deaths. I can cry over the loss of life and support our claim to reside peacefully in Israel. Both are Torah.

Since October 7, conflicting perspectives have torn families apart. Some emphasize the sanctity of all human life, while others prioritize the safety and security of the Jewish state. Torah is at the core of both viewpoints. It is no wonder that the war in Gaza divides our families and communities. It is as if we continue to struggle to make sense of a Torah that both cherishes life and directs us to engage in God-sanctioned conflict.

Yet, no one perspective provides a comprehensive portrayal of the Torah’s teachings. The best we can do is to honor each person’s view if anchored in the Torah.  Acknowledge that conflicting viewpoints can be formed with good intentions but neither is singularly perfect or correct in every situation. Without this form of reconciliation, the unraveling of our community worsens.

Each of us may firmly believe in the absolute correctness of our perspective. While interpretations may clash, tension is part of the uncomfortable reality of the Torah. However, the Torah is diminished when we disregard the diversity of views arising from holy roots.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

When walking through a new neighborhood or city, I enjoy counting the mezuzahs I see on doorposts along the way.  Most Jews put this beacon of holiness on the entranceway to their homes. The parchment inside includes the instruction to teach the words of our tradition to the children. As you enter your home, we are reminded that holiness is created through passages, like doorways.

Rituals make sacred our life cycle events, like birth or moving into a new home.  During those events, we move through a portal. In this way, narrow spaces and transition events help us in building a spiritual life.

When we move into a new home, we mark the doorpost with a mezuzah.  A couple getting married enters the chuppah for kiddushin, a portal to begin the marriage ceremony. Even the birth canal through which life begins is a doorway, marked with a brit or circumcision for a boy and simchat bat or baby naming for a girl. Parshat Tazria begins with a cleansing ritual at the time of giving birth. The mother was cleaned of blood and purified spiritually.

In a similar episode, at Exodus 12:7, the children of Israel neared the end of their enslavement. They painted blood on the doorposts and lintels of their homes. The bloodied doorposts conjure up an image of birth. After the first Passover night, the Israelites emerged through bloody portals. They began their exit from Mitzrayim–literally, “the straits,” the narrow place – birthed into being as a free people.

Putting blood on the doorposts and lintels gave their doorways the status of an altar. Upon their portals, they sacrificed their slave identity. Through those entryways, the people attained freedom.

Also, the bloodied doorposts resembled an altar used as an atonement for sin. Blood atones for sins. What sin had the Hebrew slaves commited? Perhaps losing connection with the God of their ancestors or following Egyptian ways. Even in redemption from slavery, the people had to account for their behaviors. In that way, each regained a measure of dominion over their identities.

In a little-noticed text, Pesikta Zutreta (Lekah Tov, Exodus, Parashat Bo, ch. 12.7):  reads “Thus we learn that our ancestors in Egypt had four altars, the lintel, the two doorposts, and the doorstep, as said by Rabbi Ishmael.”  As one’s foot lands on a doorstep and propels the body forward, it becomes a place of restoration of the soul and reclamation of faith.

Similarly, each newborn, emerging through a bloodied portal, is like a step that propels us forward. That mindfulness starts when we witness the moment a baby pushes its head from the womb and takes its first gasping breath.

As we enter the month of Nissan, and approach the Passover festival of freedom, it is an opportunity to rededicate ourselves as if through a portal. Passover is a reenactment of the altar upon which we can again build our world.  We emerge through doorways determined to expand freedom and spread holiness in this world.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame