Judaism has a constitution: the Torah. The fifth book of the Torah, Deuteronomy, outlines rights, privileges, proscriptions, and constraints, all aimed at creating a God-centric society. Like any constitution, adherence to these rules requires commitment from its followers. This might explain why this week’s Parsha, Eikev, commands us nine times to “keep” or “observe” God’s laws.

Deuteronomy also predicts disloyalty among the people. It anticipates that they will forget the commandments and disregard God’s laws. Testing boundaries is part of human nature. Outright rejection of the rules is anathema.

Some people take the Torah at face value without interpretation. They are called Karaites. Karaites remain in the Middle East, resisting change. Their numbers are few.

In contrast, modern Judaism adopted a radical reinterpretation of the Torah. Judaism had to adjust after the destruction of the Second Temple. The rabbis recorded and codified their interpretation of the Torah laws, to suit a world without a Temple and Judaism in diaspora.

Despite the repeated demands for observance in Parshat Eikev, some rules are impossible to follow. Others are too esoteric or repugnant. For example, we don’t stone a wayward child, turn red heifers into magical potions, or stone a man to death for failing to observe the Shabbat.

The values of the Torah, expressed in Parshat Eikev, include: “And now, O Israel, what does your God יהוה demand of you? Only this: to revere your God יהוה, to walk only in divine paths, to love and to serve your God יהוה with all your heart and soul, keeping God’s commandments and laws, which I enjoin upon you today, for your good.” This relationship with God forms the foundation of the Jewish Constitution, the rules of observance an extension of those values.

Progressive Judaism focuses its observance on upholding the values expressed in the Torah. The Torah instructs us dozens of times to be kind to strangers, feed the hungry, and care for orphans. These value-focused mitzvot appear far more frequently than any other law. The principles upon which many Jews focus their observance keep them walking in Divine paths, sometimes lacking the rigor of ritual practice, prayer, and community connections that should reinforce our devotion to the core principles that serve humanity.

On the other end of the spectrum, the ultra-Orthodox community adheres strictly to rabbinic interpretations, demanding rigorous observance. These rules endure because observant communities choose to abide by them and reinforce them. Observance through daily routine and community norms is elevated above the principles undergirding the laws. For instance, if the Torah commands us to keep the laws as a sign between our eyes, small black boxes with straps are donned each morning. As the Torah says not to boil a calf in its mother’s milk, the community has agreed to prohibit cheeseburgers and veal parmigiana. The traditional Jew focuses on observance of the rabbinic rule of law as the Divine path ultimately upholding the values of being merciful and just.

Parshat Eikev offers both a directive to follow God’s laws and a guide to creating a civil and caring society. That is the nature of a constitution, a pact governing a community to uphold and protect foundational values through sanctioned behaviors.

Americans face similar challenges with interpreting the Constitution. Should we be originalists, strictly interpreting the document in the context of its authorship, or uphold its values while adapting its principles to modern times? Unlike the Divine connection central to the Torah, some in the U.S. read a Christian nationalism into the Constitution, while others see the Constitution’s precepts as suggestions rather than obligations. Originalists claim to believe the Constitution is immutable through interpretation. Progressives advocate reinterpretation to reflect modern realities. In practice, neither approach suffices. To sustain a constitution requires deference to the original structure  complemented by elasticity for the future.

Ultimately, our approach to the Torah or the Constitution reflects our understanding of observance. The progressive view understands observance as elevating the values embedded in legal language. Meanwhile, the conservative view focuses observances on closely adhering to the text’s stated intent. In a healthy society, neither approach should prevail, and both should be honored.

Observance binds people together with a common purpose. We cannot remain strictly confined to ancient words nor dissolve society into individualized practices. The key to understanding our civilization lies in maintaining the sanctity of our constitutional obligations, both the plain meaning and the inherent values.

Rabbi Evan Krame

Jewish identity is more than having a Jewish grandmother. Being Jewish is sharing customs and traditions. Among those is a longing for Zion. Zion is more than a geographic destination. It is a safe place for wandering people and a spiritual homeland. Zion is an emanation of pride in being Jewish.

As we delve into the book of Deuteronomy, Moses desperately wants to enter the Promised Land, but God will only allow Moses to see it from a distance. From Moses’ situation, we learn that no single destination is ever the goal. Rather, the journeying toward a Promised Land is a perpetual exercise. Longing for Zion is a continuous voyage.

Israel is our Promised Land. The cities are miraculous. The people are resilient. The industries are transformative. I have regular contact with Israeli teachers, friends, and clients. Each of them is a beacon of hope for me that Israel will not merely endure but will light the way for other nations.

I did not just stumble upon my love of Israel. Zionism is part of my identity. My first ever trip on a plane was to Israel. Like Moses, I desperately long for the Promised Land. I dream about my next visit to Jerusalem. In my mind, I plan a family outing to the beautiful beach in Tel Aviv or to a restaurant in picturesque Zikhron Yaakov.

When I near the end of my traveling days, like Moses I will still dream of Zion. Israel is an expression of the hopefulness and endurance of being Jewish.

And just like Moses’ successor Joshua, there are battles ahead. How we comport ourselves, even in war, will determine the character of that Promised Land. Despite our disappointments, and even with our anguish, the Jewish soul always yearns for a safe place and a spiritual home.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

In researching my family history, I discovered colorful if not disturbing aspects of my family’s history. This is no surprise. Stories of bad behavior fill Jewish history. These stories may change the way I remember family.

As we begin reading the fifth book of the Torah, Moses offers a recap of the travels through the wilderness. Moses’ report focuses mostly on the lapses of the Hebrews. He starts by describing the challenges of managing the Hebrews. Moses next recalls the episode of the spies when the people lacked faith in God, hesitating to conquer the inhabitants of Canaan. Because of their faithlessness, that generation perished in the wilderness. Toward the end of the 40-year sojourn, Moses waged military campaigns against various tribes in and around the Promised Land, resulting in a bloody and disheartening report.

I have often glossed over the difficult stories in the Torah about wars and the annihilation of populations. The text says this was God’s will, and our faith in God is mandated. These passages have been used to justify the idea that modern Israeli troops reclaiming our land, evicting hostile usurpers, and containing future threats are actions supported by Divine will.

For most of my life, the story of Israel was about immigration, battles, and miracles. More recently, a few Israeli historians have shared stories of disturbing Israeli aggression. Even as I learned the disturbing parts of Israeli history, my faith in an ascendant and triumphant Israel remained strong. If Israelis destroyed homes or killed Arabs, I believed these actions were in response to provocations. If Israelis wanted to live in their ancient lands, their rights were incontestable.

The current Israeli government and especially their response to the Gaza war has shaken my relationship to Israel. No one with Moses’ piety lives to tell us God’s will. No leader with Joshua’s conviction leads the troops. Instead, Israel is led by faithless, felonious, prejudiced, and power-hungry individuals.

We are familiar with the difficulties of creating and sustaining the modern Israeli state. Just as the Torah shares rebellions and cowardice, the full story of Israel includes details of displacements, massacres, and assassinations conducted in the name of maintaining Israel’s sovereignty and safety. Accordingly, Israel’s detractors characterize the salvation of Jews from Europe and Arab lands as colonization. Israel, a miracle of blooming deserts and a start-up nation draws greater attention for its inscrutable military intelligence and use of advanced weaponry. A nation in the legacy of the shepherd David may be remembered as militaristic as Goliath.

I now struggle to read Deuteronomy’s opening chapters as a positive reflection on our people’s wanderings, just as I find it challenging to read about Israel and remain resolute in my Zionist commitment to a Jewish homeland. The craven leadership and oppression of Palestinians is not the history I want added to our Jewish family’s legacy. While every Jewish family has saints and sinners, heroes and villains, I fear that Israel’s militant hardliners are branding our entire Jewish family in the 21st century.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

A father rushing to get his children to school on time hurried them into the family van. After crossing through intersections and only seeing green traffic lights the father relaxed a little. Then they reached a railroad crossing just as the gates began to lower. As a long slow freight train passed in front, the father banged on the dashboard and cursed under his breath. The children asked, “Dad, isn’t it wonderful to stop and count the train cars pass by?” The story begs us to ask ourselves how we mark the stops along the way.

Torah recounts the 42 places the Hebrews stopped on the way from Sinai to the Negev to the steppes of Moab. (Bamidbar (Numbers) 33). As Torah wastes no words, we might wonder about the purpose of mentioning these 42 obscure locations. The verses tell us that life is not a slog but an enticement to appreciate the stops along the way.

Midrash Tanchuma explains these verses with a parable of a king and his son who were traveling far from home when the prince got ill. Their journey home was difficult and slow. After the son recovered at home, the father recalled each stop along the way. The King recalled when the son had a fever and the King wiped his forehead, how the son ached and the King cradled him, and where the son was too tired to travel, and the King sat vigil. The caring parent-child relationship defines the journey. The parable teaches that God, like the king, steadfastly accompanied the Hebrew people during the many challenges of their journey to the promised land.

I understand the story as a lesson on the godliness of accompanying another person. In Judaism, deeds of kindness are without limit. From attending to a bride to digging a grave, Judaism emphasizes performing benevolent acts. We emphasize ways of accompanying other people at the stops on their life’s journey. Yet, our tradition asks a bit more of us than merely performing kindnesses.

Recall how Abraham greeted three travelers at his tent. He anticipated no reward. Yet he treated them with great reverence. The Jewish religion assumes we will act kindly so the tradition emphasizes the way we accompany others on their journeys. We can even be Godly, not just helpful but fully present. As the psalmist says, “When one calls on Me, I will answer them; I will be with them in distress; I will rescue them and make them honored.” Psalm 91:15. Not everyone can be like Abraham, readily welcoming strangers. Once our help is sought, we should not only assist with physical action but accompany with honor and compassion.

In each life, there will be many stops along the way. Some will be challenging or painful. Other stops may be small annoyances, like a slow train impeding our passage. Having people to accompany us through the stops and intersections we suffer is a blessing. Perhaps those who accompany us at those stops, will help us to refocus our attitude from discontent to wonder, especially if the people we help are the ones who help us to discover equanimity.

Moreover, when you are helpful in a most considerate way, you demonstrate how you hope to be supported at the stops on your life’s journey.  We don’t help others for any particular reward, but our actions are likely to accrue blessings for us as well. And by focusing our energy on how we accompany others, we can learn to better appreciate the stops along our way.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

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

 

Nazis have played a prominent role in Mel Brooks’ comedy. His first major film, “The Producers” was a comedy movie about the Nazis. He said that making fun of Hitler robbed the despot of his power and symbolism. While humor is one way to take down formidable and evil people, comedy can also erode our respect for all political leadership.

Of course, humor is as old as the Torah. In Parshat Balak, the pagan prophet Balaam was twice called by King Balak of Moab to curse the Hebrews. Balaam asks God’s guidance (yes, our God) and God told Balaam not to go. With the arrival of a second request from Balak, the prophet asked again—this time God permits Balaam. Perhaps God was being facetious, and Balaam couldn’t navigate the mixed messages. He saddled up his ass to attend to Balak. Teasing Balaam, God sends an angel to block his way. The donkey sees the angel, but Balaam does not. Biblical hilarity ensues when the donkey effectively calls Balaam an ass. When the humor ended and Balaam stood at Balak’s side, Balaam offered a blessing for the Hebrews.

Making fun of political and religious leaders is a comedy staple these days. The more horrible the leader, the greater the resource for entertainment. Late-night television hosts skew politicians, both the ones they favor and despise.  A pre-pandemic study by the Pew Research Center found that 61% of young people regularly or sometimes learn campaign information from comedy television. Many have shifted to TikTok where news reporting is often in the form of humorous skits and satire.

The most potent humor is based on facts, reimagined or refashioned with absurdity. As a manner of political discourse, these jokes rob powerful people of their authority and respect. Yet, political satire often gives way to comic cruelty.

How can we understand humor in a time of existential threats? Comedic relief is an off-ramp for the tension we feel watching the news. Humor is a way of deflating the stress expanding inside us. Comedy is a necessary tool to cope with a seemingly insane world.

At the same time, comedy debases political candidates and world leaders. Political humor reinforces stereotypes such as ageism and sexism. Jokes about our leaders, hone in on character flaws. By focusing on the faults of some, comedy may be damaging our shared perceptions of all elected officials.

Comedy has its place in soothing our psyche wounded by despots and ill-suited politicians. Yet, comedy should not be the only source of information and the sole expression of political yearnings. When we stop laughing about today’s political leaders, we must restore the blessings of balance, truth, and respect in our country.

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

 

For eight years, an insurrection in our country has brewed and sometimes boiled over. The fire came from elites in our society. Feeding off popular discontent, the wealthy and educated insurrectionists used outrage as a pretense for a power grab. It is a story as old as the Torah.

Chosen leaders of the community, who were people of repute, confound Moses’ expectations (Numbers 16:2). First, we learn about Korach, cousin to Moses and Aaron. Then came Abiram and Dathan, and their two hundred and fifty followers. All rebelled. They accused Moses and Aaron of accumulating too much power. Yet, the plotters offered no plan other than usurping power. If successful, they would secure power for themselves.

As in Sinai, so too on Capitol Hill. First came the reality show host. Then came the national leaders in support of the power grab. Judges and their wives supported the agenda. Elected officials sustained the insurrection. Conservative think tanks closed ranks around the false savior.

In the Torah, Moses challenged the insurrectionists to bring their offerings before God. With brass firepans, which were holy tools of the priesthood, the rebels brought fire and incense. God rejected their sacrifices, and the earth consumed the rebels. The biblical story ended with justice and an affirmation of God’s chosen legacy.

Our nation approaches another test. The modern Korach, a prince of privilege, is called forward by the American election ritual. His offerings are deceitful and should be rejected. Yet, this time the judge is not God but the American people. All are fallible and some are gullible. The voters are dissatisfied, and many are struggling. While the biblical outcome was a certainty, the future of our nation is in jeopardy.

The Torah has warned us about power-hungry challengers to a Divinely ordered system of governance. The opposition to God’s chosen leaders was an affront to God which God answered with holy justice. Today, God does not act to resolve such crises. We must be the crusaders for justice and democracy, rejecting the false offerings of power-hungry elites.

How may we work to save our country? Some examples. I was recently invited to a postcard-writing gathering. The group will be sending handwritten notes to voters in swing states. Others will be going door to door in swing states, hoping to turn out support for candidates who cherish democratic values. What might we do, together?

Our three-thousand-year-old tradition challenges us to avert a disaster. If not, the ground beneath our feet will open and swallow up righteousness from the earth.

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

 

Watching populist “right-wing” political leaders gain strength across the world, I fear a new age of demagogues has returned. Their skill is directing attention to the shadows and away from the light. Their approach is the antithesis of the Torah, which inspires us to illuminate the world.

Thinking about light and shadow, I recalled Plato’s allegory of the cave. Imagine people stuck in a darkened cave. Bound in a row, the people always face the cave wall. Behind the prisoners are puppeteers. Behind the puppeteers are fires. The prisoners only see shadows on the wall, neither the light nor the puppeteers. Their reality is just shadows. This summary of Plato’s allegory of the cave describes a dystopian existence. The allegory also reveals what frightens me about our world. Many are stuck in caves looking only at shadows. Their anger, antipathy, and denialism bind them together.

By contrast, our Jewish tradition offers an alternative to a shadowy subterranean metaphor. For example, Parsha Behaalotecha begins with raising light. Among the priests’ duties is to light the candelabrum. The priest ascends steps to reach the menorah. In a single motion, of raising up and illuminating, the priest focuses our attention on the two essential elements of improving the world – lifting and lighting. We lift our eyes up, we set our gaze high, and we aspire for a better world. With light we show the way, eliminate the darkness and illuminate the way forward. In three words, Behaalotecha Et Hanairot ( בְּהַעֲלֹֽתְךָ֙ אֶת־הַנֵּרֹ֔ת ), the Torah presents a mantra for a troubled world.

In the modern update of the cave allegory, people are trapped because their focus is misdirected. Their cave is discontent, disaffiliation, or distress. Rather than seeking the light, the shadows captivate them.

These prisoners are drawn to the shadows they see on social media. According to Franklin Foer: “Facebook and Google are giant feedback loops that give people what they want to hear. And when you use them in a world where your biases are being constantly confirmed, you become susceptible to fake news, propaganda, demagoguery.”

Bots, trolls, and fake media, further beguile us. Abusers of artificial intelligence misdirect and roil the shadow watchers. Reactionary clergy, populist agitators, or power-hungry politicians exhort people to believe the shadows and ignore the truth. There’s an element of complacency and weariness. Sometimes, it is just easier to remain in our caves, despite our detachment from the real world.

Judaism understands the light to be truth and Godliness. The Torah instructs us not only to seek light but to spread the light. Rather than succumb to shadows, we light  lamps of truth and justice, high up to inspire everyone. This task is not for the priests alone, but for all of us, as we are a nation of priests.

I take the words Behaalotecha Et Hanairot as a signal to get up, exit shadowy existence in our caves, and spread Divine light. Behaalotecha asks us to be fired up for a civil and just society.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame