An ugly and hard-fought battle over an appointment to the Supreme Court rattled the country.  The New York Times accused the nominee of being a radical.  The nominee’s religion was an additional issue. A close association with the President also made him suspect. The nominee attended the Senate hearings on the nomination.  After four months of scrutiny, the Senate confirmed Justice Louis D. Brandeis to the U. S. Supreme Court on June 1, 1916.  Brandeis later set a high standard for all future Justices to follow.

Upon retirement, the New York Times hailed Brandeis as one of the finest justices ever to have served. His Jewish identity, close association with Woodrow Wilson, and Zionist politics had little effect on the jurisprudence of the Supreme Court.  He offered our nation due justice.

Perhaps Torah inspired Brandeis. In Deuteronomy 16:18, at the beginning of Parshat Shoftim, Torah says to “appoint magistrates and officials for your tribes, in all the settlements that your God is giving you, and they shall govern the people with due justice.” Torah continues to say, “Justice, justice shall you pursue!”

Judges have the power to reshape a nation. Yet, the guidelines governing judicial conduct are hazy. The meaning of due justice is vague. The character of reasonably good jurists is left to our imagination and yearning. I believe that jurists should be honest, above reproach, and able to set aside their political beliefs. The consequences of appointing biased justices or those with conflicting interests weaken the entire justice system for our country or any country. In polarized societies like ours, Judges will be accused of acting for political causes. Just like the United States, Israel is grappling with issues of impartiality in the justice system.

Israel’s judiciary crisis is unique to parliamentary democracies.  Adding complexity to the problem is that Israel does not have a constitution. Without a governing document, Israel’s Supreme Court ascribed to themselves the power to review the Knesset’s laws per a standard of “reasonableness.” A right-wing Knesset is subduing a left-leaning judiciary with a new law eliminating the reasonableness standard. As there are only two strong branches of government, the Knesset’s attempt to limit judicial power requires scrutiny. Can elected politicians be trusted to dominate the judicial branch? When questioned, Bibi Netanyahu proclaimed that the crisis in Israel is no more problematic than the situation in the United States.

The United States faces two crises with the Supreme Court. While our Constitution governs the Court, its interpretation is subject to wildly different views; those who envision a living constitution versus those who are originalists. Moreover, the Court has no ethics rules. Its members can accept gifts and associate with political activists. Without ethical rules governing the Court, we rely on our moral sense and love of democracy to shame those justices. The moral purpose of a fair judiciary begins in Deuteronomy, seeking due justice.

Another Jewish justice, Abe Fortas, set a different standard than that of Louis D. Brandeis.  In May 1969, Fortas resigned from the Court after a controversy involving his acceptance of $20,000 from financier Louis Wolfson while Wolfson was being investigated for insider trading. Those may have been the good old days of the Supreme Court when even the appearance of impropriety was enough to shake a justice loose from their seat.

At least one current Supreme Court Justice has flaunted the ideal of due justice. Perhaps he should back up his RV to the Supreme Court door, pack up his belongings and head out to see America.  In the meantime, the public must continue to remind the Court’s current members to live up to the standards set by Brandeis and Fortas and Torah.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

 

Dedicated to the memory of Sarah Brenner Rubin z”l

Three generations gathered to bury a matriarch at a funeral I attended last week. Tempering the sadness was an extended family finding comfort in each other’s arms and the joy of being together. Cousins embraced cousins, and grandparents held grandchildren. I thought about the Jewish family breakdown, how increasingly rare is the gathering of an extended Jewish family.

In Deuteronomy 12:7, the Hebrews are taught to worship as a family unit. “Together with your households, you shall feast there before your God יהוה, happy in all the undertakings in which your God יהוה has blessed you.”  This prescription for Jewish life is gathering with gratitude and engendering happiness as a family. I understand Jewish celebrations to be household events, and the household conceived by Torah is that of family.

My earliest memory of family engaged in Jewish ritual was the Passover seder at my grandparents’ home. I recall the house filled with people sitting at long tables. My grandfather mumbled his way through the Haggadah. I remember plates piled high with food.

For my grandparents, the family was the daily focus of their lives. Grandparents, parents, and children shared a home, went to synagogue together, and observed holidays. Aunts and uncles lived around the corner. My parents’ generation stretched the family into the suburbs. Family meals were relegated to once-a-week treks back to Brooklyn. When I visit Brooklyn now, I count the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike, wondering if they, too, are driving to be with family for seasonal visits.

Now, remote work enables us to move anywhere with an internet connection. Easy access to air travel encourages relocation. And the wandering child can proclaim, “Southwest Airlines has frequent flights from DC.” Celebrating holidays as a family requires factoring in secular holidays like time off for Thanksgiving and Christmas week. Every working person seems to be counting on vacation leave from work.

Geographic distancing is creating dire emotional challenges to the healthy function of families. A nuclear family living in the same metropolitan area is rare among my friends. Distance is a form of estrangement. Facetime calls can’t replace family dinners. Texting isn’t as personal as a visit. I’m nostalgic for the twentieth century’s close-knit Jewish family.

I can blame modernity for undercutting Torah. We benefit from life-changing innovations that contribute to the distancing of Jewish families engaged in Jewish life. For example, the internet has profoundly impacted how families celebrate Jewishly. We can stay home in our pajamas and watch Shabbat services online.  The covid pandemic taught us how to use Zoom for circumcisions and funerals, Passover seders, and High Holiday services. Your internet connection might be strong, but your family’s Jewish identity is likely weakened.

Judaism’s challenge in the 21st century is presenting compelling reasons for households to prioritize family gatherings. Our Shabbat dinners and Hanukkah celebrations must be joyful and infused with a holy purpose.

Judaism is best practiced as a family unit. We eagerly gather as a family for life cycle events, funerals, weddings, and b’nai mitzvahs. Yet, life cycle gatherings are only a starting point for fostering a healthy Jewish life. Ultimately, Jewish identity is best formed in the regular gathering of households, generally eating together.  A recent survey proved this point. Grandparents with frequent and consistent family relationships often determine whether grandchildren will engage in Jewish life.

It is not just for the sake of Judaism that family gatherings are essential. If blessed with loving family relationships, the physical embrace of siblings or children improves our mental health. Celebrating family events improve spiritual health, nurturing our souls. Tending to family relationships, in the context of Jewish life, measurably enhances our lives. Behind Jewish practices is brilliant psychology of how to increase happiness.

We can’t turn back time, disable the internet, and stop all air travel to restore the primacy of the Jewish family. However, we can cherish family time. In addition to life cycle events, we can pay special attention to gathering for holidays. Make building a sukkah an opportunity to engage grandchildren. Schedule family hikes on Shavuot. Prioritize family as critical to the future of Judaism and keep nourishing your life.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

 

“Who are you going to believe, me or your lying eyes?” said Groucho Marx to his wife when caught in bed with another woman. At least, that is what I believed was the quote’s origin. However, his brother, Chico Marx, said the line, and not in bed but in the 1933 movie “Duck Soup.”  The truth about the quote’s origins underscores the difficulty in discerning the truth. Ultimately, the quote resonates because, too often, we can be persuaded not to rely on empirical evidence we have witnessed. We now live in a world where facts sometimes give way to beliefs and misbeliefs.

Moses admonished the Hebrews on this very problem. Preparing the people to conquer Canaan, Moses reminded them to focus on what they knew was true. Why fear the Canaanites when God is on your side? Moses said they needed to recall “the wondrous acts that you saw with your own eyes, the signs and the portents, the mighty hand, and the outstretched arm by your own God liberated you.” Deuteronomy 7:19.

However, Moses’ approach was problematic. For the few remaining survivors of the Exodus, they must engage 40-year-old memory. The rest were born after the Exodus, and they did not see God liberate the people. Old memory and inherited memory are as good as lying eyes.

Israeli-born psychologist, Daniel Kahneman, taught the world about the irrational mind and the fallibility of memory. According to Kahneman, our memories are not accurate to the truth of the events. Instead, we remember a distorted version of the truth. Take a fallible memory and add altered reality, and you should anticipate disaster.

Moses, Marx, and Kahneman unwittingly anticipated the most recent iteration of the lying eyes, Artificial Intelligence. Today, the ability to alter what is true and create images endangers our civilization. Not only does AI belie belief and mar memory, but AI creates a new truth. With this power, everything is at stake. From personal interactions to international relations, facts are hostage to lying eyes and minds.

Our nation is reeling from our last presidential administration’s modern application of “the Big Lie.” Even without artificial intelligence, educated Americans were willing to believe altered versions of the truth about elections, politicians, and immigrants.  With AI, the problem is exponentially worse. Anyone can create facts divorced from truth. Imagine the unholy alliance of AI and criminal minds. Even more terrifying is the marriage of AI and anti-democratic forces.

Perhaps Moses had it right, but he didn’t go far enough.  Remember what you saw with your own eyes, but don’t rely upon what is set before you by lying eyes. Ultimately, our only protection from the abuse of artificial intelligence will be our ability to demand accuracy.  What you believe to be valid requires review. What you know to be true may be limited to the empirical evidence in your life. Seeing is no longer believing in the age of AI. And, like Moses cautioning the people, I am reminding the world to remember this warning and seek truth in all things.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

This blog is devoted to the memory of Diane Harris Cline, z”l, an inspiring GWU professor and archeologist of the ancient Near Eastern world.

This summer is a blast furnace of heat domes and unbearable temperatures. Intense heat has transformative properties. Similarly, Torah says that Egypt was a blast furnace, both a factual and metaphorical description. Both interpretations have equal importance for us as we navigate our modern blast furnace.

Archeologists found the first depiction of a blast furnace on the wall of an Egyptian tomb dating to about 1500 BCE. The earliest iron implements were discovered in an Egyptian pyramid joint between two stones. Wrought iron metal improved the world when hammered into tools but led to destruction when made into spears, arrow tips, and daggers.

Around this time, the Hebrews were slaves in Egypt, possibly equipped with iron tools and weapons. After the Exodus from Egypt, Moses told the people, “God took you and brought you out of Egypt that iron blast furnace, to be God’s very own people.” Exodus 4:20.

Smelting iron was an essential process in the history of human civilization. Warring nations attacked each other with iron tools, and many nations collapsed. Aggressive sea people attacked Egypt. However, Egypt did not collapse, although Egyptian power ebbed in this period of unrest.

Archeologists and theologians debate the date of the Exodus. Yet, all agree that the Hebrew journey from Egypt to Canaan corresponds to the end of the bronze age and the beginning of the iron age. The Exodus was likely made possible by great changes in ancient civilization, like iron smelting. Yet, a more catastrophic transformation was unfolding.

The blast furnace of Egypt might also refer to extreme climate change in that era.  The extreme weather changes of the early iron age contributed to the collapse of civilizations. In his best-selling book, 1177 BC The Year Civilization Collapsed, author Eric Cline described a period of climate disasters on the heels of technological developments. Sound familiar? Ancient climate change caused widespread famine, contributing to migrations, war, upheaval, and societal collapse. Similarly, the climate change of modern times may portend the collapse of our civilization.

Technological advancements result in unforeseen consequences. The story of the Hebrews explains the concept. Once, we were slaves. Later we were free people refined to become a nation of priests, and our faithlessness smelted into conviction. Our lot was cast with God. And yet our nation-state was created with swords and plowshares made from refined metals.

The purpose of a blast furnace is to refine ore into metal and not cause war and suffering. Similarly, today’s technological advancements are changing the world in ways both good and bad. Modern technological advancements are a blast furnace spewing greenhouse gasses and toxic waste that imperils our civilization. Nothing short of the destruction of our earth is at stake.

There is hope.  After the collapse of 1177 BC the Jewish nation emerged in a Promised Land.  What will emerge from the unfolding disaster of our times? Let’s take the Jewish approach. From the modern technological blast furnace, we can “refine” ourselves. We can be activists for our earth and defenders of the planet. Let’s be warriors for our children’s future, to combat the blast furnaces of our times.

Rabbi Evan Krame

 

 

The air conditioning was not working. The temperature in the plane was at least 90 degrees. Hot air was coming through the vents, so I sat very still. Others were agitated. Lacking faith in the repairs, a dozen passengers stood in the aisle, demanding to be let off the plane. Rabblerousers! Shortly, a repair crew appeared. Of course, this reminded me of Torah.

The fifth book of the Torah, Deuteronomy, begins with Moses scolding the people. “How can I bear unaided the trouble of you, the burden, and the bickering!” Throughout the journey in Sinai, Moses overcame much bickering and many insurrections. But not all rebellions are negative. Sometimes, demonstrators are just impatient. Sometimes, protestors have a holy cause.

Back on the plane, the stewards were patient. The yelling subsided. Attempts to disembark were thwarted. Finally, the air conditioning was repaired.

How did I stay calm? I sat thinking about the miracles of flying. A plane weighs about 100,000 pounds, and yet it flies. I can send a text message from 30,000 feet high above the earth. Even the meal I was served was good.  I focused on these miracles even while stewing in my seat. Had the plane stayed warm, I would still benefit from the miracle of jet propulsion whisking me into the heavens and down again. I had calming faith. And I also wondered how long it would be before I stood in the aisle asking to leave! Passive or pugnacious, which would it be?

Had this been a continuing flight in the United States, I might have been less understanding. However, this was the last leg of my journey to Israel.  Whether by dint of psychology or spirituality, I was reflective, not reactive.

While in Israel, I witnessed another insurrection. Tens of thousands in the streets, some draped in the Magen David flag, all demonstrating against a craven and corrupt government. The ruling coalition is unholy in the Holy Land. They forget the meaning of the miracle that is Israel. To be patient and wait for repairs would not suffice. Israel is not a short flight. It is a journey of biblical proportions.

Israel is deeply flawed, running hot, and close to rebellion. Yet this Holy Land inspires me. The myth draws me in. The faith lifts me up. My mantra for this trip was to keep calm and stay positive. Yet, there is a boiling point. By the end of ten days, I was sad, anxious, and doubtful.

Israel is not unique as a nation grappling with power-hungry and disingenuous leaders. Back on a plane headed west, I thought about our own country. In the United States, we, too, are convulsing with demons of the past reclaiming authority. Our country used to be a beacon of hope. Do we remember the miracles of America as a haven for immigrants, an abundant land, and a leader in the sciences? Perhaps we need demonstrations in Washington, DC.

The protestors in Israel inspire me. I feel ready to take to the streets of our Capitol to rescue our nation from the abyss of racism, sexism, and gun violence. For the sake of democracy, we can’t remain calmly in our seats. For the sake of our children, we need to set aside patience and pick up the flag. For the sake of freedom, we cannot just wait for the temperatures to drop.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

Remember the Rosenbergs? While working on an estate matter, I noticed a bequest to the Rosenberg Fund. The contact person’s name was Meeropol.  Robert Meeropol created the Rosenberg Fund for Children, a public foundation named in honor of his parents, Ethel and Julius Rosenberg. As you may recall, the United States Government executed the Rosenbergs for conspiracy to commit espionage during the Cold War. Their sons’ charitable work creates a different sort of Rosenberg legacy.

Robert described the fund he runs as his “constructive revenge.” The fund “grants aid to children in the U.S. whose parents are targeted, progressive activists” and to “assist youth who themselves have been targeted as a result of their progressive activities.” The Rosenbergs might have left a legacy of trauma. Their son embarked on a legacy of healing.

I thought of this charity when reading Parshat Pinchas. During a census in preparation for war, the Torah reminds us of the sons of leaders of the Korach rebellion. Korach, Datan, and others who agitated against Moses and Aaron went down to Sheol as they were swallowed up in the earth — “and they became an example. The sons of Korah, however, did not die.”

The sons of Korah did not die. They thrived. They were also prolific authors of eleven psalms. Twice in the book of Chronicles, we read about the Korahites. 1 Chronicles 9:19 reports that “the Korahites were in charge of the work of the service, guards of the threshold of the Tent; their fathers had been guards of the entrance to the camp of the LORD.” The descendants of the rebel leader remained faithful in their service to God.

The sons of Korah lived their lives within the legacy of their father.  As a contretemps to his misdeeds, they dedicated themselves to holy work. In a startling verse from Psalm 49, they anticipate a better death than their father’s.  “But God will redeem my life from the clutches of Sheol, for He will take me.”

Korach, Meeropol’s parents transgressed in life and met an ignoble death. Yet torah teaches that legacy remains open to redemption.  With his charitable endeavors, Robert Meeropol reclaimed virtuousness from a tragic childhood. This example shows that inspiration to improve the world can come from the depths of heartbreak. How much easier it should be for the rest of us to commit to tikkun olam if our childhoods were less dramatic than the families of Korach or the Rosenbergs.

Rabbi Evan Krame

“Holding a grudge is like taking poison and expecting the other person to die.”  That quote has been attributed to Buddha, St. Augustine, and Nelson Mandela. The axiom begs the question, “How do we let go of resentment?” Torah suggests that rituals can help. Still, reconciliation requires the engagement of two parties. What if only one is willing to try?

In Parshat Chukat, when people become impure, they are separated from the community. For example, contact with a dead person is one way of becoming spiritually tainted, as if the living person is a bit deadened. To restore that person to the community, another person sprinkles the waters of lustration on them, a spiritual cleansing through the physicality of splashing water. Notice the relational properties of the process. The corporeal act of touching the dead has spiritual implications. The physicality of washing removed the spiritual impurity. However, it takes two to restore a person to the community, pure and impure, and both willing participants.

This Parshat challenged me to reconcile with someone who has caused me pain. Here’s how I made that connection. When angered, I sometimes write off my foe as if creating a virtual death for that person. Don’t we sometimes say of an enemy, “That person is dead to me?” They are impure in our worldview.

Ideally, forgiveness is the highest resolution of personal conflict, which can lead you to physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being. By reconnecting and repairing a relationship, we restore the humanity and soul of the other person in our view. Yet, I find it hard to forgive people whose actions have caused pain to me and those I love. Having a ritual seems an integral part of restoring a relationship. Without waters of lustration, I’ve discovered other potential rituals. Simply meeting for coffee or a drink is such a ritual. The getting-together and sharing of food works to overcome my resentment.

Recently, while attending a Zoom Shabbat service, I saw a person who had once been a friend and later became my antagonist. We are both rabbis, running in similar cohorts.

In the past year, I thought to reach out to bring closure to my ill feelings. I saw the person passing me at a meeting, and I said hello.  Their response was an awkward head gesture as if I had startled them from a nap. Later, I tried again. I sent an email asking to begin a conversation and received no reply. I gave up.

Seeing this person on my computer screen put a knot in my stomach. Having been rebuffed, the hurt doubled. No tangible ritual for reconciliation came to mind. I thought a virtual sprinkling of “the waters of lustration” would work. I attempted to focus my energy on that person in their Zoom box, summoning and “sprinkling” my sense of decency, compassion, and amnesty. The virtual “sprinkling” did not work.

Nonetheless, I learned (perhaps relearned) valuable lessons. Holding a grudge may be poisonous, but there is not always an antidote. Other faith traditions teach us to love unconditionally, turn the other cheek, and offer forgiveness. Nelson Mandela spoke of such reconciliation. Martin Luther King preached that loving your oppressor was fundamental to our humanity.

Judaism takes a middle ground between resentment and release.  Our tradition teaches that physical engagement and rituals are critical steps. Yet, a willing partner is also essential. The other person must show up and be ready to receive your offer of reconciliation and be re-ensouled in your thinking.

I no longer anticipate reconciling with this Rabbi who offended me. But knowing that I tried has lessened the intensity of my resentment. Seeing their face on my computer screen reminded me that prior attempts to engage them added to my spiritual strength. Although rebuffed in my attempt at reconciliation, I seized an opportunity to improve my character. With that understanding, I discovered that a grudge could be diminished if we attend to our well-being with spiritual cleansing, even if no one else is willing to try.

The civil rights movement suffered a leadership crisis during the Freedom Rides in 1961. Student-organized groups tested the segregation laws affecting interstate travel by riding buses and visiting white-only sections of bus stations. By the time they reached Montgomery, Alabama, the efforts came to an impasse. This historical episode calls to mind a populist revolt from the Torah, teaching us an enduring lesson about leadership.

In the Torah, Korach was born into a priestly family. Korach and his followers challenged Moses’ and Aaron’s leadership. “You have gone too far! The whole community is holy, every one of them, and the Lord is with them. Why then do you set yourselves above the Lord’s assembly?” Korach was correct that each member of the Hebrew community was holy. Korach was incorrect that Moses was elevated above the people. Instead, Moses was a humble leader whose obeisance to God governed his leadership style.

A similar confrontation occurred in Montgomery. The freedom rides began without Martin Luther King, Jr’s leadership. After a bus burning in Anniston and physical attacks in Birmingham, the riders retreated to Montgomery, where King held a pulpit. The bus companies did not wish to risk losing any more buses. The drivers feared physical assault. Yet, the students knew that the rides had to continue as press coverage of the savage attacks was vital to propelling the civil rights movement. The students were willing to risk expulsion from school and even death for this cause. They implored King to join them.

King demurred. King had already served jail time for various purported offenses, which caused him great mental stress. King’s role as the best-known civil rights leader made him the best fundraiser and spokesperson. As King declined to join them on the busses, the students griped and called him “da Lord.” They believed that King set himself above the assembly. Like Korach and his followers, I think the students were wrong.

Most Freedom Riders, like John Lewis, aligned with the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC). The organizational ideology of SNCC was for members to share leadership. However, James Forman was SNCC’s senior leader by his maturity and organizing skills. Forman occasionally criticized King. He disliked King’s top-down leadership style and King’s melding of Christianity with Ghandian non-violence. Forman feared harm to the entire Civil Rights Movement if King was crowned with a Messiah complex.

Great leaders like Moses or King manage competing demands. Each knew there were times to lead from the front or behind. Their decision-making included an awareness that their lives might be sacrificed for a greater cause. Sometimes the threats were from within the very ranks of their people.

Korach and his followers never backed down and met a gruesome fate. Unlike Korach’s followers, the Freedom Riders met with success. They left King and returned to the busses. This time SNCC’s James Forman climbed on board. Alabama provided security for the buses to the Mississippi border.

Leadership challenges can be for holy purposes. Only with egos in check and devotion to improving the world everyone can benefit from challenges offered in a reverential fashion. Holy action is a shared endeavor that can be pursued respecting varying leadership styles.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

John Doar was not the Justice Department’s first choice for his position. Yet, his appointment as the number 2 man in the Civil Rights Division of the Department of Justice lasted seven years. After the election in 1960, Doar was a hold over Republican in the Democratic Kennedy administration. Doar, began his work by investigating the plight of Black Americans in the South. Like Joshua and Caleb of the Torah, he went into hostile territory and returned with the determination to reclaim a promised land.

In parshat Sh’lach, twelve “spies” scoped out the promised land. Ten saw danger. Only two, Joshua and Caleb, saw opportunity.

John Doar visited the South to determine if the land was ripe for change. Doar investigated the extent to which civil rights were denied to African Americans. Despite the dire situation, Doar believed that segregation could end. His reconnaissance and leadership helped transform the America.

Doar was the rare white government official in this regard. Others despaired or resisted advocating for civil rights. The Federal Bureau of Investigation enquiries into civil rights abuses were intentionally inept. J. Edgar Hoover believed communists to be in control of the civil rights movement. Nonetheless, Doar tried to engage the FBI’s support as African Americans increasingly advocated for their rights. Even as men, women, and children were jailed, attacked, beaten, and sometimes killed, the FBI’s bureaucratic approach was generally unresponsive to the crisis.

During the early 1960’s, the nation’s leaders were reluctant to engage in promoting civil rights. Democrats wanted to hold onto their support in the South and feared alienating white voters. Initially, the Kennedy Administration had little interest in civil rights. President Kennedy visited southern states to sure up his support among whites. Kennedy was preoccupied with Russia’s challenges to world peace – from the Berlin Wall to the Cuban Missile Crisis.

Attorney General Robert Kennedy, seeking a moderate approach, promoted voting rights advocacy as the best way to upending segregation. In pursuit of that plan, Doar uncovered shocking registration data from the South. Some counties in Mississippi, Georgia, and Alabama had no or nearly no Black registered voters. His research informed the voting rights efforts of Black leaders. Their nonviolent advocacy was confrontational and produced precisely the headlines that the Kennedy administration hoped to avoid.

Doar not only scouted out the situation in the South but also made his presence known. In the years to come, Doar was the rare Government official who put his life on the line for the sake of civil rights. For example, Doar escorted James Meredith through the doors of the University of Mississippi, the first Black man to attend the segregated school. After the murder of civil rights leader Medgar Evans, Doar stood alone between the white police and an angry mob of African Americans. With calm reassurance, Doar quelled a possible revolt.

When Doar left his job in 1967, the South was forever changed. His toughness, honesty and diligence helped Blacks gain their rights as citizens. Doar helped guarantee all Americans their rights to vote, to travel, and to be educated. While the task is not yet completed, Doar saw promise in a forbidding land and guided us all toward realizing this nation’s promise of freedom.

Rabbi Evan J. Krame

Recent protests in France rattled that nation. Prime Minister Macron proposed raising the retirement age from 62 to 64. Oh mon Dieu! Despite this attempt to address a looming economic crisis for the French economy, labor unions organized massive protests. The opportunity to stop working and get paid for idleness seems unsatisfying to me. As an alternative, I wondered about the potential rewards of shifting gears later in our working lives.

The American attitude toward retirement differs from the French. The AARP reports that twenty percent of Americans are now working past age 70.  The average retirement age now exceeds 65 years. Our laws were amended to defer full Social Security payments until age 67 and no one rioted in the streets of Washington, DC. People of different nations can have diverse attitudes toward lengthy careers. Perhaps the Jewish approach to work, first seen in Torah, is something altogether different.

From Torah, we know that Moses worked until he was 120! Not everyone was so employed. Something that resembles retirement appears once in the Torah, in Parshat Behalotecha. A priest’s term of service began at 25 and ended at age 50 (so young!)

A retirement at 50 rule was challenging for me to ponder. I’ve already exceeded that date by a decade and a half.  I have no plans to retire.  I’d be frustrated by a profession that demanded I retire after only 25 years of service.

I believe that the one mention of forced retirement in the Torah is not at all about retirement. The priestly job was to tend to the sacred objects and other holy tasks. After serving God with piety and obeisance, the priests were required to switch gears.

Imagine if we all undertook a second career. The skills, caring, and responsibility we learned in our first career would undergird our second employment venture. In fact, people are staying in the workforce longer and switching to second and even third careers.

Instead of retiring from work, Torah is teaching that we can redeploy our skills. We grow when we meet new challenges. Holiness can be found in new workplaces and in new roles. More importantly, the essence of our lives as workers is not just what we do, but if we perceive our work as a contribution to this world. Work should be a holy endeavor, whether hauling trash or suing for justice. And if work ceases to be meaningful or detaches from any holy purpose, then a change of employment is good for your psychological and spiritual well-being.

When the time to retire arrives, we still can improve this world. All we need to do is employ the holy skills we learned in our working lives. Instead of a time to receive a salary, retirement can be a time to compensate the world for all we have received. In that way, we might retire from work but not from doing Jewish!

Rabbi Evan J. Krame