Your Holy Uplift

Some values are timeless, but how we express them can change over time. This week’s Torah portion (Tzav) uplifts this idea through the example of how we handle shame and guilt.

What Torah calls us to do – uplift shame and guilt – often isn’t our first impulse. Torah expresses this truth with “sacrifices,” the ancient currency of giving offerings to God in contexts ranging from gratitude to hope to penance. The purpose was to feel closer to the holy – which is what “sacrifice” literally means in both Latin (sacrificare) and Hebrew (korban).

That’s why this week’s Torah portion features sacrifices. Ancient sacrifices had common features. One gave them freely from choice possessions. One placed them on a fire always kept burning so it’d be accessible immediately (Lev. 6:5-6). Sacrifices were transformed into heat and light, and their smoke rose upward (Lev. 6:2). The sacrifice was even called an olah – “the thing that goes up.” Sacrifices for “sin” or “shame” (Lev. 6:17), and “guilt” (Lev. 7:1-2), were uplifted just this way.

Fast forward to today. When we feel shame or guilt, how often is our first impulse to ignore it rather than act immediately? How often is our next impulse to suppress it, to shove it down, rather than lift it up? How often do we diminish it rather than offer it our choice commodities of attention, time and care? How often do we keep it in the dark rather than turn it into light?

Suddenly the ancient symbolism of sacrifice, expressed in modern language, can make sense in a whole new way. What Torah asks us to do, when we feel shame and guilt, is to turn upside down the natural impulse to ignore, delay, suppress, diminish and darken. Understood this way, shame and guilt become calls to attention, immediacy, uplift and light.

But how? No offense, Torah, but burning a chicken won’t do it for me.

Thankfully, today we have other tools to draw close to the holy. We can start with speech, calling things what they are. We can speak them to others, so we’re not alone. We can make tangible amends to people we’ve wronged. We can make it easier for others to make tangible amends. We can give to charity. We can volunteer. We can pray. We can love.

All of these, each in their own way, can draw us closer to the holy. In these ways, shame and guilt can become holy updrafts. Find yours and make them real, with amazement that ancient ways we long ago outgrew still offer hands-on wisdom to make our lives a blessing.
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Rabbi David Evan Markus

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Calling Anne Frank

When I visited the bank, the assistant manager suggested that I call Anne Frank.  I was at the bank to transfer donated funds to the American Friends of the Anne Frank House, the nonprofit organization for which I serve as treasurer.  The assistant manager asked me a question for which I didn’t have ready information, looked at the account name and said, a bit too innocently,  “Can you call Anne Frank?”

A rush of emotions arose – sadness, anger and frustration. I calmly tried to correct the misperception.  I told her that Anne Frank died in the Holocaust and the account was for a museum in Anne Frank’s honor that is one of Europe’s most visited sites.  The bank manager responded, “I’m not very interested in history.”  I sunk into my chair in despair.

Such ignorance is beyond unacceptable: it is dangerous. George Santayana famously wrote that “those who do not remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”  I fear Santayana didn’t go far enough.  Failure to remember the past can be an existential threat to the collective future, especially when we don’t care or even refuse to remember.  This kind of ignorance is perilously close to willful.

Willful ignorance makes an unwitting accessory – bluntly, a sin.  The Torah portion opening the book of Vayikra (Leviticus), read this week leading to the Shabbat of March 31, 2017 (remember that date), describes a sin offering for one who unwittingly incurs guilt: “When one unwittingly incurs guilt in regard to any of God’s commands about things not to be done, and does one of them,” an offering is made to atone (Lev. 4:2).

The unwitting sin begins with not knowing.  The paradox and challenge are that we don’t know what we don’t know.  If at least we care to know and try to find out – if we open to history so we don’t re-live it – then we have a chance to right history’s wrongs.  But for one who says “I’m not very interested in history” and lives that way, there can be no atonement.

Ignorance, and especially willful ignorance, therefore are the threats we must address head-on.  Not knowing is perhaps the greatest sin of this decade if not this century.  Information is more available now than anytime in history, but ongoing hatred against minorities, attacks on society’s fabric, disinformation and worse all hide in plain sight before those who aren’t “very interested in history.”  Not knowing sows inaction or improper action, incurring guilt about things not to be done.  “I don’t know” and “I don’t care” cover the failure to act and make unwitting accomplices in hatred, xenophobia, violence, deprivation and more.

That is why we must redouble our commitment to educate ourselves, our youth and our communities.  Of all people, we should know how and why this task lies on our shoulders.  That’s why we build museums, fund education programs and do all we can to combat this sort of ignorance.  I was grateful to visit the new Museum of African American History and Culture, which vividly tells the story of slavery, oppression and segregation. Attendance at the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam increases each year and now tops one million visitors annually.  Museums are just a start to addressing ignorance and unwitting sin. Sara Bloomfield, Director of the U.S. Holocaust Memorial Museum, recently lamented that while a million students visit each year, few have any prior knowledge of its importance. And despite millions of student visitors, nearly all sit idly by while genocides continue around the globe.  They don’t know that history lives today.

Anne Frank’s official date of death is March 31, 1945, corresponding this year to the week when we read in Torah about unwittingly incurring guilt. After my bank visit, my inclination is to buy a box full of Anne Frank’s diaries and hand them out each time someone doesn’t recognize her name or tells me that they’re “not very interested in history.”

What will you do?
R’ Evan J. Krame

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What is Enough?

Frequently (maybe too frequently), I wonder, “How much is enough?”  Have I enough money for retirement in my IRA? Did I make enough food for everyone coming to dinner?  Why do I have that feeling that there’s never enough time in the day?

A new book “The Stranger in the Woods” describes the life of a hermit in the woods of Maine who spent more than two decades by himself apart from society.  For him just being alive was enough. I felt terrified just reading the book review.  He was alone, in the woods, by himself, foraging for food – and my initial panicked reaction was to wonder whether he’d have enough money to retire. Of course, the more obvious question was whether he’d find enough food in the winter.  For me, the most challenging question was what he did with all his free time.

Sufficiency rarely seems to be a theme in my life – perhaps “enough” is only a coda to life lived in a modern society. Yet, in this week’s Torah reading, we learn that, at least for a moment, the Children of Israel had enough. Asked to contribute items to construct the traveling mishkan – place of indwelling holiness – for the newly received Ten Commandments, the people gave with a willing heart. Moses even received a report that “the people brought much more than enough” (Ex. 36:5). Motivated by willing hearts – which I read as love – there was more than enough.

I live in a community where most of us have enough – enough in the bank to meet an emergency, enough to eat for every meal, enough time to exercise at the gym and watch Game of Thrones. What a blessing to be in a community where so many have enough and more. Yet the community Torah describes is not about a community that has enough, but rather a community that gives more than enough.

How does your giving measure up?  Do you give more than enough money and time to endeavors worthy of what is holy? The more we give from the love of a willing heart, the more we give (and the more we receive from giving). This is the enough-ness of Torah and spiritual tradition.

If you’re an anxious person like me, you might wobble between feeling that you have enough or not enough for retirement, or made or didn’t make enough for dinner guests. Maybe the wobbles focus on the wrong sort of enough-ness.  Now, I’m also asking whether I give enough, and whether we as a community give enough – more than enough – so that we exercise our love muscles sufficiently.

When we do, then we might experience that day, just like the children of Israel, who gave so much that it was more than enough for holiness to dwell.

R’ Evan J. Krame

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Smashing Success: Democracy and Discontent

“Democracy,” quipped Winston Churchill, “is the worst form of government except for all the others.” This week’s Torah portion (Ki Tisa) couldn’t agree more.

While awaiting Moses’ return from atop Sinai, the people felt afraid and abandoned. Seized with fear, they rebelled against the Ten Commandments they just received: they wanted Aaron to make them a “god” to venerate in Moses’ absence. What they got was a false calf-god of gold.

Sound familiar? Read today’s headlines and see whether this spiritual story maps to modern-day democracy and its discontents.

Democracy is a treasured Jewish value to protect against autocracy. Our rabbinic ancestors held that they must “go out and observe the common practice [among the people]” (Eruvin 14b) and then “rule with the majority” (Bava Metzia 59b).

Jewish democratic values are so important that our ancestors insisted that even God consulted the people before appointing leaders. When God tapped Betzalel to build the Mishkan (Ex. 35:30, also in this week’s Torah portion), the rabbis held that God asked Moses first – and when Moses demurred, God told Moses to consult the people for permission (Berakhot 55a). Then again, the reign of Solomon, early Israel’s most opulent (and abusive) king, was ratified by “all the people” (1 Kings 1:39) – and the people suffered greatly for it.

That’s the rub: the majority can be wrong. As this week’s Torah portion puts it, the people can run “wild and out of control” (Ex. 32:24) – in Hebrew paru’a, the same root word as Pharaoh! The public can be oppressive like a tyrant. Populism stoked by fear, xenophobia or greed can enslave and even kill. The golden calf depicts a failure of democracy so spectacular that Moses smashed the twin tablets against the golden calf, crushed the tablets to dust and made the people drink the dust of their bitter rebellion.

Democracy would have many smashing failures. Mob discontent wandering the desert brought repeated calamity. The hordes of Korach‘s rebellion against Moses brought ruin. Solomon brought ruin. Democracy’s modern abuses are too long to list: even Hitler and Mussolini purported to be democratic at first.

That’s why Jewish values uphold rights that, by definition, can’t depend on majority rule. Perhaps ironically, political theorist Ronald Dworkin understood rights to be “trump cards” against the discontent of majority abuse. Democracy can’t validate racism, anti-Semitism, homophobia and xenophobia just because a majority supports it: majority rule must have its limits.

That’s why the ancient Jewish system of government divided power between king, court and prophet. That’s why today’s modern system of government divides power between executive, legislative and judicial – and holds spiritual power (“church”) separate from secular power (“state”) to functionally protect both. That’s why stoking populism and then using populism to justify abuse can never lead a free people. That’s just Pharaoh by other means, a false “god” of gold.

Democracy can’t be perfect until people are perfect. Until then, democracies that separate power and protect minorities come closest to the smashing success that Churchill and our ancestors had in mind. Making it so isn’t up to any structure, system or leader: in the end, it’s up to us.
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R’ David Evan Markus

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Keep the Puffery in your Pants

I have a tee shirt that says “It’s all about me!” … but I’ve never worn it. What hubris would announce to the world that nothing matters except me? In fact, I keep this shirt to remind me of who I don’t want to be.

Clothing – however worn (or not worn) – enrobes character. Our clothes reflect our choices to reveal or conceal, how to depict ourselves, and the forces (both within us and beyond us) that shape our choices. (Remember the movie “The Devil Wears Prada”?) We dress “up” and “down” for mood, to fit in or expressly not fit in. What we wear reflects our sense of modesty; military jackets and jackboots express authority and importance (real or perceived). The messy fringes of the tallit worn during prayer remind us not be so sure of our ends.

Clothes also can remind that humility is what keeps those having power from overstepping. Whether a parent, teacher or politician, humility is critical to respectful behavior and even making others feel safe. Torah advised that our greatest leader, Moses, was the most humble of men, and his garb remained simple even as the High Priest’s vestments were to be adorned with the finest gemstones.

But even for the High Priest, modesty was a key theme for Torah’s treatment of clothes. Underscoring the point, parshat Tetzaveh of Torah this week teaches of the High Priest: “Make for [the priests] linen breeches to cover their nakedness; they shall extend from the hips to the thighs.” Boxer briefs anyone? The priestly clothing would be a symbol of modesty even amidst the physical opulence of their ritual clothes.

The expression of ego by covering or revealing genitalia may not seem like a core Torah topic, but it was both very real and metaphor in ancient days – and it’s still very real today. Michael Lewis’s book Liar’s Poker described successful traders on Wall Street as “big swinging dicks.” Remember the first time you saw Michael Jackson grab his crotch on stage? Or Madonna writhing in outrageous costumes simulating sex? Seems quaint now. Vast swaths of modern culture seem to extol the outrageous and devalue modesty to the extent that we’ve become inured to it – or maybe enraptured by it. We can all support personal freedom of expression, but at some point unfiltered, insensitive expression become a problem.  At what point, in the words of my unworn tee shirt, does it become too much “about me”?

No wonder we have a President who is the epitome of “me.” Look at my numbers! Listen to the applause! Buy my daughter’s clothing! Self-promoting, hyper-egocentric leadership emerged because vast swaths of American society is inured to if not welcoming this behavior. Reality TV, shameless marketing, and a disregard for precision in speaking truth are tolerated and earn high ratings from Americans.

Maybe you say that this doesn’t apply to you: maybe you don’t follow the exploits of the Kardashians, and maybe you appreciated Obama’s humility and restraint. Even so, there are ways in which one can swear to defend a person’s right to be offensive without approving the offense. Spiritually speaking, they are not the same – and we devalue society when we conflate the two. Let’s address the immoral arrogance of those who seek excess attention and power.  We must start by calling out excess egotism dressed in bright red power tie and not modest pants suit. The prophet Micah adjured us that justice and mercy are paired with walking humbly with God.

As always, change begins with us. Perhaps the humility and modesty that can help check the basest impulse (in Hebrew, the yetzer) begin with how we dress and behave in public. For in the end, the great designer of whatever we wear (in Hebrew, the yotzer) is the holy power of creation and transformation that we call God. Let us all wear the cloak of acting justly and loving mercy, as the Prophet Micah taught – and keep the puffery under wraps.

R’ Evan J. Krame

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Luxury High Rise

“We don’t create stuff [sic].  We don’t build anything.” This explanation comes early in the movie The Wolf of Wall Street, as stock trader Matthew McConaughey explains the business to the new hire played by Leonardo DiCaprio. With that bit of instruction, we are invited to explore the debauchery of those who neither create nor build.

Are you disturbed by the hollowness of wealth generated without the value of building or creating anything of substance?  Where might your sense of this depravity and vanity originate? Perhaps our unease comes from a lesson about building in this week’s parashat Teruma. Torah identifies creating physical space with welcoming God’s presence. We read:

וְעָ֥שׂוּ לִ֖י מִקְדָּ֑שׁ וְשָׁכַנְתִּ֖י בְּתוֹכָֽם׃

And let them make Me a sanctuary that I may dwell among them.

The subtext is that God is not present among us unless we first intend to build a sacred space. There is only the possibility of holiness in construction unless our designs and our efforts are infused with ethical and moral intentions.

To be sure, this does not make every real estate developer a holy person. Rather it draws our attention toward the potential of creating sacred spaces. Perhaps the sanctuary is low-income housing included in a residential project, a church taking in refugee families or affixing a mezuzah on an office door. In these ways we continue to construct sanctuaries.

Without the intention of building spaces worth of God’s presence, there is only hollowness, a space to be filled. For those who profit where they neither contribute nor construct, we may even perceive unethical underpinnings and immorality. Selling one’s name to be placed on a building as an indication of luxury triggers my discomfort. In that instance, profit motive appears to trump sacred pursuits. Torah teaches us to participate in the creation of space worthy of divinity rather than as paeans to ego and luxury.

When we talk about Jews and building, I am reminded of the old joke that Jews have an “edifice complex,” demonstrated by the names of donors on the walls of any synagogue or non-profit agency. Those names are not displays of ego but rather a demonstration of those donors’ deeper understanding that even if we don’t build with our hands, it is holy to contribute toward the construction of buildings where the presence of the Holy One can be experienced. Without the walls of donors’ names, we might not have the reminder that it is incumbent upon us to build dwellings to house God’s presence.

You don’t have to be a real estate developer or even a major donor to construct a holy space. Create a home that supports a loving environment. Build your life with the work of helping, sharing and caring. If so, then God will dwell within. And your name, the name you display to all those who come to experience your creations, will establish God’s presence right here on earth.

R’ Evan J. Krame

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Truth and Consequences

There’s the old TV game show “Truth or Consequences,” and the New Mexico city by that name, originally named for the eponymous NBC radio show. But how about “Truth and Consequences”?

This week’s Torah portion (Mishpatim, or “Judgments”) is named for Torah’s first major description of civil and criminal laws. On the heels of Sinai, the portion is full of if-then: “if” someone does this, “then” do that – truths and consequences, penalties and punishments. These teachings come early after Sinai for a reason: to transform the fleeing slaves and their riff-raff joiners into a cohesive group, a community, a civilization.

In the modern legal system we know and maybe take for granted, consequence is hardwired with judgments, fees, damages, penalties and prison terms. That these ideas embed in Torah, a spiritual document, makes sense in spiritual history. But how about in our spiritual present? To put a fine point on it, what consequence do we imagine when we turn away from spiritual truth?

Do we imagine that God punishes? Maybe we carry guilt and we feel divinely punished. Do we imagine that the invisible hand of justice is a holy hand that guides the human justice system? Maybe that’s how we should understand “In God We Trust” on our courthouse walls and currency.

Or maybe we understand the modern notion of spiritual consequence for turning from spiritual truth in a more internal way – a sense of presence or absence in our life, more invitation than mandate.

My ALEPH: Alliance for Jewish Renewal co-chair colleague, Rabbi Rachel Barenblat, evokes a loving God whose potency animates our own natural intuition for spiritual truth that no amount of evasion and even rebellion can extinguish. We know it, we know when we stray, and the most pointed consequence is how we feel the light of that knowledge. Rabbi Rachel writes:

If you’re not real with Me

your life will feel hollow

and your heart be embittered.

I won’t punish you; I won’t need to.

Your hollowness will be punishment enough,

and the world will suffer for it.

If you’re not real with Me

So let My words twine around your arm,

and shine like a headlamp

between your eyes to light your way.

Teach them to everyone you meet.

Write them at the end of your emails

and on your business cards.

Then you’ll remember how to live

with the flow of all that is holy –you’ll have heaven right here on earth.

Let that be our wise and holy judgment amidst all the if-thens of life. Let that be our truth, and our consequence.

R’ David Evan Markus

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Reunited and it feels (not) so good.

I wish I had a big extended family that stays connected and shares holidays. My longing for family emerged as I spent much of winter break populating my family tree. The work became an emotional exploration of how families evolve and relationships disintegrate when ignored.

The genealogical search prompted me to make a few phone calls to relatives I had not spoken with in decades. In those conversations, I remembered relatives with whom we celebrated holidays and or who attended family simchas. I revisited some of the toxic relationships that caused pain. Speaking with my late father’s brother, and hearing a voice eerily similar to my father’s, brought regrets to mind and tears to my eyes. Each conversation ended with promises for a reunion. Yet, the promises never became actual plans for reunions. And then I got too busy with work to even continue exploring family history.  So the potential for meaningful family reunions further diminished.

An example of a family reunited occurs in parshat Yitro during this week’s Torah reading, chapter 18 verse 5:

וַיָּבֹ֞א יִתְר֨וֹ חֹתֵ֥ן מֹשֶׁ֛ה וּבָנָ֥יו וְאִשְׁתּ֖וֹ אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֑ה אֶל־הַמִּדְבָּ֗ר אֲשֶׁר־ה֛וּא חֹנֶ֥ה שָׁ֖ם הַ֥ר הָאֱלֹהִֽים׃

Jethro, Moses’ father-in-law, brought Moses’ sons and wife to him in the wilderness, where he was encamped at the mountain of God.

Absent this report on Moses’ family, we might not have noticed that his wife and sons never joined Moses in Egypt. Of course not! Would Moses have wanted to risk their becoming slaves?  One would assume that the next verses of Torah describe the beautiful reunion replete with displays of affection for his family, and prayers of thanks.  Instead we get this at verse 7:

וַיֵּצֵ֨א מֹשֶׁ֜ה לִקְרַ֣את חֹֽתְנ֗וֹ וַיִּשְׁתַּ֙חוּ֙ וַיִּשַּׁק־ל֔וֹ וַיִּשְׁאֲל֥וּ אִישׁ־לְרֵעֵ֖הוּ לְשָׁל֑וֹם וַיָּבֹ֖אוּ הָאֹֽהֱלָה׃

Moses went out to meet his father-in-law; he bowed low and kissed him; each asked after the other’s welfare, and they went into the tent.

In the tent, Moses and Yitro discuss how to govern the people.

I’m glad Moses has affection for his father-in-law. Yet, Torah tells us nothing about his immediate family. I wonder what his kids were like? How has Tzipporah fared after years in the desert?  The family reunion is merely referenced. The emotional reconnection is utterly ignored.

God chooses Moses as leader because of qualities like humility, dedication and faith. Even Moses had some flaws. One such flaw is exposed in this text. He was certainly not a family guy. Moses leads the masses through the sea, but he can’t see his own wife and children. Sometimes we must learn dafka from the poor choices of the most holy of leaders.

We may know more about family reconnections than Moses. We hunger for a sense of belonging. We yearn to share our lives with relatives. We want to gather together with those who have a common genetic thread. Yet, it is so easy to be distracted by work or our activities that even when opportunities for reunion occur, we fail to act upon them with full and open hearts. Just like Moses.

You can repair this in your lives. First, take time to notice how you reunite with your family – whether it is arriving home at the end of a day of work or at the Passover seder table. Give them your whole-hearted attention. Put down the distraction devices and lift up your eyes to see them fully. Second, go the next step and extend an invitation to relatives you have not seen, who may very well be longing for the same connection. Remember, reunions can and should be emotional. Reconnecting may take some reconciliation with past slights or even some forgiveness for emotional grievances. And if revisiting the past is too painful to overcome, forgo the invitation.

Here’s one time when I urge you not to be like Moses. Consider how you connect with family. Show some emotion. Share some love. Don’t leave family hanging out like yellowed leaves on a tree.

R’ Evan J. Krame

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Celebrate Good Times, C’mon

Human beings are more apt toward focusing on the negative rather than the positive. You can hear ten comments on your work, nine favorable and one unfavorable, and you’ll likely focus on the single unfavorable comment. From noticing the negative to falling into despair and depression, the downward slide is often the path of lesser resistance. During challenging times, how can we set aside the inimical focus? We can spend more time celebrating life’s victories.

There are not many examples of celebration in the Torah.  Here’s one from this week’s reading at Chapter 15:18 – 19:

וַתַּ֥עַן לָהֶ֖ם מִרְיָ֑ם שִׁ֤ירוּ לַֽיהוָה֙ כִּֽי־גָאֹ֣ה גָּאָ֔ה ס֥וּס וְרֹכְב֖וֹ רָמָ֥ה בַיָּֽם׃

“And Miriam chanted for them: Sing to the LORD, for He has triumphed gloriously; Horse and driver He has hurled into the sea.”

After centuries of slavery, witnessing plagues, and a hurried escape from Egypt, the Red Sea is crossed and the people stop to notice.  In that moment of noticing there is singing and dancing:

וַתִּקַּח֩ מִרְיָ֨ם הַנְּבִיאָ֜ה אֲח֧וֹת אַהֲרֹ֛ן אֶת־הַתֹּ֖ף בְּיָדָ֑הּ וַתֵּצֶ֤אןָ כָֽל־הַנָּשִׁים֙ אַחֲרֶ֔יהָ בְּתֻפִּ֖ים וּבִמְחֹלֹֽת׃

“Then Miriam the prophetess, Aaron’s sister, took a timbrel in her hand, and all the women went out after her in dance with timbrels.”

With celebration, the people will not merely survive; they have the potential to flourish. Flourishing begins with positive emotions. The text tells us how to shift our focus. The steps are easy.  The first is to stop and notice. Bother to look!  Second, take time to allow for transitions in your day. Perhaps it means just taking some deep breaths and noticing how they feel. Or try inviting a memory of something positive that has happened and basking in the afterglow of that moment. Third, give yourself permission to be filled with happiness or joy.  It might not happen that you feel happy in the midst of a stressful day, but allow for the potential of pleasure. Fourth, give expression to your pleasure. Even if it feels inauthentic, try a smile, or even better, sing, skip, jump or dance. It is good to practice the expressions of happy. Fifth, when you can, celebrate with others. Community enhances joy.

Positive psychology tells us that sometimes it is better to lead with our strengths even as we recognize both the challenges that confront us as well as our personal difficulties in coping and overcoming. This is not a Pollyanna approach but rather an attempt to exercise the pleasure muscles of our personality to give us the strength to persevere.

There is nothing trivial about these suggestions. If we are to have strength to flourish, and not merely endure, we have to develop our internal tools to express positive emotions and harness the energy of appreciation. With the barrage of negative news and the challenges of living life in a complex society, a bit of self-care will be critical to your health and well being.

R’ Evan J. Krame

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Coming and Going

Einstein’s Theory of Relativity and this week’s Torah portion (Bo, or “Come!”) – named for a word seemingly gone wrong – have something in common. First the Torah, then the Theory:

“God said to Moses: Come to Pharaoh, for I freighted his heart and the heart of his court, so I can display My signs among them, and so you can recount to your children and your children’s children how I mocked Egypt and displayed My signs among them – so that you will know that I am God” (Ex. 10:1-2).

If God were sending Moses to Pharaoh, shouldn’t God have said, “Go to Pharaoh,” not “Come to Pharaoh”? Go sends; come summons. If God said “Come,” then God had to be with Pharaoh. How can a liberating God be with the slaver?

This call challenges the duality of coming and going, just like Einstein’s general theory of relativity. Coming and going are relative: only God is absolute. It follows that God, as the only absolute, must also be with Pharaoh: God must be with Pharaoh’s heart no less than with Moses’ own.

Take this in: holiness doesn’t divide, and even the slave master, somehow, has holiness within. This is God’s creation and creation’s God – and anything we perceive to the contrary isn’t fully real.

This truth can’t help but challenge us. Slavery is profoundly wrong and suffering hurts: what reasons could nature or nature’s God have for them? What kind of God worthy of love and respect could have any reasons for them at human expense? The God we most often crave is a God of goodness; what God would call us to “come” to slavery or suffering?

That timeless question is the point. We must seek holy potential in everyone (even a slave master) and everything (however much it hurts) – even as we try with all our might to right all that’s wrong in the world. This challenge calls us to come to it in all we are and all we do.

Only when Moses heeded this call could liberation truly begin. And as for Moses, so for us all. If there’s reason to anything in this topsy-turvy world so prone to suffering, it must be this call to come to the holy potential that summons us in all our comings and goings.

R’ David Evan Markus

 

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