I was in NYC this week for the T’ruah gala, and it was a wonderful event. We had 15 CDT members in person, and many many more Zooming in – I am so appreciative of all of the support, plus all of the donations so many made in my honor. Thank you! I am not entirely comfortable being in the spotlight in this particular way, so it was really wonderful to be able to share the evening with such an amazing group of honorees. We’ll have more information on our website soon with, I hope, a recording of the program for all who missed it, and some pictures.
As part of the panel of honorees, I was asked to reflect on what gives me hope and resilience in difficult times, when it’s so easy to lose hope. I offered the somewhat counter-intuitive response that I find comfort and inspiration in two stories. The first, the beginning of the book of Genesis, relates that in the wake of creating the world and finding everything “good!”, God comes to the conclusion – after ten generations of humanity – that the creation of human beings was a really bad idea, and it’s time to start again. That story was written about 2500-3000 years ago. Then, some time in the first century C.E., the Talmud tells the story of the house of Hillel and the house of Shammai—the two premier schools of early rabbinic thought—debating for a year and a half (!) over whether or not human beings should have been created. In the end they can’t decide, so they take a vote—and Shammai’s view, that we shouldn’t have been created, wins. So, the Talmud concludes, better if we had not been created—but since we were, we need to “look to our deeds.”
I find it comforting that apparently we humans have been a really bad idea for a really long time. This awareness puts our current woes in perspective. Maybe it’s always been this bad! Maybe not. But either way, Judaism teaches us that we must “look to our deeds” and strive to create a better world. Our hope, our resilience, should not rest in the promise of things actually getting better. Rather, we should be inspired when we engage in the work of tikkun olam, when we care for one another, when we work on our own foibles and help repair the damage done to others, because that is what it means to be a human being, and to be a Jew. Our perseverance, our commitment, is our hope, and we can find meaning in every act of justice and of love.
As innocents continue to be slaughtered in the horrifying war in Gaza, as our own democracy is threatened by those who care for nothing but their own power, as the planet continues to heat up—I hope we can make use of the perspective that our human-caused problems are nothing new, and take inspiration from our two-thousand year-old tradition that teaches us how to do better. As we light our Shabbat candles and enter into this Shabbat of Bamidbar, “In the wilderness,” beginning the story of our Biblical ancestors' trek through the wilderness towards the promised land, may we take hope from those around us, from our community, from all the lights that shine within each and every one of you.
