Day 43: Don’t Lead Alone
Moses’ father-in-law, Jethro, the priest of Midian, catches up with Moses and the Israelites just before they reach Mt. Sinai (at least this is how it appears according to the structure of the narrative in Exodus; there is a dispute among the commentators about whether this encounter actually happens before or after the Revelation at Sinai). Jethro sees Moses sitting alone “as judge among the people, while the people stood about Moses from morning until evening” (Ex. 18:13). Alarmed, Jethro exclaims, “The thing you are doing is not good! You will surely wear yourself out, and these people as well. For the task is too heavy for you; you cannot do it alone!” Interestingly, the Torah employs the phrase “not good” only one other time, when God comments about the first human being: “It is not good for the man to be alone; I will make him a helper equal to him.” (Gen. 2:18). Just as we wither without relationship and community, leading alone puts both leaders and followers in danger. For starters, leaders -- and others in positions of responsibility to care for the welfare of others -- risk burnout without appropriate support; an emotional, spiritual, and even physical depletion that can be harmful to their health, and potentially even fatal. Burnt out people who care for the welfare of others are also less productive, make worse decisions, are more prone to errors, and are likely to be less compassionate than those who have more help, which jeopardizes the people who rely on them. Additionally, learning from and leaning on others enables a person who cares for others to be more knowledgeable, understanding, discerning, creative, and impactful. When leaders and those who care for others’ welfare refuse to go it alone, we who rely on them reap the benefits.
Day 44: Relationships Require Justice; Justice Requires Relationships
The observation that something was “not good” occurs only two times in the entire Torah: first, when God observes that the first human being needs to be in relationship in order to flourish, and second, when Jethro observes that Moses sitting alone in judgment was harmful for him and the people. The parallel between God’s and Jethro’s observations reminds us that trustworthy and effective systems of justice -- indeed, the establishment of just societies altogether -- are as important to human flourishing as mutually respectful and egalitarian interpersonal relationships. Moreover, we need both to thrive. One cannot pursue a just society as a hermit; if a social justice warrior spurns, harms, or abuses their friends, family, neighbors, and community members they have betrayed their cause. Similarly, one must not care solely about their closest relationships without concern for the welfare of the wider society of which they are a part. Since everyone within a society is interconnected, since the functioning of the larger whole impacts all who are part of that whole and vice versa, caring for our own friends and family is inseparable from our wider responsibility for pursuing justice. Rejecting relationships and abiding injustice are both, independently and together, “not good.” What is good? The prophet Micah perhaps said it best: “God has told you, O human, what is good...to do justice, to love kindness, and to walk modestly with your God” (Micah 6:8).
Day 45: Learning From Others
It is noteworthy that the revelation at Sinai is immediately preceded in the biblical text by a story of Moses gleaning wisdom from his father-in-law, Jethro, a man who is not only a non-Israelite, and not only a practitioner of another faith, but the spiritual leader of another religious civilization. The juxtaposition of these two narratives -- the teaching of Jethro and the giving of the Torah -- reminds us that our own traditions are incomplete as sources of knowledge. We must seek out and learn from external repositories of wisdom as well. Indeed, only through bringing our own texts and teachings into active conversation with the observations, analyses, beliefs, and traditions of those on the outside can we fully discern God’s voice. As the medieval Babylonian sage Rabbi Saadia Gaon taught, there are four paths to true understanding: science, reason, revelation, and tradition; but unless one discovers that all four paths are in alignment, they can be sure that at least one of them has not been properly understood. We must learn to simultaneously cherish our own tradition while also opening ourselves up to the insights of others, mindful always of the Mishnah’s teaching, “Who is wise? The one who learns from all people” (M. Avot 4:1).
Day 46: On Counting, and Being Counted Upon
The practice of Counting the Omer has its roots in Jewish agricultural history: Passover saw the onset of the barley harvest; at Shavuot, it concluded. On the second day of Passover, the first sheaf of a barley harvest was given as a gift to God. Alongside this gift, the worshipper offered humble bread (think matzah), as a sacrifice. He or she then marked, day by day, the passing of seven weeks till Shavuot, when he or she was asked to bring two loaves of leavened bread (think challah) as a sacrifice. Both matzah and challah are made from the same ingredients, but end up differently. Matzah is hurried, not yet complete. It is bread, but just barely. Challah is a finished product. Crafting it involves not only mixing the ingredients, but also kneading the dough, letting it rise, fashioning it into loaves and heating them just right. Now consider that, according to Jewish tradition, Passover commemorates the Exodus from Egypt, and Shavuot marks the receiving of the Torah at Sinai. No longer simply two ends of an agricultural season, the two festivals celebrate liberation and law, freedom and responsibility. The Exodus exalts human freedom, and the Torah insists on the obligations we have toward each other borne of that freedom: our responsibilities to care for the injured, to attend to those in peril and not to remain indifferent to others’ suffering. In this light, the bread offerings take on symbolic significance: matzah represents freedom; challah responsibility. Both breads contain the same ingredients, but only one bread is fully realized. In other words, the breads were meant to remind the ancient worshipper that while the freedom of Exodus was necessary, freedom is not fulfilled without the responsibility of Torah. In between bringing these two symbolic gifts, one must count seven weeks, which are called weeks of “perfection” by the Torah. Why? To underscore the fact that, just as one must work hard to “perfect” bread, freedom is only perfected by cultivating, through patience and hard work, a sense of obligation. Counting the Omer reminds us that, while freedom is a prerequisite, it is insufficient if we are not obligated to ensure the welfare of others. As we move from Passover to Shavuot, we are invited to count — and, as a result, we are reminded to be counted upon to ensure that everyone in our society is properly cared for.
Day 47: Plagued by Unkindness
According to the Talmud, during the period of Counting the Omer, 12,000 pairs of students of Rabbi Akiva died of a mysterious plague. The Talmud asserts that the disease afflicted Rabbi Akiva’s students because they did not sufficiently honor one another (B. Yevamot 61b). Now, this may seem harsh, but recall that Rabbi Akiva is best remembered for insisting “loving one’s neighbor as oneself is the great principle of the Torah, that the essence of Judaism is kindness (Sifra Kedoshim 4:12). That the students who sat daily at the feet of this teacher of all teachers failed to practice kindness toward one another is most egregious. They ought to have known better. Whether one takes the Talmud literally, that the plague was a punishment for the students’ disrespect of one another, or figuratively, that the mass death was the result of widespread selfishness, tribalism, division, and enmity, the point is clear: where there is no kindness, there is only suffering — division, destruction, and death. Conversely, where people respect and support one another, there is cohesion, uplift, and thriving.
Day 48: Divine Ownership
God prefaces the giving of the Torah with the reminder, “For all the earth is Mine” (Ex. 19:5). According to the Book of Exodus, Pharaoh had enslaved the Israelites because he was afraid of losing what he perceives to be his -- his power, his position, his privilege (Ex. 1:9-10). Consequently, he regards all others either as threats to his dominion or as tools to protect it. Moreover, Pharaoh’s attitude pervaded Egyptian society; the Egyptian people themselves were involved, or at least complicit, in the oppression of the Israelites, similarly fearing that the Children of Israel threatened their way of life (Ex. 1:9-14, 22). If the purpose of Torah is for the Israelites to build a society fundamentally different from that of oppressive Egypt, the first thing they must do is recognize that all they have belongs not to them, but to God. To regard our property as intrinsically our own is heresy; all we have is, in reality, borrowed, from God. Adopting this mindset is a safeguard against relating to other people and, indeed, to the world itself, as means to our own ends, objects to use, exploit, or control in service of holding on to what we perceive to be ours. To accept Torah is to train ourselves to see our fellow human beings and the entire world as God’s property, to recognize that we are stewards of possessions, people, and a planet that does not belong to us. We are entitled to nothing, ought to be grateful for everything, and are called to responsibility for all.
Day 49: Body and Soul
When many people think about religion, they tend to think of it as primarily concerned with spiritual matters like beliefs, rituals, and prayers. While these concerns are doubtlessly an important part of Jewish tradition, the body is considered at least as important as the soul. According to Maimonides, the Torah is equally concerned with the welfare of our souls and the welfare of our bodies (The Guide of the Perplexed III:27). One cannot faithfully follow the Torah and simultaneously neglect or denigrate their body. A healthy diet and regular exercise are Jewish sacraments; taking necessary precautions to protect our health and safety are fundamental religious obligations. Jewish tradition even calls upon us to appreciate life’s sensual pleasures, as the ancient sage Rabbi Hizkiyah taught, "A person will have to account for everything that their eye beheld and they did not enjoy" (Jerusalem Talmud, Kiddushin 4:12). And just as the Torah emphasizes attending to our own physical needs, so too does it underscore our responsibility to ensure the physical wellbeing of others as well. As Rabbi Israel Salanter (1810-1883), widely regarded as the founder of the modern Musar movement in Judaism, once put it: “Someone else’s material needs are my spiritual responsibility.” The Torah places considerable focus on how we treat one another, how we organize our societies, and how we righteously navigate our interpersonal relationships and our political choices. It insists we sustain those who are vulnerable or chronically destitute, providing them with food, clothing, and other material needs; it calls upon us to advance a fully inclusive and equitable society, where all are treated equally and where resources are allocated fairly. This helps explain why God has the Israelites prepare to receive the Torah physically as well as spiritually: washing clothes, readying bodies, and establishing respectful physical boundaries are as much a part of the preparations at Sinai as study and prayer (Ex. 19:10-13). As the 16th century Italian commentator Rabbi Ovadiah ben Jacob Sforno wrote, “This was so the body, not just the soul, would also be ready for prophecy” (comment to Ex. 19:11). Accepting Torah involves every part of us, body and soul, calling on us to care not only for our own and others’ spiritual welfare, but also -- perhaps more so -- our own and others’ physical wellbeing.
