As Shabbat descends upon us, for the first time in a few weeks a sense of peace is enveloping the Jewish people. After twelve days of exchanging hostilities, the ceasefire between Israel and the Islamic Republic of Iran seems to be holding. While we hold in our hearts the 28 Israelis killed, over 3000 wounded, and tens of thousands whose lives and work have been permanently disrupted, we also sigh relief to see schools and businesses reopened, the beaches and parks populated, and synagogues full of worshippers this Shabbat.
When nations to go war, their leaders’ already elevated positions take on even greater significance. Every consonant, vowel, comma, pause, breath and gesture of President Trump, Prime Minister Netanyahu, and Supreme Leader Khamenei have been analyzed for deeper meaning, any insight into what they might be thinking or planning, a tell as to what might come next. For each of us as we make our analyses, we cannot help but ask ourselves, “Is this good?” As the American Jewish community, we ask these questions through so many different lenses – good for me, good for American Jewish, good for global Jews, good for Israel – all at the same time. What binds us together, and with Jews around the world, and with Jews in Israel, is that we see it as our collective responsibility to keep one another in our considerations, especially in these challenging moments. Our Judaism and its teachings have guided us for all of these generations, even as leaders have come and gone. But what we know to be our responsibilities has always been a core part of who we are.
This is of course what separates us from the leaders of the Islamic Republic. Of its many faults, the fact that the leadership is comfortable spending billions of dollars on a nuclear program to threaten Israel and the West, and at the expense of the wellbeing of the 92 million Iranians, is one of its most profound. The Ayotollah demands that Iranians stand with him, even if they don’t support what he stands for.
The same was true in our Torah portion this week, when another would-be stood up and asked for others to stand with him. Korach, unhappy with how he perceived Moses to have elevated himself over the Israelite community, started a mutiny. The rabbis of our tradition use Korach’s short-sightedness as the prime example of a disagreement that is not for the sake of heaven, one that is misguided, short-lived, and with a clear moral discrepancy.
As a student of political theory, its clear to me what Korach didn’t know. As an undergrad studying Plato’s work from the 4th Century BCE, John Locke’s work from the 17th Century, and 20th Century thinkers, I learned that societies
organize themselves to confront and harness our natural inclinations, what they call the “state of nature.” Some believe that if left to our own devices we will resort to violence, malfeasance, and all forms of abusive power. They see a powerful sovereign as the only one who can keep all others in line, but they require everyone to fear them to be able to do so. Others believe that our good inclinations will unite us to cooperation and mutual benefit. Plato lived in the birthplace and time of democracy, and the only improvement he suggested was an elusive Philosopher-King. The Philosopher-King would rule with understanding and compassion, would see his role as sovereign as a lifetime of service to the people for their benefit before his own. Unfortunately, Plato and many others (like our own Hebrew Bible) have noted, very, very, very few people have that ability, and so most sovereigns give over to the temptation to utilize the resources of the state for their own benefit, to maintain their hold on power, to amass generational wealth, to grow the empire for their glory, and all manner of other monarchical indulgences.
While Korach may have accused Moses of acting like a king, Moses never saw himself as a king, not even Plato’s Philosopher-King. Moses knew he was God’s Philosopher-Prophet. What Moses understood, and Korach did not, is that God was the Sovereign and Moses saw himself responsible to God’s choices, not his own. So, when Korach tried to mount a mutiny against Moses, what he didn’t realize was that he was actually raising up against the Holy One. He was raising a mutiny against the Torah and the society that God was hoping we would create. Moses warned Korach that God was the one who was choosing who would serve as priest and prophet, warning “it is against the Holy One that you and your company have banded together” (Numbers 16:11). For Korach this was all about personal power and position; for Moses it was about loyalty to God and Torah.
Korach tried to make the issue about personality. But what Moses and our Torah teach us again and again is that what matters most is what we believe and what we stand for and how we can stand together, not which personality we stand with. Korach and his followers met their fate “when the ground under them burst asunder, and the earth opened its mouth and swallowed them up with their households, all Korach’s people and all their possessions…vanished rom the midst of the congregation” (Num. 16:31-33). I cannot but help bring a similar image to mind as I think about the nuclear facilities at Fordo, hopefully having been swallowed into the earth as well.
But as we enter into this Shabbat, God-willing with a sense of Shalom not felt in weeks, may both of these stories to inspire us, especially in difficult moments, to remember to rely upon what we know to be right, what we have been taught to stand for, and who we have committed to stand beside. When we do that, we know we have the wisdom of our Torah and tradition with us.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Greg Weisman
