Running With the Weight of Gold — Letters to a young man
20: You Will Command
BS”D
Jerusalem, Sunday 24 February 2019
Dear D –
People ask, “Why is there something instead of nothing at all?” Here’s the real question: Why is there more than one thing? If God desired to create something — whether as an act of will, love, compassion, or loneliness — it would suffice to create just one thing. The great mystery of the universe is its diversification. Is the infinite diversity of Creation necessary? In the Neo-Platonic world of Jewish thought, diversity proves the perfection of Creation — there is nothing that the universe does not contain. Perhaps having tasted the fruit of Creation, God’s appetite was stimulated. Perhaps God created Creation, and Creation did the rest. And perhaps this infinite universe we inhabit is actually just one thing. However we relate to it, this week’s Torah portion (Exodus 27:20–30:10) presents a microcosm of creation, laying out ways for us to make our unique contribution to God’s world. It does this through the elaborate preparation of the priestly clan to serve in the Tabernacle, and by portraying Moses as having the greatest leadership quality of all: that of knowing when to step aside.
This portion is voiced in future tense, beginning with the words “And you will command.” God is not merely commanding, but also describing the actions that Moses will take at the dedication of the Tabernacle — and perhaps also reassuring Moses that he will, in fact, perform the rituals of the consecration of the Tabernacle, reflecting next week’s portion, where the sin of the Golden Calf threatens to derail God’s enterprise.
Despite this portion being a sequence of instructions to Moses, the formulaic verse, “And God spoke to Moses, saying:” which appears repeatedly throughout the Torah, is absent. In fact, this is the only portion from the beginning of Exodus to the end of the Torah in which Moses’ name does not appear.
Aaron’s name, however, appears seven times, as God instructs Moses to invest Aaron and his sons with their priestly office, describing their garments in detail. (“Investment:” literally, to be clothed in a garment.) The Talmud says the priests had to be properly clad in their ritual garments, otherwise the Temple service was not valid. “At the moment when their priestly garments are upon them, their priesthood is upon them.” Without being properly clothed, the sons of Aaron are not fully priests. Outside the Tabernacle, they are merely potential priests, bound by the prohibitions of their clan, but not permitted access to God except under rigid rules of time, place, dress, and preparatory rituals. They are not so much inherently special, as they are required to remember that they are special, and at all times bear themselves accordingly. True spiritual practice comes not from withdrawing from society, but through fully embracing our role as a contributing member of society. It is neither challenging, nor spiritually defensible to be a moral person when you are alone on a mountaintop eating carob fruit and drinking from a stream.
Moses was supposed to be both King and Priest. But Moses is disqualified from the post of High Priest on two grounds. First, he hesitated at the Burning Bush. Second, Moses killed the Egyptian, and one who has blood on his hands is not permitted to serve in the Temple. Moses lost his birthright of greatness, only to forge ahead and create his true greatness in the way he lived his life. The greatness we craft for ourselves is immeasurably superior to anything we are born with.
Jethro teaches Moses that differentiation of authority is critical to a functioning society, and Moses immediately turns over political authority to a leadership structure. Why is religious leadership different? Unlike Moses — and unlike every male in Abraham’s line except Abraham himself — the Torah does not give a derivation of Aaron’s name. Among suggested derivations, the name may be a variant of Haran, the name of Abraham’s older brother. This is consistent with the theme of younger brothers supplanting the older: Moses — Aaron’s younger brother — becomes the leader of the nation. He knows how to take action, but not how to make that impetus carry through; thus Aaron remains in place as the religious figurehead and communicator. This reconciles the struggle of Cain and Abel. Cain, who initiated the right action, and Abel, who gave it its proper expression and was killed for his effort. This also resonates in Aaron’s impotence when Moses is absent: like Abel, Aaron only repeats what his brother does. The communal sin of the Golden Calf in next week’s reading might have been prevented had Aaron taken command in his brother’s absence.
Throughout the Exodus narrative, God works to transfer power and authority to humans — culminating (Exodus 14:26–28) in Moses exercising the power God has urged on him, raising his hand and causing the sea to flow back, drowning the Egyptians. Now Moses must transfer his authority to Aaron through the act clothing him, another image tied to the struggles between brothers. Jacob steals Esau’s garment; Joseph’s brothers hate him because of his coat. Moses, born the rightful bearer of the priesthood, must transfer it of his own free will. If he does not give it over, the priestly function, and with it, the ability of the nation to seek closeness with God (atonement = “at-one-ment”) will die with him. Maimonides says the importance of the opening words of the portion — “And you shall command…” — is You, and do not delegate to another. Moses’s name is missing because he must exercise leadership by standing aside and relinquishing all claim to the priestly title. Aaron is not a pretender, not a substitute. This is a radical restructuring of society.
Yet, God telling Moses to give over is actually Moses’ key to greatness. It is only when Moses emerges from the shadow of his birthright that he achieves his own greatness. We are what we are born, yes. But are we not more than that? To the extent we fall back on our birth identity, we deny ourselves the world and all that we can become.
Recall the plague of locusts. Locusts move in great clouds like a giant evil spirit. Observing their behavior at close range, the ancient rabbis pronounced that locusts have no king. Though they come and go together, when they alight, it is every locust for itself. They are a mob — not a society — a powerful and frightening metaphor for human behavior.
Before Jethro, the Israelites are a mob. They move together, but they look out only for themselves, driven to survive. This identity of the raging mob is humanity’s rock-bottom birthright. Jethro instructs Moses to create a hierarchy, enabling orderly human expression within the infinite differentiation of God’s creation. Once we relinquish our mob identity, we are free to find our unique place in the world. We can embrace our unique gifts. Once we become aware of our uniqueness, we can appreciate the uniqueness of others. We can band together in a community. Only once we embrace our own — and each other’s — unique place in God’s infinitely differentiated world are we ready to receive the Torah.
Moses accepted Jethro’s advice and radically changed his leadership approach. What is different about the priesthood? Our yearning for spiritual fulfillment stands in service to organized religion, and not the other way around. No one should ever make the mistake of believing otherwise. Organized religion brooks no opposition. Organized religion arises of its own in all human societies. Like the locust, it seeks neither good nor evil, but merely to thrive, devouring everything in its path. In a secular political structure there is at least the certainty that those now in power will one day die. Power based on earthly principles is subject to challenge. Not so the authority of religion. Kings are bad enough — so are priests. History proves again and again the terrible destruction that follows when they combine. And so God makes the determination to separate church and state. It is precisely because of Moses’ greatness that the Torah can teach this eternal lesson. No matter how moral the current holder of the title may be, we must fear those who will come after. The greatness of George Washington was most profoundly expressed in his refusal to be made “president for life” — another word for “king.”
It is when we are unshakably convinced of how right we are that the instruments of power must be taken from our hands. Thus, Aaron and his sons must be clothed: their role must be made visible. They are not inherently close to God; but through acceptance of their place within society, they have the ability to approach God when properly prepared. The rest of the time, their uniqueness rests not in a closeness to God, but in guarding against behavior that would prevent their coming close at the designated times. Throughout history, religion has been the too-willing handmaid to war; the government the too-eager enforcer of the church’s agenda, for the state’s illegitimate gain. Church and state naturally arise as twin necessary evils of human society. To purposely combine them is to guarantee disaster. Here, right where it all begins, God makes the case for separating them.
Yours for a better world,
Moshe
