(M)oral Torah

One of the greatest lies we tell ourselves is that we are alone in the world. And we dedicated advocates for justice are, I think, especially guilty of that lie. The ner tamid is not lit by one person or only the most gifted among us.

In this week’s portion, Terumah, Moses is given instructions for how to build a sanctuary.

This is but one example in a web of inequity that favors an ever-shrinking group of American elites... And yet, one word — Ish, a person — repeated over and over again in the dictation of these mitzvot is a reminder that the work is indeed mine to do as an individual. 

One year later, we acknowledge that the day-to-day work of governing is unceremonious. Righting past wrongs is not a singular event but a process that requires constant attention, and the significance of this first year is unclear in the moment. Like the rabbinic connection of Shavuot to Matan Torah, it will be left to future generations to discern if this one-year mark warrants a celebration.

I imagine the Israelites showing the same expression of confusion and disbelief as those families who realize that they have just lost their homes and that their lives have just been upended: not knowing to whom to turn and where to go because of a system that is not built to support them. At least in the story of the Exodus, God has other plans.

The parshah is pushing us to learn from the insurrection – and not ever to forget it — in service of a larger goal. When major moments like this shock our systems, a part of us needs to embrace that shock and allow it to become constructive, something to propel us forward into courageous action.

When God revealed to Moses that God is prepared to fulfill God’s covenant with our ancestors, God said, “I have now heard the moaning of the children of Israel whom the Egyptians have enslaved.” (Exodus 6:5) God could hear the Israelites even when they could not breathe.

Jacob’s blessing becomes a charge, to his guardian angels and to all of us, that our blessings can motivate us to become agents of change, especially when inequity prohibits others from readily accessing these resources.

This drawing-near is ultimately what leads to Joseph’s emotions overwhelming him; breaking from silence into sobbing, he orders the room cleared and then reveals himself to his brothers. Our drawing-near is also what engaged our emotions and drew us from silence into speech.

I am puzzled by the ways in which a country that readily replaces phones and computers as soon as we experience even the slightest decrease in performance can insist that our inherited system for organizing our economy and government works just fine.