One weekend a month over the past few years, I have woken up at 5:30 a.m. in order to take a bus to a train, where I emerge in the South Bronx, often along with the rising sun, to begin my morning shift at the abortion clinic. The protesters, per usual, have beaten me there. I don’t know what time they arrive. I don my hot pink vest and prepare to welcome the patients.
When I started volunteering at Bronx Abortion — a clinic which has since unfortunately closed — I was a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed undergraduate, shocked — that in New York City, of all places, abortion clinics still had protesters and needed escorts — and excited to lend my helping hand. I learned how to talk soothingly to the patients, how to ignore the protesters, and how to smoothly and casually execute the kind of body block that would put a wedge between my patient and a protester without opening me up to the kinds of lawsuits that “antis” love to bring. When I escorted successfully, I felt like the star of the show; like a ballerina who leaps and spins and darts around the stage, here I was doing the same, maneuvering my patients around human obstacles with grace and ease. But my work was far from a solo effort.
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In this week’s parshah, Beha’alotecha, we learn about the importance of shared leadership, a model in which there is no star of the show. As the Israelites continue to wander the desert, they complain about their circumstances — first to God, who punishes them for what is perceived to be disobedience and a lack of gratitude, and then to Moses. Moses, not knowing what to do next, cries out to God. In Numbers 11, verses 16-17 God responds, instructing Moses,
“Gather for Me 70 of Israel’s elders of whom you have experience as elders and officers of the people, and bring them to the Tent of Meeting and let them take their place there with you. I will come down and speak with you there, and I will draw upon the spirit that is on you and put it upon them; they shall share the burden of the people with you, and you shall not bear it alone.”
This instruction may sound familiar. Moses received similar advice way back in Exodus, from his father-in-law, Jethro. While the essence of their guidance is the same, Jethro and God use very different language to describe Moses’ intended appointees. Jethro tells Moses to seek out anshei chayil, or capable men, while God instructs Moses to gather shivim ish miziknei, employing the singular word for man, ish, rather than the plural as we see in Exodus. While grammatically both the use of anshei and ish are technically correct, some commentators take interest in God’s word choice. Da’at Z’kenim, a commentary compiled by the Tosafot (12th-13th century France/Germany), interprets God’s use of the singular form as an indication that each person chosen for this council must be outstanding amongst their community. Not just any 70 leaders will do; these council members must be singular in what they bring to the table. Moses doesn’t need 70 “yes-men”; he needs 70 people with their own knowledge, wisdom, and perspective who can tell him what he should do.
It is crucial, when working in any social justice cause, to take one’s cues from the people who are most affected by the issue. Community knowledge is the strongest tool we have, and as clergy and activists, we must learn how to both respect and harness it. When we seek to make change in the world, we should follow this model of leadership that God gives to Moses. We must ask ourselves: Who are the 70 people who can work with me on this effort? Who might know what needs to happen even better than I do?
The group of clinic escorts I work with comes from all over, with most of us making an at least half-hour long schlep, some up to an hour and a half from Manhattan or Brooklyn. My 5:30 a.m. wake-ups pale in comparison to my colleagues who wake up at 4 a.m. to travel to the clinic. I am so grateful to work with people who have that kind of commitment to protecting abortion access.
That being said, over the past few years, we have wondered: Who are the people – who are our 70 elders – who should be leading this effort? Who are the people who are the most affected by our issues? It is those people who should be in charge.
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It can feel really hard to relinquish control of a movement, but it is also the most ethical and sustainable way to do the work. To this end, my group of clinic escorts has begun to partner with the National Latina Institute for Reproductive Justice, which is Bronx-based, in all of our wider work: meeting with any elected leaders, making decisions for the future of the program, and recruiting new escorts from the neighborhood. We are working to put the power and decision-making back into the hands of the community, a step crucial in the fight for reproductive justice.
I feel grateful to have had the opportunity to witness and participate in this effort at such a formative time in my life as an activist. I know now that, as a rabbi, I don’t want to emulate Moses as he was before Parshat Beha’alotecha. Rather, I want to spend the remaining years of my training learning to emulate the Moses who convenes his council. I want to learn what it looks like to draw out the leadership qualities in others and to value their knowledge and experiences. I want to be one among the 70.
Claire Davidson Bruder is a rabbinical student at JTS, member of T’ruah’s board of directors, and part of the first cohort of T’ruah D’var Torah Fellows.
