Them.
A part of the human brain was
hard-wired long ago
to be prepared for an
immediate threat to our existence or for impending danger.
Another part of our brain has
the ability to take our thinking to a higher level, far above the fear that
could cause us to expect doom at every turn,
to compete with others in
most situations, or to see life in terms of conquests and defeats rather than
as a series of opportunities for thoughtful cooperation, productive partnership
and constructive compromise.
The Torah portion for this
week, Pinchas, begins with God offering a covenant of peace and friendship to
Aaron’s grandson, Pinchas the priest.
At the end of the previous Torah reading,
Pinchas’ spear had pierced through an Israelite man and a Midianite woman (by
his own hand) as they worshiped a foreign god that was not responsible for
their liberation from Egypt.
Some say the covenant was a reward to Pinchas
for his act that stilled God’s anger at the people’s backsliding into idolatry.
Perhaps the covenant was really God’s way of telling
him that he could express his zealotry for his faith and his people through a
violent act only once.
It may appear that it wasn’t until the time of
the prophets that the Israelites were able to look at a situation with a fresh
approach, what we would call “outside the box,” moving beyond narrow ways of
thinking about situations and about people.
Enter the daughters of
Zelophechad – Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah and Tirzah – who came forward in
this Torah reading with a radical idea.
Their father had no sons, and
they believed that they deserved to have their father’s inheritance transferred
to them.
Moses took the case to God,
who declared that “the plea of the daughters is just.”
For the Israelites, this
decision transcended, if only for a moment, the “us/them” of rights based on
gender. There was only one
community, which included both men and woman, who could be seen as equal.
That decision reflected creativity and openness.
It set the stage for Moses’s request that God appoint his
successor, a leader over the community who would “go out before them and come
in before them, who shall take them out and bring them in, so that the
community of the Eternal will not be like a sheep that have no shepherd.”
It was the leader’s task to
direct the people, to assure that they had food and drink, to guide them in
battle, and to continue to teach them about the meaning of freedom.
It was Joshua who was chosen to succeed Moses,
the man with the name meaning “salvation.”
Salvation had a unique significance for the
Israelites, and, later, for the Jewish people, as they faced challenges from
without and within.
The notion of “us/them” persisted over the centuries
as a world was unable to understand a people that was few in number but mighty
in spirit and study, a people that believed that salvation ultimately applied
to all humanity.
And so we come to today – now – this week.
As rockets fired to perpetuate the “us/them” approach
targeted Israeli cities, necessitating a response in self-defense, families
mourning their murdered children on both sides extended hearts towards one
another.
Even a particularistic sense
of peoplehood does not preclude holding onto faith in God as Creator of all
humanity, a belief that has led some, in their sadness, to rise above a
perspective of “us/them” to see themselves as part of yet another specific
community, defined as “we human beings who desire to live in peace so that no
one else will need to experience the pain of grieving for a murdered
child.”
Such a community needs a shepherd – a leader.
Psalm 23, which a number of us studied at Temple this week, speaks of a
Shepherd, with a capital “S,” who would provide for the people, lead them
through green pastures and by still waters, revive their very lives amid their
despair, direct them along pathways of justice, and remind them that goodness
and kindness are always running after them, pursuing them, as if those two
calming qualities of character were calling out to us, “Slow down so that we
can catch up with you and be an integral part of your lives.”
May that Shepherd in whose house we yearn
to dwell forever lift our vision to the heights, so that communities and their
leaders can see that the peace that is created in the highest heavens has the
potential to bring benefit and serenity to the world below. May the violence of some give way
to the wisdom of others that will make peace a reality that will bring light
and hope to the dark corners of the world. So may it be –and let us say amen.
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