In a few days, Jacob and Helyn will be walking down the aisle to their chuppah. As they walk down that aisle, most of the people in attendance will likely stand up. Why?
It could be out of respect for two people who are talented and accomplished and are embarking on the most meaningful journey available to humankind. …
That could be the reason but I’m not actually sure.
The custom that many have to rise when the bride and groom walk down the aisle is shrouded in mystery. The few reasons that are suggested are frankly, quite weak, which leads many conclude that this is actually not a Jewish custom. Rav Moshe Feinstein, the most influential Halachic authority of the 20th century did not rise when a bride and groom walked down the aisle.
At some point in the wedding procession, Jacob’s grandmother will also walk down the aisle. Everyone will smile as she walks down the aisle – it’s so beautiful for a grandmother, especially one who has lived for almost a century to be in attendance at her grandson’s wedding, but I imagine most people will remain seated.
But by remaining seated, those in attendance are missing out in fulfilling a positive mitzvah; not a minhag, not a shminhag, but one of the 613 commandments, based on a verse in this week’s parsha – mipnei seivah takum, we are instructed to stand up for anyone who is considered old.
How old is old according to the Torah? Please don’t kill me – 70 years is old. According to Kabbalah, we are actually obligated to stand for anyone who is 60 years old. Meaning, any time you are seated and someone who is 70, or maybe even 60, walks by, if you are younger than that age, you are obligated to stand up.
In some societies, honoring those who are older is framed as self-serving. The great writer, Leo Tolstoy famously captured this message in his short story, the Wooden Bowl, in which a young boy watches as his father gets fed up with his own father whose frailty and shaking hands breaks numerous dishes. And so the boy’s father gives the old man a wooden bowl to eat out of. A few days later, the father sees the young boy making a wooden bowl of his own. The boy explains to his father that he’s making it for him – “Because one day, dad, you’ll be an old man and you’ll need his own wooden bowl.
In this depiction, honoring the elderly is simply a self-serving investment. I need to give my children an example of how they should treat me when I age.
Our Sages take a very different approach. Rashi, in this week’s parsha writes, and I quote: “What is deference? It is refraining from sitting in his place, and not interrupting his words.”
Rav Tzvi Hersh Weinreb explains this Rashi beautifully. “Not sitting in [an elderly person’s] seat means much more than just giving [an elderly man or woman] a seat on the bus. It means recognizing that the elderly person has his own seat, his own well-earned place in society, which you, the younger person, dare not usurp. It is more than just a gesture. It is an acknowledgement of the valued place the elder has in society, a place which is his and his alone.
Similarly, not interrupting the older person’s conversation is much more than an act of courtesy. It is awareness that this older person has something valuable to say, a message to which one must listen attentively.”
This past week there were two articles that caught my attention. One in the Atlantic and one in the New York Times describing something called the gerontocracy. I never even heard of that term before. Gerontocracy is defined as an organizational structure where power is held by leaders significantly older than the majority of the population and includes slower rates of political change and a concentration of wealth among the elderly.
The New York Times article, titled, Older Americans are Hoarding American’s Potential, proposes age limits for elected officials. I’m on board with that. But then he continues by suggesting that we mandate retirement across all sectors to make place for those who are younger. He argues for creating new tax codes which penalize elderly people for staying in their homes and not downsizing – the nerve of holding on to their one asset and not just handing it off to someone who never earned it. And forcing the elderly to distribute their hard-earned wealth so that us young ones could use it appropriately. That’s absurd.
The author of this article, Samuel Moyn, is the Chancellor Kent Professor of Law and History at Yale. And I find that scary. But also perfectly emblematic of an age-old problem; young people who think that old people are getting in their way.
Our parsha begins by alluding to the death of two young people, Nadav and Avihu. The Medrashim tell us that they were slated to be the next leaders of the Jewish People. They were, in one reading, greater than Moshe and Aharon. And yet, they die prematurely in some divine punishment. What was their sin? The Talmud in Sanhedrin quotes these two promising men, Nadav and Avihu, as saying the following: “Eimasai yomusu sh’nei zekeinim halalu? When will these two old men die?” – a reference to Moshe and Aharon – “Va’ani v’atah nanhig es hador, so that you and I will lead this generation.”
Yes, they were ‘with-it’ and maybe understood the culture of the people better than the elders. Yes, they were far more energetic, far more creative, and far more dynamic. But they failed to realize what they would be missing without Moshe and Aharon, two elders, at the helm. There is immense value in the conservative and slow nature of those who have lived long enough to make enough mistakes and have hopefully learned from them, who have seen no shortage of life-altering ideas with so much promise come and go and are now forgotten, who have a wealth of wisdom that no tax code can ever take away from them.
If we’re being honest with ourselves, we too identify with Nadav and Avihu. All the people in this room who bristled when I said sixty or seventy is old, why was it so uncomfortable to hear that? Why do we have such a hard time being called old? In Judaism old is not an insult, it’s a compliment, it means you are worthy of respect! When I speak to leaders of shuls who are looking to strengthen their shul, all I hear about is the “future of the shul,” and “how can we get better programming for the young adults?” That’s all great. But what about the traditions of the shul? What about the legacy members of the shul who created the institution? Are they unimportant?
Thank G-d, I think we do pretty well with this at Ner Tamid, but it’s a constant balancing act.
In Judaism there are two currents that are always at play and in conflict. There are two moments that define our existence more than any others – Ma’amad Har Sinai, standing at Sinai, receiving the law, and another moment which have yet to experience – the Messianic Era, Yemos Hamashiach, a brilliant and rectified future.
From the perspective of Sinai, we are always regressing, we are always moving further and further away from the clarity of that moment when G-d spoke directly to man. We are moving further and further away from a true understanding of G-d’s will. And in that light, the past is holy, the past is pure, and we, so distant from that moment, are nobodies. In the words of our Sages, “If the earlier generations were like angels, we are like men, and if they are like men, we are like donkeys.” The elders, in this model, are to be revered, the past is to be enshrined, the youth ignored, any talk of a different future should be met with deep skepticism.
But from the perspective of Mashiach, from the perspective of the End of Days, that view is completely backward. From the Messianic perspective, we are progressing, closer and closer, higher and higher, to a time of peace, of moral perfection, of clarity. And in that light, the younger we are, the closer we are to the truth. The youth, in this model, those who are attuned to the changes in the wind, are the heroes, overriding the ignorance of the old.
We live in constant tension between the young and old, the past and future, as both have a place in the development of the world. But in the sum-total of Jewish literature, it would seem, that the heavy past carries more weight than the flighty future.
And so when the young and bride and groom walk down that aisle filled with dreams and aspirations, we smile and we applaud them. But when the elderly walk by, we stand and we listen. We acknowledge the weight of experience and wisdom that the elderly carry.