The Charedi Response to Covid and the Sin of the Golden Calf

by Motzen | Mar 7, 2021 | Sermons

Yesterday was the last day of the semester for seniors at Beth Tfiloh. As I told them, what they lost this past year in academics they gained in lessons of perseverance – which is probably going to serve them better in life than any academics. It was a rough year for students and for teachers, so I figured I’d go easy on them for the final. Instead of an exam, I let them present a project on any contemporary Jewish topic. One group gave a presentation on exorcism and I am still trying to figure out how that is a contemporary topic, but hey, I am just happy they made it to the end of the year. 

One group delivered a thoroughly researched presentation on the topic of vaccines, mask-wearing, and health in general from a Jewish perspective. They quoted the Rambam, some of the most prominent scholars through the ages, all the way through Rav Shlomo Zalman Auerbach, and the Lubavitcher Rebbe. At the end of the presentation, one of the students turned to me with the utmost sincerity and asked, “I just don’t understand. All these commentators take an extremely cautious approach when it comes to all matters of health. They unanimously agree that we should listen to the majority of doctors and that we should accept scientific findings, why then are so many Haredi or Ultra-Orthodox Jews disregarding the medical establishment?” What she didn’t ask me but could have, is “Why is it that in Haredi communities in Israel, 1 in 73 adults over 65 years old died from Covid? 1 in 73?! Why is that if you go to Lakewood, a city that is predominantly a Yeshiva community, no one is wearing a mask? I just don’t understand.” 

This is a question I have heard over and over and over again these past months, not just from my student but from so many. Now some of you are smiling to yourselves and saying, the reason they are not wearing masks is because they don’t help. The reason some are not getting vaccinated is because the vaccine is dangerous, or at least unproven. I could not disagree more strongly, but it’s really not the point. The truth is, the official leadership in these communities, Agudath Israel to name just one, was extremely vocal in their encouraging their followers to wear masks and abide by all state laws and CDC recommendations. This is not only about Covid, it is a general question up time and time again: We often look towards our co-religionists – I am not going to say ‘on the right’ because that implies that they are more religious when that is not always the case – but our co-religionists who are identified as Yeshivish, or Chassidic, or Haredi, and we just cannot understand what they’re thinking. Things that they say or do are just beyond our comprehension. And it’s that confusion/ dismay/ shock/ indignation that I’d like to address today through the prism of the sin of the Golden Calf with 3 points:

1. Psychologists have noted that our religious orientation can be plotted on a continuum between extrinsic and intrinsic motivation. On the one side of the continuum are people who connect to their faith for purely external factors; good company, it provides social support, they like the food, etc. On the other extreme, we have those who are connected to their faith for the faith itself; it is about G-d or the specific beliefs of their faith. Extrinsic vs. Intrinsic. 

But somewhere in the middle of the continuum you have people who connect to their faith, not for self-serving purposes, but they are connected through other people. It is a role model that inspires them that brought them into the faith. It is a teacher who has the most magnetic and uplifting personality, and an individual is drawn after them into a religious life. It’s a community of people whose way of life is so appealing. It is not self-serving or extrinsic but it’s also not intrinsic. This individual’s faith revolves around another person or a group of people. 

This semi-extrinsic connection is very common for Baalei Teshuva and converts. The path for many who are not born into the faith often involves meeting an individual or a group of individuals who are so inspiring that they say, I want a piece of that and so they follow those people into Observant Judaism.

In some ways, this is the story of the Jewish People leaving Egypt. There was no religious philosophy that they could connect to at the time and they knew very little of G-d. What they had was an incredibly humble and powerful man who they placed their complete faith in; Vaya’aminu baShem uv’Moshe avdo. And so when he went missing, when that individual who they placed all their trust in did not return after 40 days, they were lost; they had a crisis of faith. 

The Jewish People, explains the Ramban, did not look to make a replacement for G-d. The goal, or at least the initial goal, of the Golden Calf was to replace Moshe because without him they had nothing. Their religious orientation revolved around a person. So what happens when that person disappears? Or, what happens when that person is involved in a scandal? Or, what happens when that person makes decisions that seem ludicrous to you and completely lacking in judgment? 

What happens is you have a crisis of faith; you build a Golden Calf. 

The sin of the Jewish People at this juncture was not the building of the Golden Calf; it was the semi-extrinsic mindset that led them to do so. It was that the Jewish People did not progress past that first stage of being inspired by others and graduate to connecting to our faith through G-d alone. And that’s a flaw that many still struggle with. 

Lesson #1 of the Golden Calf is that we need to serve G-d and not serve people. We all start on this continuum in different places; some join or choose to engage in Judaism for the most self-serving reasons, others because they want to be like someone else. That’s very normal and okay. We cannot stay in that one place. But we need to grow to a point where our connection to our faith is independent of any individual or community. Judaism is a faith that revolves G-d. Not a community, and not any individual person. That type of Judaism is a small step away from a Golden Calf. To paraphrase Rabbi Berel Wein, “Don’t connect to Judaism through the Jews.” Our religious identity needs to revolve around G-d. 

Which brings me to a closely related second point. A question asked by all the commentators is what in the world was Aharon thinking? How could he assist the Jewish People in the building of an idol of sorts?

Some commentators suggest that it was damage control (Rav Hirsch), others creatively suggest that he led them on to weed out the true idolators in their midst (Rav Saadia Gaon). But the Abarbanel says, all these justifications notwithstanding, Aharon was dead wrong. Maybe there were rationalizations but nothing that could any way excuse his behavior.

This is such an important message, one that we do not hear enough, certainly not enough in Haredi circles; humans are fallible. People, even great people, make terrible mistakes.

Some people are disturbed by this idea; how could a person so steeped in Torah knowledge, so wise in so many areas, how could they make such a basic mistake? Personally, I am bothered by the question; how could we assume that a mortal, as great as they may be, is infallible? Great people could make great mistakes.

This past week I was on a video call with Rav Asher Weiss, one of the leading Halachic authorities of our generation. He has been outspoken and extremely forceful in promoting public safety. He has not only answered the most pressing questions of the Covid era in real time, but he has been advocating mask-wearing, vaccines, and a generally cautious approach in line with the medical establishment.

Now you have to appreciate that Rav Asher Weiss is not a shy person; he is outspoken and can be very fierce. So when one of my colleagues asked him the same question as my student, namely, how do we look at our co-religionists who are not taking Pikuach Nefesh seriously, I braced myself. I assumed he was going to rip into these people who were not following medical guidelines.

Instead he said as follows: (paraphrasing) “They are dead wrong for not abiding by these rules. But, great people can make great mistakes.” And then he said something that surprised me. “We need to stand up for what is right but we also need achdus now more than ever. We need to disagree but we need to do so with love and with respect.” 

And this is the third lesson we can take from the saga of the Golden Calf. Moshe comes down the mountain, he sees the Jewish People completely lost; dancing around an idol, according to our Medrashim, engaging in licentious behavior, with blood on their hands from having murdered someone who dared stand up against them. Moshe breaks the Luchos – they are undeserving. He kills those who are most guilty. And then – he turns around and goes up the mountain and he begs G-d to spare His children. He not only prays, he offers all of his merit in the world to come.

What’s going on here? They’re idolators?! They’re adulterers?! They’re murderers?!

Yes, but they are also G-d’s children. Our brothers. Our sisters. And we need achdus right now more than ever.

So yes, disagree and disagree loudly. But don’t hate. Don’t attack people, attack ideas. Don’t fan jumping flames. We need to extinguish these vicious fires. If you want to take this one step further and take a page from Moshe’s playbook – daven for them. Pray for their wellbeing. It may be hard to have a conversation right now, but we can always seek out their wellbeing.

We still struggle with failed leaders and failed communities and we will continue to do so. Let’s define our connection to our faith through Hashem, through His Torah, and not hang our Jewish identity on one human being or one community or the other. As human beings they are fallible. But that does not mean we need to throw out the baby with the bathwater; Aharon the priest can still become a High Priest and we can still respect people who make mistakes. And lastly, we are brothers, and we are sisters, and we share one Father. It’s hard, I struggle with this, but it’s necessary. The world and the Jewish People, need, now more than ever, more love, more understanding and more respect.

A Letter to My Daughter on her Bat Mitzvah

by Motzen | Feb 25, 2021 | Sermons

Dear Tehila,

Twelve years ago, you were born on (Shushan) Purim, a day of contradictions – I cannot think of a more appropriate time for a Jewish girl to be brought into this world.

Though Esther is one of the few female heroes who is not universally described as beautiful, the mere fact that her appearance is described and debated reminds us of the inescapable reality that you face as a young woman; it breaks my heart to write these words as it is terribly wrong, but the world will likely judge you by your appearance. And yet, while it is her beauty or grace that gets Esther through the palace doors, it is her courage and cunning that establish her place in Jewish history. ​I pray that you never lose sight of what is eternal and what is fleeting; that skin decays but the spirit lives on, that the world may get stuck on superficialities but what is truly important – your inner world, cannot be seen.

Orphaned at a young age, sent away by her uncle to live a life among the Persians, forced to create a family with a non-Jewish king, Esther describes herself as utterly lost; ​ka’asher avad’ti avad’ti​. And yet, she is not lost. In fact, she is the source of the Jewish People finding themselves. In truth, there is no such thing as being lost; even when our parents are no longer with us, we always have a caring Father. God hides Himself not just in the Purim story, but He hides in Esther herself;​“Anochi h​aster aster ​es panai, I will hide my face.”​No matter what choices you make in life, I will always love you. I may not agree with every choice you make in life, but you will always be loved by Mommy, by me, and by God NO. MATTER. WHAT.

A spiritual holiday of the highest order, on par with Yom Kippur, and yet we spend the day with food and drink, costumes, and fun. Though it took me years to understand, your mother, my mother and grandmothers taught me a life-altering lesson; a meal can convey more love than a poem, a hug more care than words, and a smile or sigh more spirituality than a prayer. I pray that you learn this lesson too; that as Jews we do not fight the physical world, we do not even infuse the physical with the spiritual. We, as the women in my life have taught me, find the spirituality that exists within. Purim appears as a paradox only because we cannot properly see. I pray that you follow in the holy footsteps of the women that came before you, uncovering the beauty, the spirit, and the Godliness that can be found all around us.

Tehila, you were born on a complicated day into a complicated world as a member of a complicated faith. With your sensitive soul, you already have questions and I am sure you will have many more. The women that came before you did not accept what was broken, they challenged the status quo. They did not quietly fade into the background, they boldly made a difference. They did not solve the world’s problems but they learned to live with them while still pushing for meaningful change. May you follow in their footsteps as you blaze your own trail. Yesimeich Elohim k’Sarah, Rivkah, Rachel, v’Leah.

With more love than you can imagine,

Abba

Imposter Syndrome: Destroying Amaleik by Remembering they Exist

by Motzen | Feb 21, 2021 | Sermons

This room is filled with many accomplished people; there are those who are accomplished professionally, some who are accomplished morally – people look up to them as role models, others who are accomplished socially – they’re exceptionally popular. There is a lot of expertise in this room. But guess what?

Statistically, about 70% of the people in this room experience something called imposter syndrome. What that means is that they feel like they are an imposter, a fake, a fraud. That one day someone will catch them. That one day their coworkers, friends, or family will corner them and yell, “Busted! We know who you are! And you are not as good as everyone makes you out to be!” 7 out of every ten people in this room have that nightmare. Maybe not with the same details, but you know what I mean…

We took two Torahs out today; one was Parshas Terumah, which Riley read, and the other was Parshas Zachor, which was read by Avri. The reason Avri read the second section is because that reading is considered to be the only Biblically mandated Torah reading we do the entire year. Because of that it has to be read by someone older than Bar Mitzvah. This is the only section that is a Biblical Mitzvah to read, it must be really important. Right? What’s it about?

It’s about an enemy nation. A nomadic tribe called Amaleik who attack the Jews as they leave Egypt. We are told that there is an eternal battle against this nation. Which is hard to understand because we don’t really know who this nation is in 2021. They are lost to the dustbin of history. So what relevance does this passage have to me and you?  

The mystical commentators point out that the name of this nation is a contraction of two words – Amal, which means ‘toil’ Kof which means … ‘of a monkey.’ The toil of a monkey. That’s the idea that Amaleik represents. What does this mean? Well, what do we know about monkeys? Monkey see, monkey do. Monkeys are known to imitate; to just perform external actions. In other words, they are imposters. What this nation Amaleik represents to us in 2021 is that voice inside of us that tells us, “This ain’t you. You are not as good/ as talented/ as kind as everyone thinks you are. You’re just a good faker. You’re nothing but a monkey.”

Imposter syndrome is not just a nightmare, it has terrible consequences. It causes people to downplay their accomplishments and avoid feedback. It prevents people from asking for help, causes people to refuse new opportunities, fail to start or finish projects, and overwork themselves to the point of burnout. That battle against Amaleik is certainly still relevant.  

So how do you defeat it? How do you overcome imposter syndrome, this modern day manifestation of Amaleik?

The Torah has a fascinating approach to dealing with imposter syndrome, and with the nation of Amaleik. We are taught that the way Amaleik is defeated is by remembering Amaleik. Not by forgetting them and erasing their memory from this earth. It’s the opposite. After all, this is Parshas Zachor – the Shabbos of remembering Amaleik! Remember what they did to you! Remember what they still do to you!

Because you see, imposter syndrome for all of its negative impact, also has a positive; a big one. In one study, doctors who reported more imposter syndrome-related thoughts had better bed-side manner than their peers. They collaborated better with others and were more empathetic.

One possible explanation is that people who experience imposter syndrome are more self-aware. They know that who they project is not who they are. Those are two separate things for better or for worse. The world may think I’m the greatest, but I know I could be better. The world may judge me by my mistakes, but they are not who I am.

To live with imposter syndrome is to live with a deep knowledge that we operate on two levels; internally there is a world of wants, aspirations, desires, and potential, and externally, a world of action, a world that never properly reflects the inner world; a world of the monkey. And there is an eternal gap between the two.  

Ignoring that gap, living as if how we represent ourselves IS our reality, dulls us to our inner world. By remembering of its existence, we dance between the poles of who we are and how we project ourselves; of what we can be and how we’re doing on the outside, of what I want in my life and where I am today. That tension is the fuel of a meaningful and ever-growing life. One of the great thinkers of our day, Christian Wiman once wrote that, “Poetry itself – like life, like love, like any spiritual hunger-thrives on longing that can never be fulfilled and dies when the poet thinks they have been.” If we think we’ve defeated the imposter, we’re just fooling and defeating ourselves.  

And that’s why we are told to remember Amaleik and not forget them. By remembering that we live in two dimensions, that we need to define ourselves, not based on how others perceive us, but based on who we know we could be, that life is a monkey-dance between our projections and our inner world, the more we remember that, the more we aware of that gap, the greater we can be.   

Ignoring Cries, Silent Cries, and Prevented Cries – Parshas Mishpatim (Feb. 25, 2017)

by Motzen | Feb 10, 2021 | Sermons

February 25, 2017

This morning I’d like to share with you three stories; the names and details have been changed and you will quickly see why. I received an email from CHANA, Baltimore’s Jewish center for abuse prevention, informing me that February has been designated as abuse awareness month in our community. The email concluded with a request to speak about this complicated, sensitive, and all-important topic. And so I would like to do that today.

Story number one involves a young boy, who we’ll call Avi. Avi was a bit of trouble maker, he was always getting himself into conflicts with classmates and with teachers. One day he confided to an adult family friend that his father was touching him inappropriately. The family friend informed the school that Avi was attending, but the school, knowing this boy and his attraction to controversy and attention seeking behavior, they dismissed the allegations and did nothing about them. “The boy’s a liar.” “The boy’s a trouble-maker.” “It doesn’t involve us so we’re not getting involved.”

This patter continued for some time; Avi would again confide in this adult, the adult would follow up with the school, and the school would ignore it.

Finally, two years too late, the family friend called the police, who stepped in, arrested Avi’s father, and put Avi in the care of a foster family. At this point, Avi had been sexually abused for years, scarred beyond belief, and would need intensive therapy to teach him to trust others and to not be ashamed of himself.

Someone once asked me if the Torah speaks about child abuse. While it is not mentioned explicitly, I would suggest that it is the Mitzvah mentioned the most times in the Torah.

“Do not oppress a convert, an orphan, or a widow.” Variations of that prohibition are mentioned 46 times in the Torah! This week’s Parsha, which is all about social justice and how to build the fabric of a healthy society, begins and ends with this prohibition. This prohibition is not limited to converts, widows, or converts. It is a principal demanding of us to look out for those who are vulnerable. “G-d hears their cry,” the Torah tells us. And we are enjoined to emulate G-d and to listen ever so closely to the voice of the vulnerable and to the pleas of the powerless. There is no one more vulnerable in society than children as they are powerless and completely dependent on adults. So yes, the Torah does speak of child abuse, 46 times, and it teaches us to listen to their cries.

I hope this goes without saying, but a story like Avi’s should have never ever taken place. When a child, regardless of how big of a “trouble-maker” or “liar” they may be, shares with us an allegation, we have an obligation, a legal and moral obligation to pick up the phone and inform the police. We have an obligation to help the child and his family and care for them. Does an allegation mean something is true? Not necessarily. But if someone cries, especially a child it’s our responsibility to hear their cry and help them. And let me emphasize, helping them and supporting them is not synonymous with passing judgment on the accused. No, A person is innocent until proven guilty. But we cannot ignore these children and their cries.

Is Child Protective Services perfect? Far from it. Do people get accused for things they did not do? That can happen. But I would hate to be the one who made that decision on my own and turned out to be dead wrong. A good society, a righteous society heeds the cry of the vulnerable, and children are most vulnerable of all.

Story #2 involves a different type of cry. There are audible cries and there are silent cries and this story is about a silent cry. Sarah was a quiet, well-liked sweet young teen. At one point, in her freshman year of high school, she started to withdraw from her friends and family. Her grades began slipping and her usual put-togetherness was replaced with a complete disregard for hygiene.

Her friends were so caught up in their own lives that they stopped checking in with her, and just moved on. Tragically, but also tellingly, she didn’t have much of a relationship with her parents and although they saw many red flags they didn’t really know what to say, and so they said nothing. Sarah fell and fell and fell.

Sarah was being abused by a sibling, emotionally, and eventually sexually. She was crying, she was sobbing, but they were silent tears that no one bothered to listen for.

As a community, as good citizens, we have an obligation to make ourselves aware of these silent cries inasmuch as we do to the audible ones. Being attuned to the silent cries means being aware of family members, or friends who have a change in behavior and start acting differently. And it may not be abuse that’s going on. But when someone suddenly starts acting very different, when someone is behaving and speaking in a way that they never did before, it may be their way of crying out to you – help me!

But it’s more – Listening to those silent tears means that you are a person who your friends and family could turn to and share with the darkest of secrets, knowing that you won’t judge them.

A colleague of mine once commented that he thought there are no issues of abuse in his shul because no one ever spoke to him about it. And then one Shabbos he decided to talk about abuse. He spoke about it in a compassionate and understanding way; child abuse, spousal abuse, elder abuse. Following that Shabbos, people began approaching him and sharing their stories of abuse and he quickly realized that of course abuse exists everywhere. It’s a universal problem, and it exists in our community as well. If we want to save people from harm, which we all want to do, we need to transform ourselves into people who are so accepting, so loving that others can share anything with them.

And here I’m going to add something you’re not going to like. There’s a international organization called Stop It Now. It is a hotline for men with deviant attractions. It is set up for people who have not acted on their attractions, but are desperately in need of help controlling them.

I don’t envy their fundraiser. That’s a hard sell. But it’s also such a crucial service. The opening section of this week’s Parsha speaks of a thief who instead of throwing into jail, the Jewish courts give him responsibilities in the hope that this will help change the criminal. Judaism believes in rehabilitation, in trying to help even the sinner, and most certainly to help someone before they’ve ever committed a crime.

Are we accepting enough that if, just maybe, a friend of ours had issues that we would justifiably be disgusted by, would they feel comfortable turning to us? Would we be their destination?

Because those people are also crying silently. They are drowning in shame, in self-loathing, and they could be helped. If someone listens to their silent cries, whether that’s by checking in when we see warning signs or by being an available and accepting person, letting our friends and family know that we are there for them always, no matter what. Helping them is also helping the victim. Those are silent cries we cannot ignore.

We’ve spoken about ignoring cries, we’ve spoken about silent cries, but far more important than those two is preventing those cries in the first place. As a community, as a Jewish community, strides have been made in dealing with abuse and abusers. Thank G-d, most schools would not ignore the claims of Avi and will do what they are mandated to do by law. Most schools and institutions would not ignore the signs of Sarah being a victim and would get her help. Recently, many of the Jewish schools participated in a community-wide program called Safety Kid, under the auspices of CHANA, that educates children about personal safety. If your child’s school did not participate, I urge you to speak to them and ask them what education and tools they are giving your children.

But in addition to the institutional changes, there is a basic change that needs to take place at home. Our children have to be showered with unqualified love and acceptance. Our children have to know that there is nothing they can do that would make them undeserving of our love. Our children have to know that they could turn to us and confide in us. Our children have to know that we are their rock. Because that is one of the best ways to prevent abuse.

Institutions can come up with the best practices and policies that will limit the possibility of abuse. But the best prevention starts at home. The safer a child feels, the stronger connection the child has with his or her parents, the more educated the child is as to what is acceptable and what is not, the safer your child will be.

Which leads me to the third story, a story about Michael. Michael was about as average as a 7^th grader could be; he had some friends but not too many, he was a B student, nothing special.

Michael went to sleep-away camp. A counselor at camp befriended him, gave him lots of attention, and they developed a close relationship. One night, the counselor tried to make sexual advances on Michael.

Michael felt very uncomfortable, and he had been taught to trust his intuition. And so he said, no. And that was it.

Then, Michael called his parents who he knew loved him and who he knew accepted him and who he knew would listen to him and believe him. He told them what happened and they called the camp. The camp had protocols which they followed and put the counselor on leave and immediately called the people in to investigate. 

That’s my favorite story and that’s the story line we’re all shooting for.

G-d calls us a holy people in this week’s Parsha. As a holy people, it is incumbent upon us to listen when people cry, to not act as judge or jury, to simply follow the law, and call the police. As a holy nation it’s our duty to look out for friends and family, to hear their silent cry, both actively by being attuned to our surroundings, and passively, by being non-judgmental and accepting. And as a holy nation, it is incumbent upon us, more than anything else, to foster trust, love, and acceptance in our households so that there will be no more cries.