 | As of sunrise after Election Day 2024, we don't know what the days to come will bring – not for us, not for our country, not for the world. We've never been here before, but in a sense we have. Over the long view of centuries, as a people we have experienced many watershed moments when it all seemed to be at stake. "Not knowing" where we're headed, poignant and impactful as it is, also reflects deep truth about who we are – and who we must be. |
By Rabbi David Evan Markus
Lekh Lekha 5785 (2024)
If you're feeling anxious, overwhelmed or anything in between, I'm here for you. Be in touch.
Note: These remarks touch on the election and current political environment. New York's Rules Governing Judicial Conduct ban me from making public comment that might cause my impartiality reasonably to be questioned, including most matters of partisanship. Instead, I focus on deep truths of resilience for ongoing journeys with destinations unknown.
Ordinarily I write each week's dvar Torah on Sunday, for publication on Thursday. This week, with perhaps the most consequential election in our lifetimes halfway between, I delayed writing until the day after.
Writing this message at sunrise Wednesday, I have no idea where we're going. The nation, the world, and many of us have been holding our breath.
Whatever our politics, much is at stake – far more than I can depict. Whatever our hopes, dreams, anxieties and fears, this moment triggers them. The presidential race looks like it's settled, but not control of Congress – and whatever happens, we're in unchartered territory.
Moments like these ask a long view – far longer, perhaps, than the immediacy of stakes and our palpable feelings about them. As a people, we've weathered many watershed moments over an especially long and turbulent history.
Look back on history: Israel on the ropes in the Yom Kippur War's early days (1973), the UN vote for a State of Israel (1947), the Nazi sweep of Germany (1933) set in motion by a punitive Treaty of Versailles (1919), the First Zionist Congress (1897), Europe's first civic amelioration of Jews (France 1791), the Spanish exile (1492), the canonization of Talmud (500s), Constantine's embrace of Christianity and antisemitism (325), rabbinic Judaism's rise from the ashes (100s CE), Rome's final defeat of surviving Jewish freedom fighters after exile (135 CE), the Second Temple's destruction and the second exile (70 CE), Jewish triumph over Hellenic dominion (160 BCE), Jewish return to Zion after the Babylonian exile (516 BCE), King David's cohesion of Israelite tribes into a first Jewish nation-state (1047 BCE)....
Each was a watershed moment for Jewish religion, peoplehood and civilization. Immediately before or after each inflection point, it was utterly unclear what would happen: it could have gone either way. Each brought great uncertainty, anxiety and profound implications.
Jewishly speaking, watershed moments – and how we respond to them – make us who we are. As a people, we wouldn't exist but for them. There was a Holocaust, and then a decision point: what if world Jewry had given up? There were exiles one after the other, and then decision points: what if world Jewry had abandoned cohesion, values and hope? There was Egyptian bondage, and then a decision point: what if Moses hadn't turned to see a bush that burned but wasn't consumed? Joseph was imprisoned, and then a choice: what if he hadn't touched a dreaming Pharaoh's heart?
This week's Torah portion brings our people's very first watershed moment, and it has much to teach us about how to navigate our own. A seemingly nondescript Akkadian guy named Avram son of Terah suddenly heard a Voice (Gen. 12:1-2):
Lekh Lekha 5785 (2024)
If you're feeling anxious, overwhelmed or anything in between, I'm here for you. Be in touch.
Note: These remarks touch on the election and current political environment. New York's Rules Governing Judicial Conduct ban me from making public comment that might cause my impartiality reasonably to be questioned, including most matters of partisanship. Instead, I focus on deep truths of resilience for ongoing journeys with destinations unknown.
Ordinarily I write each week's dvar Torah on Sunday, for publication on Thursday. This week, with perhaps the most consequential election in our lifetimes halfway between, I delayed writing until the day after.
Writing this message at sunrise Wednesday, I have no idea where we're going. The nation, the world, and many of us have been holding our breath.
Whatever our politics, much is at stake – far more than I can depict. Whatever our hopes, dreams, anxieties and fears, this moment triggers them. The presidential race looks like it's settled, but not control of Congress – and whatever happens, we're in unchartered territory.
Moments like these ask a long view – far longer, perhaps, than the immediacy of stakes and our palpable feelings about them. As a people, we've weathered many watershed moments over an especially long and turbulent history.
Look back on history: Israel on the ropes in the Yom Kippur War's early days (1973), the UN vote for a State of Israel (1947), the Nazi sweep of Germany (1933) set in motion by a punitive Treaty of Versailles (1919), the First Zionist Congress (1897), Europe's first civic amelioration of Jews (France 1791), the Spanish exile (1492), the canonization of Talmud (500s), Constantine's embrace of Christianity and antisemitism (325), rabbinic Judaism's rise from the ashes (100s CE), Rome's final defeat of surviving Jewish freedom fighters after exile (135 CE), the Second Temple's destruction and the second exile (70 CE), Jewish triumph over Hellenic dominion (160 BCE), Jewish return to Zion after the Babylonian exile (516 BCE), King David's cohesion of Israelite tribes into a first Jewish nation-state (1047 BCE)....
Each was a watershed moment for Jewish religion, peoplehood and civilization. Immediately before or after each inflection point, it was utterly unclear what would happen: it could have gone either way. Each brought great uncertainty, anxiety and profound implications.
Jewishly speaking, watershed moments – and how we respond to them – make us who we are. As a people, we wouldn't exist but for them. There was a Holocaust, and then a decision point: what if world Jewry had given up? There were exiles one after the other, and then decision points: what if world Jewry had abandoned cohesion, values and hope? There was Egyptian bondage, and then a decision point: what if Moses hadn't turned to see a bush that burned but wasn't consumed? Joseph was imprisoned, and then a choice: what if he hadn't touched a dreaming Pharaoh's heart?
This week's Torah portion brings our people's very first watershed moment, and it has much to teach us about how to navigate our own. A seemingly nondescript Akkadian guy named Avram son of Terah suddenly heard a Voice (Gen. 12:1-2):
| וַיֹּ֤אמֶר יהו''ה֙ אֶל־אַבְרָ֔ם לֶךְ־לְךָ֛ מֵאַרְצְךָ֥ וּמִמּֽוֹלַדְתְּךָ֖ וּמִבֵּ֣ית אָבִ֑יךָ אֶל־הָאָ֖רֶץ אֲשֶׁ֥ר אַרְאֶֽךָּ׃ וְאֶֽעֶשְׂךָ֙ לְג֣וֹי גָּד֔וֹל וַאֲבָ֣רֶכְךָ֔ וַאֲגַדְּלָ֖ה שְׁמֶ֑ךָ וֶהְיֵ֖ה בְּרָכָֽה׃ | YHVH said to Avram, “Go from your land and from the place of your birth and from your parent's house to the land I will show you. I will make you a great nation, bless you, and make your name great – and you will be a blessing." |
And Avram went. Thus was born the Israelite tradition and what would become Judaism and Western monotheism. Just like that.
Perhaps the most amazing thing is that Avram went at all. No introductions, no directions, no assurances – just go. Had Avram not stepped into the future with all he had, unsure and anxious as he must have felt, there'd be no Judaism and no Western monotheism. It was exactly that Avram had no clue where he was going or how he'd get there, but went anyway with all he had, that made the future possible.
There are obvious differences between Avram's journey and our own. Torah identifies the Voice's source as God, while we have any number of ways to label and explain how we feel now. (I, for one, prefer to leave God out of election commentary.) Avram was just one person; we're a whole community... and an ethno-religious people... and a nation... and a planet. Avram didn't hear two competing voices; we hear many. Avram seemingly had a choice; we seemingly have no choice.
Except we do have a choice. Whatever the 2024 election's fallout, pivotal as it is, already we're on route, destination unknown, unsure how we'll get there or what it'll mean or what tools we'll have to make the journey. Already there is no going back: we've left. Our choice is whether to lean forward with all we've got, or to cower.
In this choice, we have advantages Avram didn't have. We have each other. We have a long, proud and resilient history. Through us flows an ancestry that faced all kinds of high stakes and defied all kinds of odds. If Avram could, if our ancestors could, then we can – and must.
I don't know what the days ahead will bring. But I do know that there's a land ahead, and whatever it is, by leaning forward and moving forward – together and with all we've got – we ourselves still can become blessings, come what may.
Perhaps the most amazing thing is that Avram went at all. No introductions, no directions, no assurances – just go. Had Avram not stepped into the future with all he had, unsure and anxious as he must have felt, there'd be no Judaism and no Western monotheism. It was exactly that Avram had no clue where he was going or how he'd get there, but went anyway with all he had, that made the future possible.
There are obvious differences between Avram's journey and our own. Torah identifies the Voice's source as God, while we have any number of ways to label and explain how we feel now. (I, for one, prefer to leave God out of election commentary.) Avram was just one person; we're a whole community... and an ethno-religious people... and a nation... and a planet. Avram didn't hear two competing voices; we hear many. Avram seemingly had a choice; we seemingly have no choice.
Except we do have a choice. Whatever the 2024 election's fallout, pivotal as it is, already we're on route, destination unknown, unsure how we'll get there or what it'll mean or what tools we'll have to make the journey. Already there is no going back: we've left. Our choice is whether to lean forward with all we've got, or to cower.
In this choice, we have advantages Avram didn't have. We have each other. We have a long, proud and resilient history. Through us flows an ancestry that faced all kinds of high stakes and defied all kinds of odds. If Avram could, if our ancestors could, then we can – and must.
I don't know what the days ahead will bring. But I do know that there's a land ahead, and whatever it is, by leaning forward and moving forward – together and with all we've got – we ourselves still can become blessings, come what may.
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