As Goes the Nation, So Goes the Leader

Yom Kippur 5765

by Rabbi Sim Glaser

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The most interesting advertisement that came through the internet this year was, for me, the a red Kabbalah thread. $29.95. At Target. For real. But then Target has always been very clued into my Jewish mystical needs.

But my favorite internet headline of the year was: "Madonna makes midnight visit to the graves of the mystical rabbis in Tsefat." Many explorers of Kabbalah have made such a pilgrimage in order to commune with the sixteenth century mystics in hopes of absorbing some of their holiness. My only concern, upon reading this story, was that it might be a two-way thing - and that a 16th century rabbi, might, after some four hundred years, be summoned from the great beyond, only to find himself face to face with, well, with Madonna.

This summer in Israel, Barb and I learned that it is probably not the case that pop stars are bringing Jewish mysticism back into vogue, but that there is evidence that Kabbalah’s time has come. We are entering an age of opportunity to link heaven and earth if we are willing partners in engaging the cosmos. People are becoming tuned into it – and some of these cultural icons have their antennas way up, that’s all.

Delving seriously into teaching Jewish mysticism this past year at Temple, I think the most exciting discovery for me was the Kabbalistic belief that God’s actual effectiveness, the power of divine emanation coming from the heavens, is diminished when human beings fall short of the mark in great numbers. Our behavior actually alters the heavens. Somehow, the idea that God's power may be compromised or enhanced respectively by my own incapacity or wherewithal to act morally is surprisingly comforting. It implies a partnership. Far more so than setting God up as a sovereign ruler, alternatively petitioning God for things, and blaming God when things go wrong.

We are taught that on Rosh Hashanah God is closer to us than during the rest of the year. In between the two holidays, during the days of awe, God moves in even nearer. And today, on Yom Kippur, God is right beside us, or inside us, seeking our partnership in making our lives suitable and holy. Yom Kippur is our best shot at closing the gap between heaven and earth. Pledging to match up our behavior with the divine will. We rise up as a community to meet God halfway. It is not up to God alone to achieve this meeting. As someone said to me downtown the other day, "So, it’s like God is holding office hours, right?" Well, yes, sort of… But then, so are we…

In the daily worship service, the Kedusha ends with: ha El ha Kadosh – the holy God. Today you may have noticed, it reads: ha-Melech ha Kadosh – the holy King." The reason given for the shift is to make the point that there never has been, nor will there ever be a ruler without a people. We may not really understand the concept of God, but we know this for sure about a King – without willing subjects, the King can't do the “King Thing.” On Yom Kippur it is ours to realize that there can be no effective God without a people. Just as there can be no rabbi without an actively engaged congregation, no chairman without a working committee and, for that matter, no American President without a bold and determined nation.

The rabbis of the Talmud had this chicken-egg debate two thousand years ago. Said one sage, "As goes the leader, so goes the generation," while another argued, "as the generation, so goes the leader." “No!” fired back the opposition, “if the leader is virtuous so will the generation be virtuous!” “On the contrary," replied the wiser school, eventually getting the last word,“If the generation is virtuous, so is the leader.”

And they had little further to look for their proof-text than the life of Israel’s leadership prototype, Moses.

Reminding us how Moses, as a leader, had only to disappear for a few weeks and the whole nation fell back into idol worship. How when it came time to lead the people into the new land, they lost faith, breaking down and weeping with fear, proclaiming that they felt like tiny insects in the face of the great challenge. And in that terrible moment, says the Talmud, God stopped talking to Moses, and he became a failed leader. This is why Moses described himself as aral s'fatayim, tongue-tied, a man of impeded speech.

So Moses thought back to that moment back in Exodus 3 when he implored that burning shrub to tell him why on earth he should be considered suitable to lead the people. The fiery thicket would only reply, “Not to worry, I'll be there with you. They’ll get it." Moses insisted, "No, no, no, but when I go before the people, who do I tell them is really in charge?" The answer came again, "Fool, I told you, I’ll be there, we’re all in this together!"

There is not a single word in Exodus 3 about the leader bearing ultimate responsibility for the welfare of his nation. Only the assertion that if this people understand their destiny, and rise to the occasion, a leader can lead them anywhere the wish to go!

Still, for most of his life Moses never understood why no matter what he did, how he led, what he proved with his magic tricks, or what he said, the people acted poorly and lost faith in the big picture--until at the end of his life when he finally figured it out.

When his monopoly on prophecy was challenged by others in the camp claiming to have received the word, Moses responded, “Would that all the people were prophets.” Another way of saying, "It has never really been about me. It’s about you. As goes the nation, so goes the leader."

Several days ago I was addressing our 7th and 8th graders who are setting out for a year of the application of Jewish values toward communal service. We were talking about Rodef Shalom v’Tzedek – pursuing peace and justice. Who, I asked the kids, is responsible for ending poverty and hunger in our wealthy nation? One of kids yelled out, "The president!" I asked them who they thought is accountable for correcting racial injustice in our society. "President Bush!" cried another. "John Kerry!" one yelled.

And you know, it was cute the first couple of times, but it got irritating fast. The kids were clearly echoing what they hear all the time. That the ills of society, the problems of the world, are the fault of our elected officials. That it is someone else’s responsibility, and if the right person is in charge, all will go well. As goes the leader, so goes the nation.

No lesson could be less healthy for a group of young Jews learning to put their Torah values into practice. As goes the nation, so goes the leader. A 50% voter turnout is expected in November. Some of us attribute this to our choice of candidates, but, with rare exception, voter turnout has always hovered around the 48-53% mark! And some of us whine that our values cannot transform a society because the wrong people are in control. But we are like the generation in the wilderness. A nation that sees itself tiny and fragile, without purpose and vision, will always render their leader speechless no matter who he or she is.

Far be it from me to stand here and tell you for whom you should cast your vote in November. I want to keep my job and I don’t want to shake every other hand after services. My own personal criterion is: which one of these guys do I see myself partnering with to build a better America. Which one, by my active association with them, will engender within me pride that I am a Jewish American who wants our nation to narrow the widening chasm between divine values and a world spinning out of control. Who will seek the consensus of his nation, even as he inspires the nation to engage in the discussion?

Now, my write-in candidate, had I been voting some 3,000 years ago, would be the great Judge of Israel - Devorah. She saw herself as a mother to Israel, with the ability to empower. Passionate about justice, Devorah would sit under her palm tree and the people of Israel would come to her for guidance. A lesser-known tradition teaches that Devorah also had a day job. Her husband was a man named Lapidot, which means torches, or lamps. Devorah’s contribution to the household trade was in fashioning the wicks for the oil lamps her husband tended, which is instructive. Devorah was a woman who recognized that the true leader motivates her people to take responsibility for their own internal illumination. The leader can provide the possibility for light, but, to succeed as a nation, it is the people who must ignite the flame.

Devorah’s gift was her ability to instill confidence rather than impose legislation. To invigorate rather than enforce. Devorah’s leadership was generous and nurturing in that it focused on the populace rather than on herself. She nurtured the embryonic house of Israel to live up to its potential for spiritual greatness not only by the example of her righteousness, but by believing in them.

Devorah knew in her soul what it took Moses 38 years of wandering around parting seas, climbing mountains, smashing tablets and yelling at recalcitrant Israelites to figure out. To properly fuse heaven and earth, to bring the divine into the physical realm, the entire nation must strive toward the ideal, and the power has to come from within. As goes the nation, so goes the leader.

This coming Friday marks the tenth anniversary of the death of my father Rabbi Joseph Glaser. I mark the date on the second day of Sukkot on the Jewish calendar because he was a builder of structures as well as human spirits.

Dad could be a tough guy and I remember the lessons he taught me well. After watching me conduct services one evening on the bimah, my father instructed me, “Son,” he said, “son, when you’re sitting on the bimah listening to someone else speak, try not to pick at your teeth.” He believed that the rabbi should be the sermon, rather than only give one. But he felt that way about everyone. That we should walk the walk.

As a regional director for the Reform Movement, dad would come into cities in California and in the Pacific Northwest and empower a community to build a temple where there had not previously been one. He would depart, leaving behind him motivated people, stoked up about their Judaism, imbued with the pioneer spirit necessary to construct a synagogue and make Jewish lives flourish, even in Juneau, Alaska.

He was drawn to the plight of the Tibetans and the Farmworkers union, advising the Dalai Llama and Cesar Chavez on the perpetuation of communal pride and shared vision even in the darkest of hours when their own leaders have been all but stripped of authority and power.

I particularly recall Dad accompanying a group of Native American farmers, struggling to grow crops in decidedly arid soil and flying them to Israel where soil scientists versed in drip agriculture were able to instruct them. It was a win-win for everyone. One empowered nation lifting up another to build its self-confidence.

When he took charge of the conference of reform rabbis, my father became the rabbi's rabbi. An older colleague remembers him running around the floor of rabbinic conventions taking the pulse, building coalitions before ever assuming the podium to offer a resolution. Paramount in importance was his ability to help rabbis believe in themselves and take pride in their religious accomplishments. He was not telling them to follow his own dreams and visions, nor to be bimah barnstormers, but to follow their own vision. Your congregations, he advised, will then do the same.

I feel in my bones that my father would be very pleased with Temple Israel – truly a congregation that understands that if it wants something to happen, people here make it happen. Which of course makes Temple a very gratifying place be a rabbi.

From my father’s inspiration, and from my own experience, I have come to believe that congregations are not built exclusively from the top down, but in partnership and coalition, like in every other relationship we have – with God, with our spouses, with our children, in our communities. It is the same with our nation.

It begins in your hearts. On this Yom Kippur. When God is nearest to us and we can feel the closest thing to prophecy arising within us. It continues this fall when we leave the voting booth, not with the sense of having transferred the burden of our country’s welfare onto someone else’s shoulder, but of having taken it upon ourselves.

I recall dad giving it to a congregation one evening – which he could certainly do. And he was talking about the less than famous Israelite who, poised at the shore of the Red Sea, did not wait for his leader to part the waters for him, but entered and swam for his life, because freedom was so sweet, personal responsibility so very urgent, and with the heavens crying out for partnership. Only then did those waters part, as though God were saying: Yes, now you understand.

Who dives first into those waters? Who is that person? My father asked the congregation. It is not Moses, it is not the president, it is not the senator or congressman, the chieftain, the rabbi or the tribal elder.

The person who goes in first is you.