We were out
of town on holiday this week. The cash
in my pocket was running low. So I
stopped at one of my bank’s many ATM’s, inserted my card, keyed in my PIN and
requested cash. Instead of dispensing
the bank notes, the machine gave me a slip of paper telling me that I’d entered
an invalid PIN and should try again. That’s
funny, I thought. I know
my PIN, and it’s always worked before. So
I tried again to the same effect. That’s
when I remembered the definition of insanity:
doing the same thing over and over, and expecting a different result.
So I stopped to think about the PIN
I’d entered on the ATM’s keypad. Isn’t
that my PIN? But maybe I had the
digits in the wrong order. So I tried a
few other combinations to the same effect until…you guessed it, the machine
announced that I’d had enough go’s, and my card would not be coming back.
Oh, Pooh! I thought. Is it CRS?
Now CRS is military-speak for a very common ailment. Maybe you’ve heard it referred to as a
‘senior moment.’ I’ve stopped using the
term ‘senior moment,’ because having joined the ranks of senior citizens
myself, I’m ever more sensitive to the danger of inadvertently offending one
of my own. So instead I use the
military term ‘CRS,’ meaning: Can’t
Remember…er, Stuff.
So my momentary attack of CRS caused
me to lose my ATM card. But no real harm
done. Clara was with me and used her
card to get the cash. Had I been alone I
would simply have used a credit card for any further purchases during the trip. Upon our return home I visited my bank to
request a new card which will arrive, I’m told, within five working days. So, no harm done and something to chuckle
about. Except…why did I have that
attack of CRS that caused me to forget my PIN?
It was as if someone had dug a hole in my brain in the exact spot where
that PIN was stored, and as a result…it disappeared.
Look, I’m not really worried
about this; I mention it only for its humorous value. The truth is that, as we age, most of us will
experience some stress when we find some fact that aught to be at our
fingertips, has disappeared from memory.
If you’re older than me and you think you haven’t experienced
this, chances are it’s because…well, you’ve forgotten. It’s something to tease ourselves about,
until it becomes really serious. Several
of you have shared with me that, when you feel that the really serious loss
of mental faculties comes on, you will then question the continuation of your
lives. I don’t agree with this
sentiment, but I certainly understand it.
When there’s nothing but a black hole left where our intellect once was,
what is the motivation to go on?
The term ‘black hole’ is a technical
term from astronomy. It means a region
of space with such a gravitational pull, that not even light-waves can escape
it. But we often use the term as slang
for when something is totally obliterated.
Including, in some contexts, the very memory of that thing.
Perhaps the deeper question is what happens when there is nothing but a
black hole where we once were, period?
I don’t mean our deaths; death is simply an inevitable fact of, er,
life. What I mean is, once we’re gone,
what will be left? Will there be nothing
but a black hole, no trace that there was a person here? As we go about the routines of our lives, do
we even think about what will be left when we ‘check out’?
It’s only natural to think of this
question when reading this week’s Torah portion, Korach. Korach challenged Moses’ leadership. There is nothing intrinsically wrong with
challenging someone else’s leadership when you think it is wanting. Nobody likes to be challenged, whether or not
they serve in a leadership position. But
challenges are part of leadership, at least democratic leadership. Or, as Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks calls it in
his drash on this week’s Parasha, ‘servant leadership.’ This is how Rabbi Sacks complimentarily describes
Moses’ leadership of the People Israel.
Korach and his band, in contrast were not demo-crats but dema-gogues. That is, Korach and the 250 followers who had
gathered behind him. They had no
particular complaint about Moses’ leadership.
Their ‘complaint’ was that they weren’t the ones in charge. Their challenge was therefore not a valid
challenge, and their punishment was to have the earth open up and swallow them
without a trace of their physical existence.
It was as if they’d never been. As
if they’d fallen into a black hole.
As I like to point out from time to
time, there are so many ways to read the Torah.
When I read this narrative, I personally have no problem
believing that the events unfolded exactly as chronicled. I’ve seen enough instances of the breaking of
the Laws of Nature. So I can except
God’s breaking them when it suits His purpose.
Although actually, as someone who grew up in Florida where sinkholes
occasionally swallow up cars and even whole houses, the image of the earth
swallowing up a band of 250 malcontents is really not, for me, such a stretch
of the imagination. But if your own
sensibilities rebel against the narrative as presented in the text, there is
still an important way to apprehend, through the text, the same lesson.
There is not a single trace in the Torah of the lives of the 250, except
for this act of rebellion. In fact, only
Korach and three of the co-conspirators – Datan, Aviram, and On ben
Peleg – are even named. This, despite
that all 250 are described as being men of rank, representatives of the
assembly, and famous. There is no
trace of other 246 in the Torah, and none of the four named ones except for
this act of theirs. So even if you are
personally skeptical about the earth opening up and swallowing 250 men without
a trace, the truth is that, in a very real sense, the group has very
much disappeared into a ‘black hole.’
If so, what are we supposed to take
away from this rather gruesome-sounding narrative?
I think that we should all consider
what traces of us will be left when we’re gone.
Of course, we’re all subject to the mortality that is a fact of our
lives. None of us can predict whether
death will call us next year, tomorrow, or ten minutes from now. A few of us will have advanced warning of our
death, and that should be taken as the gift that it is. Because the rest of us will have no warning
whatsoever. We would be well-advised, then to consider that anything we
do could very well be the last act of our lives. The 250 members of Korach’s rebellion have
disappeared into the black hole called oblivion. The only trace of their existence is their
final act of demagoguery. With the
benefit of their punishment, we can have the prescience to guide our own
actions. Our greatest gift to ourselves,
not to mention the world around us, would be to consider each act of our lives
as if it could be our final act. Because
it could very well be our final act.
Ask ourselves if that act is what we would like to be our only
legacy. Because in a very real way, it
could very well be our only legacy. Whenever we act, or inter-act, we should keep that in mind.
What legacy will you leave?
It’s something to think about.
Every moment of our lives. Shabbat
shalom.
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