My father, of
blessed memory, once told me a story about his army days. The entire company was standing for muster,
and the First Sergeant stood in front of the men and asked: Who can type? My father, who had taken business courses
in high school, raised his hand along with several others. They were pulled out of ranks and, after the
rest of the company was dismissed, they were led to the kitchen and set to work
emptying the rubbish bins into trucks and then emptying the trucks into the
rubbish heap. Of course, when they
raised their hands, they thought they would be detailed to do some light work
in a comfortable office. And the point
of my father’s story was the well-known principle: Never volunteer!
Yes, never volunteer! Surely you’ve heard that maxim before; we all
have. And there’s a certain wisdom in
it. Volunteer, and you’ll single
yourself out for extra work or extra scrutiny.
For my father, it was a lesson in surviving the army. But most of us have internalised it as a way
of surviving life. Never
volunteer. Sooner or later, someone else
will. And someone else will have to do
the extra work. But it won’t be me.
I have to be honest with you. I never internalised this lesson. Not when I was in the military, and not
since. If there’s something that needs
to be done, and I can do it, I almost always volunteer. And I am far richer, in the only kind of
richness that matters, from this proclivity to volunteer.
When our children were young, we
bought them a disc with kid’s songs, each having an important moral
lesson. One of them was, The more you
give, the more you get. When you
give to others, you get back manifold what you’ve given. Not necessarily in-kind. More likely, knowing that you’ve done a good
turn for someone else, you will get back in satisfaction. I like to think that Clara and I modeled this
mindset well to our children. The way
their young adult lives are shaping up, it certainly seems that they’ve taken
this lesson to heart.
That the more you give, the more
you get is morally far better than never volunteer, is
self-evident. If you want the world to
be a better place, you cannot just wait for someone else to do it. You have to step forward. Even if the task involves carrying rubbish, rather
than something like typing.
As our Torah reading this morning
opens, Joseph addresses his ten sons: Jacob
learned that there provisions in Egypt, and he said to his sons, “Lama titra’u? I have heard that there are supplies in
Egypt,” he explained. “You can go there
and buy food. Let us live and not
die.” The phrase, lama titra’u is
one whose meaning is not self-evident.
Different commentators understood it in different ways. I like the explanation that S’forno gives, the
one carried by the Plaut Chumash, best.
He translates it: Why are you
looking at one another??!
I have to admit, I am predisposed to
think of Jacob’s sons as slothful. Why
wouldn’t I be? They started out the
Joseph sequence being jealous of their younger sibling. So jealous, that they wanted to kill
him. As it ended up, they only sold
him into slavery. If they are capable of
such wanton cruelty, then it is easy to imagine them as being slothful as well. To imagine them as lying about while famine
rages all around them and the family’s provisions run low. Each one is looking at his brothers, waiting
for them to do something about it.
It is easy to imagine the aged Jacob, who has his own character flaws,
getting flustered and asking his sons: Why
are you sitting around looking at one another?
I know the feeling. As with Jacob, you could probably look at my
character and find ample flaws. But also
like him, I cannot stand to watch people sit around, looking at one another and
waiting for someone else to act. When
that happens, I usually just get up and do it myself.
I’ve seen this inactivity, this
looking at one another and waiting for the other guy to do something,
everywhere I’ve been. I’ve seen it in
the military, and even among chaplains.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve sat in a staff meeting where the
boss had an important tasking for one of his chaplains. He asked the chaplains at the table: Who will take this? And they looked at one another, afraid to
open their mouths. Until Levy raised his
hand.
Every new tasking is an opportunity. An opportunity to stretch beyond your current
competencies. An opportunity to
contribute to the Greater Good in a way that you might not have imagined
before. An opportunity to take a load
off someone else. An opportunity to
shine.
It’s natural to shy away from new
responsibilities. A lifetime of
conditioning counsels, Never volunteer.
A lifetime of understanding that raising your hand is going to put more
work in your lap, but often not an extra cent.
Yes, it’s natural to internalize the lesson, Never volunteer.
But it is a blessing to be able to
volunteer. And it is a blessing to
stretch your competencies, contribute to the Greater Good, and take a load off
someone else.
One can be like Joseph’s brothers, and
look dumbly at one another, each waiting of the others to take an initiative. But the brothers are not the heroes of the
story, are they? Joseph is. Did he keep his mouth shut when the Pharaoh
told him of his dream? No, he
interpreted it. And then he advised
him. And as a result, he was elevated to
a high position. When his brothers saw
him, not recognizing him as their long-lost brother, they described him as a
sort of dictator. Think of that term, in
this instance, as a positive. Joseph was
calling the shots in Egypt. Because he
hadn’t been shy about raising his hand.
With all due respect to those who counsel us to never volunteer, I
think Joseph’s example teaches us a far better principle. Always volunteer. Try it.
Shabbat shalom.
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