Surviving Your Synagogue: A Drash for Rosh Hashanah Morning 2014

Last Sunday evening, after the Beit Din where six of our members completed their conversions, we were relaxing around the table in Paul’s house.  I heard Rabbi John Cooper telling one of the new converts about the three Jewish Catalogues.  These are guides to ‘do it yourself Judaism,’ published in the 1970’s by people whom Rabbi John knew personally:  Richard Siegal, and Sharon and Michael Strassfeld.  They were members of Havurat Shalom, an alternative community in Boston.  Rabbi John met them whilst studying at Brandeis University.

Now perhaps I’m unlikely to strike any of you as a ‘counterculture’ sort of guy, but I’ve long been a fan of the Jewish Catalogues.  I own all three, and I refer to them periodically.  I’ve also been very much a fan of the Havurah movement, which I believe, breathed new life into a moribund institutionalized Judaism.  But more on that in a moment.

There is an article called Surviving Your Synagogue in, I think, the first of the three Jewish Catalogues.  The premise of the article is that, like it or not, your local congregation provides important Jewish services and connections.  Even the most reluctant Jewish consumer should learn how to utilize it, contribute to it, and make it part of his or her Jewish universe.  And in doing so, the reluctant Jewish consumer should not let the congregation’s tendency toward banality, kill his or her own spiritual quest.

If you’re involved in Beth Hamitzvot, our nascent group on the Gold Coast, then you have likely despaired of surviving your congregation and aspire to be part of something different.  Something that will, hopefully, avoid the pitfalls, which are regrettably typical of religious congregations.  And those pitfalls are the little power plays, the gossiping and back-biting, the creation of little empires and other distractions from the congregation’s raison d’être:  to provide an address for Jewish teaching, spirituality, and fellowship.

As is true of many local Jewish communities, here on the Gold Coast we have some choices as to where and how to express our Jewishness.  There is an Orthodox shule, a Progressive temple, a Chabad outreach.  And now our congregation, Beth Hamitzvot.  Not the scope of choices that Jews in Melbourne or Sydney have, but choices nonetheless.  All the aforementioned provide a venue for Jewish observance, worship, learning and fellowship.  And yet, they are all different enough that they are not in competition with one another.  Each appeals to a particular sensibility.  It is true that some Jews when ‘shule hunting’ are just looking for a place to make connections.  But most will gravitate toward the alternatives that best represents their Jewish sensibilities.

I’ve believed this for many years, and I’ve made it the basis of my outreach to potential members.  And especially, with potential conversion students.  Not a few have been the students who came to me, began the process of conversion, and along the way realised that Orthodox Judaism was where they really belonged.  When I’ve encountered such people, I’ve always encouraged them to check out the Orthodox community.  I’ve been told that I’m on the traditional fringe for Reform rabbis.  But I am definitely not an Orthodox rabbi, and I therefore cannot help someone obtain an Orthodox conversion.

Now sometimes the students in question came back to me after not receiving a warm welcome in the Orthodox community.  Sometimes I never saw them again, and assumed they’d found a home in Orthodoxy.  Or just in some other congregation.  Or in a different religion altogether.     

In the Jewish world, we make formal membership the major goal of outreach to Jews.  But I’ve never seen it that way.  When the member of another congregation attends a service at my shule, they shouldn’t feel pressured to change their affiliation.  I believe that Jews, if they care about Jewish religious life, should be affiliated.  Becoming a member is an important statement of one’s support of Jewish life.  And I’m very happy if someone affiliated with another congregation, enjoys attending my congregation on occasion.

Obviously others have a very different approach.  They are quick to criticize someone else’s congregation out of the sense that the two are in competition.  It’s all too common.  And it’s hard to be completely unmoved by the impetus to grow one’s congregation.  When we increase our numbers, it serves as an important validation of our Jewish choices.  And perhaps more critically, it provides the additional ‘critical mass’ that may be necessary to strengthen the congregation’s position and offerings.  So I’m not knocking size.

But at the same time, the desire to increase the membership rolls sometimes overshadows a more compelling need.  And that is, to focus on attracting specifically others who share our vision for what a congregation can and should be.  Look, we can’t expect that all of us at Beth Hamitzvot – or any congregation for that matter – will agree about everything.  We have already experienced an issue or two where there have been sharp differences of opinion.  There’s nothing fundamentally unhealthy about that.  But each congregation has a set of core values, either explicit or de facto, implicit in the way they ‘do business.’  We are a nascent group.  A number of aspects of our ultimate identity have not been addressed, let alone been decided.  But even so, our core values – the de facto ones – are starting to shape up and show.

For example, it could be said with accuracy that our primary foundational core value is the centrality of learning.  One would think that would be a given, common to all congregations.  But not necessarily so.  Many of you came to Beth Hamitzvot from another congregation that, through its actions, made it clear that learning is not a priority.  And that, in and of itself, is not a cause for criticism.  But not owning up to it, pretending it is not so, is.  And it isn’t so uncommon.  Many congregations build a focus on other things that makes learning sometimes seem like an afterthought, like something esoteric for just a small subgroup of the congregation.  This is, in my opinion, regrettable.  Were I looking around for a shule to belong to, I would avoid any such congregation.  But if the members of a congregation can agree that learning is a secondary, or even tertiary focus, and be upfront about it…I have no quarrel with that.

So learning will be front-and-centre in Beth Hamitzvot.  As will a welcoming and accepting spirit.  As will a joyous approach to what we do.  As will a reverence for the traditional wisdom of the Torah.  Let’s all agree on these.  Everything else is yet to be determined.  Let’s maintain our focus and decide to avoid the pettiness that has unfortunately become a common byproduct of congregational life.  We’re human and we therefore will mess up now and then.  When we do mess up, let’s resolve to have the integrity to look inward first, to check our own motives and not be quick to lay blame outside ourselves.  And then, let’s have the integrity to fix it.  Am I trying to say that there is something amiss amongst us?  No, not at all, at least not to my knowledge.  And let’s work to keep it that way!  It’s easy to lose focus and allow the corrosive behaviors and mindset which we’ve experienced elsewhere, to infect our nascent group.  As we approach the Days of Awe, let’s renew our commitment as individuals and collectively, to move only in positive directions.

Maybe it’s not so much about surviving our synagogue, as about making sure that our synagogue survives us.  Let’s make sure that Beth Hamitzvot, our new Havurah, will survive our tendencies to interject the same injurious mindset and resulting behaviors into the mix, that have repelled us elsewhere. 

There’s that word again:  Havurah.  It means ‘fellowship.’  In the late sixties and early seventies, the Havurah movement I referred to earlier, arose as an important force in American Judaism.  The premise was that our ‘conventional’ congregations, of whatever ideological bent, had grown too institutionalized to allow the meaningful expression of Jewish spirituality within their walls.  And there was more than a shred of truth to the charge.  And that does not call into question those who lead congregations.  It is unfortunate, but human, that leaders of institutions sometimes lose sight of the founding purposes.

So a movement began:  the creation of smaller alternatives to conventional synagogues, groups where the emphasis was on the deep connection between Jews to support the spiritual connection between Jews and God.  This, in contrast to the conventional synagogue where the emphasis is often on ‘trappings.’  In a Havurah, the emphasis was different even of the services and activities were not so different.

But let me return to another premise.  Remember the goal of surviving one’s synagogue.  The point being that the congregation is an indispensable tool if we’re going to be Jewish in a meaningful way.  Even when that congregation is not exactly what we would like it to be.  But as I also mentioned, the Jewish Catalogue in which the article appeared, was written and edited by a trio who were at the forefront of the Havurah movement.  They turned away from existing synagogues to create something new and different.   

We don’t use the word Havurah so much anymore.  Today, we prefer to use the word Minyan for an informal fellowship.  It’s probably because the word Havurah now seems to carry connotations of the seventies’ counterculture movement.  So instead of the cities with large Jewish populations hosting numerous Havurahs, today one finds a profusion of Minyans, but the premise is the same.  Sometimes, despite the important role of the conventional synagogue, it is necessary to look outside its walls for the Judaism one seeks.

So call Beth Hamitzvot a Havurah, or call it a Minyan.  Really, call it anything you want.  But make it a community, in the best sense of the word.  I think we’re off to a great start.  Now let’s keep it up.  It’s not enough to pray for a good year.  Rather, it is our responsibility for make for ourselves, and for our emerging community, a good year.  Ken yehi ratson – may this be God’s will.

What is Your Excess Baggage? A Drash for Rosh Hashanah Evening 24 September 2014

When one flies international, there is a chore to complete sometime during the flight.  There’s almost always some kind of document to fill out, to present to passport control and customs upon arrival at the destination.  It’s often referred to as, a ‘landing card.’  Just about every country uses some form of this document.  Usually, the flight attendants distribute them during the final hour or so of the flight.

          On the landing card, you fill in your personal details.  Your name.  Your date and place of birth.  Your current residence address.  Your nationality and passport number.

          Then, you fill in the details of your trip.  Your flight number and its origin and terminal cities.  The purpose of your trip.  How long you anticipate being in the destination country.  Perhaps an address, such as the name and city of the hotel where you will stay.

          And then the final section of the form.  The section where you are asked to declare what goods you’re taking with you into your destination country.  The ‘normal’ items one takes – clothing, personal care items, a reasonable amount of cash – one need not declare.  But anything else – and the form usually lists examples of what sort of things they mean – you have to declare to the customs officers upon arrival.

          This last part can be the most problematic.  Certain goods are prohibited in the destination country.  For others, you must pay customs duty.  Nobody wants to be separated from what they’re carrying.  Or to have to pay to take them across a border.  So there’s a tendency to avoid declaring the types of goods in question.  And hope that the customs agents don’t choose you for one of those random inspections.

          The message of the landing card is clear.  Who are you and what is the purpose of your trip?  Your acceptance in the destination country depends on your being upfront about your personal details, and on your having a valid reason to enter the destination country.  And then, your acceptance depends on what you’re carrying with you.

          This is, at least in part, a good metaphor for Rosh Hashanah.  This evening, we stand at the threshold of a New Year.  We want to have a good year.  But having a good year is not automatic.  It depends on us being upfront about who we are and what is our purpose.  And it depends on what we are carrying with us as we enter the New Year.

          How can we possibly have a good year if we cannot come to terms with who we are?  Some of us spend a lifetime denying ourselves.  We pretend to others, not to mention ourselves, that we are someone we’re not.  We do it in small ways, like exaggerating on a CV.  Or exaggerating our exploits in a superficial conversation with a casual acquaintance.  But we do it in large ways, too.  And the one we hurt, when we do not come to terms with who we are, is ourselves.  Because in failing to come to terms with ourselves, we make it impossible to work on our self-improvement.

          And how can we have a good year if we don’t know our destination?  If we don’t have clarity in what our goals are for the coming year?  When people fail at something, it isn’t because they planned to fail.  Rather, it’s most likely that they failed to plan.  They drift through time, year after year, without setting reasonable and achievable goals for the near, medium, and long-term.  Some of us fail to set goals out of a fear that we won’t reach them.  But that makes no sense whatsoever.  Didn’t reach your goals?  Re-assess and adjust.  Replace those pie-in-the-sky goals with more reasonable ones.  But the solution to unrealized goals in the past is definitely not to avoid goals in the future.

          Finally, how can we have a good year if we do not take control of what we are carrying along with us?  I don’t mean the ‘stuff’ we acquire, although that can surely weigh us down.  What I mean is the emotional baggage that we carry.  Really, that is the key to a good and successful year.  Are we going to go into the New Year with the same old quarrels, the same old conflicts weighing us down?  Or are we going to get over it and leave these leaden weights by the wayside?

          You’ve heard often enough, the metaphor of life as a journey.  You’ve doubtless heard and heard and heard it.  And the reason you have heard it so much, is because cliché that it is, it is an apt metaphor.  So let me expand on it.  If our lives as a whole are one long epic journey, then the years of our lives are like individual trips.  So whenever we are at the threshold of another trip, let’s take stock as if we were filling out the landing card for the country of our next destination.  Let’s ask ourselves:  Who are we?  I mean, who are we, really?  And what is the purpose of our trip?  That is, what are our goals for the coming year?  And what goods are we carrying, which we need to declare?  That is, what excess baggage is weighing us down?  What aught we to jettison before departing on this trip?

          Many rabbis try to compose and deliver sermons for these important days that are like valedictory addresses.  They struggle to come up with some message which will serve as the very apex of the preacher’s art.  That will present a complex and intellectually satisfying tour de force for the congregation.  That will outdo anything the rabbi offered during the years now ending.  If you’ve been known to attend services at this time of the year, then truly you know what I mean.

          In that context, I do hope that you are not disappointed that I’ve offered you a very simple message tonight.  I have, in the past, fretted seriously over sermons for these Days of Awe.  But at some point I realised that the greatest gift I can give you, sermonically-speaking, is the simplest.  I could try to dazzle you with my intellect, and would probably fail.  Or I can offer some simple, intuitive message that will somehow help you to find renewal and redirection during these days.  Because that’s really what’s at the heart of the matter of these Ten Days of Repentance.  It is a time to take stock, to take inventory of our lives.  To examine, re-assess.  And to the extent called for, re-direct.   

          Indeed, what excess baggage are you carrying tonight, that will hamper your happiness in the coming year?  All of us have some.  And some of us have more than others.  Now is the time to be honest about what we’re carrying.  And how it will hamper and weigh us down.  And how we should leave it behind.  I won’t kid you; it isn’t easy.  But the reward – a good year – requires it.  Shana Tova.  

Recent Comments Removed

If you follow my blog and noticed comments which were recently submitted and which I published and then responded to them, then you may have noticed that I have removed them.

I welcome you to use 'comments' to ask questions, request clarifications, and respectfully offer dissenting views.  In that spirit, I recently published the comments of two individuals.  This, even though in the case of one of them, I didn't really think an open blog was the appropriate venue for the conversation.  But I was limited by the anonymity of the comments, I assumed they were sincere, and I felt I should  respond...so I responded publicly, the only way available to me.

Yesterday, an additional comment submitted by one of the individuals convinced me that the two were not at all sincere.  I therefore went back and removed the comments.

I challenge 'Elkanah' and 'Mystic' to contact me privately to discuss anything I've posted here, or really anything at all.  Do e-mail me, but do not do so anonymously.  If your enquiries are sincere, and I am able to have a civil conversation with you, I will be happy to post here the essence of the conversation on your request, keeping your identities private if you wish.

I do, however remind you that it is now the eve of Rosh Hashanah, and I will thus be rather busy during the next three days.

Shana tova umetukah,

Rabbi Don Levy

A thought for Rosh Hashanah

This is a time of renewal.

We celebrate the arrival of the New Year at a time when the seasons are changing.  At a time when our world is renewing in front of our eyes.

Likewise, we should take this change to heart.  We should look for the need for change and renewal within ourselves.

The sounding of the shofar, on Thursday morning this week, should serve to us as a wake-up call.  Amidst all the upheavals of our lives this past year, amidst all the gyrations that beset the world around us – the world close at hand and the greater world as well – what is the lesson for our inner lives?

The goal of the Ten Days of Repentance is not that one should feel guilty.  It is rather, to cause us to recognise the need to move forward in positive directions…and then produce the commitment that makes one move forward thusly.

My own life has seen its share of upheaval in the past year.  But through the stress of the upheaval, the truth which was clear before has become far clearer than ever.  And the truth is that, no matter how one might feel aggrieved by others at any given moment, the power is in our own hands to determine our destiny – and our happiness.  To move forward positively.

Now is the time to start making the decisions.  Now is the time to take the necessary steps to drop aside the baggage that is weighing us down.  Because it does weigh us down…and keeps us from reaching for a better life.

If ever there is a time of the year to plan and decide for one’s own happiness, it is now.  The longer we put it off, the more misery we allow to weigh us down, and to weigh down those with whom we interact.  It is in each person’s hands to determine whether he will serve as an agent of misery, or one of happiness in the coming year.

As Hillel put it:  If not now, when?

Shanah tovah umetukah.

Rabbi Don and Clara Levy

To Tell Our Story: A Drash for Parashat Ki Tavo: Friday, 12 September 2014

Conventional wisdom tells us that the cultural traditions of the world are divided into two general categories:  ‘oral,’ and ‘literary’ traditions.  Of course, the ostensible difference between the two, is the method of transmission of the tradition and its associated narrative.  But the difference between the two, is really much more than that.  The ‘literary’ traditions of the world, apart from the fact that they’re transmitted through text, or the written word, tend to be rationalist and analytical.  They see themselves as transmitting objective truth.  The ‘oral’ traditions, on the other hand, bear characteristics of aboriginal cultures.  In them, wisdom and narrative is transmitted through the telling of stories.  In telling these stories, the teller makes no pretense at being an impartial observer.  Rather, the teller has a personal stake in the listener’s apprehension of the truths and wisdom conveyed by the story.

          As Rabbi, Lord Jonathan Sacks put it so well in his drash this week, “history” is “his story”:  an objective telling of someone else’s narrative.  Whereas “memory” is “my story”:  a non-objective narrative of my own, in which I have an emotional stake.  Literary traditions make use of “history,” while oral traditions make use of ‘memory.”

          Now when we think of Judaism, we think of it as a religious tradition, not a cultural tradition.  But Judaism, whilst it does have a religious element that is absolutely essential, is much more.  It is a cultural tradition in the sense that cultural is so multi-faceted and all-encompassing.  One important Jewish thinker of the 20^th century, Mordechai Kaplan, went a step further.  Her considered Judaism to be no less than a civilization.

Whether Judaism is a civilization, a culture, or whatever, we tend to think of Judaism as a literary tradition.  And why wouldn’t we??!  We are, after all the People of the Book, or perhaps more accurately, books.  Books, books, and more books!  One would be forgiven for wondering if Jews do anything other than write, publish, and read.

            But the truth is that Judaism is very much an oral tradition.  An oral tradition that became an ‘early adopter’ of the power of the written word.  So we Jews have published more written words per capita than any other enduring tradition.  But we are still very much an oral tradition.

          Proof of that is found in this week’s Torah portion, Ki Tavo.  In the weekly reading’s opening verses, we find the commandment to make an offering of the first fruits of the ground, once we have entered and subdued the land of Israel.  And we are to take the offering to the priests.  And in placing the basket with the first fruits before the priest, we are to declare before the Lord our God the following: 

My father was an Aramean slave.  He went down to Egypt and dwelt there in meager numbers.  And there he become a great and powerful nation.  The Egyptians were cruel to us, imposing harsh slavery upon us.  We cried out to God, the Lord of our fathers, and He heard our voice.  He saw our suffering, our slavery and our distress.  He then took us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm.  With great visions and signs and miracles.

          Sound familiar?  Of course it does.  We no longer make first fruit offerings to the Kohanim, but we do recite these words every year at the Passover Seder.  So, unless your stomach is really rumbling loudly at that point in the service, you hear, and say, these words once or twice a year.  And the point is, that we say it, we don’t just read it.  The words, no matter that they were written down so long ago, become our words.  We have an emotional investment in them.  They are not just an abstract thought, a concept.  The words live in us, and we in them.  That’s what distinguishes an oral tradition.  Remaining with the example of the Passover Seder, it’s why we’re instructed to tell our children (Exodus 13.8) …”God acted for me when I left Egypt.”  The point of the Seder is not to tell some historical narrative.  It’s to transmit to our children what the narrative means to us, to us personally.

          Following this example, you can see that Judaism is very much an oral tradition, one to be experienced in the first person.  It’s wonderful to study about it.  It’s wonderful to memorise factoids about it.  It’s wonderful to learn more and more about it.  But unless we can live it, it is nothing more than an historical curiosity.  That’s why, when people come to me telling me they wish to become a Jew, I don’t enroll them in a class, or send them away with reading assignments.  I invite them to attend services and experience Judaism.  First person.  One doesn’t need to be a Jew to study Judaism.  One doesn’t even need to be a Jew to earn a PhD in Judaic studies.  But to be a Jew, one must touch and wrestle with the tradition.  Experience it.  Be able to recite the words of the Passover Haggadah as if one was actually there, at the first Pesach.

          In coming here to our service this evening, you all are experiencing Judaism.  At least, one facet of Judaism.  When I look out upon you at these gatherings, I see faces illuminated.  I see faces animated by the words and the melodies in which you participate.  As we approach the Days of Awe, the important observances of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, I challenge you to crank it up to the next level.  Friday night resonates with you?  Try Saturday morning.  Try home observances between our gatherings here.  Say a blessing before you eat.  Say a blessing after you eat.  When you’re with another Jew, discuss some aspect of Torah.  When you’re not, think about some aspect of Torah.  Only by living Judaism, will you create a Jewish life.  Only by living Judaism, will you be able to transmit the beauty of Judaism to the next generation. 

Judaism is not his story; it’s our story.  Tell our story.  Tell your story.  Think about it.  Live it.  Shabbat shalom.

An Important Swan Song: A Drash for Parashat Ki Tetzei, Friday 5 September 2014

Everybody has heard the term ‘swan song.’  It comes from the legend, originating as early as with the ancient Greeks, that the mute swan finds its voice just before its death.  Then it sings a beautiful song, and finishes its life in a burst of glory.

          ‘Swan song,’ then has come to mean one’s final performance.  Those in the entertainment industry or the performing arts, when they decide to retire, often pour their heart and soul into their final public performance.  That way, they will feel assured that that performance, their ‘swan song,’ will be memorable…and a fitting end to an illustrious career.

          But the term ‘swan song’ also applies to those in other than the performing arts.  In the US military, when one retires it has become customary to speak at one’s retirement ceremony.  One is expected to give a final good-natured roast to one’s superiors, peers, and just about everybody else.  Of course, the key term here is ‘good natured.’  In the military, as elsewhere, it is considered bad form to use one’s ‘swan song’ to say nasty or biting remarks about others.  A ‘swan song’ is not considered the right occasion for whistle-blowing, although some do use it for that purpose.

          More often, individuals use their ‘swan song’ to present an ethical lesson.  The premise is that many of us in our working careers, like the ancient legend of the swan, are essentially ‘mute.’  We go about our tasks day after day, but others aren’t listening to us.  The organisations for which we toil are only interested in our performance of specific tasks, not in what we think. 

I think that the pandemic of injurious gossip among people is, in part, attributable to this syndrome.  We go through life thinking our legitimate voice is ignored, or quashed.  And yet we have a natural need to find that voice.  So, many people use their voice for that which people listen to.  And that is the use of information, true or untrue, to create interpersonal drama.  I’m not condoning:  only trying to explain, at least in part, this addiction.  But I digress…

We can see the entire book of Deuteronomy as Moses’ swan song to the people Israel.  Moses has been told unequivocally that he will not lead the people across the Jordan River to the Promised Land.  Now you can imagine that this is a bitter pill for him to swallow.  From the time that he confronts Pharaoh, he gives about 40 years of his life to the quest of taking a refugee band and melding them into a nation.  And the reward at the end of the struggle, for the people and for Moses, is the lad that God promised to Abraham:  the Land of Israel.  One would think that Moses, for all his trouble, would rate the joy of seeing this dream to its realization.  But this is not to be.  God has decreed otherwise.

It seems a harsh decree indeed.  And what’s the reason for it?  It is very explicit.  Because, at the Waters of Meribah, Moses struck the rock in anger with his staff rather than speaking to it and commanding it in God’s name to send forth water for the people.  Given the frustration Moses was feeling at the repeated and baseless challenges to his leadership, one can certainly begin to understand why he struck the rock in anger.  We could be forgiven if we sympathise with Moses, even to the point of wondering whether God was not being overly harsh in His judgment here,

 So Moses is most probably feeling more than a bit of bitterness at this point.  Actually, there’s no ‘probably’ about it.  From the text itself, we can ‘hear’ Moses bitterness.  Indeed, even the name of the place where Moses received his judgment – Mei Meribah – means ‘waters of bitterness.’

Moses, therefore, might be forgiven if he’d used his ‘swan song’ to express his bitterness over the decree against him.  Other leaders throughout history, leaders who fell from grace in scandals of various sorts, used their swan songs to attack their detractors and justify their actions.  But not Moshe Rabbeinu, the great law-giver.

Moses is, instead, using his swan song to offer moral instruction to the people Israel.  To offer them his own keen insights as to how to organise themselves, and govern themselves, in their Promised Land.  Specifically, in this week’s portion he speaks of solutions for all sorts of unfortunate circumstances.  Captives of war, slaves who do not desire their freedom, rebellious children, women widowed without a child.  Moses knows that each one of these situations is bound to come up, sooner or later, and he’s instructing the people as to the divine solutions.  He is using his swan song to offer an important benefit to the people.

The truth is that we don’t really know why Moses must die before Joshua leads the people into the Promised Land.  Oh, we can make educated guesses.  I’ve made a few along the way.  Here’s an additional one.  When a commanding general, or a president retires, he does not stick around to continue calling the shots from the background.  When a leader does that, we see it as a pathetic need to maintain control, and almost always with bad consequences.  No, they mostly move on to different roles and challenges, completely outside the structures where they found their power in their careers.

Moses is ready for retirement.  Some of his sharp-edged interactions with the people during the narrative of his last years at the helm, show this rather clearly.  For a variety of reasons, he is not the right man to lead the people in the war of conquest.  But because the entire people will be consumed with the task of the conquest, there is no way for Moses to pass on the mantle of leadership, and still remain on the scene.  In this sense, there is a logic, even if it is a cruel logic, for his death before the conquest begins.

 And yet Moses does not use his swan song to complain and make his case.  Instead, he uses it to provide important legislation – legislation that will serve the people as it works to constitute itself in its Promises Land.  Moses, whose life has been all about giving to others, offers a patently unselfish act in dedicating his swan song to benefit the people.

It’s a wonderful example for us.  Many of us, in various ways, are called upon to end our careers in less-than-desirable circumstances.  How we make our exit, is an important measure of our character.  What we offer on our way out, speaks volumes about the values that guide us.  Whatever our particular path in life, we may very well be offered an opportunity to make our swan song, as statement of the values that guided us during our working careers.  And the principle can be applied to the other ‘careers’ that form part of the rhythms of our lives.  Like many others who have gone before us, we can make our swan songs a spectacle and a circus.  Or in the manner of a few individuals like Moses, we can use the occasion to make a final selfless act.  Shabbat shalom.