Parashat Ki Tisa

Parashat Ki Tisa

Adar 16, 5772 ~ March 10, 2012
by Ginna Green

With thanks to this community: the wonderful parents of Gan Mah Tov,

and the generous members of Beth Jacob

My son developed recently a (perhaps fleeting) passion for geologic time. Somehow, this kid has internet search down, and he finds the most amazing content on the web. A few weeks ago, I was stunned by an image that he'd found on the web site of the U.S. Geological Survey. I'm still not sure if it was the graphic display of the age of the earth, the quality of the rendering or the realization that, by myself, I really am next to nothing that blew my mind the most. I may be made b'tzelem elokim, and for my sake the world was created—but there's nothing like a geological timeline to underscore that we are just dust and ashes.

This is precisely why being part of a community is critical to just about every species on the planet. The notion of how important it is surfaces in different ways this week, when we celebrate Purim by reading Megillat Esther and read Ki Tisa as the parasha.

Ki Tisa is bursting with topics. It’s got fragrant mixtures; architecture; kashrut and more. I’m drawn, however, to the notions of community suggested by both the annual census and, of course, That Whole Incident with the Golden Calf.

“Meanwhile, the people began to realize that Moses was taking a long time to come down from the mountain. They gathered around Aaron and said to him, “Make us an oracle to lead us. We have no idea what happened to Moses, the man who brought us out of Egypt.”

We’re stiff-necked, petulant, and juvenile at times, Jews, and we can add anxious to the list just based on these lines from this week’s parasha. I don't wish to be an apologist for the actions of those desperate to replace Moses with something, anything (an “oracle,” even) as a leader, a bridge between themselves and G-d. But the people coalesced around a perceived need and responded—not optimally, but with a response nonetheless. Commentators posit that all the future tragedies that befall the Jewish people are rooted, at least in part, to this incident, and that is so noted. (As much is suggested when G-d says “... When I grant special providence to the people, I will take this sin of theirs into account.”). But my focus at this precise moment is not on the act, but the initial thought and response that preceded it.

Community, in and of itself, is a neutral concept, though it is often assigned a positive connotation. Communities, and the individuals and organizations of which they are composed, are not neutral, however. Communities and their components have within them to power to be forces for good, or forces for not-so-good. We generally do not speak of possibilities like the negative impact of community, or the ways in which communities exhibit bad behavior or allow it to persist, but just as community actions have positive impacts, they have negative ones as well. Without a doubt, the Golden Calf would count as a negative.

That Whole Incident with the Golden Calf demonstrates to me that while we, as Jews and human beings, can make fantastically poor decisions, we often don’t make them in a vacuum. It is our community that helps us confront, contemplate and configure responses to issues and problems we encounter as individuals. And no doubt the community tackles community problems too. While we waited impatiently at Mt. Sinai for Moses to return, some of us were anxious, concerned, and maybe faithless. But is there something to be said for uniting and acting together, even in an agitated state and with such a problematic action? I contend that there is. Of course, not everyone participated in That Whole Incident with the Golden Calf (but everyone did witness): women, Levites and most male adults abstained. But for the 3,000 who felt vulnerable and incomplete in the absence of Moshe, they found a problematic way to fill the chasm between themselves and Hashem that appeared when Moshe did not.

Perhaps this is why Moshe went to bat for us. He knew that we didn't truly mean ill or sin, or that we no longer believed in the G-d who had brought us out of Egypt, but that, rather, we were not yet comfortable enough with ourselves to be alone with Hashem. We were young Jews. We needed Moses, or a proxy. We made a grave mistake. But our community was worth saving.

But not the community within the community that started it all. As the story goes, the Levites killed the 3,000 who were at the root of That Whole Incident with the Golden Calf. That too, however, unpleasant as it may be (it reminds me of the deaths of Avihu and Nadav in Shemini), reflects to some degree the nature of community—this time in deference and service to G-d, rather than fear of being alone with G-d. The Levites responded quickly and deftly to Moshe's request:

“Whoever is for G-d, join me! … Let each man put on his sword, and go from one gate to the other in the camp. Let each one kill [all those involved in the idolatry], even his own brother, close friend or relative.”

Certainly, the Levites were inflicting great punishment for a great sin, but perhaps they were also strengthening the greater community by removing potentially problem parts and weak links.

Thankfully, it’s not usually bad news when we band together. The Purim story reflects this:

“Go, gather all the Jews found in Shushan, and fast for my sake. / Take neither food nor drink / for three days—night and day. / I and my maidservants will also fast this way. / Having done this, I will come to the king / even though it is unlawful ….”

All the Jews in Shushan! Not 3,000 of us. We all fasted. And we were all at stake. It's difficult to find a more dramatic instance where we all united in fighting threats to our existence (especially when read aloud by Gav Shapiro). Our actions in Shushan are almost the opposite of That Whole Incident with the Golden Calf. Then, some of us banded together, but not with an ideal result. Our joining Queen Esther in three days of fasting reflects the positive impact of community, the act of coalescing around a universal, positive goal. And we succeeded.

Whew.

I'll close by returning to the very beginning of Ki Tisa, when we are given instructions on taking a census of our people.

“This is what everyone who is entered in the records shall pay: a half-shekel by the the sanctuary weight—twenty gerahs to the shekel—a half-shekel as an offering to the Lord.”

We all matter to our nation, and we should all matter to each other individually. Of course, this is a census, so it would be wildly inaccurate and irresponsible to allow the rich to give more and the poor to give less. But it does not make it any less true that no one person matters more than another; it's mentioned throughout Torah and Talmud. Some may do more, and some may make more but no one matters more. So we collect 1:1. These collected funds then become community money, used to purchase materials for building the Mishkan. Could there be a more holy way to cement our status as a community than by all contributing equally to our holy structure in the desert?

I connect Purim to this week's parasha with the notion of community, and how sometimes communities make good choices, and sometimes poor choices. Importantly, whether we are on the side of right, or the side of wrong, we remain a Jewish community: supportive of one another, dependent on one another, and interconnected.