Many conversations I've had over these last months have touched on the topic of resistance. When something happens that sparks our individual and/or collective outrage (and there are, unfortunately, too many things to list here) what is the best way to voice our feelings? Is it through writing letters, contributing money or time to organizations doing work we believe in? Is it civil disobedience? Or making sure our representatives are fighting the good fight? Maybe it is all these things and many more. One thing that can be helpful is making an effort to understand our goals; here too, we have choices, and they often evolve over time. Do we want to act in solidarity with a certain community? Do we want to change minds? Educate ourselves as well as we can? Take time out to sharpen our perspectives? What do we do when we feel we're not being heard and we just can't listen anymore?
Pinchas, the Torah portion this Shabbat, is bookended by two acts of protest. The first, fueled by righteous fervor, is not to be emulated. The second, marked by clear-eyed conviction, just may be a worthy model.
We find the Israelites at the opening of Pinchas engaging in all manner of things with the neighboring tribe as their journey painstakingly moves forward. The situation is so dire that a plague has fallen upon them, and Pinchas, a member of the Priestly line, takes up his spear and kills an Israelite and a non-Israelite who are co-habitating in a single tent. Even as the plague lifts, the rabbis debated for many years whether an action so violent could or should ever have been condoned. Was this murderous rage or just protest? I think we know.
The next episode in the portion is the story of Zelophehad's daughters: Machla, Noa, Hoglah, Milcah and Tirzah. Zelophehad was an Israelite who had died in battle, leaving no sons. These five young women needed to approach Moses to ask if they could inherit their father's property as his next of kin. Moses, not having a ready answer, turned to God with their question. He came back with the response that theirs was a just request, and what had been their father's could indeed now pass to them.
What we hear in the way they have phrased their question is a shared understanding that without inheritance rights, not only would their survival be jeopardized but their father's memory might also be lost. They have asked for what is rightfully due to them -- no more, but also no less. Their voices are mature and direct in a potentially frightening situation. They are ready to assume the responsibility of carrying their father's memory forward. Not only that, but their case made it possible in later Jewish law for women and non-immediate family members to inherit rather than being cut off.
This is not an argument for catching more flies with honey, or against turning up the volume and letting our voices ring out. I believe that these stories teach us that while there is a place for raw instinct (not to be confused with the place Pinchas allowed his to take him!) there is also an all- important place for knowledge, understanding and direct action that, rather than being a killing thing, can bring about change for all who need it most.
In the immortal words of anthropologist Margaret Mead: "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the worls; indeed, it's the only thing that ever has.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Gutterman
