It's complicated

And so are we

One of the things I love most about the Torah is its complexity, and its insistence that even the figures we most revere — Abraham and Sarah, Moses and Miriam, and especially David — are neither all good nor all bad. Because it can be tempting, in a culture that desperately wants its leaders to be perfect, to imagine that there are political or religious leaders who are actually perfect, or mostly ideal. But Moses, who we will spend so much time with over the next few weeks as we celebrate Passover and make our way through the book of Exodus, is definitely not even close to perfect. In fact, Moses is aggressively imperfect. He is a reticent leader who resists the divine call to free the people, and when he finally accepts the charge, complains endlessly about their kvetchiness, doesn’t trust in God (e.g.- he hits the rock), refuses to delegate even when he is burned out, and is often reactive first and apologetic later. He is, in other words, human.

I was thinking about this recently because over the weekend, I spent a lot of time with a friend. He’s someone who I experience as deeply grounded and thoughtful about people, and also less tolerant of absolutes. He has a gift for holding the good with the bad, and recognizing that the same people who drive us absolutely crazy likely also have redemptive qualities that make them lovable and worth staying in relationship with. He’s also someone with a longtime meditation practice, who has a tendency to pause before he speaks, and before he comes up with a verdict about people. This is something that has been inspiring and moving to witness, and learn from. Especially in this season.

Because, for so many of us, it is tempting to think of our heroes as perfect, and our perceived enemies as villains. To draw them with broad and dramatic strokes, and to feel self-righteous in our critiques. But doing this keeps us from seeing other people truthfully. To utterly idealize or devalue another person is to deny their humanity and fullness of self; it is often how we see when we are hurt, reactive, or afraid. But very few of us are all one thing. Most of us are complicated. Most of us carry both light and shadow. Even Moses, whom the rabbis often described as the most humble man on earth, was far from an ideal leader.

Why am I telling you all of this now? For a few reasons. First – I want us to be honest about who Moses was and was not as we move through our Passover seders. And for that matter, to be honest about who the liberating God of the Haggadah was and was not. Yes, God saved the Jewish people. And it was that same God who decreed the death of all the firstborn children of Egypt — the same God worshipped by a religion that would become unique in its time for banning child sacrifice. Second, because many of us will be sharing seder tables this week with people who drive us absolutely bonkers…and who we also love. Or at least we want to love. Or feel compelled to love, or at least remain in relationship with. And in those moments, it can be easy to go from 0 to 60 and decide that Oy, are they insufferable, and next year, we simply cannot share a seder table with them. And, in those moments, it’s easy to stay stuck in that all or nothing mindset. And third, and finally, because Judaism’s essential view of the human condition is that we are all subject to both a yetzer hara and a yetzer hatov, an evil inclination and a good inclination. And we have the choice every day to follow our best impulses or our worst, and none of us get it right all the time. Because our tradition tells us, through sacred stories, law, and debate, that none of us are all one thing. Yes, we can all betray and usurp and abuse. And we can also all do good, be generous, and offer healing.

So the next time you’re feeling the urge to write someone off completely, think of Moses. Because if God had given up on him, we might still be in Egypt.

Happy Passover,
Rabbi Gerson