Collective Bargaining and Collective Responsibility

One hundred years ago one month from today, probably right around this time, a fire blazed at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory in New York. 146 immigrant workers’ lives were lost, most of them women averaging 19-years-old. The exit doors had been bolted shut allegedly to prevent workers from taking unnecessary breaks. When the fire broke out, there was nowhere to go. As Jo-Ann Mort writes, “March 25, 1911, became a Sabbath like no other. Scores of young immigrant Jewish women who couldn’t afford a day of rest went to work at the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory, a newfangled high-rise factory on the eighth, ninth and 10th floors of the Asch building, near Washington Square Park in New York City’s Greenwich Village. Their employers, Isaac Harris and Max Blanck — known throughout the burgeoning shmatte business as “the shirtwaist kings” — had managed to beat back unionization attempts by the fledgling International Ladies Garment Workers Union. This was the era when Jews were both owners and workers.”

First in Wisconsin, now also in Indiana and Ohio, protests and shutdowns abound as the right to collective bargaining is called into questions. Few would doubt that the changes that came about because of the Triangle Factory victims’ experience were a step in the wrong direction. But the conversation around collective bargaining today is a different one. It isn’t news to anyone that many states, including Minnesota, are in budget crises and have to find ways to balance the budget. Some would propose cutting spending. Others propose increasing revenue. The reality is that the solution probably lies somewhere in between. The proposed cuts in Governor Dayton’s budget fall short of the funds needed.

A budget is a moral document. Whether it is your household budget, a synagogue’s budget, or the government’s budget, a budget defines our values and priorities. Each year I get a report from my credit card on where I have spent my money over the past year. When I got my report last month, I was pleased to see that much of my spending last year benefited social justice causes and ethically and sustainably produced food, both values that I say I believe in and that my spending supports. In Wisconsin, Ohio, Indiana, or even here in Minnesota, we have to ask if our state budgets uphold the values that we support. There is no doubt that both Governor Scott Walker and his supporters and labor unionists and those who support them want Wisconsin to succeed. The question is, what is their intention and are they going about it the right way. I’m not going to answer that question fromthe bimah. That’s for you to discuss.

What I am going to do is talk a bout how we answer that question. In this week’s Torah portion, Vayakhel, we continue reading about the construction of the Mishkan, the Tabernacle in the wilderness. When the Mishkan was constructed, the text tells us that only those whose hearts moved them were to contribute to construction of the Mishkan. This contrasts the creation of the golden calf that had total participation from the Israelites while Moses was up on Mount Sinai talking to God. Why the difference? The Israelites gave of themselves for both the golden calf and for the Mishkan, but it appears as though more people were invested in creating the golden calf. We have to wonder why.

There is a possibility that they each gave to the creation of the golden calf because none of them knew where their money was going. But when they saw the result of their spending – it didn’t match their morals – they were less willing to give for the creation of the Mishkan, nervous about how their money would be used. Another possibility is tied right into the name of this week’s Torah portion, Vayakhel. Vayakhel comes from the Hebrew root qof-hay-lamed, which is the same root for the word kehillah, community.

There are two different types of community represented. The golden calf represents blind group solidarity. There is no sense of separate individuality. The people are a nameless, identity-less multitude. But when the Mishkan is created, Moses assembles the people – Vayakhel Moshe et-kol-adat b’nei Yisrael, Moses assembled the entire Israelite people – and addressed them as a community. He detailed the needs and then those who were willing gave to the cause.

The Mishkan is not the work of one person’s hands. Though one artisan, Bezalel, headed up the labor, it collectively involved the work of all of the Israelites. Each person had the opportunity to leave his or her mark on the structure. Tradition tells us that the women brought their copper mirrors to be used in the Mishkan. One would think that use of something that had previously been intended for vanity would have been an unwanted addition to this dwelling-place for God. Instead, the women’s willingness to dedicate one of their most prized possessions for one of their highest values, worshiping God, made their gift worthy. Their identities, and the identities of all of those who gave, remain central to the notion of the Mishkan. They created a sense of shared ownership, of collective responsibility.

The community worked towards a collective vision, but not at the cost of the parts and people that made up that community. In Pirke Avot (2:2), Rabban Gamaliel teaches that all those who work for the community do so with a spiritual motive, working with the community. The question in Wisconsin, in Ohio, in Indiana, in any place where we create a budget, is whether or not we are acting with a spiritual motive. Do our actions and our budgets reflect our values and morals? Do we blindly participate and put our own pursuits ahead of the community or are we inspired by our values and seek to bring God’s presence into our community? We can only hope that we consider our place in our communities and act with a spiritual motive creating a mishkan in our own time, a dwelling-place for God in our lives.

Shabbat Shalom.

Intention Matters: God, Moses, the Israelites and the Infamous Golden Calf

The golden calf is probably one of the best known examples of idolatry. But what were the Israelites really up to and why was Moses able to convince God to renounce the punishment planned for the Israelites for creating the golden calf? My theory? The Israelites weren't actually trying to replace God.

When Aaron makes the golden calf and takes it out of its mold, the Israelites declare, "This is your god, O Israel, who brought you out of the land of Egypt!" (Exodus 32:4) Rashbam rhetorically asks if the Israelites could have actually been so foolish as to think that the calf that they had just created had actually brought them out of Egypt. He teaches that the Israelites might have thought that God's spirit was able to speak through the calf, which we know wasn't happening. Nahmanides concurs with Rashbam and goes one step further to say that it isn't the Israelites who couldn't be so foolish, but instead, us. If we believe that the gold that had previously been in the Israelites' ears could have possibly brought them out of Egypt.

So, if the Israelites couldn't have possibly believed that the golden calf they had just commissioned had brought them out of Egypt, and if we can't believe that it's possible, either, then why do the Israelites declare that it had and what is their real motive?

At the beginning of the narrative, we see that it wasn't God that the Israelites missed. It was Moses. The text tells us, "When the people saw that Moses was so long in coming down from the mountain, the people gathered against Aaron and said to him, 'Come, make us a god who shall go before us, for that man Moses, who brought us from the land of Egypt--we do not know what has happened to him'" (Exodus 32:1).

The people weren't replacing God; they were replacing Moses. In their relationship with God, Moses serves as an intermediary on behalf of the Israelites. The only logical replacement in this relationship is to replace Moses with the golden calf, not God. They wanted the golden calf to serve as an intermediary on their behalf with God, because Moses, who brought them from the land of Egypt had gone missing.

This, perhaps, justifies why God ultimately renounces the punishment intended for the Israelites. God knows their intention (though it takes some persuading by Moses). It also explains why Moses was so angry when he found out what the Israelites were up to.

So, this infamous story about idolatry in the wilderness actually shows us that intention matters. Even when we make a huge mistake (like creating an idol!), our intention matters and can sway the way that others think of us.

"Is this burning an eternal flame?"

This week's Torah portion, Tetzaveh, begins with the following words: Command the people of Israel to bring to you pure oil of pressed olives for the light, to keep a lamp burning continually (Exodus 27:20). These last few words, "a lamp burning continually," in Hebrew read ner tamid. Those words might be familiar to you. The Eternal Light (not to be confused with 1989 hit single, Eternal Flame) is that light at the front of just about every synagogue's sanctuary. It is the symbol of God's presence in our communities and in our lives. While God commands the ner tamid, it is not there because God needs it. It is there because we need to be reminded of God's presence. We rely on our senses to know things. With a God we cannot actively see, we needed something to remind us of God's presence in our lives.

In his book, The Gates of the Forest by Elie Wiesel, he tells a story of the Baal Shem Tov. When the Baal Shem Tov saw trouble for the Jewish community, he would go to a certain place in the forest and meditate. When he found the location, he would light a fire, say a special prayer, and a miracle would occur. The looming crisis would dissolve and the people would be safe. Many years later, the Maggid of Mezritch, a disciple of the Baal Shem Tov, found himself and the Jewish community in a similar predicament, he would go to the same place in the forest as his teacher. Though he did not know how to light the special fire, he did know the prayer and he would recite it. Still, even without the fire, a miracle would happen and the community would be safe. More time passed and another generation came along. The rabbi of that generation would go to the special place in the forest, though he knew neither how to light the fire, nor recite the prayer. He would just hope that God would find his being in the right place sufficient. Somehow it was and the Jewish community would again be safe. More time passed and eventually the task of saving the community fell on Rabbi Israel of Ryzhyn. He, however, did not know the place, the prayer, or how to light the fire. Instead, he sat in his chair, rested his head in his hands, and hoped that recalling the story of the Baal Shem Tov would be enough to save the community. According to the story, it was enough. But it isn't for me.

It isn't enough for us just to tell the story, just to remember that in some distant place, someone else knew what to do and so we just have to remember that something else was done. No. We need to step up. We need to re-learn how to light the fire, how to recite the words, and where to go to put them to action. What this story fails to teach us is another lesson of the Baal Shem Tov. Considering the ner tamid, the Baal Shem Tov also taught: Your heart is the altar. Whatever your work, let a spark of the holy fire remain within you, and fan it into a flame.

So maybe The Bangles weren't so far off:

Close your eyes, give me your hand, darling.
Do you feel my heart beating, do you understand?
Do you feel the same, am I only dreaming?
Is this burning an eternal flame?

The ner tamid, the Eternal Light that reminds us of God's presence is also a call to action. It's not enough for us to bear witness to God's presence in our lives. We must turn that feeling into action and spread the light that is within each and every one of us, the spark of the Divine that links us to one another and to God.

Hope and Pray

A friend forwarded me an email yesterday about the situation in Egypt. I am sure some of you have seen it, too. “Dear Egypt,” it read, “Please don’t destroy the Pyramids. We will not rebuild them. Sincerely, The Jews.” But the revolution in Egypt is a bigger deal for Judaism than the status of the pyramids that our people may or may not have built millennia ago. The uprising in Egypt has real impact on the State of Israel and on the United States, and on our place in the world as Americans and as Jews.

As you probably know, the situation in Egypt is moving faster than anyone can keep up and still, we don’t know what the outcome might be. In a piece for The Washington Post, Glenn Kessler outlines three possible scenarios in Egypt by turning to historical parallels. Could Egypt face “an eerie repeat of the 1979 revolution?” Will there be a transition to democracy like Indonesia in 1998? Or does Egypt face something in between, like “the initial outcome of the Romanian revolution of 1989?”

The Iran scenario, few would argue, is the worst case scenario for Israel, for the United States, even for Egypt. The Iranian revolution was originally led by moderates, a broad swath of the Iranian population seeking to depose Iran’s Shah, a leader, who like Mubarak, “was an anchor of U.S. power in the Middle East who maintained relations with Israel.” But when he was thrown out of government, the Islamist leadership of the long-exiled Ayatollah seized power, smothering the movement that had brought about the revolution. If this were to happen, Egypt would likely stop cooperating with Israel, especially in regards to Hamas. The Egyptian efforts to secure the border with Israel and prevent military supplies from entering Gaza would all but end. Hamas, could rapidly re-arm and its military power could allow for missiles to reach as far as Tel Aviv and Ben Gurion Airport.

“This parallel is imperfect – there is no Egyptian spiritual or religious leader living in Paris awaiting a triumphant return to Cairo.” But the Muslim Brotherhood, an Islamist movement that, though it originated in Egypt, “has long been an illegal but semi-tolerated force in Egyptian politics.” It could be poised to fill the power vacuum that exists in Egypt. Former State Department official Leslie Gelb says, “If they do gain control, it’s going to be almost impossible for the people to take it back.”

The second scenario, Indonesia’s transition to democracy, could be a model for the best possible outcome. “In 1998, President Suharto’s 32 years of authoritarian rule came to an end. He was another longtime U.S. ally whose departure was deeply feared by the White House. But in the end, the world’s most populous Muslim country made a messy and long transition to democracy – and remained a key partner of the United States.” For Israel, the best way for this scenario to play out might be for Egyptian Vice President Omar Suleiman to be elected to power with true democracy so that peace with Israel could be preserved. The parallels between this scenario and Egypt are greater. Like Indonesia, Egypt has a relatively secular tradition, a strong military that, at least until now, has refused to repress protestors, “and an uprising led by a mix of youth and civic society.”

The Romanian revolution is more of a middle-of-the-road scenario. Not ideal, but not catastrophic either. In 1989, Romanian revolutionaries overthrew their dictator and assassinated him. “But within months, the military and Communist elite had engineered their survival, with the designated president…winning 85 percent of the vote in a May 1990 election.” Unfortunately, the government continued to control the media and elections were still manipulated. The driving force in making the Romanian revolution a success in the long run was their desire to become a member of NATO and the European Union, options that aren’t present for Egypt. For Israel, this scenario could be ‘good enough’ if Suleiman were to be elected and if there were a few cosmetic reforms that would give the illusion of change.

However things play out in the long run, one thing is true now for Israel. Israelis feel more vulnerable about security. For over thirty years, Israel has not had to significantly worry about its southern border with the Arab world’s most populous nation. Though our peace with Egypt has been described as a 'cold peace,' it has been an asset for both countries. Until now, Israel in particular has no longer had to contemplate a two- or three-front war.

All of that might change. Israel may need to expand its military force along the Israeli-Egyptian border, siphoning money away from other needs in Israel. It is surprising how little Israel has figured into Egypt’s uprising. And this is a good thing. There have been a few random moments of attention on Israel – an effigy of Mubarak wearing a star of David, a sign calling on an end to Israel – but by and large, the protestors have focused their attention internally. They want political freedom and they want jobs. These are goals with which we can all identify. If and how they accomplish these goals, though, is another question.

We do not know how the story in Egypt will end. Neither do the Egyptians. All we can do is wait. It will take generations to really understand how today plays out for the Egyptian people. In our cycle of Torah readings, we are in the midst of our own liberation story. Only a short while ago we fled, dissatisfied by the life that we had in Egypt. We struggled to change our situation and ultimately, we found ourselves in the wilderness, unsure of our future. We needed a strong leader. There was riff-raff among us, the erev rav, the mixed multitude that left Egypt with us. And there were lots of agendas, lots of people struggling for power and control. In the future, we’ll see the rebellion of Korach and a challenge of Moses’ and Aaron’s leadership. We’ll see Mahlah, Noa, Hoglah, Milcah and Tirzah, the daughters of Zelophehad, challenge the laws of inheritance bringing greater equality among the Israelite men and women. This week, we read the details of the construction of the Tabernacle, which tradition teaches us God had us build not because God needed it, but because we were feeling lost and needed a place to worship God.

In our transitional moment, which lasts a generation in the wilderness, at least, we seek a strong leader who can make sure the people’s needs are a priority. Our text tells us that the Tabernacle was constructed with gifts brought by every person whose heart moved him or her to be involved. Every giver that wanted to offer a gift had to be included, no matter how big or small the gift. Every voice that wanted to speak had to be heard. Only a leader who could respect the rights of the individual and simultaneously make the community’s needs a priority would succeed. The Israelites in this week’s Torah portion, in the weeks and even months ahead, do not yet know how it will all turn out. The Egyptians of today, protesting, uprising, leading a revolution, do not yet know how their narrative will end, either. All we could do in the wilderness was to hope and pray for a leader strong enough to guide us through that incredibly powerful, transitional moment. All that we can do alongside modern day Egypt and its neighbors, especially Israel, is to hope and pray for a leader strong enough to include the voices of every Egyptian, to keep the people’s best interest at heart, and to lead Egypt to a successful and peaceful future. Ken y’hi ratzon, may it be God’s will.