“The time is out of joint. O cursed spite”
These words, written by William Shakespeare at the end of the sixteenth century, are uttered by Hamlet toward the end of Act I, when our tragic-hero has just learned of his father’s murder and his mother’s hasty remarriage.
He is distraught. Overwhelmed by a feeling that the natural order of the world has been disrupted.
I know how he feels.
Today, the first of Tishrei, 5786, is the sixth Rosh Hashanah since the outbreak of the Covid-19 pandemic, which is reported to have killed more than 7 million people worldwide.
Today, the first of Tishrei, 5786, is the sixth Rosh Hashanah since a proliferation of wildfires destroyed more than 4.3 million acres in California, and another 46 million acres of forest and bushland in Australia, fundamentally changing the landscape of our planet.
Today, the first of Tishrei, 5786, is the second Rosh Hashanah since the horrific attack on October 7, 2023; since the massacre of Israeli citizens, children and elderly, some Holocaust survivors and some peace activists; since the hostages were taken, some released, others murdered, some still languishing in captivity.
It is easy to identify with Hamlet, to feel overwhelmed by the chaos around us; to curse, in frustration or despair, at having to live in such a disrupted time. Hamlet, nonetheless, recognizing the disruption of the natural order of the world around him and realizing that he is entirely unsure of how to proceed, acknowledges his duty to correct the situation and his responsibility to restore justice to the state of Denmark.
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“The time is out of joint. O cursed spite,
That ever I was born to set it right.”
Rabbi Tarfon, a scholar who lived at the end of the first century, and witnessed the destruction of the second Temple in Jerusalem, used to say:
You are not required to finish the work, nor are you free to abandon it.
Like Hamlet, Rabbi Tarfon recognizes that every person has a responsibility to play their part in the world, to remain engaged in whatever manner of work or service they are able, for as long as they are able. It is not any one person’s duty to complete the work and no one should become disheartened because they cannot do all of the work.
We don’t know much about Rabbi Tarfon—in the Talmud it is mentioned that he was a kohen, a priest who served in the Temple in Jerusalem. Otherwise, we know only that his wisdom is preserved in Pirkei Avot, a collection of ethical teachings that is the most-translated tractate of the Mishnah, taught to generations of students throughout the centuries, and quoted most often by generations of rabbis in their Shabbat and High Holiday sermons.
In the 1970s, Cantor Jeff Klepper and Rabbi Dan Freelander set Rabbi Tarfon’s saying to music.
It’s very catchy, and lately it’s been stuck in my head. I’ve caught myself humming it while thinking about what it means to “do the work” that is required of us humans, to take responsibility for my part in repairing what I can of what’s broken in the world in the short time that is allotted to me.
When I first learned this teaching of Rabbi Tarfon, at a USY Shabbaton, I was also learning about what it meant to be a free citizen living in a Democratic country. I don’t recall the exact theme of the shabbaton, but I remember the central question we discussed: “Are you an American-Jew or a Jewish-American?”
This is when I first discovered that freedom to express one’s Jewish identity, held together by a hyphen with one’s nationality, is a precious right of living in a Democratic country.
At the time, all around us, the Jewish community rallied for the freedom of Soviet Jews who were Refuseniks to emigrate to the United States or Israel.
* * * * * * *
During the heat of the summer last month, in the cool of my dining room, I logged into a webinar sponsored by A More Perfect Union, The Jewish Partnership for Democracy, eager to learn from their all-star line-up of colleagues that included former Dean of JTS Rabbinical School, my teacher, Rabbi Gordon Tucker.
After an hour of studying classical and modern texts on “Judaism and Democracy,” my sense of dislocation in this “Time [that’s out] of joint” was somewhat less acute, and my awareness “that ever I was born to set it right” was fully activated.
Rabbi Tucker’s teachings reminded me that the principles and values of democracy are not some new-fangled, 18th-century add-on to Jewish values. Nor are they antithetical to Jewish values. They are found throughout the Tanakh, the Hebrew Bible, and can be derived from laws in the Torah.
First, Rabbi Tucker shared a teaching of Rabbi Yitzhak in the Talmud, Berachot 55a.
We must not appoint a leader over a community without first consulting it, as it says in Exodus 35:30:
And Moses said to the Israelites See, Adonai has singled out Betzalel by name.
Rabbi Yitzchak teaches a midrash, a rabbinic legend, about this:
The Blessed Holy One said to Moses: “Do you consider Betzalel suitable?” Moses replied: “Sovereign of the Universe, if You think him suitable, all the more so is he for me!” Then God said to Moses, “All the same, go and consult the people.” Moses went and asked Israel: “Do you consider Bezalel suitable?” They replied: “If the Blessed Holy One and you consider him suitable, all the more so is he for us.”
Now, it’s possible to read this midrash with a cynical eye: One could claim that God knew no one would dispute the divinely chosen Betzalel as the leader of the team building the Tabernacle in the wilderness.
Still, it seems more plausible to me that God wants Moses to get the approval of the people, because the project will require the participation of the people.
Betzalel and his team can’t complete the work on their own. They need every person to engage in this holy work, each in the manner they are able. So God requires Moses to give the people an opportunity to ratify God’s choice.
Rabbi Tucker also brought a text from a modern Israeli book, Democratiyah Yehudit by Rabbi Elisha Aviner, who cites a commentary on the following verse in Deuteronomy, in which Moses instructs the people about setting up a government when they settle in the land:
You shall be free to set a king over yourself, one chosen by Adonai your God. It is out of the midst of your people that you must set a ruler over you. (Deuteronomy 17:15)
Rabbi Aviner explains, “The plain meaning of the verse [is] that the accession of the ruler is dependent upon the will of the people.”
Is it possible that the principles of democracy were embedded in the earliest forms of Jewish government? That democratic values are contained in and consistent with the Torah?
Yoel Bin Nun addresses these questions in Medinat Yisrael: Bein Yahadut ve-Demokratiyah, a publication by the Israel Democracy Institute (2000):
“The democratic take on government—in which there is no all-powerful human actor, in which power is divided among different authorities, and there is no single personality who can be identified with the government, either in whole or in part––this is the system that is closer than all other systems and all other models [of governance] that is correct from the point of view of the Torah. It is…suitable and desirable because it strikes a balance between human sovereignty and the sovereignty of heaven.”
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When we feel the natural order of the world has been disrupted; when we feel overwhelmed by the challenges of teshuvah, renewing our commitment to living fully as American-Jews, or Jewish-Americans; when we recognize our responsibility to repair our sense of time and to restore balance in our lives, but we’re not entirely sure how to proceed, we can pause to remember the words of Rabbi Tarfon:
You are not required to finish the work. Nor are you free to abandon it.
We can also recall the words of Hamlet, who, at the end of the scene, turns to his companions, Horatio and Marcellus, and bids them to join him as he sets out to restore justice in his corner of the world:
“The time is out of joint. O cursed spite,
That ever I was born to set it right.”
Nay, come, let’s go together.”
We can curse in frustration, and then we can choose to engage in whatever manner of work or service we are able. We can help each other “do the work” that is required of us humans, repairing what we can of what’s broken in the world, in the short time that is allotted to us.
We can remind one another: It’s not any one person’s duty to complete the work and no one person can do all of the work.
We can work together, as a holy and whole community.
Let’s begin today, the first of Tishri, this Rosh Hashanah, 5786.
L’shanah tovah tikateivu. May we all be inscribed for a good year!