A few weeks ago, I got some really exciting professional news: a project that I’ve been working on at Clal for the past year received significant funding, which meant we could scale it far beyond our initial scope. Countless hours of research, thought, and networking had finally paid off. As soon as I finished reading the email, I swiped over to my text messages and immediately shared the news with my brother and sister, in a group chat that we’ve kept going for many years.
The GIFs, emojis, and exclamation points came pouring in immediately; they couldn’t have been happier for their baby brother, and they celebrated my good news like it was their own. I’m not usually one to shout my victories from the rooftop or share them on social media, so having a channel like this, with two people whose opinions I hold dear, felt particularly sacred.
It’s worth noting, though, that it wasn’t always like this between us. There were plenty of tears shed, names called, stuffed animals desecrated, and bones broken along the way (mostly mine, for the record), but at some point we figured it out. I can’t pinpoint a date, or even a year, when the transition happened, but whenever it did, it changed all of our lives. It’s precisely that shift – from sibling rivalry to sibling revelry – that is worthy of a deeper exploration here.
In this week’s parsha, Tetzaveh, God gives a series of detailed instructions to Moses about installing a new model of leadership into the Israelite community: Priesthood. Moses receives guidance on everything from the sartorial requirements of the priests – a linen tunic here, a bejeweled breastplate there, to the sacrificial choreography that they would soon execute – a sprinkle of blood on this altar, a consecrated bull on that one.
Perhaps, though, the most interesting thing about this entire parsha detailing the instructions given to Moses, is that Moses’ name doesn’t appear even once!
This fact is more than simply a coincidence; it marks an important leadership transition for the Israelite people. Through the establishment of Priesthood, this budding nation now goes from having one model of leadership in their midst – Moses the Prophet – to two. And who, of all people, takes on the helm of this emerging leadership? None other than Moses’ big brother, Aaron.
Not only is Moses’ name left out of the parsha, but God instructs him to convey the leadership directions to his brother. “And you shall draw your brother Aaron and his sons close to you to serve Me as priests,” (Exodus 28:1); “And you shall…ask the skilled craftsmen to make Aaron’s vestments,” (Exodus 28:3). What must that have felt like to Moses, who until that point had been the sole leader of the Israelite people? At the very least, he might have experienced it as a demotion, but at worst an indictment of his character. And – I can’t stress this enough – this was his big brother we’re talking about!
But instead of representing the eventual deterioration of their brotherly love, this moment actually drives them closer than ever before. For the first time in Torah, we see two brothers with every reason to resent each other, with every opportunity to undermine or hurt the other, who learn to live and lead alongside each other, in harmony. What Cain and Abel, Isaac and Ishmael, Jacob and Esau, Joseph and all of his brothers, could never accomplish, Moses and Aaron somehow do. The question then, is mah nishtanah – what makes these brothers different from all others?
In chapter 4 of the book of Shemot – Exodus – we witness the moment in which Moses and Aaron first meet. Moses, confiding in God of his anxiety to meet his older brother, is calmed when God reassures him that “…he will be happy to see you,” (Exodus 4:14). As promised, when Aaron finally lays eyes on his baby brother, “(Aaron) went and met him at the mountain of God, and kissed him,” (Exodus 4:27). Shemot Rabbah, a midrashic commentary on the book of Exodus, we learn the following interpretation: “And he kissed him” – This means: each rejoiced at the other’s greatness,” (Shemot Rabbah 5:10).
What could have been an ugly confrontation fueled by jealousy or animosity (lest we forget that Moses, the younger brother, was selected to be the Israelite leader), or at least an awkward reunion, turns into a tender, intimate moment. They stay in that embrace for some time, with Moses soon regaling his brother with stories about his interactions with God, and sharing the burden of God’s instructions with his big brother.
We know now that their initial connection was a healthy one; they started off on the right foot. But the bigger question remains: why didn’t the relationship eventually devolve into bitter rivalry?
Chief Lord Rabbi Jonathan Sacks z”l picks up on some strange phrasing in a brief passage about Moses and Aaron interacting with Pharaoh. In chapter 6, two notable phrases emerge: the first is that Moses and Aaron’s names are interchanged several times. In verse 20, the text reads “Aaron and Moses.” But later, in verse 27, it reads “Moses and Aaron.”
Just as Torah doesn’t elevate one brother over the other, Aaron and Moses learned to never elevate themselves over the other, either. Second, the text refers to them both in the third person singular – “He was Aaron and Moses,” ” He was Moses and Aaron.” They were so beholden to one another that their actions, their very beings, were attributed one to the other. They were one.
The result of their bound brotherhood is that no matter the circumstances, they become each other’s strongest supporters. In Midrash Tanchuma, Rabbi Shimon Bar Yochai (Rashbi) states: “The heart that was happy for his brother’s important role, will ultimately be happy in his own role.”
Building on this, the aforementioned Shemot Rabbah lays out a sort of division of labor between the brothers: “Loving-kindness – this refers to Aaron. Truth – this refers to Moses. Righteousness – this refers to Moses. Peace – this refers to Aaron,” (Shemot Rabbah 5:10). They each had their gifts to give, their lanes in which to proceed. Alone, neither Moses nor Aaron has everything that it takes to lead the Israelites into nationhood. But with their gifts combined, the Israelites have all the leadership they need to enter the Promised Land united as one, just like the two brothers who brought them there.
Rabbi Elan Babchuck is committed to leaving behind a world that is more compassionate and connected than the one he found. In pursuit of that commitment he serves as the Executive Vice President at Clal, the National Jewish Center for Learning and Leadership, and the Founding Executive Director of Glean Network, which partners with Columbia Business School. He was ordained in 2012, and earned his MBA that year, as well.
A sought-after thought leader, he has delivered keynotes at stages ranging from TEDx to the US Army’s General Officer Convocation, published in The Atlantic, The Guardian, Washington Post, and Religion News Service, has a column for The Wisdom Daily, contributed to Meaning Making – 8 Values That Drive America’s Newest Generations (2020, St. Mary’s Press) and is the co-author of the forthcoming book Picking Up the Pieces: Leadership After Empire (2023, Fortress Press).
He also serves as:
a Founding Partner of Starts With Us, a movement to counteract toxic polarization in America,
a Research Advisory Board Member of Springtide Research Institute, which focuses on spirituality, mental health and Gen Z,
a founding board member of Beloved Network, a network of startup Jewish communities, and
a member of the Board of Advisors of the Changemaker Initiative.
He lives in Providence, Rhode Island with his wife, Lizzie Pollock, and their three children: Micah, Nessa, and Ayla. In his spare time, he finds sanctuary while climbing rock walls around New England and tending to his backyard garden.