The chosen people; politically correct or not

By TED ROBERTS, the SCRIBBLER ON THE ROOF

At a recent Shabbos service our Rabbi delivered a stirring D’var Torah on the misdeeds of some of our fellow Jews, “In the words of the Prophet Jeremiah,” said the Rabbi, “I planted you a true seed, a good breed and how have you turned to a strange vine, a degenerate vine.” The Rabbi’s distress is fitting. Too many embarrassing headlines about fraud, money laundering and kindred sins. Aren’t we Jews the Chosen People? Shouldn’t we light the beacon that shines from Zion?

As a Bar/Bat Mitzvah teacher, I share the Rabbi’s sorrow. It is incredibly challenging to present this concept of moral elevation to our children in the face of such ugly headlines. We need pride, A light should go out of Zion, as our Tanach tells us. Pride is definitely the right word. Not arrogance, but pride in our solitary uniqueness as the People of the Book – oops, may as well say it – CHOSEN people. How to explain this concept to a 12-year-old colt who wants to jump every fence his parents and I set up?

How to explain to a member of the adolescent herd that there’s a value in rareness. Don’t be ashamed. This is no doctrine of superiority. Rather one of obligations. You gotta be – I tell the frisky colt – “a light unto the nations”. It’s really unfair. He’s bound by a covenant signed three millennia ago – 8000 miles removed from the USA. A covenant literally sealed in blood by a wandering band of Israelites who had no clue – couldn’t faintly imagine – this child and his world to be. The yoke and blessings of Torah are his. He’s a member of an exclusive Country Club, bound by all its by-laws, without application
or interview.

To make this point about exclusivity to a shocked 12 year old, I use a parable that springs from a periodic discussion between me and my intellectually sprightly wife. It’s about ethics and responsibility.

“Sweet wife,” I say, “may it never happen – G-d forbid – but what if our Rabbi stole a watch from the local jeweler?” My wife gasps in disbelief.

“Now, equally incredible, pretend that I do the same.” I continue, “who is guiltier?”

My side of the argument maintains that there’s an imbalance of guilt here. The rabbi has weightier responsibilities than me. When he stands at the pulpit – when he speaks publicly for the congregation, he waves our flag. He has not only betrayed his private covenant, but
has weakened the faith of his followers and embarrassed Judaism because he’s a public figure. I, too, have disgraced my faith, but not as widely.

The wife disagrees. “You’re both fallibly human,” she says.

This debate bubbles in my head as I try to explain this politically incorrect phrase, “Chosen People”, to my students. Aha, I see an analogy.

“Let’s pretend,” I say to the student, “that the rabbi bought a new shirt and the clerk at Walmart (this always gets a laugh because our rabbi dresses like Elijah in his wilderness period) makes a mistake with the change. He gives him $10 too much. And our rabbi walks out of the store with an extra ten in his pocket.” The child, like my wife, is shocked. “Just pretend,” I say.

“Now, let’s assume your father does exactly the same thing.” Again, wide eyes in disbelief.

“Just pretend, OK. Got it? Well, now you do the same thing. ‘Of course you wouldn’t shop at Walmart, but just pretend once more.’

I pause and let the child’s mind linger awhile on the parallelism of the three criminal situations. “OK, are all three equally guilty?” I ask.

Usually, the kid gets it right – to my way of thinking anyhow. The rabbi is most guilty. He’s a public personality with heavy ethical obligation. The parent is next because he’s damaged his children who look to him for leadership. The child is less culpable of all because he or she is only responsible for his own immature, juvenile soul. I ask the bar mitzvah candidate to restate his hierarchy of guilt.

When the student finishes intellectually digesting and then verbalizing the solution to my puzzle, I’m waiting with the final flash of insight to reveal the heart of the chosen people concept. One more tale I tell.

“Now, let’s say you and a schoolmate who is not Jewish each receive $10.00 too much in change. You need the tenner for a present for your old bar mitzvah teacher (the ultimate charity). So you keep it. Who’s guiltier – you or your pal?” Without hesitation most of my
charges reply that there’s equal guilt.

Then I remind them of the covenant – the obligation to be a light unto the nations. “See, like the rabbi you’ve got a heavier load to bear. That’s what it means to be CHOSEN.”

Try it on your 12-year-old. Better ask your wife first.