It's Not About You

No matter how humble Moses may have been, I have to believe that the opening verses of this week’s Torah reading hit him like a ton of bricks. “And you shall bring forward your brother Aaron, with his sons, from among the Israelites to serve Me as priests: Aaron, Nadav and Abihu, Eleazar and Itamar, the sons of Aaron.” (Exodus 28:2) I wonder how Moses felt hearing from God that his brother would be put in charge of Israel’s ritual life. Moses – who was plucked out of obscurity against his will, leaving a life of comfort, to lead a people not his own. Moses – who at great risk to himself went toe-to-toe with Pharoah, plague after plague. Moses – who courageously brought the Israelites through the sea to liberty and safety. Moses – who ascended Mount Sinai to receive the law, who time and again found the emotional wherewithal to forgive this mixed multitude for their murmurings and idolatry. Moses – who worked so hard to build the tabernacle according to precise specifications, a place where God’s presence could dwell. And now, this week comes notice that someone else – Aaron – would be in charge. His brother and his brother’s descendents would be the Kohanim, the priestly line. What I would give to know what Moses was thinking at that moment! A slap in the face. A bait and switch of, literally, divine proportions. To have worked so hard, to have given your all – your everything – for a cause, to have every reason to believe that you are “the guy,” only to be told otherwise. The ball is in someone else’s hands; you are not “the guy”; this story is not actually about you.

One of the finest studies by my teacher, the late Dr. Tikva Frymer-Kensky, z”l, was called “Moses and the Cults.” It is a thought-provoking study of religious leadership, from the Hare Krishnas to the Moonies, from Reverend Moon to Reverend Jim Jones. Her specific question of interest is the relationship between a leader and a cult, and the centripetal forces that often gather around charismatic personalities. Frymer-Kensky argues that despite the uprooted conditions and newly emancipated status of the Israelites, despite their obvious debt to Moses, despite all the reasons that might have led them to develop a cult around Moses, it never happened. Frymer-Kensky tracks a very subtle and moderating give and take on the matter of authority at each and every stage, the upshot of which is that the Israelites never succumb to the pitfall of deifying their leader – no matter how great Moses may have been.

Moses began as the sole and supreme magistrate of the people – a role that a few weeks ago, was transformed, democratized and, arguably, diminished, when at the urging of his father-in-law, Moses established a system of judges. Moses led the people militarily against Amalek, only to discover mid-battle that he needed the help of Aaron and Hur. This week, Moses is asked to cede ritual authority to his brother Aaron. Soon enough, political authority will be given over to his protégé Joshua. We know that ultimately Moses will not enter the land – a punishment not only for his having struck the rock, but for his overreaching claim that it was he, not God, who was responsible for drawing water from that rock. In prohibiting Moses from entering the land, God was not just delimiting geography, but signaling to Moses, to Israel and to history that this journey was about something much bigger than Moses. Finally, of course, we are never told where Moses is buried; there is no pilgrimage site, no “dead hero cult” surrounding his personality. In summary, writes Frymer-Kensky, “Though remembered as a great man … he did not pass into folklore as a messiah.”

Emerson’s contention that every institution is the lengthened shadow of one man is not entirely true, not altogether responsible, and – it seems to me – not a terribly Jewish approach to leadership. Any institution – religious, political or other – depends on strong leadership. We would not be here were it not for the Moseses, the Miriams, the Maccabees and others of our people’s history. But critical as great leaders may be, neither leaders nor, for that matter, the communities they lead should confuse a person with the principles that person is meant to serve. Moses had a specific role to play on behalf of his people and their cause, but he was not the cause itself. It is not without significance that Moses’ name never appears in this week’s parashah, an omission that is codified in the Passover Haggadah. To be free, to receive the Torah, to enter the land of Israel – these were the values for which Moses’ leadership was necessary, values that were meant to extend well beyond his tenure. As the management guru Jim Collins explains in his study of the subject, the highest form of leadership is marked by “the paradoxical blend of personal humility and professional will.” (Good to Great, p. 20ff.) Not only, argues Collins, are modesty and ambition not incompatible, but they are actually interdependent; the fierce resolve of effective leaders is contingent on their being self-effacing. Be it Abraham Lincoln, a corporate CEO or the captain of a Little League team, a leader’s ambition must be first and foremost for an institution and its principles, never for him- or herself. In fact, one could argue that it is in the cultivation of successors, in exercising the muscle of stewardship, that we prove ourselves to be most vested in our principles. Just this week, I had lunch with an elder statesman of our community who before stepping down as chair of a major organization understood it as his obligation to fill his board with individuals at least a generation his junior. If we really believe in the organizations we proclaim to lead, then it would follow that we create the mechanisms by which an organization’s mission can extend beyond our tenure. If we fail in this regard, one could argue, we fail not just the test of ego, but we have failed the very ideals we claim to fight for so dearly.

But all of this doesn’t make it any easier. Not for Moses, not for anyone with a type-A personality, is it easy to hear that “it’s not about you.” Each one of us is prone to believe that we are irreplaceable in our roles. Each one of us thinks that it is our unique imprint that is essential to an institution. It is not an either/or, and we all have to be very careful when threading this needle. And, of course, whenever we see leaders come and go, there will be anxiety as to whether or not the baton will be passed successfully. All of which means that no matter where we fall on the leadership matrix, both we and our institutions are better served by focusing not on people and nameplates, but on purpose and mission. I am often reminded of the first meeting between God and Moses, when Moses pleads to know God’s name. God refuses Moses’ request, sharing only ehyeh asher ehyeh, “I will be that which I will be.” The midrash explains that God demurred because it was not the divine name that God wanted Moses to focus on, rather the divine attributes. God didn’t need Moses to invoke his name; God wanted Moses to walk in His ways. That is what mattered most, that was what would bring honor to God.

The enduring image of this week’s Torah reading is the investiture of the priests, the ornate garments that Aaron and the priestly line were instructed to wear. The sensitive reader of the Torah is already looking ahead to the not-too-distant future, when – in parashat Hukkat in the book of Numbers – it is time for Aaron to be gathered unto his kin. The two brothers Moses and Aaron ascend Mount Hor with Aaron’s son Eleazar. With great care and compassion, Moses removes his brother’s vestments one by one, and places them on his nephew, who, upon Aaron’s death, assumes his father’s leadership position. Emotional as the scene may be, the message is clear enough, to Aaron, to Moses and most of all to Israel, then and now. Good leaders may be irreplaceable, but the great ones remember that the office they hold, the institutions they represent and the values they – and we – hold sacred, must transcend the limitations of any single person. It isn’t easy, but this is the model to which we must aspire, for ourselves, for our community, and most importantly, for the ideas and ideals that are far greater than any one of us.