Rabbi Evan Moffic
Chicago Sinai Congregation
March 9, 2007
The traditional Torah reading for this week begins with a strange commandment. It concerns the taking of a census for the Israelites in the wilderness. As it says, “When you take a census of the Israelites to determine their number, each one is to give to God an atonement offering so that the people will not be stricken by plague when they are counted. (Exodus 30: 12) Each Israelite has to make atonement when the people are counted. Otherwise, a plague will strike. Counting the people is clearly a dangerous activity.
This note of danger is echoed 500 years later in another part of the Bible. In the book of Samuel, King David decides to do a census of the people. His chief general Joab warns him not to do so. David overrules him. What happens? As the count begins, David realizes that he had committed a great wrong. As the text says, “David was conscience-stricken after he had counted the fighting men, and he said to the Lord, ‘I have sinned greatly in what I have done. Now, O Lord, I beg you, take away the guilt of your servant. I have done a very foolish thing.’” Soon a plague strikes the people and takes many lives.
These texts leave us with a tantalizing question. Why is so dangerous count the people? I believe our faith and our history suggest the answer, and it’s a counter-intuitive. The reason a census was taken in ancient times was to know the size of one’s army. The census was directed toward men over age 20 who were able to fight. The assumption is that strength lies in numbers. Our Torah is trying to teach us something different. True strength does not lie in numbers. The size of a group or an organization does not always reveal its influence. Indeed, Jewish history is a 4000-year-long example of Margaret Mead’s famous aphorism: Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it's the only thing that ever has.
The danger with counting is that if we ever believe for a moment that our strength lies in numbers, then we can lose sight of what truly counts. Bigger does not always mean better. Many of us have probably been on committees where we know this to be true. Or perhaps we have been to a class or a party, and just a few people showed up. We might have initially felt a bit awkward or disappointed. But that class could have turned out to be the most meaningful and wonderful we’ve taken, or the party the most fun and exciting we attended. The opposite could also have been true. Perhaps we attended a huge concert or ally and found ourselves feeling disconnected or overwhelmed. Once again, bigger does not always mean better. In fact, bigger can sometimes dilute the strength of the individuals involved. It is when each person feels critical to the larger whole that an organization or a group thrives.
To measure strength, instead of counting numbers of people, we count, as the text instructs us, contributions. If, for example, we want to understand Judaism’s role in world history and civilization, we would not look at demographics. Jews are about .3 percent of the world population. Milton Himmelfarb once joked that the total size of the world Jewish population would be a small statistical error in the Chinese census. Rather, we would look at Jewish individuals who have shaped the world. Einstein, the father of modern physics; Freud, the father of modern psychology; Emile Durkheim, the father of sociology. Irving Berlin and George Gershwin, who shaped popular music in America. Maybe even Thomas Jefferson, if saw the article in the New York Times last week!
The potential strength of a group, then, is measured not by its number, but by its potential contribution. Judaism tells us that that potential is infinite. Each of us has a world to contribute. [Insert for Sunday New Member Service: As we welcome new members into our community today, I think this is particularly important. Those who have joined us recent months will soon learn what an extraordinary community we have. We are large and growing, which is wonderful, but it is not the numbers that make us different. It is our people. It is the people who organized this event today. It is the people whose work in our office keep the congregation moving. It is the people who devote hours and days making our members part of a community.
As you have gotten to know Sinai, you may also have realized what makes us different is also the way we define that community. The outside of our building proclaims that we are a house of prayer for all people. We take the charge very seriously. Our house welcomes Jews and non-Jews, gay or lesbian, single or married, young and old. We believe that this approach exemplifies the liberal imperative of Classical Reform Judaism that guided the founders of this temple. It is an approach captured in the words of Sinai’s Rabbi Emil G. Hirsch, “We have not broken with our past. We spin its thread out into the future. Judaism is not external law but inward principle, a growth not a command.” Now the number of Classical Reform congregations in America may be small. But, as we have learned, it’s not the numbers that count. It’s our passion, energy and commitment.
One of those guiding passions of our temple is the pursuit of social justice. Mindful of this, we recently embarked on a face-to-project, involving one-on-interviews with members to discover the issues and concerns that keep us up at night. The project will culminate in taking action on a particular issue or set of issues that reflect our values and concerns. Face-to-Face rests on the assumption that every person has the potential to contribute. It also derives from our understanding of community. Judaism teaches that community thrives when it draws from the unique potential of every individual. Each of us has a story, and a potential. We might be part of the interfaith family, and be able to help our congregation improve our programming or better direct our resources to meeting those unique challenges. ]
We might have a deep sensitivity to those who gay or lesbian, and be able to help welcome them to our community. We might have experienced health care crisis and feel driven to prevent this from happening to others. We may be extraordinarily outgoing, and be able to make newcomers feel welcome in our services. We may have experience organizing and leading groups so that we can take effective action. Judaism is, to draw from Abraham Lincoln, a religion of, by, for the people. And each of us is, each person is, as our prayer book states, a link in the endless chain of our heritage.
Our Torah portion, and our history, tell us that strength does not lie only numbers. It lies in faces behind those numbers. If we forget that, then we forget the moral strength and commitment that led our ancestors to persevere and made it possible for us to be here today. My hope and prayer this evening is that we don’t forget; that we remember that there is no life without a task; no person without a gift to give; and no time or place without the hidden potential to be made bright and holy. Each of us has the power to contribute, and God has no hands but ours. Amen.
I am grateful to Rabbi Jonathan Sacks whose Torah commentary sparked this sermon.