Thoughts on parashat Ki Tisa 5785.
Last Wednesday, after a full day cooking at the synagogue for our Purim dinner, Rivkah, Joyce, Mike, and I decided to go out for dinner. But first, we had to stop by Joyce and Mike’s house, as they were eager to show us the incredible packages filled with homemade hamantaschen they had been preparing for the last two days. Mike handles the dough while Joyce pitches in, and together they expertly crafted over 120 hamantaschen, carefully packaged them, and sent them off to their loved ones in New York, New Orleans, Madison, Los Angeles, Laguna Beach… Sure, it would be cheaper and easier to buy hamantaschen locally, but that misses the point. This isn’t just about money or effort; it’s about something much deeper and more meaningful.
Responsibility. It’s a word that carries a lot of emotional weight. It suggests seriousness and gravity. When we talk about responsibility, we often are thinking about important matters. For young and inexperienced people, this word can feel particularly heavy, as they may not yet have faced many responsibilities. On the other hand, for those whose lives revolve around responsibility—like parents or community leaders—it might feel more routine. This distinction—where the perception of responsibility changes based on one’s experience—is true in theory, but it doesn’t always play out in practice, as even experienced individuals can struggle with their responsibilities.
Our Torah portion addresses responsibility, specifically the complete failure to acknowledge one’s own role in a situation. The person who exemplifies this is Moses’ brother, Aaron:
“Do not be angry, my lord,” Aaron replied. “You know how these people are prone to evil. They said to me, ‘Make us a god who will go before us. As for this man Moses who brought us up out of Egypt, we don’t know what has happened to him.’ So I told them, ‘Whoever has any gold jewelry, take it off.’ Then they gave me the gold, and I threw it into the fire, and out came this Calf!” (Ex. 32:22-24)
Here, Aaron shifts the blame onto the people, claiming it was the people’s request. He denies any responsibility for creating the Calf, suggesting it just happened: “I threw it into the fire, and this Calf simply came out!” It sounds almost miraculous. This denial of responsibility echoes the story of Adam and Eve, where Adam says, “It was the woman,” and Eve says, “It was the serpent.” It just happened. I wasn’t to blame; I was the victim, not the perpetrator. Such evasion is a moral failure for anyone, but it is even more troubling when it comes from a leader like Aaron.
Moses, on the other hand, steps up to take full responsibility for what happened, even though he wasn’t there to witness it. God was angry with the Israelites and intended to destroy them, planning to create a great nation solely from Moses’ descendants. However, Moses intervened, passionately defending the Israelites and pleading for them to be given another chance. Through this intense dialogue, he influenced God to reconsider His anger, altering His threat and ultimately upholding the covenant—the brit—between God and the Jewish people.
But as I mentioned at the beginning, responsibility is a loaded word, and the examples I shared highlight its great weight. While some responsibilities may rest on a few individuals, we all carry a range of responsibilities in our daily lives, from the small, everyday actions to the more significant ones. Our tradition teaches us that even these seemingly minor responsibilities are essential, as they can have a profound and lasting impact over time.
And now I would like to come back to Joyce and Mike’s hamantaschen: this is an example of a responsible action that requires quite a bit of work and effort but may be perceived as relatively small or even unnecessary. As they said, it would be easier for their families to buy them from a store. But the act of making and mailing these treats is rooted in love and a deep connection to tradition. These hamantaschen are not just cookies; they embody the spirit of our heritage and convey the important message of ledor va’dor—passing down our values from generation to generation. This is something fundamentally beautiful and moving, and an example of good, Divine work. This ritual serves to connect families to their roots and helps to instill Jewish values in younger generations. It beautifully illustrates how each small act of responsibility contributes to the larger tapestry of our community. By engaging in these beautiful traditions, we help to ensure that our faith endures and enriches the lives of our children and grandchildren.
Ultimately, the enduring strength of our community and Judaism relies on each member, with every Jew upholding our values and traditions. Even the simplest acts of love and responsibility matter, weaving connections between each of us, the next generation and Judaism. Every action of individual responsibility leaves a lasting impact on our community and our shared Jewish identity. This is the beauty of Judaism’s endurance—a reliance on individual contributions within the community, where every action makes a difference and everything you do truly counts.
Shabbat shalom!
Rabbi Mirski
