blogs/rabbi-ed-feinstein

Not With Anger. Not With Bitterness.
Rabbi Ed Feinstein

The sixteenth century rabbi, Rabbi Yehuda Loew of Prague, received word of an imminent pogrom, an attack on his community driven by a vicious blood libel. He prayed for divine help. In a dream, he saw ten Hebrew words forming an alphabetical acrostic: “Create a Golem of Clay, Destroy Those Tearing Israel's Heart.”

He spent the next seven days fasting and praying, then, at midnight, took his son-in-law and his disciple to the banks of the river Moldau. Out of river clay, they fashioned a giant. Under the creature's tongue, Rabbi Loew placed a slip of paper inscribed with the secret, unutterable name of God. On the creature's forehead, the rabbi wrote, Emet, “Truth.”  They circled the creature seven times, reciting sacred incantations, and the creature came alive. Rabbi Loew commanded, “Stand,” and the creature stood. They dressed him in servant's clothes and brought him home. As three they had come; as four they returned. Thus was the Golem born.

The Golem lived in the Rabbi's house. Strong as ten men, invulnerable, able to turn himself invisible, he went out each night to fight those who threatened the Jews. Repeatedly, he saved members of the community from harm. But the Rabbi worried that someone would misuse the Golem's powers. Despite his warnings, members of the household sent the Golem on trivial errands. Once they sent him to the river to bring water. But they did not know how to stop him. Soon all were in danger of perishing in a flood. Only the Rabbi's timely arrival saved them from drowning.

Fearing a calamity, the rabbi brought the Golem to the synagogue attic, and commanded him to lie among the old tallisim and prayerbooks. The Rabbi removed the slip of paper from the Golem's mouth, and erased the first letter on his forehead, changing Emet, Truth, to Met, Dead. And the Golem turned back into lifeless clay. To this day, the Golem is said to rest and wait in the attic of Prague's ancient synagogue. In fact, he lives. He lives in Israel. He lives among us here in America.

Jewish discourse is awash in harsh anger. The Right accuses the Left of naivete and disloyalty. The Left charges the Right with moral blindness. The Left accuses the Right of senseless chauvinism. The Right accuses the Left of treason. Combat flares up, of all places, at the Western Wall. As the rhetoric rises, one hears the same cry from every side: Enemy! Destroyer!

We are an angry people. The horrors of the 20^th century has left us with a collective case of post-traumatic stress disease. Attacking our own is one symptom of this PTSD. Like the Golem, rage is a gift of God intended to protect us. Rage gives us strength to defeat an enemy. But like the Golem, rage has no discretion. It attacks everything. It doesn't know where to stop. Without an external foe, our rage is displaced -- directed internally, against our own. It stands behind a banner of Emet, an exclusive hold on the Truth. It speaks in the Name of God. And it will surely drown us.

The ancient priests of Israel, the Kohanim, were forbidden to attend the dead or the dying. A puzzling instruction. We would expect the opposite. When there is a death in the community, the rabbi is among the first we call for help. Why were priests not permitted to attend to the dead? The Ishbitzer Rebbe, Hasidic master of the 18^th century answered: In the presence of death, one is filled with rage and bitterness. The priest is Oved Hashem, the servant of God, the embodiment of God's love and care. One so charged cannot carry out his calling with a heart full of anger. Rage and bitterness disqualify him. Only one free of anger may lead and teach the Jewish people.

Yom Ha-Shoah brings tears of commemoration as we struggle to grasp how we might remember the Six Million. Here is the Talmud's wisdom: Not through anger. Not through bitterness. We must not remember the victims by adopting the ways of the murderers. In the imagination of the Talmud, God prays each morning. And what, the Talmud asks, does God pray?  “May it be My will that My love may suppress My anger, and that My love may prevail over My [other] attributes, so that I may deal lovingly with My children.” So may it be for us.