(Written initially on the topic of “humility and healthy pride in leadership,” this piece also highlights the issue of speaking over black Jews instead of fostering dialogue. There is also some insight for this week’s parsha Tetzaveh.)
Numbers 12:3 “And Moshe was more humble than any human upon the face of the earth.”
At the beginning of Vayikra, at the end of this sefer’s first word – its very namesake – is an aleph smaller than the other letters. The Baal haTurim brings down that this small aleph is actually the result of a disagreement and compromise between haShem and Moshe. G-d frequently talks to Moshe, often speaks with him, but “calling” like Vayikra!? That’s a root (קרא) more often used for angels when they call זה אל־זה! To the prophets of the world, Rashi notes that Torah uses the root קרה with a heh rather than an aleph. This word implies an occurrence or meeting, as happened with Bilaam and g-d, and carries a pejorative undertone.
Moshe, being humble, plans to write this important sefer-opening word as if he was simply on the same level of prophecy as Bilaam – ויקר. HaShem however insists that קרא be the verb root used, that Moshe’s is not just an encounter, but a true and divine calling. And Moshe, being humble, accepts the mandate, but – being stiff-necked in humility – stubbornly writes the aleph small to leave us this hint.
In parsha Tetzaveh, the Baal haTurim notes another anomaly/lesson – for the first time since his birth, Moshe’s name is nowhere in the text! There are several reasons listed as explanations, but what I find more important for this moment than our amazing rabbinic explanations, is that Moshe is still so present. Despite the name of Moshe being left out, parsha Tetzaveh starts with haShem using an intimate “And you” – ואתה – not just a suffix hung on a verb, but a full separate pronoun. A very I and Thou moment. It’s remarkably easy to miss that intimate “and you,” and even easier to miss that Moshe’s name is nowhere in the parsha.
When haShem asks us to form divinity in the world, like when haShem declared the kohanim inauguration ceremony in Tetzeveh or when g-d called to Moshe with that writ-small aleph, there will be many many times our names are not noted, that we aren’t listed in the text. And yet, if we are doing the good humble work, we will still be there.
I am currently in a great period of humility and self-work around harmful flares of ego. Most of my arrogance is the remains of the classic “under achieving gifted kid” syndrome that many in my generation intimately know. I was praised and lauded for being smart, for enjoying learning and generally doing what teachers wanted without huge effort. But as life became more difficult, as I grew up and begin the process of unlearning, it became harder and harder to be that student. And ultimately, the praise heaped on me simply because I was intelligent damaged my ego around just that topic. When my emotions feel someone doesn’t respect my knowledge, frustration and humiliation can flare up, my pride becomes toxic, and I have struggled to not leap into the chance to “prove” myself.
I still remember – with deep embarrassment – an incident in Shabbos Torah study at my old shul. We were discussing Miriam’s leprosy and I made the point that Miriam is literally cursed with diseased-whiteness for being racist about Moshe’s “Cushite wife.” I remember being quite proud of this little drash and the clever turns of phrase I used. I remember feeling even prouder of the positive reaction it had. Then Azriel, one of several black Jews in my shul, pointed out that racism didn’t exist back then in the same way it does now. I remember blurtingly interrupting to insist I knew that – which I did – and that Torah interpretation is about historical and ahistorical tellings and retellings. We continued on for a few minutes of back and forth, me interrupting far too much.
While no one would call what happened an argument and while there was no harshness in our words, I still remember being so thrown by the realization that my “good anti-racist point” had led me right into racism. That I, in my pride, in my wounded arrogance about intelligence and knowledge, did exactly what doesn’t foster connection – I centered myself and my discomfort, after making an anti-racist point no less – above a black man’s drash. Azriel apparently never thought of it as more than a Torah argument for the sake of heaven. But I know what it was – the shadows of childish arrogance and the fear of being looked down on – come to harm the very person my drash should have aligned me with. I finally learned far beyond words that arguments for the sake of heaven can not center my self above others.
eish zarah 