Making Good Trouble, in memory of John Lewis
Coming out of the book of B’midbar right into the book of Devarim, we cannot help but feel that we are in the darkest part of the Torah. This week, Moshe takes the proverbial podium and stands before the people, to speak to them at the end of their journey. It should be a time of relief, of celebrating that they’ve come this far, of taking a deep breath and preparing for what’s to come. Where Moshe starts his speech, however, is not with words of encouragement and purpose, but with words of rebuke.
This Shabbat, Shabbat Ḥazon, meaning “vision,” (which we’ll talk more about in a sec), is the 3rd and final in our yearly period of mourning, taking us from the 17th of Tammuz to Tisha B’Av, which is this coming Wednesday night and Thursday. It’s the darkest part of our year, fitting right in with this darkest segment of our yearly Torah cycle.
We give this Shabbat a special name, Shabbat Ḥazon, a nod to the opening words of the Haftarah that we just read: Ḥazon Yishayahu, the prophetic vision of Isaiah. The Haftarah, like our parashah, opens a new biblical book with devastating words from a respected leader channeling God’s voice.
Isaiah’s words are also a harsh rebuke of the people. In Isaiah’s time, their crime was betrayal of God and turning to idolatry. The people turned their backs on God, denigrating proper religious practice and spurning God’s role as Creator and ultimate ruler. In response to their rejection, God rejected them, foretelling the destruction of the first Temple and the exile of the people from their land, which we commemorate on Tisha b’Av.
We don’t only look back to the first Temple on Tisha b’Av; we also mourn the loss of the second Temple, which had a much more permanent impact on the future of the Jewish people. The Sages of the Talmud teach a painful truth about why the Second Temple was destroyed. It wasn’t due to the people’s religious disloyalty, nor because of their refusal to acknowledge God’s rule. The Talmud tells us that the second Temple was destroyed because of Sin’at Ḥinam, baseless, senseless hatred between people. (BT Yoma 9a, Gittin 55b)
In the case of the second Temple, the society fractured because the society was fractured. Social norms of respect, human dignity, and compassion had entirely eroded to the point that even the leaders of the community were indifferent to the deplorable state of Jewish community.
If only the Rabbis living in the second half of the first century had read our parashah carefully, they might have seen a reminder of their proper role. They might have been able to give the community new life.
Right at the beginning of Moshe’s speech to the people, he despairs of being able to lead them successfully: אֵיכָה אֶשָּׂא לְבַדִּי טׇרְחֲכֶם וּמַשַּׂאֲכֶם וְרִיבְכֶם׃ / How can I bear unaided the trouble of you, and the burden, and the bickering! (Deuteronomy 1:12) The Torah’s three-part description of the people’s behavior only serves to emphasize how difficult the people were for Moshe. And he recognized that a community defined by this kind of endless contentiousness, by fractured tribalism and constant contempt, cannot survive the challenges that were ahead in the Promised Land.
Moshe’s complaint about the people doesn’t remain in the realm of complaint. He offers a solution to the looming threat of internal collapse: a system of shared power.
He says: הָבוּ לָכֶם אֲנָשִׁים חֲכָמִים וּנְבֹנִים וִידֻעִים לְשִׁבְטֵיכֶם וַאֲשִׂימֵם בְּרָאשֵׁיכֶם׃ / Pick from each of your tribes individuals who are wise, discerning, and experienced, and I will appoint them as your heads.” (Deuteronomy 1:13)
Moshe understands that the antidote to internal division is collective ownership. When every person has a say in their leadership, they have a stake in the society. When they have a stake in their society, they won’t be so quick to try and cut it off at the knees. The Torah gives us a version of representative democracy that serves as a spiritual tool to stabilize the people. The new leadership structure, rather than housing authority in one person who is tasked with solving all disputes, channels differing viewpoints into a peaceful process, replacing the chaos that Moshe was complaining about with the dignity of having one’s voice heard and represented.
When we read Parashat Devarim through the lens of Tisha b’Av, the connection between Moshe’s call for democratic representation and the warning against baseless hatred becomes starkly apparent.
That warning applies just as much today as it did in the days of Moshe or in the days of the Sages of the Talmud. When we think about the destruction of the Temple, images of bloody war and fiery exile come to mind. That may be where it ended, but that’s not where it started. It started with Sin’at Ḥinam, baseless hatred.
Baseless hatred starts small, with dismissiveness, with discounting the importance of treating others with dignity. It grows when we look at our neighbors and decide that their voices, their experiences, and their struggles do not matter. It takes root when we divide the world into "us" and "them," believing that some members of our society are inherently less worthy of a seat at the table.
This is where the Ḥazon, the prophetic vision, of Shabbat Ḥazon comes in.
Moshe’s Ḥazon, his prophetic vision, was to call out the Israelites for their behavior, for the ways that they were slipping into the patterns of Sin’at Ḥinam. Like the prophet he was, he foresaw the needs of the people and responded. He channeled his own frustration and established a sustainable system of governance that would help resolve the people’s otherwise perpetual disputes and sow peace among them.
We need that kind of Ḥazon today to help us respond to the Sin’at Ḥinam that exists within our own American society.
This weekend marks the 6th yahrzeit of John Lewis, the civil rights activist and longtime member of Congress. Before serving in Congress, he was best known for his work opposing segregation and promoting civil rights, especially the right to vote, which was regularly withheld from African Americans in the South. He worked tirelessly and often at great personal risk to register new voters, aiming to have America’s representative democracy represent all Americans.
He was known for coining the phrase “good trouble.” He famously said: “Get in good trouble, necessary trouble, and help redeem the soul of America.”
Good trouble, as understood by those who continue Congressman Lewis’s legacy, is the act of coming together to take peaceful, non-violent action to challenge injustice. This was his Ḥazon, his prophetic vision.
Over this past year plus, Congress (as well as state legislatures) have passed anti-voter bills, empowered by the Supreme Court’s decision to gut the Voting Rights Act. Legislatures across the American South are redrawing their voting maps, creating districts that essentially stifle minority voting power, silencing the voices of those who need to be heard the most.
Suppressing the political power of entire communities of people – or when we remain indifferent to the disenfranchisement of others, even if we are not directly responsible for it – is exactly the kind of Sin’at Ḥinam that led to the collapse of the Jewish nation nearly 2000 years ago.
We mourn that catastrophic time each year on Tisha b’Av. But the ways in which our country is rolling back our rights and civil liberties (especially those that should be afforded to Black and Brown people) is happening now. It does not represent a call for mourning. It is a call for action, for making good trouble.
John Lewis’s Ḥazon is at the heart of Good Trouble Lives On, a non-partisan weekend of events and learning that seeks to make that vision a reality, through increasing voter registration, teaching people about their rights and how to protect them, and non-violent civic actions to raise awareness across the country. Here in Baltimore, the documentary “John Lewis: Good Trouble” will be playing at the Pikes on Sunday, with showings at 2:30 and 4:15. Voter registration will also be available at the theater from 2:00-6:00.
The Ḥazon of this Shabbat, both in the Haftarah and in Moshe’s strong words to the people, is one that severely rebukes a society that ignores its deepest obligations to each other, to the most vulnerable within their midst. In his hasidic commentary Kedushat Levi, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev offers an understanding of Ḥazon that brings some light to this dark period of the year, making openings for hope, like John Lewis’s Ḥazon does.
He explains (Kedushat Levi, Deuteronomy, Megillat Eikhah 12) that anything we do comes about as a result of our thoughts. Whatever it is that we think about gets drawn down into our body impacting our outlook and our ability to take action. That is our individual power of Ḥazon, of prophetic vision. When we direct our thoughts during this Shabbat and on Tisha b’Av to the loss of the destruction of the Temple (and I would add to the real challenges of Sin’at Ḥinam that we face), those thoughts suffuse our physical and spiritual selves with holiness and we are granted a glimpse of a world made more perfect in times to come.
How do we get from now to that future? How do we heal our Sin’at Ḥinam and sow peace rather than nurture conflict?
We simply do the opposite of Sin’at Ḥinam. We steadfastly value and protect each other’s right to be heard. We work to make voting rights accessible to all, especially the elderly, the disabled, the poor, and communities of color. We consciously commit ourselves to value human dignity and to behave accordingly.
We make good trouble, building a sanctuary of shared voices, growing the vision of a just, whole, and fully representative society into a livable reality.
~ Shabbat Shalom
Coming out of the book of B’midbar right into the book of Devarim, we cannot help but feel that we are in the darkest part of the Torah. This week, Moshe takes the proverbial podium and stands before the people, to speak to them at the end of their journey. It should be a time of relief, of celebrating that they’ve come this far, of taking a deep breath and preparing for what’s to come. Where Moshe starts his speech, however, is not with words of encouragement and purpose, but with words of rebuke.
This Shabbat, Shabbat Ḥazon, meaning “vision,” (which we’ll talk more about in a sec), is the 3rd and final in our yearly period of mourning, taking us from the 17th of Tammuz to Tisha B’Av, which is this coming Wednesday night and Thursday. It’s the darkest part of our year, fitting right in with this darkest segment of our yearly Torah cycle.
We give this Shabbat a special name, Shabbat Ḥazon, a nod to the opening words of the Haftarah that we just read: Ḥazon Yishayahu, the prophetic vision of Isaiah. The Haftarah, like our parashah, opens a new biblical book with devastating words from a respected leader channeling God’s voice.
Isaiah’s words are also a harsh rebuke of the people. In Isaiah’s time, their crime was betrayal of God and turning to idolatry. The people turned their backs on God, denigrating proper religious practice and spurning God’s role as Creator and ultimate ruler. In response to their rejection, God rejected them, foretelling the destruction of the first Temple and the exile of the people from their land, which we commemorate on Tisha b’Av.
We don’t only look back to the first Temple on Tisha b’Av; we also mourn the loss of the second Temple, which had a much more permanent impact on the future of the Jewish people. The Sages of the Talmud teach a painful truth about why the Second Temple was destroyed. It wasn’t due to the people’s religious disloyalty, nor because of their refusal to acknowledge God’s rule. The Talmud tells us that the second Temple was destroyed because of Sin’at Ḥinam, baseless, senseless hatred between people. (BT Yoma 9a, Gittin 55b)
In the case of the second Temple, the society fractured because the society was fractured. Social norms of respect, human dignity, and compassion had entirely eroded to the point that even the leaders of the community were indifferent to the deplorable state of Jewish community.
If only the Rabbis living in the second half of the first century had read our parashah carefully, they might have seen a reminder of their proper role. They might have been able to give the community new life.
Right at the beginning of Moshe’s speech to the people, he despairs of being able to lead them successfully: אֵיכָה אֶשָּׂא לְבַדִּי טׇרְחֲכֶם וּמַשַּׂאֲכֶם וְרִיבְכֶם׃ / How can I bear unaided the trouble of you, and the burden, and the bickering! (Deuteronomy 1:12) The Torah’s three-part description of the people’s behavior only serves to emphasize how difficult the people were for Moshe. And he recognized that a community defined by this kind of endless contentiousness, by fractured tribalism and constant contempt, cannot survive the challenges that were ahead in the Promised Land.
Moshe’s complaint about the people doesn’t remain in the realm of complaint. He offers a solution to the looming threat of internal collapse: a system of shared power.
He says: הָבוּ לָכֶם אֲנָשִׁים חֲכָמִים וּנְבֹנִים וִידֻעִים לְשִׁבְטֵיכֶם וַאֲשִׂימֵם בְּרָאשֵׁיכֶם׃ / Pick from each of your tribes individuals who are wise, discerning, and experienced, and I will appoint them as your heads.” (Deuteronomy 1:13)
Moshe understands that the antidote to internal division is collective ownership. When every person has a say in their leadership, they have a stake in the society. When they have a stake in their society, they won’t be so quick to try and cut it off at the knees. The Torah gives us a version of representative democracy that serves as a spiritual tool to stabilize the people. The new leadership structure, rather than housing authority in one person who is tasked with solving all disputes, channels differing viewpoints into a peaceful process, replacing the chaos that Moshe was complaining about with the dignity of having one’s voice heard and represented.
When we read Parashat Devarim through the lens of Tisha b’Av, the connection between Moshe’s call for democratic representation and the warning against baseless hatred becomes starkly apparent.
That warning applies just as much today as it did in the days of Moshe or in the days of the Sages of the Talmud. When we think about the destruction of the Temple, images of bloody war and fiery exile come to mind. That may be where it ended, but that’s not where it started. It started with Sin’at Ḥinam, baseless hatred.
Baseless hatred starts small, with dismissiveness, with discounting the importance of treating others with dignity. It grows when we look at our neighbors and decide that their voices, their experiences, and their struggles do not matter. It takes root when we divide the world into "us" and "them," believing that some members of our society are inherently less worthy of a seat at the table.
This is where the Ḥazon, the prophetic vision, of Shabbat Ḥazon comes in.
Moshe’s Ḥazon, his prophetic vision, was to call out the Israelites for their behavior, for the ways that they were slipping into the patterns of Sin’at Ḥinam. Like the prophet he was, he foresaw the needs of the people and responded. He channeled his own frustration and established a sustainable system of governance that would help resolve the people’s otherwise perpetual disputes and sow peace among them.
We need that kind of Ḥazon today to help us respond to the Sin’at Ḥinam that exists within our own American society.
This weekend marks the 6th yahrzeit of John Lewis, the civil rights activist and longtime member of Congress. Before serving in Congress, he was best known for his work opposing segregation and promoting civil rights, especially the right to vote, which was regularly withheld from African Americans in the South. He worked tirelessly and often at great personal risk to register new voters, aiming to have America’s representative democracy represent all Americans.
He was known for coining the phrase “good trouble.” He famously said: “Get in good trouble, necessary trouble, and help redeem the soul of America.”
Good trouble, as understood by those who continue Congressman Lewis’s legacy, is the act of coming together to take peaceful, non-violent action to challenge injustice. This was his Ḥazon, his prophetic vision.
Over this past year plus, Congress (as well as state legislatures) have passed anti-voter bills, empowered by the Supreme Court’s decision to gut the Voting Rights Act. Legislatures across the American South are redrawing their voting maps, creating districts that essentially stifle minority voting power, silencing the voices of those who need to be heard the most.
Suppressing the political power of entire communities of people – or when we remain indifferent to the disenfranchisement of others, even if we are not directly responsible for it – is exactly the kind of Sin’at Ḥinam that led to the collapse of the Jewish nation nearly 2000 years ago.
We mourn that catastrophic time each year on Tisha b’Av. But the ways in which our country is rolling back our rights and civil liberties (especially those that should be afforded to Black and Brown people) is happening now. It does not represent a call for mourning. It is a call for action, for making good trouble.
John Lewis’s Ḥazon is at the heart of Good Trouble Lives On, a non-partisan weekend of events and learning that seeks to make that vision a reality, through increasing voter registration, teaching people about their rights and how to protect them, and non-violent civic actions to raise awareness across the country. Here in Baltimore, the documentary “John Lewis: Good Trouble” will be playing at the Pikes on Sunday, with showings at 2:30 and 4:15. Voter registration will also be available at the theater from 2:00-6:00.
The Ḥazon of this Shabbat, both in the Haftarah and in Moshe’s strong words to the people, is one that severely rebukes a society that ignores its deepest obligations to each other, to the most vulnerable within their midst. In his hasidic commentary Kedushat Levi, Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev offers an understanding of Ḥazon that brings some light to this dark period of the year, making openings for hope, like John Lewis’s Ḥazon does.
He explains (Kedushat Levi, Deuteronomy, Megillat Eikhah 12) that anything we do comes about as a result of our thoughts. Whatever it is that we think about gets drawn down into our body impacting our outlook and our ability to take action. That is our individual power of Ḥazon, of prophetic vision. When we direct our thoughts during this Shabbat and on Tisha b’Av to the loss of the destruction of the Temple (and I would add to the real challenges of Sin’at Ḥinam that we face), those thoughts suffuse our physical and spiritual selves with holiness and we are granted a glimpse of a world made more perfect in times to come.
How do we get from now to that future? How do we heal our Sin’at Ḥinam and sow peace rather than nurture conflict?
We simply do the opposite of Sin’at Ḥinam. We steadfastly value and protect each other’s right to be heard. We work to make voting rights accessible to all, especially the elderly, the disabled, the poor, and communities of color. We consciously commit ourselves to value human dignity and to behave accordingly.
We make good trouble, building a sanctuary of shared voices, growing the vision of a just, whole, and fully representative society into a livable reality.
~ Shabbat Shalom