A few weeks ago, my wife Jody and I were blessed to be
joined by some of our family and friends to celebrate the graduation of our
son, Gabe, from his kindergarten class at JDS, the Jewish Day School. We watched with pride as he sang his Hebrew
and English songs, and he and his teachers reflected upon how much he and his
classmates had learned and done over the course of the year. It was amazing and emotional for me to think
about how quickly six years have already passed, and to look forward to the
further growth that, God willing, lies ahead.
Kein ahora, we are blessed
with a bright, happy, and healthy little boy.
As we were wrapping up at graduation, I couldn’t help but
think of my dear friends, classmates, and colleagues Rabbis Phyllis and Michael
Sommer of Chicago. A day or two earlier
I had received a heart-wrenching text message from Phyllis. They were in the hospital with their
six-year-old, Sammy. He had just been
diagnosed with leukemia.
Sammy and Gabe are just a few weeks different in age. Though geography dictates that they don’t see
one another nearly as often as we might like, they enjoy playing together, and
they seem pretty indistinguishable from one another in terms of interests,
temperament, and the like. Yet through a
fluke in cellular structure, Sammy’s whole world (and that of his family) has
suddenly changed,
This is the first opportunity I’ve had to preach on a Friday
night since I learned about Sammy’s illness.
He and his family have been on my mind a lot. But the purpose of this sermon is not to
bring you down. Because Sammy is a
fighter, as are his parents, and though this is certainly a rough period for
them, they are determined to face it with courage, hope, and strength. Sammy has been dubbed “Superman Sam” and has
collected messages and photos of support from all over the country and across
the globe. Hundreds, if not thousands,
or even millions of people of all faiths all over the country are praying for him;
you may have noticed that I mentioned his name during our Mi Shebeirach prayers a few moments ago.
Sammy’s story resonates with me not just because of the love
I have for him and his family. It also
speaks to me because it helps me make some sense of this week’s Torah portion.
This week’s portion is known as Chukat. It derives its name
from the Hebrew word “chok,” meaning
“law.” The rabbis of old, in discussing
the various mitzvot of the Torah,
actually drew a distinction between two types: chukim and mishpatim. Both terms refer to the rules or laws of
scripture. But mishpatim have explanations attached to them: observe Shabbat in
order to appreciate that God rested during the work of creation; treat the
stranger kindly because you were strangers in the land of Egypt. Chukim,
on the other hand, have no rationale given.
We’re supposed to observe them just because God said so. Many of them, through a 21st
century lens, like the red heifer ritual we read about in this week’s parasha, make
absolutely no sense whatsoever.
No sense whatsoever.
That certainly applies to Sammy.
Why is one six year old in a hospital room losing his hair, while others
are out playing, going to camp, enjoying the activities of summer? No. Sense. Whatsoever.
But here’s the thing you need to know about the Sommer
family. They’re not taking this lying
down. Sure, they’re sad, scared, and
angry. Yes, they have lost all sense of
“normalcy” and have had their entire routine disrupted. They have probably had more than their fair
share of tantrums and tears. But they
are doing their darnedest to handle this extremely difficult period with poise,
grace, hope, and even occasional humor.
That’s a lesson of Chukat
also; one that, God-willing, most of us will never be directly tested by: when you are in a lousy situation, when the
pressures of life are building around you, try not to make snap decisions; try
not to respond in the heat of the moment.
I refer here to Moses, who, faced with rebellious cries from thirsty
Israelites finds himself unable to function according to his usual
paradigm. Instead of talking to a rock
to gently coax water from it, he strikes it in anger. It has the desired effect, but it has its
consequences as well.
Remember I told you that Sam has been nicknamed “Superman
Sam”? Well, certainly he does his best
to exemplify that character. But, at the
end of the day, Superman is a fictional creation. No real human being can be totally impervious
to pain, emotion, and other human frailties.
Not even Moses.
The beauty of our Torah is that it presents us with
characters who, at the end of the day, are just like you and me. They have moments of triumph and moments of
upset. They have moments when they do
big and grandiose things, and moments when they really foul things up.
Each of the fifty-four weekly Torah portions is paired with
a Haftarah, a passage from prophetic literature that has some thematic tie to
the message of the Torah text. Some of
the connections often seem a bit tenuous.
This week, we read a story of a judge named Yiftach (or Jephthah, as
many English bibles render his name).
Yiftach is lesser known than judges such as Samson, Deborah, or Gideon,
but his story follows a similar arc: he rises from humble roots just as the
Israelites are most in need of a hero, and leads his people to an unexpected
victory over their enemies. He is able
to rise above his hurt from having been despised and rejected in his youth to
serve as a leader when the need arises.
In this way, his story mirrors that of Moses, as both are able to put
the needs of the community above the needs of self.
Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster, the (incidentally) Jewish
creators of Superman may have drawn from this common biblical trope when they
created their character. They made his
alter-ego, the mild-mannered Clark Kent, the epitome of humility, and reminded
us that even heroes have weaknesses (in Superman’s case, of course, it was
kryptonite). At the same time, the
character inspires us to continually strive to soar and reach new heights. This is why Superman is a fitting moniker for
my friend Sammy. Because I know that he
will reach new heights. I know that he
has great things ahead of him.
If you want to be hero, by the way, to Sammy and to others
who are facing leukemia and other illnesses, you can donate blood, or sign up
to be on the bone marrow registry. Both
of these are small ways that you can help superheroes like Sammy continue the
fight.
Back to our Torah portion… after the incident with the rock
and the water, a plague briefly descends upon the Israelite people. Fiery serpents appear and inflict many
Israelites with dangerous bites. Moses
orders the construction of a copper serpent, and miraculously, when people look
upon it, they are healed.
This strange incident is actually very important for the
Israelites, for us, and for individuals like Sammy. It’s easy to focus on the present, and the
things are troubling or frightening us.
That’s not to discount the very real threats that are sometimes
presented: fiery serpents that bite at our heels and cancerous cells that
invade our bloodstream are nothing to sneeze at! But if we look forward, we can visualize a
solution; we can visualize healing. The
rabbis teach that in looking upon the copper serpent, the Israelites had to
turn their eyes heavenward, reminding them to stop kvetching and return to trust in God. When we look upward and forward, we can see a
brighter future.
This is what I see for Sammy. I visualize healing. I visualize a happy and healthy young man
playing once again with his healthy siblings and my healthy children and all
his other friends—and please, God, may they all be and remain healthy. I picture celebrating his Bar Mitzvah, his graduation,
and other significant milestones. And if
you are holding someone in your heart tonight who is facing illness or
hardship, let’s add them to this picture too.
Because, with God’s will, we can all be supermen and superwomen, living
in a world of health, happiness, and peace.
Ken Y’hi Ratzon, may
this be God’s will.
