A Golden Trump; Ki Tissa

It’s been almost exactly one year since I fell ill with Coronavirus, nine months since I published my first blog about lessons I’d learned from it. I don’t know if I’ve retained them. Maybe the lessons are meant to be learned over and over again. 

I keep feeling all this rage and grief, and not just from the world, but also from things that have come to light recently in my own circles. I keep asking myself if my feelings are normal. I continually need people to remind me that it is. 

If I were to sum up the themes of the year, it would be fear, rage, grief, heartbreak, betrayal, truth--on a national and worldwide basis over this year, as well as in personal experiences.

And it makes sense that it should all happen at this very time; the world is at a reckoning point, and society and its institutions are being turned on their head. 

It makes just as much sense as it makes for the Israelites to doubt, in their fear and anxiety, that this man Moses is ever coming down from the mountain where he’s hanging out with this supposed “God;”  as much sense that they would demand a solid substitute god in exchange; as much sense that Aaron would panic and quell their anger by rushing to construct said substitute; as much sense for God to want to unleash all his rage at their betrayal ; as much sense as Moses unleashing all his rage after all the sacrifices he’s made and forcing the people to “drink” their Golden Calf now in the form of dust (can you picture it?).

And as much sense as Aaron stretching the truth, like a child; “I did it. Don’t be angry. Please. I threw the gold into the fire and a calf came out. I didn’t mold it.”

To be fair, we have to give Aaron some credit and compassion. He’s left alone and in charge of thousands of people while Moses has disappeared with no sign of imminent return. The people are getting anxious, and anger is welling up. Aaron must be terrified. The need to placate, with all the unknowns, is urgent. And he’s afraid of Moses’ anger. He stretches the truth.

But sometimes there’s no place for compassion in our heart. 

Like when we’re talking about outright lies and neglect that lead to so many unnecessary deaths. 

Or there’s an abusive coach or politician or teacher or spiritual leader--and you play a part in covering it up, year after year after year, and pretend you didn’t know about it!

Betrayal, heartbreak, rage. 

We live in a culture of denial: “I didn’t do it. I didn’t know about it.” 

Maybe it’s the culture of blame and punishment that’s at the root of the problem; a punitive God? Corporal punishment? Blame and shame? Punitive prisons? The death penalty?

And a culture of reverence. The need to make some superior to others. 

There are photos of people posing with a golden statue of Donald Trump at the CPAC conference. 

Golden Calf; Golden Trump. In the same week. (Who says the Bible is irrelevant??) 

The people are afraid. And they’ve been seduced by lies. But fear doesn’t trump the need for truth.

This story is a warning about something very real. 

A warning against arrogance.

A warning to be humble. 

A warning about how important truth is.

We can’t point fingers at others in places of greater power and shake our heads like we don’t know how it could happen. Because we do it to each other each and every day. 

Better to admit you did it or allowed it to happen.

Because in the end, truth comes out and grief and rage have increased astronomically (and unnecessarily) by then.

It starts with us--in our houses, with our family and friends, in our organizations and workplaces. We have to admit we did wrong, not after months of hounding, but right away. The sooner we admit it, the sooner we can get on with the healing. 

Whatever is stopping us, we have to get over it. It’s part of creating a new and equitable society: part of building a world where we take away the punitive attitude and simultaneously hold each other accountable. 

Just say it: I messed up. And I’m sorry. And I hold myself accountable. I hold my politicians accountable, and I hold myself accountable. 

And whatever we’re feeling, it’s normal. We need to remind each other, and we need to soften each other’s anger, like Moses does for God, soothing his face, reminding him that these are his peeps: that love is real.  

And then set about the work of fixing it.

For the sake of love and a new and equitable society. Tell the truth.