On Sourdough, On Rising, On Longevity, On Privilege, On Seeing, On Enslavement, On Choices, On Being (too) Polite, & On Shevat

On Inauguration Day of our (again) President Trump last week, I chose not to watch.

I knew I couldn’t stomach it.

Instead, I chose to bake another loaf of my newfound joy: 100% rye sourdough. I’m still trying to get it to rise the way other sourdough does. But anyway, I’ve gotten back to having a lot of bubbly stuff on my counter, including sauerkraut and pickled beets, but also some curdling stuff: homemade yogurt. I want to live a long, healthy, life, and I have the privilege of resources to do these things.

The other thing I chose to do on Inauguration Day, which ironically fell on Martin Luther King Day, was to listen to Martin Luther King’s last speech—the one in which he talks about almost dying by a stab wound if he had sneezed.

He doesn’t know what’s going to happen now, but it doesn’t matter anymore, he says. Because he’s “been to the mountaintop.” And he’s “seen the Promised Land.” He fears nothing now. Though, like anyone, he wants to live a long life…

It brought me back to an interview I heard several weeks ago called “Don’t Die.”

I have to say, this interview intrigued me while also pissing me off.

The guy’s name is Bryan Johnson. He is a multimillionaire, and spends all his money figuring out how not to die. He spends all his time testing himself, replacing his blood and renewing his cells. He’s figured out the secret, he says, and wants to—maybe expects to—live forever. Between diet (including living with a low level of hunger all the time) and perfect sleep (the most healing thing we can do), among other things, he’s got the key.

Here’s the clincher: he says he wants to live partly so he can figure out how to make our planet sustainable for future generations.

That’s really nice of him, but maybe I’m missing something.

He says he’s building a movement, but it seems to me he could be spending all those resources helping change the political will towards action on the climate and other goals that can make life more livable for so many people.

After all, unfortunately as things stand, it’s a privilege and luxury to sleep, for instance, for the many who work two and three jobs, scrambling to pay their rent and feed their families, and maybe some of whom need to send money back to their countries.

What frustrated me the most, though, was how the journalist didn’t challenge him in any real way (which is the theme of On The Media—and how this problem has contributed to the present state of things in the United States).

I heard another journalist interviewing Jonathan Roumie, actor who plays Jesus in The Chosen. The actor was in fact chosen as the keynote speaker at the March for Life in 2023 where he said, "God is love, and true love gives way to life, not death."

What does Roumie do to make sure that families have the resources to take care of the children this “pro” life movement has “saved” so (maybe) women don’t need abortions? He goes to Africa!

Africa!!!

What an old, tired story that denies the widespread existence of hunger and inequity in the richest country in the world.

At various junctures in the conversation, I heard the journalist squirming in his seat. Was he too afraid to be impolite by challenging this??

In the Torah over this past month, we transitioned from Joseph and his family saga to the story of enslavement of the Israelites.

The story begins with a new Pharaoh “who does not know Joseph” or the Israelites, and who’s afraid of them, and orders the slaying of every first-born Hebrew baby boy.

Immediately, courageous midwives defy the orders—which results in the birth of Moses, his escape from death, and the ultimate liberation of the Israelites.

The process of liberation spans hundreds of years, and involves many plagues, and ends with the death of every first-born Egyptian.

The Egyptians have landed in a darkness so heavy, the Torah describes it as "palpable.”

Over the past weeks, fires have blazed in Los Angeles, and my friends have prayed for the winds to shift while Trump has blamed the governor and, with a cold heart, vowed to withdraw help.

Now that he is president again, and we face crisis after crisis, whether it’s fires, immigration, health, housing, gun violence, death and destruction caused by wars our government funds—and has the power to stop—Trump has pardoned all involved in the January 6th Insurrection, even the most violent among them.

Meanwhile, a very courageous bishop of the Episcopal Church, like the midwives who quietly defied Pharaoh, gently defied Trump to his face during the inaugural church service, begging him to have compassion for those who fear for their lives and futures because of his executive orders.

Trump, along with his people in government, is the one who “does not know” or care for the people and their suffering.

The truth is, every year when I read the saga of Israelite enslavement, I struggle.

Again and again, God informs Moses that he will “harden Pharaoh’s heart” after each plague. God is the one who ultimately keeps the people enslaved and lengthens their suffering! So how we can talk about a liberating God in relation to this story??

But this year, I had a sudden flash of insight.

Still at the beginning of the story, Moses, now grown, has seen the suffering of his people, and seeks to intervene. He kills an Egyptian overseer who is abusing the Hebrew slaves. Fearing retaliation, he runs away.

Now in the middle of the desert, pretty lost in his life’s trajectory, he sees a burning bush. God is about to give Moses a clear direction with instructions to return to liberate his people, and appears to Moses in a fire that “cannot be consumed.”

Hearing God’s voice, Moses hides his face in fear.

But God calls out to him: “Moses! Moses!”

And Moses answers “‘Hineni’—I am here.”

Then come the instructions. Moses repeatedly protests his assignment; who is he to do such a big, important thing? Especially because he has trouble with public speaking!

What happens next is nothing less than amazing.

Despite Moses’ difficulty with speech (and even with his brother Aaron to help him), Moses learns to stand up to Pharaoh and speak directly to him without fear. He enters and leaves Pharaoh’s presence without permission, and never bows down to him!

After each plague strikes Egypt (the royal courts are not spared), Pharaoh begs Moses to speak to God and stop the suffering.

When the plague of the locusts destroys the land, Moses speaks to God, the winds shift, and the locusts are blown into the sea.

My flash of realization was that maybe the Torah is trying to teach us that, ultimately, redemption and liberation are up to us.

If you think about it, though it seems like God is in control, it is actually Moses and other resisters like the midwives who have to act—yes, though God gives him them the courage, God is not going to act for us.

It is this story that gave previous generations of Americans the strength to continue their fight and stand up to power against all odds—especially those fighting for the liberation of Black slaves, including slaves themselves who resisted again and again, and then those fighting for an end to Jim Crow.

It is a strength that Moses himself summons from within, despite his fear.

Indeed, we are in the midst of a darkness so dense, it feels palpable.

In the large scope of things, though, our individual lives don’t matter, but rather the collective of society and the future of our planet.

We need to care enough to stop the mass killing in Gaza, not for the sake, as Trump does, of a Nobel Peace Prize, or the opportunity to have images of the liberation of Israeli hostages forever associated with his inauguration—but because we care about all human life—and the Earth that’s being destroyed with it.

So, within this darkness we find ourselves in, how will we each answer to the call?

What choices, choices more numerous than the plagues, will we make in showing up and challenging power over the next years?

This week we enter the Hebrew month of Shevat, characterized by heavy rains in the land of Israel, when we also celebrate the holiday of Tu B’Shevat, or the holiday of the trees—trees needed so badly for the health of our planet.

In Jewish tradition, rain is tied to blessing.

May we be blessed with being able to see the suffering of others, may we be renewed with fresh strength bubbling up inside and rise to occasion of presenting ourselves where we are needed, and to resist in whatever ways we are capable—not with retaliation, but for the love of all humankind and for the love of our home, the Earth.

May the political winds shift.

It’s true that we may not reach the Promised Land, but we can see it in our imaginations, and pave the way for future generations to create it.

And please say Amen.