Angel or A-hole & Tetzavveh

The other day, I officiated at a funeral for a very complicated guy.

Many people had a lot to say about him. The first person to get up and speak gave two theme options to choose from: “Asshole or Angel.”

A resounding call came out from the attendees: “Asshole!”

Of course.

The speaker dramatically threw the “Angel” speech in a corner behind him. Yes, it was funny, and everyone laughed. There was so much love in the room for this man I’ll call Sam. He’d died within weeks of being diagnosed with cancer; all were shocked, many were heartbroken, many had traveled far and wide.

Simultaneously described as the most loving person you can imagine, close to a hero in some ways, and also as the most difficult, challenging person you might meet. People were obviously there because they were willing to cut him a lot of slack for the imperfect being that he was.

He was the wittiest, funniest guy, a talented violinist, would listen to you whine and feel sorry for yourself, gave great advice, was a best friend and mentor to many. He took care of both his parents and both siblings when they’d faced early illness and death. He’d give you the shirt off his back—or find you the best car, get it fixed up to pristine condition, and drive it to your house, pick you up at the airport at the drop of a hat, and tour you around New York City like he had all the time in the world. Only 62 years old, never married, no children, yet he’d been a brother, cousin, father, grandfather, uncle, to many.

He was also cantankerous, critical, opinionated, stubborn. He knew he was very bad at following the good advice he gave others. He had no filters, said what he pleased when he pleased, yelled at you if he wanted to. If he was at the literal steering wheel, you were putting your life at risk. I heard a lot about his pot-smoking (not necessarily when driving…?). He enjoyed drinking and eating (to excess), and loved teaching new and interesting curse words to the young people in his life, whether their parents liked it or not.

The opinionated part? He was fervent about justice—not only justice for “his people,” but justice for all. He was very politically active, and had officially been a Big Brother to at least one person who attended the funeral whose life he had “saved” and changed (and whose speech made me cry).

This week’s Torah reading is about the initiation of priests and the garments to be worn while officiating their duties to obtain forgiveness, a kind of cleansing, for the wrongs committed by the Israelites. One item to be worn over the heart of the priest is a breastplate that identifies the twelve Israelite tribes.

The reason for this? One interpretation is that your tribe/tribes/people are to be held closest to your heart.

Somewhere in the middle of the parsha, God reminds the people that God will “dwell amongst” them: וְשָׁ֣כַנְתִּ֔י בְּת֖וֹךְ בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֑ל וְהָיִ֥יתִי לָהֶ֖ם לֵאלֹהִֽים/V’shakhanti b’toch b’nei yisroel v’hayita lahem lelohim; I will abide among the Israelites, and I will be their God (Exod. 29:45).

What does this mean for God to live among us? And what about non-Israelites? Isn’t God everywhere already?

Rabbi Shai Held, in his book, Judaism is About Love, dedicates many pages to the Jewish mandate of “loving one’s neighbor as oneself” as pertains to the particular vs. the universal.

He asks, does Judaism say it’s okay to place one’s family, community, and people closest to the heart and take care of them first and foremost? (Yes. Of course.); is it okay to only place our own family, community, and people on our hearts? Can we justify closing our hearts and becoming indifferent to the suffering of those outside our family and people? (Absolutely not, in case you were wondering.)

For those who were frustrated by the strong opinions and ways Sam had of delivering those opinions (and probably canceling out all other opinions), it might have been hard to appreciate him, especially if you became the target of his frustration with injustice in the world or his random rants.

So, was he an asshole?

Many said yes. But it seems to me he was a special kind of asshole.

He carried Jewish values deep within him and acted upon them, especially when it came to honoring family and friends, but also to loving and caring for those outside his inner circle. It takes a very particular kind of person to become a Big Brother, for instance. I also heard that he was very upset about the actions taken by the Israeli government in response to October 7th pertaining to Gaza, and many, if not all, in his family, disagreed with him.

I imagine that he wrestled with the very questions many of us do: What does it mean to love your family, your country? Does it mean they are beyond reproach just because you love them, or that you love them less because you reproach them? What are the limits?

One of the very central Jewish values Rabbi Held brings up is that if someone you know is acting in a fashion that is unethical, you are mandated to speak up. Another value is to see others in the most positive light you can.

So, while they joked about his difficult, challenging qualities, Sam’s family and friends lived by those values as well, and gave him a lot of grace. The cousin who had Power of Attorney to make medical decisions for Sam struggled greatly, and because of the love he had for Sam, tolerated a lot of verbal abuse from him at the end—and also put all his efforts into planning the most beautiful service and gathering he could for Sam.

Sam may not have expressed himself in the kindest of ways (an understatement, I’m sure). I learned that Buddhism was very interesting and attractive to him; maybe he hoped to find equanimity in life while also fighting for justice? Apparently he could not.

Did that make him an asshole? Maybe.

But human beings are complicated beings.

One story I heard was that when Sam started college, he’d shown up at his dorm room with only a few items in hand, one of which, most importantly, was a vacuum cleaner! He was a clean freak who insisted everyone take off their shoes upon entering his home lest there be mud on the bottom. When I heard this, I was reminded of the holiness of the ground; not this week’s Torah reading, but it made me think of when God tells Moses at the famous Burning Bush to take off his shoes, for the land on which he was standing was holy ground.

To Sam, it seems, all land was holy, and all people, names to be placed on the heart, individuals deserving of respect and dignity—except, ironically, he didn’t show those feelings in a conventional way. Yet, I heard that if he had a big political argument with you, and he seemed so angry that he would never speak to you again, the very next day he’d surprise you by calling you up to offering a ride to the airport.

So, what does it mean that God wants to dwell amongst us? And does God need a home to do that, as in the tabernacle God will “abide” in throughout the Israelites time in the desert?

No, but we certainly seem to need a home for God, perhaps to remind us how to act in a way that brings dignity to all. Sam got it right in terms of the particular and the universal and love, but never quite learned how to express himself respectfully, it seems.

As humans, we are complicated by virtue of simply being human—so far from being angels, each and every one of us. We all have a lot of work to do in aspiring to be good humans. It’s especially hard to love those outside our inner circles when it feels like the world is aspiring against us.

But aspire we must to live by Jewish values.

If standing up for your beliefs, vehemently challenging what you perceive as injustices, and loving the way Sam did, means being an asshole, then we should all aspire to be bigger assholes.

May it be so, and please say Amen.