As the world contemplates who should receive the first
batch of Covid-19 vaccines, an expression which has been bandied about for the
past nine months now has new importance - “essential workers.” Of course, the term refers to those whose
responsibilities and professions are most critical during a pandemic, people
who presumably perform tasks that are indispensable and central to our
survival. What is more complicated
though, and the subject of much dispute, is who gets to define the term
“essential”? Does it extend to mental
health professionals, social services, and what about religious services? Isn't it true that to everyone, earning a
living is “essential”?
The label of “essential” has generated a secondary problem
- many individuals will now have to bear the emotional toll and the financial
and social implications of being deemed a “nonessential.”
While the vaccine problem needs to be addressed
decisively, I believe that Judaism wholeheartedly rejects the notion that there
exists a category of people who are simply nonessential.
In this week’s Torah reading, we are introduced to
Devorah, the maidservant of Rivkah. Unfortunately, our acquaintance with her is
fleeting, because we only meet her to learn of her death. According to חזקוני
she not only helped raise Yaakov, but she was also the maidservant for Rivkah
herself when she was a young girl:
"זאת מינקתה. בנעוריה, והזכירה עכשיו שלא תתמה לכשתגיע לפרשת מיתתה לומר מאין באה".
So it should not be surprising that her passing engendered
a feeling of grief in Yaakov, strong enough that he did not just bury her, but
enshrined her passing in a toponym.
"וַתָּמָת דְּבֹרָה מֵינֶקֶת רִבְקָה וַתִּקָּבֵר מִתַּחַת לְבֵית-אֵל תַּחַת הָאַלּוֹן וַיִּקְרָא שְׁמוֹ אַלּוֹן בָּכוּת" (פרק ל"ה, פסוק ח'(
Why does the Torah interrupt the narrative to tell us
about the passing of a beloved maidservant? Particularly the passing of a
person we had never encountered previously, who the commentaries and midrashim
struggle to identify.
The first explanation is that Devorah is important because
of what she represented to Yaakov. There are objects and symbols in our lives
whose loss may evoke a strong emotional reaction out of proportion to their
significance in our lives. That’s why I became emotional when I moved out of my
first apartment, though it was hardly an appealing or charming place to live.
Nonetheless, it had been my first home. It was there I burned my first cholent,
in that apartment we welcomed our first Shabbos guests, and it was that place
to which we brought home our firstborn child.
The apartment had become a symbol for many formative experiences and a
repository of sweet and treasured memories.
There are people who serve similar roles, whose passing is
tragic more for what they represented than for who they were. For example,
Gedalia Ben Achikam was appointed governor of the Yehud province by
Nebuchadnezzar after the destruction of the first Beit Hamikdash. No doubt he was
honest, kind, God-fearing and meticulous in his observance of mitzvot. But the
reason we fast in his memory on the day following Rosh Hashanah is not due to
any of his manifold positive character traits. It is because his murder, at the
hands of Yishmael Ben Netanya, represented the death knell of any hopes of
post-Temple Jewish sovereignty. Gedalia was a symbol of something larger, in
the same way that Devorah, the maidservant of Rivkah, was too. She represented
the life Yaakov once led, reminding him of his innocent youth before he had to
deal with Esav and Lavan, and of the mother who always fought for him, and whom
he missed dearly.
But is Devorah’s only role that of an emotional
placeholder? Was she merely a proxy for someone else who was more important?
Perhaps there is another layer to the identity of Devorah.
Consider that the sum total of our knowledge of her is two pieces of
information: she was Rivka’s maidservant, and that she died. Surely, there was
those for whom she was independently important, who loved her for who she was
and not just her affiliation to RIvka.
Nonetheless, the text only shares with us who she was in relation to
another person. This might be the answer. Shows like “Upstairs Downstairs” and,
more recently, “Downton Abbey”, deal with the contrast between the landed
gentry and their servants and are premised on the perception that serving
greatness is itself a form of greatness. Devorah saw herself, and her role in
life, as serving and fostering greatness. Or consider that one of the most
authoritative and respected biographies about the founders of the modern State
of Israel- Yehuda Avner’s “The Prime Ministers” was written by someone who
serviced, advised and wrote speeches for them. It is possible that Avner’s role
in shaping Israel was greater than the sum total of Levi Eshkol, Menachem
Begin, Golda Meir and Yitzchak Rabin.
Serving in this role may be viewed by some as playing
“second fiddle,” but the Torah tells us that it most certainly is not. Devorah
is no different than the teacher who identifies a talent in a student and
encourages her to develop it. She will
always be the one whose presence and encouragement inspired greatness before
anyone noticed.
Last week, someone passed away who should, by all rights,
have been much better known and whose life exemplified this attribute. Cantor
Daniel Gildar, who passed away a week ago Thursday, was the Chazzan for many
years at Philadelphia’s Congregation Shaarei Shamayim. During his tenure there
he taught hundreds of Bar Mitzvah students, many of whom became observant due
to his influence), taught voice lessons to dozens of up and coming Cantorial
talents and led davening every Shabbos in his mellifluous tenor. But in the
broader Jewish world, people rarely heard him sing, even though he was an
outstanding Chazzan in his own right. He was, instead, known best for several
decades as the top accompanist in the world for other Chazzanim. If there
was a Cantorial concert anywhere in the United States or Canada, Cantor Gildar
was likely at the piano, there to help his Cantorial colleagues look and sound
their best. The only acknowledgement he ever received, or ever allowed himself,
was the quick and awkward bow he would take at the end of a cantorial piece-
never alone, always alongside the Chazzan he accompanied. Perhaps this is why
the Torah interrupts its narrative to tell us about the death of an unknown
woman named Devorah. She is worthy of
our attention because she serviced greatness and she helped build the
patriarchal family into what it had become. The Torah wants us to know that
helping another person attain greatness is not a diminished role, and not to be
viewed as playing second fiddle or “nonessential”. If only more teachers
understood that their primary responsibility is not to be rock stars in their
classrooms, but to enable their students to achieve stardom, our Jewish future
would be more secure. Our society rewards charisma, natural charm and easy
conversational skills- which have certain real risks associated with them. We
should also reward the silent individuals who, time and time again, build other
people up while never seeking a name for themselves. This is an important
lesson to teach our children as well- they will never lose when they build
others up, and they should always be thinking about ways to do so. We have lost
so many leaders since COVID began, that it is a cliche to lament them, and
almost as much of a cliche to wring our hands about who will replace them. In
addition to crying over their loss, we
need to get to work on building the next generation- of Torah
scholars, of spokespersons for Judaism, of communal activists and of competent
and frum Jews, who can and do share
words of Torah at their Shabbos tables , read Jewish texts in Hebrew, lead
services properly in accordance with the laws of nussach and can run a Jewish home.
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