When God’s Own Pettiness Teaches Us How Not to Act
by Evan RB Sachs
Korach is one of my go-to parashot to demonstrate why I often take advice from the Torah with a grain of salt — no, a mountain salt. Those who know me can tell you that it’s almost a pastime of mine to say, “You know this Torah story? Well, I hate it. Here’s why.”
For those unfamiliar with this parashah, the story of Korach goes something like this: Korach and his friends approach Moses and Aaron to ask why they have taken charge in the way that they have. Indeed, it’s not just a few people, but a good 250 Israelites — Korach was clearly not the only one who felt negative effects from this undemocratic process. After all, Moses and his family were not the only people qualified to lead or make decisions. “For all the community are holy, all of them, and יהוה is in their midst. Why, then, do you raise yourselves above יהוה’s congregation?” they ask (Numbers 16:3). Surely there are other ways to decide this and other people who could take up the mantle. For the sheer audacity of bringing up what is, ultimately, a valid point, God opens up a hole in the ground that swallows up Korach and his followers.
Rabbis often argue that Korach’s fault was not in speaking out at all — rather, that it was in speaking out publicly. In “embarrassing” Moses. “Reprove your kin, but incur no guilt on their account,” Leviticus 19:17 tells us. But honestly, sometimes — indeed, oftentimes — speaking out publicly is important, both to inspire others who are being marginalized and to keep those in power from sweeping issues under the rug. Indeed, speaking out like this can often save lives, especially when disability and health is concerned. I can’t count the number of times I have shouted into the void that we are still in a pandemic in which people are dying and becoming (further) disabled by the hundreds, and yet even Jewish leaders prefer their own comfort and traditions over pikuach nefesh (preservation of life), which Jews are supposed to value and adhere to above all other mitzvot.
As Rabbi Chaim Jachter wrote in his book Gray Matter I, “People said to Rav Chaim Soloveitchik, during a conversation, that if this war (the First World War) would bring the redemption, perhaps it was worthwhile. Rav Chaim rebuked them and said, ‘It is better that many redemptions should be delayed from the Jewish people than that one Jewish life should be lost. And so, if the question were to come before us, that by sacrificing one Jew the Messiah would come, of course we would rule that it is better for the Messiah not to come, and a Jew should not die. Does not pikuach nefesh override every mitzvah in the Torah, including the Messiah and the redemption?’”
And yet, I have often seen those in power in Jewish circles use the story of Korach as an excuse to ignore anything that is brought up in a way that they personally don’t like, no matter how dire the consequences may be. No matter whether the person has tried all sorts of different ways to bring the issue up before finally resorting to a “mean” approach when all else has failed, or when a public approach is demonstrably more effective. (Movements such as #MeToo have been at least partially successful largely because they took off the kid gloves instead of concerning themselves with the hurt feelings of the people they were calling out.) And no matter if, like Korach, they bring up an issue in public not to cause embarrassment, but because the issue is relevant to all those present.
The lesson I take from Korach is perhaps less for the disabled community and more for those who have the privilege of being able-bodied and neurotypical: What Moses and God do in this parashah should not be a positive example of how marginalized communities should make you more comfortable through quiet, discrete speech. Instead, it should be a negative example to you, the person in a privileged position. An example of what not to do.
When somebody who is marginalized — sometimes by your own actions — speaks up, it may sting to hear their words. Being told that you did something wrong is typically ego-bruising, no matter how it’s brought up. But as Dr. Erica Brown wrote in In the Narrow Places; Daily Inspiration for the Three Weeks, “When we are defensive, we lose a whole avenue to introspection that can help us develop and grow in our sensitivity and thoughtfulness to others. Think of the helpful words of a mentor, a supervisor, or someone who took your last performance review seriously and gave you feedback that might not have been comfortable to hear but helped you become a better professional. Or the friend who you thought insulted you, but actually helped you become a better parent. … Every day we receive messages about ourselves. Every once in a while, someone cares enough to tell us what they see. Correct the wise person and he will love you.”
Instead of using that bruised ego and a Torah story as excuses to ignore a valid point, do the opposite of what Moses and God did: Listen. Do something about it. If Moses and God had actually listened to Korach, who knows how much more the Israelites could have flourished? What might have changed about the inordinately long, 40-year journey? And likewise, until and unless you listen and act — even when the words sting to listen to — you won’t know how much your community can flourish. Correct the wise person and he will love you. That is how we truly flourish: By loving those who correct us — even when it stings, even when we think it’s disrespectful or embarrassing — so that we may improve ourselves and our communities, and so that we leave no one behind.
Evan RB Sachs (he/him or ze/zer) is a copy editor by day and health-justice advocate by night. He is involved with organizations such as ACT UP NY and JFREJ and runs the Washington Heights/Inwood Mask Bloc (bit.ly/whinymaskbloc). Diagnosed with ADHD and "possibly Tourette's" as an adult, Evan is proud to be neurospicy and relieved to finally have actual labels for his particular brand of "brain weird," as he likes to call it.
