power – Jewish Relationships Initiative

Terumah-Power to the People

In Parshat Terumah, the transition from Sinai’s abstract thunder to the Mishkan‘s detailed blueprints offers the ultimate master class in institution-building. It suggests that while revelation provides the “why,” the institution provides the “how”—transforming a fleeting spiritual moment into a sustainable communal reality.

At Sinai, the relationship with the Divine was a “top-down” event—overwhelming and temporary. In Terumah, this is reversed by the command: “And let them make Me a sanctuary, that I may dwell among them” (Exodus 25:8). The shift here is profound, creating sustainability. Inspiration was found at Sinai. It is a spark; an institution becomes the hearth that keeps the fire burning. The text then speaks of a dwelling, with an interesting word choice: it doesn’t say God will dwell in it (the building), but among them (the people). The institution is not the goal; it is the vessel that allows the communal presence to persist. The idea is further elucidated as the focus shifts to the people’s action.

The word Terumah means “to lift up” or “set aside.” Crucially, the materials for the sanctuary were not collected through a flat tax but from “every person whose heart prompts them to give.” This reveals two core principles of healthy institutions. The first is shared ownership; when people contribute their own “gold, silver, and copper,” they are no longer spectators; they are stakeholders. The second is the diversity of people’s contributions. The Mishkan required everything from precious metals to goat hair. This teaches that an institution is only robust when it integrates the varying capacities of its members—from the wealthy benefactor to the skilled artisan.

This Parsha is known for its precise measurements—cubits of gold, rings of silver, and specific wood types. These details serve a vital purpose. They instill discipline and consistency. Without a structured “sanctuary,” collective energy dissipates. The Mishkan’s physical boundaries protected the sanctity of the community’s mission. This consistency ensured that the institution’s values of justice and holiness weren’t subject to the leader’s capricious mood or the crowd’s whims, but were anchored in a permanent, repeatable structure.

Our times test our understanding of what it means to live in community, bound together by the rule of law, freedom, dignity, and respect for all people. We need each other, and together we are stronger and less susceptible to those impulses. To ensure our country and its institutions endure, we must give of ourselves, investing in its care and championing the values at our core.

Pharaoh’s Hardened Heart: How Power Becomes Incapable of Change

One of the most theologically challenging chapters of the Exodus narrative that Pharaoh’s heart is “hardened.” Where is the moral choice or free will that characterizes Torah? If God hardens Pharaoh’s heart, how can Pharaoh be held responsible for his refusal to free the Israelites? How can punishment be just if repentance has been removed as an option?

This reading loses sight of the metaphor at work and the timeliness of the teaching. This is not merely a portrayal of an obstinate ruler; it is about how entrenched systems of power function, how the primary focus becomes remaining in power, how moral authority is lost, and how meaningful change to the system that maintains that power is resisted, ultimately doomed to collapse under the weight of its own corruption.

Pharaoh is that political system.

As the plagues begin, Pharaoh himself refuses to change. As the plague of frogs subsided, Pharaoh’s heart hardened when relief came. This was a political reflex, not Divine intervention. The system reasserted itself once the pressure on it was alleviated. The relief was the excuse to revert to the status quo, a squandered opportunity for repentance.

When the text starts using the phrase that “God hardens Pharaoh’s heart, “ the Rambam comments that persistent injustice can erode and stop the capacity for repentance itself . As choices become character, character hardens into destiny.

Ibn Ezra reinforces this structural reading. Commenting on God’s declaration that Pharaoh’s heart will be hardened, he emphasizes that Pharaoh’s political role makes concession impossible. Releasing the Israelites would dismantle the economic foundations of Egypt. Pharaoh’s refusal is therefore systemic self-preservation rather than mere personal obstinacy.

Torah reinforces this interpretation through metaphor. Pharaoh’s heart is described not only as hard but as heavy (‘kaved’). Weight creates inertia. A system burdened by injustice loses its ability to pivot, respond, or change course.

This imagery reaches its climax at the Sea of Reeds. Pharaoh’s chariots sink “like lead in the mighty waters.” Collapsing under its own weight. Egypt falls not because God waged war, but because the structures that sustained its dominance render it incapable of survival in a transformed moral landscape.

Midrash sharpens this idea through the principle of measure-for-measure. Shemot Rabbah teaches that just as Pharaoh hardened his heart, so God responded in kind. The plan to drown babies in the Nile creates the punishment of the drowning of the chariots and army in the Reed Sea. Power collapses according to its own internal logic; the methods used to preserve control become the mechanisms of downfall.

The prophets later universalized Pharaoh into an archetype of political absolutism. Ezekiel depicts Pharaoh declaring, “The Nile is mine; I made myself.” This arrogance and pride further erode any legitimacy of that power. Once power views itself as self-originating, accountability disappears, and reform becomes inconceivable. Seen in this light, the hardening of Pharaoh’s heart is not a theological puzzle but an enduring warning, repeatedly ignored yet played out throughout human history and confronting us today.

The Torah does not ask why Pharaoh did not repent; it teaches that power becomes incapable of repentance. Redemption comes not because unjust systems change, but because they cannot endure and ultimately collapse. The Reed Sea does not defeat Egypt—it simply allows Egypt to sink beneath the weight it chose to carry. These stark lessons are warnings for all of us.

College Students and Esther – What Purim might teach us about power and our future

Tonight we start the holiday of Purim where we read Megillat Esther, the Book of Esther. Purim is a Jewish story. And like so many Jewish Stories, it has multiple levels of meaning.

Purim is a lovely children’s story- good triumphs over evil, a savior rescues us from the clutches of despair. Righteous deeds are rewarded and the people rejoice and live happily ever after.

Purim is also a great adult story, the story of sex, power and palace intrigue. As gripping as any modern drama on cable; forces vie for control, often ruthless in tactics. The heroine uses all her skills and wiles to rescue her people. Shonda Rhimes has at least a full season of Scandal right here in our Megillah!

Purim is also a story with a deeper and darker side, which I believe is the reason why the Book of Esther is included in the Bible; it is a cautionary tale. Purim admonishes us about the use and abuse of power.

How power can work and how it can corrupt.

What happens when power is not challenged and what happens when it seduces. What might happen when we move from being drunk with complacency, to being drunk with power. Megillat Esther portrays when the powerless are subjected to the whims of the powerful- those who are consumed with only their own power driven by the sense of self importance that comes from it.

Haman plans to destroy the Jews because Mordechai does not bow before him. Mordechai and Esther work together, conspiring if you will, to overthrow Haman’s power and gain power for themselves. To achieve these ends they use nothing less than seduction and lies to lure Haman into a trap and inflame the wrath of King Achasverus. The book of Esther demands us to question, “to what lengths are we willing to go to acheive power?”

But then Megillat Esther continues to push us and asks,“What do we do with power once it has been acheived?”

In a kind of “Perverse Dayenu” we learn that it is not enough that the Jews triumph- Esther is the Queen and Mordechai becomes the King’s Vizier. Nor is it enough that in an ironic twist of fate that Haman is executed on the very gallows he built to hang Mordechai. The Jews then demand the execution of all of Haman’s sons and then 50 and then yet another 750 people in Sushan. But it is still not over; for then there is a wholesale slaughter of 75,000 Persians in retribution. This is a place where the phrase “Absolute Power corrupts Absolutely” could surely have been coined. (Lord Acton 1887)

We go from powerless, to powerful; from innocent to corrupt; from holding the moral high ground to losing all moral authority giving way to the basest of human emotion.

So how this story resonate for us today?

We are taught that with power comes responsibility. That responsibility includes protecting those who are less fortunate and powerless, protecting our system of free expression, and protecting our ability to remain a full and vibrant part of this nation we call home. We have come a long way to achieve our comfortable public place in American society. But like our Purim story it was not always so.

Esther concealed her identity from the king until Mordechai gave her the strength to step forward. But what if she did not have the strength? Who would have spoken for the Jews of Persia? Mordechai says that if it was not Esther, someone else would step forward, but in the story we know only two, Queen Esther and her Uncle Mordechai.

Our tradition suggests Mordechai placed his hope in a higher power, but he knew his life was actually in Esther’s hands. And likewise, the future of our next generations is in our hands.

But ominous signs are on the horizon. What if we became unable to advocate for ourselves? It is not as outlandish as it may sound. Many of you can recall the deafening silence of the American Jewish community in the 1930s and 40s. With only a few exceptions such as Rabbi Stephen Wise, our American community retreated into its fear as the Nazi’s systematically executed the Holocaust. Today we can hardly imagine such gripping fear. But this fear is alive as is the hatred. It lives on our college campuses around the country and the implications are foreboding.

We have just finished the national Israel Apartheid week. This is a week of consciousness-raising held on campuses around the country protesting that Israel is no more than an apartheid state dedicated to the oppression of the Palestinians. The attempt to De-legitimize the State of Israel also finds a voice in the growing organized economic boycott of Israel known as Boycott Divest Sanction or BDS. This group was responsible for the commotion surrounding the Soda Stream company’s factory in the West Bank. Students for Justice in Palestine (the SJP) is vehemently anti-Israel and actively protests against the State and its legitimacy on campuses across the country. Not to be outdone, the academic community has, in real terms, taken up the Anti-Israel cause of the Palestinians by supporting the boycott of Israeli scholars through the American Studies Association, the ASA.

The groups on campus have used thuggish tactics to bully and intimidate our college students. And as their teachers align with these politics, the classroom becomes a very uncomfortable, threatening place, instead of a place that is supposed to nurture. The effect on our youth is profound.

Many kids become turtles. They withdraw into their shells and hope that it will all blow over. Many of our kids find themselves fearful. Unable to express an alternative point of view, students on campus are ostracized. They are alienated from their Judaism and any relationship they may have to Israel. These young people are scared to think for themselves or express their opinions. And if they are courageous enough to try, they are subjected to public ridicule and humiliation. If we do not work to support our youth, then we risk raising a whole generation of Jews, our future, unable to withstand the onslaught of hate and bigotry. We will have completely ceded our power to those who would oppress us.

So we must heed the lessons of Megillat Esther and embrace our power with respect. We need to reach out to our youth by giving them a solid understanding of their Jewish identity and Jewish values before they leave for school and begin to explore the world. But we must also support them in these college years of discovery by continuing to be present. We can do this by supporting vibrant Hillels on campus, and as Congregations by remaining in contact with them while they are away and by making them feel warmly welcomed back into our temples when they return. Finally, but so importantly, we must place a Reform Rabbi on every college campus with a significant Jewish population to nurture and care for our children.

The future is theirs, but the power to make that future bright lies with us and what we do now.