I said I would return to Korach “soon,” and that’s true—on a
historical scale! Yes, it’s a month
later, and I am still thinking about what we can learn from Parshat Korach about the
questions “When and how
should we challenge authority, and how should authority respond?”
We
live in a time in the history of the United States when it’s hard to be on the
side of authority, or sometimes, even to take authority seriously. After Vietnam and Watergate, after the lies
that produced the Iraq War and the electoral frauds that may have produced two
terms of the Bush presidency, when Congress and the media carry less prestige
than lawyers and used-car salesmen, the claims of our elected officials are
automatically suspect.
For
many of us, religious authorities can be just as hard to believe in. You don’t have to be a “new atheist” like the
late Alexander
Cockburn. Devout Catholics have been
rocked by the sex abuse scandals and the institutional response to them. Protestants have been dismayed by the
Religious Right selling its soul to its corporate sponsors. Jews, still after decades, denounce other
Jews because we disagree with the Israeli government’s policies in Palestine
(which to my mind are no better and probably worse than the U.S. occupation of
Afghanistan).
Some
would read Parshat Korach as a classic text of repression by religious
authorities. Challenge Moses &
Aaron, and God will kill you: end of
story. But we have already seen that
that’s too simple a way of reading the story.
It leaves out Aaron’s nonviolent response (which David
Matthews’ reading of Korach highlighted). It leaves out the
way the firepans of the rebellion become component parts of the altar (as Rabbi
Abraham Isaac Hacohen Kook pointed out to champion healthy skepticism and
challenges to tradition). The vindictive
reading of the story also leaves out the fact that many of the Psalms are attributed to
the sons of Korach—who then clearly survived and continued to serve in the
sanctuary.
What’s more, the vindictive reading leaves out the way that
rabbinic Judaism has developed for two thousand years after the canon of the
Torah was closed. The rabbis found ways
to justify harsh principles and ameliorate them in practice. For instance, they found capital punishment
in the Torah and explained why certain crimes deserved the harshest penalty of
which we could conceive. Yet when a case
came up before the Sanhedrin in its capacity as high court, they would demand
such extremely strong evidence as to make it impossible to carry out that
penalty. The Talmud tells us that if an
execution happened once in seventy years, that court would be known as “the
bloody Sanhedrin.”
How can we use authority to sustain the values that sustain
us? How can we incorporate challenges
without simply repressing them or simply co-opting them? More thoughts to follow in the conclusion of
this series.
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