A poignant episode of The West Wing (“Constituency of One”) highlights Josh Lyman, Deputy Chief of Staff for the Bartlet Administration, for being heralded by a major newspaper as the “101st Senator”. Lyman, a master advocate for the President’s agenda, gains recognition for his ability to influence Congress single-handedly on almost any given issue. As an accomplished campaigner and activist, he deserves this overdue attention, right? But Josh’s co-workers and superiors reacted negatively to the story. He receives a message: When you work for the President of the United States—all public accolades belong to the boss, in this case, Jed Bartlet. But is this fair? Shouldn’t the individual or group that generates success be rewarded publicly as well? What about the speechwriters, campaign managers, administrative assistants, and service employees? And what about us? Most of us don’t get public recognition for the contributions we make—however small, however private—to our communities or to society as a whole.
Parashat Korah introduces ancient Israel to its first behind-the-scenes workers, the Levites. In the sacrificial system, it is the Kohanim, the priests that God charges to directly intercede between God and the Israelite people. They approach the altar, they slaughter the dedicated animals, and they encounter the Divine Presence behind the curtain. The Levites merely set the stage for this sacred work.
“You [the priests] shall also associate with yourself your kinsmen the tribe of Levi, your ancestral tribe, to be attached to you and minister to you, while you and your sons under your charge are before the Tent of Meeting (God’s dwelling place in the desert). They shall discharge their duties to you and to the Tent as a whole, but they must not have any contact with the furnishings of the shrine or with the altar…” (Numbers 18:2-3)
The Levites’ role is one of service. They protect and maintain the Tabernacle used by the priests. Even today, on Sukkot, Passover, Shavuot and the Says of Awe (and every day in Israel), Jews whose lineage traces back to the ancient Kohanim stand before the congregation during Musaf and act as conduits for God’s blessing, birkat Kohanim. The Levites’ help in preparing for the event is almost invisible; all they do is wash the priests’ hands before ascending the podium. Let’s raise the question again: where is their well-earned public recognition? Shouldn’t they be rewarded with an opportunity to approach God directly?
It is human nature to crave acknowledgement for hard work. We toil, often for the sake of others, and deservedly expect appreciation and attention. However, this cannot be the only (or even the primary) catalyst behind our efforts. The traps are infinite. If we just seek gratitude, could we ever receive enough of it? If we solely pursue to be the center of attention, to see our names in flashing lights, will the sign ever be big enough? Rabbi David Wolpe teaches a similar lesson: “We begin by hoping to succeed. Soon we are in a thrall to success.”
But what if our motivation is the constant quest to discover our God-given talents, that which makes us unique (even if our task is chosen for us), and perform them to the very best of our abilities? Each one of us lives a life of service—to ourselves, to others, and to God. Plumbers, parents, educators, technicians, politicians, actors, gardeners, administrators, flight attendants and lawyers—you all labor for personal gain and for something greater than yourselves.
Where does the finished paper we write on come from? Who makes it possible for the food to arrive at the grocery? Who makes the clothing we wear? We can achieve nothing without the efforts of largely anonymous and underappreciated builders of society; and by recognizing that each and every one of us relies on others in some way—we also understand how our work is invaluable to all of society, and take delight that our work is seen by, and pleases, God.
We should strive to find the service we love, understand its larger context, and execute it with integrity and passion. Levites—you do (and have always done) sacred work by preparing the priests for sacred moments. You, too, create holiness through preparation.
Shabbat shalom.