This is the age of vicarious virtue: all of us prefer to continue living our lives in much the same way we always have, and all of us want our leaders to adhere to the standard of our words. In that way, we get to enjoy our own laxity while still claiming credit for the morality of our ideals. Our mouths toot one thing and our deeds blare a different, more gaudy, tune.
Insisting on doing our own thing, our music becomes discordant and self-indulgent. Simultaneously, the distance between our ideals and our action grows wider with each passing day, so our frustration mounts. We lash out when the pressure gets too high, striking at wherever the pinch hurts most: each other, our religion, our politicians. But the fault, if fault is to be found, lies with our own lazy acceptance of ourselves as we are - our elevation of self-expression to the level of idolatry. There is something more important than "I've got to be me."
Today's Torah portion speaks of the new Mishkan (Tabernacle) built in the wilderness of Sinai. There the Israelites were to assemble to serve God, and there the Levites were selected to perform the sacred rites and sacrifices that formed the core of biblical worship. In Parashat Be-Ha'alotkha, God tells Moses and the Jewish people: "Have two silver trumpets made; make them of hammered work." These trumpets, we are told, will be used to summon the community to assembly, to initiate communal journeys, to march out to wars of defense, to announce festivals and Rosh Hodesh (new moon) days, and when making sacrifices on the altar. Says God: "They shall be a reminder of you before your God: I, Adonai, am your God."
The rabbis of Midrash Ba-Midbar Rabbah noticed an ambiguous Hebrew form for this instruction: the Torah records "aseh lekha shtei hatzotzrot", literally "make yourself two silver trumpets." What, ask the Sages, is the purpose of this superfluous "yourself?" What does it mean to make yourself a trumpet?
A beautiful trumpet, even in the midst of producing music, doesn't draw attention to itself. It is the music it produces, not the horn, which people focus on. So too, say the sages, by making ourselves trumpets we focus attention on the God in whose service we delight. Our music is the sacred deeds we perform while still living.
They illustrate that point with a charming midrash about King Solomon: as he was bringing the Ark into the newly-built Temple, he sang to the gates of Jerusalem: "O gates, lift up your heads... so the king of glory may come in!" The doors, thinking that Solomon was referring to himself, were appalled by his arrogance. At once they "threatened to sink down on him and crush his head." They asked, "Who is the king of glory?" and, fortunately for him, Solomon answered, "The Lord of hosts is the King of glory." The midrash tells us that "thereupon they paid God honor and lifted themselves up, and the ark entered."
Solomon was as wise, as rich, and as powerful a Jew as has ever lived. Yet he knew that the credit for his wisdom did not lie with himself. He was but a trumpet in the hands of a master musician. The notes, however beautiful, were his to emit, but not to own.
We, too, work hard to produce some beautiful notes--by raising our children to be mentschen, by studying and praying in our synagogues, by volunteering in our communities, by working with integrity and diligence, and in countless other ways. But our work becomes more than merely prudence, more than self-gratification, when we do it in the spirit of acclaiming the glory of our creator, our commander.
Our goodness is the earthly reflection of God's divine hesed. Our performance of mitzvot is our eager gratitude for the gift of life. Our passion for Judaism is our joyous delight in God's bounty and in the beauty of our heritage. We are the trumpets, but God wrote the score.
So the next time you want to toot your own horn, go ahead. But remember to play God's tune.
Shabbat Shalom