Humble Prophets and Lasting Prophecy

Rabbi Joel Fleekop

Saturday, May 29, 2010

This week’s Torah reading, Parshat B’haalotcha includes the description of two men, Eldad and Medad, who engage in prophecy away from the tent of meeting. As Julianne mentioned earlier, when Joshua learns of their seemingly unsanctioned prophecy he rushes to Moses with an expectation that the Israelite leader and preeminent prophet will stop these men from continuing their teachings. But to Joshua’s astonishment, Moses is not jealous or outraged by what appear to be rogue prophets. Instead he seemingly embraces and endorses the two prophetic freelancers, stating, “would that all the Eternal’s people were prophets – U’mi yiten kol am Adonai nevi’im.”

Moses’ response is surprising, not just to Joshua, but to the rabbinic commentators as well. After all, in several instances in the Torah Moses vehemently defends his control over prophecy, strongly cracking down on those who would challenge his position. So, why the acceptance of Eldad and Medad?

According to the rabbis, the answer is found in events described earlier in the Torah portion. Overwhelmed by responsibility, Moses complained to God about the burden of leadership. God instructed Moses to gather 70 elders who, assembled at the Tent of Meeting, would share in Moses’ gift of prophecy and help lead the people.

As a Talmudic midrash describes, Moses was excited about this idea but faced a problem of arithmetic. Surely each of the tribes would demand equal representation amongst the 70 elders, but there are twelve tribes. If Moses selected five elders from each tribe, he would not have enough. But if he selected six from each tribe, he would have too many.

According to tradition, Moses ultimately ends up inviting six elders from each tribe, with, depending on the rabbinic source, intentions of narrowing the 72 men to 70 through either a random lottery or merit based selection process.

But a narrowing process was not necessary. As the 15th century Italian Rabbi Abravanel writes in his biblical commentary,

Eldad and Medad, knowing that God had only commanded the appointment of seventy, in their humility and so as not to shame the two who would not be chosen remained, of their own free will, in the camp and did not come to the Tent of Meeting with the rest of the elders. . . [Because of their humility and kindness] these two worthies were rewarded with prophetic bounty for their action in not coming to the Tent of Meeting.

In other words, since they showed concern for others and voluntarily gave up their role as Moses’ prophetic assistants, Eldad and Medad were blessed by the Divine with a gift of prophecy of their own – a gift recognized by Moses, a gift that transcended the role they were originally selected to fill.

The story of Eldad and Medad – their humility, selflessness, and ultimate reward reminds me of another story, one that is especially prescient during this, Memorial Day weekend.

Sixty five years ago this March, the Marine cemetery on Iwo Jima was dedicated. Like so many fields and beaches across Europe and the Pacific, this plot of earth was to be the final resting place for the brave men who paid the ultimate price defending freedom and country. But the Iwo Jima cemetery was special, special foremost because of the ferocity and costliness of fighting that took place on the volcanic island, but also because a young chaplain by the name of Gittlesohn was selected to give the remarks at the dedication. Chaplain Roland Gittelsohn, who later in life would serve as the senior rabbi at Temple Israel in Boston, was at the time a young rabbi of 35 years of age and the first Jewish chaplain to serve in the Marines.

Asked by his commanders, Senior Chaplain William Cuthrie and General Rockey of the 5th Marine Division to give the eulogy address at the combined ceremony, Gittelsohn set to work penning his remarks. But when word got that a Jewish clergy member was chosen to speak at the interfaith service, several of Gittelsohn’s chaplain colleagues protested – remember interfaith relations were not what they are today. Like Eldad and Medad in our Torah portion, Gittelsohn put the importance of what was happening ahead of personal interest, and in the name of unity humbly stepped aside.

Gittelsohn shared the words he had prepared at a smaller service for Jewish servicemen. In support of their friend, a few of his Protestant colleagues attended the service. So moved by his words, these chaplains obtained copies and started distributing them to soldiers, who in turn shared them with others and with their families. Gittelsohn’s words proved so popular and so powerful that they were excerpted in Time Magazine and broadcast over armed forces radio.

During the remaining months of the war, Gittelsohn’s words -- his prophecy if you will -- reached many more people than would have heard them that March day on Iwo Jima. Even long after the war ended, soldiers and civilians alike continued to find meaning and comfort in his message. Jewish tradition teaches that Eldad and Medad were rewarded with a lasting prophecy . The same can be said of Gittelsohn.

And so I’d like to share some of his words this morning. In consecration of the cemetery, Gittelsohn wrote,

Our poor power of speech can add nothing to what these men and the other dead of our Division who are not here have already done. All that we even hope to do is follow their example. To show the same selfless courage in peace that they did in war. To swear that by the grace of God and the stubborn strength and power of human will, their sons and ours shall never suffer these pains again. These men have done their jobs well. They have paid the ghastly price of freedom. If that freedom be once again lost, as it was after the last war, the unforgivable blame will be ours, not theirs. So it is we the living who are here to be dedicated and consecrated.

We dedicate ourselves, first, to live together in peace the way they fought and are buried in this war. Here lie men who loved America because their ancestors generations ago helped in her founding, and other men who loved her with equal passion because they themselves or their own fathers escaped from oppression to her blessed shores. Here lie officers and men, negroes and whites, rich men and poor -- together. Here no man prefers another because of his faith or despises him because of his color. Here there are no quotas of how many from each group are admitted or allowed. Among these men there is no discrimination. No prejudices. No hatred. Theirs is the highest and purest democracy.

Any man among us the living who fails to understand that will thereby betray those who lie here dead. Whoever of us lifts up his hand in hate against a brother, or thinks himself superior to those who happen to be in the minority, makes of this ceremony and of the bloody sacrifice it commemorates, an empty, hollow mockery. To this, then, as our solemn, sacred duty, do we the living now dedicate ourselves: to the rights of Protestants, Catholics and Jews, of white men and negroes alike, to enjoy the democracy for which all of them here have paid the price.

As we celebrate this Shabbat, let us learn from the example of prophets – both ancient and modern -- who humbly placed communal needs over personal opportunities. And as we mark this Memorial Day, let us remember the day’s true meaning. As Gittelsohn urged, let us pay homage to those who made the ultimate sacrifice by dedicating ourselves to the ideals of peace, equality, and fellowship.