Our Worst Critic
In a sermon prior to his retirement, Rabbi David Wolpe shared an anecdote that resonated deeply with me. He said:
I know that this will sound very strange to you鈥he part of the service that I both enjoy most and fear most is carrying the Torah around – because I know I will not look someone in the eye, not shake someone’s hand, or not pay attention to someone. And they will think鈥� ‘There’s the rabbi again – he didn’t bother to look at me, he didn’t bother to acknowledge me. Clearly, he doesn’t care about me.’
Rabbis live in the public eye, with every misstep on display; and people aren’t shy about sharing their opinions about rabbis either. Every rabbi knows that criticism is part of the job.
Even so, the criticism stings. At the beginning of my career, a harsh email could keep me up at night; and I hear from rabbinic colleagues how draining their own critics are.
It is not that criticism is inherently bad. On the contrary, society desperately needs criticism. It helps root out corruption and incompetence. Constructive criticism helps people improve. Without criticism, mediocrity becomes the norm.
But criticism is emotional dynamite; it can help people break out of bad patterns, but it can also break them down. It depends on why and how it is delivered.
Rabbi David Hartman had a somewhat politically incorrect analogy for this; he would say that if you criticize Israel, you should “criticize like a mother, not like a mother-in-law.” We tend to lash out at critics, but we need to appreciate the difference between bad-faith criticism and constructive criticism.
What motivates a bad-faith critic? Some are Machiavellian. A sharp comment at the beginning of a meeting allows the critic to subtly take control. Rhetorical bullies employ a technique known as DARVO: Deny, Attack, Reverse Victim and Offender. Hamas, Iran, and Hezbollah often use this tactic. It deflects attention away from their own crimes and forces the victim to apologize for defending herself.
Parshat Korach offers an example of a different type of critic. A rebellion is led by Korach, a Levite and relative of Moses and Aaron, who desires to be a part of the priesthood. Two brothers, Dathan and Abiram, the sons of Eliav, from the Tribe of Reuben, join him. (There was another leader, On ben Pelet, but he immediately disappears from the narrative.)
The Ramban notes that after the sin of the spies condemned the Israelites to spend the next 40 years in the desert, frustration boiled over. Korach exploited that rage to start this rebellion.
But what brought Dathan and Abiram to this rebellion? One Midrash explains this with the phrase “woe to the wicked, woe to their neighbor.” The Tribe of Reuben camped near Korach’s group of Levites; because of this, they got drawn into their neighbor’s rebellion.
Ibn Ezra says the Tribe of Reuben held a grievance against Moses for taking away their double portion as the firstborn tribe. Rabbi Yoseph Bechor Shor says their claim was slightly different; they felt that as the firstborn tribe, they were the ones meant to be the priests. Their alliance with Korach was temporary; they only agreed on eliminating Aaron.
I would like to offer another possibility: Dathan and Abiram were critics by nature, skeptical of everything presented to them. Rabbinic literature depicts Dathan and Abiram as Moses’ permanent opposition, two brothers who always found something wrong in whatever Moses did.
Dathan and Abiram pop up at every turn in the Talmud and Midrash. They are the two brothers who were fighting when Moses came to break up their fight; and they promptly informed on Moses to Pharaoh, forcing Moses to flee to Midian. They are the ones who complained when Moses’ mission to Pharaoh initially failed. They are the ones who rebelled against Moses as the Egyptian army approached the Red Sea. They are the ones who went out to gather manna on Shabbat, even though Moses told them not to. And after the spies brought their report, Dathan and Abiram led the call to return to Egypt.
Dathan and Abiram were always pushing back against Moses.
The Maharal of Prague offers a fascinating explanation of this:
And when you understand the words of the Sages, you will know that Datan and Aviram were always opposed to Moses and Aaron. For just as Israel was privileged to have two individuals who were distinct from the entire nation in their greatness, namely Moses and Aaron, so too there existed a corresponding pair. For evil is always set opposite good.
Therefore, among Israel there were two individuals who were distinguished in evil, who were constantly opposed to Moses and to his Torah.
This explanation is based on a mystical perspective of good and evil always being in complete balance. However, even a rationalist can appreciate this approach if looked at from another angle. Within society, something akin to Newton’s Third Law of Motion exists; for every step forward a community makes, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Dathan and Abiram are that reaction; every step forward Moses takes inspires them to push back.
Dathan and Abiram stand against change.
Progress always makes people uncomfortable. It is difficult to embrace what is different and new. Theodore Roosevelt, in a speech he gave at the Sorbonne, spoke of his concerns about the damage cynicism and criticism can cause in a democracy. In one impassioned section, he declared:
It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat.
Dathan and Abiram are those “cold souls,” unwilling to try something new.
Anyone who has watched an idea smothered by a committee knows how destructive criticism can be. But it is natural; change is anxiety-provoking.
One last point must be made. We often think of the critic as the other; we can all imagine the Dathan and Abirams of our own lives.
But our worst critics are ourselves. All the times I tossed and turned about a critical email, it was because of my own anxieties and insecurities. I have found that at four in the morning there is an inner Dathan and Abiram, always telling me not to do something new, telling me it won’t work and it won’t be worth it. It always wants me to turn back to Egypt.
Parshat Korach reminds us to ignore those voices. We need to keep marching until we reach the promised land.
Rabbi Chaim Steinmetz is the Senior Rabbi of Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun in New York.
