We are all horrified by the mass shootings at Bondi Beach and Brown University that coincided with Hanukkah. We mourn the tragic and senseless loss of innocent life. We pray for the recovery of those who were wounded. So too we are horrified by the murder of 47-year old MIT professor Nuno Loureiro in his Brookline home. So too we are horrified by the assaults on Jews this week in the subway in New York City. How to understand such hate and darkness on Hanukkah, a time of love and joy, is on everybody’s mind. The sermon tomorrow will be about that topic. In the meantime, we are going to center and anchor ourselves by the classic Jewish response to the vicissitudes of life: learning Torah.
Should. A charged word. Even more charged: You should… When, if ever, should we say, “You should”?
Many of us are wisely and properly reluctant to say those words. The last Daily of 2024 included an interview with Philip Galanis, the advice columnist for the Times. His advice was not to give advice. His advice was to ask questions, to listen carefully, to get the person with whom you are talking to clarify their own thinking and come up with their own solutions. When asked for a New Year’s resolution, he offered: to listen better.
The humility and restraint of listening, asking good questions, and helping people come up with their own solutions was the core of an essay written by Rabbi Chiel in his classic volume Beyond the Sermon: Stories of Pastoral Guidance (2004), in which a woman with a troubled marriage wanted Rabbi Chiel to offer that she should get a divorce, but he would not weigh in on the merits for cogent reasons he explains in his essay entitled “Our Limitations.”
And yet, there are two famous examples in the Torah of a biblical hero saying “You should.” One is Joseph in our portion this week. Summoned out of prison to interpret Pharaoh’s dreams, he does so. He interprets the dreams. Egypt will have seven years of abundance followed by seven years of scarcity. And then, Joseph offers unsolicited advice: store the abundant produce of the years of feast so that it will be there to sustain the people during the years of famine. Pharaoh heeds this unsolicited advice, and it saves the lives of hungry Egyptians (and in time the rest of Joseph’s family that comes to Egypt from Canaan in search of food).
The other example is Yitro, who sees that Moses is working around the clock settling disputes among Israelites. Moses is exhausted. The people are exhausted waiting in line for their turn. Yitro offers unsolicited advice that Moses tap wise Israelites who can help adjudicate the claims so that Moses will not be ground down, and the people will not have to wait so long. Moses heeds this unsolicited advice to the betterment of himself and the people.
Thus the tension between our common practice and our canonical tradition. Our culture trains us to listen, to ask questions, not to pontificate, not to offer our answers. We are supposed to know that our answers may not work for the person we are talking to. Yet the Torah offers two stories of unsolicited advice that was wisely followed for the betterment of all involved.
When, if ever, should we say should?