The SECRET to Being Jewish! Jonah Platt on Ancient Wisdom From the Jewish Holy Texts

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I don't usually go full rabbi mode on

these monologues, but today I want to

explore a theme I've been sitting with

lately and I think it's important to

understand where this idea is rooted. So

this time I'm going to offer you a

bissel devourra. Bissell is Yiddish for

a little and var is Hebrew for a word of

Torah, an insight derived from Jewish

scripture. Major shout outs to BJJP Hall

of Famer Sarahwitz and my friend Chat

GPT for their help with this one. Okay,

three bits of Jewish wisdom for you.

First, in the book of Besit or Genesis,

we have one of our most iconic stories

with one of humanity's most iconic

lines. Cain, son of Adam and Eve,

murders his brother Abel out of jealousy

over Abel's connection to God. When God

asks, "Where is your brother Abel?" Cain

famously lies and deflects, saying, "I

don't know. Am I my brother's keeper?"

Fun fact, that was the world's first

Netflix true crime docue series. Moving

on. Number two, two parallel passages.

One in Schmot or Exodus, one in Devim or

Deuteronomy. By the way, the English

names come from Greek words that

describe the theme of the book. And the

Jewish names are just the first word of

the book because a scrolls don't have a

cover page. And B, it honors the divine

integrity of the text rather than

imposing a human- created editorial on

it. Unlike Inception, baby, a Dvar Torah

within a Dvar Torah. So, Exodus 23:5,

Deuteronomy 22:4, both passages involve

instructions regarding a person

struggling with a donkey under too heavy

a load. You know, as you sometimes do

with your donkey. In the first case, the

person struggling is your enemy. In the

second, it's your brother, meaning your

fellow man. In both cases, the Torah

says, "Don't ignore them. You must stop

and help even when it's someone who

hates you."

And last, I want to tell you a little

story I've heard throughout my life. At

school, at Jewish camp, at synagogue,

you name it. There's a flood and a man

is trapped at his house. A truck drives

up and the driver says, "Jump in. I'm

here to rescue you." The man says, "It's

okay. God's going to save me." The water

rises. The man retreats to the second

floor and a boat floats by. "Hop in!"

shouts the captain. Again, the man says,

"No thanks. God will save me." The water

rises and now the man is on his roof

when a helicopter flies over. The pilot

drops a ladder. Climb on. I'll save you.

The man says, "No worries, brah. God's

going to save me." The pilot shakes his

head, flies off. The flood rises. The

man drowns. In the afterlife, he appears

before God and says, "WTF, mate? Why

didn't you save me?" God says, "Dude, I

sent you a truck, a boat, and a chopper.

What more did you want, mate?"

When I speak publicly, I'm often asked

the question at the heart of this show.

What does being Jewish mean to you? In

the past, I've said family or being part

of a tribe that has defied the odds for

millennia or rich cultural traditions.

All of which are true. But the most

recent time I was asked, I gave a new

answer. Responsibility.

Again and again throughout the Jewish

holy texts, we are instructed to be

responsible. not just encouraged but

obligated. The story of the drowned dude

teaches us to be responsible for

ourselves. That to be Jewish is not to

be someone who just believes but someone

who acts. This idea is most

significantly expressed at Mount Si when

the Israelites received the Torah from

God. To establish this holy covenant,

God doesn't just say, "Believe in me and

we're set." No, he says, "Here's a

ton of sacred obligations numbered by

the sages as the 613 mitzvot. Things you

must do or refrain from doing to live a

Jewish life to be deserving of this

divine partnership."

Of course, we're not just responsible

for ourselves. We're also responsible

for others. As we learned from the two

examples with the donkeys, we are meant

to pitch in and help those in need.

Whether they be a stranger on the road,

a fellow member of the tribe, or even

someone who hates us, this is the way.

And from Cain, we learn to be

responsible for those closest to us. Not

necessarily for their actions over which

we have no control and about which God

doesn't ask. He doesn't ask, "Hey,

what's up with your brother Abel? What's

he doing these days?" He asks, "Where is

he?" We are responsible for knowing and

caring about where people are. Not

geographically, but emotionally. Where

are you right now? In your head, in your

heart. And as your keeper, am I taking

on that responsibility of making your

well-being my concern? In the Talmud,

the collection of rabbitic

interpretations of the Torah, Rabbi

Shimon Barai says

Zaz, all Israel, aka the Jewish nation,

are guarantors of one another.

Guarantors. I take this less to mean

that I am responsible for my community

than as a reminder that my community is

responsible for me. A guarantor is not

the person who takes out the loan, but

the person who vouches for the debtor.

Our choices do not happen in a vacuum.

We owe our communities, our families,

our fellow human beings to always have

them in mind. To act with integrity and

discipline to ensure that as our

guarantors, they are never dragged into

our messes or made to clean up after our

mistakes. Of course, we fail at this

constantly, but the important thing is

to be aware of this dynamic and try our

best to honor it. And of course, as

Jews, each of us is responsible for the

world around us. We are participants,

never bystanders. Perhaps you know a

version of the starfish story. After a

great storm, a man walked along a beach

littered with thousands of starfish that

had washed ashore. Up ahead, he saw a

child bending down again and again to

gently toss starfish back into the sea,

one by one. The man called out, "Why are

you doing this? There too many. You

can't possibly make a difference.

The child looked at the starfish in her

hand, then back at the man and simply

said, "If I don't, who will?" And she

threw it back into the waves. If I

don't, who will? Or as Rabbi Hill says

in Pavote, a book of ethical and

spiritual guidance from the early

rabbis, if I am not for myself, who will

be for me? But if I am only for myself,

what am I? And if not now, when? Or as I

like to say, because I think rhyming

addages are stickier, if not you, then

who? Responsibility.

In every possible relationship, in every

possible interaction, in every possible

moment, we are responsible for leaving

that relationship interaction, that

moment better than we found it. That to

me is everything that it is to be

Jewish. Everything stems from that core

value. The holiness of Shabbat never

happens if I don't take responsibility

for welcoming it into my home. There is

no becoming a bomb mitzvah if I don't

learn how to read from the Torah. There

is no Israel if the Jews never build it

or ensure its survival. Your

relationships with your parents,

spouses, children, teachers, friends.

They don't grow, don't deepen, don't

even begin unless you see it as your

responsibility that they do.

I believe it is this sensibility that

sets Jews apart. My friend Zach Sage Fox

said to me recently that he thinks

everyone hates Jews because we are the

light in a world that would rather be

dark. We continue to hold ourselves

responsible for the pursuit of what is

moral and good even when those around us

succumb to the most disgraceful elements

of our fallible human nature. It's what

we were chosen to do. Not because we're

better than anybody, but because we

raised our hand and said, "Yeah, sure.

We'll do it." And so we act. We speak

up. We show up. We reach out. Not

because we can fix everything. Lord

knows that's impossible. But because

somebody's got to try. And that somebody

is us. Remember, as Rabbi Tarfhone said

in,

it is not your duty to finish the work,

but neither are you free to desist from

it. Again, as with so much in Judaism,

the value is in the struggle, not in

perfection.

Our reality is what we make it. So make

it. Be the person, the parent, the Jew,

the leader, the whatever it is you want

to be. Take responsibility and be it. Be

that little girl on the beach bending

down again and again to save one

starfish at a time. See the daunting

task ahead not as futility but as

opportunity. Look at life not in fear or

despair but with purpose.

You are capable of everything

should you choose to be.

Take responsibility and make our

world better.

Because if not you, then who?