D’Var Torah By: Rabbi Seth Goren

Close to a decade ago, a company put out a series of commercials that urged viewers, “Don’t judge too quickly.” These ads featured people getting into situations that were innocuous for the main character, but appeared wildly inappropriate to another person who came upon the scene after the initial events had unfolded. It’s not uncommon for people to do things that are wholly logical to them, but are completely baffling, problematic, or even offensive to others. Biblical texts tend to be open to multiple readings, different perspectives, and mutually exclusive takes. This is especially true for Torah, where narratives and descriptions are often skeletal and leave plenty of room for interpretation and direction. Take, for example, the story of Aaron and the Golden Calf in this week’s portion. With Moses up on Mount Sinai, the Israelites accost Aaron and ask him to “make us a god who shall go before us” (Exodus 32:1). Aaron asks them for their gold rings and fashions them into a golden calf. When the Israelites proclaim the calf to be their god, Aaron builds an altar before it and announces that the following day will be “a festival of the Eternal” (Exodus 32:5). This story reflects a great deal of culpability on Aaron’s part. There’s a discrepancy between what he does and what he tells Moses, with Aaron downplaying his own behavior and contribution. When Moses confronts Aaron in Exodus 32:25, the text notes that the people were out of control “since Aaron had let them get out of control.” As such, it’s not a surprise that many commentaries and elaborations around this incident lay significant blame at Aaron’s feet. But traditional Jewish literature, with its multi-vocal tendencies, offers another view. Exodus 24:14 tells us that Moses left the Israelites under the care of Aaron and Hur. Hur was a prophet and assistant to Moses. For that reason, we might expect Hur to feature in the story of the Golden Calf, but he’s wholly absent. Where is he? According to Midrash (Vayikra Rabbah 10:3), the Israelites approached Hur before approaching Aaron, asking him to build them a god. Hur refused, and the Israelites murdered him. Having seen what happened with Hur, Aaron is in a dicey and dangerous position: he can reject the Israelites’ demand, putting himself in physical jeopardy and possibly adding his murder to the growing list of the people’s transgressions; or he can acquiesce, keeping himself alive and preventing the Israelites from the egregious sin of murdering their High Priest. There’s even more thought behind Aaron’s agreement. Worshipping a false idol is a sin for which repentance and atonement is possible; murdering a priest and a prophet is far more serious (and match the description in Lamentations 2:20 of something especially horrible). In this light, Aaron’s turning the Israelites away from a second murder is arguably the better choice, even if it turns them away from G-d. So, why did Aaron build the altar himself? Vayikra Rabbah provides one explanation:
[Aaron thought] if they build it, this one will bring a pebble and this one will bring a stone, and their labor will be completed all at once. But if I build it, I will be indolent in my labor, and our master, Moses, will descend and do away with the idol. And, since I am building it, I will build it in the name of the Blessed Holy One. That is what is written: “Aaron proclaimed and said: A festival to the Eternal tomorrow.” 
There’s more: Aaron was concerned that the corruption of the Golden Calf would taint the Jewish people as whole. By absorbing some of the culpability, he ensured that their reputation would be intact to some degree. For these reasons, perhaps we shouldn’t be as angry or disappointed with Aaron as we might be initially inclined to be. Thinking more broadly, this take on the incident of the Golden Calf can remind us of the challenges of rushing to judgment, relying on our initial reactions, and acting before we understand all relevant perspectives. At a time of wide social, political, and other divides, leaning in is perhaps a more important lesson than ever before.