​BE THE ONE

When everything else looks hopeless, you are the hope. ​

​BE THE ONE
 
Wisdom Wherever You Find It
 
When everything else looks hopeless, you are the hope.  Marcus Raskin
 
Almost two thousand years before Rep. Jamie Raskin’s father inspired him with these words, the sage Hillel formulated a similar sentiment. Unfortunately for Hillel (who also articulated Judaism’s version of the Golden Rule), the gender-bound nature of the language makes the translation come out, “In a place where there are no men, strive to be a man.”  Mr. Raskin captured the essence of the original teaching by capturing the essence of what it means to be an admirable example of the human family.
 
I am comfortable with my interpretation because Hillel certainly did not mean his teaching literally. He was not referring to a city filled with women nor to a man abandoned among wild animals. He meant a mensch, a word he didn’t know because Yiddish wasn’t spoken until many hundreds of years later, and the word itself did not evolve from “man” to “admirable human being” for hundreds of years after that. Clearly, though, what the rabbi intended was to encourage people to set a good example in the worst of circumstances.  Spark the flame that lights the candle in the darkness.
 
At first glance, this brief inspirational message could apply to almost anything.  I can conjure it whispered by a dying prisoner of war to a fellow prisoner with a tear-stained face. I can visualize it bellowed by the football coach in the locker room as his underdog team faces defeat in the championship game. I can hear it proclaimed in stentorian tones by a candidate for public office in response to a reporter asking, “What would you say to the American people at this moment in history?”  But I like best imagining the senior Mr. Raskin sharing it with his son as one of those life lessons parents try to instill in their kids. To me, it sounds better that way, even than beloved Rabbi Hillel making a pronouncement to his rows of students in an ancient study hall.
 
It is great advice, and it is a great life lesson. But more importantly, it is a window into the way parents can and should influence their kids. And not only their own kids.
 
Many years ago, when I was the rabbi of a very small congregation, we took it on ourselves to hold an evening service every weeknight. We needed a quorum of ten adults, no small feat for a synagogue with a membership of one hundred households, most of which were a long drive from the ten-minute service. Among the regular phone calls I would make when we were two people short was to Harvey because he would bring his son Ian with him.
 
At the end of the service, I would offer my appreciation to the gathering with the simple phrase “tizku l’mitzvot,” meaning “may you have the privilege to perform more acts of sacred good deeds.”  (It works better in Hebrew!)  If I had to guess, I would say Ian heard that phrase five hundred times from his bar mitzvah to his high school graduation.
 
One night, Harvey and Ian came to see me so that Ian could tell me what happened on a ski trip with his friends. Without going into details, it became evident to Ian that one of the friends was in distress, possibly life-threatening. Ian decided not to hold the confidence his friend expected and arranged for a life-saving intervention. He was a little shaken by it, but both his father and I assured him he did the right thing. He responded with, “Well, it’s like you say – tizku l’mitzvot.”
 
I know about Marcus Raskin’s lesson to Jamie only because the son credited the father in a book he wrote about his own moment of being the hope in defense of the Constitution. He did not contextualize the instruction; he simply cited it. From his book, it is impossible to know if the senior Raskin said it once or five hundred times, but when he said it, he meant it purposefully. It made enough of an impression to inspire his son to action and integrity.
 
I could say the same thing about Hillel, whose pithy saying turns up as a handful of words in a small collection that is a tiny part of the expansive Talmud. But you don’t have to be a rabbi to inspire. You don’t have to have a child, let alone one who becomes a Constitutional scholar and legislator, to plant a value in fertile soil. And you don’t have to artfully craft a circumstance or motto to make an impression.
 
You just have to be the one who will share a life lesson about the difference a single individual can make in creating a better world.