Reflections on This Week’s Presidential Election
By Rabbi Gordon Tucker
In this week’s presidential election, American Jews felt a strong sense of investment, though the perceptions of what was at stake varied considerably across communities and individuals. Those concerns were reflected in a typically high voter turnout among Jewish voters. Now, naturally, feelings and reactions about the election results span a wide spectrum. This is all a mark of civic involvement and trust in elections—a positive sign for democracy.
A separate matter, however, is looking at the election and its results through the lens of Jewish tradition. What can we learn from Jewish teachings that apply to the present and transcend partisanship? It seems to me that there are at least three such lessons:
First is the importance of truth. Throughout the election season, we saw a worrisome number of false statements that have been meticulously identified and catalogued. Although no one would maintain that any political campaign has ever been free of false claims, what is most troubling is the reality that lies are, more and more, a deliberate strategy to persuade citizens. Moreover, this political strategy appeared to gain traction as bold disinformation proved effective with voters.
What does Jewish tradition have to say about this and why it is doomed as a success tactic? A prophecy of Ezekiel (Ezekiel 9:4–6) speaks about a disaster to be wreaked on the corruption in Jerusalem, and then cryptically notes that the only people to be saved will be those with a mark on their foreheads. The mysterious nature of this mark was later understood in the Talmudic tradition to be a letter that stood as an initial for Truth. God’s signature, according to this teaching, is Truth itself. When it is absent, God’s presence and salvation is also absent, and only those who still believed in and stood up for truth would be able to survive the corruption. Truth has saving power. (Talmud Shabbat 55a)
The fact that lying can yield short-term success in elections—or in anything else for that matter—must not tempt us into imagining that we can survive as a society by considering truth to be irrelevant.
Another lesson from Jewish tradition occurred to me while I was serving as a non-partisan poll chaplain in Philadelphia on Election Day. Throughout the day, I interacted with young children who proudly went to the polls with their parents, their faces lit up with excitement when they were called “future voters of America.”
The glow on those young faces stayed with me when I took a brief break and walked through the neighborhood. I passed an elderly gentleman easily seven decades older than those children, sitting in front of his home. I asked him whether he had voted and whether I could help him to the polls. He said that he wasn’t going to vote because he didn’t believe there was any reason to. Although I gave him several reasons to consider, he was largely unmoved. Finishing my walk, I had this terribly unsettling thought: What if the excited kids I met at the polls in the morning age into a resigned abandonment of faith in society’s institutions, like that which I encountered just a few blocks away?
This experience reminded me of the prophets and their struggles with despair. Elijah the prophet saw mendacity and corruption winning and went to the wilderness to lament that he was all alone in his convictions and that there was no way forward. At that moment, God relieved him of his position as prophet on earth, and appointed Elisha, who would continue to engage with society, as his replacement (I Kings 19:13–16). The late JTS biblical scholar Yochanan Muffs described this as Elijah being “recalled” by God because a true prophet could not be allowed to succumb to despair. Jeremiah also fell into hopelessness as a young man. The words he heard from God said that he was “to uproot and to pull down, to destroy and to overthrow.” Crucially, however, he also heard the words “to build and to plant,” and that was how he ultimately succeeded in his mission. (Jeremiah 1:9–10)
As we learn from the prophets’ experience, we are forbidden to fall into despair. Rather, we are charged with restoring the trust of those like the elderly man, and with looking towards those enthusiastic “future voters,” who will be the builders and planters. Together, just as the prophets did, we must work to restore trust-inspiring health to the society in which we all live.
And finally, a third lesson, and a rather simple one. The election has also caused many people to feel vulnerable. Their fears are real and can be debilitating. Whatever their fears may be, we must insist that our government plays its sacred role in protecting them. We must not fail as fellow citizens in our duty to listen to their anxieties and to restore their sense of security and being cared for. This is what Isaiah 58 (Isaiah 58:6–7) exhorts us to do: “unlock fetters of wickedness, untie the cords of the yoke…share your bread with the hungry, take the wretched poor into your home, when you see the naked, to clothe him, and not to ignore your own kin.”
As we close out this election season, I find great comfort in looking to the past, drawing on Jewish tradition and texts to help guide me through this time of transition and change. We are, of all political persuasions, kin to one another, and it is our collective duty to step into the role of caretaker, for everyone who may need us. I know now that it is up to me, and to all of us, to bear that responsibility moving forward.
