Challenger
I was struck by a news headline yesterday morning.
Challenger disaster, where were you? 25 years ago today, Americans tuned in to watch a teacher blast off into space. Then the unthinkable occurred. I felt my heart drop to my feet, and I was immediately transported.
Where was I? Room 25, Lower Southampton Elementary School. I was in 2nd grade. A teacher in the school had invited a few of us to stay inside during recess to watch the shuttle launch. We were all jaded, all born years after the origins of the space program. We had been watching shuttle launches for our whole lives. This one was special because there was a teacher on board. Teachers from across the nation had competed to take part in this unique mission, and Christa McAuliffe had been chosen.
So we watched. And for about a minute, it seemed very familiar. I don’t remember realizing that the shuttle had exploded. I remember our teacher’s disposition changing instantaneously, as did the tone of the commentators on television.
It seems that every generation has its “Where were you?” question. We speak in these terms regarding the bombing of Pearl Harbor, the assassination of President Kennedy, and, most recently September 11, 2001. These are the moments when you recognize that you are part of a community that is much larger than it might seem, that a loss you feel is shared nationally, globally. These are the moments that define generations.
Last week, we read about one of these defining moments in our Torah. In what I believe is the climax of the narrative, there is “thunder, lightning, a dense cloud upon Mount Sinai and a loud blast of a horn.” The mountain is covered in smoke and trembling. This is the backdrop for God to present the Ten Commandments to Moses and the Israelites. I have to imagine that it made a lasting impression on the community. And while the question of “Where were you?” may not be apt – they were all, after all, at Sinai – the question of how this moment may have shaped you still remains.
Our Torah reading this week gives us a possible glimpse into the Israelites’ reaction to Sinai. Our reading this morning presents Moses conveying to the Israelites a series of laws and statutes. Slavery, sorcery and gossip are among the many issues dealt with in this set of laws. Upon hearing all that Moses has to say, the Israelites responded, “Naaseh v’nishmah.” Naaseh v’nishma is translated in our humash as “We will faithfully do.” Breaking down the words, a more direct translation might be “We will do, and we will understand.”
At no point do the Israelites ask questions or try to negotiate the laws being put in front of them. God sets out laws and they simply agree to obey. Our sages attribute this to the strong faith of the generation of the Exodus. This is certainly a valuable way to interpret their statement, and it paints our ancestors in a positive light. But I wonder if there might have been another motive for some of the Israelites to quickly oblige all that the Lord had asked.
Maybe they were scared.
The Israelites have just watched the awesome events at Sinai. “Awesome,” as many of you know, is one of my favorite words. I’m not sure when it changed in the vernacular. The word “awe” is defined as, “an overwhelming feeling of reverence, admiration, fear, etc.”
Today, “awesome” can mean “really cool.” When my theology teacher, Rabbi Neil Gillman, once told me that the time of our class had been moved to accommodate the needs of a group of students, I responded, “Awesome.” Rabbi Gillman said to me, “That is not awesome. God is awesome. Nature is awesome. Me moving class, that’s just convenient.” Let me be clear, it is Rabbi Gillman’s definition of “awesome” that I am using to describe the Israelites’ experience at Sinai. And, by this understanding, awesome can be scary. Naaseh v’nishmah – “We will faithfully obey” – could be an Israelite way of saying, “Please God, don’t make the mountain shake again!”
I’d like to suggest that the response Naaseh v’nishmah could have meant different things to different people, because revelation at Sinai was experienced differently by different people. For some, the moment represented God’s greatness and ignited their desire as worshippers. For others, it represented God’s power and caused them to be frightened by the unlimited divine potential.
My initial response to the Challenger explosion was to lose all interest in the space program. I found it too scary. I hadn’t been part of the excitement of the space race, and took man walking on the moon for granted. To me, the space program was not a rallying opportunity for a nation of pioneers; it was, instead, a waste of money that ended lives. Yet I had a neighbor who sat next to me as we watched the tragedy unfold. She became enthralled by the space program, and Challenger in particular. She had a poster of Christa McAuliffe in her bedroom, as this young teacher/astronaut was her personal hero. We shared an experience, but our reaction was not the same.
Why our reactions were so different I cannot say. We were not only from the same generation, but the same neighborhood; it would be easy to assume that we would be affected the same way by this tragedy. That is the danger of superimposing thoughts or emotions onto a specific group. Despite looking demographically indistinguishable, we were different people.
If I was to venture a guess as to why my reaction to the Challenger was one of sheer fright, I would say that it was related to other events that happened in my life that week. As I sat in a classroom watching the Challenger explode, my father sat with his father, who was taking his last breaths. So for a quarter century, the Challenger explosion has not only represented a generational moment, but a personal one as well.
Just as my individual life experiences may have affected my reaction to the Challenger explosion, we have to make room for the fact that the Israelites entered into the exodus with different experiences. Sure, many of them were the shared stories of slavery, escape, and redemption; but each person has his own story. We often refer to the “generation of the exodus” as having one voice. But indeed, I cannot believe that to be true. Within every generation, every community, there are thousands, millions of voices yearning to be heard. May we all find the tools to listen.