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(RNS) — You could say that it should have happened weeks ago, or even months ago.
There is no need to debate its timing. The obvious truth is: President Joe Biden has chosen to stop his presidential campaign and to step aside in favor of another candidate.
It was the right thing to do. In the wake of his challenged performance at the debate, it had become clear to many people that Biden was no longer up to the strenuous tasks of a campaign, and certainly the presidency. I am not a physician, but there seems to be some kind of cognitive decline — as there has been, by the way, with former President Donald Trump as well. I have written that this requires not snickering, but compassion.
What can we say about what happens when the most powerful person in the world decides to withdraw from power?
I am glad you asked.
Let’s have a class in Jewish mysticism.
In 1492, Ferdinand and Isabella exiled the Jews from Spain. They first went to Portugal, and thenceforth, went into the four directions of the globe — north, to Amsterdam; west, to the Americas; south, to North Africa; and east, to certain places in Italy, the Balkans and, ultimately, to the land of Israel — and most famously, to the city of Safed in the north of Israel.
In the 16th century, Safed consisted of a small community of mystical seekers who gathered around several spiritual teachers. Many of them gathered around a particularly charismatic teacher, Rabbi Isaac Luria.
Luria was known to be a miracle worker and a healer of souls, a man who conversed with angels and communed with the spirit of the Prophet Elijah.
But Luria’s greatest contribution was his theory about how the world came into existence.
Luria realized that there was a central problem in the Jewish idea of creation.
If the whole universe is filled with God’s presence, then there would be no room for the world to exist.
God withdrew into the Divine Self and contracted in order to make room for Creation — a mystical idea he called tzimtzum. That would become a new Jewish creation myth.
Consider how this plays out in the Bible itself.
When the Bible begins, and God is “young” (or, at least, younger), God is hyperactive — creating the world, redeeming Jews from Egypt, giving them laws.
But as the Bible continues, God is less and less active, has less to say, until it’s almost as if God has disappeared — or, perhaps, simply gone into eclipse.
So, is tzimtzum a “good” thing?
As the preeminent modern Orthodox thinker of our time, Rabbi Yitz Greenberg, writes: Yes, mostly.
In his new book, “The Triumph of Life: A Narrative Theology of Judaism,” Greenberg suggests that God’s withdrawal from history created rabbinic Judaism — and therefore, Judaism itself.
In the new Rabbinic era, tzimtzum paved the way for the Jewish people to receive Torah on those hitherto undetected wavelengths. Now wise people who learned Torah used their intelligence and judgment to reanalyze classic sources. They could utilize inherited techniques of literary analysis and traditional interpretation and find new levels of meaning. They could also apply the classic models to new situations.
God brought Israel and, by implication, humanity, into a covenantal partnership relationship that would enable them to grow into even greater responsibility for their lives and for the outcomes of history. From the beginning, the goal of covenant has been to nurture human beings to fully become the image of God: to create, take charge of their fate, and participate in their own liberation. Like a loving parent, God seeks to give needed direction, personal inspiration, and just enough help to enable the full development of a moral, responsible human being.
Rav Yitz goes on to say that modernity itself might be the result of tzimtzum:
In developing Newton’s physics and higher mathematics, in shifting to more empirical and scientific medicines, in fostering liberal and democratic politics, in investing in the Industrial Revolution, a diverse array of people gradually moved to take control of their fate and increase productivity. And within a short time Jews disproportionately joined the front rank of secular “prophets” of the new dispensation in many arenas.
But tzimtzum might be a mixed bag. The divine withdrawal leads to human freedom — radical human freedom to do both good and evil:
In sum, Jewish survival rates strongly suggest that Divine tzimtzum and full human responsibility are the prime forces operating in history. The Holocaust was the outcome of human power, gathered and dedicated to an evil purpose, and operating without moral restrictions. After the Holocaust, any assessment of humanity’s moral condition must be built on a foundation of despair and remorse. The sadness is only increased by the realization that God was incessantly calling, pleading, begging humanity to be their brothers’ and sisters’ keepers — largely in vain. The God of tzimtzum did not miraculously save the victims. Heartbreakingly, God’s designated agents for rescue (or those we might think of as such) were overwhelmingly missing in action.
But here’s the thing.
The idea of tzimtzum — contraction — does not end with God. It is about us, as well.
Decades ago, my late teacher Rabbi Eugene B. Borowitz suggested that just as God had to withdraw and “shrink” in order for the world to come into existence, leaders must make themselves “smaller” in order for their followers to grow. It is true of bosses, teachers, coaches and parents.
Rabbi Borowitz taught that the urge to compel is irresistible, especially between parents and children.
“Yet,” he writes, “if making this decision and taking responsibility for it will help the child grow — then the mature parent withdraws and makes it possible for the child to choose.”
That is how it was with President Joe Biden.
Yes, in terms of his health and abilities, it was “time.”
But it was also “time,” in terms of the needs of this time, and this generation, and the present political situation in this country. President Biden had to confront his own needs — his need for power and control — and he needed to weigh those needs against the political needs of the moment.
President Biden needed to “shrink” — not only so that someone else could take over, but so that this country could be what it needs to be.
In my imagination, President Biden not only confronted his own ego needs. He confronted something deeper and more ethereal. He needed to ask himself: “How do I want history to remember me — as an old man who could not step back, or as an old man who understood that it was time?”
He went for the second.
He did the right thing.
Let us hope that America does the right thing as well.
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