The Autistic Parashah | Ki Tissa

In this week's Torah portion (or in Hebrew, the parashah), Ki Tissa, we read the story of the Golden Calf. The Golden Calf is one of the most iconic narrative moments in the Torah. It teaches us profound lessons about community, leadership, and the sacred journey of repentance. 

I don't want to talk about the typical ones, however. I don't want to focus on the significance of gold being used both for holy and unholy purposes, and how that represents everything. I also don't want to talk about the speed in which faith can be lost, even after experiencing the incredible and being fully present with the Divine. I'm also not going to speak about collective repentance, despite its relevance.

What I want to focus on is how the narrative reveals the dangers of loneliness; the critical need for inclusive spaces within our communities. I want to point out those that are marginalized in our community; the disabled, LGBTQ, politically leftist, non-Zionist, those without Jewish education, converts, non-Jewish partners and children of Jewish people, and even without traditional Jewish beliefs or ancestry. I want to focus on the failure of leadership in this. The failure of leadership to recognize when people are being marginalized, and worse, when they recognize it but go along with the marginalization due to expediency. 

We know what it's like to be left out. To have to smile while we are insulted, dehumanized, and unwelcome in spiritual spaces. To be told that we aren't {insert word here} enough for the community. Many of us are  told that we are morally corrupt. or striving to hurt the group. 

I've been told that it's not OK to press for disability inclusivity "in an aggressive way" because it may "make others feel bad for not being inclusive enough." I've been told "but you look so well adjusted, surely you aren't really autistic" before the start of prayers only to be told afterwards that "you couldn't be a leader, you're too autistic and autistic people can't do things like that".

How many of us have been told to hide our sexuality inside? Or that we are evil? Or that we "should do whatever we want in the privacy of our own homes, but the synagogue is a place for families and spiritual growth" as if they are mutually exclusive. 

How many of us have been told that our view of gender is fake? Wrong? That the gender binary is a "Jewish value"? 

How many of us have been told that we aren't sufficiently Jewish? That we are doing Judaism "wrong"? 

How many of us have been called antisemitic for disagreeing with the majority?

All of us have felt this pain. Many of us have left. Others are forced to live at its edges in order to receive some scraps from the alleged feast of affirmation and inclusivity. We are forced to seek community, connection, and spirituality in other places. 

All of us here know what it's like to be left out in the cold. To have to smile while we are insulted, dehumanized, and meant to feel unwelcome in spiritual spaces. Many of us are even told that we are morally corrupt, and even striving to hurt our community. To have to make others feel comfortable so that we can just be there. 

In the episode of the Golden Calf, we see a community in crisis, seeking connection in Moses' absence. While he is up on Mount Sinai speaking with the Divine, the people get nervous. They aren’t sure if he is coming back. So much desiring connection, they create an idol and an entire workshop around it. The leader of the people while Moses was up receiving the tablets of the 10 Commandments? No other than his brother, Aaron.

This mirrors the experiences of those in our community who, feeling overlooked, may seek belonging outside traditional structures. It's a call to action for us to ensure that no one feels the need to find their Golden Calves, that every voice is heard; every presence valued. Aaron, Moses' brother and the High Priest, also failed in our parashah. Yet, we so often hear about how it was the Israelis who failed. Those outside positions of power take the greatest share of blame. Leaders may be admonished but are still allowed to maintain their power. 

The Israelites feel abandoned by Moses, and turn to an idol for comfort. This highlights the consequences of exclusion. When individuals feel disconnected from communal worship and leadership, they may seek alternative ways to fulfill their spiritual needs, sometimes leading to paths that diverge from communal values. This teaches us the importance of creating inclusive spaces within our community where everyone feels valued and connected, where diverse expressions of faith and identity are welcomed, and where every voice finds a listening ear.

Moreover, the story highlights the responsibility of leaders. Leaders who, in their pursuit of higher goals, may leave their community feeling abandoned. Much like Moses. Other leaders, like Aaron, give into the impulses of the majority, without understanding what’s beneath. In another word, populism.

Our parashah urges these leaders to repent, to return to their community, and to make themselves accessible. It's a poignant reminder that true leadership involves being present, listening, and responding to the needs of all community members.

Our parashah challenges us to be proactive in our inclusivity, ensuring that no member of our community needs to find their "Golden Calves”. It is a call to action for us to create spaces where everyone is seen, heard, and cherished. 

Many are quick to point out that the leadership of our communities are allies. That they speak out publicly to support us. Sometimes that is true. More often, however, it is not. Yes, the vast majority of aggressions and violence happen "off the bima", but it is the responsibility of our leaders to set an example. To lead. To not simply ignore because of the desire to create peace in the home.

In embracing the lessons from our parashah, let us commit to building communities that reflect the divine image in every individual. Let's hold leadership accountable for leaving members out in the cold. Let's create a sanctuary where diversity is celebrated, where every contribution enriches our collective spiritual home, and where leaders stand with their community, guiding with empathy and inclusivity. 

I am reminded of Rabbi Uziel Meisels comment (in his book, Tiferet Uziel) on a passage in this week's parashah (Exodus 32:15) which speaks about the Torah not being read in any one way, but that all readings have divinity. Rabbi Meisels was a second generation member of the Hasidic movement. He taught us from this verse that scriptural fundamentalism must be rejected. Even in scripture, all views are valid according to his interpretation. 

To me, this shows all of us and all of our views on the world, living Torah, are valid. Our leaders, rather than rejecting us on the basis of how well we may fit into a community based on our readings of the world, or our very essence, must be held accountable for looking the other way, or even embracing our oppression, another lesson easily learned from our parashah.

A leader must not only accept responsibility, but also lead with love. Love of Torah? This is  love of humanity. Something all too soon forgotten, as evidenced by the ostracization of many. 

As we move forward, let this parashah inspire us to strengthen our bonds as a community, to ensure that no one feels abandoned or excluded, and to cultivate a space where every member, regardless of ability or identity, feels valued and connected.

Shabbat Shalom.

Would you like to join a free discussion group for #ActuallyAutistic members of the Jewish community? Sign up for our twice monthly group, generously sponsored by the Jewish Autism Network!

Thank you to Rebecca Rush of the Sobriety on the Spectrum for the editing and advice for this week’s Parashah!