In our own time (Shabbat Ki Tavo 13.08.2025)
You can listen to Rabbi Eleanor's sermon here or read it below.
Think of a trio of women, one of whom is named Zoey, whose voices are sweet and strong and powerful…and some of you will know that – this time – I’m not thinking about FRS clergy or service leaders, but rather about a fictional girl group called Huntr/x. The title of this summer’s movie somewhat gives the plot away: in K-Pop Demon Hunters, the female vocal trio known as Huntr/x are the latest incarnation of generations of women who use their singing voices to maintain a magical barrier (the Honmoon) against demons who would prey on humans; in their time, represented by a boy-band whose members are demons in disguise – and also have some really catchy tunes.
There’s a song from the movie that has been hard to escape in recent months, which Rumi sings as her shame about her secret demon heritage is making her begin to lose her voice and threaten her work: it’s the song whose lyrics say ‘we’re going up, up, up, with our voices’ and then goes seriously high! The message of ‘Golden’ is surprisingly appropriate for this time of year, because its lyrics speak about becoming the person she was born to be: “put these patterns all in the past now, and finally live like the girl they all see…” It’s a classic musicals “I wish” song: someone faces challenges and sings to express both their hopes and their fears that they are not up to the challenge, especially when they see the great people who came before them, who look so intimidatingly impressive.
The journey to discovering that they really might be up to the challenge is one of the main points of the movie, but had they only had some medieval rabbis nearby, perhaps they could have been spared some of the angst. Those rabbis were particularly interested in one of the first verses that we heard chanted today, about how to bring a particular offering: specifically in a phrase that says, “וּבָאתָ֙ אֶל־הַכֹּהֵ֔ן אֲשֶׁ֥ר יִהְיֶ֖ה בַּיָּמִ֣ים הָהֵ֑ם (literally:) You shall come to the priest that shall be in those days” (Deuteronomy 26:3). In eleventh-century France, Rashi is first to weigh in: he points out that these (אֲשֶׁ֥ר יִהְיֶ֖ה בַּיָּמִ֣ים הָהֵ֑ם) are redundant words; the priest who lives in your days is your only option (Judaism being not fond of human attempts to raise the dead). It’s a fair observation, but we then have to ask: if Torah doesn’t waste words, why do we need to be told that you should come to the priest that there is in your own days?
In thirteenth-century Spain, Nachmanides/ Ramban explains a little further [drawing on Sifrei Devarim 298]. This instruction, he says, about coming to the priest of your own time means that “even if he is not as great and wise as the early [leaders] in the ages which were before us, still [we are] obligated to [respect] him” – and furthermore, if you brought your sacrifice in good faith and the priest later turns out to be disqualified, your offering will still be accepted by God. Ramban learns this by drawing from a verse in Kohelet/Ecclesiastes (7:10), which says: “Do not say: ‘How was it that the former days were better than these?’ For it is not wise of you to ask that question.” For Ramban, it’s
clear that those former days weren’t better, and that anyhow, those days are gone, while you’re living now, so comparison with them is futile.
Futile, and yet often we find ourselves doing it, from nostalgically remembering the joys of the decade in which we grew up, to wondering how much easier it might have been to be e.g. a rabbi before mobile phones and social media, or whatever your profession is; we look back at the great people of previous times and feel the impossibility of living up to their achievements. If we were honest with ourselves, though, we might consider how much the world has changed (whether over months or decades) and recognise that those people, inspiring though they are, might not be who we need in these times. Torah this week tells us to “come to the priest that shall be” in our days; and as Torah also calls the Jewish people ‘a kingdom of priests’, perhaps respecting the priest of our own days means recognising the ways that each of us may be just who is needed in this moment. We who live now are the only people facing the particular challenges of our time, so whatever it is that you are able to do, whatever steps you are able to take towards improving the lives of other people or the state of the world - that might seem less impressive than earlier generations, and it almost certainly differs from them, but it truly might be enough for our time.
There’s a phrase from the Psalms (attributed to King David) that makes its way into the traditional liturgy in a couple of places; if you hunt hard enough, you’ll find it among the selichot prayers in our new machzor. Among prayers pleading for God to hear our repentance, this Psalms phrase reassures us: “הַ֝מֶּ֗לֶךְ יַעֲנֵ֥נוּ בְיוֹם־קָרְאֵֽנוּ the King [i.e. God] will answer us on the day that we call” (Psalms 20:10). We don’t need to wait for great heroes, or rely on perfect leaders, to save us: we just need to lift our voices, imperfect as we are. As we approach the High Holy Days, this season of recognising our failings and seeking to make amends, we’re reminded not to despair, because our call may be enough to be answered. As long as we’re honestly trying, who we are is enough for this moment; we may even be ‘golden’ sources of exactly what is needed right now.
By the end of the K-Pop Demon Hunters movie, the Huntr/x trio have learnt that whatever their imperfections, the three of them are enough to meet their challenges: “so [they]’re not heroes, [they]’re still survivors” – and it’s their actions that save the world enough for a sequel movie to be planned. When our demons threaten to make us lose our voices, when old patterns trap us into feeling powerless or inadequate, I hope that we, like the Israelites, will remember to value whoever is there in our own time and do what we can, here and now. May our voices be answered whenever we call, may who we are be enough to see us through, and may we all come closer to the people we were born to be.