Judging a "mad fierce face."

This chapter is called “The Breaking of the Fellowship,” which is a fitting title for the final chapter of a book called “The Fellowship of the Ring.”  The Fellowship has reached the end of the Anduin river and must decide where to go – east to Mordor or west to Gondor.  While they meet and discuss, Aragorn reminds Frodo he is the only one who has been charged with bearing the Ring.  The choice is his, and others will follow him or not as they wish.  Frodo asks for some time to think it over, and goes for a walk.

While he is thinking, he unexpectedly runs into Boromir.  While Boromir has done a commendable job keeping his personal feelings to himself, he now knows if Frodo goes east, the Ring will never come to Gondor.  Boromir does not want that.

Boromir asks Frodo to come to Gondor, assuring him it is the best route to take.  Frodo refuses.  Boromir becomes offended, and speaks for forcefully.  When that doesn't work, “he sprang over the stone and leaped at Frodo.  His fair and pleasant face was hideously changed, a raging fire was in his eyes.”  Frodo slips on the Ring and flees.  And while the text shows us how Boromir’s madness passes him, and that he repents for his actions, Frodo does not see this.  He continues running: “Terror and grief shook him, seeing in his thought the mad fierce face of Boromir.”  That image is etched into his mind.

One common saying I abhor is when a person is said to have “Shown their true colors.”  This is never used positively.  It is always a trickster being revealed.  A friend showing they were false.  A person showing unbridled anger where first there had been restraint.  Boromir would seem to fit into this category.  He has revealed himself as the selfish Man he is, and that image will forever be in Frodo’s mind.  Frodo knows Boromir’s darkest secrets.  The secrets he tries to keep even from himself.

But is it fair to judge Boromir like this?  Is it fair to judge anyone?  Why do we let one moment of evil wipe away so much good?  We can comprehend of a good person being imperfect, or misguided, but not all and out bad.  If they were bad, how could they be good?  They are opposites!

One of the more powerful things I’ve heard in the past year was a quote from a defense attorney.  When defending her clients, she will try to talk about the good they’ve done in their life.  Were they a good father, a loving partner, a reliable employee?  Can we ignore these things?  “Shall we judge a whole person based on their single worst action?”

This, to me, is the essence of what’s wrong with the “true colors” sentiment.  It simplifies things too much.  When someone unexpectedly becomes a criminal, the neighbors say “But he was so nice/helpful/friendly.”  Why 'but'?  Why can’t criminals be nice?  Why can’t they be kind to their elderly neighbors and also part of gang violence?  Or a sales agent who always makes quota and also is a abusive towards a partner?  Criminals are not completely bad.  Having a bad quality doesn't wipe away the good ones (though the bad may outwiegh the good).

When I was in high school I had a particularly bad break up, and I remember her accusing me that “You never loved me!”  I remember thinking:  What’s that got to do with anything?  Saying that because we are breaking up I actually never loved you at all casts a pretty dark shadow on life.  It isn’t that all good things must come to an end, it’s that all good things were in fact never good because they end.  And that’s absurd.  You can’t judge a whole experience based on the single worst moment.  The bad moments do not wipe away the good.

Frodo, in his fear of Boromir, runs away.  We can understand this, but in doing so he does not know that Boromir repents.  He is so struck with “Terror and grief” that he runs, isolating himself.  He believes, if the Ring has seized hold of Boromir, it will seize control of others, and tear the Fellowship asunder.  So Frodo decides, for the good of the Company, to leave them all behind.

But isolation, while immediately useful at times, are not good tools for enabling love and understanding.  Frodo wants to isolate himself from “the mad fierce face of Boromir,” forgetting that this face is only one of many.  Boromir is also strong and valiant and loyal (Bottom left).  Is it right to forget all of that in light of recent events?

Our prison system utilizes this kind of isolation.  You are deemed bad for society; you are sent to a place separate from everyone else.  It is comparable to “time out.” That comparison is fair – when a child behaves badly s/he is sent alone and loses some play time.

But here’s the difference:  When a child comes out of time-out, there is no lingering cloud.  There is no label forever stamped upon them.  They go, but then they return (and return as fully equal members of the group).  When someone is released from prison, even early for good behavior and having shown honest remorse for their actions, they are forever given a criminal record.  And you better believe that costs them opportunities.  They can have a great resume, score highly on any test and interview excellently, but if that employer checks their criminal records (which are usually public, so you better believe they show up on a Google search), they’ll judge them on that and find another candidate.  Suddenly, they are judging a whole person on their worst action.  They are judging them based on the “mad fierce face,” and no other.

And don’t tell me that most criminals return to prison after being released, and therefore weren’t suitable for a second chance anyway.  After being turned down for one opportunity after another, they have no choice but turn back to crime.  No one will give them a legit job, but they still need money for food and clothes and shelter (and that's just for the basest survival)!  So they turn to the one network open to them, crime.  And then, when they're caught again, no one will want to hire them because they’ve gone to prison twice.  And so it goes.

When we say people are imperfect, I do not think we only mean they are not saints, striving and sometimes failing.  I think we mean, or need to mean, they are messy and a collection of ideas and actions.  You can be a hard worker and a bad partner, or you can be an unreliable employee and a great friend.  You can be a gunman who shoots innocent civilians and also a loving son.  I know it sounds contradictory to the point of nauseating, but we need to challenge our black and white view of criminals.  People are more than their single worst action, and deserve to be treated as such.

I have been thinking about maturity – what signs are there we can use to see if someone is "mature"?  We all know 22 year-olds who are very mature, and some 30 year-olds who are not.  But what’s a way to define this?  How can we check?

A method I like to use is to ask them a time when they were a villain.  When is a time when they were the bad guy in someone else’s story.  We all like to be the hero – but sometimes we are the villain.  And I don’t mean a villain as in “We obstructed a greater evil” or “I was young and it was fun." I mean a moment where, looking back, you aren’t even proud.  Not necessarily filled with shame, but you can see, 100%, why you are a villain in that story, and that no amount of editorializing can change that.  Some honest reflection is needed here.

Anyway, got your story?  Now imagine being judged solely on that story.  Shall we judge others on their single worst action?

Boromir: Ignorant, yet Noble

Boromir is one of the more complicated characters in our text, largely because very little is said about him.  There are whole chapters where he says nothing, and when he does speak he's very pessimistic about the Quest, and is usually disagreeing with someone.  He's kind of a Debbie Downer.

When the Company leave Rivendell, he blows his horn.  When Elrond reminds him they are supposed to be moving in secret, he responds: "I will not go forth as a thief in the night."  While this is clearly a foolish point, to act as a thief would impinge on Boromir's own sense of pride.

And this pride greatly defines Boromir.  While he has often been in the background of the other companions, our double portion this week gives us an opportunity to examine him a little more closely.  The chapters this week are "Farewell to Lorien" and "The Great River."  The Company leaves Lothlorien (Opinions differ, but essentially Lothlorien denotes the entire forest, while Lorien is the more populated center where the Fellowship go to meet Galadriel and Celeborn.  However, it is common for the two to be used interchangeably) and set boats on the river Anduin that will lead them further south.  And so the unsettled debate reemerges:  Where does the Fellowship go now?  They can follow the river south for quite a while, but there are rapids at which point the river terminates in a waterfall.  At that point, they will leave the river.  But to where?

If they go east, they will be marching to Mordor, where the Ring must go.  If they go west, they will be going to Minas Tirith.  We can predict Boromir's preference: "If my advice is heeded, it will be the western shore, and the way to Minas Tirith, but I am not the leader of the Company."  This line is, in many ways, Boromir's mantra.  Whenever a debate is had about the direction of the Fellowship, Boromir suggests Gondor, but then also admits he is not the leader, and that he will follow the Company's decision.  He says this before they attempt to cross Caradrhas, before going into Moria, and even before entering Lothlorien.  He would prefer to go directly to Minas Tirith, to his home.

Boromir is often characterized as proud and unwise - a brute warrior among learned philosophers.  This is true, but it is also incomplete.  Boromir, like all good warriors, is exceptionally good at taking orders.  Boromir adheres to a strict code of honor.  When Gandalf moves to face the Balrog, Boromir comes to his side.  He will not let a companion face such an enemy alone.  But when Gandalf tells them to run ("Swords are no more use here") Boromir does this without question.  When Aragorn takes over leadership of the Fellowship, there is no kind of power struggle.  Aragorn is a leader.  Boromir is not, and he does not try to be.

We learn several things about Boromir in Rivendell, but then little else.  His life has been lived immersed in Minas Tirith, and knows only war.  He doesn't know much else about Middle Earth.  But, unlike the Hobbits (who are far more ignorant), he doesn't realize how much he doesn't know.  When the Ring is presented at the Council, he suggests using it against Sauron.  When Elrond explains this is impossible, "Boromir looked at them doubtfully, but he bowed his head. 'So be it.'"  It is not outrageous to say he is not convinced.

But Boromir, for all these faults, is not a bad man.  Unwise, yes, but if you use a screwdriver to drive a nail, you would declare the screwdriver is useless.  It is easy to think of Boromir as a lesser character when compared to his companions.  So little is said of him in the text!  His psychology is not complex.  He just wants to go home and fight Sauron.  

But think of the others.  Sam becomes attached to pack animals.  Legolas and Gimli spend much of the journey between Rivendell and Lothlorien insulting each other and their race.  But Boromir, while simple, is also very easy going.  His honor precludes him from making trouble.  When asked, he will voice his opinion, but he trusts in those above him and will, once a decision is made, follow it wholeheartedly.  It is almost as if Boromir knows that he makes a better follower than a leader.  And this is a skill I think the world needs more of.

We so value leaders that we don't realize, for leadership to do any good, there must be people willing to follow.  Look at this video of Martin Luther King Jr's "I Have a Dream Speech."  It would be far less impactful if the National Mall were empty.  He needed followers.  And followers are not "sheeple;" they are not idiots or morons.  (Have you ever tried to lead a group of fools?)  Following, like leading, requires intelligence and capability.  If a leader suggests something, and an unexpected roadblock emerges, it is the followers who must react in the moment.  MLK would never have become the remembered figure he is today if his followers, at the first sign of violence from their oppressors, lashed out in kind.  While MLK should be praised for inspiring those who followed him, we should also praise those who held to the values of their leader, even when it caused them personal harm.

It would be hard to criticize a Civil Rights protester who attacked his or her attackers.  But, if that had happened, the entirety of MLK's message would have been undercut, and the non-violent Civil Rights movement sabotaged.  And while MLK was, himself, subject to humiliation and harm, he was the source of the message.  We expect him to keep it together under pressure.  It is more admirable for a follower - who has thoughts of their own which, like Boromir, may conflict with the thoughts of the larger group - to stay true to the decision of the leader when times get tough.

Boromir represents the times we must be followers, when we must trust in the wisdom of those who lead us, and not strike out on our own for the sake of our pride (As Gimli threatened to).  As we shall soon see, Boromir also comes to represent what happens when we lose sight of the larger goal, and instead act in our own immediate self interest.  But even in Boromir's failings, he finds redemption.

Boromir is a warrior who loves his land and is good at following orders.  He is, in the simplest sense, a patriot.  And while that term is politically poisoned now, I would say a patriot is one who is willing to give some of themselves for the greater good.  I'm aware of how ominous all that sounds (and I'm sure the link doesn't help!).  We can debate the details, but who among us can truly respect someone who never compromises.  We might admire them from a distance - glad there is someone stalwart and true to their beliefs, but being true to beliefs is useless if you're merely stubborn (or obstructionist) about it.  Beliefs are useless if they are never enacted, and they cannot be enacted without someone, somewhere compromising a little.

Boromir is a simple character whose strength comes from realizing his own simplicity.  He is a hammer and he knows it.  He is not a screwdriver.  He is also not the one who wields the hammer.  He is just the hammer.  He is told what to strike and where, and he does it.

So as a role-model, it is difficult to say what Boromir offers us.  We want to be more than just tools.  We want to be the one who wields the tools.  But we can't always, and we shouldn't always.  Sometimes are strength comes in seeing our limitations and working within their bounds.  Boromir accepts he is not the leader.  He is still able to be a productive member of the Fellowship.  Unlike most of the others, Boromir is never the source of strife within the Fellowship.  He has his pride (which insists they go to Gondor), but he also has his honor (which precludes him from making trouble).  With really only those two things, the Creative Wizard has created a rich portrait of a simple man.

However, as we shall soon see, honor will not always win in the struggle taking place in Boromir's heart.  Soon, his pride will overwhelm him.  And then, in one moment, all the good he has done for the Fellowship will be nullified.

Thank God the struggle for Civil Rights wasn't similarly poisoned.  Happy Martin Luther King day, everyone!

Gimli & Legolas: Why Can't We Be Friends?

Why are we friends with our friends?  When did we go from mere acquaintances to friends?  How did that happened?

This week’s chapter is called “The Mirror of Galadriel.”  The Fellowship is now safe in Lothlorien, and taking some time to rest and recover from their travels.  While most of the Fellowship stay together, Legolas often goes off to visit with the Elves.  But he doesn't go alone.  “Often he took Gimli with him when he went abroad in the land, and the others wondered at this change.”

Gimli and Legolas have, until now, been very unfriendly towards each other.  Now suddenly Legolas is reaching out to him, and they are becoming friends.  In the previous chapter, when Gimli needed to be blindfold and Aragorn said the whole Company would be blindfold, Legolas complains it is unfair, because he is an Elf, and shouldn’t need to endure such treatment in an Elf-realm.

But now they’re friends.

I’ve recently been thinking about friendship.  Why is it so hard to make friends as an adult?  After all, it used to be we were good at making friends – or at least talking to new people and trying.  And while I can make new friends, I’m not sure I’ll ever replace the spot I have in my heart for my high school or college friends.

But why is that?  The only reason those people are my friends is an accident of proximity, right.  I didn’t necessarily have anything else in common with them.  What if I had gone to UNH instead of UMass?  I would have made friends there, and while I would have missed out on great friendships, maybe I’d make greater ones.  It makes my choice of college seem very replaceable.  I would have learned and made friends in either case.  So what’s the difference?

I think back to Brittany, the last person I made an organic friendship with.  What happened?  We met at a beach party and bonded over our love of adventure – we traded stories.  The next day we went to downtown LA and had an adventure of our own together – we spent the whole weekend like that!  We bonded through that time.  No we don't have to just trade stories; we have stories together.  But who else have I bonded with in a similar way?

I don’t know – Moishe house maybe.  But that wasn’t organic.  I went there to meet people – I went to Venice Beach just to get out of the house.  I would have chalked Venice Beach a success even if I hadn’t met Brit.  But at Moishe house, friendship felt like the goal.  And friendship, while an excellent thing, makes for a crappy goal.

A goal has an end-point.  You set it, you make your way towards it, then you achieve it.  Having been achieved, it is done.  But that’s not how friendship works – friendships are always in flux.  I have 4 college friends I really try to keep up with – and to varying degrees.  I can admit I’m closer to some and further from others, but they’re still *friends.*  And I still need to work on keeping those connections.  Same with my high school friends – in fact even more so with them.  I talk to them rarely when I’m living on the West Coast – but when I’m back it is like old times (and then we have some new ones). 

But it is more than what I said before – it is more than just proximity.  We became friends in grade school because we lived nearby, liked the same things, and shared in some key experiences.  In college, we worked together, liked the same things, and shared in some key experiences.  Proximity is part of it, but there were maybe 30 kids in my 5^th grade class, 90 in 8^th grade and 200 in high school (Totally guessing in all those cases, but you get the point).  I had a choice.  I chose these people.  And was lucky enough that they chose me.

Legolas and Gimli have shared some experiences together.  They have fought side by side and both revere their own personal history.  They’re very much alike.  Once they get over their racial difference, they’re able to become friends.  But still – friendship is not the goal: the Quest is.  Making a friend is not a valid goal by itself.  Since shared experiences are necessary, you need to have something else in mind.  You need something to do together.  Like Brit and I wandering the streets of L.A.

I’m still not sure when acquaintances become friends.  It’s a tough line to draw.  Sometimes we meet someone and immediately have that “Where have you been my whole life?” moment.  Sometimes it takes time.  Sometimes we meet someone and will never make the jump from acquaintance to friend.  It’s hard to say.

And I think that’s the point, here.  The line above kind of comes out of nowhere.  They were distant, but then they became close.  It’s hard to pinpoint when and how that happened.  Just like in real friendships, it is hard to precisely say when one becomes friends.

The lesson of this chapter, then, isn’t to make more friends, or to forgive racial divides, or to welcome others into your home, or really to do anything.  The point here is to realize that making friends takes time, and it’s hard to say when you become friends.  After all – it isn’t a good goal.  It is a by-product of experiences.  With every one of my good friends, I can think of at least one experience we shared together.  This tells me, in my struggle to make new friends, that I need to seek out experiences.  Maybe that's hiking, maybe that's laser tag, maybe that's gaming, but we can go even simpler.  Going to a bar?  Maybe not.  But going to a bar and competing in Trivia nights?  Hell yes!

And then one day I’ll look back on these experiences, realize I’ve made some new friends during them, and wonder at the change.

Aragorn: Leading by example

Having lost Gandalf, the Fellowship flees from Moria to safer ground.  They enter Lothlorien (from which this chapter takes its title) where Aragorn, who has taken on the role of leading the Fellowship, says they will be welcome.  But they are then captured by several Elves, who tell them that they are trespassing on their land, and though they've heard of the Fellowship and their Quest, they are still very wary of trusting outsiders.  They will take the Fellowship to "Our Lord and Lady," where their fate will be decided.  It sounds surprisingly grim, given that the Elves are supposed to be on the same side as the Fellowship.  "Indeed in nothing is the power of the Dark Lord more clearly shown than in the estrangement that divides all those who still oppose him."

The Elves are especially wary of Gimli.  "A dwarf!  That is not well.  We have not had dealings with the Dwarves since the Dark Days.  They are not permitted in our land."  Frodo insists that since Gimli was chosen by Elrond, that he should be trusted.  After a conversation amongst themselves, the Elves relent, but "he must go blindfolded through Lothlorien."

When Gimli hears of this, he staunchly refuses.  There is an argument.  "I will go forward free, or I will go back and seek my own land, where I am known to be true of word."  Finally, Aragorn intercedes, "It is hard upon the Dwarf to be thus singled out.  We will all be blindfold."

Here Aragorn displays an excellent model of leadership.  He understands the Elves' predicament, even as he disagrees with it.  They are secretive and wary.  He can't just say "Seriously guys - trust us."  If they would be persuaded so easily, they wouldn't need to be persuaded at all.  But, Aragorn also understands Gimli's objections.  Gimli feels he has earned a reputation of trustworthiness.  He has no desire to let the Elves label him otherwise.

So Aragorn comes up with a compromise.  If Gimli needs to be blindfold because he's seen as an outsider, then let everyone be blindfold, since they are all outsiders (Even Legolas, who while an Elf is not from Lothlorien).  Everyone agrees to this (though Legolas protests briefly).

Aragorn could have tried demanding that Gimli simply "take one for the team."  How many of us have, in similar situations, said that?  Someone has the get the short end of the stick, right?

Why is that?  Well, the short end of the stick represents a reality that cannot be enhanced.  Sometimes there just isn't enough to go around.  But why not just cut down the longer ends of the stick?  You can't divide 23 evenly between four people.  Someone will only get 5 while everyone else gets 6.  But why not everyone get 5 and just leave the other 3?  It doesn't even matter what the number represents (Food, Art Supplies, Tax Dollars).  Why must one person suffer while everyone else gets what they can?  Wouldn't it be more reasonable, and promote better group relations, if a larger part of the group sacrificed something on behalf of the rest?  Isn't that what a graduated income tax is about?  Why tell some to suck it up (promoting inequality while causing resentment) than tell others to sacrifice their extra portion (promoting equality while causing resentment)?  If resentment is inevitable, you might as well promote a good value while you do it.

The next time we're in a situation where things cannot be divided equally, and it looks as though someone is going to be singled out, rather than justify that person's inequality, we should think of how to prevent it.  If everyone needs X, and there are not enough of X to around evenly, then do we really need to take every available X?  Why not distribute evenly what we can, and leave the rest as a token of group unity.  Only the most selfish of companions would resent it.  Even Legolas, eventually, understands the need for everyone to be blindfold.

The Fellowship has many miles to go.  So does our team, whether it's a professional team or group of friends.  Group harmony should always come before material gain.

Actually, not quite.  Because I would also advise against "taking one for the team" personally.  While you may not plan for it to cause resentment, eventually you might want someone else to take part of the burden.  Even if not - even if you are saintly enough to always take the lesser portion - you may cause resentment among those who think you're being too pious or too altruistic.  Are those good objections?  No - but why bring them upon your self (and your group)?  What you're losing in material gain you're making up for in spiritual gain.  You get to feel good about your self-sacrifice, but the message your companions may receive is "I don't need these things - but you all do."  Again, this only builds resentment in others, and puts yourself above them, promoting inequality.  So allow me to rephrase:

Group harmony should always come before personal gain, be it material or spiritual.

Gandalf: Examining a leader

This week’s chapter is called “The Bridge of Khazad-Dum.”  The Fellowship, guided by Gandalf, has been travelling through the mines of Moria, trying to get to the other side.  The previous chapter ended with the Fellowship leaving the main hall and entering a chamber containing the tomb Balin (Gimli’s cousin and a companion of Bilbo on his earlier adventure).  This chapter opens with the Fellowship paying their respects.  When they are done, Boromir asks what their next move is.  Gandalf says:  “Back to the hall – but our visit has not been in vain.  I now know where we are [and how to get out of the mines].”

No sooner has Gandalf spoken than the Fellowship hears the sound of horns and drums.  Gandalf looks out the door and reports that there are a great many orcs coming down the hall, as well as a cave troll.  He suggests the Fellowship flees through the door on the other side of the room.  There are too many orcs for them to all take on.

Gandalf is the Fellowship’s guide, but in modern business terms we might call him the “problem solver.”  Difficult circumstances arise, and he provides the solution.  He doesn’t explain every detail;  It doesn’t matter how tall the cave troll is, what matters is: RUN!  Given a problem, he can solve it.  In this way, Gandalf is a tactician.

However, tactics is low-level thinking.  Tactics will get you from point A to point B, but what if you need to get to point H?  Point B may not be the best route, and in fact may be off the track entirely.  Point B solves the problem of Point A, but doesn't necessarily get you any closer to Point H.

Let’s return to our text.  Gandalf’s plan seems reasonable.  Orcs and trolls are charging towards the Fellowship.  They cannot defeat them, but maybe they can escape the pursuit.  But Aragorn raises an objection, “The passage on this side plunges straight down a stair: it plainly does not lead back toward the hall... It is no good flying blindly this way with the pursuit just behind.”

Retreat doesn’t help the Fellowship if it ends up lost deeper into the mines.  Gandalf is thinking only of the immediate crisis: Escape.  Aragorn, however, is thinking strategically.  If tactics is how you solve problems, strategy is what guides those choices.  What’s the long-term goal?  The Fellowship needs to get to Mordor, which means escaping the mines.  Gandalf has just said he knows where they are and how to get out, and yet in the panic of the moment he tells them to go down the door opposite the direction he originally designated.  While addressing an urgent situation, Gandalf loses sight of the important task.

It would be like a homeless shelter deciding it can only properly house 500 individuals, but then housing 800 because those at the door felt bad turning anyone away.  It’s understandable, noble, and (importantly) hard to criticize.  Who is going to say those 300 people need to stay outside?  But what if 500 was the limit for health and safety reasons?  Disease can now spread through the shelter like wildfire.  This is a time when the strategy (help as many people as possible) is undercut by poor tactical decisions (let an additional 300 people in, which overwhelms the system). 

I spent this past week at a Moishe House leadership retreat in Southern California.  It was remarkable.  The purpose was largely to understand and develop our own leadership, but we also had a lot of discussions that can be broken down into this kind of tactical and strategic thinking.  The long-term goal, the overarching purpose of Moishe House is to provide meaningful Jewish experiences for young adults around the world by supporting leaders in theirs 20s and 30s as they create vibrant home-based Jewish communities for themselves and their peers.  But how is this done?

Moishe House is made up of many community houses spread across the world.  Every house has the same goal, but each house serves a unique community.  Therefore, in order to achieve this goal, each House needs to use different tactics.  They need different events and different forms of outreach.  For example there are three houses in San Francisco.  One is very hippy and ‘granola.’  My first event we went on a hike and someone made homemade smoothies.  We did some meditation in the forest.  It was pretty much what you’d expect from even a passing understanding of SF culture.  It was why I had chosen that house over, say, the Russian house, also in SF, which caters to young Jews who speak Russian and want to enjoy Russian culture.  That’s not to say there’s no overlap, but clearly each House seeks to attract a different demographic.  As such, their events and outreach (tactics) will be different.  But the goal remains the same.

Moishe House knows there is no one type of event young Jews like.  They know handing events down to each house 'from on high' and telling them to run those events would be met with limited, if any success.  So instead they’ve adopted the strategy of letting each house run their own events based on what the community would like.  The goal is to give young Jews meaningful experiences and communities.  The strategy is letting the houses come up with their own events.  Whatever events they choose are the tactics.

What is Gandalf’s strategy?  We know his tactics, and we know his goal.  But what are his guiding principles?  Moishe House’s guiding principle is that the community houses will be better able to create relevant events than the head honchos at capital M capital H Moishe House.  What guides Gandalf?  Examining past actions in our text does not help much.  He tells Frodo to go to Rivendell (because, tactically, the Shire is not a safe place for the Ring) but once there all that happens is Elrond calls a council and forms the Fellowship.  Getting to Rivendell (or even Mordor!) is not strategy - that is a goal.  No soccer team’s strategy is “score points.”  That’s just the goal (GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLL).  The question at hand is how and why that way.  It is like the underpants gnomes of South Park.  Gandalf cannot explain phase 2.

Later in this very chapter, in fact, the short-sightedness of Gandalf is demonstrated yet again.  After fleeing down the stairs (the doorway to the hall collapses in the fight and so they have no choice), they come near the exit of the mines.  Gandalf peers out into a chasm and sees a great fire on the other side.  He says, “If we had come by the main road down from the upper halls, we should have been trapped here.”  As in: If we had followed my original plan, we would have been trapped.

It doesn’t matter that Gandalf’s new plan (retreating down the stairs) actually works.  This is not how a good leader operates.  Apparently, Gandalf has just been hoping this would all work out.  How would you feel if you learned your supervisor at work was operating like this?  It would be very disheartening.  Everyone is depending on Gandalf to guide them to Mordor, but it seems like his approach is “I’m surprised that worked, too!”  The text is not providing a good model of leadership.  This is not an approach that we should bring into our lives.

So what do we make of this?  What can we learn?  I think this is one of those times when the text teaches us through what is absent.  To find the lesson, we must find what is missing.

We’re not all leaders in the typical way.  We don’t necessarily have employees or followers.  But we all have a mission to accomplish.  We all want, as the underpants gnomes say, “profit.”  Whether that be money or friends or time or joy or success, we want something.  And hopefully we, like Gandalf, have the tools.  But I hope, ultimately, we can rise above Gandalf’s example and be intentional and thoughtful in our approach.  I hope, when we step back and examine our journey, we can see a purpose behind every tactical decision.  It is good to have a friend like Aragorn, able to challenge our actions when they seem at odds with the very goals we’re trying to accomplish.  It is better yet to have a voice like that in our head, checking us when our immediate tactics appear to undercut our long-term strategy.

Sam: Honoring our Commitments

Recently we've been drawing morals out of one or two sentences from the text.  In order to spice things up (for both your benefit and mine), we're going to look at things a little differently and take a closer look at the characters and certain crucial choices they make.  This week, we'll examine Sam.

This week's chapter is called "A Journey In The Dark."  Having been defeated by the mountain Caradrhas, the Fellowship now reconsiders it's options.  Boromir suggests they march south, following the path he took when he came to Rivendell.  Gandalf reminds him that Isengard is that way: "Things have changed since you came North, Boromir.  Did you not hear what I told you of Saruman?"  Going north to get around the mountain range is also dismissed - the journey would be too long.  They need to move with speed.  So, the company agrees to enter Moria, the mines underneath the Caradrhas.  They can cut through the Dwarven realm and re-emerge on the other side in a matter of days.

As they arrive at the Door into the mountain, Gandalf pulls Sam aside and tells him that Bill, their baggage pony, will not go with them into the mines.

'I am sorry, Sam,' said the wizard.  'But when the Door

opens I do not think you will be able to drag your Bill inside,

into the long dark of Moria.  You will

have to choose between Bill and your master.'

Sam protests, reminding Gandalf that they were just attacked by wolves and that leaving Bill on his own will get him killed, but Gandalf assures him Bill will get home in one piece.  He leans in to Bill and whispers some words to him.

Bill, seeming to understand well what was going on,

nuzzled up to him, putting his nose to Sam's ear. 

Sam burst into tears, and fumbled with the straps, unlading

all the pony's packs and throwing them on the ground.

Here is an interesting word - "unlading."  It  isn't supposed to be "unloading."  It isn't a typo.  To unladen is a nautical term which means "to unload a ship."  And while ships are inanimate objects, to those that ride them they take on a more personal note.  Just as those of us who drive develop a personal relationship with our car.  It is just a thing, but it is also much more than that.  There are feelings tied to it.  And how much more, for Sam, that Bill is alive, and not just a hunk of metal!

And so the Creative Wizard, in this one word, manages to capture so much of Sam's feelings.  He recognizes that Bill is not a person, but yet he has these feelings for him that are beyond what one would normally feel for a pack animal.  We can empathize.  There are times when we must say good bye to things we care about.

Gandalf opens the door and the Fellowship begins to enter.

But at that moment several things happened.  Frodo

felt something seize him by the ankle, and he fell with

a cry.  Bill the pony gave a wild neigh of fear,

and turned tail and dashed away along the lakeside into

the darkness.  Sam leaped after him, and then hearing Frodo's

cry he ran back again, weeping and cursing.

It is interesting to note the order of events.  Frodo falls first, and then Bill runs away.  But Sam first follows Bill, turning around only when he hears Frodo shouting.  From this we can say Sam was watching Bill.  As one might watch an old car be brought to the trash compactor, remembering all of the memories associated with it.  Sam is perhaps staring at Bill with the same grief and nostalgia and pain.  When Bill flees, it's like the trash compactor being turned on.  Sam suddenly regrets his decision, and "leaps" into action.  I imagine him thinking I'm coming, Bill!

Only Frodo's cry, after falling over, captures Sam's attention.  Consciously or not, Sam remembers that Bill is supposed to leave the Fellowship.  Frodo, meanwhile, should not be shouting for help.  If he is, something is wrong.  So Sam returns to Frodo ("weeping and cursing") and finds him being held down by a tentacle coming out of the water.  Sam attacks the tentacle, which lets go of Frodo, and pulls him into the open cave.  Other tentacles (which Sam refers to mistakenly as 'snakes' throughout the scene) come flying forward into the cave, and pull down the Door, causing a cave-in.  The Fellowship is inside, but they are also trapped.  Everyone takes a moment to recover from the attack.

Sam, clinging to Frodo's arm, collapsed on

a step in the black darkness.  'Poor old

Bill!' he said in a choking voice, 'Poor old Bill!

Wolves and snakes!  But the snakes were too much for him.

 I had to choose, Mr. Frodo.  I had to come with you.'

Bill's purpose in the Quest is over.  Frodo's is not.  While Bill accompanied the Fellowship, Sam's personal loyalty to both Frodo and Bill were complementary.  When Bill was sent away, they became contradictory.  Sam was pulled in two directions.  To the animal which he is master over, and to the master whom he serves.  It is interesting, when put that way, that Sam chooses to remain with the one whom he serves, rather than the one whom would serve him.

It is instructive now to note that Sam is a gardener.  Is a gardener master or servant of his garden?  On the one hand, a master - he gets to choose what is planted and where.  But on the other hand, once the garden is planted, he becomes it's servant.  A gardener becomes subject to the needs of the plants.  Until it is strong enough to survive on their own, if the garden is not tended to in a timely way, the garden will die.  And if your garden dies, are you still a gardener?  Were you ever?

"People tend to forget their duties but remember their rights."  Sam does not.  Sam had the right to follow Bill.  Elrond explicitly stated no one is bound to the Quest except Frodo.  Sam does not leave, but it is important to note that he is not staying for the sake of the Quest.  He is staying for Frodo.  Whether the danger is greater or lesser than it is now, he is motivated by devotion to his friend.

Sam's loyalty beckons us to look inward.  He consistently chooses humble service.  He fights tentacles through tears, and even when his loyalties are divided, he is driven in both directions with speed, rather than paralyzed by indecision.  Sam is resolute in his devotion, and we can imagine he would tear himself in two so he could be with both Bill and Frodo if he could.  But he can't.  So he had to choose.  He chose Frodo.  But even after he has made the choice, we can infer he is not wholly satisfied.  He still wishes he could have had both.  But he couldn't.  "I had to come with you."  He was duty-bound.

Gandalf had warned him - he would have to choose.  Sam delights in caring for Bill.  He is very fond of him.  But his duty ultimately leads him to Frodo.  The next time we are faced with a choice between duty and delight, when we cannot have both, we should remember Sam, and the difficult choice he had to make.  Even when our emotions run amok, and we are "weeping and cursing", we must make the dutiful choice.

Choosing the right companions

This chapter, literally, marks the beginning of the Fellowship of the Ring.  About halfway through the chapter the Fellowship is formed and begins its journey towards Mordor.  While many may presume the Fellowship pushes east immediately, the path of the Fellowship is a little less direct.  As this chapter's title states, initially, "The Ring Goes South."  And so, the journey begins!

However the last chapter ended only with Frodo taking up the burden as Ring-Bearer (and Sam, having sneaked into the Council of Elrond, pledging his allegiance).  At the start of the chapter, the Fellowship is yet unformed.  Elrond says of it, "Nine Walkers shall be set against the Nine Riders that are evil." He announces that Gandalf, Legolas and Gimli will go with Frodo.  Aragorn and Boromir announce their decision to go to Minas Tirith (Capital of Gondor, Boromir's home) and, since Minas Tirith is on the way to Mordor, they will accompany the Fellowship that far.  So the first seven are decided.  Elrond says, "There remain two more to be found.  These I will consider.  Of my household I may find some that it seems good to me to send."  At this Pippin speaks up, saying:

"But that will leave no place for us!  We don't want to be left behind.  We want to go with Frodo."

"That is because you do not understand and cannot imagine what lies ahead," said Elrond.

"Neither does Frodo," Said Gandalf, "I think, Elrond, in this matter

it would be well to trust rather to their friendship than to great wisdom."

The first and then final two companions who pledge their allegiance are Hobbits.  Moreover, they are his friends who would accompany him even on a journey not so dangerous (or moreso).  Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn, Boromir, and even Gandalf (who has known Frodo a long time) are accompanying him due to the importance of his Quest.  Sam and Merry and Pippin are going because they want to be with Frodo.  In fact, when Elrond initially balks at Gandalf's suggestion, Pippin says: "Master Elrond, you will have to lock me in a prison or send me home tied in a sack, for otherwise I shall follow the Company."  These are not the words of a fiery zealot, committed to the destruction of the Ring (few have more invested in destroying the Ring than Aragorn and Boromir, and they've already announced they don't plan to follow the Company all the way to Mordor).  These are the words of a friend.

We need friends like this.  We've already seen how, in the text, friendship trumps wisdom.  We need friends who are so unwilling to let us face disaster alone, they're willing to forsake the comforts of home to do so.  These, and not those who hold great wisdom, are the real heroes of the world.  Paramedics, firefighters, soldiers, police officers, everyone who must be somewhere for their job.  Everyone who must be, as the saying goes, "in the trenches."  While managers and researchers and theorists have an important part to play in the world, it is those on the ground whom we must give our highest respect.  They know the situation better than anyone.

But I'm not even talking about high-stakes situations.  When I was younger I worked in a candy store.  I was told that, every few hours, I needed to spend 10 minutes wiping the insides of the display glass where our fudge was kept.  Obviously, this is important to do.  But my supervisor would always just tell me to do it.  My co-workers understood my frustration.  Cleaning glass for 10 minutes (and cleaning the inside of display glass is physically a little awkward) feels like a lot.  But whenever I complained, my boss would get angry.  I wasn't saying it shouldn't be done - I think I was just frustrated at just how easily I was told to do it - as if the inconvenience was my own fault.

Being a teacher, I see something similar.  In Alaska my boss would always tell me various things to do.  They were good and important things to do.  But the ease with which they are able to be said is drastically simpler than the act of doing them.  It gave a whole new meaning to the phrase "Easier said than done."

As a society, we have the same frustrations.  Education researchers/experts recommend that if teachers do X, Y and Z that our school system can be fixed.  As a teacher, I often feel like responding "Yes - but doing that is way harder than you're imagining."  I'm not saying "It's too hard, screw it."  But talking heads have a way of spouting solutions without taking into account the process of that solution.  For example, a common theme I hear is to "get parents on board."  Certainly that's important.  But you can't just....... do that.  It takes time and energy and a unique approach with each family.  Some families are too busy to even want to get on board.  Some are eager to get on board, and then also eager to take control of the whole ship.  Those "in the trenches" understand this.  Those who are not sometimes don't.  There's a disconnect between those speaking wisdom and those enacting the wisdom.

Which is why we, as a society, tend to despise (or love) talking heads.  Either: they say something simplistic and, Goddammit, the world doesn't work that way; or they say something simplistic and, Goddammit, why don't the fools doing the work just do it that way?  Peace talks are a good counter-example.  Removed from the fighting, it's easy to say "Just put down your weapons and quit it!"  But the war didn't start because one side was bored with peace.  They wanted something and the other side didn't want to give it up or they couldn't find a way to split it in a way that seemed fair.  They'd love to put down their weapons, once they get what they want.  But telling them to just "stop fighting" because fighting is bad misses the point of their war.  I imagine they might feel as I feel when I read an article on education policy:  "We'd love to, but it isn't that simple."

Those on high, while their wisdom may be good to know and have access to, are not ideal companions.  They see a bigger picture that minimizes us.  We're the tools they can use to accomplish their goal.  But we aren't tools, and we don't like to be treated that way.  When we're down in the trenches, we want someone who cares about us, and who sees our struggle, and who sees us trying our hardest and still falling short.  We don't want someone to say "Well, just try harder."  We want (we need) someone who will say:  "Yeah, this sucks.  This is awful and we're not getting the support we need.  I wish I could fix that.  But I can't.  At least know that you're not alone.  I'm here in this, too."

It is good for the Quest to have Aragorn and Boromir and Gandalf and Gimli and Legolas accompany Frodo.  It is good for Frodo to have Sam and Merry and Pippin with him.  Unlike the great warriors and heroes listed above, here Frodo will have companions who can understand his pain and wonder at the impossibility of the Quest.  Without their other companions, the Quest is doomed to fail (after all, Frodo does not know the way).  But they need more than wisdom and strength to complete their  journey.  They will need sympathy and compassion.

We all work jobs where there is someone above is.  They provide the wisdom.  They have a vision of how everything should work.  That is good - we need those visionaries.  We need those who see how everything fits together.  However, in seeing the big picture, they sometimes see us only as a tool.  A way to accomplish a job.  I know this from my own managing experience.  While I try to make personal connections with all my staff, there are times when something needs to be done and that's all that matters.  In at least that moment, that's all I can focus on: I have a problem, and they are the tools.

Nonetheless, when I get treated like a tool, I still don't like it.  But I see it more as a shortcoming of the supervisory structure than a failure of the individual.  There's little use being mad at them.  After all - I do the same thing!  But I'm still frustrated.  To deal with those feelings, then, I find those who work with me (rather than above me).  Those who see my day-to-day work and will understand my frustration at being asked to do yet another thing.

There are a myriad of reasons why friends are important.  One of them - in my mind, the most important - is emotional support.  They may not be able to fix the problem - they may not be able to do anything.  But they'll be able to listen and validate and assure you that, indeed, you aren't weak for feeling stressed out.  Hard jobs are not completed by those who are impervious to their difficulty.  Hard jobs are completed by those who have surrounded themselves with those who can provide support when needed.  Those on high may not be understanding - "You have a job to do!"  And they're right.  If Frodo fails the Quest, all hope is lost (Hopefully our job isn't quite so critical).  But, for all their wisdom and vision, they lack sympathy and compassion.  We must get those things elsewhere.

On three things the Fellowship stands:  Wisdom to guide the way, strength to overcome obstacles, and compassion to heal a tired heart: and the creation of friendships leads to them all.

Such as it is in the text - such as it is in life.