Anyone Can Get A Photo With Trump - Photo Credit: Stormy Daniels 
Credit: Molly Riley/Official White House Photo
There is something deeply disturbing about watching rabbis rush to demonstrate reverence before a president whose conduct they would condemn in almost anyone else. The problem is not that they meet with the President of the United States. Of course they should. The Jewish community has every right to advocate for itself, cultivate relationships with government, and thank a president for policies that protect Jewish lives and Jewish interests. The problem begins when political access becomes moral surrender, when kavod ha-malchut, respect for government, is transformed into kavod ha-rasha, reverence for the powerful regardless of character. At that point the rabbi is no longer representing Torah to power. He is representing power to the Jews.
The same distinction appears in the principle of dina de-malkhuta dina, the law of the kingdom is law. Jewish law recognizes the legitimacy of civil authority and, within its proper boundaries, requires Jews to respect the laws of the country in which they live. But notice what the doctrine actually does. It recognizes the government's legal authority. It does not certify the ruler's righteousness. It does not declare his every word wise. It does not transform political expediency into Torah morality. It certainly does not instruct rabbis to become public-relations agents for the occupant of the White House.
This is where some contemporary rabbis appear to have forgotten the difference between kavod and chanifah. Respect is one thing. Flattery is another. Jewish tradition has a word for excessive deference to powerful people when truth is sacrificed for personal or communal advantage: chanifah, the corruption that occurs when moral truth is compromised in order to please the powerful. A rabbi's job is not to make the powerful feel holy. His job is to tell the truth, especially when telling the truth is uncomfortable.
That is why the image of rabbis surrounding a president deserves more scrutiny than another round of ceremonial photographs. If the president is a decent man, treat him with dignity. If he is a flawed man, treat him with dignity. If he has done something admirable, acknowledge it. If he has done something destructive, say so. If he protects Jewish interests, thank him. If he harms the interests of the country, Israel, minorities, immigrants, the poor, or the principles of democratic government, a rabbi does not receive a dispensation from truth merely because the offending politician happens to be useful to the Jewish community.
And there is an even deeper problem. When rabbis publicly lavish praise on a political leader whose conduct they would condemn in almost any other human being, they teach their followers a terrible lesson: morality is negotiable when power is useful.
The Torah did not create a religion in which Jews ask, "Is he good for us?" and then determine whether he is good. Judaism asks a prior question: "Is what he is doing right?" Those are not the same question. A ruler can be politically beneficial and morally reprehensible. He can employ Jews and still behave disgracefully toward other human beings. He can appoint judges favorable to Jewish interests and still possess serious character defects. He can give speeches containing language Jews appreciate while simultaneously displaying qualities that Judaism itself teaches us to despise.
A Jewish leader must have the intellectual courage to hold both truths simultaneously.
Ben Zoma asks in Pirkei Avot, "Who is honored?" and answers with a principle centered on honoring others. The Jewish conception of honor is therefore not simply about receiving honor from powerful people. It is about possessing the character that makes honor meaningful. A president does not become morally elevated because rabbis honor him. If anything, the rabbi risks lowering the meaning of honor by distributing it without moral discrimination.
There is also a fundamental Jewish principle that must never be forgotten: kavod ha-briyot, human dignity. The dignity of another human being does not disappear because that person is politically inconvenient. Nor does the dignity of the vulnerable become less important because the person violating it happens to be powerful. Jewish ethics cannot be reduced to the proposition that whatever helps Jews politically is therefore morally acceptable. The president enters and, mysteriously, ordinary standards of judgment begin disappearing. Suddenly arrogance becomes strength. Cruelty becomes toughness. Recklessness becomes courage. Vanity becomes charisma. Insults become authenticity. Lies become strategy.
When rabbis publicly sanctify a politician's character because they want something from his administration, they are teaching their congregants that morality has a price. They are teaching young Jews that principles are absolute until principles become inconvenient. They are teaching that power deserves more courtesy than truth. They are teaching that if a man can help Jews, then his treatment of other people is somehow none of our business.
A rabbi may meet with a president. He may advise him. He may thank him. He may advocate for American Jews. He may participate in a public ceremony. There is nothing inherently improper about any of this. In fact, Jewish history provides ample precedent for Jewish leaders dealing pragmatically with rulers. The principle of dina de-malkhuta dina itself emerged in a world where Jews had to navigate powerful governments while preserving Jewish life and communal autonomy.
The most disturbing possibility is not that rabbis show respect to a president. The disturbing possibility is that they might allow proximity to power to influence their definition of right and wrong. Once that happens, the rabbi ceases to function as a moral counterweight to political authority and becomes another ornament of political authority.
A Jew should never be so impressed by the man sitting in the White House that he forgets Who sits above it.
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