No king

Kings have been on my mind recently.

It started when our president was in Britain on an unprecedented second visit with King Charles. The news was filled with clips of the president praising the royal family. Newscasters pointed out that because the United States was created by revolution against monarchy, American presidents have been very careful not to praise monarchical forms of government. Our current president, however, has no such qualms. At the time of King Charles’s coronation, President Trump observed, “People talk about monarchy — should you have it? Should you not? I think it’s a fantastic thing.”

With so much news about kings in the week leading up to Rosh Hashanah, I was drawn to a lecture by Rabbi Elie Kaunfer, president and CEO of Yeshivat Hadar in New York City. The title of the lecture was “God as King: Engaging a Subversive Metaphor.” Rabbi Kaunfer is an excellent teacher, and in the past his perspective has deepened my understanding of and relationship with Jewish liturgy. I was hoping his lecture would help me prepare for High Holiday services and provide insight to make the metaphor of God as king more meaningful.

Rabbi Kaunfer points out that Jews can’t really avoid the image of God as king. Not only is it central to the Rosh Hashanah liturgy, but it appears extensively in psalms, Jewish prayers and blessings, and even the Shema. The words of the Shema and the paragraphs that follow them are taken directly from the Torah, but inserted after the declaration that “God is one,” are the words: Baruch shem kavod malchuto l’olam va’ed — blessed is the name of God’s glorious kingdom, forever and ever.

The ancient rabbis went so far as to say that any blessing that does not include God’s kingship is not a blessing. I remember being surprised to discover this statement in the Talmud. Most of us recite blessings over candles, wine, and challah by rote, without thinking too much about the words. But every blessing begins with Baruch atah adonai, eloheinu melekh ha’olam — blessed are you, our God, king of the universe.

Rabbi Kaunfer suggests that since we cannot escape the metaphor of God as king, we should try to understand what it means, or at least what it meant to the sages who created our liturgy. They lived in a time when everyone was subject to an earthly ruler. But even in our time, Rabbi Kaunfer believes, we are always subject to some form of authority that represents a system of values. He proposes that God’s kingship is subversive because God is the opposite of a human king. He brings in several texts from Rashi and midrash to illustrate how God is different from kings of flesh and blood.

Rabbi Kaunfer rejects the choice between “God as king” and “no king.” If we accept that there is always a yoke around our necks, then the choice is either to accept the yoke of the kingdom of heaven that represents the values of the Torah or the yoke of a king of flesh and blood with inferior values.

Rabbi Kaunfer does not mention this, but we have an example in the Hebrew Bible of what happens when we choose kings of flesh and blood. In the Book of Samuel, the Israelites demand a king. The prophet Samuel is indignant. Why do they need a king when they have God? He tries to warn them of the dangers of submitting to an earthly king. And, of course, he’s right. The Books of Kings are filled with examples of flawed rulers who turn away from God’s ways. Even our heroic King David succumbs to temptation by taking another man’s wife, and then sending the husband to be killed in battle.

In our own time as well, we are witnessing how someone who admires kings can abuse the power of a democratically elected leader.

I thought about all of this during services last Tuesday and Wednesday, and I was delighted when our synagogue’s lovely new rabbi led a discussion based on the texts from Rabbi Kaunfer’s lecture. I also noted how translations in our prayer book attempt to soften the metaphor by using the words “sovereign” instead of “king,” and “realm” instead of “kingdom.”

But none of this could overcome my resistance to God as king. I understand the need for metaphors because God is beyond human understanding. But I have struggled all my life to overcome the concept of God as personified and male. When I led congregations, I insisted that we include a prayer that replaces avinu malkeinu/our father, our king with shechina imeinu/the feminine aspect of God, our mother. The prayer provides a counterweight to God as father and king, but it does not solve the problem of limiting how we conceive of God.

The Reconstructionist machzor includes a poem by Ruth Brin that comes close to expressing what I feel.

When men were children, they thought of God as a father;
When men were slaves, they thought of God as a master;
When men were subjects, they thought of God as king.
But I am a woman, not slave, not a subject,
Not a child who longs for God as father or mother.
I might imagine God as teacher or friend, but those images
like king, master, father or mother, are too small for me now.
God is the force of motion and light in the universe;
God is the strength of life on our planet;
God is the power moving us to do good;
God is the source of love springing up in us.
God is far beyond what we can comprehend.

Not only at Rosh Hashanah, but throughout the year, we cannot escape the image of God as king without changing our liturgy and traditions beyond recognition. For that reason, I appreciate Rabbi Kaunfer’s attempt to subvert the metaphor. Surely, a divine king who represents compassion, mercy, and justice is better than a petty human tyrant. And there is power in reciting words that connect us with Jews throughout the world and throughout the generations.

But even as I recite the words, I keep in mind that no matter how powerful and magnificent a king may be, no matter how admirable the values that king represents, the metaphor is still too small for God. I believe in a God that encompasses and expresses so much more — all of human experience, all of the physical universe, and far, far beyond what we can imagine.

I believe there is a choice between “God as king” and “no king.” I choose “no king.” I choose God’s infinite majesty and mystery.

Rabbi Hannah Orden lives in Summit and is rabbi emeritus of Congregation Beth Hatikvah there. She is a past president of the Summit Interfaith Council.