I was walking my dog the other evening and looked up to see a beautiful crescent moon. That’s not surprising because it’s the beginning of the month of Nissan, and Jewish months always begin with a new moon.

What surprised me is that it was eerily reminiscent of the crescent sun I saw on Monday through my eclipse glasses. The same crescent, but also completely different. 

Perspective matters. We see things and believe that we understand, that we are seeing clearly and completely. That’s seldom the case. We see from a particular angle, at a certain moment in time and space. At another time the exact same thing can seem quite different. 

This “moment in time” concept is why I believe that Judaism is and must remain a living religion, one that is flexible enough to adapt to change without losing its moral center.

An example that arose this week: I was reading about the eclipse, and came upon a long discussion about what blessing a person should say on experiencing an eclipse. I’ll admit that this hadn’t occurred to me; I assumed that Shechecheyanu would be sufficient: “Blessed are You, Adonai our God, Sovereign of all, who has kept us alive, sustained us, and brought us to this moment.” A nice, all-purpose prayer for a good experience that happens only occasionally.

Of course, there are people who wrote special prayers, which I didn’t pay much attention to. What I didn’t expect to find is that many Orthodox people refused to say a prayer at all, and there are those who avoided the eclipse entirely. Why? Because a long time ago, when humans didn’t know much about astronomy, an eclipse was considered a bad omen. 

Thinking of it as a bad omen today seems to me to be silly.

Like most of you, I was pretty delighted by the whole thing. I happened to be in Atlanta, which experienced 90% coverage of the sun, and it was beautiful. I’d been given a pair of special glasses, and was so happy that I loaned them to a panhandler on the street while I dug out a dollar to give him.

He too was delighted, as were the cops at the airport with whom I shared my glasses. In fact, there were a bunch of people walking around Hartsfield Airport and sharing their glasses with strangers.

In light of the two crescents I experienced this week, I want to talk for a moment about this week’s Torah portion, called Tazria. It is mainly about skin problems, all kinds of which the Torah lumps together and calls tzara’at, which is incorrectly translated as leprosy.

When a member of the community had a rash or other irksome skin issue, they went to Aaron or another of the priests, who diagnosed the problem, and if necessary, sent the person to be isolated outside the camp for seven days. After seven days the priest would again examine the person, and either invite them back into the camp or ask them to stay away for another seven days.

The priests did not behave as physicians, nor did they treat the problem; they simply observed it and when necessary told the person to isolate themselves. 

At these moments, we see the priests in a completely different light, fulfilling another important role in the community, far beyond their public job of handling sacrifices. Think about it. You usually see the priest dressed in magnificent robes, presiding over the ritual sacrifices in a sacred space. But now you go to the priest with a problem that might be on a private part of your body. You’re itchy, uncomfortable, worried, and maybe embarrassed. 

Meeting with the priest gives you a chance to speak in private, to confide in someone and lean on them for advice. The priest’s job is to help you deal with your problem, and if you need to be isolated, to visit you and help you reintegrate into the community as soon as possible.

Unlike the public moments of the sacrifices, this is an intimate, personal relationship. It requires trust on one side and compassion on the other. It presupposes that the priest is there to serve the people on a deep interpersonal level, beyond the public ritual of helping people commune with God through their sacrifices.

And it did something else too. It forced the priests to come down to the same level as everyone else. They no longer could hide behind their priestly duties, which placed them squarely between the people and God. They were revealed as human, probably flawed, just like everyone else.

It is an important reminder for anyone in a position of authority. Having a job that raises you above others does not make you better. It does not give you license to believe that you are above the law. It is just a role that a person fulfills, no more and no less. The more human and humble a leader is, the more humane they will be.

May we be blessed with leaders who remember their humanity, and may we, the “little people,” have the courage and conviction to remind them when they forget. It’s always possible — after all, Monday’s celestial event was the tiny moon blocking out the sun.