Category Archives: Divrei Torah

There are No Spiritual Shortcuts – Parashat Nitzavim

13 Thursday Sep 2012

Posted by in Divrei Torah, Holidays, Inuyim - Prayer reflections and ruminations, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life

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Rabbi Joshua ben Hananiah said, “No one ever got the better of me, except for one woman, one boy and one girl.” (Talmud Bavli, Eruvim 53b)

He met the boy at a crossroads and asked him how to get to a certain town. The boy pointed to two paths and said, “This is the ‘long and short way,’ (derech arukah u-k’tzarah) and this is the ‘short and long way.’”

Wishing to arrive as quickly as possible, Rabbi Joshua chose the “short and long way” but soon discovered that though that path seemed at the outset to be the shorter route, he couldn’t actually reach the city because the path was obstructed by orchards and gardens. And so, he was forced to retrace his steps and take the other path, the “long and short way.”

This path seemed, at the outset, to be a much longer, more winding and difficult path, but ultimately it turned out to be the surer way between the two to reach his destination.

What’s the meaning of this Talmudic tale? Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liada, known as the Alter Rebbe (i.e. the “Old Rebbe”), taught in the opening pages of  The Tanya (see Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz’s commentary Opening the Tanya, pps. 8-9) that in serving God we have to take the “long and short way” not the “short and long way” because there are no reliable spiritual shortcuts in our effort to come close to God.

Even so, the “long way” doesn’t promise us immediate spiritual elevation either because true spiritual ascent depends on the right preparation and training just as any physical feat requires training.

The Alter Rebbe taught that “the long and short way” can bring great enhancement of our mental and spiritual awareness. But he emphasized that effective spiritual ascent must start from the bottom and move up and does not come as a result of inspiration coming to us from above.

The story of “the long and short way” and the Alter Rebbe’s approach to spiritual growth is based on his understanding of a key verse in the book of Deuteronomy upon which he based The Tanya. We read the verse in this week’s Torah portion Nitzavim. Many Reform congregations read it also on the morning of Yom Kippur.

The key verse: Ki ka-rov elecha ha-davar m’od b’ficha u-vil’vav’cha la-a-soto (“The word is very near to you, in your mouth, and in your heart, that you may do it.” – Deuteronomy 30:14)

The goal of these High Holidays is to come close to God. Rebbe Yehiel Mikhal of Zlotchov said that our aim is to literally lose ourselves in the divine All like “a drop that has fallen into the great sea and…is one with the waters of the sea and … no longer a separate thing at all.”

It is “the long and short way” that will lead us there because the long way requires us to confront the mind that throws up obstacles such as doubt, excessive intellectualizing and the distractions of the material world (i.e. the orchards and gardens that Rabbi Joshua encountered). The short way is the way of faith that comes only after we successfully work through and around the obstacles in our way.

Only when we become aware of the deep spiritual connection we have naturally to the Creator by virtue of having been fashioned B’tzelem Elohim (“in the Divine Image”) do we discover our true selves linked by soul (i.e. n’shamah) as a reflection of God.

May the beginning of the New Year be one of transcendence and rediscovery for you and your dear ones.

Shabbat shalom!

“Ayeka? Where are You?” A D’var Torah for Parashat Shoftim

24 Friday Aug 2012

Posted by in Divrei Torah, Health and Well-Being, Inuyim - Prayer reflections and ruminations, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life, Stories

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This story is told by Howard Schwartz who based it on the tale by Zevulon Qort from Ben Zion Asherov of Afghanistan (I have edited his original telling):

“There was once a Jew who went out into the world to fulfill the Biblical commandment – Tzedek tzedek tirdof [Deut. 26:20] – ‘Justice, justice shall you pursue.’ 

Many years passed until the man had explored the entire known world except for one last, great forest. He entered the forest and came upon a cave of thieves who mocked him, saying: ‘Do you expect to find justice here?’ Then he went into the huts of witches, and they too laughed at him: ‘Do you expect to find justice here?’

At last he arrived at a fragile clay hut, and through the window he saw many flickering flames and wondered why they were burning. He knocked on the door, but there was no answer. Then he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

As soon as he entered, he realized that the hut was much larger than it had appeared from the outside. He saw hundreds of shelves and on every shelf there were dozens of oil candles.  Some of the candles were sitting in holders of gold, silver, or marble, and some were in cheap holders of clay or tin. Some were filled with oil with straight wicks and bright burning flames. Others had little oil left and were about to sputter out.

An old man in a white robe and white beard stood before him, and said: ‘Shalom Aleichem, my son. How can I help you?’ And the Jew said: “Aleichem shalom. I have gone everywhere, searching for justice but never have I seen anything like this. Tell me, what are all these candles?”

The old man said: “Each is the candle of a person’s soul.” As it says in Proverbs 20:27 – Ner Yah nishmat Adam – ‘The candle of God is the human soul.’ As long as that person remains alive the candle burns; but, when the person’s soul takes leave of this world, the candle burns out.’

The Jew who sought justice said: ‘Can you show me the candle of my soul?’ And the old man said: ‘Follow me.’

He led the Jew through that labyrinth of a cottage. At last they reached a low shelf, and there the old man pointed to a candle in a clay holder and said, ‘That is the candle of your soul.’

A great fear fell upon him for its wick was very short with little oil remaining. Was it possible for the end to be so near without his knowing it? Then he noticed the candle next to his own full of oil, long and straight, its flame burning brightly.

‘Whose candle is that?’ he asked.

‘I can only reveal each person’s candle to him or herself alone,’ the old man said, and he turned and left.

The Jew stood there staring at his candle, then heard a sputtering sound, and when he looked up, he saw smoke rising from another shelf, and he knew that somewhere someone was no longer among the living. He looked back at his own candle, then he turned to the candle next to his own, so full of oil, and a terrible thought entered his mind.

He searched for the old man, but didn’t see him. Then he lifted the candle next to his own and held it above his own, and all at once the old man appeared, gripped powerfully his arm, and said: ‘Is THIS the kind of justice you seek?’

The Jew closed his eyes from the pain caused by the old man’s iron grip, and when he opened them the old man was gone, the cottage and candles had disappeared, and he stood alone in the forest, and heard the trees whispering his fate.”

This story is not just about justice but about who we are, what we believe and how we behave. Indeed, unless we are through and through committed to the highest moral and religious principles of our tradition, we cannot bring about a more just and compassionate world.

The month of Elul that began this past Saturday night brings each of us into a great forest of our own. In the Garden of Eden God called to Adam Ayeka (Where are you?). That question is addressed to every Jew, especially now, and we have to respond ourselves, for like Adam, there is no place to hide. What is inside each of our hearts and souls must be a reflection of the deeds we perform, and hopefully they will be based upon compassion and justice.

Shabbat shalom!

Walking and Listening – Parashat Ekev

09 Thursday Aug 2012

Posted by in Beauty in Nature, Divrei Torah, Ethics, Health and Well-Being, Holidays, Inuyim - Prayer reflections and ruminations, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life, Social Justice

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A word can link worlds, as the name of our portion, Ekev, does this week.

V’haya ekev tishm’un – “And if you listen/hear/heed/obey these statutes, observe and do them” (Deuteronomy 7:12) then you will enjoy bounty, security and progeny.

The word ekev here is translated “if,” and it appears instead of the more common Hebrew word im. The word ekev also appears in the stories of the Binding of Isaac (Genesis 22:18) and in the times of famine when our forebears were forced to leave the land of Israel (Genesis 26:1).

Why? What is the significance of this little word?

Ekev has the same Hebrew three-letter root that is in Jacob’s name Yaakov. As Jacob was being born he held the “heel” (an alternative meaning of ekev) of his brother Esau.

Rashi says that ekev in our verse refers to “light mitzvot” that a person “tramples with his heels.”  Rabbi Robert Rhodes has written that “The promise of divine bounty depends on how we use the underside of the foot and what we crush underneath. God is listening to the noise our feet make as they step on the little things that seem unimportant but are the real stuff of life – commandments that appear to be of little value and principles of ethics [that] people [commonly] violate.”

Rabbi Michael Curasik noted this very week on his on-line “Torah Talk” that the heel (ekev) relates to “turning” because the heel turns 90 degrees from the leg, pointing us towards t’shuvah (“turn”, “return”), the Jewish pre-occupation during the High Holiday season that is fast approaching.

Also, in this first verse of our Parashat Ekev appears another key word – tishm’un (meaning, “listen/hear/heed/or obey”).

What is the significance of ekev and tishm’un appearing together?

Of all the five senses, the closest one to revelation is hearing. The people heard God’s voice at Mount Sinai (Exodus 19:16, 18-19). Elijah heard the kol d’mamah dakah (“the still small voice” – 1 K 19:12) on Mount Carmel. We are commanded to “hear” (tishm’un) the statutes (Deuteronomy 7:12).

My wife Barbara and I recently returned from 5 days at Lake Tahoe. Each day we took long walks along mountain paths and through forests.  It was at times so very quiet and serene, and through this quiet we heard so very clearly the singing birds, scampering chipmunks, rustling wind, running streams, and buzzing hornets. We felt physically alive and spiritually high, an easy melding of body and soul, blending the magnificent environment with the unifying metaphysical world.

Rebbe Nachman of Bratslav emphasized the principle of hak’balah (i.e. “parallelism” or “correspondence.” See Anatomy of the Soul, translator Chaim Kramer, publ. Breslov, p. 15); “as above, so below; as below, so above.” In truth all is one – echad! There is no distinction between body and soul.

Making pilgrimage and listening are keys to religious quest. The prophet heard the call and walked in God’s ways.  Mystics wandered through forests and intuited the longings of plants and brush, of trees and flowers, mountains and rocks all reaching out towards their heavenly source.

Not only in such serene settings is spiritual/physical oneness possible. Rabbi Heschel famously prayed with his feet when he marched with Dr. King from Selma to Montgomery. Many of us too have marched for peace and to raise awareness of HIV/AIDS, breast and uterine cancers, and genocide in Rwanda, Darfur, Sudan, and the Congo.

Communion with God happens in many ways, here, in the mountains and in the city streets.

The month of Elul commences in 8 days on Saturday evening, August 18. At that time, ekev, we Jews are called to begin our turning and returning to our true selves, to family and community, to tradition, Torah, faith and God, all for the purpose of infusing holiness into our lives and the world, that we might become, one and all, Godly Jews.

That is the Jewish business! Nothing more and nothing less.

Let our feet walk and let us listen.

Shabbat shalom.

On Choosing Our Leaders – D’var Torah Pinchas

11 Wednesday Jul 2012

Posted by in American Politics and Life, Divrei Torah, Ethics

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Is American Democracy, our tradition of free elections and our advancement as an enlightened society being compromised by big money in politics and an aversion to facts and rational discourse?

I believe it is, and so what constitutes “enlightened leadership” becomes a central question as we anticipate going to the polls in November. Ever the optimist, I believe that good leaders can make a difference.

In their book “A Hidden Light: Stories and Teachings of Early HaBaD and Bratzlav Hasidism,” Rabbi Zalman Schacter-Shalomi and Netanel Miles-Yepez have written:

“If we think in terms of Rupert Sheldrake’s morphogenetic field and Carl Jung’s collective unconscious, we can see how individual shifts in consciousness may have an impact on the greater field of consciousness…as major shifts occur in the thoughts and feelings of individuals or groups of individuals, a ripple-effect is sent through the entire field, causing tiny adjustments and adaptations throughout.” (p. 72)

I mention all this because in this week’s Torah portion Pinchas we learn of the first significant transference of leadership and power in Jewish history. Aaron and Miriam have died, and Moses is fast approaching the end of his life. God singles out Joshua to assume leadership from Moses (Numbers 17:16-18). In verse 16 we read:

“Yifkod YHVH Elohei ruchot l’chol basar ish al ha-eidah – “May YHVH, God of the spirits of all flesh appoint a leader over the community.”

Note that ruchot (spirits) is a plural form, not singular. It is not written Elohei ruach l’chol basar, “God the SPIRIT of all flesh”, rather the “spirits” of all flesh.

The Talmud offers this famous story to explain:

“Rabbi Abba stated in the name of Shmuel: For three years there was a dispute between the School of Shammai and the School of Hillel, Shammai asserting, ‘The law is in agreement with our view,’ and Hillel contending, ‘The law is in agreement with our view.’ Then a bat kol (a heavenly voice) announced, Eilu v’eilu divrei Elohim chayim (‘The utterances of these and those are the words of the living God, but the law is in agreement with the rulings of the School of Hillel.’ Because they [Hillel] were kindly and modest, they studied their own rulings and those of the School of Shammai, and they were even so humble as to mention the opinions of the School of Shammai before their own.” (Talmud, Eruvin 13b)

From this we derive four principle characteristics of the enlightened leader:

[1] Acknowledgment of Diversity of Opinion – No one human being can know the complete Truth, which is why Rabbi Abraham Isaac Cook, in emphasizing the importance of argument and debate among the sages, cited Talmud Berachot 64a, “Rabbi Elazar said in the name of Rabbi Haninah: “Chachamim marbim shalom.” Torah Scholars increase peace in the world.”

[2] The Importance of Kindness and Modesty – The opinions offered by the School of Hillel were followed because Hillel’s disciples (emulating their mentor) strove to personify the virtues of kindness and modesty towards their adversaries thus enabling compromise and the development of consensus for the sake of the common good.

[3] The Endorsement of Tolerance – Rashi comments on Numbers 27:16, saying: “Appoint over them a leader who will be tolerant of everyone, each in accordance with his understanding.”

[4] The Need to Transcend Partisanship –Talmud B’rachot 58a says: “If one sees a gathering of 600,000 Jews or more, [the leader] must recite the blessing – ‘Praised be God, the Wise One of Mysteries.’” (See also Rabbi Shlomo Riskin’s Torah Commentary on Pinchas in this week’s Jerusalem Post – http://www.jpost.com/LandedPages/PrintArticle.aspx?id=180132). We learn from this that it is impossible to truly know God’s will. Anyone who claims such knowledge is not only a false prophet but an idolater guilty of the worst hubris.

In sum, Jewish tradition requires in our leaders knowledge, wisdom, vision, and the virtues of kindness, modesty, open-mindedness, tolerance, and willingness to acknowledge truth coming even from one’s most ardent adversary.

I believe that there are such leaders currently serving in American politics, and many face tough reelection fights because of the enormous  funding of their opponents, many of whom do not possess the knowledge, wisdom, intelligence, experience, vision, or virtues that our tradition requires of our leaders.

As we move towards November, it would do us well to consider what qualifications for high public office Judaism sets as a standard.

Shabbat shalom!

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Model of Jewish Virtue – Abraham and Moses vs. Balaam – Parashat Balak

05 Thursday Jul 2012

Posted by in Divrei Torah, Ethics, Health and Well-Being, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life

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Balaam is hired in this week’s Parashat Balak by the Moabite King Balak to curse Israel as they traverse his territory, but Balaam blesses Israel instead with famous words now included in the morning liturgy: Mah tovu ohalecha Yaakov, Mishkenotecha Yisrael… “How good are your tents O Jacob, your dwellings O Israel…” (Numbers 24:5).

Balaam is the first non-Hebrew prophet so designated in Torah. However, Jewish tradition regards him very differently than the Hebrew prophets. In the 2nd century ethical treatise of the Mishnah, Pirkei Avot (5:22) Balaam’s negative qualities are juxtaposed against the virtues of Abraham thereby presenting the Jewish people with a choice – to go the way of Abraham or the way of Balaam:

“Whoever has the following three traits is among the disciples of our ancestor, Abraham, and whoever has three different traits is among the disciples of the wicked Balaam. Those who have a good eye (ayin tovah), a humble spirit (ru-ach n’mu-cha), and an undemanding soul (nefesh sh’pha-lah) are the disciples of our father Abraham. Those who have an evil eye (ayin ra-ah), an arrogant spirit (ru-ach g’vohah), and a greedy soul (nefesh r’cha-vah) are the disciples of the wicked Balaam.”

The Artscroll commentary on this text compiles many rabbinic reflections on the meaning and application of this passage (pages 361-367).

Rashi says that those with a “good eye” (ayin tovah) do not suffer from jealousy, and regard the honor of a friend as equal to their own honor. Rambam and Rav say that such people are satisfied with their own position and take delight in the success of others. The Sfat Emet says that these people so graced have a positive outlook on all things and begrudge others nothing.

Most commentators agree that a “humble spirit” (ru-ach n’mu-cha) refers to exceptionally humble and modest people in their relationships with God and their fellows.

The sages interpret an “undemanding soul” (nefesh sh’pha-lah) as referring to those who have mastered their “evil inclination” (yetzer), exercise self-control over their urges, lusts and desires, and eschew the accumulation of excessive luxuries.

The commentators then turn to the negative qualities of Balaam, the opposite of Abraham. Rambam understands that those with an “evil eye” (ayin ra-ah) are consumed by their appetite for wealth, by blinding jealousy and by resentment towards anyone who has attained success.

Those with an “arrogant spirit” (ru-ach g’vo-hah) harbor delusions of grandeur, ignore the beauty and value of others and are consumed with themselves and their own needs.

Those with a “greedy soul” (nefesh r’cha-vah) refers to people willing to stop at nothing to fulfill their needs.

Though Torah tradition regards Balaam as a prophet, he is nothing like Moses. Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev explains:

“The greatest difference between them, visible to all, was that Moses during all of his life employed his gift of prophecy beneficially at all times. He put his own life at risk on behalf of his people many times when trying to save them from God’s justifiable anger at them. Balaam used his gift exactly in the opposite manner, as his accomplishments were achieved by invoking curses… The Ari z’l (Rabbi Isaac Luria) compared the vantage points from which both Moses and Balaam pronounced their respective prophecies. Both of them endeavored to procure the fulfillment of their prophetic announcements from the same lofty source in heaven; alas Balaam used his power destructively, whereas Moses invariably used his power constructively…” (Kedushat Levi, translation by Eliyahu Munk, Vol. 3, p. 668)

In conclusion, our classic sources remind us that Hebrew prophecy is about fulfilling God’s will, not our own, that our chief concern must be for the welfare of others, and that humility before God and our fellows is the purpose and fulfillment of the religious life.

Shabbat shalom!

When Anger Overtakes Us – D’var Torah Hukat

29 Friday Jun 2012

Posted by in Divrei Torah, Ethics, Health and Well-Being

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Recall the last time you became really angry, blindingly, uncontrollably angry, so filled with rage that you couldn’t think straight.

What did you do about it? Did you act out or say anything? When you calmed down did you feel justified in what you’d felt and satisfied in having said or done what you did? Was there a positive result to whatever you said or did, that is, did the relationship get stronger and better, or did your relationship with the person with whom you were angry deteriorate?

I ask these questions because this week’s Torah portion tells of an incident in Moses’ life when his anger had serious consequences for him and the people of Israel. The incident took place following the death of his sister Miriam, when he and his brother Aaron were still in mourning. The children of Israel had taken the occasion to complain bitterly about having no water. Moses and Aaron appealed to God, and God told Moses to gather the people, speak to a rock, and water would flow thus sating the people’s thirst.

Moses, however, was so overwrought with grief and was so aggravated at the people’s incessant complaining that instead of speaking to the rock he struck it twice with his rod. Water gushed out, as God had promised, but God was incensed by Moses’ defiance and punished him harshly:

“Because you did not trust Me enough to affirm My sanctity in the sight of the Israelite people, you shall not lead this congregation into the land that I have given them.” (Numbers 20:12)

To deny Moses the privilege of entering the Promised Land was devastating to a man who had dedicated his life to God and the people; and we ask what sin could hold such a consequence?

The rabbis offer a number of ideas. Maimonides said that Moses’ bitter language did not become his position as leader. The Talmud says that Moses lacked sufficient faith. Nahmanides thought that Moses showed hubris when he accepted credit for providing water in God’s place. And Rashi said that Moses lost his temper.

I want to focus on Rashi’s interpretation. Isn’t rage part of being human? After all, we all get angry.

There are many contemporary parallels to Moses’ fury. One is “road rage” when a driver becomes so infuriated at another driver that he seeks vengeance. The National Highway Traffic Safety Administration has estimated that “road rage” is a factor in 28,000 highway deaths every year.

Studies of the approximately 16,000 murders annually in America reveal that a majority are committed by people who know personally the victim thus defining it as a crime of passion.

Of course, not all anger results in violent acts. Language is a powerful weapon when used skillfully against our adversaries. The old saying “sticks and stones may break my bones but names will never hurt me” is wrong. What we say and how we say it can do serious damage.

There are times, of course, when anger is justified, such as against those who misuse their talents for evil ends, in the face of ingratitude, lies, slander, theft, mistreatment of the poor, cruelty, and false claims in God’s Name. (see A Code of Jewish Ethics, volume 1, by Rabbi Joseph Telushkin, pages 258-262).

Besides righteous indignation, the tongue can exact serious damage to marriages, friendships, and relationships between co-workers, as well as inspire fear in the home, work and school settings.

Holding onto our anger also has a terrible effect. Mark Twain said that “anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured.”

If we follow Rashi’s interpretation, despite his strength as a leader, prophet, liberator, legislator, judge, and military chieftain, Moses lost the promise because he could not control his rage.

Tradition asks what constitutes real strength: Eizeh hu gibor? – Who is strong? Hakovesh et yitzro – Not the one who has physical strength, public or familial power, but “the one who controls his/her passions.” (Mishnah, Pirkei Avot 4:1) The Vilna Gaon understood the term yitzro as “his anger.”

In this sense, Moses showed a core weakness when he lost his temper before the people. If Moses was so capable of losing control, then so much the more so that each of us needs to check our rage when ever it shows itself, be it on the highway, within the home, among friends, at work, and before strangers. If we are able to do so, we and everyone around us will be the better for it.

Shabbat shalom!

The Nazirite Quest – D’var Torah Parashat Naso

31 Thursday May 2012

Posted by in Divrei Torah, Inuyim - Prayer reflections and ruminations, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life, Poetry

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The Torah portion this week, Naso (Numbers 4:21-7:89) presents us with the strange and pure commitment of the Nazir, a Hebrew word meaning “consecrated” or “separated” from the community.

The most famous Nazirite in history was the Biblical Samson, arguably the most physically powerful figure in the Hebrew Bible. His hair was illumined by a thousand suns, and his strength was drawn from his direct spiritual connection with God.

The Nazir could be a man or a woman who voluntarily undertook the self-disciplined and self-denying life. The Nazir was forbidden to cut his/her hair, drink wine or have contact with the dead.

Each year at this time when the Nazir presents itself in our weekly Torah readings I find myself fascinated by his/her commitment and motivations of heart, mind, body, and soul. Here are my poetic musings on such a life.

———————————-

That chasm just doesn’t go away, / The yawning gap between You and me, / Between Your infinity and my infirmity.

We seekers yearn to know You and be near, / To breach the darkness / And merge into Your Light.

We’ll consider any way to You. / And some will do any thing, / Follow any one, / Even dip their burning toes into any pool / Or enter any lion’s den, / If they believe Your promise is their reward.

We seekers call You by many names – / Yahweh, Jehovah, Jesus Christ, Vishnu, Buddha, Allah.

We Jews have had our ecstatic prophets / And mystic souls, / Lured by otherworldliness, / The ain sof of being-less-ness.

We are infinity-seeking, / Soul-yearning, / Paradise-praying, / Chariot-riding, / Angelic-praising, / Spirit-winged-flapping-souls!

Some suffer mightily in their quest, / Their hearts quartered and bleeding, / Flesh crawling and yearning, / Never sated, / Never resting, / Never still.

‘O Ecstasy,’ they cry, / ‘To be any thing but me!/ To be any where but here! / To be one with You, / That is my quest / My life’s yearning / My soul’s delight!’

Eternal One – / Is this the thing? / Is this what You ask of me? / Of us all?

If so, how do we come near? / Is not performing the mitzvot enough? / Or should we become Holy offerings, / Given-over, burned and denied / Turned into ash before You? / Must we wait for death/ When our souls are released / And they return to You / To know You truly?

For me, here and now – / I demur. / Your Torah must be enough. / Its letters and words, / They are beautiful in my eyes, / Graceful upon my lips, / Life-giving within my breath / The inspiration of my love.

Yes, this must be enough! / As for other seekers, / Those who wish / Can have the life of the Nazir.

 

 

 

Who Are You? D’var Torah Bemidbar

24 Thursday May 2012

Posted by in Divrei Torah, Health and Well-Being, Holidays, Life Cycle, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life

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Mi at – “Who are you?” (Ruth 3:9) – So asked Boaz. It is a question that every human being asks from time to time. Especially on this weekend of Shavuot, of the great meeting between Israel and God on the mountain, we ask ourselves individually and as a community – “Who am I/Who are we” in this time and place, at this stage of our lives, as individuals, as a people, and as a nation.

This Shabbat we begin the fourth book of the five books of Moses, Bemidbar (Numbers; lit. “in the wilderness”). If the Book of Genesis is about human and tribal origins and beginnings (mirroring childhood), and Exodus is about human freedom (representing the driving force amongst adolescents), and Leviticus is about the need to adjust to the rules and regulations imposed on society in order to live productively (characteristic of young adulthood), then Bemidbar is about the mid-life journey.

In this fourth book we see that the bloom is off the marriage between God and Israel. Doubt, disillusionment and struggle define our people’s lives. We rebel. Our faith is broken. We want to be somewhere else, anywhere else if it brings relief and renewal. We confront our limitations and mortality. We wonder if this is all there is. We’re caught in the unfettered and cruel desert, a vast wilderness of silence. Our hearts pound. The quiet thunders in our ears. We’re alone and afraid. We yearn for safety and solace.

The wilderness of Sinai is far more than a physical location. Bemidbar is a human wasteland, where everything falls apart. We wander, without a shared vision, without shared values, or shared words. Leaders of every kind attempt to lead, but no one is listening and each is marching to the sound of his/her own drummer. Driven by fear and jealousy, ego and greed, the people are moved by basic things; hunger, thirst and lust. God’s transcendence is elusive. The book is noisy, frustrating and painful.

Rabbi Eddie Feinstein has written (“The Wilderness Speaks”, The Modern Men’s Torah Commentary, pps. 202-203):

“Bemidbar may be the world’s strongest counterrevolutionary tract. It is a rebuke to all those who believe in the one cataclysmic event that will forever free humans from their chains. It is a response to those who foresee that out of the apocalypse of political or economic revolution will emerge the New Man, or the New American, or the New Jew. Here is the very people who stood in the very presence of God at Sinai…who heard Truth from the mouth of God…and still, they are unchanged, unrepentant, chained to their fears. The dream is beyond them. God offers them freedom, and they clamor for meat…”

L’havdil – I am not Moses, nor has my experience been his remotely, yet as a congregational rabbi I understand our greatest leader’s burden of leadership. In the course of Bemidbar “everyone in [Moses’] life will betray him. Miriam and Aaron –  his family members – betray him, murmuring against him. His tribe rebels against him… his people betray him in the incident of the ten spies… and finally, even God betrays him [when he hit the rock and lost his dream of ever entering the Promised Land].” (Ibid)

Numbers is a book about burdens, not blessings.

“Everyone has found himself in that excruciating moment when words don’t work – when we try and say the right thing, to heal and to help, but each word brings more hurt. Everyone has tasted the bitterness of betrayal – when no one stands with us, when those who should know better stand against us. Everyone has felt the deep disappointment of the dream turned sour. It could have been so good! I should have turned out so differently! Where did I go wrong? Everyone has tortured himself with the torment Moses feels in Bemidbar. And that’s the ultimate lesson. Listen to the Torah’s wisdom: the agony, the self-doubt, the frustration are part of the journey through the wilderness. Anyone who has ever worn Moses’ shoes or carried his staff – knows the anguish of Bemidbar. But know this, too: You’re not alone. You’re not the first. You’re not singled out. And most of all, you’re not finished. The torturous route through the wilderness does not come to an end. There was hope for Moses. There is hope for us.” (Ibid)

Where does hope come? In the turning of the heart, the turning of a page, the discovery of shared values and shared purpose, of shared life, and shared listening, and shared doing. In Deuteronomy, the fifth and last of the five books of Moses (representing our senior years when we begin to integrate who we are and rediscover our greater purpose), we’ll hear Sh’ma Yisrael – Listen O Israel.

In Devarim (Deuteronomy), “words” return and we’re able to share as a people in listening to God’s voice and to each other. In this, there is hope yet to come.

Shabbat shalom.    

Humility – The Prerequisite to Holiness – D’var Torah – Parashat Emor

11 Friday May 2012

Posted by in Divrei Torah, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life

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Last week’s Torah portion K’doshim (Leviticus 19) and this week’s Emor (Leviticus 21-25) each, in different ways, addresses the prerequisite attitude necessary for the fulfillment of the tasks assigned to the Kohanim (Priests) in their service before God on behalf of the Israelites. Though our Jewish world is fundamentally different from that led by the Kohanim two thousand years ago, Leviticus and subsequent Jewish literature inform us of the necessary spiritual orientation for us to live “holy” lives.

In last week’s portion we read K’doshim tihiyu ki kadosh Ani YHVH Eloheichem (“You shall be holy because I, Adonai your God, am holy.”).

Rabbi Abraham Heschel explains: “One of the most distinguished words in the Bible is the word kadosh, holy; a word which more than any other is representative of the mystery and majesty of the Divine…[holiness] was at the beginning of creation when there was but one holiness in the world, holiness in time. When at Sinai the word of God was about to be voiced a call for holiness in humankind was proclaimed: ‘Thou shalt be unto me a holy people.’”

The question begs for an answer – what do we need to know about living lives based in holiness? Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev offered that we begin with humility and from there everything else flows. It is written in Proverbs 22:4:  Ekev anavah yirat Adonai osher v’chavod v’chayim – “The reward of humility is yirat Adonai (i.e. “Fear/reverence/awe of the Lord even more than the attainment of riches, honor and life itself.”).

Rabbi Akavya ben Mahalalel famously taught along these same lines far earlier (1st century BCE) that our relationship with the Divine is dependent upon three things: “Know from whence you came, where you are going, and before Whom you are bound to give account and reckoning. ‘From whence you came’ – from a putrid drop; ‘where you are going’ – to a place of dust, worm and maggot; and ‘before Whom you are to give account and reckoning’ – before the King of kings, the Holy One, Praised be God.” (Pirkei Avot 3:1)

The crass formulation is deliberate. Humility begins in our base recognition of the yawning chasm between our lowly creatureliness and God’s exalted Divinity. Levi Yitzhak reminds us that so often we humans, when striving to evaluate ourselves and be self-critical, are tempted to look at our achievements first. Rather, he said, it should be the opposite because though we may feel rightly proud of our accomplishments pride is the greatest threat to holiness. If our self-esteem is lifted because of our achievements, it isn’t really self-esteem that is enhanced, it is ego-enhancement.

The Chassidic tradition urges us to suppress our egos at all times in acts of bitul hayesh (lit. “denial of ‘isness’”) and to strive for yihud, becoming one with God and losing ourselves in the Divine Self because only in this way are our souls able to experience true spiritual uplift. Everything else is false. Pride, ego, self-satisfaction might afford us a temporary good feeling, but such sensation is always short-lived and illusory in the face of the greater Divine reality.

According to the Tanya (18th century), a tzadik gamur (“a completely righteous soul”) is in essence the most humble of souls. The tzadik is aware that there are two levels of yirat Adonai (“fear of God”). One is yirat ha-onesh, fear of punishment, and the other, the higher one, is yirat ha-ro-m’mut (“the awe of the overwhelming superiority of the Creator.”).

Moses was the latter, and the mystical literature explains that he was so because more than any other human being he was able to concentrate on the ain sof (the infinite God). He became what is called in Torah an ish Elohim (“a Godly man” – Deuteronomy 33:1), and he was known as ish anav m’od mi kol ha-adam al p’nei ha-adamah (“the most humble human being ever to walk upon the face of the earth!” Numbers 12:3).

One concluding thought about the tzadik and the effect of his/her achieving the quality of humility – such a person on Yom Kippur is afraid not of God’s punishing wrath for sins committed during the year, but rather of God’s loving-mercy, because the tzadik understands that if God judged him with rachamim (“compassion”) that is a sure sign that he had failed his Divine parent. The very last thing the tzadik wishes is to fail in service to God.

That is humility – that is love – that is selflessness – that is the nullification of ego and the submission of pride – and the degree to which we grow in true humility is the measure of the elevation of our souls.

Shabbat shalom!

The Soul’s Yearning to be Near God – D’var Torah Parashat Sh’mini

19 Thursday Apr 2012

Posted by in Divrei Torah, Inuyim - Prayer reflections and ruminations, Life Cycle, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life

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Our sages debate the nature of the sin that was so grave that Nadav and Avihu, Aaron’s sons, died after they offered alien fire before God. The text says of their fate Vatetze esh mi lifnei Adonai va-tochal otam vayamutu – “And fire came forth from God and consumed them, and thus they died.” (Leviticus 10:2)

Some commentators conclude that Nadav and Avihu were guilty of excessive drinking, arrogance and disrespect of their High Priest father when they offered a sacrifice in the holy precinct in his place, based on juxtaposition of events and midrashic thinking.

Others, however, assert that Nadav’s and Avihu’s sin wasn’t a sin at all. Their death, they say, came as a consequence of  their excessive passion for God (Hitlahavut) and of their yearning for unification with the Holy One and annulment of their individual selves into the greater Divine Self (Yihud – Bitul Hayeish).

These commentators based their view on their reading of Leviticus 16:1 describing the scene after the fact; Vayidaber Adonai el Moshe acharei mot sh’nei b’nei Aharon b’karvatam lifnei Adonai vayamutu (“The Lord spoke to Moses after the death of the two sons of Aaron who died when they drew too close to the presence of YHVH.”)

Noting the difference between the verbal Hif’il causative form b’hakrivam (“when they brought close their offering”) as opposed to the Pa’al activist form b’karvatam (“when they came too close”) Rabbi Isaiah Horowitz (Prague – 17th century) emphasized that it was not that they brought an unauthorized sacrifice that sealed their fate, but rather, that they themselves entered into the holy inner precinct where God’s Presence “dwelt” and no Israelite except the High Priest Aaron was permitted to step foot.

Corroborating this view, Rabbi Abraham Saba, who fled Cordoba during the years of the Spanish Inquisition, and who in that tragic period in Jewish history suffered the loss of two of his own sons, said that Nadav and Avihu’s plight was similar to that of Rabbi Ben Azzai, one of the four Talmudic sages who entered into the garden of mystical speculation (Talmud, Hagigah 14b). In that famous legend it’s written that “Ben Azzai looked and died” because in coming too close to God’s fiery Presence, he was spiritually unprepared and perished.

Rabbi Horowitz is quick to say, however, that the souls of Nadav and Avihu (and by extension Ben Azzai) were not destroyed nor denied a place in Eternity; only that their souls and their bodies separated, as occurs at death.

For me, I prefer the view that Nadav’s and Avihu’s deaths were not caused by their sin, but by their soul’s yearning to be close to God. Their fatal flaw was in their naivete about the consequences. The inner sanctum is a place of great danger to any mortal being, which is why God warned Moses Lo tuchal lirot et panai ki lo yirani ha-adam va-chai – “You cannot see My face, for the human being may not see Me and live.” (Exodus 33:20)

Back to Aaron. His response following his sons’ deaths was as any parent who suffers the loss of a child.  Vayidom Aharon – “And Aaron was silent.” (Leviticus 10:1-3). The sense of the Hebrew connotes an especially devastating silence. Vayidom is more than mere quiet and passive speechlessness, so says Professor Andre Neher (France, 20th century), who described Aaron’s silence as total “petrification.”

Moses, however, did not understand. He said to Aaron, allegedly quoting God, that “through those near to Me I show Myself holy.” We have to ask, what kind of a message of consolation is this to a man who just lost his children?

For the first time Aaron rejects Moses’ explanation. Dr. Neher explained this way: “We can accept God’s silence, but not that other people should speak in God’s place.” Not even Moses. In other words, avoid theological justifications for God when tragedy strikes.

For consolation Aaron turned away from his brother and directly to God because Moses didn’t understand Aaron’s suffering.

Rashi says that soon thereafter Moses “admitted his mistake and [to his credit] was not ashamed to say, ‘I didn’t know.’” The midrash elaborated emphasizing Moses’ humility and contrition, saying that  “Moses issued a proclamation throughout the camp and said: I misinterpreted the law and my brother Aaron came to put it right.”

Despite Moses’ exalted position in Judaism, tradition ascribes to Aaron, the man who knew grief, to be the one who would set the laws of mourning for generations to come.

Among the most important mitzvot listed in the Talmud is Mitzvah b’shtika – The mitzvah of mourning and visiting mourners is silence mirroring the response of Aaron himself.

Shabbat Shalom.