28 Friday Dec 2012
From my friend, Mike Rogoff (Israeli guide and translator)
Ancient Wisdom – “If you are depressed, you are living in the past. / If you are anxious, you are living in the future. / If you are at peace, you are living in the present.” (Lao Tzu -aka Laozi- 5th century BCE)
Israeli Truth – “If you are at peace, you are living in the past. / If you are anxious, you are living in the present. / If you are depressed, you are living in the future.” (Mike Rogoff, 2012)
15 Thursday Nov 2012
Posted in Israel and Palestine, Israel/Zionism, Jewish History, Poetry
Anyone who has visited Sderot in the south near the Gaza border must appreciate why Israel cannot tolerate the hundreds and thousands of missiles launched indiscriminately by Hamas from Gaza on Israeli cities and settlements.
The Israeli targeted killing this week of Ahmad Jabari, the mastermind of the Gilad Shalit kidnapping and a terrorist responsible for the murder of hundreds, if not thousands of innocent Israelis, is justifiable. Any progressive Jew should be supportive of Israel’s right to defend itself against Hamas bombs. No nation in the world would do otherwise.
Having said this, understanding context and the risk of unintended consequences is important. Though it is nothing new that Hamas is a sworn enemy of the State of Israel and the Jewish people, the political fall-out for Israel from this operation and anything yet to come from a possible invasion is unknown and cannot be predicted one way or another.
Israel is in the midst of an election campaign. The PA is preparing to introduce a bill into the UN General Assembly to gain recognition of a “State of Palestine” and already has the votes to get it passed. Prime Minister Netanyahu continues to miss opportunities to work towards a two-state solution, most recently when he ignored President Abbas’ statement that Palestine is the West Bank and Gaza and not Israel. President Obama is refocusing (I would assume) on the Middle East after the American election, and has stated his desire to draw down more quickly, if possible, the number of American troops in Afghanistan. He also understands the need to stabilize Iraq, address ongoing issues relative to the “Arab Spring”, tighten sanctions on Iran, maintain a working and productive relationship with Egypt, and figure out what to do about the deadly civil war in Syria.
Another Israeli-Hamas war, even if justifiable, throws a monkey wrench into the mix.
A popular Israeli song from 1977 written and composed after Anwar Sadat visited Israel (“Yehiyeh Tov” – lyrics: Yonatan Gefen; Music: David Bruza) still expresses the yearnings and dreams of Israeli youth who have born the burden of defending the Jewish state for so long. As we read the unsettling news day in and day out, it is important to remember that at the heart and soul of the Israeli people is a yearning for a better future and peace. I believe the same is true of the Palestinian people.
The melody of Yehiyeh Tov is beautiful and the English translation a pale reflection of the original Hebrew. You can watch and listen to David Bruza sing it here – http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sIphEtttLcA&feature=fvwrel
“I look out the window / and it makes me very sad, / Spring has left; / Who knows when it will return. / The clown has become a king; / The prophet has become a clown; / And I have forgotten the way; / But I am still here.
All will be better, yes – / all will be better. / Sometimes I break / But this night, / O this night / I will stay with you.
Children wear wings / And fly off to the army / And after two years / They return without answers. / People live with stress / Looking for a reason to breathe / And between hatred and murder / They speak about peace.
And all will be better…
Yes, above in the heavens / Clouds learn to fly, / And I look up / And see a hijacked plane. / A government of generals / Divide the landscape, / To what is theirs and ours, / And we know not the end.
And all will be better…
I look out my window – / Maybe it will come, / Maybe it has come, / Yes it has come – / A new day.
Here comes the prince of Egypt. / O how I rejoiced for him. / There are pyramids in our eyes / And peace in his pipe / And we said let’s complete it, / And we’ll live as brothers / And he said let’s go forward. / Just get out of the territories.
And all will be good…
We will yet learn to live together / Between the groves of olive trees; / Children will live without fear / Without borders, without bomb shelters. / On graves grass will grow, / For peace and love, / One hundred years of war / But we have not lost hope.
I look out the window / Perhaps a new day will come.”
David Bruza has been singing this song for 35 years and vows to continue until there is peace.
27 Thursday Sep 2012
So much of Torah is metaphor. Indeed, if we read this classic Jewish text only according to its plane meaning we miss the greater truths and the richer opportunities for understanding and transcendence.
The poetry of Ha-a-zinu (Deuteronomy 32:1-43) is as fine an example of metaphor as there is in Torah. It begins this way:
Ha-a-zinu ha-sha-ma-yim v’a-da-bei-rah / v’tish’ma ha-a-retz im’rei fi: / Ya-a-rof k’ma-tar lik’chi / ti-zal katal im’ra-ti / kis’i-rim alei deshe / v’kir’vi-vim alei esev. (vs 1-2)
“Give ear, O heavens, that I may speak, / hear, O earth, the utterance of my mouth. / Let my teaching drip like rain, / let my words flow like dew, / like droplets on new-growth, / like showers on grass. (Translation by Everett Fox, “The Five Books of Moses,” pps. 1001-1002)
Most sages interpret this verse as “hyperbole for the study of Torah,” that the more Torah we learn the deeper will be our understanding.
“The earth requires heavy rainfall to promote plant growth. Once such plant life exists, relatively small amounts of rain or moisture ensure the ongoing process of vegetation. Matar (“drip like rain”) is the initial precipitation, a downpour. R’vivim (“like showers on grass”) are the minimal amount of moisture required to maintain grass in prime condition. Deshe (“new-growth”) is the initial growth. Esev (“grass”) is the growth when it has matured already.” (Rabbi Moshe ben Chayim Alshich, 1508-1600)
Possibly, the lesson of these verses is that Torah learning is progressive. When we begin to study Torah it appears as if a tremendous input (matar – “drip”) produces relatively little output, (deshe – “new-growth”), that is, we acquire only a coarse primitive knowledge of Torah. But, in the course of time and with the advantage of the infusion of a steady gentle input (r’rivim – “showers”) of learning there will be produced a refined mature output (esev – “grass”) of deeper Torah knowledge.
“The more Torah [we] learn the less burdensome and more rewarding such study appears to the student.” (“Midrash of Rabbi Moshe Alshich,” transl. Eliyahu Munk, vol. 3, page 1132)
Rabbi Simcha Bunim of Przysucha (1765-1827) reflects on the benefits of Torah learning this way:
“The hallowed words of the Torah may be likened to rain. While the rain falls we still cannot see the benefit it brings to the trees, the plants and the soil. It is only later, when the sun shines again, that we can see what the rain has wrought. We find the same to be true with regard to the words of the Law. While they are uttered we still cannot see what they will accomplish on earth, but in the end all will know what they have wrought.” (“Wellsprings of Torah,” Rabbi Alexander Zusia Friedman, p. 432).
People (adults and children alike) often ask what I love so much that I am consistently engaged with learning Torah over many years. I explain that I love the cumulative effect of gaining in Torah knowledge because this kind of learning opens my heart and soul ever-wider thus revealing intuitively to me the wonders of the heavens and the earth on a level that I experience in no other way.
The Hebrew for the revelation of God at Mount Sinai is Matan Torah, the “giving of Torah.”The uniqueness of this “giving” is that it is ongoing. Truths buried within each of our souls are necessarily hidden because of our physical creaturely identity. Only by continuous Torah learning do the deeper truths about who we really are in relationship to God become evident.
One of those truths was inspiringly articulated by the theologian Teilhard de Chardin (1881-1955): “We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are spiritual beings having a human experience.”
In other words, our souls are much greater, much older, and much richer than we realize. It is through this kind of learning that I have discovered this truth.
Shabbat shalom and L’shanah tovah u-m’tukah!
15 Wednesday Aug 2012
This coming Saturday evening (August 18) at nightfall is Rosh Hodesh Elul, the first day of the Hebrew month of Elul, the month that precedes the High Holidays. From the first of Elul to Yom Kippur is exactly 40 days, the same period of time that Moses spent on Mount Sinai communing with God and receiving Torah.
Tradition beckons us during these 40 days beginning Saturday night to “turn” and “return” in a process called t’shuvah, the central theme of the High Holiday season. The goal of t’shuvah is to return to our truest selves, to God, Torah, Jewish tradition, community, family, and friends. It requires us to make amends, to apologize for wrongs committed and seek forgiveness, to forgive when approached by others seeking the same.
As we prepare to enter Elul, I share a prayer written by Rabbi Zalman Schacter-Shalomi called “T’shuvah – Coming Back Around” (All Breathing Life Adores Your Nam e –At the Interface Between Poetry and Prayer, with a Forward by Rabbi Lawrence Kushner and Edited by Michael L. Kagan, published by Gaon Books, 2011, page 97):
“A year has gone by, / I say with a sigh – / O Lord I did not progress. / Your Torah not learned, / Your Mitzvot not earned, / This I am forced to confess.
I undertake / This to remake / My life anew to fashion. / So help, me please, / From sin to cease / And only to You / Give my passion.
I seek Your light, / I need Your aid. / Without Your joy / I am afraid. / Heal me God / In body and in soul.
Please, good God, / Pour out Your blessing, / That in Your sight / We’ll be progressing. / O Lord above, / Let us feel Your love / And perceive You, / Our souls caressing.
May we not be / Disappointed / In waiting for ben David / Anointed. / With Your open hand, / Bless our Holy Land / And our leaders / Whom we have appointed.”
20 Friday Jul 2012
This link will take you to an inspirational 11-minute TED talk and presentation by Louie Schwartzberg, photographer and film-maker, that is well worth watching:
http://www.ted.com/talks/louie_schwartzberg_nature_beauty_gratitude.html
Rebbe Nachman of Bratzlav, one of Judaism’s greatest tzadikim, put it this way:
“How wonderful it would be if we were worthy of hearing the song of the grass; every blade of grass sings a pure song to God, expecting nothing in return. It is wonderful to hear its song and to worship God in its midst.” (Cited in A Hidden Light: Stories and Teachings of Early HaBad and Bratzlav Hasidism, by Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi and Netanel Miles-Yepez, p. 235).
And never to be outdone, we read in Psalms (136):
Hodu LAdonai ki tov, ki l’olam chasdo… / L’Oseh niflaot g’dolot l’vado, ki l’olam chasdo. / L’Oseh hashamayim bitvunah, ki l’olam chasdo./ L’Roka ha-aretz al hamayim, ki l’olam chasdo. / L’Oseh orim g’dolim, ki l’olam hasdo…
“Give thanks to God, for God’s love is eternal… / Who made great wonders, for God’s love is eternal. / Who made the heavens with wisdom, for God’s love is eternal. / Who spread the earth over the waters, for God’s love is eternal. / Who made the great lights, for God’s love is eternal…”
Shabbat shalom!
31 Thursday May 2012
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.
26 Thursday Apr 2012
Posted in Israel and Palestine, Israel/Zionism, Poetry, Quote of the Day
No nation in the world honors its poets as does the State of Israel, and Yehuda Amichai is among Israel’s greatest poets.
An Arab Shepherd Is Searching For His Goat On Mount Zion
An Arab shepherd is searching for his goat on Mount Zion / and on the opposite hill I am searching for my little boy. / An Arab shepherd and a Jewish father / both in their temporary failure. / Our two voices met above / the Sultan’s Pool in the valley between us. / Neither of us wants the boy or the goat / to get caught in the wheels / of the “Chad Gadya” machine. / Afterward we found them among the bushes, / and our voices came back inside us / laughing and crying. / Searching for a goat or for a child has always been / the beginning of a new religion in these mountains.
Jerusalem
On a roof in the Old City / laundry hanging in the late afternoon sunlight: / the white sheet of a woman who is my enemy, / the towel of a man who is my enemy, / to wipe off the sweat of his brow.
In the sky of the Old City / a kite. / At the other end of the string, / a child / I can’t see / because of the wall.
We have put up many flags, / they have put up many flags. / to make us think that they’re happy. / to make them think that we’re happy.
Wildpeace
Not the peace of a cease-fire, / not even the vision of the wolf and the lamb, / but rather / as in the heart when the excitement is over / and you can talk only about a great weariness. / I know that I know how to kill, / that makes me an adult. / And my son plays with a toy gun that knows / how to open and close its eyes and say Mama. / A peace / without the big noise of beating swords into ploughshares, / without words, without / the thud of the heavy rubber stamp: let it be / light, floating, like lazy white foam. / A little rest for the wounds – / Who speaks of healing? / (And the howl of the orphans is passed from one generation / to the next, as in a relay race: / the baton never falls.)
Let it come / like wildflowers, / suddenly, because the field / must have it: wildpeace.
12 Thursday Apr 2012
“The world is not as worthy as the day on which the Song of Songs was given to Israel, for all the writings are holy, but the Song of Songs is the Holy of Holies.”
So said Rabbi Akiva, who regarded The Song as an allegory of the love between God and Israel.
On first reading The Song is a secular poem celebrating young, sensuous, erotic love, a “love stronger than death.” Read more deeply, it holds the Presence of an Ineffable Other.
Rabbi Abraham Isaac Cook expressed the mystic’s longing with these words:
“Expanses divine my soul craves. / Confine me not in cages, / of substance or of spirit. / I am love-sick — / I thirst, I thirst for God, as a deer for water brooks. / Alas, who can describe my pain? / Who will be a violin to express the songs of my grief? / I am bound to the world, all creatures, all people are my friends, / Many parts of my soul / are intertwined with them, / But how can I share with them my light?” (Translated by Ben Zion Bokser)
The Biblical Song of Songs is read on the Shabbat during the festival of Pesach.
29 Sunday Jan 2012
Posted in American Jewish Life, Art, Poetry
This is a moving statement of Jewish identity by a young Jew, Andrew Lustig, in poetic rhythm. I do not know Andrew, but I love what he has created here. If you are moved as I was, please share it with your college friends and 20 somethings and 30 somethings and 90 somethings. It will make your day and cause you to renew your faith and hope in our people’s future with young Jews such as Andrew.
Thanks to my friend Jacob Perlin for sharing it with me, who (along with his new wife Kat) and their friends, inspire me also about the Jewish future.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GJe0uqVGZJA&feature=youtube_gdata_player
Note: I begin my Sabbatical leave today and will journey to Israel on Wednesday to study on Ulpan to enhance my conversational Hebrew. I may or may not post before leaving, but once there I will share reflections from time to time on this blog about being there.
Kol tuv lachem!
27 Friday Jan 2012
“I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came, and went and came, and brought no day,
And [people] forgot their passions in the dread
Of this desolation; and all hearts
Were chill’d into a selfish prayer for light:…”
Lord Byron describes well what must have been in the hearts of the Egyptians when the 9th plague of darkness befell them, as described in this week’s Torah portion Bo.
This was not an ordinary darkness. So dense it was that a person couldn’t see the hand in front of his face and if he/she moved would trip over the darkness.
The Midrash says that this darkness (choshech) wasn’t of the natural world. It wasn’t as a consequence of a solar eclipse or a moonless night. While it oppressed the Egyptians, the sun and universe operated normally everywhere else. It was as if each Egyptian was imprisoned in a black box of isolation, requisite punishment for their cruelty. This darkness catapulted the Egyptians back to a time before the creation when “darkness covered the face of the deep.” (Genesis 1:2)
From whence did it come? And what did it mean? In Psalms (105:28) it is said; Shalach choshech va-yach’shich – “God sent darkness and it became dark.” In our portion God instructs Moses; N’tei yad’cha al ha-shamayim vi-hi choshech… – “Hold your arm over the sky that there may be darkness upon the land of Egypt, a darkness that can be touched.” (Exodus 10:21) This darkness reflected the debased spiritual and moral condition of the Egyptians.
The Psalms tell us something else as well; Yashet choshech sitro s’vi-vo-tav sukato – “He makes darkness be His screen round about Him,” (18:12) suggesting that the spiritual light that abides at the very core of existence is always hidden and could never enter the Egyptian heart. That same light, however, shone in all the Israelite dwellings. In its pure form this light was so powerful that no one could see it and live. It is said that every angel and human being are able to receive only a very small measure of this Divine glow, each according to our spiritual capacity and development.
The Kabbalist Rabbeinu Bachya ben Asher (14th century Spain) taught that God shut down every Egyptian’s antenna so that none could receive these Godly light-waves and therefore not interfere with the Source of its transmission. But the Israelite antennae were open.
What does all this mean for us?
It is a certainty that each of us will suffer a broken heart once or more in our lives. Some of us bear chronic biochemical imbalances that need medical attention. All of us need love and support when we or our loved ones become ill, divorce, suffer the death of dear ones, the loss of jobs and income. Every loss casts a darkness upon the human soul.
Rabbi Isaac Meir Alter (19th century Poland) taught that the worst darkness of all is that blindness in which one person will not “see another,” and will refuse to look upon another’s misery and lend a hand. Such a person is incapable of “rising from his/her place,” that is, of growing in heart and soul.
Rabbi Yochanan taught that every eye has an area of white and black. We might think that the human being sees out of the white part. But no! We see out of the black part, which means when we’re in the dark we’re capable of seeing what’s in the light, but when we’re in the light we can’t see what’s in the dark. (Yalkut Shimoni 378).
In other words, there is always hope out of darkness, and there is always light when we think there is none.
In Egypt, wherever Jews went light went with them because the light was in them. That is what it means to be a Jew – to live in the light, to be a light to others and to hope.
Shabbat Shalom!
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