Tag Archives: Musings about God/Faith/Religious Life

Where Ever You Go There You Are! – D’var Torah Parashat Mattot-Masei

04 Thursday Jul 2013

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Twenty years ago the physician and Zen Master, Jon Kabat-Zinn, wrote a book he called “Where Ever You Go There You Are.” The book’s title has stayed with me and it has helped me to focus not only on why I do what I do, but also on why others might behave as they do.

We are who we are where ever we are, and that means that we carry with us trunk loads of emotional baggage – fear, trauma, anger, resentment, disappointment, as well as our loves, passions, joys, dreams, and hopes. Consequently, for better and worse, we often respond to situations not based on who or what stands before us, but rather out of the “stuff” we carry in our emotional trunks that have nothing to do with present circumstances.

The idea that “Where ever you go, there you are” begs the question – Can people really change their orientation in the world, or are we fated because of our personal histories to think, feel and behave as we have always done?

Judaism affirms that we can change and evolve, though slowly, incrementally and often with sacrifice and pain.

In this week’s double Torah portion Matot-Masei , our sages affirm this truth as they reflect upon Moses’ list of 42 places through which he and the Israelites passed during the 40 years of wandering (Numbers 33).

The book of Numbers as a whole (the 42 places act as chronological signposts) enumerates the people’s disillusionment and struggle, temptation, rebellion, and broken faith. If there is a common theme to Numbers, it’s that the people wanted to be somewhere else, anywhere else than where they were.

Commentators asked why Moses enumerated these 42 places. The Malbim (1809-1879) suggested that because their experience in Egypt was so filled with suffering, it was necessary before they entered the Land of Canaan to exorcise, a little bit at a time in each of the 42 places, a measure of the pain, resentment, humiliation, and defilement that they bore. Then they would be able to meet God in a pure state in the land.

Their redemption from Egypt, therefore, was gradual and progressive spread out over 40 years. With this understanding of the Biblical narrative, the Talmud says that when we are brought before God for heavenly judgment, we’ll be asked Tzapita l’yeshua (“Did you anticipate redemption?”) (Shabbat 31a).  In other words, did you undo wrongs you committed? Did you do restore your relationships with family and friends, colleagues, community, the Jewish people, and God? Did you forgive? Did you act from fear or faith? Did you restore justice and mercy? Did you live with high moral standards, with kindness and integrity?

Rav Abraham Isaac Kook taught

“…we should feel that we are like a limb of a great organism….that we are part of a nation, which, in turn, is part of humanity. The betterment of each individual contributes to the life of the larger community, thus advancing the redemption of the nation and the universe.”

The end of Numbers finds Moses and the Israelites encamped on the steppes of Moab, at the Jordan River near Jericho. They had not as yet entered the land, but, say the commentators, they did as individuals and as a community relieve themselves of the burdens and defilement, humiliation and degradation of Egypt, and so they could answer collectively “Yes” to the question, Tzapita l’yeshua – Did you anticipate redemption?

What about us? What fears, trauma, anger, resentment, and disappointment do carry with us that we need to release in order to encounter others as individuals and as a community appropriately?

The good news is that we can make choices. We do not have to do things the same way we have always done them. Nor do we have to presume the same responses of others that we’ve experienced before. We have the capacity to be self-critical and, by an act of will, transform who we are and where we are in our lives.

“Where ever you go there you are?” This is a true statement, but the supplementary questions are as important to ask and answer – Where are we? Who are we? And do we need to remain where we are if fear, distrust, pain, and resentment keep us in Egypt far from the Promised Land.

This is what I believe our Torah portion is asking of us as individuals and as a people this week, to break from the chains that keep us far from redemption.

May our journeys transform and uplift us.

Shabbat Shalom.

Finding Light Amidst Darkness – D’var Torah Pinchas

28 Friday Jun 2013

Posted by in Divrei Torah, Ethics, Inuyim - Prayer reflections and ruminations, Israel and Palestine, Israel/Zionism, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life

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How to read the story of Pinchas, a shatteringly brutal tale of love and violence? That is the question in this week’s Torah portion, especially for the modern Jew?

The story begins this way:

“Now YHVH spoke to Moses, saying, ‘Pinchas, son of Elazar son of Aaron the priest, has turned my venomous-anger from the Children of Israel in his being zealous with My jealousy in their midst, so that I did not finish off the children of Israel in my jealousy.” (Numbers 25:10-11)

What did Pinchas do to attract God’s attention? Without due process he took his sword and in one thrust plunged it into the back of the Israelite man Zimri and through the belly of the Midianite woman Cozbi who were locked in an amorous embrace, and Pinchas killed them dead.

The Torah tells us that God credited Pinchas with having saved thousands who God was about to kill Himself, but Pinchas’ righteous rage kept God’s violence at bay. Then God rewarded Pinchas with “briti shalom – My covenant of peace.”

If this were the entire story many of us would despair its implications. Indeed, Jewish extremist rabbis in Israel have used this story in recent years to justify attacking Reform rabbis in the manner Pinchas attacked Zimri.

Thankfully, the midrashic and esoteric traditions explore deeper truths hidden in this grim tale that offer meaning rather than despair.

Most rabbinic commentary justifies Pinchas’ deed as virtuous. There is, nevertheless, a mystical strain that regards Cozbi’s and Zimri’s love not as a great sin at all, but as a union so pure and beautiful that the world could not contain it.

For this understanding I’m grateful to Rabbi Jonathan Omer-man and Rabbi Yosi Gordon. They have brought forward the reflections of some of our greatest mystic sages, Rabbis Isaac Luria, Chaim vital, Abraham Azulai, and the Izbeca Rabbi (“Learn Torah With…” – July 22, 1995) who wrote:

“There are ten degrees of fornication in the world. At the lowest level, the worst, the will to sin is even greater than the desire to perform the act, and the person has to urge himself on to sally out into the world and sully it. At each ascending level, however, the protagonist’s will becomes progressively more powerful. At the tenth and final level, which is extremely rare, the desire is so powerful that no human will in the world would be strong enough to vanquish it. We must conclude that it was not a sin at all, but God’s will. Zimri and Cozbi, far from being wicked sinners, were a couple ordained from the beginning of creation.”

In other words, Zimri’s and Cozbi’s love was so high and exalted that it could neither be realized nor sustained in the real world, reminding us of the forbidden love of Romeo and Juliet and the maiden and her beloved in The Song of Songs 8:6-7:

Ki azah cha-mavet ahavah, /  kasha chishol kin’ah.      

“For love is fierce as death, / passion is mighty as Sheol;

R’shafeha rispei esh / Shalhevetya.

Its darts are darts of fire, / A blazing flame.

Mayim rabim lo yuchlu l’chabot et ahavah / Un’harot lo yish’t’puha.

Vast floods cannot quench love, / Nor rivers drown it.”

The Kabbalah teaches that though Zimri’s and Cozbi’s soul-love defied the tragedy of their real life together, they came back into the reincarnated life of Rabbi Akiva who built his famed academy.

In light of this, how might we regard Pinchas?

To the modern eye his reward of the “covenant of peace” seems unjust and wrong. Most traditional commentators, however, emphasize Pinchas’ motive as pure, l’shem shamayim, for the sake of heaven. The Kabbalists said that though Pinchas sincerely sought Truth, he did not grasp nor understand Cozbi’s and Zimri’s love.

There are two slight variations in the text that give support to this view. The first is in the writing of Pinchas’ name – Peh-yod-nun-chet-samech (Numbers 25:11).  The yod is written unusually small suggesting that God’s holiest Name – Yod-Heh-Vav-Heh (which at times is designated by a lone yod), and Jews (Yehudim) – Yod-heh-vav-daled-yod-mem) that begins with yod, are diminished when a Jew engages in violence, even justified violence.

The second variation comes in the vav of the word shalom – shin-lamed-vav-mem – meaning “wholeness.” The vav here is strangely broken in the middle suggesting that the wholeness of this covenant – briti shalom – (indeed, any agreement that’s reached by destroying one’s opponent) will inevitably be a flawed and incomplete peace.

Is it not true? Real peace cannot come from violence and war.

Lest we despair, Rabbi Omer-man reminds us of Zimri’s and Cozbi’s love, of its exalted purity despite transgressing tribal taboo, and that even in situations as dire as this one “there is light [even] when we [believe we] can only see darkness.”

Shabbat shalom.

The Divine Wedding and Kiss – Parashat Naso

16 Thursday May 2013

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

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“O for your kiss! For your love / More enticing than wine, / For your scent and sweet name – / For all this they love you.

Take me away to your room, / Like a king to his rooms – / We’ll rejoice there with wine. / No wonder they love you!” (Song of Songs 1:2-4 – Translation by Marsha Falk)

So, tradition teaches, was the kiss experienced so sweetly on Mount Sinai between the finite bride Israel and the Infinite Bridegroom beneath a chupah attended by angels.

Only forty-nine days earlier God delivered the people through the birth waters of the sea into the midbar, an awe-inspiring expanse of earth and sky, where death stared them in the face, and where life teemed, and authenticity was possible, where a kol d’mamah dakah  (a “soft murmuring sound”) was heard even from within the devastating silence, and where the “Word” was at last spoken.

There in the midbar God and Moses met “face to face” and Eternity uttered the Name.

A kiss more enticing than wine, the “I” of God forged a covenant of light with the people Israel.

The Holy One, having revealed Himself before the people b’li shum l’vush (Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev, K’dushat Levi, Parashat Yitro), in raw naked power as a young warrior when He crashed the waves and drowned the Egyptians, now at Sinai (commemorated this past Tuesday evening on Shavuot), for our sake did God step back as a wise old sage without brandishing a sword and instead uttered words of Torah to teach she-ha-olamot y’hiyeh yachol l’kayeim (ibid.) “that the worlds could exist” without overpowering military might.

The Divine Lover and Groom did all this for our sake, so taught the Berditchever Rebbe, that we might walk through the “gates” to holiness and not get stuck in the “gates” of impurity.

On Shabbat Naso, this week, only three days after the Divine wedding on Shavuot, God is still in a most loving mood and blesses His Bride:

 May God bless you and keep you; / May God’s face shine towards you and be gracious to you; / May God lift His face towards you and give you peace. Numbers 6:24-26

Among the most famous blessings in world literature, our sages teach that these three lines promise the fulfillment of every human need and want; wealth, justice, and strength; intelligence, skill, wisdom, intuition, and knowledge; health, compassion, forgiveness, integrity, safety, love, and peace.

This priestly blessing (Birkat Kohanim) represents the highest expression of God’s love. So much so, that the priest was not permitted to offer the blessing on God’s behalf if he hated his community or anyone of its members, or if he was hated by them.

Humbly, the Kohen would ascend the bimah and cover his head with a tallit, and spread his fingers to the shape of a shin, palms towards the earth bestowing blessing from above.

He was never to look the congregation in the eye, and the congregation was to look away as well, because it was then that the Shekhinah would enter the community of Israel.

She was too beautiful and magnificent and inspiring to look upon, for to see Her directly with the naked eye was to peer directly into the face of God, and no one can see God’s face and live.

The former Chief Justice of the Sephardic rabbinical court in Jerusalem, Rabbi Hezkiah Shabtai, originally of Salonika and Aleppo (1862-1950), cited Numbers 6:23: “Speak to Aaron and his sons and say to them, ‘Thus shall you bless the children of Israel.’”

“Amour lahem,” he repeated (“say to them!”). He explained, “Amour in French means love… therefore say, ‘Love them when you are about to bless them. You must love them first.’”

It’s all about love, after all – our covenant with God and each other.

The wedding of The Divine Infinite Bridegroom and Yisrael the Bride was a wondrous thing when it occurred at Sinai, and the blessing of the Kohanim continues that Divine love affair even now – even now.

 

Wandering, Romantic Love, Transcendence, and Shavuot

09 Thursday May 2013

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

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This week’s portion B’midbar (lit. “In the desert”) always precedes the festival of Shavuot that begins on Tuesday evening. Parashat B’midbar is not just a marker that reminds us when Shavuot occurs each year, its juxtaposition joins the season’s themes of wandering, covenant, transcendence, and love.

These themes are amplified in the Haftarah portion from the prophet Hosea. Betrayed by his wife’s promiscuity as another man’s concubine, the prophet perceives in his own tragic personal biography a parallel to the Israelite’s betrayal of God during the period of wandering.

Hosea was a star-filled romantic. He so wanted to forgive his wife her infidelities and welcome her back into his bosom. He prayed not only for personal reconciliation with her but also that God would forgive His own wayward lover, the people of Israel, and reaffirm with them the Covenant they once forged together at Sinai.

The prophet proclaims: V’e-ras-tich li l’o-lam b’tze-dek, u-v’mish’pat, u-v’che-sed, u-v’ra-cha-mim (Hosea 2:21-22) – “I betroth you to me forever; I betroth you to me with steadfast love and compassion; I betroth you to me in faithfulness…”

Love for God, one man’s yearning for his bride, one woman’s passion for her lover, the longing of the soul for the Ein Sof (God), all are joined in B’midbar, Hosea, and Shavuot. 

In a wonderful volume called “We – Understanding the Psychology of Romantic Love,” the Jungian analyst Dr. Robert A. Johnson explores these themes as they played themselves out in the medieval myth of the hero Tristan and his beloved Iseult the Fair. This is a complicated, moving, beautiful, and tragic tale from 12th century Europe from which “Romeo and Juliet” and other great romantic love tales have sprung.

The story focuses upon the emotional and spiritual journeys of two protagonist lovers, and Dr. Johnson explores what came to be called “Courtly Love:”

“The model of courtly love is the brave knight who worshiped a fair lady as his inspiration, the symbol of all beauty and perfection, the ideal that moved him to be noble, spiritual, refined, and high-minded. In our time we have mixed courtly love into our sexual relationships and marriages, but we still hold the medieval belief that true love has to be the ecstatic adoration of a man or woman who carries, for us, the image of perfection.“

Dr. Johnson explains that when lovers fall “in love” they feel a sense of completion as though a missing part of themselves had been returned to them. They are uplifted as though suddenly raised above the ordinary. They feel spiritualized and transformed into new, better and whole human beings.

The connection of theme in the mythic romantic love tale “Tristan and Isault” and the Revelation at Sinai should now be clear. Dr. Johnson writes:

“Here we are confronted with a paradox that baffles us, yet we should not be surprised to discover that romantic love is connected with spiritual aspiration – even with our religious instinct – for we already know that courtly love, at its very beginning so many centuries ago, was conceived of as a spiritual love, a way of loving that spiritualized the knight and his lady, and raised them above the ordinary and the gross to an experience of another world, an experience of soul and spirit.”

“Tristan and Iseult” is a story describing the yearning of the soul. So too is that great and singular event that Shavuot commemorates. Indeed, the wilderness of Sinai stripped the people of pretense. They were more vulnerable than they had ever known, and in that the expansive uninhabited landscape of quietude they opened their hearts and souls in awe and wonder to God.

It was there that Torah was given and received. It was there that God and the people of Israel, even if but for a moment, were One.

Shabbat shalom and Hag sameach!

“To Be Holy!” Simple But Not So Easy – Parashat Emor

25 Thursday Apr 2013

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There is a story told in the Rabbinic literature that “Rabbi Shimon ben Shetach one day commissioned his disciples to buy him a camel from an Arab. When they brought him the animal, they gleefully announced that they had found a precious stone in its collar, expecting their master to share in their joy.

“Did the seller know of this gem?” asked Rabbi Shimon. On being answered in the negative, he called out angrily, “Do you think me a barbarian that I should take advantage of the letter of the law by which the gem is mine together with the camel? Return the gem to the Arab immediately.”

When the Arab received it back, he exclaimed: “Blessed be the God of Shimon ben Shetach! Blessed be the God of Israel!” (Deuteronomy Rabba 3:3)

When my sons were young, their mother and I told them more than once that what they did, how they behaved, and the way they spoke to and treated others outside the home would reflect not only on them, but on us, their parents and on our family name. We reminded them to be honest, kind, modest, and to reflect those values always.

I often tell the story of Rabbi Shimon to students in my synagogue and remind them that what we do not only says much about who we are, but about our families and the Jewish people.

Until the modern period when communal values began to change broadly, the most respected Jew in the community was not necessarily the wealthiest and most politically influential, nor the celebrity, business maven, professional, or even the largest financial benefactor to community causes, as important as these people have been historically in Jewish communal life. Rather, the highest moral, ethical and religious virtues were expected to be emulated first and foremost by the Torah scholar. However, our sages understood that even the Torah scholar struggled mightily against the dominance of his yetzer hara (“the evil inclination”). [Note that almost all scholars before the modern period were men].

Here is Maimonides’ classic description of what is expected of the great Torah scholar:

“…When a person …is a great scholar, noted for his piety, people will talk about him, even if the deeds that he has committed are not offenses in the strict sense. Such a person is guilty of profaning the divine name (hillul ha-Shem), if he, for instance, makes a purchase and does not immediately pay for it, in the case where he has the money and the sellers demand it, but he stalls them; or if he indulges in riotous behavior and in keeping undesirable company; or if he speaks roughly to his fellows and does not receive them courteously but shows his temper and the like. All is in accordance with his status as a scholar. He must endeavor to be scrupulously strict in his behavior and go beyond the letter of the law. If he does this, speaking kindly to his fellows, showing himself sociable and amiable with the welcome for everyone, taking insult but not giving it; respect them, even those who make light of him; in all his actions until all praise and love him, enraptured by his deed – such a man has sanctified the name of God (Kiddush ha-Shem). Regarding such a person scripture states: ‘You are my servant, Israel, in whom I will be gloried.’” (Moses ben Maimon, Yesodei Ha-Torah 5:11)

“Sanctifying God’s Name” (Kiddush Ha-Shem), as RAMBAM teaches, concerns the entirety of life including business ethics, one’s conduct in mundane affairs, one’s refinement of behavior and public demeanor, one’s kindness and humility before one’s fellows and God.

Except for the very rare individual, each of us is a continuing battleground between our two yetzers (i.e. good and evil inclinations) and we must choose between them. For so many of us, base instinct rules. We are driven by need, desire, greed, jealousy, envy, lust, anger, impatience, fear, and hate. Others have an easier time being kind and generous, and struggle less. But we all struggle.

The reason Torah study is determinative for the scholar and is so important for all of us is because we can find ourselves everywhere in the sacred text. Every instinct and virtue is addressed.

My friend, Rabbi Mark Borowitz of Beit T’shuvah in Los Angeles, rightly teaches that anyone who says that the Torah is irrelevant to his/her life is hiding something. To the contrary, it is there that we can discover our deepest selves, a sense of meaning and purpose that will sustain and strengthen us for noble ends.

 

The Way to Holiness – Parashat Acharei Mot/K’doshim – A Poem

18 Thursday Apr 2013

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Exalted One – / You call us to holiness, / To climb the ladder, / Higher and higher, / To reach as far as we might, / But never to rise above the angels.

You call us to purity, / To be as priests, / In this world, / Separate and apart, / As intermediaries  / Between our flawed humanness / And Your Transcendent Oneness.

How do we come near / To You Who dwells on High? / How do we discover / You, enthroned beyond stars? / How can we reach / You, larger than thought? / How can we know / You, Ineffable Truth?

What is the way to holiness / If we be so bound to earth, / And driven by need, / And broken by grief?

You call us to rise up / and bow low to You, / At Your holy footstool, / To be enveloped in Your Glory, / To transcend our senses / Where sapphires glisten, / And angels praise, / And Torah letters shimmer, / And souls sing.

You say that Your teaching is not so distant, / Not across the seas beyond our reach, / Nor in the heavens above / Making it unattainable.

It is rather, close, / So very close, / In our hearts, / In our breath, / And upon our lips.

Almighty One – / You brought us out from Egypt / To renew us, / Redeem, free, heal, and restore us, / To ready us / As Your treasured people.

You led us into the wilderness, / Into silence and nothingness, / Into a blank slate, / And you painted a picture of our lives / And commanded us to be / Like paint upon a landscape, / Parent respecting, / Shabbat observing, / Torah learning, / Vengeance eschewing, / Righteousness doing, / Kindness performing, / Neighbor assisting, / Senior revering, / And stranger loving.

If this is what You intend for us / And if this is the way to be holy, / It is so very hard! / But those who seek You / Will continuously strive, / And we will teach this to our children.

 

 

 

Nachshon Ben Aminadav – A Hero For All Times

22 Friday Mar 2013

Posted by in American Jewish Life, American Politics and Life, Divrei Torah, Holidays, Israel and Palestine, Israel/Zionism, Jewish History, Jewish Identity, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life, Uncategorized

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Nothing in the Seder is as it appears. Each symbol, midrash, vignette, poem, and song evokes layers of meaning that help fashion the Jewish heart, mind and soul. The Seder carries such deep religious, cultural, moral, historical, and political significance that Passover is among the richest and most observed rites in Judaism today.

A little known figure in the Haggadah is worth mention especially in light of the President’s journey to the Middle East this week. His name is Nachshon, the son of Aminadav.

Nachshon is not mentioned in the Biblical exodus story per se (he is cited in Numbers 1:7 as the chief in the Tribe of Judah), yet he looms large in rabbinic literature as a critically important figure in the narrative at the Sea of Reeds.

It is written that as the Israelites fled Egypt they faced before them the impassable Sea and behind them in the pursuing Egyptian army. Terrified, they turned on Moses and cried, “Why did you bring us here to perish?”

“Rabbi Judah says: ‘When the Israelites stood at the sea one said: ‘I don’t want to go down to the sea first.’ Another said: ‘I don’t want to go down first either.’ While they were standing there, and while Moses was praying to God to save them, Nachshon the son of Aminadav jumped up, went down and fell into the waves.’”  Talmud (Bavli, Sota 36a), Mechilta (Parashat B’shalach)

What is the meaning?

First, that Moses’ prayers were insufficient to convince God to split the sea. Only when Nachshon took the initiative and jumped into the waters did God respond.

Second, at a very early stage in Israel’s history there was a basic understanding about the mutual relationship between God and humankind, that though the people might have felt alone and abandoned, God was with them all along.

Nachshon’s “leap” was a significant turning point in the Jewish experience. His willingness to take history into his own hands became a fundamental tenet of Jewish religious activism and a defining element in the character of the Jewish hero.

This past week, J Street, a pro Israel pro peace Political Action Committee in Washington, D.C., published an insert on the symbolism of the Karpas. It was written by my teacher, Rabbi Richard Levy, and intended for family Seders this year. What follows is a portion of Rabbi Levy’s moving text:

“On the nights of Passover we celebrate Israel crossing the …Sea from slavery to freedom. In this light, karpas has other overtones: we remember the heroic example of Nachshon ben Aminadav, who was the first to step into the salty sea. As the Israelites faced the raging waters, Nachshon alone plunged in. Because of his courage, the Midrash tells us, God divided the sea in two so that all the people of Israel could walk across. When our karpas represents Nachshon, …the salt water no longer suggests tears, but the grit of heroes.

Nachshon represents those willing to stand up against the raging waters of intimidation, to state what is right and just and reasonable. In our time Nachshon might say: Israel can be freed of her occupying status and survive as a just, peaceful, and secure state only alongside a just, peaceful and secure Palestinian state… if enough people, ordinary citizens like Nachshon, speak enough to the leaders who represent them, they too will understand that the waters can part, that the just and practical solution – a two-state solution – can emerge out of the depths, and the freedom and peace of two peoples can be assured.”

At this critically important moment when hope flickers still that peace can be achieved, I offer my prayers for the success of American efforts to assist Israel and the Palestinians in arriving at a two-state solution leading to an end of conflict peace agreement.

I pray that President Obama and Secretary Kerry will utilize all their wisdom, resources, strength, and stamina to do what must be done.

And I pray that the Israeli Government and the Palestinian Authority may seize this opportunity together to achieve what should have been done years ago to end this bloody and demoralizing conflict once and for all, thereby allowing two states to flower and thrive side by side in security and peace in a new Middle East.

Ken yehi ratzon – May it be God’s will and ours.

Shabbat shalom and Chag Pesach sameach.

Coin of Fire – Parashat Ki Tisa

01 Friday Mar 2013

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“This is what everyone who is entered in the records shall pay: a half-shekel by the sanctuary weight to “atone for your souls.” (Exodus 30:13)

The Tosafot surmises that

“Moses was perplexed, thinking to himself, ‘What can a person possibly give that will serve as atonement for his soul?’ Thereupon, God showed him a ‘coin of fire.'”

Question – How can a “coin of fire” grant atonement for one’s soul?

Rabbi Menachem Schneerson answered with a parable:

A person once served as an apprentice to a silver and goldsmith. The artisan taught his apprentice all the necessary details except for one, which he omitted because of its utter simplicity: in order to melt gold and silver and change its shape, a fire must be lit under the metals.

Setting out on his own, the apprentice faithfully followed all the particulars his master taught him, leaving out that one “minor” detail that his teacher had omitted, the need for a fire. Because of this omission, of course, nothing happened. The silver and gold remained as they were, and the apprentice could fashion nothing at all.

God similarly responded to Moses by showing him a ‘coin of fire,’ (the half-shekel). (Likkuti Sichos, Vol. III, pages 923-28; from Parashat Shekalim “An Undivided Half-Shekel“)

The parable explains that merely offering a half-shekel coin doesn’t bring about atonement. But, when the coin is offered with  fire, referring to soul-fire, then the half-shekel atones even for a sin as grievous as the sin of the Golden Calf.

Another question – Why does Torah ask for only a half-shekel and not a whole shekel?

Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev explains in a complex Kabbalistic discussion (Kedushat Levi, vol. 2, p 494, Lambda Press) that what we’re dealing with here are purely spiritual matters, that when an Israelite gives a half-shekel of twenty gerah weight, it isn’t about the monetary value we earthly beings require to physically sustain a community. Rather, it’s about how we may enter into God’s presence.

The first letter in the word Keter (Crown – the highest emanation of God on the Kabbalist chart of emanations) is chaf, and chaf equals twenty according to Hebrew letter-number equivalents, the same as the weight of the half-shekel, thereby indicating that the 20 gerah (chaf-Keter) weight half-shekel is a spiritual metaphor of ascent towards yihud (unity) with God at the highest level.

Rabbi Levi Yitzhak explains that without the spiritual fire no offering, no gift, no presentation from the heart will succeed in linking heaven and earth. Soul-fire is the critical element that enables yihud, union, between us and God.

It is part of the human condition that we are broken, flawed, distracted, seduced, unfocused, fragmented, disloyal, weak, and imperfect. The golden calf incident is the most spectacular example in the Biblical period of betrayal perpetrated by the people against God. Only 39 days before the making of the golden calf (recalled in this week’s Torah reading) they heard the commandment against worshiping false gods, and they made the object and celebrated it as a god in spite of what they had only recently experienced at the foot of Mount Sinai.

Those who had turned away from God badly needed a means to return to holiness. Restoration, thankfully, is always possible. Rabbi Simon Jacobson writes that Moses “offers us a rare – once in history – glimpse into the intimate secret of communicating with the Divine, as he beseeches God to forgive and reconcile with the people…. Moses implores God, ‘Show me Your face.’ [And in response] God forgives.”

Mending our relationship with God (and with those we love and community) is a fundamentally restorative and healing process, and it begins with the offering of the half-shekel.

Judaism teaches that we are most whole when we enter into authentic, trusting, loyal, loving, and passionately committed relationships with family and friends, with a sacred community and with God. That is the lesson of the half-shekel “coin of fire.”

For those of us who do not believe there is a God or, at the very least are skeptical about ever experiencing a relationship with the Divine, then I suggest that you let authentic relationships with loved ones and with community suffice. Perhaps the Divine-human experience will follow.

Our Torah portion and the Midrashic literature teach that the ‘coin of fire,’ the half-shekel, facilitates atonement (read instead “at-one-ment“). When that occurs, when we offer a coin of fire we become, in effect, God’s light, as it says in Proverbs (20:27) – Nishmat adam ner Adonai – “The human soul is the lamp of God.”

Shabbat shalom.

“Open Heart” by Elie Wiesel – Book Review

03 Sunday Feb 2013

Posted by in Book Recommendations, Health and Well-Being, Jewish History, Life Cycle, Musings about God/Faith/Religious life, Uncategorized

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This little volume reminds me of a conversation once between Picasso and an art critique who asked the Master how long it took him to draw a piece that had only a few lines evoking the image of a man. Picasso said, “A life-time.”

So too is Elie Wiesel’s new book in which he reflects on the meaning of his life following emergency open heart surgery on June 16, 2011.

The volume is vintage Elie Wiesel. The writing is simple, the scope sweeping.

Upon awakening from the anesthetic he remembers thinking “…I am not dead yet. What does being resuscitated mean if not rediscovering one’s future?”

The book is a positive, optimistic expression of a grateful man. Eighty two years have not nearly been enough. He admits to having more words to write and teach, more to learn, and more love to share.

For me, Elie’s most moving passage is his description of what happened when his five year old grandson, Elijah, came to pay him a visit during his recovery: “I hug him and tell him, ‘Every time I see you, my life becomes a gift.’”