Moses had been up on the mountain speaking to God for such a long time that the people despaired of his ever returning. To placate the Israelites, Aaron, who had been left in charge, fashions a golden calf from their jewelry – not to replace God, but to replace Moses. God tells Moses that the people have turned to idolatry and declares “And now desist from me. Let my anger flare up against them and I shall annihilate them and I shall make you a great nation.” Moses intercedes for the people and convinces God to forgive the Israelites. He argues with God, saying that the Israelites are God’s own people; that the Egyptians would say that God meant to kill them, further, he argues that it would harm God’s reputation; and he also pleads with God to remember the promises made to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.
Although Moses remains calm and clearheaded on the mountain, once he is again down among the people, in his anger, he shatters the tablets containing the 10 Commandments. Later,the Torah tells us, “Moses saw the people, that it was exposed, for Aaron had exposed them to disgrace among those who rise up against them.” Rashi uses the word, uncovered, rather than exposed. Here we have two different leaders: two styles of leadership and two different outcomes. Aaron has avoided an uprising, buying time until Moses’ return, by acceding to the people’s wishes. Moses has pleaded for the people to God but when he returns to them, he demonstrates that they have rendered the covenant worthless by breaking the tablets. He precipitates a bloodbath in which 3.000 people die, who had sinned against God by instigating and participating in idolatry.
One style of leadership is laid back, peace seeking, almost passive. The other is active, decisive, in accordance with strict justice. Aaron’s style of leadership attracts us. Moses’ style repels us. Several questions come to mind: How could Moses be so different on the mountain and down among the people? And also, why did God let Moses change the course of events? It seems to me that there is more going on in the interchange between God and Moses than a simple offer and refusal. When God asks Moses to leave so that God can destroy the people, God is accomplishing two things. First, God is testing Moses and finding out the answers to certain important questions: How big is Moses’ ego? Will he allow the people to be killed? Will he go for becoming the father of a great nation? How much does Moses care about the people? Can he handle the job of leadership, even if it becomes much more difficult than originally thought? Does Moses love the people as much as God, their creator? Is he up to the hard choices that must be made by a true leader? All of these questions Moses answers satisfactorily by putting the people ahead of himself. He passes the test.
The second thing God accomplishes is that Moses takes responsibility for choosing to lead the people from this point on. Moses consciously takes upon himself the leadership role, willingly and without reservation, in a way that he did not freely do before. The going will get very rough down the road and God is now sure that Moses will be with him all the way. Moses has emerged as a true leader in this exchange.
And how does all of this relate to us? The models of leadership in this portion can be seen as a metaphor for the leadership we provide for the spiritual development of our own souls. The late 19th Century poet William Ernest Henley wrote, “I am the captain of my soul, the master of my fate.” We are leaders in our own small Universe. Our actions determine our future. God is always testing us: how big are our egos? Are they small enough to make room for the needs and feelings and plights of others? Are we so full of ourselves that there is no room for God? Conversely, are our egos strong enough to make the tough choices that will point us toward spiritual growth or, like Aaron, will we take the easy way out, letting the flow take over. Are we ethically vigilant or morally lazy, complacent or actively standing up for what is right? Do we protect ourselves from the negative consequences of our actions or leave ourselves exposed to unhappiness through our choices and our unwillingness to lead ourselves to greater goodness?
We can provide holy leadership, excellent leadership for our souls. Each day there is an opportunity to choose to make a decision that will allow us to advance or set us back along our personal spiritual paths. Each choice is reinforcing. As Pirkei Avot, Chapters of the Ancestors, from the Talmud, famously tells us, one mitzvah leads to another, one sin leads to another. Each choice sends a message to God and the universe, which respond to our choices. The intention to lead ourselves: to go forward, with integrity and compassion, is a life changing intention. It has great value and power. When Moses came down from the mountain with the second set of tablets, his face was glowing with spiritual light. May each of us provide true leadership for ourselves, leading us toward the inner light; allowing us to feel spiritual joy, experience spiritual understanding, and the closeness of God’s Presence.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Thursday, February 14, 2008
This week’s Torah portion is Terumah, which means a voluntary portion or contribution. It also means to separate or lift up. God instructs Moses about the design for the building of a holy sanctuary. The Torah says, “And let them make me a sanctuary; that I may dwell among them. ” (Ex. 25:8) God tells Moses to ask the people to contribute the materials with which to build a portable sanctuary to accompany them in their travels through the wilderness. After the revelation, the giving of the Ten Commandments, the people will have a place to draw near to God. It marks the beginning of Jewish ritual, a substitute for the direct love and devotion of the Revelation, an answer for the longing felt by the Israelites after their peak experience of being in God’s Presence.
The first Torah portion in Genesis, B’reisheet, speaks about this longing. The parable of Adam and Eve eating from the tree of Knowlege in the Garden of Eden describes humanity receiving consciousness. With consciousness comes a realization of our separateness from each other and our separation from God. The expulsion from the Garden can be seen as a metaphoric way of describing our longing: the hole each of us has in our hearts because of our separation from wholeness; our separation from union with God. It is simply part of the human condition to have this longing. A feeling that things used to be better, that we used to be smarter or more complete.
We are told by our society to satisfy this longing with money, by buying things, by eating well, living well, and of course, by sexual gratification. We are urged to find the perfect person who can satisfy all our needs and desires. But these methods of addressing our longings are fundamentally mistaken, since the longing is partly, and perhaps mostly - spiritual, and they cannot be satisfied permanently by any one person or by sensual pleasures alone.
In Exodus, God gave the Israelites a way to find their way back to union with God. The S’fat Emet comments on the verse from Song of Songs, I am dark but beautiful (I:5). This speaks of our duality, a human body whose desires may be wayward, and whose actions may be mundane, but whose soul is glorious. The giving of the Torah with its commandments, urging us to use our energies for goodness and righteousness, gives us a plan by which we can be guided by the longings of our souls and not by the needs of our bodies.
The sanctuary that was created by the Israelites was many things: a community building exercise, a make work project for people with nothing to occupy themselves, a labor of love, a place to sacrifice, a place to gather. It was not the place of God’s dwelling, but rather a symbol of God’s Presence among them. Right at the start, it served a symbolic function.
There is a beautiful commentary in Jewish tradition that the building of the sanctuary describes an inner task and not only an outer edifice. Chassidic rabbis like Malbin taught that each one of us is to build a sanctuary for God in our own hearts; or to put it another way, to separate a little bit of our hearts for God. Just as coming to this synagogue on Shabbat brings balance to the week, so building a tabernacle in the heart balances us as people: it balances the acquisitiveness in the messages we are sent from the larger society and legitimizes the promptings of our souls. Making for ourselves an inward temple is not merely a metaphor. It is conscious inner work without which no spiritual growth is possible. Setting aside part of ourselves, lifting that part up, to the grade of the holy, reestablishes our connection to God by enlisting our emotions to make the connection tangible and real. Just as we experience longing as feeling, so too, we can experience our union with God in feeling: feeling happy within ourselves, contented with the great blessings God bestows upon us, and guided by the unseen hand that causes our lives to work out and gives us new spiritual opportunities each day. Giving the voluntary gift of ourselves is truly all that we have to give. A tangible, physical gift is but an outward expression of the love from within. May we separate a part of ourselves, lifting ourselves up, higher than we are, higher than we believe ourselves capable of being, to give this gift of ourselves, in love, to God. As we give to God, we also become more capable of giving and receiving love from others. Through our giving, may we be blessed by the turning of our human longing into the realization of our connection with the Divine, the source of all life and being.
The first Torah portion in Genesis, B’reisheet, speaks about this longing. The parable of Adam and Eve eating from the tree of Knowlege in the Garden of Eden describes humanity receiving consciousness. With consciousness comes a realization of our separateness from each other and our separation from God. The expulsion from the Garden can be seen as a metaphoric way of describing our longing: the hole each of us has in our hearts because of our separation from wholeness; our separation from union with God. It is simply part of the human condition to have this longing. A feeling that things used to be better, that we used to be smarter or more complete.
We are told by our society to satisfy this longing with money, by buying things, by eating well, living well, and of course, by sexual gratification. We are urged to find the perfect person who can satisfy all our needs and desires. But these methods of addressing our longings are fundamentally mistaken, since the longing is partly, and perhaps mostly - spiritual, and they cannot be satisfied permanently by any one person or by sensual pleasures alone.
In Exodus, God gave the Israelites a way to find their way back to union with God. The S’fat Emet comments on the verse from Song of Songs, I am dark but beautiful (I:5). This speaks of our duality, a human body whose desires may be wayward, and whose actions may be mundane, but whose soul is glorious. The giving of the Torah with its commandments, urging us to use our energies for goodness and righteousness, gives us a plan by which we can be guided by the longings of our souls and not by the needs of our bodies.
The sanctuary that was created by the Israelites was many things: a community building exercise, a make work project for people with nothing to occupy themselves, a labor of love, a place to sacrifice, a place to gather. It was not the place of God’s dwelling, but rather a symbol of God’s Presence among them. Right at the start, it served a symbolic function.
There is a beautiful commentary in Jewish tradition that the building of the sanctuary describes an inner task and not only an outer edifice. Chassidic rabbis like Malbin taught that each one of us is to build a sanctuary for God in our own hearts; or to put it another way, to separate a little bit of our hearts for God. Just as coming to this synagogue on Shabbat brings balance to the week, so building a tabernacle in the heart balances us as people: it balances the acquisitiveness in the messages we are sent from the larger society and legitimizes the promptings of our souls. Making for ourselves an inward temple is not merely a metaphor. It is conscious inner work without which no spiritual growth is possible. Setting aside part of ourselves, lifting that part up, to the grade of the holy, reestablishes our connection to God by enlisting our emotions to make the connection tangible and real. Just as we experience longing as feeling, so too, we can experience our union with God in feeling: feeling happy within ourselves, contented with the great blessings God bestows upon us, and guided by the unseen hand that causes our lives to work out and gives us new spiritual opportunities each day. Giving the voluntary gift of ourselves is truly all that we have to give. A tangible, physical gift is but an outward expression of the love from within. May we separate a part of ourselves, lifting ourselves up, higher than we are, higher than we believe ourselves capable of being, to give this gift of ourselves, in love, to God. As we give to God, we also become more capable of giving and receiving love from others. Through our giving, may we be blessed by the turning of our human longing into the realization of our connection with the Divine, the source of all life and being.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Knit a stitch, rip it out
knit three, rip one
create with the bestowal of a kiss
destroy with the unkind word
knit – a visit to the sick
rip – anger in the belly
hatred…I forgot!
knit and knit and try to stop
the tearing out –
the thoughts unceasingly
when it’s over
will I have a garment to put on?
will I be clothed in a robe of light
or go naked?
knit three, rip one
create with the bestowal of a kiss
destroy with the unkind word
knit – a visit to the sick
rip – anger in the belly
hatred…I forgot!
knit and knit and try to stop
the tearing out –
the thoughts unceasingly
when it’s over
will I have a garment to put on?
will I be clothed in a robe of light
or go naked?
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
Sharing Noah's Pudding
This week’s Torah portion is Mishpatim, which means laws. It contains rules for civil society concerning injury, negligence, and business practices. It also regulates behavior between people in society: those at the same levels and those at different levels. Specifically, the Torah prohibits wronging a stranger, a widow, an orphan, or the poor. There are rules that differentiate between behavior that is morally right and behavior that is ethically wrong. We’re taught that it’s wrong to be involved in spreading rumors, lying, showing favoritism, taking bribes or siding with others to do what is wrong. It is morally right to help people, even enemies; to give to those who are less fortunate, materially and emotionally.
It is fitting to speak about Mishpatim tonight, an evening when we welcome a representative of our Muslim brothers and sisters, a member of the Interfaith Dialog Center, which is sponsored by the Turkish Cultural Center of the Republic of Turkey. He has brought us the gift of Noah’s Pudding, a special dessert commemorating God’s protection of Noah and his family at the landing of the ark; and also, God’s rescue of Moses and the Israelites at the Sea of Reeds. It is the Muslim custom to make Noah’s Pudding or Ashura, a dessert comprised of grain, beans, nuts, and dried fruit, sweetened with sugar; and to bring it to neighbors, giving the gift of nourishment, sharing good feelings and love among all people. The constituents in the dessert are a metaphor for multiculturalism: the inclusion of many different foods, stirred and cooked together, reminding us of the many different peoples and religions of the world. Each ingredient adds to the others, enriching the taste and aroma of this confection.
The events that the sharing of Noah’s pudding asks us to remember are two instances of giving: God giving human beings renewed life, love, and liberty through Noah and again after the Exodus from Egypt, through Moses. Psalm 82 says, “you are Godlike beings, all of you: children of the Most High.” In this psalm and in a verse from Mishpatim which says, “you shall be people of holiness to me,” we are asked to model God’s behavior: to imitate God by giving.
It is an outstanding attribute of God that God accepts and receives all people. No one is ever excluded from God’s Presence. And yet, it is an outstanding characteristic of religion that certain people and groups are habitually excluded. If religion is supposed to represent God, how can this be? We are taught, God is near to all who call upon the Eternal in truth. So the exclusion we experience must come from us, and not from God. As children of the Most High, people of potential holiness, there is love in our hearts. But we must also take responsibility for and recognize the hatred that is also there. The hatred comes from within us. It is one of many inner voices that sees the Other: those who are different, and responds by excluding them. We are filled with love and courage, but also with hatred and fear.
Rabbi Arthur Green, in a comment about a passage by the S’fat Emet, remarks that the way to God is through peace. This echoes another teaching by Reb Moshe Lieb of Sassov, who says, “Do you wish to know whether what you are dong is right? Ask yourself whether it brings you closer to others. If it does not, then you are moving in the wrong direction, you are moving away from God.” Through sharing, kindness, acceptance, and giving, we moderate our feelings toward those who are different, learning about them; overcoming our natural timidity and fear, creating bonds of understanding and friendship. The vision we have of a better world is a world of giving: a society in which we make no distinctions between the US and the Them. Then each of us can move toward God and holiness, becoming a doorway through which God’s blessings can pass. Deeds of sharing form a connection between us and God. The spiritual universe is set up so that more for you becomes more for both of us, because we are all part of each other: we are all part of the ONE. Even the smallest actions: the bringing of Noah’s Pudding to us, who are the Other, the stranger; the spirit with which we welcome our Muslim neighbors, creates the flow of God’s blessings to all of us. Then we touch what is deepest in our souls, the inherent Godliness that we share, that of being children of the Most High.
It is fitting to speak about Mishpatim tonight, an evening when we welcome a representative of our Muslim brothers and sisters, a member of the Interfaith Dialog Center, which is sponsored by the Turkish Cultural Center of the Republic of Turkey. He has brought us the gift of Noah’s Pudding, a special dessert commemorating God’s protection of Noah and his family at the landing of the ark; and also, God’s rescue of Moses and the Israelites at the Sea of Reeds. It is the Muslim custom to make Noah’s Pudding or Ashura, a dessert comprised of grain, beans, nuts, and dried fruit, sweetened with sugar; and to bring it to neighbors, giving the gift of nourishment, sharing good feelings and love among all people. The constituents in the dessert are a metaphor for multiculturalism: the inclusion of many different foods, stirred and cooked together, reminding us of the many different peoples and religions of the world. Each ingredient adds to the others, enriching the taste and aroma of this confection.
The events that the sharing of Noah’s pudding asks us to remember are two instances of giving: God giving human beings renewed life, love, and liberty through Noah and again after the Exodus from Egypt, through Moses. Psalm 82 says, “you are Godlike beings, all of you: children of the Most High.” In this psalm and in a verse from Mishpatim which says, “you shall be people of holiness to me,” we are asked to model God’s behavior: to imitate God by giving.
It is an outstanding attribute of God that God accepts and receives all people. No one is ever excluded from God’s Presence. And yet, it is an outstanding characteristic of religion that certain people and groups are habitually excluded. If religion is supposed to represent God, how can this be? We are taught, God is near to all who call upon the Eternal in truth. So the exclusion we experience must come from us, and not from God. As children of the Most High, people of potential holiness, there is love in our hearts. But we must also take responsibility for and recognize the hatred that is also there. The hatred comes from within us. It is one of many inner voices that sees the Other: those who are different, and responds by excluding them. We are filled with love and courage, but also with hatred and fear.
Rabbi Arthur Green, in a comment about a passage by the S’fat Emet, remarks that the way to God is through peace. This echoes another teaching by Reb Moshe Lieb of Sassov, who says, “Do you wish to know whether what you are dong is right? Ask yourself whether it brings you closer to others. If it does not, then you are moving in the wrong direction, you are moving away from God.” Through sharing, kindness, acceptance, and giving, we moderate our feelings toward those who are different, learning about them; overcoming our natural timidity and fear, creating bonds of understanding and friendship. The vision we have of a better world is a world of giving: a society in which we make no distinctions between the US and the Them. Then each of us can move toward God and holiness, becoming a doorway through which God’s blessings can pass. Deeds of sharing form a connection between us and God. The spiritual universe is set up so that more for you becomes more for both of us, because we are all part of each other: we are all part of the ONE. Even the smallest actions: the bringing of Noah’s Pudding to us, who are the Other, the stranger; the spirit with which we welcome our Muslim neighbors, creates the flow of God’s blessings to all of us. Then we touch what is deepest in our souls, the inherent Godliness that we share, that of being children of the Most High.
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