The Path to Becoming a Tzaddik

This week’s Torah portion is Vayeishev, which means, and he settled. Jacob settled in Canaan with his wives and 13 children. The teenage Joseph, second to the youngest, used to tattle on his older brothers. Joseph was the favorite son, the one given the coat of many colors or coat of fine wool, denoting family leadership; the dreamer who dreamed of future leadership, and let everyone know it. In this Torah portion, the brothers are pasturing their father’s flock and Jacob sends his young son, Joseph, to bring back a report. In essence, he is sent to tattle. When they see him coming, his brothers conspire to kill him. Reuben, the eldest, steers them away from murder, suggesting they throw him into a pit, with the intention of rescuing him later. Judah, the fourth son, advocates selling him to a passing caravan, agreeing with Reuben, saying, “Let our hand not be upon him, for he is our brother, our own flesh (Gen. 37:27).” The brothers decide to follow Judah’s lead and they do put Joseph into the pit. While they are eating a picnic lunch, traders sell Joseph before they can make a profit themselves, and he is eventually taken to Egypt and resold, ending up as a slave to Potifar, a high official.
This story pivots on hatred and jealousy – two emotions that are in every human heart. At this season of social and family gatherings, it may come up for us, making an unwelcome appearance in our lives. Why are we given these attributes? How do they serve us and, from a spiritual perspective, why are they wrong? The verse, “He is our brother, our own flesh,” is very enlightening. In a sense, all hatred is self hatred. This can be seen in the well known situation of the self hating Jew. But also, since the truth of reality, which the Torah teaches, is that we are all one: we are all part of each other. We are all brothers, sisters: family; and we are all part of the Divine Oneness. So we recognize in others that quality that is part of us: hatred or jealousy, and return it outward. Or we find a lack in ourselves and blame another person for it.
Hatred and jealousy come from a faulty understanding of the world. Rashi comments: snakes and scorpions were in the pit. The brothers placed Joseph physically in the place where they were emotionally: a place of snakes and scorpions. They separated themselves from Joseph, trying to get rid of their own negative feelings toward him. In a sense, all sins are sins of separation: separating us from one another and from God. If the truth of existence is that we are One, then any separation goes against the way the Universe is made. It is a step backward, toward the corruption of society in the time of Noah, rather than forward, into the messianic vision of the future.
One of the underlying principles of the Torah is that one who separates will herself or himself be separated. This was true of Rebecca, who was separated from her beloved son Jacob. It was true of Rachel, who was separated from Jacob, her husband, Joseph and her newborn son Benjamin, and from life itself, by her early death. And it was true of Judah in this Torah portion, whose wife and two sons died untimely deaths. Hatred and jealousy are challenges within us that we can strive against. They are prime attributes that we can decide to overcome, providing rungs on the ladder leading toward spiritual progress. They can spur us to goodness when re recognize them and honestly admit to their source within us. They can show us a path of action to redress wrongs or injustice in our relationships and in the greater society; and they can help us to achieve and attain for ourselves what we have always wanted to be, IF and only if, we put these attributes in the service of unifying and not separating. The world looks separate to us and is not. People look separate from us and are not. Hatred and jealousy hurt us, not others. The path to becoming a tzaddik, a righteous person, is long, but Joseph the tattletale achieved it. The brothers: Reuben, Judah and the others achieved it. And so can we. May jealous and hatred not find a place to lodge in our hearts, and may we grow in goodness and righteousness, acting out of and choosing the truth of our unity.

Spiritual Completion & How We Grow

This week’s Torah portion is Toldot, which means offspring. It tells of Isaac and Rebecca’s family and the birth of Rebecca’s twins. The first baby to be born was covered in red hair, so they named him Esau. Rashi says everyone called him Esau because he was fully made, completed. Esau comes from the verb ASA, to do or to make, and Esau was also a doer: a man of action. Jacob was born second, grasping Esau’s heel, and he was named Yaakov, heel or that which follows. The JPS commentary also links Yaakov to the Semitic word for protection, a plea for Divine shelter and blessing. The Torah gives a brief description of the two boys. About Esau it says, Esau became one who knows trapping, a man of the field. The description for Jacob reads, and Jacob was a quiet man, abiding in tents. Not all translations say quiet. Rashi says wholesome. The Women’s Torah commentary says homespun. Another translation is mild. But the Hebrew says, Tam. Tam literally means finished, perfect, complete whole, innocent, or simple. It is the same word used for the Simple Son in the section of the Passover Hagaddah that tells of the four children, or the four sons. The simple son is the one who is Tam: whole or complete. We can see that Jacob and Esau were very different, but that each was complete in his own way. Esau is physically complete and ready for action. Jacob’s completeness is more about inner resources, the ability to be quietly alone, to be a thinker, the ability to meditate, the ability to be in relationship with people and not only with things; but also he is a planner and a schemer. Neither boy had it all, but each was described as being complete. Their completeness brings us back to a verse in B’reisheet: “The heavens and the earth were finished and all their array. By the seventh day God completed the work which God had done, and abstained on the seventh day from all the work which God had done. God blessed the seventh day and sanctified it because on it God abstained from all the work which God created to make.” The verb, to make, Laasot, is puzzling. The end of the quotation should say, that God Made. To make, points us into the future. From this our sages derive the principle of Shutfei Elohim, being in partnership with God. My teacher, Rabbi Gelberman expressed it this way: God said, nothing I do anymore will be done alone. From now on we will finish the work of creation together. And this is precisely the case for Jacob and Esau, and also for us. We are born perfect and complete, just as creation was perfect and complete after the sixth day of creation. But we are also incomplete. The S’fat Emet expresses this in another way: “All things are brought into being by God. But the point is hidden and we have to expand it. This depends upon the point within us, for the more we expand our own souls, the more God is revealed to us in every place.” We are meant to be a work in progress that we, ourselves are bringing to completeness with our Divine partner. Or rather, that God is bringing to completeness with us as a willing or unwilling partner. Jacob and Esau are again instructive. As young men, their lack of a trusting, loving relationship is obvious. Esau’s anger and hostility toward Jacob for stealing the blessing and Jacob’s scheming, manipulative nature, his willingness to trick his way through life and run away from his problems repulse us. But their actions should give us great hope. Who of us doesn’t cringe at things we have done when we were younger, or even last year? If Jacob and Esau can become holy, so can we. As middle aged men, in next week’s Torah portion, Jacob and Esau have left their infantile selves, having done the inner work that allows them to express their love for each other and to see Divinity in each other’s faces, reestablishing their deep bond of understanding and caring for each other. We, too, are being led on a path of spiritual growth and development. Just as we have an innate program of physical development that unfold in our bodies, so we have an innate program of spiritual development that unfold in our souls. The events of our lives, our choices, and our feelings about our choices and those events are the engine which propels our growth. Each experience is an opportunity or test for us to choose with love, caring, and generosity. Each choice comes with the feedback of our feelings about how we have used the gift of free will. This is the creation of new Torah within us every day. This is how God communicates with us. Each new day is an opportunity to triumph over our yesterday’s selves. We may lose the contest numerous times before we are ready to advance. But we will surely advance, for we are being led by the Eternal One toward perfection, wholeness and the spiritual simplicity of pure love. Flawed as we are, Jacob and Esau teach us that each of us can attain great spiritual heights. Our sages said, “The offspring of the righteous are good deeds.” May we participate eagerly and fully in our growth toward righteousness, and may all our choices be deeds and words and thoughts of holiness and love.

Chaye Sara: The Life of Rebecca

This week’s Torah portion, Caye Sara, the life of Sara, is named after our first matriarch; but really centers on the life of Rebecca, Rivka, the second matriarch. Sara dies and Abraham buys the Cave of Machpeleh in order to bury Sara. Then Abraham sends his head servant back to his family in Mesopotamia to select a wife for Isaac. The servant, Eliezer, prays to God that, when he asks a maiden for a drink, the girl who says to him, Drink and I will even draw water for your camels, will be the one who has been Divinely chosen to the be the right bride for Isaac. He is not even finished praying this prayer to God when Rebecca appears and says those exact words. The servant is amazed, caught in a coincidence that he knows is supernatural.
Last week I spoke about Abraham’s kindness and willingness to give, and how the giving and receiving of love is the model for all receiving and giving in the Universe. Abraham’s kindness was demonstrated again and again by his actions. Here we see in Rebecca the same qualities. There is very little in the Rabbinic commentary about Rebecca. I always felt a little embarrassed about Rebecca. One of the few complimentary things I found about her is from the Zohar (I:50a), which says,“For when a man is at home, the foundation of his house is the wife, for it is on account of her that the Shekinah departs not from the house. So our teachers have understood the verse, “and he brought her to the tent of his mother Sarah” (Gen. 24: 67), to indicate that with Rebecca the Shekinah came to Isaac's house.” Perhaps my talk tonight might be titled, A Tribute to Rebecca. Her actions show that she was young and energetic; kind and generous. The text says three times that, like Abraham, she hurried to help. She ran to the spring and kept running to draw water until all the camels had enough to drink. The servant gives her gifts and inquires whether he and his entourage may spend the night. She answers that there is room and plentiful feed for the camels at home. Like Abraham, she is one who offers hospitality. Eliezer has arrived to find almost a second Abraham. The similarities do not stop there. Eliezer asks her family for Rebecca’s hand in marriage for Isaac. They agree. The next morning Eliezer asks to leave with Rebecca and her family asks him to remain ten months to a year. But Eliezer wants to leave immediately. Thank God for the history of women that Rebecca’s family asks her permission before they send her off. They ask, “Will you go with this man?” She says, without any hesitation, “I will go.” This parallel’s Abraham’s leaving his homeland when he received God’s call, without any indecision or questioning. Their ability to seize opportunity, resulted for both of them, in their receiving undreamed of spiritual and material gifts. Rebecca’s plucky optimism, trust, adventurous nature, and her willingness to say “Yes” to life, betting on a happy future; shows that she is Abraham’s spiritual heir, as well as his biological heir. She is, in fact, his Grand-niece.
It is Rebecca who, in next week’s portion, inquires of God about the twins jostling inside her and receives a response, making her a prophetess. It is also Rebecca who is the cause of Jacob’s stealing the blessing, taking the responsibility upon herself, but thereby insuring the spiritual legacy and continuation of Judaism. Perhaps she used the only weapons a woman had in that society, not direct confrontation, but indirect, yet decisive, action. And speaking of action, like Abraham, who went to rescue Lot, Rebecca rescues Jacob twice. She takes the blame upon herself, instructing him to lie to his Father. Then, by subsequently sending Jacob off to find a wife with her family in Mesopotamia, she further insures his survival and the continuation of their line. Sending him to her family resulted in Jacob’s 12 sons becoming the 12 tribes of Israel. Not that lying and deceiving are to be condoned. Quite the contrary: but we should remember that Abraham did it too. We are told he lied twice. Perhaps it’s a case of us giving God lemons and God making lemonade, for these actions all resulted in mostly positive outcomes.
Rebecca is our first convert: like Abraham, a person of courage and generosity, kindness, action, optimism and faith. She was wise in her choices and visionary in her actions. Perhaps we should speak about Abraham, Rebecca, and Jacob when we mention our Patriarchs, for she deserves our admiration and gratitude, not only for our continuation but also for the quality of our spiritual legacy. Rabbi Nachman of Breslau famously said, “A person walks in life on a very narrow bridge. The most important thing is not to be afraid.” And Rabbi Gelberman’s book Spiritual Truths says this too: “When we expect good we are sensitive to all its signposts. We do not miss the boat!” Rebecca’s fearlessness as she looked into the face of the unknown, her willingness to help, her taking a stand for what she knew was right, no matter the consequences, her strength, and her faith in God, make her someone we can look up to. May an appreciation of her life help us to let go of the fears that keep us from finding and experiencing our own blessings. May we confront life as she did, having faith in the goodness of life, with optimism for the future; and giving of ourselves, that we may be a blessing to others and receive all the good that is surely coming to us.

Receiving by Giving

This week’s Torah portion, Vayera, which means, and He appeared, continues the saga of Abraham and Sarah. Abraham greets three travelers who come to tell Sarah that she will have a child. Abraham hears of the coming destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah and pleads for the rescue of the righteous. Lot, Abraham’s nephew who lives in Sodom, receives the angelic visitors; and he and his family are saved. Sarah gives birth to Isaac in great joy, Hagar and her son Ishmael are sent away, but are protected by God, and Abraham is tested when God asks him to sacrifice Isaac. Since the end of this portion is read on Rosh Hashanah, I’d like to look at something which comes into focus at the beginning of Vayera. Abraham has been circumcised. By tradition he is sitting healing just inside the entrance to his tent when he sees three dusty travelers. The Torah says, He saw and he ran to greet them and bowed toward the ground.” The he requested that they accept his offer of a meal and water for washing, to which they agree. The Torah says, Abraham rushed to the tent and said, Hurry! To Sarah, asking her to make fine cakes for them. Then it says Abraham ran to the herd. He selected a choice calf and saw that it was prepared with cream and milk. Then he served his guests and watched as they ate. The Talmud says about this: Rab Judah said in Rab's name: “Hospitality to travelers is greater than welcoming the Divine Presence. Shabbat 127a. And the Midrash says: Since the day when the Holy One, blessed be He, created you, you were destined to come to me. This indicates that it’s possible our purpose here on earth is to give. The story about Abraham can be seen in the larger context of his personality. Six more episodes from his life illustrate the kind of person he was. In last week’s portion, Lech Lecha, he leaves his home in Mesopotamia at God’s request, showing a lack of attachment to his property and life there. Second, He and Lot initially travel together, but later they acquire more livestock and can’t graze them in the same vicinity. Abraham, as head of the family, could choose the best land, but gives Lot his choice and takes what is left. Third, When Lot is captured in battle, Abraham goes to rescue him. He and his allies are victorious. Abraham gives away a tenth of the spoils of war to a local priest of God and then refuses any of his own share, giving all the captured possessions to his allies. About this Midrash says, R. Judah said in R. Nehorai's name: In virtue of that blessing the three great pillars of the world, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, enjoyed prosperity. In the case of Abraham it is written, And God blessed Abraham in all things (Genesis Raba XXIV, 1).Further, the Zohar says that Abraham forged a link to the upper world, allowing blessings to flow from below to above. Fourth, When there is a controversy about the ownership of well, Abraham gives Abimelech, the local chieftain, a gift of animals to placate him, even through Abraham is the injured party. Fifth, When asked by Sarah to give up his son Ishmael, Abraham is upset, but does so when God asks him to. Sixth, He even brings Isaac up to a mountain as a sacrifice, in my opinion, knowing that God with whom he has a close and trusting relationship, and who promised him descendants through Isaac, will somehow protect them both. Why does the Torah think it is important for us to know how generous Abraham was? We know that being a giving person is a good thing because it makes us feel good, and we are connected on a feeling level with each other and God; and it’s nice that the Patriarch of our religion was a generous person; but I believe that a deeper lesson is being taught here, perhaps one of the underlying principles by which the universe is structured. If God is one, then as I’ve come to understand, the moral and physical universes are one; they’re inseparable as we, too, as people are one, and inseparable with The Divine. So what we choose to do morally and ethically influences the outcomes of our lives. We know that no one will love us if we are mean, disagreeable, or continually difficult and stand offish. We have to give and be loving to receive love. But what is true in the realm of love is also true in every other area and aspect of the universe. And I think this is what all the accounts of Abraham’s generosity illustrate. Whatever we want to receive comes only to us through giving. Whether love or material things, we can only receive by first giving. This concept seems simple, but has wide implications. Unless our hearts are open, few blessings can come to us. The Zohar says, as the wicked upset the world and cause blessing to be withheld, so the righteous bring blessing to the world and for their sakes all its inhabitants are blessed…. The same principle applies to ones who seek to be attached to the sacred spirit on high. For it is by their acts, by their words, and by their fervency and devotion that they can draw to themselves that spirit from on high. Whether love or material things, we can only receive by first giving. Whether we wish to have spiritual attainment, intellectual growth, or material well being, what we work for or contribute decides what we will be able to receive. From this we can see that giving is its own special spiritual path.//This portion also speaks of improper giving. Lot, in an attempt to placate the townspeople of Sodom, and to observe the law of hospitality, offers his two virgin daughters to them, in place of his two guests. But Lot has offered that which is not his to give. His daughters are prevented from being given to the mob by the angel guests, but later the daughters’ incest with Lot testifies that, unlike Judah and Moses, who offer themselves in place of others, that Lot’s giving was unethical and clearly wrong. Abraham gave of his own possessions. The Chassidic Rabbi Yaakov Josef of Polnoye said, “that it is the sign of a truly righteous person that they are always ‘at the entrance’ as “Abraham was, aware that they have much to accomplish.” Abraham ran to have the opportunity to give: to give of himself, his time, his attention, his possessions and of his love. Each time we have the chance to give, it is a great opportunity to create goodness and kindness for others and ourselves. It is through giving that blessings can flow in this world. May Abraham be our example, teaching us that a generous open trusting heart affects the entire world. May we struggle against our lesser impulses and like Abraham be givers who receive many blessings.

Noah - Abandoning the Logical for the Real

Once upon a time there was a person whose name was Tranquility. And this person had three children; Renown, Warmth, and Beauty. If someone began to tell you a story and it started like this, what would you think?
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That is how the story of Noah begins, there was a man and his name was tranquility or rest. Other connotations are self composure, or as the Lubavitcher Rebbe said, pleasure, satisfaction, and yes, tranquility. His sons: Shem which means name and could refer to God’s name or to self esteem, or pride in a good sense, like pride in one’s work; and Ham, warmth, which connotes feeling, emotion, perhaps, or relationship; and Japhet, beauty or perfection.
Now this person, Noah, was said to be whole, perfect, and we’re told he walked with God. But then God gives him a ridiculous task: totally outlandish. Build an ark to the specifications I tell you. And then an even more improbable task: gather two of every animal and put them in the ark. How is anyone supposed to do that? They are commandments that are not reasonable. Any logical person would be thrown into a quandary as to what to do. But the Torah says twice, in two slightly different statements, Noah did everything which was commanded to him by God, so he did. And later, and Noah did everything that God commanded. What are we to think? That we should never question? That we should obey blindly? What is obviously metaphoric parable trying to teach us? I think one aspect of its teaching is about looking beneath the surface of this story at broad, general principles. First we can say that Noah accepted divine guidance. He was willing to take upon himself this unusual task, on faith and with trust. In a sense, he abandoned the logical for the real, for what turned out to be more real than logic. Let it be noted too, that he was happy working on this task for God. Later in this portion, after building the ark, after the flood was over, after his responsibilities were mostly completed: it is then that he gets drunk and becomes debased. It was only after he stopped doing God’s work and did something solely for himself; that he gets into trouble. So by being willing to follow God and doing these strange tasks he entered a deeper reality than the everyday life of human beings; a deeper reality than the appearance of our reality. The S’fat Emet speaks about Noah’s acceptance of the Divine tasks. He says, “The process takes place through human self negation, where everything returns to its source. It (concerns)…the one who understands that he has no life of his own.” This is a strange statement. We have free will. Of course we have lives of our own, don’t we? I would say, yes, and no. The Torah teaches that we are always being led to a higher, purer way of living. It’s like the morning blessing in which we thank God for guiding us on our path. By accepting Divine guidance, we partially negate our will so that we can participate in the deeper reality: that the Divine life is being lived through us. The means for improvement and healing in the world, and in ourselves, must come through us, though it does not necessarily come only from us. We are meant to be expressions of the inner life of the Divine, manifested on earth. It is our acceptance of our Divine tasks and our labor that makes this possible. We will be given tasks that may make no sense to our logical minds. As a matter of fact, evolutionary biologists have been trying to explain altruism for more than a century, without any real success. And the reason they can’t explain it is that it’s illogical, but nevertheless, very real: an observable phenomenon which permeates all of nature. We can’t always explain why following God’s commandments and guidance works. We don’t always know how it produces good results, but by being willing to negate our apparent self interest and work for the common good, we attain tranquility, pride, warmth and beauty: attributes that are not bestowed upon us, but earned by us. A person who is complete is tranquil and experiences rest, a good name, the warmth of love, and the beauty of living. It is this kind of person who can negate their own desires and attach themselves to their source, the root of all existence and all being. We were meant to live in two worlds simultaneously: the practical and the spiritual. May we be pliant enough to accept Divine guidance and take upon ourselves the tasks that we are lovingly given. May our labor be for others as well as for ourselves, that we may be an expression of the life of the Divine: tranquil, proud of our actions, connected by human warmth, and experiencing life’s beauty.

To Bring Forth Beauty

This week’s Torah portion is Korach, which concerns the famous conflict sparked by Moses’ cousin Korach, 2 of his neighbors, and 250 other leaders. After the bad news about having to wander for 38 more years, in last week’s Torah portion, Korach, a Levite, challenges Moses and Aaron, claiming that they have taken upon themselves too much authority. Moses tells Korach that God will choose who is holy, and subsequently, Korach and the rebels perish in an earthquake and fire respectively. Then a plague breaks out and Moses instructs Aaron to stop the plague with an offering of incense. Aaron stands between the living and the dead and stays the plague, but the people continue to complain about Moses and Aaron. In an effort to stop the murmuring, God tells Moses to have the head of each of the 12 tribes put a staff with his name on it in front of the Tent of Meeting, overnight, and to write Aaron’s name on the staff of Levi. The Torah says, “And it came to pass, that on the next day Moses went into the Tent of Testimony; and, behold, the staff of Aaron for the house of Levi had budded, and brought forth buds, and bloomed blossoms, and yielded almonds.” Aaron has a wonderful reputation in the Torah. He is the High Priest, the older brother, but he is consistently a second fiddle to Moses. He is a peace maker, resolving quarrels and keeping the peace in Moses’ absence. In Midrash Rabba it says, 18:23 It is an honor for a man to keep aloof from strife; but every fool will be snarling (Prov. XX, 3). Aaron is also the appeaser who made the golden calf; the parent whose two eldest sons died before his eyes and the entire assembly, while he kept silent. He is the one who refused to keep one of God’s commandments to eat a sacrifice, because he felt unworthy; and Moses thought his reasoning was correct. He is the servant of God who sacrificed animals, one who heard confessions of the sins of the people each day and saw how sins, that cause death and waste, can be forgiven and cleansed. He was a people person, a regular guy when not in his royal robes and a good listener. When his staff, or mateh in Hebrew, bore fruit, God showed that beauty, creativity, and goodness came from him. Staff, mateh, also means below, which the rabbis connect with humility. The Torah underscores the qualities that bear fruit in a life. What qualities can bring forth beauty?: patience, service, humility, repentance, and sincerity of heart. A quiet that comes from below: that deep place where we are alone with ourselves and our divine essence; the refusal to separate ourselves, as Korach did, but to bind ourselves to our brothers and sisters by being at one with the group. Beauty comes from connection, nobility from service, and fruitfulness from the balance that humility brings to our participation. Creation is about love. Our sages say, it is only by love that God created the world. Love always Re-enacts creation. Bearing fruit is about union; the unification of the upper and lower realms. Aaron was a conduit connecting earth and heaven, He is a model not for the leader, but for the rest of us, those who try to help in the role we have been given to play in this life. May our love re-enact creation, unifying the upper and lower realms, bearing beautiful fruit in our lives allowing us to connect earth to heaven; and May our deeds bring forth beauty and union with our Divine essence.

Understanding Our Mission

This week’s Torah portion is Shelach Lecha, which means, send forth for yourself. It tells the famous story of the scouts, sent to have a first glimpse of the Promised Land. God gave permission for 12 leaders, one from each tribe, to be sent by Moses to bring back a report on the land, the people in it, and its produce. Upon the scouts return, they gave a public report in which they affirmed that the land was good, “But,” 10 out of 12 of them said, in effect, we will never be able to conquer it. We are far too weak. The land it fortified and the people are too strong. The scouts demoralized the Israelites, who became afraid and wanted to return to Egypt. Because of the people’s fear and lack of faith, in spite of God leading them around with a pillar of cloud and feeding them each day, God concluded that only their children who had not been enslaved, would inherit the land and that they must wander for 38 more years.
It is interesting to compare the scouts in this week’s portion and the scouts that Jacob sent when he prepared to meet his brother Esau, after not having seen Esau for 20 years, knowing that the last time they met, Jacob tricked Esau out of his blessing. Jacob’s scouts are called malachim, angels or messengers in the Torah; whereas here, in Shelach Lecha, those sent out are called anashim latour: men, to spy or explore. Their tasks seem similar: travel to Canaan, find out who is there, whether there is a threat, pick up any useful information, and report back. Jacob’s messengers reported that Easu was advancing toward him with 400 men; and Jacob became frightened. In Shelach Lecha, however, the scouts went one step further than Jacob’s messengers. They reported back not just what they had seen but also presented to the whole congregation their own conclusions and decision based on what they saw. In effect, they had misunderstood their mission. No one had asked them to decide IF the people should enter the land. God had not said to them, go see the land and see if this is what you want to do. In the Torah, and by extension in our own lives intention is very important. In Pirkei Avot, Chapters of the Fathers, which is part of the Talmud, it is written, (V:20) ”Any controversy with a noble purpose will result in abiding value, but any controversy that has no noble purpose shall not have abiding value.” When Jacob heard the messengers’ bad news he wrestled with himself all night, confronting his own integrity so that he could face his obligation of meeting Esau the next morning, not knowing where his blessing might lie. When we perform any action, the sages say, an angel is created, and that energy we send out into the world contains the goodness of our intentions or conversely, the negativity or selfishness with which we sometimes act. The S’fat Emet quotes Midrash Rabbah (16:1) “Nothing is beloved before God like an emissary sent to do a mitzvah who risks his life for the mission to succeed.” The S’fat Emet’s grandfather and teacher said, “We are all emissaries to do mitsvot; we were sent into this world by God in order to fulfill God’s commandments.” And these commandments were given to us in love, for our benefit. Like the spies, it is so easy for us to misunderstand our mission. We were sent here to go forth fearlessly, not always knowing where our blessing will lie, to be angels of goodness for each other: to help and be a blessing to one another, and to bring God’s goodness into the world. We don’t get to decide what our mission will be; it has already been decided for us, because of the way we are made, as an integral part of the universe and God.
The universe is already structured so that if we do what is right and open our hearts, we feel good about ourselves. In Leviticus it says, you shall be holy for the Eternal our God is holy; and this is part prophecy and part encouragement. We aren’t allowed to decide if we want to be a blessing, for that is the way God is leading us. If our intentions are for the sake of Heaven, then our struggles will have meaning and value, and we will be guided on a true path to wholeheartedness with God and love for each other. May each of us be guided on a path of love, compassion, and good intentions, that we may create angels of goodness and beauty, now and always.

Bearers of the Light

This week’s Torah portion is Naso, which means do, as in, do a census. The Levites were to be counted and tasks associated with transporting the Tabernacle were assigned. Also in the portion, people with certain conditions were to dwell outside the camp until they were purified again. A mechanism for confession to the Priest, and restitution of an extra 20 per cent, was laid down. This portion also describes laws that have been abandoned, such as the trial by ordeal when a husband is suspicious of a wife; and the rules for temporary nuns and monks, the Nazarites. This portion famously includes the Priestly Benediction; and concludes with the description of identical offerings of the tribes for the dedication of the sanctuary.
Naso describes the labor of the Levites, which is here called service. Much of the Levitical service was carrying. Among the four Levite families, the Gershonite clan carried the curtains and fabric panels which enclosed the Tabernacle, or the Mishkan, and formed the cover of the Tent of Meeting. The Kohath clan carried the most sacred objects: the ark, the table of bread, the Menorah, the golden incense altar, and all the associated utensils. Two of the Levite families were assigned wagons, for carrying the heaviest parts of the Tabernacle. The text Says, (7:9) and to the sons of Kohath, Moses did not give wagons since the sacred service was upon them and they carried on their shoulder.
A few things to notice: all the Levites had extra work to do. Their blessing was that, not only did they have to transport their own tents and belongings, like everyone else, but they were responsible for more than the average person. Also, the census first counted the non-Levites and only afterward counted the Levite families. So, in a sense, everyone “counted.” Every person was important to the success of the endeavor. Rabbi Gelberman said in his book, Spiritual Truths, “There are no sidelines in a spiritual world. We must enter it and live.” So, the Torah says, we all count and are all engaged in service, a sacred service. Those designated to be leaders are asked to do more of the work, not less. There are two hints in the text about what true service should be. The word for curtains Y’ri-ot, is interesting. It is related to seeing, and to the world neighbor, as in you shall love your neighbor as yourself. But it is also related to protection and to friendship. The curtains were lace panels and the covering for the tent of meeting was made of goat hair. Both of these types of panels let in the light, especially the goat hair cover, because the Tent of meeting was enclosed and had no illumination during the day; only at night was the menorah lit. There was a waterproof covering for the tent as well; and perhaps it was put on in inclement weather. So the Hebrew words lead us to an inner meaning: that of finding the inner mishkan the indwelling of holiness, or finding the inner Tzaddik, the inner righteousness within us that yearns to serve and let in Divine light. The true service that brings us closer to our inner holiness is carrying light: seeing each other person as our neighbor and carrying our light to our fellow; extending our light, our understanding, and even our protection, a function of us all being responsible for each other.
The Talmud contains a commentary on carrying from Naso. It is well known that the Levites were musicians. They sang and played instruments: drums, flutes, harps, and tambourines for the Temple service. The Talmud comments: (Arachin 11a:6) Our Rabbis taught: The omission of the song invalidates the sacrifice, R. Eleazar said: Because Scripture said, And I have given the Levites — they are given to Aaron and to his sons from among the children of Israel . . . and to make atonement for the children of Israel, i.e., just as atonement is indispensable, so is the song indispensable. ….. Now which service is it that is in joyfulness and with gladness of heart? You must say: It is song. And it is also written, …. But unto the sons of Kohath he gave none, because the service of the holy things belonged unto them: they bore them upon their shoulders. … But they bore them here means in song, for thus also it is said: Take up [se'u] the melody and sound the timbrel, and it is said also: They lift up [yisse'u] their voices, they sing for joy.
This tells us how we should perform Divine service. We must open our hearts and let in the light, carrying our light to others with the music in our souls; with joy and gratitude; with happiness and our life force. We were given these gifts not to keep them to ourselves, but to bring our light out of where it sometimes hides and light up the eyes of others with our caring and our smiles. This is true service: carrying our share, doing our part joyously, and adding to and extending the blessings we were given in this world. May the songs of the Levites be our example and may the holy tasks we carry out be a reflection of the radiance of our own souls.

Does God Punish?

This week we read two Torah portions: Behar, on the mountain, and Bechukotai, my decrees. Tonight I would like to focus on the second, Bechukoti. This portion begins with a conditional sentence: If you will follow my decrees and observe my commandments and perform them, then I will create blessings for you. The many blessings include rain at its proper time, fruitfulness of the land, peace, and prosperity; success in battle and a special relationship with God. The next conditional sentence starts what is known as the Tochacha, the admonition, and begins, But: if you will not listen to me and will not perform these commandments. Or you consider my decrees loathsome and if your being rejects my ordinances…then I will do the same to you.” What follows is a litany of terrible suffering that increases in its severity: privation, illness, war, exile, calamity, and famine. The English translation of the portion goes on to say that if after a first series of misfortunes we do not listen, “then I shall punish you further.” The question I would like to address tonight is: does God punish? The Hebrew word, Ya’s’ra more literally means to admonish, discipline, or correct: that God is actually communicating with us through the things that happen to us, in an attempt to being us back to a more productive state and relationship. In the Zohar, “R. Jose commented on the verse: My child, despise not the chastening of the God, neither be weary of God’s reproof (Prov. III, 11). Israel, he said, are beloved to God, and therefore God desires to reprove them and to lead them in the right path as a loving parent leads their children, and because of this love God always has the rod in his hand to keep them in the right path and to prevent them from straying to the right or the left.” But we can go deeper into this question.. The sages say that the Torah speaks in the language of human beings. When it says, “with a strong hand” God took us out of Egypt, or we read, “you have found favor in my eyes,” we know that God does not have hands or eyes, and it is just a metaphoric way of speaking. But this is also true about punishing or disciplining or correcting. It is not that God punishes us, but that we experience the results of our acts as punishments. The metaphor I like best is the glass of water. If all of creation is a glass of water and we put dark dye into the water by our actions, then the water will become darker and things will look bleak. If each of us is a source of dark dye, then it will look very dark around us. But say that if, by our good, ethical, and worthy actions we could remove some of the darkness around us? Then the water would lighten and all the water would improve. It’s a good metaphor because it shows how interconnected we all are, that one action really does affect the whole, both positively and negatively. Rabbi Sarah Sager makes a similar point in The Torah, a Women’s Commentary. She writes: “The catalogue of threats and promises is a biblical way to explain how intimate the connection of the natural realm of the universe is to the moral realm. The two realms do not function independently of each other. There is a moral order to the universe as surely as there is a more easily observable natural order….And it is in the moral realm where God cannot function alone. God...kept looking for partners. What did we expect of a God who created the natural universe? That the moral dimension was as afterthought?...God did not neglect the moral realm. On the contrary, humankind did. God kept expecting humankind to behave morally and was constantly disappointed.” In Bechukotai, we are being frightened into compliance, but more importantly, we are being given vital information: that the Universe is all of a piece, a Oneness, that is inescapable. It is not that we are being punished, or disciplined, or corrected; but that we if we choose not to obey the commandments, we are acting against the way the universe is constructed: like jumping up and expecting gravity not to pull us back down. Rabbi Gelberman also teaches that God does not punish. He feels that we do things to ourselves. And this view is borne out in a quotation from Noah. “God saw that the badness of man was great upon the earth…and God had heartfelt sadness.” Not anger, not the impulse to punish, but heartfelt sadness. God would much prefer to bless us and send us blessings. When we get along with each other and help each other, we unlock the Shefa, the flow of blessings for us all. Bechukotai is not about a punishing God. It is about a God who is trying to give us a fighting chance to understand how to be whole and to create wholeness. The Zohar comments about this section of the Torah, “The two, statute and judgment, are connected both on the higher and the lower planes. All the commandments, decrees, and sanctifications of the Torah are attached to these…. Both are intertwined and form one entity, and this is the sum of the Holy Name, so that the one who transgresses against the commandments of the law in effect impairs the Holy Name…the one that gives charity (zedakah) to the poor makes the Holy Name complete as it should be above since zedakah is the tree of life, and when it gives to Zedek (righteousness) the Holy Name becomes complete. Hence he who sets this activity in motion from below, as it were, fully makes the Holy Name.”(112a) There is another metaphor that I have found to be useful in understanding how the Torah is attempting to teach us. If you buy a new piece of electronic equipment: a TV, VCR, DVD player, watch, or camera, and you don’t read the manual, you won’t know how to program it or use it so that it will do what you want it to do. If we fiddle with the thing ourselves, it is unlikely that we will be pleased with our purchase, until we read how to operate it. The Torah is the manual for living. It tells us how to operate the universe, how to operate ourselves in a sense, to experience good outcomes. God has given us free will, because there is no spiritual attainment without free will. God has given us the manual, as Moses says, for our benefit, not to threaten or punish us, but to impress upon us what works and what will not ever have the possibility of working. Our moral life is one of God’s central concerns, and we have been dignified by God allowing us the choice of choosing a loving, giving, ethical life. In Bechukotai, the choices are laid out for us starkly and clearly. Choose blessing, choose plenty, choose knowingly and choose lovingly, so that God’s universe will respond, and as it says, do the same to you.

Inner Fine-ness

This week’s Torah portion is Emor, which means, speak. God asks Moses to speak to the priests about contamination and ritual purity. Priests are not to come into contact with the dead except for the necessity to bury very close relatives. People with certain blemishes or disabilities are not to serve as priests; contaminated people may not eat the sacrifices and blemished animals may not be sacrificed. The cycle of yearly holidays is described and the law that the punishment must fit the crime, almost always applied as monetary damages, is restated, similar to its first appearance in Exodus.
This is a difficult portion for us moderns to read. We don’t agree with excluding people with blemishes or disabilities. So the task is: how to find meaning in a section of the Torah that speaks about a society long gone, a priestly class and sacrificial system abolished 2,000 years ago, and values we no longer affirm? The sage, S’fat Emet quotes Psalm 12:7, “the words of God are pure words, like purified silver, clear to the world, refined.” This verse speaks of purity, refinement; of having standards and of using our powers of discrimination to make certain distinctions. It is, for me, understandable that God would not want us to offer blemished animals for sacrifice. Giving up animals that no one wanted because there were sick, lame, or defective is not a sacrifice at all. It would be giving our worst and not our best. So God wishes us to give our best. The Eternal is asking us to give only that which has value to us, only that which represents the highest in us; and this holds true on a deeper level as well as on the simple, physical level. We are asked to develop standards for ourselves but not necessarily for others; to develop a certain inner fine-ness and to maintain standards of behavior and practice, judging ourselves but not falling into the trap of judging others. There are at least two reasons to develop standards. The Torah says, (Levit 22:9) “They shall guard my safekeeping and they shall not bear a sin over it. And die because of it, for they will have defiled it. I am God who sanctifies them.”
The first reason seems to be protection – our protection. The priests had a dangerous job to do. They worked among the Holy objects in the Tabernacle, upon which the Divine Presence rested. It was important for them to know how to protect themselves. Aaron’s two sons had died perhaps because they had not known how to keep themselves safe from contact with God’s holiness. So when we are indignant about the rules in Emor, one thing to remember is that they may be there for human protection; so that the priests did not make fatal mistakes that would have caused them to come into contact with more power or purity than their humanity could handle.
The second, deeper reason for developing standards is an inner one. A standard can be exclusionary, excluding certain people or groups, or it can be inclusion-ary, a personal goal to strive toward. Now that there is no Priesthood, we are all meant to be priests, as it says in Exodus, “You shall be a kingdom of priests, a holy nation.” Our standards can bring us to find our inner fineness, our inner perfection. When we use our ability to make distinctions to sanctify ourselves by setting inner goals, we do as the S’fat Emet wrote: we bring the precious out of the ordinary. This process of self-refining is holy work. It is the way to make contact with the Godliness in ourselves and the universe. Awe: inner fineness is that quality that Rashi calls accepting upon oneself God’s Divinity. In the Zohar it says, “Wholeness comes to those who have awe of God.” When we strive to express what is highest and finest in ourselves, we cause completion; a wholeness to flow from our actions. Then we feel connected to God and to each other, the deep connection that is really there. There is so much work for us to do in the world: tears to dry, smiles to bestow, love and help to give. To be open to that work heals us and helps us. God asks us to give of our best, for our own benefit. Should we really give anything less?

Eulogy: Jeff Swiskay, by guest blogger Elliot Cohen

I first met Jeffrey Swiskay when he was working a record store across from City Hall. As someone whose passion is music, I always enjoy talking with a music store clerk around my age who shares my interest and knowledge of it. Jeff was a knowledgeable about music and film as anyone I've ever met.

I instinctively felt that Jeff was someone I could become friends with, so I gave him my phone number. Just prior to one Passover, Jeff told me he was trying to get off from work for the first day of the holiday. I was very surprised to learn that he was also Jewish. For one thing, I'm extremely naive when it comes to spotting a fellow lansman. Unless, someone has a name like Goldberg or Moskowitz, or they're wearing a yarmukle and tzitzis, I'm can't be sure.

African-Americans, Latinos, or Asians, I'm usually right on the money, but not as accurate with Jews. Besides, Swiskay is not an overtly Jewish name, and frankly...and Jeff used to say this himself, he actually looked more like a Native American than a Jew, especially when he would take the beret out of his long grey hair, which he was proud of, and let it just hang down to his shoulders.

Jeff, who told me that his grandfather was an orthodox rabbi, felt that one of his ancestors who lived in the Wild West portion of this country, may have intermarried with someone of Native American ancestry, hence the physical features.

Anyway, after discovering that Jeff was also Jewish, I knew we would become close friends, which we were. I'm an only child with no extended family at all, and Jeff and I were as close as if he were the brother I never had.

Besides loving music..and comedy...he had aspirations of becoming a full-time actor, and was very proud of the extra work he had done on some major films.

Jeff had a heart as huge as his physical body. I was with him many times when he would stop to speak and show compassion to a homeless person who literally smelled so bad, most other people wouldn't come within ten feet of. Before leaving, many times he would leave the person with a dollar, which was a lot for someone without a job.

I also knew that Jeff was willing to give up one of his kidneys to try to save the life of his late father, whom he admired greatly. Unfortunately, his father passed away before the operation could be completed, but this act shows how unselfish and caring he was.

I still can't believe that Jeffrey is gone. He used to tell me that bringing him to the Actor's Temple was the best thing I ever did for him, and said it was "the coolest place in New York." Being an actor, he was awestruck at the temple's impressive show business background. He was especially impressed that two of the Three Stooges used to come to services here, as he loved their offbeat sense of humor. Also, the Marx Brothers.

I'm truly sorry that his life ended so tragically, especially when he had dreams of coming to California to pursue a career in acting and comedy. He should have been around another 30 to 40 years to enjoy life and make others happy.

Rebirth in the Flame

This week’s Torah portion is Tzav, which means, command. The priests, Aaron and his sons, are given instructions about how to carry out the service of the five different types of sacrifice. They are also asked to keep a fire burning on the altar all night, and all day. They are told that the priests may eat the designated portions of the sacrifices only while in a pure state, that fat and blood may not be eaten. The end of the portion contains a description of the seven day consecration ceremony of the Priests, in which they were asked to wash, dress in the sacred vestments, confess their sins, become anointed, cook and eat the sacrificial meat, and dwell in a holy state within the confines of the Tabernacle for seven days.
The verses of this portion which have been most interesting to the sages are about the flame on the altar. Rabbi Arthur Green notes that these verses are part of the Sephardic and the Chassidic morning service. They include three verses about the flame: In Chapter 6, Verse 2: “Command Aaron and his sons saying, this is the law of the elevation offering, It is the elevation offering that stays on the flame on the altar all night until morning and the fire of the altar should remain aflame on it.” Verse 5: “The fire on the altar shall remain burning on it. It shall not be extinguished.” And Verse 6: “A permanent fire shall remain aflame on the altar. It shall not be extinguished.” The sacrifices described in this portion are in addition to the first sacrifices that are specified in the Torah, the Tamid offerings. They are the continual or daily offerings, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. We might ask, why should the instructions for the priests even be retained in the Torah? Can they have any meaning for us today? The sages, most of whom lived after the sacrificial service had been discontinued by the destruction of the Second Temple, took these lines symbolically, that our devotion should be kept alive and that our hearts should be aflame continually to serve God and do God’s work. But we know, and Rabbi Green reminds us, that a flame can give heat and light, but that a flame can also burn and consume. A flame can be magical, beneficial, and life giving; but it can also hurt and destroy.
In his book, Wrapped in a Holy flame, Rabbi Zalman Shacter interprets the teachings of Rabbi Nachman of Breslov, calling him the first Jewish sage to understand what it is to be a modern person. Rabbi Nachman writes about finding God in the darkness and in the Void. In a verse from Exodus, during the Revelation, the Torah says that the people heard the Ten Commandments and were terrified. The experience was too frightening for them and they asked Moses if he would speak to God and then tell them what God said. Then the text says, “The people saw and trembled and stood from afar….and Moses approached the thick cloud where God was.” Sometimes we encounter God as a god of blessings and happiness, a god of contentment, spiritual fulfillment, and peace. But sometimes either we are afraid; or what we experience is the loneliness of the search for wholeness and union, the questions with few answers, suffering, alienation, meaninglessness. Rabbi Nachman has been there. He says, “Never despair. How far can you fall? Can you ever fall out of God? And how far can you rise? Can you ever rise above God? Below are always the everlasting arms, no matter how low you fall.” In other words, as Rabbi Shacter says, “there is no place of despair,” because whether we are in a place of light or a place of thick cloud, darkness, and void, we are still with God. In fact, Moses had to go into the darkness of the cloud in order to reconnect with God. The Holy Eternal One cannot be found only in peak and happy experiences. The emptiness of the Void and its suffering are a necessary part of the journey. The S’fat Emet speaks about this in another way. He says, “As we burn up the waste in our lives, we are uplifted each day and are given a new light.” This is the synthesis that we need to find meaning in this portion. As modern people we are deep in the process of fulfilling God’s prophecy from Exodus, “You shall be a kingdom of Priests, a holy nation.” Each of us is our own priest, able to talk to God without intermediaries, doing the work of purifying our individual souls and becoming holy on the inside. We are commanded in Exodus to bring a Tamid sacrifice every day, and that sacrifice, for us, can be seen as prayer, as deeds, as study, but in the final analysis, as ourselves. When we are present to the Holy Divine Presence each day, the fire of God consumes our less than worthy selves, remaking us in the Divine Image bit by bit. Our lesser selves are sacrificed, burned; and day by day we grow into the new selves that God decrees must replace the self of yesterday. The famous quote by Norman Mailer comes to mind: “There is that law of life, so cruel and so just, that one must grow or else pay more for staying the same.” Change and progress are two of God’s imperatives. The darkness and the void are part of this continual process of renewal. There is death and then rebirth of a part of ourselves every day. The fire does not go out. The fire cannot go out, and we are cradled in the everlasting arms even as we are in the process of becoming more worthy and magnificent each day. God is the flame and our lesser selves are the sacrifice, and the fire of God’s renewal also lives in our hearts. The flame burns in the void and gives light, consuming our present selves to make possible a new and undreamed of future.
When we give ourselves to this process, trusting that there is a Divine heart and mind that is helping us and urging us to become more of who we really are, we step into the Everlasting arms, cradled there, secure and protected.

The Gift

This week’s Torah portion is Vayikra, which means, and He called. God calls to Moses in this first portion in the book of Leviticus, a book mostly dedicated to instructions for the priests. God tells Moses how sacrifices should be offered and introduces five different categories of sacrifice: Elevation or burnt offerings which were voluntary offerings to allow a person to draw closer to God; Mincha or meal offerings composed of unleavened cakes or fine flour; the offerings of well being, for good fortune and blessings received, also known as feast peace offerings, and the sin and guilt offerings, for unintentional transgressions of a person or the nation. For people who were used to bringing sacrifices, this system provided a way to maintain and extend one’s relationship with God. It also provided a means of atonement; of cleansing oneself of sin and guilt. The possibility of atonement is a central principle of Judaism. As presented here, in the first two portions of Vayikra, it seems quaint, outdated, barbaric, and unnecessary; and it is easy to distance ourselves from the need to perform these rituals. But we all know and accept that we are far from perfect. We know w make mistakes. The question is: do we really need to atone for the mistakes we make? At the end of this weeks reading it says that if a person sins unintentionally, that person shall make restitution and add a fifth to it. This statement is rather amazing, in that it does not speak of an intentional sin, but of a mistake: something the person was not aware of at the time. Now for something like this we would think that we would need to put matters right: to make some kind of settlement or restitution and then things would be fine. After all, it was something we didn’t mean to do. Having made up for it, it should be over and done with. We would try to forgive ourselves and move on. But in this passage, God is trying to tell us that this is not so. In fact, the Torah is trying to make us aware that we do far more damage than we know, even when our sins or mistakes are unintentional. When they are intentional, it is even worse. Atonement is something that we should be seeking every day, and in the weekday Amidah, it is there, in two of the Eighteen Benedictions, the Shemonah Esrei, which few of us do each day, as our orthodox ancestors used to do. These two prayers, one for Repentance, and one for Forgiveness, are not said on Shabbat. They ask God to help us to return, to draw us near and to help us to repent. The second prayer asks God to forgive us as we acknowledge our sins and mistakes. In Midrash Rabba, “R. Akiba taught in the name of R. Simeon b. Azzai: Go two or three seats lower and take your seat, until they say to you, Come up, rather than that you should go up and they should say to you, ' Go down. Better that people say to you ‘come up, come up, ' and not say to you, ' go down, go down; and so used Hillel to say: ' My self-abasement is my exaltation, my self-exaltation is my abasement.”
If we didn’t need atonement, we would already be close to God. The sages teach that it is our sin, or human imperfections, that keep us distanced from the Divine Presence. We actively prevent ourselves from having a closer relationship with God by creating divisions between ourselves and others. That is the sad truth of human imperfection: that we have tremendous power to divide and we use it to keep ourselves away from the joy of living that we could be experiencing. That is the bad news. The good news is that we have the power to choose differently; that we have more power to influence our lives much more than we know. At the time when sacrifice was practiced, the blessings that we did not receive were symbolized by the animals we raised, fed, and cared for, but that we did not get to eat. The blessings were wasted and literally went up in smoke. All that we worked for we could not enjoy. And life still works that way. The mechanism of atonement, also read as at-one-ment, has been given to us as a gift; a gift that we should be using more than we do. Making mistakes is inevitable. It’s how we humans learn best: we fall down and pick ourselves up and try to do better Eventually after falling numerous times, hopefully, we learn how not to make that same error. If we can make fewer errors our lives can be better. But what of the commandment of the added fifth? This is what I call active repair: doing extra. Going above and beyond what is asked of us, so that we don’t allow the damage we cause to remain in the world. What might active repair look like? It might be working for social justice, to relieve the pain of others. And it could also be an attempt to be like God for people: having the God-like perspective of acceptance, forgiveness, giving, and being there by putting the needs of others first and our own needs second. This way of being can unite earth and heaven. The Zohar writes about this as well: “When a person rectifies their actions by means of the offering, all is firmly established and knit together in complete unity, as it is written, when a person brings near, that is, unites what should be.” (Section 3:5b) We can be cleansed only as we cleanse. We can be loved only as we love. We become clear before God by the sincerity of our intention to do no harm and to promote harmony. King Solomon said in the book of Proverbs (4:18) “The path of the righteous is like shining sunlight, continuously growing brighter like the midday sun.” Let us be like the righteous, rather than creating darkness, let us strive to be of those who give light. It is a destination that is ultimately part of our destiny, and atonement can take us there.

Witnessing of the Indwelling

This week’s Torah portions are Vayakhel, which means and assembled, and refers to Moses assembling the people, and Pekudei, which means reckonings. These portions repeat the instructions for building the Tabernacle, only this time, the actual work takes place. Moses calls for the freewill contributions to be brought, a chief architect, Bezalel, and his assistant, Oholiab, are appointed, and the labor commences. More than enough contributions come in; and Moses gives the word to the people to stop donating. In Pekudei, Moses gives an accounting of the value of what was brought. The vestments of the Priests are sewn and all the work is completed. Moses inspects it, approves it, and blesses all the people. God gives the instructions for Moses to set up, sanctify, and anoint the Tabernacle on the day of the New Moon, and then Moses erects it. The priests are dressed in their vestments and also sanctified and anointed.
When all was complete, the Holy Presence, represented by the Cloud of Glory, covered the Tent of Meeting, and filed the Tabernacle. The people had done everything right. They had followed directions and God showed them approval by a tangible manifestation of the Divine Presence, the Shechinah. At the beginning of Pekudei, the structure that was being erected is called Mishkan Ha-Edut, the Tabernacle of the Testimony, or the Tabernacle of the Pact. Pact comes from the word, EYD, witness. Therefore, these two words can also be translated as the Tabernacle of Witnessing. The word, Tabernacle, as we have said in previous weeks, comes from a word that means to dwell, so it can also mean indwelling. This structure, the Indwelling of Witnessing or Witnessing of Indwelling, serves to make tangible our witnessing of the Revelation, our witnessing of receiving the Torah, our witnessing of the reality of our relationship with God. God had said to Moses, “Make me a sanctuary, a Holy structure, that I may dwell among them.” The Israelites made it, and were witnesses to a daily manifestation of God’s concern and care. Eventually, after 40 years, when Moses had passed away and the Israelites were in their land, the people stopped using the Tabernacle. They built the great Temple, which, according to our tradition, stood for about 375 years. We are told that God’s Presence manifested there too, a tradition of witnessing that lasted for over 500 years. The great Temple too, was eventually swept away. A Second Temple was built; although we are told that the Holy Ark containing the Tablets was never placed in the Second Temple, and that the Shechinah, the Holy Presence, was never manifest on that structure. The Second Temple was destroyed in the year 70 CE by the Romans. The structures are gone. The symbols have been taken away, but what of the relationship? The Indwelling of Witnessing or Tabernacle of Testimony was a real structure that symbolized a truth: an aspect of reality that, until God spoke to Abraham, had been hidden: that there is an intelligence that is active in existence, or as Judaism understands it, a mind that directs and a heart that cares and loves. Just because there is no Tabernacle does not mean there is no God. A baby is enchanted by the game of Peek-a-Boo at about the age of 6 months, extending to one year and even beyond. This is because the child feels safe when the parent is there, and is filled with fear when the parent disappears. The game is a way of reassuring the child that, even though the parent can’t be seen, the parent still exists. Our problem with the Mishkan is very similar. The Chassidic Masters teach that all life, and especially we humans, are attached to God at what they call the root – that though our attachment can’t be seen, it is there, or we would not have any existence at all: we would not be alive. The question then becomes, if the Tabernacle is taken away, if we can’t se it, is it logical that God ceases to exist?
The S’fat Emet writes, “The point is that the love and attachment to God that Israel received at Mt. Sinai remain alive in them forever, even when sin prevents them from bringing this hidden love out into the open.” The Mishkan, the Tabernacle, or the Witnessing of the Indwelling, were merely symbols, even when they had what we would describe as an objective reality. The structure was wood and cloth. The Divine Presence merely a cloud. The Apter Rebbe has said, “God’s love needs vessels” but “ although the Torah describes the Shechinah as dwelling in the Mishkan, still the main resting place for the Shechinah is in the human being; and therefore, although the Torah speaks of the Mishkan, we must understand it as if it is speaking about we humans ourselves.” At the time of the Tabernacle, it was our labor and donations, our love and devotion that brought us to be able to witness God’s Presence. And that is still the case today. The symbols are gone, but we remain rooted to God, witnesses to that deeper reality than one that can be seen: a mind and a heart that responds to our love and devotion, to our deeds of kindness, our charity, our labor, and our willingness to open our hearts. A Divine Presence that gives us life and waits to dwell among us.

Royalty on the Inside

This week’s Torah portion is Tetzaveh, which means, “You shall command. God tells Moses to obtain pure olive oil for the Ner Tamid, the continual light, that burned in the seven branched Menorah, from evening until morning, in the Tabernacle. Most of the rest of this portion is about the design of the special vestments made for Aaron, the Kohen Gadol, in his role as High Priest. There were eight vestments: a tunic, a robe, an apron, short pants, a sash, a breastplate, a turban, and a head plate. The richness of their materials and construction created a grand impression. The tunic was a long shirt made of fine linen, in a box-like knit. The robe was made from turquoise wool, open on the sides like a long poncho; on its hem were tiny golden bells that made a noise, alternating with embroidered red pomegranates. Over the robe was worn the Ephod: an apron like affair with shoulder straps, made of costly yarns twisted together: fine linen, turquoise, purple, scarlet, and real gold thread. On each shoulder strap was an onyx stone with the names of six of the tribes engraved on it, so that Aaron bore the weight of the tribes at all times. There was also an embroidered sash. The turban, a sign of royalty, was made of fine linen. A gold plate went across the front of it that said, “Holy to God.” The High Priest also wore an embroidered breastplate bearing 12 precious stones, each stone engraved with the name of one tribe, and set in gold. The breastplate was folded, up in back, creating a pouch, for the mysterious urim and tumim the divining tools for asking questions of God that mean light and completeness. They are a mystery to this day.
It was a grand costume, as the Torah says, “for glory and for splendor.” It is interesting that the Priests had vestments but Moses didn’t. There is no costume or symbol of kingship for Moses at all. Perhaps there is a key to understanding this in the commandment for wearing tzitzit, a tallit, which tells us that the fringes and the thread of blue are to remind us not to sin. Perhaps the priest’s costumes were to remind them not to sin. Moses, it seems, needed no reminders. It is also interesting that the Priests vestments were made of mixed fibers: wool and linen, that are specifically prohibited to us in the portion of the Book of Leviticus we call Kedoshim, the Holiness code. The commandment is colloquially known as Shatnes, mixtures. Why is Aaron commanded to wear mixed fibers while we are prohibited from doing so? This question leads into interesting territory. Aaron was commanded to look grand and we, as individuals are asked not to try to look like a priest, to look royal. Moses was humble, we are told, the most humble person on earth. His royalty was inner, not outer. We are asked to emulate Moses, not the priests in this matter. We are urged to cultivate humility as a value in Judaism, and not to appear to be too wealthy, royal, or grand. When I hear about someone who has a huge multi-million dollar weekend home in the Hamptons, or a very fancy car, wears only designer clothes, or makes a show of their watch or jewelry; when I hear about athletes or actors, or rock musicians who buy a lavish lifestyle for themselves, I often feel sorry for them. That’s royalty on the outside. Anyone who needs royalty on the outside needs it to compensate for a lack of royalty on the inside. True outer royalty is always collective, not personal. Royalty comes from conferring authority upon someone to represent the nation or the tribe. When not serving the people, the priests were to take off their vestments. Aaron was a regular guy when he was not at work. No one can be outwardly royal alone. Royalty is always about the group. But inwardly royal, oh yes. We can and should be royal on the inside, individually. Inner value is true and lasting value. Outer royalty is fleeting at best, and usually elusive. It is comparative and subjective and has no objective reality. It is a costume we put on and take off, because none of us is really royal on the outside. Remember the adage, no one is a hero to his valet? The trappings of wealth and power are even seen, by the rabbis of the Talmud, as a hindrance to spiritual progress. Rather than admiring the outer, the Torah teaches us to focus on the inner: that which provides lasting satisfaction, happiness, harmony, and love. We are all royal on the inside, if only we could see that our divine truth comes from the Divine truth of God. The full beauty of a human soul is too dazzling for us ever to comprehend. We are already royalty, descendants from the Eternal Holy Presence. We truly need no outer emblems of self worth. Our task is to convince ourselves of the greatness within, by cultivating that nobility in Godly attributes: of taking care of others and honing our best qualities; letting the less good attributes in our personalities fall away. The less we need to prove our worth and status to the world, the happier we can become, letting our inner royalty shine forth. Inner royalty, inner radiance is magnetic. We respond to true inner nobility in another person because we admire and feel a kinship with God’s attributes of mercy, graciousness, kindness, integrity, and generosity. Inner goodness shines forth of its own accord. It needs no trappings. May we find the royalty we seek inside, needing less and less of the outer symbols our society seems to value. May inner holiness be the royalty we seek, and may we find it, with God’s great blessing.

Follow Me: A Sermon/Meditation

This week we read the Torah portion, Terumah, which means a portion set apart, or something lifted up. It is perhaps one of the more mysterious portions there is. It describes the design for the Tabernacle, the portable place of sacrifice used during the Israelite travels in the wilderness. Details are recounted that seem matter of fact. Give a freewill offering, Moses is to say to the people: a voluntary contribution of building materials. The specifications are very exact. Follow me, the Eternal seems to whisper. Gold for the Aron HaKodesh, the ark topped with angels having the faces of children, into which the holy tablets were to be put; a curtain with more angels woven into it, for the tent of meeting, to limit access to this most holy place, the holy of holies. Also in the tent: hidden from view, the golden Menorah, shining in the dark; and the table, more like a baker’s rack than a table, with twelve loaves of bread, the symbol of the Divine-Human partnership: God’s sustenance and our labor; and the incense altar, smoky and fragrant, its gold reflecting the flames of the menorah’s light, its cloud partially concealing what we believe is reality, softening its edges.
Outside the Holy tent, the large copper laver, the bowl almost as big as a man, for washing: the ritual of water purification that is as old as humanity itself; and the copper altar, topped with smoldering coals, for offering sacrifices, that ancient mechanism of life and death, whereby the people drew near to God. And everything enclosed in a rectangle by posts and white lace hangings, very like the size and proportions of this synagogue. It must have been very nearly sensory overload: the colors of red, turquoise, purple, white, silver & gold; primal sounds, light, darkness, aroma, sight, touch, and feeling.
Make me a sanctuary, a Mishkan, God says, that I may dwell, shakanti, among them. That word, Shakan, dwell, became Shechinah, the indwelling, holy presence, close as breathing: above us, within us, and all around us. Take these materials, God says: cast off metal gifts from Egypt: linen and colored wool, clothing, blankets, and carpets. They and you will lose their mundane shape and purpose. They and you will become holy. Follow me, God says in this text, “As all I will show you.” Can you follow directions? Are you willing to follow me? Can you follow me, God seems to say? If you can; if you will, great holiness and blessing await. If you do, I will speak to you, as the Apter Rebbe said, “in the quiet places of the heart.” Can you give up some of your desires, some of your will, to make a space for me, a place for me, in your heart? Take yourselves to me. Take this offering to me. I will take whatever you give: gifts and money; animals, symbolizing your wealth, your labor, and your very life; and what you give with an open heart I will take and I will give back the joy of my proximity, the elation of re-union; the certainty of my protection and care. If your inner light has been prepared; if you have kept it burning for me in the recesses of your soul, you can approach the golden ark of my holiness with the purity of children, with the wholeness of the angels who do my work and mediate between heaven and earth. You will do that work. You will serve in gladness, and I will give you my sustenance, but you will live on my love. Build me a sanctuary in your heart, that I may dwell among you, in your heart, in your soul, but also in your interactions with others, in your community, in your society, in your world. It will not be done alone. We will do it all together. Build a world for me. Build a world with me. Follow me, please follow me. Set yourselves apart, and be lifted up. Let us now begin.

Judaism: The Spiritual Path

This week’s Torah portion is Yitro – named after Jethro, Moses’ Father in Law. Jethro meets Moses and the Israelites at Mt. Sinai, bringing Moses’ wife and two sons with him. He advises Moses to establish a system of judges and courts. Moses takes his advice and Jethro departs. The people prepare themselves for the great day on which God will speak to them, what we call The Revelation – the only time in human history that God’s words were heard simultaneously by a whole group of people. In preparation for the encounter, God speaks to Moses and says, “And now, if you really listen to me and keep my covenant, you shall be to me the most beloved treasure of all peoples, for mine is the entire world. You shall be to me a kingdom of priests, a holy nation.” This was a new system. Those who worshipped idols at that time would speak to the Priest, who spoke to the god through the idol. The god would speak to the priest and the priest would convey the information to the people. But now, the Israelites were each to be their own Priest, with no intermediaries. And this is the system we have today. Or is it? As we read the text, a further dimension suggests itself. Not only are we to have no intermediaries, but each of us is to become a holy person; our own leader, our own conduit to Divinity, living a holy life dedicated to doing the work of the Divine. This is the Jewish spiritual path. It sounds strange: the Jewish spiritual Path, but that is what the Revelation was meant to be the inception of. We were given a mission, a purpose, not only to be the guardians of the Torah, as we have faithfully been; but to be exemplars of its truths, exemplars of holiness: a nation in which holiness was the norm, a nation that would clearly demonstrate to all, that one can walk an authentic path of goodness and blessing. As it says in Deuteronomy (4), we were to be so holy and blessed that the nations would say, “Surely a wise and discerning people is this great nation. For which is a great nation that has a God Who is close to it, as is God our God, whenever we call? And which is a great nation that has righteous decrees and ordinances, such as this entire Torah…? Rabbi Elimelech, one of the Chassidic Masters, wrote about the Jewish spiritual path, guiding and urging his followers to take up this path. Using the imagery of Rabbi Isaac Luria, the famous 16th Century kabbalist of S’fat in Israel, he writes, “This is our main service, to release the sparks from the outside forces and elevate these sparks back to their source in holiness…. The Shechinah (the Divine Presence) is with us in bitter exile, for the Shechinah is constantly watching, yearning for this uplifting.” Rabbi Elimelech says that God is yearning for us to create blessing. But also, we are yearning. We are yearning and searching for the Way; for the knowledge of how to reclaim the Jewish spiritual Path that will lead us to wholeness and holiness. Of all the world’s spiritual paths, of which there are many, Judaism is fascinating, not only because it was the first of the world’s great religions, but because it is God-approved. The path laid out for us is one of deeds, which lead to self improvement; and also of knowing and being informed of the holy words so that they can sink into our consciousness and take root there, like seeds which germinate, sprout, and flower, bringing forth the fruit of righteousness. The deeds are sometimes but not always, an end in themselves. Some are acts of charity and loving kindness, which help to repair the pain and suffering of the world. Other actions are there to teach us humility and compassion, implanting within us the desire to become holy. That desire is the key to the path. Once we embark on the journey, we are accompanied and shown the next steps, by a Presence we occasionally sense but may not directly experience. We are led toward holiness. Not that we will ever become holy, but that we are led away from impurity enough to continue our approach.
We will read, in a few weeks of the terrible fall from grace of the Israelites, when they lost faith that Moses would return from the mountain, which led them to worship the Golden Calf. At that time, Moses, in a crisis of confidence, asks God for more information. Moses says to God, “Show me your glory.” God tells him, no human can see me and live. I understand this to mean that if we came into contact with the Divine Presence, it would be too much for us to stand. If we experienced the full power of just one large ocean wave, we would be destroyed. That power is only a tiny fraction of the Power of God. If we fall in love, we are overcome with feelings of bliss and love. It is only an infinitesimal taste of the bliss and love of God’s totality. And we, impure and unholy beings that we are, if we were to encounter the absolute purity, truth, goodness, and holiness of God, it would be like matter and anti-matter colliding: it would be too much for us to bear and we would be blown apart. The Jewish spiritual path is a human path that enables us to shed the unneeded impurities we are willing to part with, to make us just holy enough to keep moving forward so that we can walk closer to the Divine Presence. It is a God-approved path, tailor made for us human beings: an authentic path that leads to blessing and holiness. There is so much hunger for real spiritual growth, and the Jewish Spiritual path is there, waiting to be rediscovered. Rabbi Arthur Green says, “…the voice of Sinai still cries out to us today…sometimes we forget the special value of our own unique witness, and the need the world still has, to hear the call of Israel.” We ourselves need to reenter the holy stream of Judaism. Our souls are crying out for it. It is, and the Shechinah is, just waiting for us to embrace it.

Meeting Challenges Together

This week’s Torah Portion is Bo, which means, “Come.” It contains the last three plagues: locusts, darkness, and the death of the firstborn; the commandments to remember these events by the observance of Passover, a new calendar, the consecration of every firstborn to God, and the departure from Egypt.
This story is so familiar, as it comes not only now, at this time of the Torah reading, but also at Passover. At this time of the year, each January, we have just come through the December holidays, including the New Year, during which we, like the Israelites, develop heightened expectations. January looms ahead: a New Year, a blank slate, an opportunity to forge something better or happier. And then as we live this first month, a sameness can set in. There may be difficulties, the same challenges or new challenges. In the opening part of this portion, Pharaoh is beset by the continuing challenges of the plagues and has to confront the new difficulties of the last three plagues. Moses has to keep going back to Pharaoh with threats, pleas, and fiats. He tells Pharaoh that he will never see his face again, and then has to turn around and tell him about one more plague. The Torah tells us that Moses leaves Pharaoh’s presence in a burning anger. This in itself is a teaching. Life is going to be a challenge. It’s not supposed to be easy. We think that life is supposed to be placid and enjoyable, but God says, “Bo.” Come. The Kotzker Rebbe says that Come means, come with me – I am with you. For me, it is like those nursery school children that can be seen around town going on a trip, walking together with their teacher, who hold onto a loop in a rope. The teacher has the end of the rope and walks in the lead and the children hold onto their place along the rope, walking in a line behind the teacher. God is the teacher and we are the children. Sometimes we walk quietly and placidly, but sometimes God runs ahead with the rope and we are pulled along much faster than we want to go. We are jolted out of the place we are in, to a new place. God is running ahead, unwilling for us to stand still or walk too slowly; and we are frantically trying to hold on and not lose our balance. This portion teaches that there will be challenges. The question then becomes, how do we face them? What is our attitude and how do we interpret those challenges? Rabbi Gelberman is fond of saying, “every problem comes with a solution.” Just knowing that can be comforting; having the attitude that the challenge will be worked out somehow. The Apter Rebbe, an ancestor of Abraham Joshua Heschl, wrote that if God caused a situation, it is for the good. Somehow, there is something in every challenge that is a lesson, an opportunity, a place of growth or a time of deepening compassion. In this portion, one very obvious teaching is that God is an active force in everything that happens. And that is another principle for us: God is active so we should be active. Passivity is stagnation, spiritually speaking. If God is providing problems, tests for us, and hidden solutions, we must find those solutions. We must actively anticipate the growth and resolution on the far side of the challenge. When Moses left Pharaoh’s presence in a burning anger, could he have seen the parting of the sea and the revelation of the Ten Commandments, would he have had more patience? Might he have been able to put aside his own ego concerns and mobilize his inner forces with dynamic anticipation rather than self centered anger? The events may have been the same but his attitude would have been very different, and he may have been able to negotiate the difficulties with more grace and less frustration.
In a later verse in this portion, describing the first Pesach, the Torah says, “This was the night for God, a protection for all the children of Israel for their generations.” Not just for them, for those Israelites, but also for us. No matter what challenges we experience, we ARE under God’s perpetual protection. All the Divine assistance we need is at our disposal. We are being sent solutions. It is up to us to accept the Divine Love that comes to us, actively seeking out the help we are being sent and coming closer to the Source of Life. As the Kotzker Rebbe said, God is saying, Bo, Come: come with me. I am taking you on a fabulous journey. I am with you and we will face these challenges together.

Freedom, Oneness and God's Name

This week’s Torah portion is Va’eira, which means, and I appeared. In this portion God speaks to Moses about the Holy Name, and how God appeared to the patriarchs as El Shaddai, which may mean, God Almighty, God who is sufficient, or God the Provider; and not as Yud hei vav hei, the name of God which means Being or existence, in the past present, and future.
The rest of this portion tells about the Divine promise to free the Israelites and take them out of Egypt, leading them to the Land. Moses and Aaron go to Pharaoh and demand that the people be freed, but Pharaoh refuses repeatedly, bringing upon himself and his people the plagues of blood, frogs, lice, swarms of beasts, and fiery hail. Each plague brings Pharaoh to consider freeing the people, only to renege and reconsider, once the plagues have been removed.
It is interesting that the portion begins with a discussion of God’s Name, Yud hei vav hei, a conjugation of the verb, To Be. The Torah says, “I am Yud Hei vav hei. I appeared to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob as El Shaddai, but with my name, Yud Hei vav Hei I didi not make myself known to them.” Why does God care what name we use? What is so important about the Name? We could call God anything really, but Moses is being given a vital piece of information here. God is saying – I am being - I am existence, which is One. You are on the brink of a completely new understanding – a shift. What Rabbi Zalman Schacter Shalomi of the Jewish Renewal Movement, has called a paradigm shift, to quote the title of one of his books. And this is an understanding that we are still working on coming to terms with, even now.
Pharaoh enslaved the Israelites, the Other. For him, he and the Egyptians were US and we, the Israelites were THEM. By not having the understanding of Yud Hei vav Hei, that spiritually speaking, there is no us and no them, only US, Pharaoh brought suffering to himself, misfortune to his people, and brought his country to the brink of ruin. Pharaoh was under the mistaken impression that there can be persecution without negative consequences. The cycle of repression, pain, persecution leading to bankruptcy, ruin, and destruction has been enacted again and again in history, for us, for African Americans in this country, and for so many other peoples.
This leads us to the question – If God is One, then how does God experience our suffering? Perhaps it is like having a splinter in our finger or breaking our toe. Our finger, our toe, is a part of us; and we feel the pain acutely. When a part of us is injured, it hurts. When we cause another human being to suffer, we cause the Eternal pain. When we alleviate someone’s suffering, perhaps we even cause God to smile.
If God told Moses, I am Yud Hei Vav Hei, being, existence, Oneness, over 3,000 years ago, why do we still not understand the implications of that piece of information ? Why do we not immediately follow the logic of that statement to its conclusion: that if God is One and God brought forth all existence from that Oneness, that there could not ever be an Us and a Them. The realization of that reality has been slow in coming. Many of our sages were prepared to understand that Israel, all the Jewish People were one, but it has not been until recently, perhaps only until the second half of the 19th Century that we as individuals and also as a society were prepared to understand God’s statement profoundly, in its essence. While I was writing this sermon, I recalled the quotation, "Until we are all free, we are none of us free." And I tried to find its author. Perhaps Martin Luther King, Jr. had written it, I thought, which would be great for timing, given that this is the Shabbat before the national Martin Luther King Jr. holiday. Maybe Gandhi, I thought? Do you know who wrote it? Emma Lazarus: a Jewish woman, born in 1849 and died in 1887. Since she said those words, the understanding of Universal Oneness has been gaining ground. Abraham Joshua Heschl wrote, in his book, Man is not Alone, “Divine is a message that discloses unity where we see diversity, that discloses peace when we are involved in discord. God is the One who holds our fitful lives together, who reveals to us that what is empirically diverse in color, in interest, in creeds: – races, classes, nations – are one in God’s eyes and one in essence.” Later, Martin Luther King said, “All men are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality.” And also “We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools.” And he also made an inexact paraphrase of Emma Lazarus, “Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.” But perhaps we can go to the S’fat Emet, who lived at approximately the same time as Emma Lazarus, and who wrote that “we must be empty of everything before we can hear.” We can extend this to sight as well. We must empty ourselves of what we see and think we know, to understand our oneness and then to feel it and act upon it. How would we speak to God, how would we treat God if we had the opportunity to talk to the Holy One? That’s how we could treat each other. To believe that we are all a part of each other, to regard the problems we encounter in ourselves, in others, in our society not as evil, reacting with fear or hatred, but as the unredeemed parts of God that we can play a part in redeeming, would be a major shift in our thinking. If we let ourselves, we can feel our connection to each other. These are ideas whose time is coming, or perhaps whose time has finally come. But the profound understanding of Yud Hei Vav Hei, is more than an idea – it is a universal truth; and the ability to live out of that truth is a great challenge that brings great blessings. May we realize the tremendous potential we have to bring the realization of our Oneness finally, after 3,000 years, into our lives and into the consciousness of the world. In so doing we will bless each other and ourselves, and perhaps even, to cause God to smile.

Hiding and Revealing

This week’s Torah portion, the first portion in the Book of Exodus, is Shemot, which means, Names. It is about the enslavement of the Israelites in Egypt, Pharaoh’s decree to drown every male Israelite baby, the birth of Moses, his exile in Midian, and his call by God and eventual return to carry out God’s plan for him to lead the Israelites out of Egypt. This portion has a number of references to something hidden. The first reference says, “A man went from the house of Levi and married a daughter of Levi. The woman conceived and gave birth to a son. She saw that he was good and she hid him for three months. She could not hide him any longer.” We know what happened next: She placed Moses in a waterproof basket, put it into the River, and sent Moses’ sister Miriam, to watch it as Pharaoh’s daughter discovered it. Pharaoh’s daughter had pity on the child and decided to raise Moses as her own. As Moses’ mother became his caretaker, he never lost touch with his family and his people.
The text says, “She saw that he was good.” What did Jocheved, Moses’ mother, see? The Torah says, Ki Tov, for he was good. This phrase, Ki Tov reminded the sages of the primordial, spiritual light of the Divine Presence, about which, on the first day of creation, God said, Ki Tov, for it, the light, was good. In Midrash Rabbah, it is written, the Sages say: When Moses was born the whole house became flooded with light; for here it says: AND SHE SAW HIM THAT HE WAS A GOODLY CHILD, and in (Gen. I, 4) it says: And God saw the light, that it was good. Another commentary is from the Zohar, where it is written, “That light is the sacred and hidden temple wherein is concentrated that divine essence from which all the worlds draw sustenance, and all divine hosts are nourished and so subsist.( I:6b). From this comparison, it is tempting to create a very small bit of Kabbbalah for our times. What did Jocheved see? The sages say she saw Moses’ inner radiance. She saw his life force, the life that God gives to each of us. So she hid it, allowing it to grow, to develop. She nurtured his radiance, protected it, covering it when danger threatened. Just as we cover, hide, and protect our inner soul light. But after three months, when she could hide him no longer, she put him in a basket. With trust in the Eternal, and with the prayers she must have prayed, she placed him carefully in the water, the birth waters of the Eternal – attached to the womb-wall of the bank of the Nile, protected by the reeds, yet partially exposed. All it took was the kindness of another human being, to open the basket and expose the radiance within, and the baby was crying – the cry of our soul light when there is none to share it.
Just as God has hidden the Divine Radiance from us, so do we hide away our own spiritual spark. It is deep within us, protected by layers of ourselves: layers of reason, scientific knowledge, fear, insecurity, hurt, and pain. God saw the sparkle in Jocheved, the brilliant beams in Moses. God sees our light as well. But how aware of it are we? After hiding it away for so long, do we often bring it forth? Have we protected it for too long? Do we dare to shine, as God intended us to? In Walt Whitman’s the Song of Myself, he writes, I celebrate myself, and sing myself, And what I assume you shall assume, For every atom belonging to me as good- belongs to you. Whitman’s words unleash the passion of sharing the light with another person. To uncover our light is to share it, to connect and join the flow of the River of life, in which all light is connected, and all passion becomes compassion. The Psychologist Erich Fromm has written, "Man's main task in life is to give birth to himself." And the philosopher Derrida has written, I give birth to myself and I write myself.
Jocheved gave birth, then hid away her light until it was developed, and finally, shared it with the world, making possible a glorious redemption of her people and also all humanity, through the revelation of Torah. The nurturing of our Divine spark is precious work, but letting it out and sharing it is not only holy but redemptive. The Eternal Holy One knows that each of us is part of the Divine Plan. As God is Ki Tov, Goodness, we are goodness. Our light is desperately needed in the world. It is our task not only to protect it so that it can grow, doing the inner work that supports its nurturing, but to let it out, that we may illumine the world for others. It is our light that can repair the world, if we are willing to share it. And when we birth it and share it, Ki Tov, it feels good, is good; and we mint even more goodness and more light, fulfilling the Divine purpose for which we were created.

Resolutions for the New Year

This week’s Torah portion is Vayigash, which means, “and he approached.” Judah comes before Joseph, the Vizier of Egypt, to plead for his youngest brother, Benjamin, and to offer to take Benjamin’s place in jail. Benjamin has been framed by Joseph, in order to see whether the brothers have changed and grown; whether they hate Benjamin as they hated him; and whether they will abandon Benjamin or try to free him. In this speech, which has the reputation of being one of the most beautiful sections of the Torah, Judah speaks movingly of his father’s love for Benjamin. He says, “Now, therefore, when I come to your servant my father, and the lad is not with us; seeing that his soul is bound up in his soul; It shall come to pass, when he sees that the lad is not with us, that he will die; and your servants shall bring down the gray hairs of your servant our father in sorrow to the grave. For your servant took responsibility for the lad, saying, If I do not bring him to you, then I will have sinned to my father for ever. Now therefore, I beg you, let your servant remain instead of the lad as a slave to my lord; and let the lad go up with his brothers. For how shall I go up to my father, and the lad not be with me? ” (Gen. 44:30) After this speech, Joseph is overcome with emotion and reveals himself as their brother. What makes this speech so effective? The Torah commentator Nechama Lebowitz points out that Judah uses the word “father” 14 times in 17 verses. Judah shifts the emphasis of the speech away from himself and Benjamin to his concern for his father. But this is only part of the power of Judah’s oration. Judah took a chance and courageously bared his soul to Joseph, who he thought was a stranger. He could have protested Benjamin’s innocence, which was the truth, but instead he spoke a deeper truth from his heart. The Chassidic Rabbi Asher Horowitz noted that Judah’s mouth and heart were united. When we encounter another person’s truth: their vulnerability, their humanity, we realize our humanity and we are drawn to that person, heart to heart. It is what Martin Buber calls the “I and Thou:” honoring another person’s holiness. When a person bares his soul, it is irresistible, because our need to love and be loved is greater than our need to hate or take revenge. Our need for harmony is greater than our urge to maintain divisions. Joseph felt the genuine-ness, the sincerity of Judah’s feeling for his father and identified with the love Judah expressed.
The question for us then, is how to live in that place of truth, sincerity, love, and even vulnerability? There is a custom at the changing of the secular New Year to make resolutions so that the New Year will be better than the old one. So here are some of the resolutions that could improve not only the year but our very lives. We could give up hatred, the hatred in every human heart. It is easier than you think. It absolutely can be done, if we wish to do it. We could give up anger. We could give up revenge and grudges. This is what Rabbi Gelberman has written on this subject: “Thoughts can dominate us or liberate us. Tame the tyrannical thoughts of fear and hate with thought of faith and love, and we have overcome a meek adversary. If we allow rampant domination of negative thinking we are defeated by a foe with no more power except that which we thoughtfully grant to it. With love and wisdom we are capable of control over what enters and leaves our mind.” This is what Joseph, the only person in the Torah to be called a Tzaddik, a righteous person, did. He gave up anger. He gave up hatred. He gave up revenge and grudges. He forgave his brothers for what they did, thereby creating blessings for millions of people, and of course, for himself. We can strop creating misfortune for ourselves in this New Year, by being willing to give up the habit of creating negativity. Joseph is our role model: the person who was willing to be moved by another person’s love. As we anticipate this New Year, let us be willing to give up that which we no longer need; that which we have grown out of. What can we give up before the new year begins? What are we willing to give up so that, like Joseph, we can be greater than we are?