This week’s Torah portion is Noach, the second portion in B’reisheet, the well-known story of the Flood, the animals, and the ark. We are told that Noah was a righteous man, perfect in his generations.” Rashi famously said, “The generations of the righteous are mitzvot and good deeds.” Most interpretations of this portion concern Noah’s goodness. In addition to considering Noah’s righteousness, we can also look at this portion as an allegory.
Noah means rest. The Zohar, our book of spirituality from the Middle Ages says, this refers to the soul, the inner spiritual center of a person. When we, through our particular spiritual path, whether it be the path of deeds of loving kindness, meditation, Yoga, charity, study, any other spiritual pathway, or a combination of some of these, find that rest, that place of inner composure and peace, the Torah says, interesting things begin to happen.
Noah had 3 sons: Shem, Ham, and Yafet. Shem literally means Name. Ham means warmth, and Yafet means beauty. When we strive, ethically, morally, and spiritually for what is true and good, we may be surprised that we have renown or fame, or even a very good name. We generate and exhibit warmth, the capacity to touch others; and we have beauty, inner beauty, that others sense. The sum of these three, a good name, warmth, and beauty, is that we become magnetic: others will feel the shift in our energy. People will be drawn to us; not really to us, actually, but to the God nature that we express. It isn’t really about us, it’s about something much larger: Divinity and goodness, being expressed through us.
To extend the allegory: Noah built the ark. He did the work God asked of him, and then the animals came to him. This can teach us that when we do our own inner work, that everything will come to us – that blessings and also Divine Protection, will come to us, as it says, “and you shall enter the ark,” (Gen. 6:18) in other words, enter protection and “come into my protection because you are righteous.” (Gen.7:1). Later when the flood, the difficulties, have abated, Noah sends out the raven and then the dove, but they return, not finding a resting place. Yet finally, the dove brings back an olive leaf, and all the animals leave the ark.
This might be teaching us to persist in our spiritual practices: not to be too impatient with the energies we expend, and not to be discouraged in our spiritual practices, but to wait, knowing that our efforts will bear fruit. Rest, calmness, serenity, goodness, generosity, working on ourselves, as well as on behalf of others is powerful, much more powerful, than we know. May we seek that rest, that inner calmness and elevation of spirit that brought such blessing to Noah and was beloved by God.
Sunday, December 28, 2014
Thursday, December 18, 2014
If There Were No Chanukah...
This year, Christmas comes just as Chanukah ends, which is just as it should be, for you see, if there were no Chanukah, there would be no Christmas. Why is that so? Toward the end of the Greek Empire, the Greeks were feeling tremendous pressure from the new power in the world, the Roman Empire, which was threatening to engulf them. We are familiar with the Nazis trying to exterminate all the Jews and so many others, Catholics among them, during the Second World War. In the 2nd Century BCE, a similar thing was happening, only the Greeks were not attempting to kill the Jewish people, although many were murdered; they were trying to destroy the Jewish religion.
The Seleucid ruler, Antiochus IV’s idea was to resist Rome by making his Syrian Greek Empire thoroughly Greek. Only Greek Gods could be worshipped, only Greek culture could exist. The Jewish religion must be wiped out. A band of Jewish rebels resisted swearing allegiance to the Greek Gods and to the worship of Antiochus IV himself as a God. Jews were forced to eat pork, prohibited from observing the Sabbath and from circumcising their children. A band of them, later called the Maccabees, ran into the hills to train as a guerilla army. The Greeks sent larger and larger forces against them, even elephants, the “tanks” of the day. Then “a great miracle happened there,” (symbolized by the letters on the dreidel): the few defeated the many; the weak overcame the strong. When the Jews returned to Jerusalem, they cleaned and rededicated the great Temple. There is a legend that a small amount of holy oil burned for the eight days of the re-dedication celebration.
However, most importantly, Judaism survived, and Jesus, also known as Rabbi Joshua, could be born, about a hundred and fifty years later. There is a growing acknowledgement from Christians that Jesus really lived as a Jew and died as a Jew. And there is a small but growing acknowledgement from within Judaism that Jesus’ teachings are fully Jewish, and that he was an important prophet, in the tradition of the prophets Elijah and Elisha. So if the Jews had not defeated the Greeks, there would have been no Rabbi Joshua, to become Jesus, the great teacher to Christendom. As we celebrate this holiday season, may we appreciate our common roots, accept and love each other, and know that we are much more interdependent than we realize. Happy Chanukah! Merry Christmas!
Jill Hausman is the Rabbi and Cantor of the historic Actors’ Temple.
This article was published in Times Square Chronicles in December, 2014
The Seleucid ruler, Antiochus IV’s idea was to resist Rome by making his Syrian Greek Empire thoroughly Greek. Only Greek Gods could be worshipped, only Greek culture could exist. The Jewish religion must be wiped out. A band of Jewish rebels resisted swearing allegiance to the Greek Gods and to the worship of Antiochus IV himself as a God. Jews were forced to eat pork, prohibited from observing the Sabbath and from circumcising their children. A band of them, later called the Maccabees, ran into the hills to train as a guerilla army. The Greeks sent larger and larger forces against them, even elephants, the “tanks” of the day. Then “a great miracle happened there,” (symbolized by the letters on the dreidel): the few defeated the many; the weak overcame the strong. When the Jews returned to Jerusalem, they cleaned and rededicated the great Temple. There is a legend that a small amount of holy oil burned for the eight days of the re-dedication celebration.
However, most importantly, Judaism survived, and Jesus, also known as Rabbi Joshua, could be born, about a hundred and fifty years later. There is a growing acknowledgement from Christians that Jesus really lived as a Jew and died as a Jew. And there is a small but growing acknowledgement from within Judaism that Jesus’ teachings are fully Jewish, and that he was an important prophet, in the tradition of the prophets Elijah and Elisha. So if the Jews had not defeated the Greeks, there would have been no Rabbi Joshua, to become Jesus, the great teacher to Christendom. As we celebrate this holiday season, may we appreciate our common roots, accept and love each other, and know that we are much more interdependent than we realize. Happy Chanukah! Merry Christmas!
Jill Hausman is the Rabbi and Cantor of the historic Actors’ Temple.
This article was published in Times Square Chronicles in December, 2014
Sunday, December 7, 2014
Linking Ourselves to the Divine
This week’s Torah portion is Nasso, which means do, as in, do a census. Moses continues to take a census of the Levites; and the Levites are assigned tasks for dismantling and carrying the Tabernacle. Instructions for purifying the camp are given, there is a process to atone for sins, and 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, are outlined. This portion famously includes the Priestly Benediction; and concludes with the description of identical offerings of the tribal leaders for the dedication of the altar.
Each year I read this section: “....When a man or woman shall commit any sin that earthlings commit, to do a trespass against God, and if that person is guilty; Then they shall confess their sin which they have done; and he shall make restitution for his trespass in full, and add to it its fifth, and give it to him against whom he has trespassed. (Num. 5:6-7). I have spoken before that the words, against God, B'Adonai, can also be interpreted as, “in God,” which tells us that we live inside of God, or inside of being, inside of existence. Since there is no life outside of existence, outside of being, how can we re-establish the feeling of being loved and cared for and accepted by God after we have been less than charming? This Torah portion gives us a few ways to re-link ourselves back to God, which is the meaning of the word, religion: a re-establishment of our connection to equanimity within God.
The first method in this portion is confession and then giving 20% more, when we have sinned. That's like apologizing and also giving flowers or candy, or doing something extra nice for someone. The broader principle is that by giving we can feel good enough about ourselves to allow ourselves to feel better about what we did, and feel accepted by God.
The second way is through ritual that involves an official representative of religion itself. This is suggested by the arcane trial by ordeal of the Sotah, the wayward wife and the jealous husband. Something was wrong in this marriage. Neither the wife or husband was happy. The priest steps into this breach with a prescribed set of actions which all parties hope will effect an improvement in the relationship. Perhaps even just the triangulation of the wife and husband speaking to the Priest separately and then the priest speaking to the other spouse could increase positive communication, which is the basis for all healthy relationships. It was a kind of early marriage therapy, by bringing a pastoral presence to calm the situation and to help.
And then there is the method of the Nazarite. Perhaps this person is really tired of repeating the same negative behaviors, over and over again. The nazarite has taken himself or herself in hand to put a stop to the undesirable pattern and choose differently. Alternately, perhaps this person is frustrated by the unceasing demands of everyday life, and needs some peace, to feel rejuvenated and relinked to God. The method here, with the Nazarite, is by establishing a set of prohibitions upon oneself. No wine? Understandable. No grapes or raisins? No haircuts? Ridiculous, and yet the process of abiding by a prohibition, just because God asked it of us, does many things: it reduces our ego. It helps us to abide by God's laws. It shows us how to develop our inner fineness by letting us set the limits. It develops our integrity, not allowing us to fool ourselves or be less than totally honest with ourselves.
All of these techniques helps us to reestablish our connection to the Divine. The priestly Benediction, speaks of prayer and acceptance. By being gathered together for a blessing, we are reassured that eventually we will be forgiven. This portion then circles back to exactly where it began: with giving. The giving of gifts by the Tribal heads stresses the importance of charity and tells us that this is a pathway to help us to do good in the world and to feel good about who we are and our actions.
Living within God isn't easy for us humans. We often don't measure up even to our own standards, no less God's standards. Luckily we don't have to be perfect. We can make mistakes and be forgiven, relinking ourselves to the Divine. Ultimately it's about caring: how earnest we are in trying to do the right thing, and how quickly we can reestablish our connection to God, feeling good about ourselves again. Because we live inside of God and are made of Divine matter and energy, our innate goodness helps us to yearn to feel the flow of love between earth and heaven. May we make the effort to keep our love flowing to each other, and may we be guided back into love and acceptance when we need a helping hand.
Each year I read this section: “....When a man or woman shall commit any sin that earthlings commit, to do a trespass against God, and if that person is guilty; Then they shall confess their sin which they have done; and he shall make restitution for his trespass in full, and add to it its fifth, and give it to him against whom he has trespassed. (Num. 5:6-7). I have spoken before that the words, against God, B'Adonai, can also be interpreted as, “in God,” which tells us that we live inside of God, or inside of being, inside of existence. Since there is no life outside of existence, outside of being, how can we re-establish the feeling of being loved and cared for and accepted by God after we have been less than charming? This Torah portion gives us a few ways to re-link ourselves back to God, which is the meaning of the word, religion: a re-establishment of our connection to equanimity within God.
The first method in this portion is confession and then giving 20% more, when we have sinned. That's like apologizing and also giving flowers or candy, or doing something extra nice for someone. The broader principle is that by giving we can feel good enough about ourselves to allow ourselves to feel better about what we did, and feel accepted by God.
The second way is through ritual that involves an official representative of religion itself. This is suggested by the arcane trial by ordeal of the Sotah, the wayward wife and the jealous husband. Something was wrong in this marriage. Neither the wife or husband was happy. The priest steps into this breach with a prescribed set of actions which all parties hope will effect an improvement in the relationship. Perhaps even just the triangulation of the wife and husband speaking to the Priest separately and then the priest speaking to the other spouse could increase positive communication, which is the basis for all healthy relationships. It was a kind of early marriage therapy, by bringing a pastoral presence to calm the situation and to help.
And then there is the method of the Nazarite. Perhaps this person is really tired of repeating the same negative behaviors, over and over again. The nazarite has taken himself or herself in hand to put a stop to the undesirable pattern and choose differently. Alternately, perhaps this person is frustrated by the unceasing demands of everyday life, and needs some peace, to feel rejuvenated and relinked to God. The method here, with the Nazarite, is by establishing a set of prohibitions upon oneself. No wine? Understandable. No grapes or raisins? No haircuts? Ridiculous, and yet the process of abiding by a prohibition, just because God asked it of us, does many things: it reduces our ego. It helps us to abide by God's laws. It shows us how to develop our inner fineness by letting us set the limits. It develops our integrity, not allowing us to fool ourselves or be less than totally honest with ourselves.
All of these techniques helps us to reestablish our connection to the Divine. The priestly Benediction, speaks of prayer and acceptance. By being gathered together for a blessing, we are reassured that eventually we will be forgiven. This portion then circles back to exactly where it began: with giving. The giving of gifts by the Tribal heads stresses the importance of charity and tells us that this is a pathway to help us to do good in the world and to feel good about who we are and our actions.
Living within God isn't easy for us humans. We often don't measure up even to our own standards, no less God's standards. Luckily we don't have to be perfect. We can make mistakes and be forgiven, relinking ourselves to the Divine. Ultimately it's about caring: how earnest we are in trying to do the right thing, and how quickly we can reestablish our connection to God, feeling good about ourselves again. Because we live inside of God and are made of Divine matter and energy, our innate goodness helps us to yearn to feel the flow of love between earth and heaven. May we make the effort to keep our love flowing to each other, and may we be guided back into love and acceptance when we need a helping hand.
Friday, November 28, 2014
Possessing and Sharing
This week’s Torah portion is Behar, which means, on the Mountain. Behar asks us to observe a Sabbath for the land every seven years, and a Jubilee, every 50th year. At the Jubilee, the land was to return to its original, ancestral owners, slaves were freed, loans were forgiven, and liberty was proclaimed for all inhabitants, the sentence inscribed on our Liberty Bell in Philadelphia. Then there are laws to prevent poverty, such as the necessity to buy back land that was sold out of dire economic need, and the responsibility to help a relative or any person in the community, who becomes impoverished. This portion contains a number of interesting concepts that stress kindness, charity, integrity, and also trust in God. At the beginning of this portion the Torah says “But on the seventh year there shall be a complete rest for the land, a Sabbath for God. Your field you shall not sow and your vineyard you shall not prune. The aftergrowth of your harvest you shall not reap and the grapes you shall not pick.” Rashi comments that, “you shall not reap” means “to take possession like other harvests, rather it shall be ownerless for all (to take freely).
This comment about ownership introduces a theme that runs throughout this portion. Later the Torah says, “The land shall not be sold in perpetuity, for the land is Mine, for you are sojourners and residents with me.” And later, with regard to indentured servitude, in the case of one who becomes poor, we are commanded not to work each other with slave labor. God says, “for they are my servants who I have taken out of the land of Egypt, they shall not be sold as the selling of a slave.”
We humans are acquisitive and possessive, not always in a bad way. Some things we have are necessities: a place to live, savings for the future, food to eat, money to spend in the course of living. Our possessions help us to feel secure, but this Torah portion brings to the fore a larger truth: we are just passing through. As we say toward the beginning of the Amidah, Ayl Elyon, v'koneh hakol: God on high, who owns everything. We might think that if God owns everything, that God would want to distribute all wealth and resources equally, in a kind of exquisite Divine communism. But we know that this isn't the way God structured the world. Some are happy with a little; some are only happy with much more. Behar's solution to the inequality is to emphasize some larger truths and command us to share and help each other, giving us a gift: the opportunity to perform mitzvahs, deed of loving kindness for each other.
In the seventh year, no one can sell any crops. Everyone can come and eat whatever has grown on its own, and there will be enough for all. No one will be hungry. No one should be allowed to amass all the land. We are commanded to strengthen the poor and we should not own each other. The commentary Sifra says, “for they are my servants and so should not be subject to my other servants.” This leads us to another truth: our possessiveness – the desire to hold onto things, goes against the natural order. Our lives flow, money and possessions flow; very little is fixed. My teacher, Rabbi Gelberman said, “if you can lose it you never had it to begin with.”
We are not here to have, to acquire, or to amass. We are here to serve, to give and to share, nurturing & engendering life, being good stewards of the gifts we have been given: the earth, our physical selves, our souls. Serving, giving, sharing make us happy, and add holy energy to the world, enriching it and creating plenty for all. Rabbi Plaut, in his Torah commentary, points out that the word for the Sabbath of the land, Shemitah, comes from the root to let something drop. We can let go of a need to control and possess, which block the coming of the future, by allowing the flow of energy to ebb and flow in our lives. May the energy that flows toward us be for the good and may we by our actions and choices help and strengthen one another.
This comment about ownership introduces a theme that runs throughout this portion. Later the Torah says, “The land shall not be sold in perpetuity, for the land is Mine, for you are sojourners and residents with me.” And later, with regard to indentured servitude, in the case of one who becomes poor, we are commanded not to work each other with slave labor. God says, “for they are my servants who I have taken out of the land of Egypt, they shall not be sold as the selling of a slave.”
We humans are acquisitive and possessive, not always in a bad way. Some things we have are necessities: a place to live, savings for the future, food to eat, money to spend in the course of living. Our possessions help us to feel secure, but this Torah portion brings to the fore a larger truth: we are just passing through. As we say toward the beginning of the Amidah, Ayl Elyon, v'koneh hakol: God on high, who owns everything. We might think that if God owns everything, that God would want to distribute all wealth and resources equally, in a kind of exquisite Divine communism. But we know that this isn't the way God structured the world. Some are happy with a little; some are only happy with much more. Behar's solution to the inequality is to emphasize some larger truths and command us to share and help each other, giving us a gift: the opportunity to perform mitzvahs, deed of loving kindness for each other.
In the seventh year, no one can sell any crops. Everyone can come and eat whatever has grown on its own, and there will be enough for all. No one will be hungry. No one should be allowed to amass all the land. We are commanded to strengthen the poor and we should not own each other. The commentary Sifra says, “for they are my servants and so should not be subject to my other servants.” This leads us to another truth: our possessiveness – the desire to hold onto things, goes against the natural order. Our lives flow, money and possessions flow; very little is fixed. My teacher, Rabbi Gelberman said, “if you can lose it you never had it to begin with.”
We are not here to have, to acquire, or to amass. We are here to serve, to give and to share, nurturing & engendering life, being good stewards of the gifts we have been given: the earth, our physical selves, our souls. Serving, giving, sharing make us happy, and add holy energy to the world, enriching it and creating plenty for all. Rabbi Plaut, in his Torah commentary, points out that the word for the Sabbath of the land, Shemitah, comes from the root to let something drop. We can let go of a need to control and possess, which block the coming of the future, by allowing the flow of energy to ebb and flow in our lives. May the energy that flows toward us be for the good and may we by our actions and choices help and strengthen one another.
The Right Kind of Fire
This week’s Torah portion is Shemini, which means 8th. This eighth day was to be a grand holiday, the day on which the priests offered sacrifices on behalf of the people in the newly built Tabernacle for the very first time. All the Israelites were assembled there. They had made the Tabernacle and the priests vestments just as they had been commanded. The priests offered the sacrifice exactly as God instructed them and the cloud of God’s glory, showing God’s approval, appeared to them, letting them know that God was happy with them. Then tragedy struck. The Torah says, “Aaron’s sons, Nadab and Abihu each took his fire pan, they put fire in them and placed incense upon it and they brought before God an alien fire that God had not commanded them. A fire came forth from before God and consumed them and they died before God.”(Levit 10:1-2) This is one of three notable instances in the Torah in which fire is associated with misfortune.
Twice in Numbers fire injures us. The Torah says (Num. 11:1) “The people took to seeking complaints. It was evil in the ears of God and God heard; God’s wrath flared and a fire burned against them and it consumed at the edge of the camp.” Just a few portions later, “They journeyed from Mt. Hor by the way of the Sea of Reeds to go around the land of Edom and the spirit of the people grew short on the way. The people spoke against God and Moses, ‘why did you bring us up from Egypt to die in this wilderness, for there is no food and no water and our soul is disgusted with the insubstantial food.’ God sent fiery serpents against the people and they bit the people.” (Num. Chukat) In these three passages we can see that the fire, or the energy for the burning, came from the people themselves. In each instance, these people were acting for themselves alone, not for the greater good.
Rabbi R.S. Hirsch brings out the very important point that the two sons, Nadav and Abihu, took their own fire pans, not the holy objects that belonged to the nation to make this sacrifice. This tells us that they were concerned with their own prestige, their own ideas, and their own power. The people who complained in the book of Numbers had lost sight of the reason for their wandering, the reason behind the existence of the Jewish nation, and its mission. Shemini tells us that there is a mission, a reason for us to participate in the what the S’fat Emet calls a “system of restraint,” which could mean the laws in the Torah, or even just the dietary laws at the end of this portion.
There is a reason for everything that has been commanded, and asked of us. There is the right kind of fire and a wrong kind of fire. From our small vantage point, none of it makes sense, when the focus is on ourselves. We literally cannot see the forest for the trees. Rabbi Hirsch says that in idol worship, the aim of the sacrifices was to bend the Gods’ will to our own, but Judaism concerns the fulfillment of God’s will which is a better life for us all. This requires us to send out the right kind of energy into the world. Not the fire of complaints or of ambition, but the fire of love for goodness, a burning desire to be of help and service to others, the fervent faith that what we do matters vitally in the world, so that God can guide it toward greater goodness and blessing for us all.
We all want to feel important, to live lives in which others look up to us. We all want to live secure lives of comfort and ease, expressing ourselves and fulfilling ourselves. We can achieve these ends by harmonizing our inner fire to serve the unfolding of a higher consciousness in the world, and by exhibiting that consciousness when we interact with others. As Rabbi Hillel famously said in Pirkei Avot, “If I am not for myself, who is for me? And if I am only for myself, what am I?” And if not now, when? Our unfolding and the quality of our growth is in our own hands. And anyone who wants to expand into goodness will be encouraged, helped, and lifted from above.
Twice in Numbers fire injures us. The Torah says (Num. 11:1) “The people took to seeking complaints. It was evil in the ears of God and God heard; God’s wrath flared and a fire burned against them and it consumed at the edge of the camp.” Just a few portions later, “They journeyed from Mt. Hor by the way of the Sea of Reeds to go around the land of Edom and the spirit of the people grew short on the way. The people spoke against God and Moses, ‘why did you bring us up from Egypt to die in this wilderness, for there is no food and no water and our soul is disgusted with the insubstantial food.’ God sent fiery serpents against the people and they bit the people.” (Num. Chukat) In these three passages we can see that the fire, or the energy for the burning, came from the people themselves. In each instance, these people were acting for themselves alone, not for the greater good.
Rabbi R.S. Hirsch brings out the very important point that the two sons, Nadav and Abihu, took their own fire pans, not the holy objects that belonged to the nation to make this sacrifice. This tells us that they were concerned with their own prestige, their own ideas, and their own power. The people who complained in the book of Numbers had lost sight of the reason for their wandering, the reason behind the existence of the Jewish nation, and its mission. Shemini tells us that there is a mission, a reason for us to participate in the what the S’fat Emet calls a “system of restraint,” which could mean the laws in the Torah, or even just the dietary laws at the end of this portion.
There is a reason for everything that has been commanded, and asked of us. There is the right kind of fire and a wrong kind of fire. From our small vantage point, none of it makes sense, when the focus is on ourselves. We literally cannot see the forest for the trees. Rabbi Hirsch says that in idol worship, the aim of the sacrifices was to bend the Gods’ will to our own, but Judaism concerns the fulfillment of God’s will which is a better life for us all. This requires us to send out the right kind of energy into the world. Not the fire of complaints or of ambition, but the fire of love for goodness, a burning desire to be of help and service to others, the fervent faith that what we do matters vitally in the world, so that God can guide it toward greater goodness and blessing for us all.
We all want to feel important, to live lives in which others look up to us. We all want to live secure lives of comfort and ease, expressing ourselves and fulfilling ourselves. We can achieve these ends by harmonizing our inner fire to serve the unfolding of a higher consciousness in the world, and by exhibiting that consciousness when we interact with others. As Rabbi Hillel famously said in Pirkei Avot, “If I am not for myself, who is for me? And if I am only for myself, what am I?” And if not now, when? Our unfolding and the quality of our growth is in our own hands. And anyone who wants to expand into goodness will be encouraged, helped, and lifted from above.
Friday, November 21, 2014
The Elevation of the Human Soul
This week’s Torah portion is Tzav, which means, command. God continues to issue instructions for the priest concerning the presentation of sacrifices. The fire on the altar was never to go out. In the mornings, the Kohen Gadol, the High Priest, cleared the ashes. Fat and blood were not to be eaten. At the end of this portion, the priests were sanctified for seven days and consecrated to begin their service for God and the people.
The first sacrifice mentioned in this portion is the elevation offering, the only one burned in its entirety. What follows are instructions about three other types of sacrifices: the grain or mincha offering, the sin, and the guilt offering. Each of these three offerings were partially consumed by the priests. God tells them that part of each sacrifice will be burned. Then the Torah says, “Aaron and his sons shall eat what is left of it, it shall be eaten unleavened in a holy place, in the courtyard of the Tent of Meeting shall they eat it…I have presented it as their share from my fire offerings. It is Kadosh Kadoshim, holy of holies, like the sin offering and like the guilt offering.” Right after that it says, “Whatever touches them shall become holy.”
This phrase, most holy, or holiest of the holies, is said five times in this portion. Whatever touches them shall become holy, is said twice. God is attempting to tell the priests something important, but what is it? The meal offering was the least a person could offer. It was often brought by a person who was poor. Significantly, its holiness is described first among the edible sacrifices. The Midrash quotes Psalm 22:24 (Midrash Rabba III:2) “You that fear God, offer praise; All you the seed of Jacob, glorify The Eternal; And stand in awe of God, you seed of Israel, for God has not despised nor abhorred the lowliness of the poor; Neither hath God Hid the Divine face from him. But when he cried unto God, The Eternal heard.” This tells us that the offerings of the poor are special and precious to God. Next the sin and guilt offerings are listed. The priests must eat them in a holy place, for they are kadosh kadoshim, the holy of the holies. Whatever touches them becomes holy.
If we think about these three offerings, of the poor, concerning sin, and guilt, we might think that God might regard them with some disdain, or perhaps just tacit acceptance, because they represent wrongdoing. But this disdain is just what the priests are cautioned to avoid. Perhaps they needed to be told about the great holiness of these offerings. What is holy is not the sacrifice itself, but the confession of the person over the sacrifice, the intention to seek forgiveness, and the desire to change. A well-known precept of the Talmud is that. “In the place where penitents stand even the wholly righteous cannot stand.” (Berachot 34b)
The priests were overseeing the most important mechanism that exists for the full fruition of humanity: the elevation of the human soul. We know that the world can only improve if we change. The priests were not to treat these sacrifices lightly, disdainfully, or even in a “business as usual” manner. They were to approach these sacrifices with a deep reverence for the person offering them, and for the spiritual elevation they represented, knowing that they were the midwives to the birth a better world. Through confession, atonement, repentance, and the intention to do better each of us urges the world forward, in tiny increments. The priests observed people and hence the world, slowly improving. By their encouragement and respect for each sacrifice, they were able to promote the highest in the person offering the gift to God.
The meaning for us, who serve as our own priests, is to develop a reverence for our own capacity to grow and intention to change, for “it is most holy.” And we should know that whatever facets of our lives are touched by these changes become holy as well. The human way is to fall down and rise up. Rabbi Nachman of Breslov said, “Whenever a person rises from one level to the next, it necessitates that they first have a descent before the ascent. Because the purpose of any descent is always in order to ascend.” (LM 22) If we wish it, our mistakes can be the rungs of the ladder of ascent, that we grasp that rung to pull ourselves up, and then stand upon it. Let us be in awe of our own capacity to grow, which will never end, and experience the holiness of God’s mechanism, the human way, of rising through our mistakes, because we, they too, are holy.
The first sacrifice mentioned in this portion is the elevation offering, the only one burned in its entirety. What follows are instructions about three other types of sacrifices: the grain or mincha offering, the sin, and the guilt offering. Each of these three offerings were partially consumed by the priests. God tells them that part of each sacrifice will be burned. Then the Torah says, “Aaron and his sons shall eat what is left of it, it shall be eaten unleavened in a holy place, in the courtyard of the Tent of Meeting shall they eat it…I have presented it as their share from my fire offerings. It is Kadosh Kadoshim, holy of holies, like the sin offering and like the guilt offering.” Right after that it says, “Whatever touches them shall become holy.”
This phrase, most holy, or holiest of the holies, is said five times in this portion. Whatever touches them shall become holy, is said twice. God is attempting to tell the priests something important, but what is it? The meal offering was the least a person could offer. It was often brought by a person who was poor. Significantly, its holiness is described first among the edible sacrifices. The Midrash quotes Psalm 22:24 (Midrash Rabba III:2) “You that fear God, offer praise; All you the seed of Jacob, glorify The Eternal; And stand in awe of God, you seed of Israel, for God has not despised nor abhorred the lowliness of the poor; Neither hath God Hid the Divine face from him. But when he cried unto God, The Eternal heard.” This tells us that the offerings of the poor are special and precious to God. Next the sin and guilt offerings are listed. The priests must eat them in a holy place, for they are kadosh kadoshim, the holy of the holies. Whatever touches them becomes holy.
If we think about these three offerings, of the poor, concerning sin, and guilt, we might think that God might regard them with some disdain, or perhaps just tacit acceptance, because they represent wrongdoing. But this disdain is just what the priests are cautioned to avoid. Perhaps they needed to be told about the great holiness of these offerings. What is holy is not the sacrifice itself, but the confession of the person over the sacrifice, the intention to seek forgiveness, and the desire to change. A well-known precept of the Talmud is that. “In the place where penitents stand even the wholly righteous cannot stand.” (Berachot 34b)
The priests were overseeing the most important mechanism that exists for the full fruition of humanity: the elevation of the human soul. We know that the world can only improve if we change. The priests were not to treat these sacrifices lightly, disdainfully, or even in a “business as usual” manner. They were to approach these sacrifices with a deep reverence for the person offering them, and for the spiritual elevation they represented, knowing that they were the midwives to the birth a better world. Through confession, atonement, repentance, and the intention to do better each of us urges the world forward, in tiny increments. The priests observed people and hence the world, slowly improving. By their encouragement and respect for each sacrifice, they were able to promote the highest in the person offering the gift to God.
The meaning for us, who serve as our own priests, is to develop a reverence for our own capacity to grow and intention to change, for “it is most holy.” And we should know that whatever facets of our lives are touched by these changes become holy as well. The human way is to fall down and rise up. Rabbi Nachman of Breslov said, “Whenever a person rises from one level to the next, it necessitates that they first have a descent before the ascent. Because the purpose of any descent is always in order to ascend.” (LM 22) If we wish it, our mistakes can be the rungs of the ladder of ascent, that we grasp that rung to pull ourselves up, and then stand upon it. Let us be in awe of our own capacity to grow, which will never end, and experience the holiness of God’s mechanism, the human way, of rising through our mistakes, because we, they too, are holy.
Sunday, November 9, 2014
A Dynamic Atonement
This week's Torah portion is Acharei Mot, which means, after the death,” referring to the death of Aaron's two sons. It contains all the laws for Yom Kippur: how it was celebrated so long ago with ceremonies and sacrifices, and the portion also lists prohibited marriages, which are mostly those within the family. Yom Kippur is our holiday of atonement, but also cleansing and expiation. In the ancient past, blood atoned for our sins, as the Torah says, “For the soul of the flesh is in the blood and I have assigned it for you upon the altar to provide atonement for your souls, for it is the blood that atones for the soul.” (Levit. 17:11). How was it that blood atoned for sins?
Perhaps in the ancient world, which was more destructive and warlike, people experienced death so much more frequently than we do: either human death through battle or the natural death of family members, or they experienced the killing of animals for food or during worship through sacrifice. Maybe there was a kind of balance of life, seen as the image of the scales of justice: something died and there must be a payment for the life; or perhaps a restitution for the death, to restore balance to the world. Perhaps there was an appreciation that life inevitably creates death. Moses said, “Choose life,” which leads us believe that we can cause more life or more death through our words and actions.
Our atonement is not very much like the kind described in Acharei Mot. Comparing us to the people who lived at this more brutal time, I'm sure they would have thought of us as wimps. Yet there are two similarities between their atonement and ours. The high Priest had to confess and atone three times during the Yom Kippur service. So admitting to ourselves what is less worthy is always part of our expiation. Also, the giving of the sacrifice is similar to the giving of charity for us, or the giving of ourselves to others which is an alternative pathway to atonement. Our atonement may be less filled with awe, but perhaps it is more dynamic; more concerned with ways to extend our goodness into the world. We are asked to feel contrition for what we do, but also to feel hope that we can do just a little better and be blessed through our small personal victories, when goodness and kindness, patience and love win over our less than holy selves.
The Haftarah for this Shabbat, Shabbat HaGadol, which is the great Shabbat, just before Passover, says, “Turn back to Me and I will turn back to you.” (Malachi). At this time of renewal during Pesach, and of the spring when new hope blossoms, let us turn in ourselves to that which is most giving, most patient, and most loving, so that our atonement can be not a preoccupation with paying for the past but the expressing of our goodness in the present and into the future. As King David wrote in Psalm 34: “Turn from the bad, and do good; seek peace, and pursue it.” (Ps. 34:15). That is, the moment is now, and we can make it wonderful.
Perhaps in the ancient world, which was more destructive and warlike, people experienced death so much more frequently than we do: either human death through battle or the natural death of family members, or they experienced the killing of animals for food or during worship through sacrifice. Maybe there was a kind of balance of life, seen as the image of the scales of justice: something died and there must be a payment for the life; or perhaps a restitution for the death, to restore balance to the world. Perhaps there was an appreciation that life inevitably creates death. Moses said, “Choose life,” which leads us believe that we can cause more life or more death through our words and actions.
Our atonement is not very much like the kind described in Acharei Mot. Comparing us to the people who lived at this more brutal time, I'm sure they would have thought of us as wimps. Yet there are two similarities between their atonement and ours. The high Priest had to confess and atone three times during the Yom Kippur service. So admitting to ourselves what is less worthy is always part of our expiation. Also, the giving of the sacrifice is similar to the giving of charity for us, or the giving of ourselves to others which is an alternative pathway to atonement. Our atonement may be less filled with awe, but perhaps it is more dynamic; more concerned with ways to extend our goodness into the world. We are asked to feel contrition for what we do, but also to feel hope that we can do just a little better and be blessed through our small personal victories, when goodness and kindness, patience and love win over our less than holy selves.
The Haftarah for this Shabbat, Shabbat HaGadol, which is the great Shabbat, just before Passover, says, “Turn back to Me and I will turn back to you.” (Malachi). At this time of renewal during Pesach, and of the spring when new hope blossoms, let us turn in ourselves to that which is most giving, most patient, and most loving, so that our atonement can be not a preoccupation with paying for the past but the expressing of our goodness in the present and into the future. As King David wrote in Psalm 34: “Turn from the bad, and do good; seek peace, and pursue it.” (Ps. 34:15). That is, the moment is now, and we can make it wonderful.
Friday, April 11, 2014
The Right Kind of Fire
This week’s Torah portion is Shemini, which means 8th. This eighth day was to be a grand holiday, the day on which the priests offered sacrifices on behalf of the people in the newly built Tabernacle for the very first time. All the Israelites were assembled there. They had made the Tabernacle and the priests vestments just as they had been commanded. The priests offered the sacrifice exactly as God instructed them and the cloud of God’s glory, showing God’s approval, appeared to them, letting them know that God was happy with them. Then tragedy struck. The Torah says, “Aaron’s sons, Nadab and Abihu each took his fire pan, they put fire in them and placed incense upon it and they brought before God an alien fire that God had not commanded them. A fire came for the from before God and consumed them and they died before God.”(Levit 10:1-2)
This is one of three notable instances in the Torah in which fire is associated with misfortune. Twice in Numbers fire injures us. The Torah says (Num. 11:1) “The people took to seeking complaints. It was evil in the ears of God and God heard; God’s wrath flared and a fire burned against them and it consumed at the edge of the camp.” Just a few portions later, “They journeyed from Mt. Hor by the way of the Sea of Reeds to go around the land of Edom and the spirit of the people grew short on the way. The people spoke against God and Moses, ‘why did you bring us up from Egypt to die in this wilderness, for there is no food and no water and our soul is disgusted with the insubstantial food.’ God sent fiery serpents against the people and they bit the people.” (Num. Chukat) In these three passages we can see that the fire, or the energy for the burning, came from the people themselves. In each instance, these people were acting for themselves alone, not for the greater good. Rabbi R.S. Hirsch brings out the very important point that the two sons, Nadav and Abihu, took their own fire pans, not the holy objects that belonged to the nation to make this sacrifice. This tells us that they were concerned with their own prestige, their own ideas, and their own power.
The people who complained in the book of Numbers had lost sight of the reason for their wandering, the reason behind the existence of the Jewish nation, and its mission. Shemini tells us that there is a mission, a reason for us to participate in the what th S’fat Emet calls a “system of restraint,” which could mean the laws in the Torah, or even just the dietary laws at the end of this portion. There is a reason for everything that has been asked of us. There is the right kind of fire and a wrong kind of fire. From our small vantage point, none of it makes sense, when the focus is on ourselves. We literally cannot see the forest for the trees. Rabbi Hirsch says that in idol worship, the aim of the sacrifices was to bend the Gods’ wills to our own, but Judaism concerns the fulfillment of God’s will which is a better life for us all. This requires us to send out the right kind of energy into the world. Not the fire of complaints or of ambition, but the fire of love for goodness, a burning desire to be of help and service to others, the fervent faith that what we do matters vitally in the world, so that God can guide it toward greater goodness and blessing for us all.
We all want to feel important, to live lives in which others look up to us. We all want to live secure lives of comfort and ease, expressing ourselves and fulfilling ourselves. We can achieve these ends by harmonizing our inner fire to serve the unfolding of a higher consciousness in the world, and by exhibiting that consciousness when we interact with others. As Rabbi Hillel famously said in Pirkei Avot, “If I am not for myself, who is for me? And if I am only for myself, what am I?” And if not now, when? Our unfolding and the quality of our growth is in our own hands. And anyone who wants to expand into goodness will be encouraged, helped, and lifted from above.
This is one of three notable instances in the Torah in which fire is associated with misfortune. Twice in Numbers fire injures us. The Torah says (Num. 11:1) “The people took to seeking complaints. It was evil in the ears of God and God heard; God’s wrath flared and a fire burned against them and it consumed at the edge of the camp.” Just a few portions later, “They journeyed from Mt. Hor by the way of the Sea of Reeds to go around the land of Edom and the spirit of the people grew short on the way. The people spoke against God and Moses, ‘why did you bring us up from Egypt to die in this wilderness, for there is no food and no water and our soul is disgusted with the insubstantial food.’ God sent fiery serpents against the people and they bit the people.” (Num. Chukat) In these three passages we can see that the fire, or the energy for the burning, came from the people themselves. In each instance, these people were acting for themselves alone, not for the greater good. Rabbi R.S. Hirsch brings out the very important point that the two sons, Nadav and Abihu, took their own fire pans, not the holy objects that belonged to the nation to make this sacrifice. This tells us that they were concerned with their own prestige, their own ideas, and their own power.
The people who complained in the book of Numbers had lost sight of the reason for their wandering, the reason behind the existence of the Jewish nation, and its mission. Shemini tells us that there is a mission, a reason for us to participate in the what th S’fat Emet calls a “system of restraint,” which could mean the laws in the Torah, or even just the dietary laws at the end of this portion. There is a reason for everything that has been asked of us. There is the right kind of fire and a wrong kind of fire. From our small vantage point, none of it makes sense, when the focus is on ourselves. We literally cannot see the forest for the trees. Rabbi Hirsch says that in idol worship, the aim of the sacrifices was to bend the Gods’ wills to our own, but Judaism concerns the fulfillment of God’s will which is a better life for us all. This requires us to send out the right kind of energy into the world. Not the fire of complaints or of ambition, but the fire of love for goodness, a burning desire to be of help and service to others, the fervent faith that what we do matters vitally in the world, so that God can guide it toward greater goodness and blessing for us all.
We all want to feel important, to live lives in which others look up to us. We all want to live secure lives of comfort and ease, expressing ourselves and fulfilling ourselves. We can achieve these ends by harmonizing our inner fire to serve the unfolding of a higher consciousness in the world, and by exhibiting that consciousness when we interact with others. As Rabbi Hillel famously said in Pirkei Avot, “If I am not for myself, who is for me? And if I am only for myself, what am I?” And if not now, when? Our unfolding and the quality of our growth is in our own hands. And anyone who wants to expand into goodness will be encouraged, helped, and lifted from above.
Friday, April 4, 2014
What is Most Holy?
This week’s Torah portion is Tzav, which means, command. God continues to issue instructions for the priest concerning the presentation of sacrifices. The fire on the altar was never to go out. In the mornings, the Kohen Gadol, the High Priest, cleared the ashes. Fat and blood were not to be eaten. At the end of this portion, the priests were sanctified for seven days and consecrated to begin their service for God and the people. The first sacrifice mentioned in this portion is the elevation offering, the only one burned in its entirety. What follows are instructions about three other types of sacrifices: the grain or mincha offering, the sin, and the guilt offering. Each of these three offerings were partially consumed by the priests. God tells them that part of each sacrifice will be burned. Then the Torah says, “Aaron and his sons shall eat what is left of it, it shall be eaten unleavened in a holy place, in the courtyard of the Tent of Meeting shall they eat it…I have presented it as their share from my fire offerings. It is Kadosh Kadoshim, holy of holies, like the sin offering and like the guilt offering.” Right after that it says, “Whatever touches them shall become holy.”
This phrase, most holy, or holiest of the holies, is said five times in this portion. Whatever touches them shall become holy, is said twice. God is attempting to tell the priests something important, but what is it? The meal offering was the least a person could offer. It was often brought by a person who was poor. Significantly, its holiness is described first among the edible sacrifices. The Midrash quotes Psalm 22:24 (Midrash Rabba III:2) “You that fear God, offer praise; All you the seed of Jacob, glorify The Eternal; And stand in awe of God, you seed of Israel, for God has not despised nor abhorred the lowliness of the poor; Neither hath God Hid the Divine face from him. But when he cried unto God, The Eternal heard.” This tells us that the offerings of the poor are special and precious to God.
Next the sin and guilt offerings are listed. The priests must eat them in a holy place, for they are kadosh kadoshim, the holy of the holies. Whatever touches them becomes holy. If we think about these three offerings, of the poor, concerning sin, and guilt, we might think that God might regard them with some disdain, or perhaps just tacit acceptance, because they represent wrongdoing. But this disdain is just what the priests are cautioned to avoid. Perhaps they needed to be told about the great holiness of these offerings. What is holy is not the sacrifice itself, but the confession of the person over the sacrifice, the intention to seek forgiveness, and the desire to change. A well-known precept of the Talmud is that. “In the place where penitents stand even the wholly righteous cannot stand.” (Berachot 34b)
The priests were overseeing the most important mechanism that exists for the full fruition of humanity: the elevation of the human soul. We know that the world can only improve if we change. The priests were not to treat these sacrifices lightly, disdainfully, or even in a “business as usual” manner. They were to approach these sacrifices with a deep reverence for the person offering them, and for the spiritual elevation they represented, knowing that they were the midwives to the birth a better world. Through confession, atonement, repentance, and the intention to do better each of us urges the world forward, in tiny increments. The priests observed people and hence the world, slowly improving. By their encouragement and respect for each sacrifice, they were able to promote the highest in the person offering the gift to God.
The meaning for us, who serve as our own priests, is to develop a reverence for our own capacity to grow and intention to change, for “it is most holy.” And we should know that whatever facets of our lives are touched by these changes become holy as well. The human way is to fall down and rise up. Rabbi Nachman of Breslov said, “Whenever a person rises from one level to the next, it necessitates that they first have a descent before the ascent. Because the purpose of any descent is always in order to ascend.” (LM 22) If we wish it, our mistakes can be the rungs of the ladder of ascent, that we grasp that rung to pull ourselves up, and then stand upon it. Let us be in awe of our own capacity to grow, which will never end, and experience the holiness of God’s mechanism, the human way, of rising through our mistakes, because we, they too, are holy.
This phrase, most holy, or holiest of the holies, is said five times in this portion. Whatever touches them shall become holy, is said twice. God is attempting to tell the priests something important, but what is it? The meal offering was the least a person could offer. It was often brought by a person who was poor. Significantly, its holiness is described first among the edible sacrifices. The Midrash quotes Psalm 22:24 (Midrash Rabba III:2) “You that fear God, offer praise; All you the seed of Jacob, glorify The Eternal; And stand in awe of God, you seed of Israel, for God has not despised nor abhorred the lowliness of the poor; Neither hath God Hid the Divine face from him. But when he cried unto God, The Eternal heard.” This tells us that the offerings of the poor are special and precious to God.
Next the sin and guilt offerings are listed. The priests must eat them in a holy place, for they are kadosh kadoshim, the holy of the holies. Whatever touches them becomes holy. If we think about these three offerings, of the poor, concerning sin, and guilt, we might think that God might regard them with some disdain, or perhaps just tacit acceptance, because they represent wrongdoing. But this disdain is just what the priests are cautioned to avoid. Perhaps they needed to be told about the great holiness of these offerings. What is holy is not the sacrifice itself, but the confession of the person over the sacrifice, the intention to seek forgiveness, and the desire to change. A well-known precept of the Talmud is that. “In the place where penitents stand even the wholly righteous cannot stand.” (Berachot 34b)
The priests were overseeing the most important mechanism that exists for the full fruition of humanity: the elevation of the human soul. We know that the world can only improve if we change. The priests were not to treat these sacrifices lightly, disdainfully, or even in a “business as usual” manner. They were to approach these sacrifices with a deep reverence for the person offering them, and for the spiritual elevation they represented, knowing that they were the midwives to the birth a better world. Through confession, atonement, repentance, and the intention to do better each of us urges the world forward, in tiny increments. The priests observed people and hence the world, slowly improving. By their encouragement and respect for each sacrifice, they were able to promote the highest in the person offering the gift to God.
The meaning for us, who serve as our own priests, is to develop a reverence for our own capacity to grow and intention to change, for “it is most holy.” And we should know that whatever facets of our lives are touched by these changes become holy as well. The human way is to fall down and rise up. Rabbi Nachman of Breslov said, “Whenever a person rises from one level to the next, it necessitates that they first have a descent before the ascent. Because the purpose of any descent is always in order to ascend.” (LM 22) If we wish it, our mistakes can be the rungs of the ladder of ascent, that we grasp that rung to pull ourselves up, and then stand upon it. Let us be in awe of our own capacity to grow, which will never end, and experience the holiness of God’s mechanism, the human way, of rising through our mistakes, because we, they too, are holy.
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Witnessing our Relationship to God
Pekudei 14: This week’s Torah portion is Pekudei, which means reckonings. Moses gives an accounting of the value of the materials the Israelites brought to construct the Tabernacle. The vestments of the Priests are woven and 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 at 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 filled the Tabernacle. God showed 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. The Hebrew for testimony comes from the word, EYD, witness. Mishkan and Shechinah both come from the word shachan, to dwell. Therefore, these two words can also be translated as the Dwelling of Witnessing or even the indwelling of witnessing. The Midrash asks, (Ex Rabba Midrash LI:4) “What is the meaning of testimony (or witnessing)? R. Simeon, said: It is a testimony to the whole world that there is forgiveness for Israel” in reference to the sin of the Golden Calf, that God’s instructions to build the Tabernacle showed that God had forgiven us. “Another explanation” given by the midrash is: “It is a testimony to the whole world that (he) [Moses] was appointed by God [to erect] the Tabernacle.”
For me, the dwelling of the witnessing also speaks about relationship. In Ki Tissa, two weeks ago, Moses has a conversation with God in which God says to him, “…you have found favor in my eyes and I have known you by name.” (Ex. 33:17) This intimacy between God and a human being was unprecedented before Judaism, before Abraham. It was something entirely new in human history. What is being witnessed by the Tabernacle, the dwelling, is truly the bringing forth of this intimacy of relationship into the lives of each of the Israelites, which has never ceased.
Moses speaks of this relationship all through the Book of Deuteronomy, and we recite it at each synagogue service: “You shall love the Eternal your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might.” We are the witnesses, called upon to unite earth and heaven. Abraham Joshua Heschl speaks about this relationship in his book, Man Is Not Alone. He says, “God remains beyond our reach as long as we do not know that our reach is within God; that God is the Knower and we are the Known; that to be means to be thought of by God.” (P128). Heschl also speaks about being noticed by God, through our holy deeds. The S’fat Emet says that the Tabernacle was given to us, to “strengthen their hearts…to bring Divine blessing into the world.” (Commentary on Pekudey) He quotes the prophet Isaiah who said, “You are my witnesses, said the Eternal, and I am God.” (Is. 43:12)
The re-emergence of spirituality in our time, in Eastern religions and in Judaism shows the hunger for the intimacy of relationship that was established for us, at the completion of the Tabernacle. The cry of the prophet shows the great need for us to be witnesses to that relationship. As with the Israelites, we have been given, lovingly, a way to connect ourselves to that Divine love through our wholehearted intentions and righteous actions. The Zohar says, “Happy are the righteous …, for many are the effulgences treasured up for them, many the felicities reserved for them. … For them that take refuge in Thee…” We are meant to be witnesses to the possibility of intimacy with the Divine, and to actively seek out God’s love. Then will we experience God’s favor and we will know, as Heschl taught, that we are noticed by God: that God also knows us by name.
At the beginning of Pekudei, the structure that was being erected is called Mishkan Ha-Edut, the Tabernacle of the Testimony. The Hebrew for testimony comes from the word, EYD, witness. Mishkan and Shechinah both come from the word shachan, to dwell. Therefore, these two words can also be translated as the Dwelling of Witnessing or even the indwelling of witnessing. The Midrash asks, (Ex Rabba Midrash LI:4) “What is the meaning of testimony (or witnessing)? R. Simeon, said: It is a testimony to the whole world that there is forgiveness for Israel” in reference to the sin of the Golden Calf, that God’s instructions to build the Tabernacle showed that God had forgiven us. “Another explanation” given by the midrash is: “It is a testimony to the whole world that (he) [Moses] was appointed by God [to erect] the Tabernacle.”
For me, the dwelling of the witnessing also speaks about relationship. In Ki Tissa, two weeks ago, Moses has a conversation with God in which God says to him, “…you have found favor in my eyes and I have known you by name.” (Ex. 33:17) This intimacy between God and a human being was unprecedented before Judaism, before Abraham. It was something entirely new in human history. What is being witnessed by the Tabernacle, the dwelling, is truly the bringing forth of this intimacy of relationship into the lives of each of the Israelites, which has never ceased.
Moses speaks of this relationship all through the Book of Deuteronomy, and we recite it at each synagogue service: “You shall love the Eternal your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might.” We are the witnesses, called upon to unite earth and heaven. Abraham Joshua Heschl speaks about this relationship in his book, Man Is Not Alone. He says, “God remains beyond our reach as long as we do not know that our reach is within God; that God is the Knower and we are the Known; that to be means to be thought of by God.” (P128). Heschl also speaks about being noticed by God, through our holy deeds. The S’fat Emet says that the Tabernacle was given to us, to “strengthen their hearts…to bring Divine blessing into the world.” (Commentary on Pekudey) He quotes the prophet Isaiah who said, “You are my witnesses, said the Eternal, and I am God.” (Is. 43:12)
The re-emergence of spirituality in our time, in Eastern religions and in Judaism shows the hunger for the intimacy of relationship that was established for us, at the completion of the Tabernacle. The cry of the prophet shows the great need for us to be witnesses to that relationship. As with the Israelites, we have been given, lovingly, a way to connect ourselves to that Divine love through our wholehearted intentions and righteous actions. The Zohar says, “Happy are the righteous …, for many are the effulgences treasured up for them, many the felicities reserved for them. … For them that take refuge in Thee…” We are meant to be witnesses to the possibility of intimacy with the Divine, and to actively seek out God’s love. Then will we experience God’s favor and we will know, as Heschl taught, that we are noticed by God: that God also knows us by name.
Friday, February 28, 2014
The Miracle of Giving
This week’s Torah portion is Vayakel, which means, and assembled. Moses assembles the people to begin work on the Tabernacle. He asks them to bring free-will contributions of gold, silver, copper, fabric, wood, and animal skins. They return and bring so much, day after day, that there is extra, and Moses tells them that there is enough. The portion ends with the actual construction of the shining furniture and the sacred enclosures.
In verse 36:4 the Torah says, “All the wise people came.” This phrase refers to those who were skilled, who knew how to use their talents to construct the Sanctuary, the lace curtains, the embroidered tapestries, and the holy furniture. But in a broader sense, “all the wise people came,” can also refer to those who made any contribution: money, materials, knowledge, or labor: from the wealthiest people, the princes, who contributed the precious stones for the High Priest’s breastplate, to the children who probably brought water and food to the workers. Since we are all One, giving in any form means that we are giving to God, to others, and also to ourselves. We can’t give just to one without giving to all three. The Universe is structured that way.
Knowing how the Universe works, knowing about being One with God and each other is wisdom, and when this wisdom is translated into conscious choice and conscious action it is a powerful engine leading to spiritual growth and the expansion of a person’s compassion and goodness, the ability to be a mensch in the world. The Torah also tells us, in Deuteronomy, Verse 15:10: “You shall surely give to him, and your heart shall not be grieved when you give to him; because for this thing the Eternal your God shall bless you in all your works, and in all that you put your hand to.” This means that the blessing we give somehow returns to us.
This D'var Torah is only half of the sermon I gave last week. I read a story from the book, Lamed Vav, the favorite stories of Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach. In short, a poor man whose children and wife went about in rags, somehow saved enough to buy a farm. But a widow in the town discovered that when her husband died they were destitute, and her daughter's wedding into a wealthy family was in peril. The poor man gave his life savings to the widow so that her daughter could marry the man she loved. The poor man and his family was greatly blessed with unimaginable wealth. During WWII, all his descendants were taken to Auschwitz and every one survived. They came penniless to this country, but within a month, the family was wealthy again. Shabbat Shalom!
In verse 36:4 the Torah says, “All the wise people came.” This phrase refers to those who were skilled, who knew how to use their talents to construct the Sanctuary, the lace curtains, the embroidered tapestries, and the holy furniture. But in a broader sense, “all the wise people came,” can also refer to those who made any contribution: money, materials, knowledge, or labor: from the wealthiest people, the princes, who contributed the precious stones for the High Priest’s breastplate, to the children who probably brought water and food to the workers. Since we are all One, giving in any form means that we are giving to God, to others, and also to ourselves. We can’t give just to one without giving to all three. The Universe is structured that way.
Knowing how the Universe works, knowing about being One with God and each other is wisdom, and when this wisdom is translated into conscious choice and conscious action it is a powerful engine leading to spiritual growth and the expansion of a person’s compassion and goodness, the ability to be a mensch in the world. The Torah also tells us, in Deuteronomy, Verse 15:10: “You shall surely give to him, and your heart shall not be grieved when you give to him; because for this thing the Eternal your God shall bless you in all your works, and in all that you put your hand to.” This means that the blessing we give somehow returns to us.
This D'var Torah is only half of the sermon I gave last week. I read a story from the book, Lamed Vav, the favorite stories of Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach. In short, a poor man whose children and wife went about in rags, somehow saved enough to buy a farm. But a widow in the town discovered that when her husband died they were destitute, and her daughter's wedding into a wealthy family was in peril. The poor man gave his life savings to the widow so that her daughter could marry the man she loved. The poor man and his family was greatly blessed with unimaginable wealth. During WWII, all his descendants were taken to Auschwitz and every one survived. They came penniless to this country, but within a month, the family was wealthy again. Shabbat Shalom!
Friday, February 21, 2014
What Love is All About
This week’s Torah portion is Ki Tissa, which means.” when you take.” It begins with the taking of a census, goes on to appoint two people to oversee the work of the Tabernacle and holy vestments, and reiterates that Shabbat observance supersedes work for God on the tabernacle. Later in the portion, while Moses is gone, the people make and worship a golden calf. Moses wins forgiveness for them and has an intimate encounter with God, in which he hears a description of God’s attributes: that God is compassionate and gracious; slow to anger, forgiving, and great in kindness and truth. At the end of the portion, Moses’ face shines with divine light.
Ki Tissa is one of the few Torah portions that speaks about relationship: specifically Moses’ intimate relationship with God. While Moses is on Mt. Sinai, with the Eternal, receiving the tablet of the Ten Commandments, the people long for him to return so they can feel connected to their Divine Protector. When Moses does not return on time, they demand an idol, the Golden Calf, thus breaking their promise to God. The prophet Hosea likens the relationship of God to the Jewish people to a marriage, where God is the groom and Israel the bride. “And I will betroth you to me forever; I will betroth you to me in righteousness, and judgment, and in loving kindness and compassion, I will betroth you to me in faithfulness; and you shall know God. (2:21-2)
Most of Ki Tissa traces the development of Moses’ relationship to God. As in a human relationship, there is testing. God offers to kill the people and create a new nation, beginning with Moses. Moses passes the test, refusing to abandon the people and hence, refusing to abandon God. Then it is Moses’ turn to seek a deeper relationship. He repeatedly seeks out God, speaking to the Divine at the entrance to a special tent outside the camp, which Moses calls tent of meeting. At one of these encounters, Moses says, in Rashi’s translation, “If I have indeed found favor in your eyes, make you ways known to me, so that I may know you, so that I shall find favor in your eyes.” Knowing someone, in the Torah, when applied to humans, means sexual relations. Here, it describes the great longing we have for completion, for perfect union, that we occasionally find in human relationships, usually only for a short while. But we are really seeking something more universal and profound. We are all looking for the Other in which we can find the Self. Only we can’t usually distinguish romantic love from spiritual love. It all feels the same and one gets mixed up with the other. We don’t have the words to describe the feeling of love, no less the difference between the two kinds. Love is one of our highest human functions.
We literally mint the spiritual currency of the universe when we love. The whole universe works on the principle of love, the more we love the more love we experience in return. Moses, like us, wants more of the good stuff – spiritual fulfillment, through love. And he finds it, by going one step further, asking God, “Show me your glory.” God grants him a close spiritual encounter, cautioning him by saying that he must not come too close, “for no human can see me and live,” which reminds us of what we all know: the flame of love, whether romantic or spiritual, can warm or burn us. This is stated in Song of Songs: “Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a sign upon your arm; for love is strong as death, Its passion as cruel as the grave. Its sparks become a raging fire. Great seas cannot extinguish love. No river can wash it away, If a man offered all the wealth of his house for love, it would be utterly scorned. I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.”(Chap 7)
In Moses’ close encounter, God calls out with the attributes of the essence of who God is: compassionate, gracious, slow to anger, truthful, and forgiving. Like the song by Lieber and Stoller recorded by Peggy Lee, Is that all there is? We feel let down. To us it sounds good, but not great; not good enough to satisfy us. However we have to put ourselves into Moses’ experience. For him it is communion or even union, for in experiencing this intense love for the other, he has lost himself in God and found himself; not only the self he knows, but his best, highest self, which, really is what love is all about. When we find that completion, those spiritual riches in ourself, we have found peace and contentment, which can then be shared. We have enough, we’re less needy, able to give more than receive. In a paraphrase of the W.B. Yeats’ poem of 1919, the center holds, the journey is more placid, we are at home in our own skin. The love we give can bring about the peace we seek. May we give it to each other, and experience that peace.
Ki Tissa is one of the few Torah portions that speaks about relationship: specifically Moses’ intimate relationship with God. While Moses is on Mt. Sinai, with the Eternal, receiving the tablet of the Ten Commandments, the people long for him to return so they can feel connected to their Divine Protector. When Moses does not return on time, they demand an idol, the Golden Calf, thus breaking their promise to God. The prophet Hosea likens the relationship of God to the Jewish people to a marriage, where God is the groom and Israel the bride. “And I will betroth you to me forever; I will betroth you to me in righteousness, and judgment, and in loving kindness and compassion, I will betroth you to me in faithfulness; and you shall know God. (2:21-2)
Most of Ki Tissa traces the development of Moses’ relationship to God. As in a human relationship, there is testing. God offers to kill the people and create a new nation, beginning with Moses. Moses passes the test, refusing to abandon the people and hence, refusing to abandon God. Then it is Moses’ turn to seek a deeper relationship. He repeatedly seeks out God, speaking to the Divine at the entrance to a special tent outside the camp, which Moses calls tent of meeting. At one of these encounters, Moses says, in Rashi’s translation, “If I have indeed found favor in your eyes, make you ways known to me, so that I may know you, so that I shall find favor in your eyes.” Knowing someone, in the Torah, when applied to humans, means sexual relations. Here, it describes the great longing we have for completion, for perfect union, that we occasionally find in human relationships, usually only for a short while. But we are really seeking something more universal and profound. We are all looking for the Other in which we can find the Self. Only we can’t usually distinguish romantic love from spiritual love. It all feels the same and one gets mixed up with the other. We don’t have the words to describe the feeling of love, no less the difference between the two kinds. Love is one of our highest human functions.
We literally mint the spiritual currency of the universe when we love. The whole universe works on the principle of love, the more we love the more love we experience in return. Moses, like us, wants more of the good stuff – spiritual fulfillment, through love. And he finds it, by going one step further, asking God, “Show me your glory.” God grants him a close spiritual encounter, cautioning him by saying that he must not come too close, “for no human can see me and live,” which reminds us of what we all know: the flame of love, whether romantic or spiritual, can warm or burn us. This is stated in Song of Songs: “Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a sign upon your arm; for love is strong as death, Its passion as cruel as the grave. Its sparks become a raging fire. Great seas cannot extinguish love. No river can wash it away, If a man offered all the wealth of his house for love, it would be utterly scorned. I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.”(Chap 7)
In Moses’ close encounter, God calls out with the attributes of the essence of who God is: compassionate, gracious, slow to anger, truthful, and forgiving. Like the song by Lieber and Stoller recorded by Peggy Lee, Is that all there is? We feel let down. To us it sounds good, but not great; not good enough to satisfy us. However we have to put ourselves into Moses’ experience. For him it is communion or even union, for in experiencing this intense love for the other, he has lost himself in God and found himself; not only the self he knows, but his best, highest self, which, really is what love is all about. When we find that completion, those spiritual riches in ourself, we have found peace and contentment, which can then be shared. We have enough, we’re less needy, able to give more than receive. In a paraphrase of the W.B. Yeats’ poem of 1919, the center holds, the journey is more placid, we are at home in our own skin. The love we give can bring about the peace we seek. May we give it to each other, and experience that peace.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
The Essence of Jewish Royalty
The special vestments made for Aaron, the Kohen Gadol, in his role as High Priest, comprise a grand costume, as the Torah says, “You shall make vestments of sanctity for Aaron your brother, for glory and splendor.” (Ex. 28:2) They were made of precious and semi-precious stones, gold chains, fine linen, turquoise, purple, and scarlet wool, and real gold thread. It is interesting that the priests had vestments befitting royalty but Moses had no costume or symbol of kingship. It is also interesting that the High Priest’s vestments were made of mixed fibers: wool and linen, which are specifically prohibited to us in Leviticus 19:19 and Deuteronomy 22:11, the prohibition known as shatnez, combined fibers.
Moses was humble, we are told, the most humble person on earth (Num.12:3). His royalty was inner, not outer. We are asked to emulate Moses, not the High Priest in this matter. Why is Aaron commanded to wear mixed fibers while we are prohibited from doing so? Aaron was commanded to look grand and we, as individuals are asked not to try to look like priests, to look royal. We are urged to cultivate humility as an important value in Judaism, and not to appear to be too wealthy, royal, or grand. When I hear about people who buy ostentatiously lavish lifestyles for themselves, I often feel sorry for them. That’s royalty on the outside. Those who need royalty on the outside may be compensating 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, the group, or the tribe. Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch pointed out that the priests’ vestments were supplied by, made by, and owned by the people (Note to Lev. 28:42-43). When not serving the nation, the Talmud tells us that the priests were not to wear their vestments to go about the town (Yoma 69a). By tradition, Aaron was a regular sort of person when he was not at work. No one can be outwardly royal alone: royalty is always about the group. But inward royalty is another matter. 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 Mishnah, as a hindrance to spiritual progress (Avot, 2:10, 4:21, 6:4.
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 divinity comes from the Radiance 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 nobility in Godly attributes: taking care of others, acts of kindness, and compassion. The less we need to prove our worth and status to the world, the happier we become, letting our inner royalty shine forth. Inner royalty 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. It needs no trappings. May we find within the royalty we seek, 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.
(Note: This piece was published in The Jewish Week, February, 2014)
Moses was humble, we are told, the most humble person on earth (Num.12:3). His royalty was inner, not outer. We are asked to emulate Moses, not the High Priest in this matter. Why is Aaron commanded to wear mixed fibers while we are prohibited from doing so? Aaron was commanded to look grand and we, as individuals are asked not to try to look like priests, to look royal. We are urged to cultivate humility as an important value in Judaism, and not to appear to be too wealthy, royal, or grand. When I hear about people who buy ostentatiously lavish lifestyles for themselves, I often feel sorry for them. That’s royalty on the outside. Those who need royalty on the outside may be compensating 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, the group, or the tribe. Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch pointed out that the priests’ vestments were supplied by, made by, and owned by the people (Note to Lev. 28:42-43). When not serving the nation, the Talmud tells us that the priests were not to wear their vestments to go about the town (Yoma 69a). By tradition, Aaron was a regular sort of person when he was not at work. No one can be outwardly royal alone: royalty is always about the group. But inward royalty is another matter. 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 Mishnah, as a hindrance to spiritual progress (Avot, 2:10, 4:21, 6:4.
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 divinity comes from the Radiance 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 nobility in Godly attributes: taking care of others, acts of kindness, and compassion. The less we need to prove our worth and status to the world, the happier we become, letting our inner royalty shine forth. Inner royalty 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. It needs no trappings. May we find within the royalty we seek, 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.
(Note: This piece was published in The Jewish Week, February, 2014)
Friday, February 7, 2014
Refining our Life Energy
This week’s Torah portion is Terumah, which means portion or contribution. It also means lifting up or separation. Terumah contains God’s request for the Israelites to give a freewill offering of materials needed for the construction of the Tabernacle, the portable site of worship and sacrifice that the Israelites carried with them in the wilderness. All the many detailed instructions for building it are also in this portion. Toward the beginning of the portion the text reads: "V’asa li mikdash v’shachanti b’tocham." Rashi translates this as: “they shall make me a sanctuary, so that I may dwell among them.” (Ex. 25:5) This can also be translated, they shall make for me holiness and I shall dwell within them.
There is a long rabbinic tradition that we are the place of holiness, that we should make a dwelling place in our hearts for God’s Presence to lodge there. There is a line in Deuteronomy that says, “But God has taken you, and brought you out of the iron crucible, out of Egypt, to be for God a people of inheritance, as you are this day.” (4:20) A crucible is used to refine metal. The metal is melted in the crucible and the impurities are poured off, leaving only the pure substance. The Torah is telling us that we were taken out of Egypt to refine, to purify ourselves. A crucible also is the place where what was hard becomes soft. This can be a metaphor for ego, which the Torah describes as being stiff-necked: intractable and resistant to change. We know that the priests had to purify themselves before they could approach the holy areas and holy furniture of the Tabernacle. The people had to purify themselves for three days before they could hear God speak the Ten Commandments to them; and Moses had to purify himself for six days before he could enter the cloud on Mt. Sinai and dwell with God’s Presence for 40 days and nights. So in order for us to experience God’s Presence in our lives, we are being asked to undergo purification too. The Zohar (I: 88b) tells us, “…when a person exerts himself to purify himself and to draw near to God, then the Shekinah rests on him.”
How is purification accomplished? The Tabernacle, as a place for sacrifice, always involved confession and atonement. So this is the first step: recognizing and acknowledging our faults: all the things we could have done better, all the things we did wrong. Rabbi Schneur Zalman, as quoted by Rabbi Shachter Shalomi, (Wrapped in a Holy Flame P. 195) wrote, “in this arousing of mercies following the contrition, evil and the other side are no longer nurtured from the life energy.” But there is a next step. The Chassidic masters spoke about three realms of action: thought, word, and deed. Our actions are probably the easiest of the three to purify. We can set about doing the right thing and try to carry that out. Words are harder: we slip and say things we shouldn’t say. We become annoyed and answer too quickly. We forget to take the time to be gentle with each other. Rabbi Gelberman wrote: “A word is an outer symbol of an inner feeling.” This shows us that the real work of purification should concern our thoughts.
There is an inner fine-ness that we are capable of achieving, stemming from the love and real compassion we can feel for others and for the Divine. Rebbe Levi Yitzchak of Berdichev wrote, “One should never think evil thoughts for in the mind of each individual is the holy of holies.” (Soul of the Torah, P. 154) This fine-ness is something to be sought, because as we journey toward it, the change in us activates change above, as the Zohar says,( I:77b) “…whoever makes an effort to purify himself receives assistance from above…for the upper world is not stirred to act until an impulse is given from the lower world. ” As we strive for inner purity, inner fineness we will find many levels and opportunities because we are shown the areas inwardly, that we are expected to tackle. The Apter Rebbe, Abraham Joshua Heschel of Apt wrote, God will communicate with the Jewish people in their closed, private, and protected selves, in the deepest depths of their hearts.
This is what spiritual striving is all about: the burning desire for union with the beloved Divine, that which poet Chaviva Pedaya expressed in this way: “One thing have I asked and it I seek: Your dwelling in me…”(Women’s Torah Commentary (P. 472). Our task is to lift ourselves up, by refining our life energy, our thoughts, words, and deeds, to make a dwelling place for God’s Presence. Just because we are human, we are capable of achieving it, not for its own sake, but to heal and help, to be a gift and experience God’s gifts. This is what all kabbalah is about: the thirst for spiritual love, and even ecstasy, that can be experienced when we make for God holiness, that the Divine may dwell within us.
There is a long rabbinic tradition that we are the place of holiness, that we should make a dwelling place in our hearts for God’s Presence to lodge there. There is a line in Deuteronomy that says, “But God has taken you, and brought you out of the iron crucible, out of Egypt, to be for God a people of inheritance, as you are this day.” (4:20) A crucible is used to refine metal. The metal is melted in the crucible and the impurities are poured off, leaving only the pure substance. The Torah is telling us that we were taken out of Egypt to refine, to purify ourselves. A crucible also is the place where what was hard becomes soft. This can be a metaphor for ego, which the Torah describes as being stiff-necked: intractable and resistant to change. We know that the priests had to purify themselves before they could approach the holy areas and holy furniture of the Tabernacle. The people had to purify themselves for three days before they could hear God speak the Ten Commandments to them; and Moses had to purify himself for six days before he could enter the cloud on Mt. Sinai and dwell with God’s Presence for 40 days and nights. So in order for us to experience God’s Presence in our lives, we are being asked to undergo purification too. The Zohar (I: 88b) tells us, “…when a person exerts himself to purify himself and to draw near to God, then the Shekinah rests on him.”
How is purification accomplished? The Tabernacle, as a place for sacrifice, always involved confession and atonement. So this is the first step: recognizing and acknowledging our faults: all the things we could have done better, all the things we did wrong. Rabbi Schneur Zalman, as quoted by Rabbi Shachter Shalomi, (Wrapped in a Holy Flame P. 195) wrote, “in this arousing of mercies following the contrition, evil and the other side are no longer nurtured from the life energy.” But there is a next step. The Chassidic masters spoke about three realms of action: thought, word, and deed. Our actions are probably the easiest of the three to purify. We can set about doing the right thing and try to carry that out. Words are harder: we slip and say things we shouldn’t say. We become annoyed and answer too quickly. We forget to take the time to be gentle with each other. Rabbi Gelberman wrote: “A word is an outer symbol of an inner feeling.” This shows us that the real work of purification should concern our thoughts.
There is an inner fine-ness that we are capable of achieving, stemming from the love and real compassion we can feel for others and for the Divine. Rebbe Levi Yitzchak of Berdichev wrote, “One should never think evil thoughts for in the mind of each individual is the holy of holies.” (Soul of the Torah, P. 154) This fine-ness is something to be sought, because as we journey toward it, the change in us activates change above, as the Zohar says,( I:77b) “…whoever makes an effort to purify himself receives assistance from above…for the upper world is not stirred to act until an impulse is given from the lower world. ” As we strive for inner purity, inner fineness we will find many levels and opportunities because we are shown the areas inwardly, that we are expected to tackle. The Apter Rebbe, Abraham Joshua Heschel of Apt wrote, God will communicate with the Jewish people in their closed, private, and protected selves, in the deepest depths of their hearts.
This is what spiritual striving is all about: the burning desire for union with the beloved Divine, that which poet Chaviva Pedaya expressed in this way: “One thing have I asked and it I seek: Your dwelling in me…”(Women’s Torah Commentary (P. 472). Our task is to lift ourselves up, by refining our life energy, our thoughts, words, and deeds, to make a dwelling place for God’s Presence. Just because we are human, we are capable of achieving it, not for its own sake, but to heal and help, to be a gift and experience God’s gifts. This is what all kabbalah is about: the thirst for spiritual love, and even ecstasy, that can be experienced when we make for God holiness, that the Divine may dwell within us.
Friday, January 31, 2014
From Love and Not from Fear
This week’s Torah portion is Mishpatim, which means, ordinances, or laws. It directly follows the Ten Commandments, and consists of over 50 rules that lay out the workings of a just society. There are laws concerning murder, injury, theft, care of and destruction of property, negligence, and social justice. There are laws about the punishment fitting the crime, integrity of words and actions, and also about helping and not oppressing a strangers, widows, and orphans, those weakest in society. Finally, there are laws about the 3 agricultural pilgrimage holidays and a vision of God, seen by the Moses and over 70 elders.
Tonight I’d like to examine three incomprehensible laws. They are: “One who strikes his father or his mother shall surely be put to death. One who kidnaps a man and sells him and he was found in his possession, shall surely be put to death. One who curses his father or his mother shall surely be put to death” (Ex. 21:15-17). Of course we don’t agree with these laws, and the ancient rabbis didn’t either. They limited them severely to adult children who have the intention of causing death to their parents. But what the laws say and what they mean, I think, are two very different things. In the 10 Commandments, we are told, “Do not take the name of God, your God, in vain,” and also, “Honor your father and your mother.” Both of these commandments concern respect: respect for God and respect for parents. The Torah is informing us that respect is an important value in Judaism: that it’s good for us, good for society, and that developing respect will help us and make us happier.
In Mishpatim, the failure of an adult child to manifest any respect for parents is deemed so dangerous to society that the courts need to be involved. It is the task of the community, the Torah tells us, to make sure that people who are a danger to their parents are dealt with not by the parents alone, but by the entire community. It is interesting that the commandment concerning kidnapping is between the two directives about parents. Rabbi S. R. Hirsch says this is because the kidnapper treated the person he kidnapped and sold as a thing, not as a person (P. 290, Hirsch Chumash). Respect is a value which has changed greatly in our society. People used to respect the king, the Pope, even rabbis. Our grandparents had respect for their teachers, for the doctor, for authority figures in general. This was a patriarchal hierarchy in which there was more of a certain type of respect throughout the society.
We know that things have greatly changed. There is much less respect for individuals, but perhaps more respect for groups. Our great grandparents may have respected the teacher, but what about a person of color? What about women, or those with disabilities, or those whose sexual preferences differed with their own? Respect has shifted, I think, not diminished. Perhaps now, in our psychologically attuned time, there is more self-respect and also more willingness to treat others as people and not objects. Perhaps, as Rabbi Elimelech taught, that is one meaning of the commandment, “Do not show favoritism,” (Deut. 16:19) which distances us from God’s Panim, face. There is a growing recognition that respect must be accorded to everyone equally, not just to parents, teachers, and authority figures: that respect should be not a component of fear, but of love. The French novelist Albert Camus wrote, “Nothing is more despicable than respect based on fear.”
Perhaps the Torah stresses respect to parents because it is through our parents that we learn how to respect, and also how to love. If we formed healthy, nourishing attachments to our parents, then we can not only love, accept, and respect others, but we have also developed the capacity to love and respect the Source of life. Respect for God, and as the V’ahavta prayer urges, love for God, helps us to rise spiritually. One can be a moral person out of a conviction that doing the right thing is valuable in itself. It may however, be easier, to tackle the self and make the changes necessary for spiritual advancement, if we have developed the respect for the rightness and goodness of God’s teachings, if we can love our Divine parent.
Respect flows from the purifying force of love in our lives. When we do the inner work to purify ourselves, we can accept, love, and respect others. The Torah and the Midrash ask us to rise in the presence of the aged and also of a sage (Levit. 19: 32; Ex Rabba 31:16). This is respect based on love, and perhaps we are moving from respect based on fear to respect based on love. There is great strength in having respect for each other. Rabbi Elimelech quotes a story told by the Baal Shem Tov that you may have heard: “All the birds fly to warmer countries in the winter. A beautiful multicolored bird appeared atop a very high tree in a certain country. The king commanded his servants to bring him the bird. They climbed on top of each other’s shoulders, forming a tall ladder. After a while the ones below decided they were no longer necessary and left. This caused the man at the top to tumble and fall to the ground. He was injured and failed to capture the bird.” The Baal Shem Tov continued: “We must always be attached and connected with each other with love.” May we have the wisdom to accord our respect not only to those who exhibit the highest human values, but also to respect our Divinity within, that we may recognize and respect that divinity of each person and be guided toward greater respect for God and each other.
Tonight I’d like to examine three incomprehensible laws. They are: “One who strikes his father or his mother shall surely be put to death. One who kidnaps a man and sells him and he was found in his possession, shall surely be put to death. One who curses his father or his mother shall surely be put to death” (Ex. 21:15-17). Of course we don’t agree with these laws, and the ancient rabbis didn’t either. They limited them severely to adult children who have the intention of causing death to their parents. But what the laws say and what they mean, I think, are two very different things. In the 10 Commandments, we are told, “Do not take the name of God, your God, in vain,” and also, “Honor your father and your mother.” Both of these commandments concern respect: respect for God and respect for parents. The Torah is informing us that respect is an important value in Judaism: that it’s good for us, good for society, and that developing respect will help us and make us happier.
In Mishpatim, the failure of an adult child to manifest any respect for parents is deemed so dangerous to society that the courts need to be involved. It is the task of the community, the Torah tells us, to make sure that people who are a danger to their parents are dealt with not by the parents alone, but by the entire community. It is interesting that the commandment concerning kidnapping is between the two directives about parents. Rabbi S. R. Hirsch says this is because the kidnapper treated the person he kidnapped and sold as a thing, not as a person (P. 290, Hirsch Chumash). Respect is a value which has changed greatly in our society. People used to respect the king, the Pope, even rabbis. Our grandparents had respect for their teachers, for the doctor, for authority figures in general. This was a patriarchal hierarchy in which there was more of a certain type of respect throughout the society.
We know that things have greatly changed. There is much less respect for individuals, but perhaps more respect for groups. Our great grandparents may have respected the teacher, but what about a person of color? What about women, or those with disabilities, or those whose sexual preferences differed with their own? Respect has shifted, I think, not diminished. Perhaps now, in our psychologically attuned time, there is more self-respect and also more willingness to treat others as people and not objects. Perhaps, as Rabbi Elimelech taught, that is one meaning of the commandment, “Do not show favoritism,” (Deut. 16:19) which distances us from God’s Panim, face. There is a growing recognition that respect must be accorded to everyone equally, not just to parents, teachers, and authority figures: that respect should be not a component of fear, but of love. The French novelist Albert Camus wrote, “Nothing is more despicable than respect based on fear.”
Perhaps the Torah stresses respect to parents because it is through our parents that we learn how to respect, and also how to love. If we formed healthy, nourishing attachments to our parents, then we can not only love, accept, and respect others, but we have also developed the capacity to love and respect the Source of life. Respect for God, and as the V’ahavta prayer urges, love for God, helps us to rise spiritually. One can be a moral person out of a conviction that doing the right thing is valuable in itself. It may however, be easier, to tackle the self and make the changes necessary for spiritual advancement, if we have developed the respect for the rightness and goodness of God’s teachings, if we can love our Divine parent.
Respect flows from the purifying force of love in our lives. When we do the inner work to purify ourselves, we can accept, love, and respect others. The Torah and the Midrash ask us to rise in the presence of the aged and also of a sage (Levit. 19: 32; Ex Rabba 31:16). This is respect based on love, and perhaps we are moving from respect based on fear to respect based on love. There is great strength in having respect for each other. Rabbi Elimelech quotes a story told by the Baal Shem Tov that you may have heard: “All the birds fly to warmer countries in the winter. A beautiful multicolored bird appeared atop a very high tree in a certain country. The king commanded his servants to bring him the bird. They climbed on top of each other’s shoulders, forming a tall ladder. After a while the ones below decided they were no longer necessary and left. This caused the man at the top to tumble and fall to the ground. He was injured and failed to capture the bird.” The Baal Shem Tov continued: “We must always be attached and connected with each other with love.” May we have the wisdom to accord our respect not only to those who exhibit the highest human values, but also to respect our Divinity within, that we may recognize and respect that divinity of each person and be guided toward greater respect for God and each other.
Friday, January 24, 2014
A Teaching for Tu B'Shevat
Tu B'Shevat, the New Year of the Trees is our environmental and spiritual holiday. Here is a teaching for the occasion:
How is a person like a tree? A tree gives shade, beauty, and fruit.
Like a tree’s shade, we can provide protection for each other.
Like a tree’s beauty, we can be a source of love, friendship, wisdom, and inspiration.
Like a tree’s fruit, we are not diminished in the giving; for we participate in the nourishment and life of the greater web of all existence and always have more to give. Thereby are we enriched.
How is a person like a tree? A tree gives shade, beauty, and fruit.
Like a tree’s shade, we can provide protection for each other.
Like a tree’s beauty, we can be a source of love, friendship, wisdom, and inspiration.
Like a tree’s fruit, we are not diminished in the giving; for we participate in the nourishment and life of the greater web of all existence and always have more to give. Thereby are we enriched.
Friday, January 10, 2014
Emerging Into the Light
This week’s Torah portion is Bo, which means, Come. God commands Moses to go to Pharaoh to warn him of the last three plagues. Later in the portion, the Israelites are given instructions about the Pesach offering to God, in preparation for departure; the protection of marking the doors with the blood from the Pesach offering; and also staying inside, away from danger. We are given our own calendar and the commandments concerning Passover, to celebrate it with matzah and bitter herbs as an eternal decree; the first borns are consecrated to God. Then Moses leads the Israelites out of Egypt.
After the ninth plague, Pharaoh is ready to let the people go for a three day period to bring offerings to God in the wilderness. But when he hears that the people will take even their herds and flocks, there is an exchange between Moses and Pharaoh that reads like a page from a super-hero comic book. Pharaoh says: “Go from me! Beware! Do not see my face anymore, for on the day you see my face, you will die.” Moses then says, very evenly and with dead seriousness, “You have spoken correctly. I shall never see your face again.” But just then, God gives Moses more instructions for Pharaoh. I imagine that perhaps Moses is halfway down the hall when he has to go back and warn Pharaoh of the last plague, the only one that the Torah calls a plague: the killing of the firstborns. After carrying out this terrible task, telling Pharaoh about all the death that will occur, the Torah says, Moses “left Pharaoh’s presence in burning anger.”
We can only imagine why Moses was so angry. Here are some possibilities: 1) Because he had to go back on his word? 2) Because he was so frustrated with Pharaoh? 3) Because there was to be so much death and it was all avoidable? 4) Because he sensed that he was a pawn in a game he did not understand? 5) Because he had agreed to be God’s voice to improve the lives of people, and here, the longer he speaks for God, the worse everything has become? 6) He is caught in what to him may have been a hopeless situation, in which he is impotent: unable to bring about any positive change. No wonder he was so angry. God then explains to Moses, maybe to calm him down, that “Pharaoh will not heed you, in order to increase my wonders in the land of Egypt.”
Immediately after that, God says to Moses and Aaron: This month shall be for you the beginning of the months, or in Rabbi Hirsch’s translation, “This renewal will be for you the beginning of renewals.” This year, Rosh Chodesh, the new month and the new moon occurred yesterday, on the evening of January 1st. In both the secular and the Jewish calendars, there was a new month, a renewal, and the renewal of the New Year. Rabbi Hirsch has a wonderful teaching about the new moon and for us, the New Year. He says: “In the land of the most stubborn paganism…did God call forth the future leader of God’s people (to) show them the sickle of the moon struggling to emerge from darkness into renewed light….Every time the moon reunites with the sun, and receives new light from it, God wants us to find our way back to Divinity and receive new irradiation from God’s light, no matter where we may be and through what periods of darkness we may have to pass.”
Moses did not know that just one week later, all the people would have left Egypt, the Sea of Reeds would have parted, and the people would be freed from bondage. He didn’t know that a few months after that, God would reveal the Divine Presence to over a million people, giving them the Ten Commandments: a body of Law that has stood for all time. We have no idea what renewals await us, just a few days, weeks, or months away. In the Hebrew calendar, the first month, Nisan, corresponds to the beginning of the spring: April, the time in Israel of the first plant growth: the time of maximum hope and beautiful renewal for us all. This is what we call God’s daily continuing and renewing the work of creation, the words of which we pray in the Shacharit service, the morning service each Shabbat, which itself is meant as a weekly renewal.
We know that in this new year, there will be challenges as well as blessings. May we be patient through any frustrations we may experience, knowing that the difficulties are the prelude to our emergence into the light. May we be hopeful and secure, knowing that what we encounter are part of the process of Divine renewal, allowing us to play a part in the unfolding of goodness and blessing by striving to move out of darkness into renewed light. May each of us have a year of marvelous growth, increased understanding, and great blessings: of good health, prosperity, and happiness. May our renewal, as part of the Divine Plan, bring more Divine light to all.
After the ninth plague, Pharaoh is ready to let the people go for a three day period to bring offerings to God in the wilderness. But when he hears that the people will take even their herds and flocks, there is an exchange between Moses and Pharaoh that reads like a page from a super-hero comic book. Pharaoh says: “Go from me! Beware! Do not see my face anymore, for on the day you see my face, you will die.” Moses then says, very evenly and with dead seriousness, “You have spoken correctly. I shall never see your face again.” But just then, God gives Moses more instructions for Pharaoh. I imagine that perhaps Moses is halfway down the hall when he has to go back and warn Pharaoh of the last plague, the only one that the Torah calls a plague: the killing of the firstborns. After carrying out this terrible task, telling Pharaoh about all the death that will occur, the Torah says, Moses “left Pharaoh’s presence in burning anger.”
We can only imagine why Moses was so angry. Here are some possibilities: 1) Because he had to go back on his word? 2) Because he was so frustrated with Pharaoh? 3) Because there was to be so much death and it was all avoidable? 4) Because he sensed that he was a pawn in a game he did not understand? 5) Because he had agreed to be God’s voice to improve the lives of people, and here, the longer he speaks for God, the worse everything has become? 6) He is caught in what to him may have been a hopeless situation, in which he is impotent: unable to bring about any positive change. No wonder he was so angry. God then explains to Moses, maybe to calm him down, that “Pharaoh will not heed you, in order to increase my wonders in the land of Egypt.”
Immediately after that, God says to Moses and Aaron: This month shall be for you the beginning of the months, or in Rabbi Hirsch’s translation, “This renewal will be for you the beginning of renewals.” This year, Rosh Chodesh, the new month and the new moon occurred yesterday, on the evening of January 1st. In both the secular and the Jewish calendars, there was a new month, a renewal, and the renewal of the New Year. Rabbi Hirsch has a wonderful teaching about the new moon and for us, the New Year. He says: “In the land of the most stubborn paganism…did God call forth the future leader of God’s people (to) show them the sickle of the moon struggling to emerge from darkness into renewed light….Every time the moon reunites with the sun, and receives new light from it, God wants us to find our way back to Divinity and receive new irradiation from God’s light, no matter where we may be and through what periods of darkness we may have to pass.”
Moses did not know that just one week later, all the people would have left Egypt, the Sea of Reeds would have parted, and the people would be freed from bondage. He didn’t know that a few months after that, God would reveal the Divine Presence to over a million people, giving them the Ten Commandments: a body of Law that has stood for all time. We have no idea what renewals await us, just a few days, weeks, or months away. In the Hebrew calendar, the first month, Nisan, corresponds to the beginning of the spring: April, the time in Israel of the first plant growth: the time of maximum hope and beautiful renewal for us all. This is what we call God’s daily continuing and renewing the work of creation, the words of which we pray in the Shacharit service, the morning service each Shabbat, which itself is meant as a weekly renewal.
We know that in this new year, there will be challenges as well as blessings. May we be patient through any frustrations we may experience, knowing that the difficulties are the prelude to our emergence into the light. May we be hopeful and secure, knowing that what we encounter are part of the process of Divine renewal, allowing us to play a part in the unfolding of goodness and blessing by striving to move out of darkness into renewed light. May each of us have a year of marvelous growth, increased understanding, and great blessings: of good health, prosperity, and happiness. May our renewal, as part of the Divine Plan, bring more Divine light to all.
Friday, January 3, 2014
A Personal Experience of the Divine
This week’s Torah portion is the second in the Book of Exodus, Va’eira, which means, “and I appeared.” It begins with God returning to the topic of the Divine name. God makes several promises to the Israelites, and then returns to a second topic, that of hardening Pharaoh’s heart, first mentioned in the previous portion. God instructs Moses to speak to Pharaoh, that he send the people out of Egypt; and the portion goes on to give an account of the first seven plagues.
The portion reads at the beginning: “God spoke to Moses, and said to him, I am yud hei vav hei (Being, Existence). I appeared to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, by the name of El Shaddai, God Almighty or God the Provider, or God who is Sufficient, but by my name yud hei vav hei I did not make myself known to them.” (Ex. 6:2-3). This introduces the theme of knowing. There is something new that God wants Moses and the Israelites to know.
God also says, “I will harden Pharaoh’s heart, and multiply my signs and my wonders in the land of Egypt. But Pharaoh will not listen to you, that I may lay my hand upon Egypt, and take out my legions, my people the children of Israel, from the land of Egypt with great judgments. And the Egyptians shall know that I am yud hei vav hei, when I stretch forth my hand upon Egypt, and bring out the people of Israel from among them.” (Ex. 7:3-5) We usually think that the 10 plagues were primarily for Pharaoh’s benefit, so that he would let the people go. But thinking about the changes that would occur, after the people left, the lives of Pharaoh and the lives of the Egyptians were not so very greatly transformed. The two excerpts quoted tell another story, giving us an additional perspective.
All religion is experiential. That’s why no one can prove the existence of God to anyone else, but each person can prove the existence of God to herself or himself. Being slaves, the people were sunk in a very low state: they were demoralized, probably even devoid of hope. Given that God can do anything, it would have been relatively easy to convince Pharaoh to let the people go. This was deliberately delayed again and again so that God could multiply the signs and wonders: what we have called the 10 Plagues.
The two much greater tasks than convincing one person to do one thing were to give each Israelite an experience of God’s Presence and mastery in the world, and also to unify the Israelites to the point that they would have hope and willingly follow Moses out of Egypt, to a place with no water and no food, no cities and no houses, no clothing and no resources. What person in their right mind would do such a thing? My favorite sage, the S’fat Emet quotes Midrash Rabbah, which comments on Proverbs: “God will grant wisdom; from God’s mouth, knowing and understanding. (Prov. II, 6). Wisdom is great, but knowing is still greater…For God gives wisdom; but to one who God loves, out of God’s mouth comes knowing and understanding. R. Isaac & R. Levi…taught, it can be compared to a rich man's child, who, on returning from school, saw a dish of food in front of his father. When the father offered him a helping, the son said: I would rather have some of that which you yourself are now eating. The father complied, on account of his great love for him, giving him from his own mouth. (Ex. Rabbah XLI:3) The S’fat Emet adds that “this is knowing in your very soul.”
It is one thing to have someone tell you that God exists and that God is Existence, and further that God will take you out of slavery. It is something very different and very precious to have a personal experience that forms the basis of an unshakable conviction that this is really true. This is God’s task, not only at the time of the bondage in Egypt. This is an ongoing task between the Divine and every human being. Is there anyone among us who has not had a strange coincidence, or a personal epiphany, or an experience of being led to do something or meet someone who came to be important in life? Is there anyone who has not felt support at a crucial time or received some kind of blessing that was totally surprising at the time?
We might ask, why should God care so very much to contact each person, in his or her very soul? Why did God enslave us in the first place? Why did God care so much to take the Israelites out of Egypt? The aim of taking us out of Egypt was surely not just to make our lives easier. The larger purpose was to improve the world: to improve human beings, human life, and to point the way to the knowledge of a universal spiritual body of law; to facilitate progress, goodness, and kindness; to make known a better way to live.
God’s task will never stop. It is eternal and ongoing, and each of us is a vital part of it. We are each coming out of a personal Egypt; and God cares very, very much that we do. May we know in our very soul that we are being fed from, to put it figuratively, God’s own mouth, and may we realize how very important each of us is to God and to the improvement of the entire world.
The portion reads at the beginning: “God spoke to Moses, and said to him, I am yud hei vav hei (Being, Existence). I appeared to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, by the name of El Shaddai, God Almighty or God the Provider, or God who is Sufficient, but by my name yud hei vav hei I did not make myself known to them.” (Ex. 6:2-3). This introduces the theme of knowing. There is something new that God wants Moses and the Israelites to know.
God also says, “I will harden Pharaoh’s heart, and multiply my signs and my wonders in the land of Egypt. But Pharaoh will not listen to you, that I may lay my hand upon Egypt, and take out my legions, my people the children of Israel, from the land of Egypt with great judgments. And the Egyptians shall know that I am yud hei vav hei, when I stretch forth my hand upon Egypt, and bring out the people of Israel from among them.” (Ex. 7:3-5) We usually think that the 10 plagues were primarily for Pharaoh’s benefit, so that he would let the people go. But thinking about the changes that would occur, after the people left, the lives of Pharaoh and the lives of the Egyptians were not so very greatly transformed. The two excerpts quoted tell another story, giving us an additional perspective.
All religion is experiential. That’s why no one can prove the existence of God to anyone else, but each person can prove the existence of God to herself or himself. Being slaves, the people were sunk in a very low state: they were demoralized, probably even devoid of hope. Given that God can do anything, it would have been relatively easy to convince Pharaoh to let the people go. This was deliberately delayed again and again so that God could multiply the signs and wonders: what we have called the 10 Plagues.
The two much greater tasks than convincing one person to do one thing were to give each Israelite an experience of God’s Presence and mastery in the world, and also to unify the Israelites to the point that they would have hope and willingly follow Moses out of Egypt, to a place with no water and no food, no cities and no houses, no clothing and no resources. What person in their right mind would do such a thing? My favorite sage, the S’fat Emet quotes Midrash Rabbah, which comments on Proverbs: “God will grant wisdom; from God’s mouth, knowing and understanding. (Prov. II, 6). Wisdom is great, but knowing is still greater…For God gives wisdom; but to one who God loves, out of God’s mouth comes knowing and understanding. R. Isaac & R. Levi…taught, it can be compared to a rich man's child, who, on returning from school, saw a dish of food in front of his father. When the father offered him a helping, the son said: I would rather have some of that which you yourself are now eating. The father complied, on account of his great love for him, giving him from his own mouth. (Ex. Rabbah XLI:3) The S’fat Emet adds that “this is knowing in your very soul.”
It is one thing to have someone tell you that God exists and that God is Existence, and further that God will take you out of slavery. It is something very different and very precious to have a personal experience that forms the basis of an unshakable conviction that this is really true. This is God’s task, not only at the time of the bondage in Egypt. This is an ongoing task between the Divine and every human being. Is there anyone among us who has not had a strange coincidence, or a personal epiphany, or an experience of being led to do something or meet someone who came to be important in life? Is there anyone who has not felt support at a crucial time or received some kind of blessing that was totally surprising at the time?
We might ask, why should God care so very much to contact each person, in his or her very soul? Why did God enslave us in the first place? Why did God care so much to take the Israelites out of Egypt? The aim of taking us out of Egypt was surely not just to make our lives easier. The larger purpose was to improve the world: to improve human beings, human life, and to point the way to the knowledge of a universal spiritual body of law; to facilitate progress, goodness, and kindness; to make known a better way to live.
God’s task will never stop. It is eternal and ongoing, and each of us is a vital part of it. We are each coming out of a personal Egypt; and God cares very, very much that we do. May we know in our very soul that we are being fed from, to put it figuratively, God’s own mouth, and may we realize how very important each of us is to God and to the improvement of the entire world.
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