Royalty on the Inside

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

Follow Me: A Sermon/Meditation

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

Judaism: The Spiritual Path

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

Meeting Challenges Together

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

Freedom, Oneness and God's Name

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

Hiding and Revealing

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

Resolutions for the New Year

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