Nailbiting and Song - A Strange Combination

This Dvar Torah was written as part of a group that says Tehillim/Psalms together during the month of Elul (through Yom Kippur).

I too would like to thank Caryn and Ruthie for starting this inspiring group. I printed a great number of the divrei Torah on erev Rosh Hashana, and they were incredibly inspiring.

Each year, when I receive the initial email from Caryn and Ruthie, I hem and I haw. I have never been good at daily activities (even now, with 3 kids on anti-biotics for strep, I missed a dose!) This year, Ruthie did not let me hesitate. I had called her for an update on Elisheva Bracha Chaya and she left me no choice by immediately telling me she was signing me up and would give me “easy tehillim.” For this I thank her because it truly did make it easier for me.

As many of you know, I spend my days writing about a wide variety of Jewish topics, which actually sometimes makes it more challenging to feel as if I am writing something new and inspiring. In the past years I have often found myself using this dvar Torah as a cathartic opportunity to both write on a personal level and to open my heart and admit my great challenges.  This year has not been without its challenges, and sadly many of them are the exact same challenges I have faced in the years past - too much anger, not enough patience, too much working, too much judging others.

This Shabbas was Shabbas Shuva (yes, I am writing this motzei Shabbas...don’t ask!). This year, instead of trying to “connect” to the “feelings” I think that I am supposed to be feeling, I have found myself approaching the aseret y’mei teshuva in a more practical manner. For Shabbas Shuva it was actually a very, very practical manner. I bought “bitter nail” and put it on my nails and that of my two oldest children who are nail biters. I did NOT bite my nails all Shabbas. (For those of you who don’t know people with this bad habit, let me tell you that it is incredibly difficult to break.) Conscious of the nail biting because of the “bitter nail,” I found myself more conscious of Shabbas in general.

Perhaps this can be a beautiful analogy to all averos. My son told me he doesn’t bite any more. I held out his hand to show him the nails and said...”Yes, you do, you just don’t even realize when you are putting your fingers to your mouth. You do it without noticing.”

How often do we speak loshon harah without realizing it? Ok, butloshen harah is the easy analogy. Let’s be honest, it’s the most frequent trangression people make and, perhaps, the most discussed (except maybe tznius). But look further. How often do we take a bite of something and forget to make a bracha, eat something and never get around to saying the after-bracha, or steal someone else’s time (or even ideas) without considering our actions?

Alas, God has not provided a “bitter nail” for our daily lives because then we would not have free will. (But it would be so much easier!)

When I sat down to write, however, this is not where I expected to go. (Nor can I neatly tie these two sections together...sorry.)

As Shabbas went out, I glanced back at the parasha and had an all together different line of thought. What jumped out at me from this weeks parasha, and connected to next weeks parasha (which is appropriate on Motze Shabbat) was the concept of song.

As I alluded to above, and as those of you who know me will recognize, “spiritual” is not a description I use of myself. I don’t easily connect to the emotional side of Judaism. I don’t get goosebumps at the kosel or lose myself in prayer. (I truly wish that I did.)

When I do wish to daven for something particular, I always feel self-conscious and at a strange loss for word. (Odd for a writer, don’t you think.) A few months ago, feeling challenged by this fact, I decided that when I did wish to turn to personal tefilla, the best means for me to do so would be through song. One of the most moving prayers I ever felt myself pray was when I was in Israel in 1994 and the soldier Nachson Wachsman had been kidnapped by Arabs. That Shabbas, walking to shul at Hebrew U., I sang out to Hashem the refrain from “Bring Him Home” (Les Miserables).

Since making the decision to sing my prayers, I have actually done so on a number of occasions. (I would add here that, perhaps for the first time, I have felt truly moved by reciting Tehillim over the last few weeks when saying them for Elisheva Bracha Chaya...which has also helped me connect to reciting the Tehillim for this group.)

In Parasha Vayelch, it is written “And Moshe wrote this song on that day.” The song, written out in next week’s parash Haazinu, opens with praise of Hashem and a reminder that Hashem is our Creator and the rock of our lives. Moshe sang of all the kindness that Hashem did for our people. But then his song describes the transgressions that overcome our people and God’s wrathful response. From wrath, however, Moshe sang of hope and love and our ultimate redemption.”

Moshe song was both a lesson for the Jewish people, one that is relevant to every generation, and a prayer stated in narrative. Our job is to listen to this prayer and respond by recognizing Hashem’s greatness and following in his ways.

In just a few days it will be Yom Kippur. As we head into this holiest of days, I wonder how I will achieve what I wish to achieve. My greatest height of “spiritual connection” on Yom Kippur was attained through the rigor of standing in shul an entire day. It has been 8 years since I have been able to go to shul on Yom Kippur (Barch Hashem) and, in truth, I no longer even feel that I could concentrate if someone volunteered to take my children all day.

Perhaps, however, I will remember this d’var Torah, my promise to sing and God will accept my heartfelt desire to truly grow in the year to come.

In addition to Caryn, Ruthie and the entire Elul women’s group, I would like to thank my husband for putting the kids to bed and cleaning up while I composed this dvar Torah.

In the merit of the women of this Elul group, I will be giving Tzedakah to Midreshet Rachel v’Chaya.

I wish you all a successful Yom Kippur.

(Oh and don’t’ forget that Montreal is a great place to visit!!!!!)

Can You Forgive? Can You Be Forgiven?

Originally published on Huffington Post.

 

Asking for forgiveness is an admittedly difficult task. After all, no one likes to admit to their own faults or shortcomings. However, asking for forgiveness is an essential aspect of teshuva, repentance.

Teshuva is actually a process of self-evaluation and self-improvement. The Rambam (Rabbi Moses ben Maimon, a 12th century sage and commentator) enumerated four primary steps to the teshuva process:

1. Recognize and discontinue the improper action.


2. Verbally confess the action, thus giving the action a concrete form in your own mind.


3. Regret the action. Evaluate the negative impact this action may have had on yourself or on others.


4. Determine never to repeat the action. Picture a better way to handle it.

When one has caused harm to others, whether by stealing from them, embarrassing them or anything else, then teshuva also requires that restitution and reconciliation be arranged between the parties involved. The damaged party must forgive the perpetrator before Divine forgiveness is granted.

There are, however, certain tricky situations that must be handled delicately. An ancient Jewish proverb declares: "Loose tongues are worse than wicked hands." Truth is, people do the most damage to each other with their mouths. Things done with our hands, such as injuries, thefts, etc., can be repaired. Words, however, are like feathers in the wind -- they fly too fast to catch and can never be taken back. Jewish law regards lashon harah -- wicked speech, such as gossip and slander -- as one of the worst of the transgressions that one commits against fellow humans.

Here is the dilemma: Teshuva for hurting another person requires that one personally ask the other person's forgiveness. What does one do if one spoke badly about someone, in a fit of anger? Now that the two are friends once again, how does one ask properly for forgiveness?

The answer to this dilemma depends on the extent of the "damage." If the gossip itself created negative consequences, then the person must be asked directly for forgiveness. Even if no harm was done, and it is known that the person will be understanding about the incident, then forgiveness should still be asked.

However, according to the opinion of Rabbi Yisrael Salanter, if informing a person that you spoke about them would result in embarrassment or hurt, it is acceptable to ask for general forgiveness, without going into detail. Indeed, causing additional embarrassment to the person might actually necessitate asking for mechila (forgiveness) once again.

As central as expressing regret and apologizing for hurting another person is to the process of teshuva, equally important is the ability to hear someone else's apology and to accept it. (Of course, the ideal situation is when one foregoes an apology altogether and simply forgives the person for hurting you.)

Jewish tradition teaches that one is only obligated to ask for forgiveness three times. After three refusals, the person is no longer held accountable for their misconduct, as he/she has demonstrated true regret. The one who will not accept a sincere apology after three requests for forgiveness is now guilty of bearing a grudge.

What is wrong with bearing a grudge against a person who really hurt you? Beyond the fact that it is a violation of a Torah prohibition (Leviticus 19:18), bearing a grudge affects the bearer psychologically. A person bearing a grudge is, in general, less happy with the world and with other people because he/she cannot get past the feeling that he/she was wronged.

Forgiveness is rather easy to bestow. And when it is done with sincerity, it is as much a gift to ourselves as it is to the person we forgive.

Please join us throughout the Jewish High Holidays, on the HuffPost Religion live-blog, updated daily with spiritual reflections, blogs, photos, videos and verses. Tell us your story.

Jewish Wisdom for Worker's Rights

Originally published on Huffington Post.

Are workers' rights a modern invention born out of the trials and tribulations of the industrial revolution? Everyone's heard of the horrors of the sweatshops, child labor abuses and other workplace issues that, sadly, sometimes still take place today.

It should be known, however, that workers' rights were a concern long before sweatshops, and that workers' rights were addressed in many different ways by the Torah. One can imagine the early labor activists, creating a placard of Deuteronomy 24:14: "You shall not oppress a hired servant that is poor and needy, whether he be of your people, or of the strangers that are in your land within your gates." Not only does Deuteronomy 24 prohibit an employer from mistreating an employee either through physical or verbal abuse, but it is also understood to mean that an employer may not force a servant to do work that is demeaning.

In fact, the sages of the Talmud appear to have been in favor of employers going above and beyond to ensure that workers were treated fairly. For example, in Baba Metzia 83a, it is recorded that Rabba the son of Rabbi Huna confiscated the garments of some porters who had broken a barrel of wine he had hired them to transport. When the workers complained, Rav ordered Rabba to return the garments. When Rabba inquired if that was the law, Rav replied by quoting Psalms 2:20: 'That you may walk in the way of good men.' When their garments were returned, the men inquired whether they should not also receive their pay, for although the barrel had broken, they had labored all day. Rav ruled again in favor of the workers, noting that the aforementioned verse concluded "and keep the path of the righteous."

The tone of the Talmud indicates that while Rabba did not have an obligation to pay these workers, for they had been negligent in their task, it was, nevertheless, the right thing to do.

Another classic example of workers' rights in the Torah is with regard to the payment of wages. First mentioned in Leviticus 19:13, the Torah states: "...the wages of a hired servant shall not abide with you all night until the morning." When a person hires a day laborer, the worker must be paid, without delay, before the beginning of the next day.

While this seems obvious -- a man is hired to build a shed, he finishes the job and you pay him -- there are many cases and situations in which a person might not be so careful. What about the teenage babysitter for whom you have forgotten to have cash on hand? It's happened to all of us. This rule also applies to artisans: A customer is responsible for paying a worker upon receipt of the work he/she was to have done (for instance when a tailor delivers a new suit).

Often, a casual employer doesn't realize how much a delayed payment can affect an employee. Perhaps the employee has debts that are due or a babysitter that must be paid. Perhaps it is simply that the employee had intended to use the money to make a particular purchase that evening.

The Torah's views on workers' rights serve to remind us of the compassion one must always
feel for human beings.

This essay first appeared in an abbreviated form on JewishTreats.org.

For Jews, It's Always Back to School

Originally published on Huffington Post.

September looms, and children all over have either just begun school or will be starting shortly. Judaism has always been a culture focussed on learning. The Torah commands parents to teach their children, but since many parents are not capable of fulfilling the role of teacher, schools have become a necessity.

Local schools are important. The Sages even discuss whether a child may be forced by circumstances to go from one town to another to receive a proper education: "Joshua ben Gamala came and ordained that teachers of young children should be appointed in each district and each town (Baba Batra 21a)." Thus was established in the first century C.E., the first edict requiring available education for any child over 5 years of age.

While kindergarten, is, technically, the beginning of "school" in western society. It is, however, viewed by most educators as a transition year, which supports the Talmudic dictum "that children should enter school at the age of six or seven. Rav said to Rabbi Samuel ben Shilath: 'Before the age of six do not accept pupils; from that age you can accept them and stuff them with Torah like an ox (Baba Batra 21a).'" In Western society, children are generally 6 years old when they begin first grade.

Sending a child to school does not absolve a parent of responsibility to ensure that the child is being educated. The important role of a parent in education is reflected in Kiddushin 30a, where the Talmud described how Rabbi Chiya ben Abba did not taste meat [eat breakfast] before revising [the previous day's lesson] with the child and adding [another verse]." He enacted this family policy after confronting Rabbi Joshua ben Levi about wearing a plain cloth upon his head (in other words, not being properly dressed) when taking his child to synagogue for his lessons. Rabbi Joshua explained that his haste was to fulfill the Torah commandment: "and you shall make them known to your sons and your sons' sons" (Deuteronomy 4:9). It is similarly noted on this same page of the Talmud that "Rabbah son of Rabbi Huna did not taste meat [eat breakfast] until he took the child to school" (Kiddushin 30a).

The actions of Rabbi Joshua, Rabbi Chiya and Rabbah are cited because they reflect a fact that has been important throughout the history of education, one that is agreed upon by educators around the world: few factors are as important in education as parental participation.

Because of the focus Judaism places on learning, it is not surprising that the Sages had many other thoughts on education, such as:

The Sages' opinions even reflect the modern discussion regarding homogenous or heterogenous classes: "The attentive one will read, and, if one is inattentive, put him next to a diligent one" (Baba Batra 21a).

Class size, no matter where or what century, has always been a contentious issue: "Raba further said: The number of pupils to be assigned to each teacher is 25. If there are 50, we appoint two teachers. If there are 40, we appoint an assistant, at the expense of the town" (Baba Batra 21a).

Rabbi Eliezer, one of the great sages of the Talmud, believed that a teacher is obligated to teach a student the same lesson four times. Rabbi Akiva, on the other hand, insisted that a teacher must teach the same material to a student many times until the student masters the material! (Eruvin 54b). Whether education is oral, as in the past, or written, as in the present, there is a great lesson to be learned. Each student must be taught according to his/her ability and needs. Some students pick up information as soon as it is taught, but others need it repeated, two, four, 10 or even 100 times. And that's OK too.

Education is not, of course, limited to children. As Rosh Hashana approaches along with the new school year, there are plenty of educational opportunities. Fora light fare of Jewish education daily, please visit
JewishTreats.org.

Remembering a Great Warrior on Shavuot

Originally published on Huffington Post.

Although there are many grumbles about the barbeques and sales, Memorial Day is still dedicated to honoring the memories of those soldiers lost in battle. But this year, Memorial Day poses an interesting conflict with the Jewish calendar as it overlaps directly with the holiday of Shavuot.

The Feast of Weeks, as Shavuot is sometimes translated, is a festival of equal caliber to both Passover and Sukkot. Whereas Passover has matzah and the seder and Sukkot has the four species and the temporary dwellings, Shavuot does not have any specific rituals that would make it well-known to those who did not observe it. Celebrated following a count of 49 days after the first day of Passover, Shavuot commemorates the experience at Mount Sinai, when the Israelites received the Torah.

The coincidence of Shavuot and Memorial Day is not without some significance. In addition to commemorating the giving of the Torah, Shavuot is also the anniversary of both the birth and the death of King David, who is known for his prowess as a warrior.

The young David's introduction to the world of warfare was unintentional. During the reign of King Saul, the Israelites were at war with the Philistines (as was frequent during this era of Jewish history). The two armies had withdrawn from battle after the dramatic announcement by Goliath of Gath, a giant who had yet to be defeated in battle, that he would fight an Israelite champion, and "If he is able to fight with me [Goliath], and to kill me, then we will be your servants: but if I prevail against him, and kill him, then you shall be our servants, and serve us" (I Samuel 17:9).

Into this tense situation came David, a youth following his father's instructions to bring provisions to his three oldest brothers who were serving at the front. When David heard why the soldiers were sitting in their camps, he went to King Saul and volunteered to battle Goliath. Although at first the king refused, citing David's youth, he relented when David argued that he had successfully protected his father's flocks from wolves and lions and that he certainly could protect God's people with Divine assistance. David used his slingshot and surprised Goliath with a rock to the head, bringing victory to the Israelites.

With Goliath dead, a full fledged battle renewed, and young David was in the heart of it. This was the start of David's glorious military career. After the Israelite victory, the women of the nation sang, "Saul has slain his thousands, and David his ten thousands" (I Samuel18:7).

As king, David was one of the most successful military leaders in the history of Israel. According to the Midrash (Leviticus Rabbah 1:4), "[Some] say David waged 13 wars; [others] say 18. They do not disagree. Five were for his own needs, 13 were for Israel."

According to Jewish tradition, what made King David such an excellent military leader was the same quality for which he is considered the ideal King of Israel: his complete faith in God. In fact, the Midrash even credits his military skill as a result of his faith: "David said (Psalms 18:38), 'Let me pursue my foes and overtake them.' The Holy One, Blessed is He, replied 'I shall do so.' Thus it is written (I Samuel 30:17), 'David smote them from twilight until the evening of the next day'" (Pesikta Eichah Rabbasi 30).

It is more than a coincidence that King David's birthday/yahrtzeit is on Shavuot. For as much as he was a general and a politician, a husband and a father, a shepherd and a poet, King David was devoted to the Torah. In fact, he is attributed with creating the Book of Psalms, many of which he himself wrote. The Talmud relates that King David, knowing he was destined to die on Shabbat, begged God to let him die on the eve of the Sabbath (so that his body would not have to wait for burial). God replied by telling him that one day of David sitting and studying Torah was better to Him than the thousands of sacrifices that his son Solomon would (in the future) bring to the Temple, therefore God would not allow him to die even one day early. From that point forward, King David spent every Shabbat immersed in study, since the angel of death cannot approach one who is studying Torah. On his 70th birthday, which was on Shabbat, he paused from his studying to investigate a disturbance in his garden. When he climbed a ladder for a closer look, the ladder broke and "thereupon he became silent [from his studies] and his soul rested" (Shabbat 30a-b).

It's hard for us, today, to relate to biblical figures like King David. But as we face the upcoming weekend that is both Shavuot and Memorial Day Weekend, perhaps we can take the time to inspire ourselves and honor this great warrior in Jewish history by delving into the texts of the Torah that continually inspired him.

For those looking for some extra inspiration, an excellent first resource is the 'Jewish Treats: The Ten Commandments' ebook.

For more on the 49 days of counting between Passover and Shavuot, join the conversation and community by visiting the liveblog on HuffPost Religion, which features blogs, prayers, art and reflections for all 49 days of spiritual renewal between Passover and Shavuot.

Prayers from the Symphony

Last night I went to the symphony.

Doesn't that sound fine and fancy. It would probably be more accurate to say I went to the Orchestre symphonique de Montréal's Lang Lang concert. For those not in the know, (as I certainly was not beforehand), Lang Lang is one of the top pianists in the world. A native of China, Lang Lang began playing piano at age 3 and started his celebrated performance career at 17. Twelve years later, he has a Grammy, an honorary doctorate and a Sony recording contract.

We arrived at the hall in the nick of time. As the house darkened and Lang Lang began to play, the sadly boorish thought that went through my mind was, "How am I going to get through 2 1/2 hours without any  visual stimulus?" Does that demonstrate that I was a TV child (much as my folks tried to stop us)? Actually though, what I really wanted was pen and paper to doodle or write while I listened.

Being pen-less left me with an excellent opportunity to think. As I stared at his marvelous hands making magic on the keyboard and observed how his body seemed to absorb the emotions, I tried to focus on the feelings of both the composer and the pianist. Sadly, I was too unfamiliar to really understand it. On the other hand, from trying to understand the hidden meaning of the music I began to think about the relationship of prayer and music.

Let me take half a step back and share a slightly different train of thought. On our way to the concert, my husband turned on his new Sirius satellite radio to the all-Broadway channel (which he had programmed just for me). I used to love Broadway, and I still do, but I realized that I had long ago left the circle of real Broadway fans. I know many of the songs, but not the new ones and not the inside jokes. This lead me to later think about the people at the concert and how they were linked by a love of classical music...another circle into which I did not properly fit.

It would be wonderful if I could write here that I was transported by Lang Lang's incredible music to a euphoric state of communing with the Divine. It did not. But it did lead me to thinking about music and prayer, and how, several months ago, I told myself that I was going to try to pray more and that I was going to use my affinity for Broadway show tunes to do so. (Many years ago, I had found a profound connection between Les Miserables "Bring Him Home" and the situation of Nachshon Wachsman.)

Having resolved this line of thinking in my mind, my focus returned to Lang Lang. What process, I wondered, had gone into the development of the piano? What did the faces of the first people of the world look like when they pounded a hollow jar and heard a beautiful sound...and how had they gone from there to discovering the melodious vibrations of strings?

But the first instrument we ever had was the voices God gave us. The Torah has numerous references to song, most famously the song sung after the crossing of the Sea of Reeds. The Levites used to sing the Psalms in the Beis Hamikdash. Zemirot, the songs of the Shabbat table, are considered so essential that my son has a check box for whether or not he sang any at each of the Shabbat meals.

I can't play any instruments, and I am not very good with formal prayer. But I love to sing, so if you see me singing quietly in my yard, just remember that might be how I am praying.

Moldy Talk

Mold, yuck! Anyone who has suffered through mold issues will know my deep seated lament.

Our home in Montreal has three floors, but our problem was...our problem is...the basement. The inspector of the house noted that there was minor water damage in the spare bedroom in the basement. Wisely, we removed the carpeting that the previous owners had placed down there (with many speculations between us about why one would put carpeting in a room that sometimes gets water). Beneath the carpet was a beautiful hardwood floor, and it appeared to only be mildly damaged.

My husband, being the handy guy that he is, cut out and replaced the damaged wood. He sanded it and varnished it. He did a beautiful job.

Never having been homeowners, however, we were unfamiliar with the insidious nature of mold. The next summer, July brought forth torrential downpours...crazy storms that taught us exactly why there had been water damage. Both ourselves and the attached house suffered tremendous damage (although the neighbors had it far worse since they had not been home at the time of the rain and we had been unable to reach them so the water sat for 24 hours).

The saga of the basement was similar to my becoming Montrealers. Just as he did with his work fitting wood to the basement, he appeared to be finding ways to fit in to our new community. I was more like the warped wood that he removed. I had made a few friends, but I felt as if I would never quite fit in. Most of the mothers of my childrens' classsmates did not work. Many of those who lived here were from families deeply rooted in the community. Most of the women who were my age were making bar mitzvahs, my oldest was turning 4. But every time I felt as if I had made an inroad into the neighborhood, something would set me back and make me feel again like a stranger in a strange land. And of course, each time I would let my husband know all about my difficulties.

A year and a half after my husband’s incredibly hard labor, we realized that the floor would have to be pulled up. Mold inspectors told us what we needed to do. A huge chunk of change later, we were declared mold free. Our once lovely guest room was now a very spare room with a cold concrete floor. It took another year and a half (and the possibility of a border) for us to complete the room. Once again, my husband did a beautiful job.

In that time, I grew accostumed to the neighborhood. I joined a monthly learning group, and it opened up a new perspective on the women in my community. Some of the women, most of the women, in this group were women whom I had written off as those who would not befriend me. We may not be buddies, but I would say we are now friendly.  And now my husband has started attending a different synagogue, a synagogue about which I had said to my husband that the wives were those women who would never accept me.

This past Friday afternoon, my husband called me to the basement and pointed to a small tear in the wallpaper in the laundry-room. Beneath the paper, was mold. (It turns out that the condensation was leaking out of the dryer vent pipe.)

Ok, so perhaps you are bored now and wondering what possible connection I could make between mold and becoming part of a new community. This past Shabbas, the Torah portion was Tazria-Metzora, which is a lengthy discussion of a Biblical skin disease that afflicts more than just one’s skin. It also afflicts inanimate objects. According to tradition, these afflictions are the result of lashon Harah, speaking ill of others and gossiping. And so my holy husband said that perhaps our latest outbreak of mold being discovered during Tazria-Metzora is something that we should  keep in mind.

It was a lesson for me. A reminder that I had to judge more favorably those whom I felt were judging me.