Parshas Vayetzei: Stones of History

The final aliyah of this week’s parsha, Parshas Vayetzei, seems like a soft and lovely path of closure to a long and tumultuous chapter of Yaakov’s life. The aliyah begins right after Yaakov has demonstrated to Lavan that his idols are not in their camp, and Lavan must let Yaakov and his family finally leave. Suddenly Lavan plays the part of a caring father, and Yaakov accepts it and agrees to a covenant. (Acceptance, of course, does not mean belief.)

 

There are, to my mind, some fascinating elements to the way this seemingly agreeable covenant occurred. A quick run down of events: Lavan declares his affiliation to his daughters and declares a need for a covenant, Yaakov takes a large stone and erects it as a monument. Yaakov has his kinsmen – whom many mefarshim believe to be the brothers of Lavan - gather stones to form a mound on which they share a meal. Everything goes so well that Lavan names the place “Mound of Testimony” (in Aramaic) and Yaakov names it Gal-Ed, which could be interpreted as having the same meaning.

 

After they share a meal, Lavan announces their covenant, invoking Hashem and then warning Yaakov against hurting his daughters or adding another wife. He then makes a fairly odd statement:

“Here is this mound, and here is that monument that I have erected between me and you. This mound will be a witness, and the monument will be a witness, that I will not cross over to you beyond this mound and that you will not cross over to me beyond this mound and this pillar, with hostile intent” (51-52).

They agree to this covenant, and Yaakov slaughters animals “bahar,” on the mountain, and invites Lavan and his allies to eat together.

 

Think about that. The covenant that they are signing is that they shall never infringe on each other’s paths. This man spouting words of care and protection for his daughters does not believe that his daughters’ family will live in peace with him. This man who has made Yaakov’s life so difficult – switching brides, indenturing him to work, playing funny games with his actual pay (in sheep), and etc…is worried that Yaakov might come back and bother him?  And look a little closer…Lavan states that he will not go beyond the mound but adds a tiny stringency that Yaakov will not go beyond the mound and the pillar. Why is there a distinction? (A question I can’t answer.)

 

The pillar and the mound are striking contrasts. Yaakov sets up a singular pillar. The kinsmen gather a mound of disconnected stones and then eat upon it. There is an unquestionable difference, and Yaakov sees it too.

 

Let us pause for a moment here to explore Yaakov’s choice of name. Gal is the word used for the mound of stones that had been collected. Rabbi Behaya, interestingly, points out that this term is an allusion to the name used by those who worshipped the sun (asserting that Lavan and his kin were sun-worshippers). This being said, this adds a possible layer of interpretation to these verses. Yaakov’s pillar is a declaration of Hashem as the singular Supreme Being. Lavan’s mound is a representation of polytheism, which makes it philosophically fascinating that this is the place upon which they ate a meal – taking care of their own needs above the true idea of solemnity – while later Yaakov makes a feast on the mountain, away from the spot of the pillar. Perhaps this section could be seen as an allusion to the different dynamics of the man-to-God relationship of Yaakov and Lavan.

 

Taking it all a step further, one could see a strange political foreshadowing in these stones and Lavan’s words that reflect even to this day. Since the State of Israel’s creation in 1948, it has been at odds with the neighbors in the region. As acknowledged by so very many pundits, in the world today there is one Jewish state and 57, I believe, Muslim countries – one pillar, multiple stones. When we think about where we are today and think of Lavan as the forefather of the Levant, which Encyclopedia Britannica defines as “The region along the eastern Mediterranean shores, roughly corresponding to modern-day Israel, Jordan, Lebanon, Syria, and certain adjacent areas,” we are once again met with startling hindsight into the global foreshadowing of the Torah.

 

May you all have a beautiful and restful Shabbas.

 

I know this is my own interpretation and certainly could be argued against, but it is a fascinating thought process for me.

 

Parshas Toldos: Dynamics

 Parshas Toldos: Dynamics

Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Moshe Aaron ben Necha Itta, Binyamin ben Simcha, Chaya Sara bas Esther Leah, and Batya Dina bas Chava Tzivia

One of the greatest challenges of the age of social media is the ease with which one falls into the pit of comparison. Experts are constantly relaying what deep damage this is causing to adolescents in particular, but to many adults as well. The need to compare ourselves to others is natural; when acted on in a healthy fashion, it is a means for regulating oneself, for assuring oneself that they are maintaining what could be called the social contract of their community, but it can be quite devastating.

In the Torah observant world, we often look similarly to our patriarchs and matriarchs to find ideals, thus one may be rather surprised when one takes a closer look at the marriage of Yitzchak and Rivka. 

Through this week’s parsha, Parshas Toldos, we see an outline of their marriage - although it is important to remember a few details from last week’s parsha, as well,  such as their age difference and Rivka’s enthusiasm upon meeting Yitzchak. If one expects to find perfection and synchronicity in a reflection on the marriages of our avos and imahos, then one is, perhaps, missing one of the greatest treasures of our heritage. Perfection belongs to Hashem alone.

From the very beginning of the parsha, the Torah presents us with the fact that Yitzchak and Rivka did not naturally function as a unit. Bereshis 25:21 describes how they davened to Hashem for children: “Yitzchak pleaded with Hashem, his wife opposite him…,” and Rashi citing Bereishis Rabbah (63:5) on this phrasing says that “He stood in one corner and prayed whilst she stood in the other corner and prayed.”

Throughout the parsha we see Rivka in her essential nature - she is strongly emotional and she reacts. She reacts to the fighting of her twins in the womb, she reacts to her eldest son’s wild nature (by favoring the other - which, one could speculate, came from protecting him from his brother’s antics), she reacts to Yitzchak promising Esav the blessing, and so forth. Her reactions are often for the good of the future, of course, but nevertheless, we see a pattern throughout the parsha of their dynamic opposition to one another. 

But the Torah also reveals a different side to the relationship of Yitzchak and Rivka. When they go to Gerar, Avimelech comes to understand that they are married and not siblings when he sees them “frolicking” together. At this point they are a long married couple who have raised difficult children (when put together), and yet they still Mitzachaik (everyone can look up the different definitions and interpretations of what they were doing.) Additionally, more subtly, when Esav first marries, the Torah relates that “they were a source of bitterness to Isaac and Rebekah” (26:35). They were both equally affected by their son’s marriage to these women because they were a unit; they were partners. 

Regardless of the deep romanticization of marriage that has taken place over the last century or so, the fact is that marriages are complex relationships. In the age of mass media, it is too easy to look at images of marriage and think of it as one lovely frolick, but marriage is work and marriage is dynamic and Yitzchak and Rivka provide us with a template for understanding that two people can form a unit with different ways of achieving their mutually recognized goals - and maintain their affection and respect for one another (Which is, perhaps why, in a separate, fascinating exploration, one could see how each parent was drawn to the child more similar in nature to their spouse…but not today).

We can’t look to the media or modern culture to understand what the goal of marriage is, and we should not look to other people around us because we will never have the bigger picture of what their relationships truly look like. As in all that we do, we must look to the blueprints set before us and learn and grow individually and together from our beautiful Torah. 

Wishing you all a wonderful Shabbas. 

Parshas Chayei Sara: Not Negotiable

This week’s parsha, Parshas Chayei Sara, is a parsha of negotiation. Avraham negotiates with Ephron and the Hittites for the cave of machpela, then Avraham compromises with Eliezer (if you don’t find anyone, come back and he can marry your daughter – per the Midrash), and then, of course, there is complex and extremely subtle negotiations with Rivka’s family. The only place we do not encounter compromise in this chapter is the final aliyot, and those verses hold a tremendous lesson about our people and our place in the world.

 

The idea of Bnei Yisrael as the “Chosen People” is one that often appears to be the cause of great friction in history. In modern history, it has fostered accusations of exclusivity, even as the two other Abrahamic religions sought to claim themselves as the replacement for our nation. From the very start of our people, however, Avraham set a precedent about the importance of the dignity of all people, not just one set of people.

 

Avraham had eight sons. Yitzchak, the only son of Avraham and Sarah and the one who had proven himself dedicated to accepting and embracing Hashem’s will, was his heir both spiritually and materialistically. Avraham’s other sons, however, meant a great deal to him. He did not ignore them or try to do less for them – or at least we do not see any description of that being the case.

 

As Avraham reaches his final years, he takes his other children well into account. He doesn’t leave the other children hanging around and dependent. Thus “to Avraham’s sons by concubines Avraham gave gifts while he was still living, and he sent them away from his son Yizchak, eastward, to the land of the East” (Bereishis 25:5-6). Avraham wanted his sons to have the opportunity to grow and flourish even as he set the task of continuing spiritual development on Yitzchak. He gave them gifts and set them up to grow and flourish in their own rights. Indeed, these sone (most recognizably, Midian) became nations in their own right to the East of the Promised Land

 

And then there was Yishmael. Avraham did not include Yishmael in this gift giving and yet he also did not include his natural first born in his will. Why? Because Hashem had already seen to Yishamel. Hashem had already promised that He would “make him fertile and exceedingly numerous. He shall be the father of twelve chieftains, and I will make of him a great nation” (Bereishis 17:20). Also, he was far older than these other sons and already well established in the lands that would become his own.

 

The fact that Avraham treated Yishamel with dignity and love is suggested by the fact that Yishamel returned to bury Avraham: “His sons Yitzchak and Yishmael buried him in the cave of Machpelah, in the field of Ephron son of Zohar the Hittite, facing Mamre” (25:9). There was love. There was acceptance. But, in these final aliyot, we see that there was no negotiation.

 

The world today – as it has for many generations – wants us to compromise. It wants us to enter into negotiations of identity that would min our inheritance and shift their beliefs into primacy. This is something we cannot do, or we will have betrayed the greatness of Avraham Avinu. From the beginning of the spiritual nation, he set a precedent. Yitzchak is the heir, but everyone else is beloved and treated with dignity.

 

One of the most unique and differentiating aspect of Judaism throughout the ages is that it not only accepts that there are people who will not share our religion, but that we can show them love and generosity. It is a lesson that we must share with the world, and it is a lesson that, sadly, many of us need to be reminded of as well.

 

May you have a Shabbas of peace.

 

Parshas Lech Lecha: The King with No Name

Parshas Lech Lecha: The King with No Name

Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for  Moshe Aaron ben Necha Itta, Binyamin ben Simcha, Chaya Sarah bas Esther Leah, Sharon bas Shoshana, and Batya Dina bas Chava Tzivia.

Parshas Lech Lecha is well known for Avram’s journeys, but it also contains the rather complicated and confounding story of the war between the Four Kings and the Five Kings. The full story is about the complicated politics of liege kingdoms and betrayed loyalty. Within that story, however, there is the intriguing spiral of alliances between people and people and between people and moral choices.

 

It might seem, at first glance, that the only significant aspect of this story is that the Four Kings took Lot captive, causing Avram to join the war. If that were the case, however, the Torah could merely state that in the war between these kingdoms and those kingdoms, Lot was taken captive, Instead, Hashem prioritized recording the history of the situation:

 

This was an ongoing conflict. The Four Kings, led, it seems by King Chedorlaomer of Elam, are major aggressors. They conquer the region of the Dead Sea and subjugate it for 12 years until the Five kingdoms of the region rise up and reclaim their sovereignty. Not long thereafter the Four Kings start fighting and conquering a large swath of other territory (the Rephaim, the Zuzim, the Emim, the Horites) until, eventually, they conquer the Amalekites and Amorites. Seeing how close to their borders their former conquerors are, the Five Kings “went forth and engaged them in battle in the Valley of Siddim.” But the Four Kings were practiced aggressors and defeated the Five Kings, ravaging the cities of Sodom and Amorah and taking Lot hostage… which is when Avram gets involved.

 

For many of us civilian minded people, wars such as the one described often feels shocking. There isn’t even a pretense of something to argue about (like possibly joining Nato) that fuels that aggression of the Four Kings. They want to rule the region; they want it all. It is important that Avraham’s descendants see that from the very beginning, this land was one that came with strife, that people fiercely desired. It is also important that one sees the great length Avram is willing to go to in order to rescue a part of his family, even though that family member had distanced himself from most of what Avram stood for.

 

Perhaps by describing the long-term scenario - of how the Five Kings knew with whom they were making a battle and then two of the kings ditched their allies and fled - Hashem wanted us to understand why Avram reacted so adversely to the overtures of the Five Kings after the war, insisting on taking no reward and, once Lot was saved, distancing himself from them once again. These same kingdoms, the Torah soon reveals, were not people with whom Avram wanted to interact. Had the kings of Sodom and Amorah not fled, perhaps treaties could have been signed or, at least, the cities might have been subjugated rather than overtaken and looted, but Bera and Birsha put themselves first and foremost.

 

There is, however, one additional peculiarity about this war. The Five Kings are listed as: King Bera of Sodom, King Birsha of Amorah, King Shinab of Admah, King Shemeber of Zeboiim, and the king of Bela, which is Zoar. The Torah goes to great length to name all the kings involved. It isn’t that the kingdom of Elam fought the kingdom of Sodom (choosing just one name from each side). Four Kings are named on each side, and then there is “the king of Bela, which is Zoar.”  Why isn’t he named?

 

The Torah names people of significance. It names people who did great good and people who did great evil and sometimes just people whom Hashem felt deserved specific acknowledgement for their actions. Although the narrative of the war of the kings comes before Hashem directly expresses the morally lost nature of Sodom and Amorah, the character of these kings  was so unpalatable that just being associated with them by name implies one’s own low moral character.

 

Perhaps the King of Bela was spared his name to show us that he was not like Bera and Birsha. Such a contemplation is, perhaps, supported by the fact that in parshas Vayera, the malach agrees to Lot’s plea to spare one town, and that town is then called Zoar. He wasn't noteworthy for either good or evil…he simply was, and that was enough to merit his city being spared. 

 

The portrayal of the world in modern media is one of constant violence, hedonism, and moral degradation. The news media makes it seem as if everything is extreme, and, yet, the vast majority of people whom I know have no inclination do violence and live rather moderate, mostly moral, lives. Of course we should strive to be worthy of mention for the greatness we achieve, but we should also remember the benefit of not joining our name to the names of the wicked.

Parshas Noah – Standing Apart

We are all, I would comfortably say, familiar with the stories of the greatness of Avraham Avinu. We know that in a culture of avodah zara, Avraham recognized that there could only be one Creator, one singular greater power who needed no intermediaries. When no one seemed to understand, he sought (and succeeded) in building a relationship with Hashem. We know that Avraham destroyed the idols in his father’s idol shop. We know that he didn’t hesitate to take his wife and leave his homeland. We know he arrived in his Promised Land only to find it wracked by famine. And those were just his early years. 

Rarely do we focus on the fact that Avraham’s early years begin in Parshas Noah and that where his genealogy is listed – right after the narrative of the Tower of Babel – is also surprisingly significant. Thinking about genealogy – or, more precisely, the overlapping of the biblical generations – it seems rather perplexing how it could be that while Noah and his sons still lived people could “lose sight,” so to speak, of the Oneness of Hashem. They were still aware of Hashem, but they didn’t understand how to connect with Him. This led to both the avodah zara by which Terach made his money (one might even hypothesize that people over-complicated just talking to Hashem and thus created the distance) and the desire of Nimrod to lead the people to build the tower. 

Migdal Bavel is an interesting narrative in that it is a collective story. No one person is given focus, and the actions are detailed in a plural format. Indeed, some commentaries say that the people joined into the project of building the tower because it was promoted as a project of unity. 

These events happened in the lifetime of Avraham, when he was in his 40s according to Midrashic calculation, although we would only know this from careful study of the genealogy that follows. The question naturally seems to follow: How did Avraham react to this call for all people to come together and build a great city and incredible tower?

According to the Pirkei D’Midrash Eliezer, “Avram, son of Terah, passed by, and saw them building the city and the tower, and he cursed them in the name of his God, as it is said, ‘Swallow up, O Lord, divide their language’ (Ps. 55:10). But they rejected his words, like a stone cast upon the ground…” (24:7). 

Obviously, this curse reflects the storyline of the consequence laid down by Hashem, but the Midrash also highlights the fact that Avraham was already a person of enough consequence to feel it worthwhile to speak up. (It should be noted that other Midrashim/commentaries say he condemned their actions only later, when he heard of it. The Ibn Ezra actually comments that he was part of the building at the beginning.)

Obviously, it is not surprising to us that Avraham stood apart and condemned this act once he realized the true purpose of the building project. What is fascinating, however, is how we can relate to what Avraham experienced even today.

The building of Migdal Bavel seemed to be a project of unity: “And they said, “Come, let us build us a city, and a tower with its top in the sky, to make a name for ourselves; else we shall be scattered all over the world” (Bereishis 11:4). However, an idea such as was proposed is not often spontaneously generated by a group. It comes from a source who shares that idea with many. In this case, the generator of the idea was Nimrod, whose very name stems from marad, rebellion, and who is described as charismatic but vastly power-hungry leader.

But, one could say, what could be negative about building and protecting oneself? In this one pasuk, we can see the beautiful arc of rhetoric that would eventually come to be known as propaganda. Firstly, there is the “Bandwagon,” the method of making people feel that they need to get on board with everyone else. Then there is “Camaraderie,” making people feel as part of the whole. Then we see the beautiful subversion of the underlying problem (in this case “making a name for ourselves – which belies a concept of unity) by the rhetorical trick of “fear” – lest we be scattered. 

Avraham saw through the words and stood outside of the rest of the people. 

In the last few years, since the evolution of social media, our world has been swept up in a constant torrent of propaganda. This, as we know, has been particularly potent among the young people. The most powerful of these, as we have seen, has been the anti-Israel movement and the propagation of the Israel as oppressor narrative by university educators. They have taken words and pieces of history and twisted them at the behest of forces that they do not understand. We have seen, over the last two years, the people protesting for Gaza and Hamas who wouldn’t survive a week living in Gaza because their core values are so antithetical to Hamas. We have seen how easily young people have taken up chants and slogans that they barely even understand. And once they have accepted that Israel is bad, they have spread that sentiment to classic anti-Semitism… 

It has become obvious that so much of what has gone on in the west is because people are desperate to join in a movement that makes them feel like they are doing something good, but they are missing the underlying goal, which is far more than the destruction of Israel. 

Like our forefather, we stand on the side and watch as language that seems to be the same language we are speaking is taken and twisted. We watch as the media, with a few deliberate modifiers, shifts the narrative. Language has once again become a tool for evil, and we are standing on the side wondering how they can twist language in such a harmful way. 

There is no great take away, nothing we can learn as to how to change the world we are in right now other than to remain steadfast in the path set by our forefather. Like Avraham, we must look past what “everybody” does, and we must constantly work on building our relationship with Hashem. 

Parshas Bereishis: Kayin and Hevel in the 21st Century

I wasn’t going to write as things are still crazy after the chagim…but then I thought, it’s the first parsha of the year! If I want to maintain my commitment to this, I have to write. So, that being said, please forgive this very off-the-cuff, poorly prepared dvar Torah as an exercise in discipline.

 

Parshas Bereishis: Kayin and Hevel in the 21^st Century

 

Dedicated to a refuah shelaima for Chaya Sarah bas Esther Leah, Sharon bas Shoshana, Moshe Aaron ben Necha Itta, and Binyamin ben Simcha.

 

This past Simchas Torah was a chag whose simcha was doubled by the release of the last living hostages from Gaza. Two years ago, our generation of Jews received a devastating shock – we were well and truly part of b’kol dor va’dor, in every generation they stood to destroy us. More so one can say that over the last two years many Jews were equally shocked to realize the truth of Eisev soneh es Yaakov, and Esev hates Yaakov.

 

There are many events in the Torah that we can point to as explanations for what our nation has gone through, but perhaps the root of it is in this very first parsha: jealousy. Kayin and Hevel (Cain and Abel) were the two eldest children of Adam and Chava (Eve). As the first descendants of the most unique creation of the Boreh Olam (Creator of the World), they should have gotten along splendidly; after all, aside from the twin sisters described in the Midrash, who else did they have to hang out with. Instead, their relationship was destroyed by jealousy – and not just any jealousy, but a jealousy related to God’s approval.

 

Kayin and Hevel both sought to praise and thank Hashem in bringing their offerings. When Hevel’s offering was accepted over Kayin’s (for reasons I won’t go into here), Kayin reacted with violence. Inherently, Kayin could not leave room for someone else to hold top rank. Indeed, he could not accept that he might be able to learn something from someone else. (Interestingly, I read somewhere that he was, in fact, the more creative of the two brothers and yet he was the one who could not accept the success of the other.)

 

What does this have to do with the events of the last two years? There are analogies of human nature that offer us a new perspective on the times we are living through. Those who seek to destroy us are descendants of Yishmael, the elder of the two sons of Avraham but also the one who was not chosen to carry on his father’s legacy of bringing a relationship with the Divine into the world. Over and over again, Bnei Yishmael seethes to claim the heritage of Yitzhak, although they do not necessarily express this clearly the way Bnei Eisav wrestles with Bnei Yaakov.

 

Interestingly, the spiritual battle of Eisav and Yaakov is different. It’s in some ways, more refined. Eisav wants to prove itself right; Yishmael wants to prove itself only.

 

Yes, we’ve jumped throughout Sefer Bereishis, but these sibling battles come back to their great-great-etc-uncle. What do you do when Hashem, the Ultimate Father, says that your brother will be the path forward? Kayin’s reaction was violence, but what Bnei Yishmael fails to recognize is that Kayin’s violence was a short-term victory. Ultimately, it was his even younger brother’s descendants who populated the earth (Noah being a descendant of Seth).

 

The Torah shows us, clearly, that life – that history – is full of cycles. Alas, one such cycle is that of jealousy (although that is not really the right word for any of the Biblical rivalries) and violence. Why this is necessary in the world is a question that I would say none of us can truly comprehend, but the facts of history prove that it is. Knowing that these are cycles and that our job, the job of Bnei Yisrael, is to hold strong and cling to Hashem is the essence of Jewish survival, and it’s all there in the sefer we start this week.

 

(And now I must get ready for work!)

Wishing you all a beautiful Shabbas Bereishis!

 

 

 

Elul Group 5786

 The following Dvar Torah is more of a personal reflection piece. It was written as part of an AMAZING Elul group I have been participating in since 2002 (I think), in which each person is responsible for sending out a Dvar Torah during one of the 40 days from Rosh Chodesh Elul until Yom Kippur, giving tzedakah that day, and reciting  one section of Tehillim each day. It is longer than my usual piece…

 

This past Friday, erev Shabbas Shuva, I was working furiously throughout the morning to finish some last minute changes that I needed to my lesson plans for the day. When my first class (9-9:45) finished, I ran home to put up the cholent, start the soup, and daven Shacharis. By the time I had taken care of everything, it was 10:50, and I knew that I needed time to head back to school for my 11:20 class, since Fridays have alternate side parking so I might have to walk a bit. As I was about to leave,however, I was startled by a deep, rumbling crash and a sudden brightening of my living room. I think I knew what it was before I even turned around… the long wall of my modular sukkah had crashed down. 

 

Let me take a step back to explain that two years ago I bought a brand new sukkah. For years we had had a creative DIY sukkah that, among other things, required my ex-husband’s ingenuity to put together. I wanted the freedom of my own sukkah that I could do myself, which was what I expected from the modular. Came year two, however, and I hired someone to put it up because I felt overwhelmed at construction. The price was far steeper than I expected. As this year’s holiday season approached, I asked around for prices, and even the teenagers were charging upwards of $300. I just… it just… I was determined that we could do this ourselves. I recruited my 15 year old (ok, I recruited everyone, and my girls quickly bailed), and we set to it before Rosh Hashana because I wanted to leave time to hire someone if it didn’t work out. 

 

We ran into problems fairly quickly. Certain board just wouldn’t go straight. But, I persevered and, the next day, put it all together, noting that I didn’t have enough wood to connect all the straighteners – things were a little wobbly - but no storms were in the forecast so should be fine. My son mentioned a time or two that we should ask the person who sold us the sukkah to come and look at it, and I deflected. The last thing I wanted to do was ask anyone else for help! – Motzei Shabbas, I texted the guy, and he agreed to come help me tomorrow morning…so, hmmm, that wasn’t really a big deal, and if I had done it earlier, perhaps I would have saved myself a sukkah panel (as one did truly break in the fall).

 

This Dvar Torah isn’t about Sukkos. It’s about the very significant idea of asking for help.

 

I hate feeling ineffectual or incapable. I hate feeling pathetic. I hate feeling dependant. That is all to say…I hate asking for help, and I think that in this I am not alone. (Go on, raise your hand if you are like me!) 

 

The very human hesitation on asking for help is something that is the backside of the discussion of what we need to do during the Yom Noarayim. We come to Rosh Hashana to crown Hashem as our King, which means recognizing that Hashem is the source for everything that happens to us and all that we have. Then comes Yom Kippur, when we face Hashem as the Judge and ask Him to forgive us our transgressions, which means we appeal to His Rachamim to wipe our slates clean. 

 

It’s very interesting to think about these two concepts together. We know that during Elul there is the concept of the King being in the field, being available for us to speak to him directly. Many of us think of this as a time to beseech Hashem for the things we hope for in our lives or as a tool of teshuva and asking for forgiveness for our sins. How many of us ask Hashem to help us with those very short-comings? How many of us think of the acts for which we seek atonement and think about asking Hashem for the koach to overcome them? 

 

If you’re like me, along with the idea of teshuva and atonement is the idea of overcoming our inadequacies. If I have been delinquent on the mitzvah of, let’s say, giving maiser - and I feel like it is an annual occurrence - I most likely enter Yom Kippur thinking about how I am going to set up a new accounting system, keep better track of my income and my 10%, or perhaps set up a separate account with automatic withdrawals. These are all excellent strategies, but how often do we include Hashem in the solution? How often do we ask Hashem to help us help ourselves? 

 

Here’s where I get a little raw and overly honest. Coming into the Yomim Noarayim, I was struggling with davening, with feeling like my tefillah was a conversation, with the sense of connection to emunah. I was worried about Rosh Hashana because I was filled with such a longing for that rare, wonderful feeling of connection and in such dread of missing it. The first day my davening was ok, but the second day was work – I worked hard to be present and mindful at what I was doing, and still I felt it wasn’t enough until the moment when I did stop and I spoke honestly from my heart to ask Hashem to help me connect. It was a lovely but far too brief moment, not quite the heights of inspiration, but closer. The next day, however, I was back to struggling through davening and worrying about Yom Kippur.

 

During the vidui section of Yom Kippur, some of the Al Chaits I connect with most sincerely are the ones translated as brazenness, stubbornness, being “stiff necked.” Certainly, there are different interpretations of these Al Chaits, but for me I can see the connection in them to my challenges with tefillah and emunah. I keep mistakenly believing that I have to solve my challenges alone, that my struggles in emunah and tefilah lay on my head and are a problem for me to fix. This distills Hashem to a piece of my problem rather than an active part of my solution. This is the constant brazenness of humanity, because the matter stems from the belief that all is in our control. 

 

I know this Dvar Torah has gotten long, and I apologize and hope it was not too long winded.  Today is the 6th day of Tishrei. We have three more days before Yom Kippur. These are the days of teshuva, of repentance. As part of that process, let us add the important element of asking Hashem to help us overcome the challenges we face - negative feelings for others, resistance to davening, poor accounting skills on maiser. Recognize your failing, confess them and repent on them, but don’t forget that Hashem is our King who wants to see the best for His subject, and therefore wants to be a part of the solution.

 

Thank you to all the wonderful ladies who took the time to share their thoughts and their lives over the past month. I often did not have the opportunity to respond individually as I would print them in clumps to read on Shabbas, but they were definitely at a new level this year. And thank you Caryn and Ruthie for the dedication you put into this project every single year! 

 

I am going to give tzedakah this year to Canadian Friends of Yad Eliezer, which is now called B’Ezri in Israel.