Maintaining Mindfulness

 This week’s parsha, Parshas Vayigash, is connected to a famous midrash that describes the gentle way in which Yaakov is told that Yoseph is in Egypt. The midrash explains that Serach, the daughter of Asher, who was renowned for her singing, began repeating a gentle melody and singing about Yoseph being alive. No one wished for the elderly Yaakov to be startled by the news. It is a lesson in consideration and forethought.

Communicating information is, in some ways, a theme that runs throughout Yoseph’s story. Serach’s song is the epitome of conscientious thinking, and it is also the direct result of the communication that has already occurred. The most jarring contrast to it is when Yoseph reveals his true identity to his brothers.

“And he wept out loud, so the Egyptians heard, and the house of Paroah heard. And Yoseph said to his brothers, ‘I am Yoseph. Is my father still alive?” But his brothers could not answer him because they were startled by his presence” (Bereishis 45:2-3).

This was not conscientious. This was emotional. This was impetuous. This was ripping off the band-aid. When you think about it that way, it is not surprising that Yoseph found it necessary to repeat, several times, his assurance that he was not holding a grudge against his brothers. Information thrust at a person without adequate preparation can be traumatic.

As significant as the gentleness of Serach’s song is to Yaakov’s easily receiving the information that his presumed dead son was actually alive, there are also midrashim that note that Yaakov never fully believed Yoseph was dead. Here too we see the residual effects of information being shared without deeper thought to its impact.

“They had the ornamented tunic taken to their father, and they said, ‘We found this. Please examine it; is it your son’s tunic or not?’” (37:32).

Let’s be honest. That was not a kind and gentle way of revealing Yoseph’s supposed death. But the fact that it was so shocking, so unexpected, and that it was presented in such an unpalatable fashion, kept an ember of disbelief in Yaakov’s mind, making it so much easier to accept the eventual revelation of this divine plan.

Serach’s song is a lesson in communication that should be applied to many areas of life. Yoseph’s revelation of his identity and Serach’s announcement that he still lived were momentous milestones. Life, however, is filled with far less significant situations that, nevertheless, must still be handled mindfully.

Grand announcements and life changing revelations don’t come about so often in one’s life (although sometimes, for good or ill, they do). The message of mindfulness , on the other hand, can come in handy constantly. Whether one is sharing news, offering well-wishes, or trying to be supportive, one should always think ahead about how their words will be absorbed.

Parshas Miketz: Two Years of Days

This week's parsha, Parshas Miketz, begins: "Vayehi miketz shnatayim yamim/ And it was at the end of two years-days." Two years had passed since the butler had been freed (and the baker put to death), and only now does the butler mention Yoseph to Pharoah. 

Those two years, the commentaries tell us, were a punishment to Yoseph for depending on a man to get him out of jail. The sages use this description of time to teach us to always remember that Hashem is the One to Whom we must direct our requests.

Two years is an interesting number. One could argue that it isn't terribly long. Many people languish in jail for far longer, and few are treated as respectfully as we are told Yoseph was treated. The truth is, however, that to the human psyche, two years is an incredibly long period of time. A child is conceived, born, nurtured, and taught to walk and talk, at least a bit, in that period of time. Wars have been fought and ended in less time. 

Let’s face it…stop right now and ask yourself what were you doing two years ago, and how long ago does that seem! We mark birthdays and anniversaries because each passage of a year is significant. This is the feeling that resonates with the words “shnatayim yamim.” Why would the Torah add the word days (yamim) to a term that already means two years (shnatayim), except that it has powerful significance. 

Human lives are so complicated that our days can feel like weeks, but they can so feel like minutes and hours. This feeling is often directly connected to the quality of our lives during those times - Are we happy? Are we successful? Does our life feel purposeful?

Everyday that Yoseph was in jail was, to him, a punishment. It was another day during which he could not understand the purpose or direction his life was taking. It was another day that he felt abandoned. During his jail time, every day felt like a year. When he was released, however, he looked back and realized that there had always been a direction in which he was heading. When he was released, the two years did not feel as dire and as long as when he did not know  when his imprisonment would end. 

There is in this a profound message. There are periods in everyone’s life that are difficult. There are times when we wonder why Hashem is testing us or what purpose could Hashem possibly have for the events that have unfolded. During those times, every day feels like…forever. Every day feels like surviving. When we have passed those struggles, however, when we have found purpose or peace, we can look back and the burden of that time is not nearly so hard. 

Perhaps this can be tied to Chanukah. When the tiny cruz of oil was discovered, it seemed as if it could not possibly last the necessary time. But it did. The survival of the flame of the Menorah until proper oil could arrive can, perhaps, be compared to shnatayim yamim. When times are tough we “hold our breath” each day to see how we will survive. But at the end of that time, we often find our own personal miracles as we are blessed with a new perspective, as light shines upon the darkness.

Wishing you all a Shabbat Shalom and a Happy Chanukah. 

Parshas Vayeshev: Optimism

Patience and anger, laughter and sorrow, attentiveness and distraction…These are just some of the character traits that describe the inner-workings of the human psyche. The fact is that the emotional make up of most people can feel contradictory; and, of course, each of us has different contradictions because every person has unique strengths and weaknesses. Life is a balancing act, and finding balance is a constant part of the journey.

Of all of the personalities about whom we learn in the Torah, Yosef is one of the most complex. Through that which is written in the chumash and the many teachings of the Midrash, we have a fascinating profile of a boy who grew into a man, of a favorite son who was hated by his brothers, of a man with the will power to stand up against seduction, and of a brilliant politician and strategist.

There are many character traits that are attributed to Yosef, the most fascinating of which might be the fact that, in his youth at least, he was vain. There is one character trait, however, that arcs over Yosef’s entire life that is particularly noticeable in Parshas Vayeshev. Yosef is an extreme optimist; he perpetually saw the good in others. One fascinating example of this trait is when he went to meet his brothers who were pasturing their sheep near Shechem. The brothers were not where he expected them to be, and he accepted directions from an unknown man. The very tone of his conversation with “the man,” with a stranger, is one of acceptance and trust.

In many ways, Yosef’s conversation with the stranger seems odd. The entire scenario feels out of place in the general narrative of the Torah because on the surface it seems like such a minor detail. Do we really need to care that Yosef needed and received directions? – I mean, there could be a lesson in that too -- It isn’t as if anything contentious happens between them or the man offers him some surprising words of wisdom. However, these brief verses force us to ask questions about it. Those questions lead to Midrashim, to explanations about angels and details about why the brothers changed their location. It also reveals a bit more about the trusting nature of Yosef’s character.

Yosef believed that people were worthwhile, that people would do the right thing. It’s why he didn’t hesitate to tell his brothers the second dream, even when the first one upset them. It’s why he seems to put up no resistance to his brother’s actions even as all that they do leads to his being sold into slavery. It is how he ends up in a compromising position with Eishes Potiphar. It’s there through every step. It is even commented on, to Yosef’s detriment, when the sages note how he languished in jail for two years because he believed the butler would do right by him (but that’s not this week’s parsha).

One might say that this was the truth with Yosef’s forefathers as well, but even Yitzchak, about whom so little is written in the Torah, offers more reaction to events than Yosef does in Parshas Vayehsev.

Is understanding Yosef’s character significant? Does it provide us with any halachic guidance or hashgafic insights? The simple answer is that “Who is Wise? One Who Learns from All People” (Ethics of the Fathers/Pirkei Avot 4:1).

On the one hand, perhaps the Torah is offering us a caution against such wide-eyed trust. Afterall, it becomes clear through Yosef’s story that many people do not have good intentions or that miscommunication can have dire effects. On the other hand, there is no more successful man recorded in the Chumash. He succeeded in every venture. Even getting sent to jail was a direct result of his success, and then he was successful in jail. Yosef made friends and influenced people wherever he went.

We are taught that, ultimately, the Torah values bein adam l’chavero and shalom over bein adam la’makom – interpersonal mitzvos over those between man and God. Yosef’s optimism was a blend of both focal points. His faith gave him strength; his belief in others drove him forward. It isn’t a dramatic lesson or a lesson that is particularly concrete. But it is one that we can take into our days and put to use – even if it means something as simple as being more pleasant to the grocery cashier or the man who cuts the line.

Wishing you all a beautiful Shabbas and a freilichen Chanukah (Sunday night!)

Parshas Vayishlach: Grammatically Inspired

Parshas Vayishlach continues the narrative of Yaakov’s life. Parshas Vayishlach is a reminder that Yaakov’s life was rarely easy. Having finally extricated himself and his family from living with his greedy, idol-worshipping father-in-law, Yaakov is almost immediately forced to reckon with his hate-filled brother, his daughter is molested, and his sons go to war. Yaakov’s life was not easy. 

Perek lamed-hey, the penultimate perek of the parsha, begins with an interesting pasuk: “Hashem said to Yaakov, ‘Arise, go up to Bethel and remain there; and build an altar there to the God Who appeared to you when you were fleeing from your brother Esau’” (Bereishis 35:1). That Yaakov was told to leave Shechem is not surprising. After all, his sons had just taken vengeance on the city for the abduction and abuse of their sister Dina. Right or wrong, it was time to leave. Nor is it odd that he is commanded to build an altar, since the avos did this frequently when they moved about in the Promised Land.

What is interesting is that Yaakov is instructed to build the altar to “the God Who appeared to you when you were fleeing from your brother Esau.” Most commentators take this descriptor, “Who appeared to you when,” as a reminder to Yaakov that he had made a promise when he slept in Bethel on his way to Haran. “Yaakov then made a vow, saying: ‘If God remains with me, protecting me on this journey that I am making, and giving me bread to eat and clothing to wear, and I return safe to my father’s house— Hashem shall be my God. And this stone, which I have set up as a pillar, shall be God’s abode; and of all that You give me, I will set aside a tithe for You’” (Bereshis 28:20-22).

The sentence structure of Bereishis 35:1, however, is particularly intriguing. “Who appeared to you when…” is not a separate phrase adding information as to who or why. It doesn’t say “an alter to God, Who appeared…”, but rather ‘an alter to the God Who appeared…” The difference is a matter of commas, from an English grammatical point of view. The question is a matter of essential verses non-essential – of a phrase that is a specific identification or an added description. The structure of Bereishis 35:1 presents the description of God with “Who appeared” as an essential clause, as a part of the identification of to whom the altar should be built. 

And this is interesting, particularly because the pasuk does not use the term l’Hashem but uses la’Kel – “Kel” is a more generic term for a god and “la” – rather than le – includes the definite article. Written as “to the God Who appeared…” Why does the Torah make it appear as if he is talking about a specific God, rather than just Hashem?

From the time Yaakov made his vow until this point in the narrative, a lot has happened to him. He fell in love and was deceived into marrying a different woman. He became an indentured servant and worked for decades to appease his father-in-law. He had a large and thriving household, but we know that the dynamic of the family had deep tensions as well. Then Yaakov left to return and was confronted with Esav, from whose subtle snares he safely navigated his large household. Then he had to deal with the situation in Shechem. From the time Yaakov made his vow, life had not been easy on him. It would be easy to understand that a man who has lived such a tumultuous existence has changed. - Indeed, we know he has had significant inner change since he has already wrestled with the angel and received the name Yisrael. 

When Hashem tells Yaakov to “build an altar there to the God Who appeared to you when you were fleeing from your brother Esau,” He is telling Yaakov that he needs to remember who he was then. Yaakov’s prayer in Bereishis 28 was simple but passionate. It was inspired and came from his core understanding that everything that would happen would come from Hashem. Now, after all of his trials and tribulations, Hashem wants Yaakov to remember that basic level of emuna.

Go back to Bethel and fulfill your vow. Go back to Bethel and remember that moment of inspiration. Remember the man that you were as you left the Promised Land. Remember the “Eish tam,” the simple man you were who didn’t have flocks and herds and wealth but just the clothes on your back. Go back to Bethel and remember what being that person was like, because that is important. 

Life can be tumultuous. We have times of great inspiration and times of great turmoil. We have time when prayer comes straight from our heart, when we have clarity about Hashem’s hand in the world. And we have times when we just don’t understand any of it. 

The wording of Bereishis 35:1 can be read as a powerful reminder that it is up to us to take action for ourselves. When times are difficult and our emuna is a struggle, we need to go back – mentally, emotionally - to a different time in our lives, to a moment of heartfelt inspiration. When it feels as if the tidal wave of obstacles has drowned us, we need to draw strength from times in our lives in which we already saw yeshuos and remember that Hashem ultimately demonstrates His control of the world.

Yaakov’s life was rarely easy, and we can relate. Our lives are not always easy. Our paths are not always simple. We sometimes quietly question the purpose of the challenges we have faced. In those times, however, chizuk is often right at hand in our own personal experiences.

Daddy's Little Girl

 Is “Daddy’s Little Girl” a thing in the Torah? Whereas the Torah puts such a strong focus on fathers and sons, it often seems that the girls, the daughters, are left out or left as mere footnotes unless they become wives. But in Parshas Vayetsei, there is a peek into the concept of the protectiveness a father feels for his daughter – although most people overlook it.

Many parent-child relationships are … complicated. Few seem less so than the relationship of Leah and Rachel and their father Lavan. Many would condemn Lavan’s fatherly affection and censure him for forcing Leah to take Rachel’s place in the wedding. The condemnation in the Torah comes in the dialogue, it is in the reaction of Yaakov and Leah and Rochel, but the Torah itself does not weigh in specifically.

Lavan’s reasoning is, of course, suspect because of what we know of his character. His avarice, as we are taught, was a driving motivation throughout his life. He and his father, according to the Midrash, plotted to poison Eliezer when he came to find Yitzchak a bride, so that they could steal the wealth he had brought. He not only demanded indentured servitude for Yaakov in return for his daughters’ hand in marriage but withheld their dowries as well. Furthermore, even after years of dwelling together, Yaakov, now the father of Lavan’s many grandsons, remained an employee without enough finances to leave his father-in-law’s household.

Lavan’s motives, however, are not all negative. He made certain that his daughters are accommodated, even if that meant marrying them to the same man. In a world of harsh realities for women, he did his duty and also avoided making Leah suffer through an undesirable match with Esav (as the Midrash explains was once the plan). Additionally, many commentaries note that Bilha and Zilpa were also his daughters, through a concubine rather than through his primary wife. And while they are given as maidservants, this can be understood as a father making certain that his children are established and provided for.

The complexities of Lavan’s character are vast. Every word he speaks can be read duplicitously. And yet, Lavan’s last statement before completing a treaty with his son-in-law and blessing him, is significant. “If you ill-treat my daughters or take other wives besides my daughters – though no one else is present, remember, it is Hashem who will be witness between you and me” (Bereishis 31:50).

His daughters are leaving. They are moving away from him forever so there can be no further financial gain from tying Yaakov to him, and they live in a society where additional wives, as concubines, is perfectly normal. While it is a pointed reminder that Hashem is always a witness to our actions, why would the Torah wish us to learn such a lesson from a man who was known for being deceitful?

Bereishis 31:50 reminds us, yet again, of the complexity of human nature. Condemn him as one might for his actions with Yaakov and recognize that his avarice drove his behavior, one can also observe that there were positive motivations as well. He kept Yaakov with him because he received bounty from Yaakov’s blessing of success, but it also kept his daughters and grandchildren close to him. He was upset that Yaakov left because he was losing out on the material benefits and the goods that Yaakov took with him, but they were also leaving him.

From the perspective of the Torah and the understanding of the sages, Lavan will always be a complicated man who represents many negative traits. That the Torah took the time to demonstrate his love for his daughters, however, reminds us that almost everyone has redeeming qualities.

Parshas Toldos: WHY WHY WHY

It is a well-known concept in Jewish life that this world is a corridor to the world to come. It is a philosophy that is meant to focus us on our spiritual development, on not getting waylaid by the physical comforts that feed our goofs but not our neshamas. There is, however, one challenge with this imagery. A corridor is most often a straight line. The term infers a straight path. In truth, sometimes life feels more like a maze, with sharp turns and paths that are blocked. In other words, the corridor of this world is not often straight and therefore not always easy.

In many ways, this is the truth that we see from Parshas Toldos. Not one step of the lives of Yitzchak or Rivka, or their sons, seems straight forward and easy. This applies even to Esau, who we so often malign in our descriptions as a wayward son. Yes, Esau was drawn to wild sport and irreverent behaviour, but how much more so did these actions become a comfort to him when he erred in selling his birthright or when we saw his brother receiving that which he thought he deserved.

One of the profound statements in Parshas Toldos is Rivka’s cry: “If so, why do I exist?” (Bereishis 25:22). Life got hard, and Rivka reacted. Life got hard, and Rivka wanted to know what all her efforts and all her prayers had been for.  Life got hard, and Rivka went to challenge Hashem.

The term the pasuk uses for Rivka’s inquiry as to why it had all been so hard, and why it seemed to only be getting harder, is li’drosh. This term means to consult, but it also infers a force in the inquiry, a demand for answers and a pulling apart of the information. It is the root term for Midrash, the process by which the Oral Torah takes apart the text of the Torah and reveals its deeper meaning.  

Rivka’s demand is incredibly relatable. She wants to understand the purpose of pain. She wants to know that her suffering has meaning. Hashem’s answer to Rivka is not comfort. It is not an assurance that all will be well. Hashem responds to Rivka by telling her that her children will strive against each other. In other words, Hashem told Rivka that it was possible that life would only get more difficult.  

In the current era of the world, there is often an undertone and a demand that happiness is our due, that life should form itself around our needs and our wants. Alas, no matter how hard we wish that to be true, most of us quickly discover that it just doesn’t happen. It doesn’t happen because there is a plan that is far greater than we can see.

Our individual maze-paths interlock with millions of other paths, and the full picture can only be seen by Hashem. Statements such as these, that only God knows what is good for us, are often blithely asserted as statements of comfort to those going through troubled times or are used as a means of forestalling someone else’s complaining. But as we learn from Rivka, when the going gets tough…it’s ok to react. Hashem wasn’t angry at Rivka for questioning her challenges. Hashem didn’t react negatively to Rivka for crying out. Rivka had an emotional reaction to a difficult life, but she channelled that state of distress back toward the Source of all things.

We may wish that life was easier, that our challenges were more straight-forward. We may despair when obstacles seem to pile upon us. That’s natural. That’s being human. And from Parshas Toldos we can learn that such feelings can be completely acceptable.

 

 

 

Parshas Chayei Sara – Before the Task Begins

Have you ever thanked Hashem for finding a parking spot? For coming up with that dollar you needed to pay to unlock a shopping cart? For running into a friend whom you desperately needed to call? These are our refrains of gratitude, and they are often moments conscientiously chosen after moments of elevated stress. Expressing gratitude to Hashem is a beautiful act, and one we learn from Avraham Avinu. But what about asking for help at the very beginning, before the slight rise in blood pressure, before we wonder if our efforts are about to founder. Perhaps the first noticeable example of this comes from a wholly unexpected source: Avraham’s trusted servant Eliezer.

 

In parshas Chayei Sara, Avraham instructs Eliezer to go and find Yitzchak a wife. He sends him back to his homeland but also instructs him whom he cannot choose.  Once he arrives at the well in Nachor and before he speaks to even one citizen of note, Eliezer asks God for help. “O G-d. God of my master Avraham, make it happen to me today, I pray, and act with loving-kindness to my master Avraham” (24:12).

 

One could surmise that he was nervous that he could not fulfill his mission properly, but Avraham literally told him that Hashem would “send a messenger before you, and you will get a wife for my son from there” (24:7). Avraham had sent him with assurance that he would be successful, and still Eliezer stops before he even begins and turns to Hashem for success.

 

Eliezer’s words are powerful. “Hakareh na l’phanai hayom. Let it happen to me today.”  The Hebrew term kareh (happen) is most often spoken about in reference to its use in describing how the Amalekites rejected the idea of Divine providence. The Amalekites chose to attack the Israelites to show that there was no such thing as predestination, that they could control fate.

 

Eliezer, on the other hand, used the word kareh for the exact opposite implication. Eliezer’s prayer is a recognition that even things that seem like happenstance are the workings of Hashem’s control. Eliezer has followed every instruction Avraham has given him, and there is no reason to doubt that he will succeed. At the final stage, when “chance” matters most, Eliezer turns and asks Hashem to make it all go smoothly.  

 

Quite beautifully, Rabbi Shimshon Raphael Hirsh notes that Eliezer’s use of Hashem’s name, yud-key-vav-kay, is a way of saying “You, Who are not only the old old Creator, Who laid the foundations of the world thousands of years ago, but Who are still active in ever approaching moment, makes it [success] come into existence…” This is a beautiful iteration of the first of Maimonides 13 Principles of Faith:  “I believe with complete faith that the Creator, blessed be His name, is the Creator and Guide of all the created beings, and that He alone has made, does make, and will make all things.”

 

Eliezer’s supplication is a beautiful reminder to us of our own need to turn to Hashem first, not out of need but out of an understanding that everything is in His hands. Additionally, Eliezer’s sincere bitachon demonstrates the way Avraham influenced those around him. And this, too, is a lesson that we can take from Perek chaf-daled. Our actions and our beliefs do not exist in a vacuum. Every individual influences the people around them: friends, neighbors, colleagues, and even household help (although Eliezer was far more than that!). The mission of the Jewish people is to be a “light unto the nations,” to be a guiding example of humanity’s inherent relationship with the Divine. It is not what we say but what we do – how we act – that will have the most impact.

 

 

Life Without Bitachon

 The story of the destruction of Sodom and Amorah, rich with macbre Midrashim about how vile and wicked the people were, is well known. It’s ultimate end, when Lot’s daughters give birth to the sons of their father, on the other hand, is often swept under the rug. It is, to say the least, an uncomfortable story.

The narrative of Lot and his daughters is the story of life without bitchon, of how much harder the world seems in difficult times when one does not have the comfort of a relationship with the Divine.

Lot’s early actions in this narrative seem praiseworthy. He takes in strangers, an act that opposes the mores of Sodom. He even tries to protect them from the seething crowd that gathers at his door. He recognizes the authority of the malachim, accepting their instructions.

At almost every turn, however, there is an underlying wrongness to Lot’s actions, a misfire in his motivations. The Torah notes that the malachim arrived in the evening, which both the Tur Haaruch and the Ohr HaChaim note as inferring that it was late or dusky enough that Lot was only willing to greet them and bring them to his home when it was not broad daylight, when he would not be seen taking in guests. The malachim arrived at this time, according to the Ohr HaChaim, deliberately so that Lot could gain some merit of his own. When he seeks to save the malachim from the men of the city, he offers them his daughters without any compunction!

Even Lot’s recognition of the authority of the malachim is tainted by his ego. He does not rush to flee. He delays until the malachim are almost dragging him out…and then he has the audacity to stop and ask them to save the smaller city nearby, which will be named Tzoar, because he believes that he perhaps cannot make it so far as the hills. If Hashem went through so much trouble as to send malachim with a warning about the destruction of the city, it should be expected that Hashem would hold off that destruction as needed.

After delaying their departure to beg for this refuge, it is strange that Lot does not even stay there. Lot arrives at Tzoar but never dwells there. The commentaries say that he left Tzoar because he assumed that it too would be overturned. While some commentaries note that Lot believed the malachim only offered him a temporary reprieve, others state that he observed the wickedness of the population and how similar they were to Sodom.

There is, however, no indication from the response of the malachim that the city would be overturned later. Hashem’s messengers told Lot that he should go and that he would be safe. So why did Lot leave so soon?

One could surmise that he did not settle in Tzoar on account of his wife. Although it has often been portrayed as though Lot's wife was turned into a pillar of salt while the small party was making their way to Tzoar, one sees from the text that it happened after they had already arrived in Tzoar. The angel made it clear that the destruction would not begin while they were still travelling: “Hurry, flee there, for I cannot do a thing until you arrive there” (19:22). They arrived at the city, the destruction began, and then she looked. She was safe and she looked, not from fear but from the urge to see the tragedy. (Perhaps this was where Lot saw that the people of the city would be evil, for perhaps they were gathered at the edges of the city watching their neighbors be destroyed.)

It is possible that the loss of Lot’s wife caused him to wish to leave the Tzoar quickly. What remains curious, however, is why Lot’s daughters believed that they were the last people on earth. The malachim had been clear that it was the region of the plain that was to be destroyed, not the whole world. Additionally, they left a city fully intact in the midst of destruction, so obviously there were other people. Thus the idea that they were the last people remaining could only come from their father after he had set up their dwelling in a cave in the mountains.

Lot spent his early life living with Avraham and watching hard situations turn into victories, witnessing the power of emunah and bitachon, and even receiving the benefits of the blessings Hashem gave to Avraham. But he had always harbored the belief that what was his was his, that his successes were his own without any contribution from Divine Providence. Life got hard, and Lot fled to a cave and drank himself into a stupor.

One can only feel sad for the daughters of Lot. They were not raised to believe that the world is orchestrated by a Divine hand. They probably knew that there was Hashem, or at least that their great uncle Avraham taught about Hashem, but they were raised in a place where everyone looked out for themselves, a place where when one was successful, one could reign terror on others but when one fell on hard times one could expect to be cast out. In such a place, there is little room for the Divine.

Lot fled with his daughters to a cave in the mountain and bemoaned his fate. One can only imagine the impact it would have on a person to hear the cries of despair and never prayers for help, whispers of teshuva, or stories of hashgacha pratis. Lot had seen his uncle thrown into a fiery furnace and survive. He had been with Avraham as they had left a famine-filled Promised Land to go to Egypt and live under threat only to emerge with great honor and wealth. He had been held captive and survived. But in his own life, he could not see past the impossibility of making it better. When one believes that he or she has complete control, then in a time of tragedy one is fully responsible for the fate of the world, a burden no human can handle.

Lot’s daughters could only believe that the right action to save the world was to commit a cardinal sin, to transgress one of the seven laws of bnei Noach. They had no bitachon. They had no belief that Hashem had a plan. One can only imagine, how terrifying their lives were.

Shabbat Shalom

You Are So Beautiful… To Me!

                The very first reference to personal beauty in the Torah is in Parshas Lech Lecha, and it has, perhaps, some interesting insights into a Torah healthy way of understanding placing importance on beauty. The first beautiful woman in the Torah is Sarai, and her beauty is one of the first things we learn about her other than her union with Avram and her family lineage. Sarai is not immediately described as beautiful, but rather, the fact of her beauty is a statement from her husband. “Behold, now I knew what a beautiful woman you are” (Bereishis 12:11).

                This verse is one that is frequently discussed. The commentaries use this pasuk to discuss Sarai’s great modesty or to offer a more detailed explanation of the true distinction of Sarai to the women of Egypt. Another Midrash suggests that Avram was noting that even after all of the difficult travels, she did not look haggard or distressed.  

Much of the commentary on this pasuk is based on the word “Na,” which is often translated as now. This is the source of the Midrash that this was the first time Avram looked closely at Sarai’s appearance – so modest were they. As fine as the message of modesty is, this commentary has raised many eyebrows, so to speak. They were married for years and never looked at each other? If we are meant to live our lives emulating the avos and eemahos, are we meant to teach our children that spouses should not really look at each other?

Perhaps this Midrash is telling us something far more subtle about relationships and communication. The word Na is often used to mean please, to create a gentle request, rather than as the word now. This changes the meaning, subtly – “Behold, please, I knew that you are a beautiful woman.” It is interesting to note that in the pasuk, the word knew is in the past tense, not the present (nor with the vav ha’hafuch that would make a past tense word present).

Avram is assuring his wife that he has always know she was beautiful. Now, however, he wants her to know that he finds her beautiful even as he is about to ask that she accept his obfuscation of their true relationship.  Avram’s opening words to his request are words of love and assurance, because, whether one likes it or not, the curse of Chava has left many, if not most, women with a need for words of reassurance from their spouse.

Or perhaps when the Midrash says that he had never looked at her fully, what it means – and what he is telling Sarai – is that throughout the time of their life together, he has always focused on her intelligence, her humor, her kindness… whichever of the many midos she excelled in. Avram knew Sarai as a complete person. She was beautiful to him for a thousand reasons, not just being comely. Now, however, that they are about to enter a world in which the physical is so valued, Avram reassures her that he has always found her beautiful as well.  

Three verses later, the Torah tells us that “When Avram entered Egypt, the Egyptians saw how very beautiful the woman was” (12:14).  Avram was not just complimenting his wife. She was a truly beautiful woman. And the Egyptians were the type to make a great deal of her beauty, to overflow her with compliments. We know that Jewish tradition teaches that even a compliment can be a bribe…imagine how easy it is to lose oneself when put on a pedestal for something as superficial as one’s beauty. This would not happen while Sarai knew in her heart that Avram saw her as beautiful, that Avram who loved so many non-physical aspects of her being, also saw her as beautiful. His words were deeply fortifying.

Beauty in Parshas Lech Lecha, and in life, can be both a blessing and a curse.  To let the idealization of beauty be of too great an importance, to hear that one is beautiful too often from the world at large, and to be made much of for being beautiful by those who would take, can bring ruination. But knowing that those you love and trust see your beauty, can be stabilizing, can give strength. Knowing this, perhaps, the lesson that we learn is to share such words of assurance with the people about whom we most care.

Did Noah Drink Alone

 Jewish tradition contains a great deal of ceremony that includes drinking a cup of wine. There is Kiddush at the Shabbas meals, and Yom Tov meals as well…Not to mention four cups of wine at the Pesach Seder. There’s wine drunk under the chuppah, and even wine given to the babe at the bris (to sooth him and numb him from the pain to come). And there is often a great deal of wine on Purim and Simchas Torah. And yet, on the whole, Jews are not known as a drunken people, perhaps because at each of these occasions at which wine is drunk, one is meant to be sharing time with others.

The first mention of wine in the Torah comes in Bereishis 9, in Parshas Noah. After the world has been destroyed and Hashem has made the covenant of the rainbow with Noah, the Torah states: “And Noah began to be a man of the soil, and he planted a vineyard” (9:20). Most commentaries immediately flag the fact that planting a vineyard was what Noah chose as his very first action. One would think that he would first plant food. Noah planted a vineyard and immediately the Torah tells us that he drank and got drunk and embarrassed himself. His son, Ham, derided him while his other two sons, Shem and Yafes, tried to treat him respectfully. When Noah woke from his wine induced slumber, probably with a fearsome hangover, he cursed  son Canaan.

This famous story, when looked at a little closer, leads to some rather fascinating realizations about how we read the Torah. Telling time in the Torah is not always a simple thing, to say the least. With its string of conjunction vav’s, and…and…and…, it often sounds as if one thing happened right after another, and they are therefore related. Certainly, one reading the narrative of Noah imagines it all happening as consecutive action. Noah and sons get out of the Ark, build an altar for an offering, receive Hashem’s blessing and covenant, and set to farming the land and plant a vinyard. There is no mention of a passage of time, which makes Noah’s taking to drink seem all the more unacceptable.

But then there’s Canaan. When Noah gets drunk and goes “uncovered in his tent” (9:21), the Torah tells us: “And Ham, the father of Canaan, saw his father’s nakedness” (9:22). After Noah awakens, he doesn’t curse Ham, but rather Ham’s son Canaan. Not surprisingly, given the pacing of the Parsha, most people don’t stop to question where Canaan came from. After all, it is stated quite clearly that only Noah and his wife and his three sons and their wives got onto the Ark. The subtly active role of Canaan in these verses tell us that Noah did not just hop out of the Ark and think about getting drunk.

Given the fact that the Midrash states that Noah and his sons and Noah’s wife and his sons’ wives kept themselves apart while the flood ravaged the land, we can assess that Canaan was not even conceived until after the catastrophe. But then, if Noah turned to farming so soon after the covenant of the rainbow, how old could Ham have been at the time of Noah’s drunkenness? Researching grapes, one finds that there is a common assessment that it takes from 3-7 years for a grapevine to bear fruit. Once we are realizing that these situations did not take place with the immediacy that is implied in the pacing of the verses, one can now recognize that by the time Ham insulted his father’s dignity, Canaan was already a child old enough to be influenced by the actions of those around him…if not already a young adult.

This leads to a basic question of why Noah sought to get drunk. One might have thought that Noah was drinking as a means to forget the destruction of the world that he knew, but now we know that a significant amount of time has passed. Life is moving forward and there is a whole world to rebuild…a whole world for his sons and their wives and his grandchildren. Noah, who was a unique and special man from among his generation, finds himself on the other side of life and perhaps doesn’t know what to do with himself. This is would also, possibly, explain why some commentaries accentuate the idea that Noah wanted to have a fourth child and was prevented from doing so by the actions of Ham. That fourth child would have brought him relevance among the next generation.

Planting the vineyard would not, in itself, seem to be a problem. One can assume that they all drank some wine. Archeological and historical studies have found that wine or beer was often the more common drink than water. The problem was that Noah drank to excess, and did so, perhaps, purposefully because he no longer felt a purpose. The problem was that Noah did not feel connected to the world his sons were building. Shem and Yafet could show such a perspective sympathy. Ham could not.

Understanding the motivations of the Biblical personalities helps us to understand deeper lessons in the Torah. Here, where it is easy to take an attitude of condescension to Noah for his behavior, perhaps one should also take the time to think about his motivations. Perhaps one needs to contemplate Noah’s life before, during, and after the flood. Perhaps one needs to not glance quickly at the situation and presume a failing, but rather think through the steps that brings a person to a place.  In learning to do so, we come back to the beautiful truth at the heart of Jewish life: we are a family and we are meant to be there for each other.  

Shabbat Shalom

 

Sons of the Mighty and Their Wives

 Parshas Bereishis, in the beginning… so many times our Divrei Torah start in the beginning of the parsha. For this reason, I decided to base the parsha this week on the last perek of the parsha, Perek Vav (6), of which only 8 pasukim (verses) are included.

Parshas Bereishis is the outline of the creation of the world and the history of the origins of humanity. Adam and Chava begat their sons, and their sons begat other children, and the population of the world increased, just as Hashem had commanded and blessed when He said peru u’revu – be fruitful and multiply.

The sixth chapter of Bereishis begins with statement of time: “And it was when man began to multiply on the face of the earth and daughters were born to them” (Bereishis 6:1). This pasuk has two very interesting dimensions to explore. The first question is the use of the word rov, multiply, which has the implication not just of increasing numbers but also of strength or greatness. It was not just that there were now so many people, but rather that they began to delineate greatness among themselves. Thus it makes sense when the commentators explain that the bnei eh’lohim described in the next verse in contrast to bnei ha’adam refers to the sons of princes or men of power rather than to a more literal “sons of god.”

Rabbi Shimshon Rafael Hirsh explains the opinion that these b’nei eh’lohim were the descendants of Seth, Adam’s son born after the death of Hevel at Kayin’s hands. In Seth’s line, “the godly, even if not strong enough to effect the complete salvation of the generation, did always recur.” When the Torah describes those who had grown mighty, it is relating to an elite that had a greater affinity to connecting to the Divine, as opposed to the descendants of Kayin who worked toward invention and industry but without looking for Divine purpose.

The second half of the first verse is more perplexing. Why is the time frame defined by the time when daughters were born to them? After all, throughout the list of begettings (Chapter 5), it frequently states “and he begot sons and daughters.” Not to mention that if there hadn’t been daughters, there would not be begettings…

Perhaps the daughters mentioned here are the daughters of those who were growing in greatness, the daughters of the line Seth specifically. This would give us an interesting perspective on verse 6:2, which states: “And the sons of the mighty saw the daughters of men, that they were good and pleasing, and they took them for wives from whomsoever they chose.” As all the commentators seem to agree, the sons of the mighty put beauty and pleasing ways at the forefront of their decision making, and they found that in the line of Kayin rather than in those who were more spiritually focused. Perhaps there is an inference in these two verses together that not only were the sons of the elite choosing wives from those who were less focused on spirituality, but that they were ignoring women of caliber from their own extensive line.

This may sound elitist, but that is not the intention. A girl from b’nei ha’adam could be one who strove to connect with the Divine and thus would be a good match. The intention of this severe demarcation is noting that the priority was on their being good and pleasing, but not on their background, not on the possibility of having absorbed negative traits. Rav Hirsch explains further, when discussing the verse’s statement that they took from whomsoever they chose, that “They married girls without considering where they were taking them from.”

Family matters. Thus Rav Hirsh continues to explain that it was not an impossibility for such a union to produce a line that was spiritually forward thinking, but that it held great risk. That risk came to fruition, for corruption increased upon the earth. The Midrashim describe that the violence referred to in Parshas Noah included men grabbing women they desired to marry, even women who were already married. The value system skewed, and it ended in the near destruction of the world.

Jewish tradition teaches us that all humans are b’tzelem E-lokim, created in the image of God. The people of the world are divided into 70 nations, and each of these nations has a derech, a path, and a tafkid, a purpose. Bnei Yisrael is distinct among the nations in that our purpose is spiritual connection, and here in Bereishis is a lesson to help us remember to focus on our values and not the values of others.

Parshas Ha’azinu – A Very Short Thought on the Poetry of Rain

Parshas Ha’azinu holds a unique place in the cycle of the Jewish year. A parsha of pure poetry, and thus  sometimes difficult to distill a Dvar Torah, it is read during the busiest time on the calendar.

 

Reading the parsha on the brink of Sukkot, there is a special inference that one might see in the opening verses of Parshas Ha’azinu: “Hear, O’ Heavens, I shall speak; Let the earth hear the words of my mouth. May my discourse come down like rain; My words flow like dew; like showers on vegetation; and like raindrops on the grass” (Devarim 32:1-2).

 

Although it is a normal poetic form for an idea to be repeated, there is much to learn from Devarim 32:2. Moshe opens his final song with a comparison of his words to rain. We all know that now is the season when we pray for rain. From an agricultural perspective, that prayer would most probably be shaped more specifically as a prayer for the right rain. (Afterall, a monsoon that sweeps away the soil is also rain.)

 

Traditionally, the Torah is compared to Mayim Chaim, to living water. Just as every living creation needs rain, we know that there cannot be life without Torah. And so, Moshe crafts the opening of his final song.

 

We receive Torah in many ways. Sometimes it is the steady repetition of study, an even flow of regular intake that nourishes us evenly. Sometimes we learn Torah gently, like dew, from the regular ebb and flow of life, from the routine of living our lives. Sometimes true Torah has to be thrust upon us, powerful and loud. Sometimes we have to pay special attention around us to notice the Torah.

 

The earth is nourished by rain. Klal Yisrael is nourished by Torah. This is the basic fact of existence.

 

May you all have a Good Shabbas and a true Zman Simchaseinu.

YK

 

Yom Kippur – Atonement as Prayer

I’ve been trying to do the work I need to do before Yom Kippur, and it isn’t easy. I listen to shiurim and get distracted halfway through (If I’m lucky enough to get that far). I sit to try and self-reflect, and I end up in a spiral of thoughts leading downward… or smacking into a brick wall.

 

I want to be able to be present for this great day… I want to be able to really connect to each of the “al chaits,” to determine how I have transgressed and how I can do better. I want to feel the terror and trembling we hear of from previous generations so that I can also access the sweet that follows with the knowledge that the tefillos are accepted.

 

For now, I simply continue to strive.

 

On Rosh Hashana I made small index cards for myself, notes of inspiration to help me focus on accepting Hashem as Melech and all that that might entail. For Yom Kippur, I was contemplating making other cards…but what would I put that is not already encompassed by the established service?

 

The honest answer is that my personal atonement is directly connected to my greatest yearning.

 

Please forgive me Hashem for not working hard enough to connect to you.

Please grant me atonement for choosing the path of least resistance when more effort would have garnered me greater spiritual reward.

Please know that when I fight, it is, at its heart, a fight to come closer to You.

 

Please accept that I don’t know how to fix my ills. I have intentions, but my path is so murky.

And even as I read these personal reflections, part of me is rebelling. Part of me knows that my davening kavana will not suddenly improve, that I will still go running into Shabbas, that I might be nivel peh when stuck in traffic…and etc.

 

And thus the cycle starts again. I want to move forward and yet there is a wall, a blockage. And this is the stark truth of my reality, I pray for You to draw me close even as I ask pardon for pushing You away.

 

It hurts. It’s hard to face oneself with one’s truth (and so I will , most probably, blithely forget the emotions behind these thoughts even a few moments after I write them). When Yom Kippur is over, however, I will have my own victory to celebrate. I shall be left, if not with perfect atonement, then at least with a spark of hope, a kernel of optimism, that my desire to connect to Hashem has earned me another year to grow.

 

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A Second Short Thought

There is so much we can learn from the two goats of Yom Kippur in the Beis Hamikdash. This ritual is the source of the term scapegoat, which refers to that on which we place the blame for our failings. The other goat is sacrificed in the avodah.

 

Perhaps on Yom Kippur, reading about this part of the service, I should think about how I am presenting my atonement to Hashem. Forgive me for loshen harah (I only said it because of what she did). Forgive my transgressions with food (I mean I was starving, but I should have made a bracha.) Forgive my willfulness (You did create us with freewill!)

Am I making my atonements as if I am placing them on the scapegoat – these are my sins, but, you know, they aren’t so bad… or am I making my atonement to connect with the avodah, to be cleansed through the service?

 

I hope that the latter can be my motivation, but I fear that the former reigns over my actions. I am writing in honesty. I am not chastising myself. This is a step; one step out of many. This year, perhaps, I gain knowledge, and, knowledge will provide the power to change.

 

I wish you all a Gmar Chasima Tova… and I tip my hat in debt to Esty, you know what I mean.

Parshas Vayelech – Bound to Fail, and That’s Ok

Three times in Parshas Vayelech the verse Chazak Vayamatz, be strong and courageous, is uttered, and three times in Parshas Vayelech the text goes into detail about the future downfall of the nation. Be strong, lead them well, expect them to fail, and Hashem will still remember His covenant… this is the message that Moshe receives from Hashem and that Bnei Yisrael receives from Moshe.

 

It is, of course, not by chance that Parshas Vayelech is read at the auspicious time of the Yomim Norayim, the “High Holidays.” And during a leap year (such as this year), we are granted the opportunity to look at Parshas Vayelech on its own and to focus on its unique message… a message that is particularly important to remember as we contemplate the impending celebration of Yom Kippur.  

 

It could, perhaps, be said, that Yom Kippur is a celebration of humanity. This may seem like a shocking statement, but only until we realize that if there is one unified character trait of all of humanity, it is that, try as we might, we make many mistakes. We are not creatures of instinct, like the animals, nor beings of obedience, like the angels. There has never been a perfect human nor a perfect society.

 

Moshe tells the people not to worry that he will not be entering the Promised Land with them. He tells them that Yehoshua will lead them by Divine command. And he tells them, “Be strong and courageous! Neither fear, nor be dismayed of them [the Cananites], for the Lord, your God He is the One Who goes with you. He will neither fail you, nor forsake you" (31:6).  Then Moshe gives Yehoshua a similar message: Be strong and courageous, you will succeed, and Hashem “will neither fail you, nor forsake you. Do not fear, and do not be dismayed" (6:8). On this note of positive messaging, his duty of leadership transfer is seemingly done.

 

But Moshe isn’t done, and Yehoshua isn’t ready. It isn’t all a neat little package, and this is the most important connection to the Yomim Norayim. Now is when Hashem states, not once but twice, that Bnei Yisrael will not only stray but will bring down Hashem’s fury upon them. Indeed, Hashem even declares that He will hide His face from them.

In between declarations of the future failings of Bnei Yisrael. Hashem commands Moshe to write a song to bear witness to the future Children of Israel. Only after he has done so does Hashem speak to Yehoshua, repeating, it seems, Moshe’s earlier words: “Be strong and courageous! For you shall bring the children of Israel to the land that I have sworn to them, and I will be with you."

 

As Moshe hands what he has written to the Leviim to be placed in the Ark, he concludes his speech of earlier by stating forthrightly to them that they will, in time, become corrupt – that they will do evil and will be punished. And so he teaches them the song he has just written at Hashem’s command.

 

There are many discussions what this song is. Was it Haazinu, the next parsha? Was it something not included in the Torah? Was it a reference to the Torah itself? All are possible.

 

Why, one might ask, was it so necessary for Hashem to repeat the future failings of Bnei Yisrael here? After all, Moshe had spoken of it to the people in his final proclamations recorded in the other chapters of Devarim. But Moshe needed to acknowledge it here as he transferred the leadership of the people.

 

Perhaps the reason that the Torah tells us one more time, woven with the words Chazak Vayamatz, Be strong and courageous, is to remind us of the important fact that Hashem is very aware that we are human. Moshe, perhaps, did not want to end his time dwelling upon the fact that Bnei Yisrael would struggle, but Hashem knew that acknowledging our struggle would be the source of our strength, of our ability to move forward.

 

There are many shiurim available that speak of the annual self-doubt about teshuva. We all have the thoughts of: “I wanted to improve, and yet here I stand with the same mistakes, with the same transgressions.” “I wanted to achieve more than I did, and I feel that I have failed.”

 

Be strong and be courageous! That is to each and every one of us. Hashem knows and acknowledges our humanity, our limitations, and the probability of our imperfections… and He loves us anyway.

 

Hashem repeats to Moshe that the people will be corrupted until Moshe accepts it and says it out loud because it needs to be understood that Hashem already knows our regret. He knows our hopes and our dreams, our successes and our failures. We will fail, each of us in our own way, but this knowledge cannot stop us from moving forward, from trying harder, or from taking a slightly different path.

 

On Yom Kippur we will each stand before the King of Kings and beg atonement. It must be done. But we do so not in terror. We do so in celebration. Yom Kippur is a holiday because we know that Hashem will accept our repentance, because in foretelling our failings He has already granted their eventual forgiveness.

 

May each of you have a Gmar Chasima Tova.

Elul Group - RH 5783

First let me thank Ruthie and Caryn for continuing to organize this amazing project. I have been with the Elul group from the beginning, and it seems shocking when I realize the stability it provides me through all of the many life stages I have been through in that time.

 

There is so much about this time of year that gives us hope and inspiration, fear and anxiety, and, perhaps, more than anything else, a yearning for clarity. If I might dare to hypothesize, I think that what most of us really want is to understand why and what’s next. We want to understand why we have our troubles, and we want to know that there is a plan for things to be better. And that great desire… that internal need… is exactly why we need Rosh Hashana, the day on which we specifically affirm Hashem as the King of kings.

 

Those of us who have been raised in modern, Western society have no true concept of kingship. Our leaders are all too human. The more fallible and selfish they have shown themselves - and with our insidious media and full access coverage we see a great deal of it – the less people can relate to the possibility of a true Melech. And without a Melech, we build up our own autonomy, our own power, our own right to have everything in the world as we want it…or to believe it is our right.

 

On Rosh Hashana, however, we have the prime opportunity to remind ourselves, powerfully, that Hashem runs the world.  Hashem has a plan. Hashem knows what is good for His entire kingdom, and we, His individual subjects, do not have access to His knowledge of the “why”s and the “what will be”s.  

 

“Hashem has a plan” is the mantra that has gotten me through a very difficult time in my life… that continues to move me through that situation.  It is a steadying thought. It is a mantra that provides strength. But, in truth, it isn’t a thought that brings great warmth to one in pain. After all, it means my suffering and the turmoil I see in my children is part of Hashem’s plan.

 

Rabbi Uri Deutsch (of Lakewood, formerly of Montreal, speaking on the Coach Menachem Sunday night program) cited an explanation of the Book of Yona’s connection to the Yomim Noaraim from the Chofetz Chaim. (Transcribed from him speaking and abbreviated…)

 

“Yona is a paradigm for what we sometimes do. Hashem has a mission for us. He brought us to this world. Our neshama was brought down from the Kisei Hakavod to experience all the travails and the challenges, the joys and the sorrows, and the profound journey of what it means to be a Jew in an alien world because HKBH declared that the world’s purpose can only be brought about when our neshama comes here. Being able to grapple with that task, to embrace it, and to orientate and guide one’s life along the path of being able to accomplish that unique task, which is ours, is something we so often find ourselves wanting to reject.….

 

The Chofetz Chaim says, Yona was engaged in the struggle to escape the Divine voice which would compel him to fulfill his mission. But says the CC, HKBH doesn’t allow the person to escape his destiny. And HKBH in his omnipresent, in his hashgacha, will encircle the person, guide him, and will eventually create the circumstances that will force him to face the growth, the journey, the struggle, the challenge, and the joy that the Ribbono Shel Olam wants their life to be. So once Yona is out on the sea, the Ribbono Shel Olam creates an unnatural storm. He then goes as far as to bring a fish, in bizarre circumstance, to again bring Yona back to where he should be, and eventually Yona realizes that this is the purpose of him being the navi of Hashem and accepts all the challenge, all the agony, all the pain, and all the confusion of carrying out a mission which to him sees pointless…”

 

When I heard Rabbi Deutsch’s shiur, I felt greatly moved to think of this situation as my “whale” (ok, big fish) and to hope that I can find my way out of it, to find the teshuva that I need to do, before He determines (Chas v’shalom) that I need to find an even less comfortable situation.

 

But teshuva is hard, especially when you are feeling punished. It is especially difficult when you feel like part of you has been broken and you know that Hashem already knows your pain. And so the perpetual cycle of doubt and wonder presses harder as I come into Elul. How will I really daven? How will I get through these days when my pain causes me to be so incredibly focused on myself.

 

I have spent years focused on the definition of teshuva as repentance. I know the Rambam’s four steps. I understand changing myself, becoming a better person, and fixing the errors I have made.  First, however, I need to look at teshuva for its most literal definition: returning.  And for this I turn to Avinu Malkeinu. Right now, in my life, I find that I often wake up with a desperate need for a hug. I’ve learned to ask my kids if they will just hug me to get that physical need fulfilled… But the truth is that the need is deeply existential. I am longing for a “hug from Hashem.” I yearn to feel as if I am safe – safe from pain, safe from sadness, safe from being hurt any further. My teshuva right now is to understand that the hug Hashem is giving me may be in the form of the belly of the whale, so to speak.  

 

In this year’s Rosh Hashana Mishpacha, in an article by Rabbi Reuven Leuchter (“Look into the Mirror,” page 77).  Writes about not spending Rosh Hashana focused on worrying if we are davening properly, if our teshuva is acceptable, if our prayers have enough kavanah. But rather, he explains, we should focus on the words and thus discover “the world of Malchus Shamayim. If we look a little more deeply into that world, we’ll see not only Hashem’s grandeur, but, surprisingly, also ourselves….The Musaf tefillah of Rosh Hashanah shows us that Malchus Shamayim has a role - an individual avodah, our own personal contribution to making Hashem’s malchus manifest in the world.” He explains about the section on Zichronos:  “We think we’re insignificant, and Hashem must have written us off. Say the pesukim: Hashem calls out into the ears of Yerushalayim, ‘I remember how you followed Me into the dessert! I remember that!’ No matter what we’ve done, we haven’t lost our importance to Hashem and His malchus.”

 

It all comes together. Hashem, Avinu, has a plan. Hashem, Malkeinu, has a plan. No matter how lost I feel, or how trapped, or how alone, those are just feelings. The reality that often seems so hidden to us is most accessible on Rosh Hashana. A true king, a Melech in the Divine sense of the word, brings tests and challenges, as well and joys and simcha, into our life, to move us forward in our true purpose. Our task, which sounds far simpler than it is, is to recognize that unity of purpose given to us by Avinu Maleinu.

 

To this wonderful group of women as we travel this path together, may you all be blessed to find clarity and success, and to learn to appreciate the path on which you yourself traverse, in the year to come.

 

My tzedakah this year went to a fund being collected: Keren Grushos v’Almanos.