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.

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.

 

 

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

 

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.

Parshas Shoftim: More Than Property Lines

Parshas Shoftim covers a range of topics, most of them at least at some length. There is however, one topic that seems to be a verse that stands alone: “You shall not move your neighbor’s boundary, that the earlier ones set as borders in your inheritance, in the land that Hashem your God will give to you for an inheritance” (Devarim 19:14).

This is a good law, of course. It is not just good because it is a Torah law; it is a good law because it seems to be a base-line of normal civilized behavior. Moving the boundary line of a neighbor’s property implies theft of the most despicable kind. It is subterfuge. An inch and an inch and an inch…and suddenly there is a foot of difference between the original property allotments. Thus, Hashem declaring a prohibition of just such an act seems appropriate

What makes this pasuk interesting, and not just appropriate, is its placement. The verse comes just before the Torah discusses the requirement of two witnesses in any case needing judgement. The requirement for two witnesses is followed by a discussion of what will happen in the case of a false witness. A man who would bear false witness is as despicable as a person who would move a boundary line. They are both malicious acts performed in devious ways.

Additionally, the first thirteen verses of Devarim 19, just before the prohibition of moving the boundary line, discuss the cities of refuge. These verses go into detail about what constitutes manslaughter and what is, in fact, premeditated murder.  The section concludes with a ruling of what to do when a murderer flees to a city of refuge, and that is to show no pity.

“You shall not move your neighbor’s boundary, that the earlier ones set as borders in your inheritance, in the land that Hashem your God will give to you for an inheritance” (Devarim 19:14). In this seemingly disconnected pasuk, one might see the kernel of rot. Envy and jealousy are at the heart of the one with criminal intent, and revenge drives the victim who has already been harmed. Envy and jealousy that lead to such devious plotting also leads to enough hatred to strike down another Jew or to attempt to bear false witness against him.

We are not in the Promised Land, as even in Eretz Yisrael we are not living under Torah law, but the laws of the Torah are for all times and all places. Do not move the boundary line of your brother can impact so many areas of our lives, from the obvious - not stealing property - to the far less obvious transgression of claiming credit for someone else’s ideas or even of playing mind games that affect another person’s emotions.

May we all find satisfaction with the plot that Hashem has granted us and may we constantly look out for one another.

Parshas Re’eh – The Source of the Evyon

Shemita, the seventh year, is known as the year when the Promised Land is to lie fallow. Of equal significance, Shemita is the year in which all debts between Jews must be forgiven. This remission is described in Parshas Re’eh, in Devarim 15, where the word evyon is used six times. Evyon, which is translated as destitute (by Artscroll), is not a common term. The term usually used for someone in need is Oni.

 

The first use of Evyon in Devarim 15 is in the fourth pasuk, right after the Torah states that one may collect from a foreigner but not from one’s brethren (meaning fellow Jews). Devarim 15:4-5 states: “There shall be no destitute among you – since Hashem will bless you in the land that Hashem our God is giving to you as an inheritance; if only you heed Hashem your God and take care to keep all these mitzvos that I command you today.”

 

The last use of the word Evyon in Devarim 15 is in the eleventh pasuk, right after the Torah instructs the people not to hesitate to lend money to their fellow Israelites even if it is close to the Shemita year. Devarim 15:11 states: “For there will never cease to be destitute in your land, which is why I command you: open your hand to your poor and your destitute in your land.”

 

How is it possible that Verse 4 states that there will be no destitute and verse 11 states that there will always be destitute? The commentators (and I apologize for not noting which ones) describe the juxtaposition of verse 4 and 11 as the ideal and what will be reality. If Bnei Yisrael were to keep all of the mitzvos, as stated in pasuk 5, then the nation would have absolute balance and bracha. Alas, the chances that all of the generations would manage to live up to this ideal were predictably low. Therefore, Moshe reproves the people against their own human nature, warning them not to withhold help. “Rather, open your hand to him and lend whatever is sufficient to his need” (15:8). Giving with an open heart, Moshe assures the people, is the path to bracha.

 

There is little to question over the fact that giving with an open heart, without hesitation or worry over one’s own well-being, is a very difficult standard to achieve. It is a way of thinking, a way of being, that comes from deep felt bitachon, a complete trust in Hashem’s management of the world. That in itself could be the lesson of Devarim 15: 1-11, but…

 

It is interesting to investigate the use of this word evyon; perhaps all the more so because it is used in conjunction with the word oni in 15:11. Rashi, quoting Leviticus Rabbah 34:6, states that the term evyon “denotes one who longs for everything (because he lacks everything).” This is not just poor, not just needing a hand up. The evyon has nothing, and it is a very sad state of society when there are people who reach that level of destitution.

Rather than reading 15:4 and 15:11 as juxtapositions of the ideal and the realistic, perhaps these seemingly contradictory verses offer an important insight into the justness of Torah law. If Bnei Yisrael were to keep all of the mitzvos, then society should operate in a way that everyone’s basic needs are met. It isn’t just a bracha from Hashem. It is the very mechanism of the mitzvos bein adam l’chavero functioning properly. Neighbors should be looking after neighbors. People should be living v’ahata l’reicha kamocha. If they live in such a fashion, no one should slip through the cracks and reach rock bottom.

 

But while the Torah is perfect, people are not. When Bnei Yisrael does not live up to the Torah ideal, then there will be people in deep and dire need. When we help them, we are rectifying a situation that we ourselves have created.

 

Living an upstanding Jewish life requires constant perseverance in rejecting human natures more self-centered motivations, which stem from an instinct for survival but are excellent tools of the yetzer harah (evil inclination). It is not easy to give with a smile, without hesitation or suspicion. Hashem knows this. The Torah is giving us an ideal to strive for, and it is up to us to take the steps (large or small or even baby-steps) to achieve it.

 

Wishing you all a beautiful Shabbas.

 

 

 

 

Parshas Eikev - Love-Eat-Pray

In Parshas Eikev there is an interesting repetition of the idea of eating and being satisfied that is located in Devarim 8:10 and 8:12. Although it is not so uncommon to find repetition in one section of the Torah, in this case the repetition is actually a juxtaposition of the right way to live life and the wrong way to live life. Verse 8:10, which states “And you will eat, and you will be satisfied, and you shall bless the Lord, your God, for the good land He has given you,” is the conclusion of the description of the experience of Hashem’s fatherly love, a love in which we are sometimes tested in order to help us grow strong and a love in which we are rewarded with a wonderful, fulfilling, and independent national life.

 

Devarim 8:12, on the other hand, is a warning. On its own it reads: “lest you eat and be satisfied, and build good houses and dwell therein.” A seeming bracha except for that word lest…Lest you “forget the Lord, your God, by not keeping His commandments, His ordinances, and His statutes, which I command you this day” (8:11), the previous pasuk.

 

The same idea of eating and being satisfied – an allusion to comfort and wealth – is transformed from an act that brings reward to an act that leads to destruction, and the biggest difference is the inclusion of the action of blessing, the active acknowledgement of Hashem. Devarim 8:7-10 describes living in a beautiful land of abundance. So does Devarim 8:12-13. The difference is that these latter verses are a warning against becoming haughty and forgetting all that Hashem did for us, in which case we risk being destroyed as Hashem destroyed the nations that came before us in the land.

 

How do we avoid the “lest”? How do we keep from becoming haughty? The key, we learn in Parshas Eikev, is love. It sounds a bit corny, but the term love (ahava) is used seven times in this weeks parsha. Sometimes it is Hashem’s love for Bnei Yisrael, as in 7:13: “And He will love you and bless you and multiply you; He will bless the fruit of your womb and the fruit of your soil, your grain, your wine, and your oil, the offspring of your cattle and the choice of your flocks, in the land which He swore to your forefathers to give you...”

 

Other times, however, later in the parsha, the word love is used in the language of commandment, in the language of instruction: “And now, O Israel, what does the Lord, your God, ask of you? Only to fear the Lord, your God, to walk in all His ways and to love Him, and to worship the Lord, your God, with all your heart and with all your soul” (10:12).

 

The question is frequently asked in relation to the first paragraph recited after Shema, the paragraph known as v’ahavta (Devarim 6:5-9), how can one be commanded to love? Love is an emotion. Love is a feeling. But Jewish tradition speaks of love as something we can build and control. Love is a feeling that is directly connected to acts of giving. The more one gives to another, the more one loves that other. In order to love Hashem, we must give to Hashem, which seems an impossible act.

 

How can Bnei Yisrael give anything to Hashem? He is the Almighty. It is an overwhelming concept, but it is achievable and the Torah explains how: “[Therefore] you shall love the Lord, your God, keep His charge, His statutes, His ordinances, and His commandments, all the days” (11:1).

 

Every time a mitzvah is performed, someone is loving Hashem. Every time one of the Torah commandments is observed, someone is loving Hashem. This is how Bnei Yisrael can give to God.

 

Another means of giving to Hashem is prayer – not the prayer itself, really, but the action of remembering and acknowledging all the Hashem does. “V’achalta, v’savata, U’VERACHTA - And you will eat, and you will be satisfied, and YOU SHALL BLESS the Lord” (8:10) is the source for the commandment to say Birkat Hamazon, the Grace After Meals. There is no more basic need than food. This seems an obvious point. But eating is actually quite complex. Eating fills far more than a sense of hunger. Eating meets a physical need, a psychological need, an emotional need, and a spiritual need. In this pasuk, eating represents all of our needs. When our needs – from the smallest to the largest – are met, we must remember to bless Hashem, to acknowledge Him as the wellspring of all that is in the world.

 

V'ahavta sounds like an easy mitzvah. It is not. It is in our nature to take our blessings for granted, to assume our own power and greatness. It is in our nature to hurry on to feed and satisfy our next need or desire. This is why v’ahavta and u’verachta are commandments.

 

Hashem loves us and wants us to live our lives in the best possible way. Our job is to remember that He has already given us the key to achieving that goal.

 

Wishing you a beautiful Shabbas

 

*Eat Pray Love was a book written in 2006 that was then made into a movie.

 

Parshas Va’eschanan – Because of Hashem’s Love

Va’eschanan el Hashem – “And I implored to Hashem…” Thus Moshe Rabbeinu, the greatest prophet and teacher in Jewish history, states at the beginning of this week’s parsha when he reminds the people that he is going to die and will not lead them into the Promised Land.

 

Well, goodness! Let’s be honest…If Moshe’s pleading with Hashem didn’t work, what chance is there that my prayers will? We read about Moshe’s “crime” of striking the rock instead of speaking to it, and we (meaning an average, ordinary person) wonder how this could be considered such an unforgiveable error. The only real answer is that the world, Hashem’s world, is so much bigger than we can understand, and, in many ways, this is an undercurrent of this weeks parsha.

 

Parshas Va’eschanan’s first independent perek - since it starts with the last seven verses of perek gimmel – begins with Moshe’s warning to the people to “listen to the decrees and the ordinances that I teach you to perform, so that you may live, and you will come and possess the Land that Hashem, the God of your forefathers, gives you. You shall not add to the word that I command you, nor shall you subtract from it, to observe the commandments of Hashem your God, that I command you” (4:1-3). And again, the most honest reaction one might have is to wonder what might be wrong with enhancing one’s devotion, with adding laws to make society more zealous or remove a law for the sake of making the world more just. But the Torah tells us straight out that this is not something we are capable of, not even the most holy of us can cross the line of God’s commandments…

…because then we all do. Moshe’s repetitious reminder against creating a carved image of any type is followed immediately by the declaration that “When you beget children and grandchildren and will have been long in the Land, you will grow corrupt and make a carve image of anything, and you will do evil in the eyes of Hashem” (4:25).

 

The consequence of our betrayal shall be – has been - our scattering through the nations, our loss of “rank,” so to speak and, more significantly, our lack of connection. When we think that we can understand Hashem enough to create carved images or enough to transform His laws, that is when we become lost. That is when we must seek our way back to the basics so that the covenant can be revived.

 

Devarim 4:29 speaks of this process. It says: “From there you’all (to represent 2^nd person plural) will seek Hashem, your God, and you will find him if you’all search for him with all your heart and with all your soul.” This is a fascinating and revelatory pasuk. The actions that must be taken are stated in second person plural, but the other verbs and pronouns (including Hashem Elokecha) are second person singular. We as a people must come to understand what our laws and our role in the world mean, but each individual must find his/her own path within that law, they must find the path with their heart and their soul individually.

 

Moshe lists all the wonders and miracles and proofs of Bnei Yisrael’s unique relationship with Hashem, but all these miracles were done, Moshe explains, “in order for you [Bnei Yisrael] to know that Hashem, He is the God. There is none beside him” (4:35). And they were done for klal Yisrael, for Moshe, for the people who left Mitzrayim, and for the people gathered before him that day…all these miracles were done because “He loved your forefathers, and He chose his offspring after him…” (4:37).

 

Parshas Va’eschanan contains the most famous lines of the Torah, the most significant words in a Jew’s life: Shema Yisrael Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem, Echad…” (6:4). It also contains the commandment to “Love Hashem your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might…” (6:5).

 

We have trouble staying within the lines of our restrictions because we cannot be to Hashem as Hashem is to us. Hashem loves Bnei Yisrael because He “sees” in us the traits of spiritual passion and spiritual awareness that Avraham possessed. He gives to Bnei Yisrael unceasingly, with all His might. Hashem gives because He knows clearly the critical role we are meant to play in this world, and everything the happens to Bnei Yisrael – collectively and individually – is meant to help us connect to that role. We cannot ever match His love for us, His care for us. Hashem knows that. Hashem knows the limitations of being human. That is why He gave us these guidelines as set down in our Torah.

 

We were not chosen for our own merits. We were chosen because of Hashem’s love. Now we must put our efforts, all of our efforts, into returning that love - And Hashem tells us exactly how to do it: With all our heart, with all our soul and with all our might, by following the laws of His Torah.  

 

A Personal Reflection on Tisha B’Av night 5782

Tisha B’Av is always a struggle. How do I relate to this day, to the loss that reverberates through history but seems, at the same time, so very foreign to me. I can’t even imagine the miracles that were known to occur in the Beis Hamikdash. Indeed, I can’t imagine a place where bringing korbanos uplifted the people spiritually. I read about it – I write about it – and I daven daily that it should return, but I can honestly say I can’t actually conceive of it.

 

People do not like to talk about their spiritual challenges, not when you live in a frum community. We like to talk about spiritual topics and about problems in the frum world. We easily speak of the problems that we think everyone can related to like not being able to concentrate on davening or never having time to listen to shiur.

 

On Tisha B”Av, however, the real challenge is presented square in our face – at least for me.  I don’t relate. I only have the fraction of an idea of what it is I am supposed to relate too! I want to cry and yearn and feel my isolation from the Shechina, but I am not even really sure what I would feel if we were not cut off. I mean, the descriptions of it all are a little… awe-overwhelming, and I think I am being honest enough to say that the very human part of me that fears change, that likes the safety of the known and the surety of my achievements thus far (little as they may really be on the spiritual level), is scared of knowing what we have lost.

 

One of my children asked me why people watch videos about the Holocaust on Tisha B’Av. I explained that they help people stay in the somber mood, help them connect to the utter tragedy that is woven through our incredible history. The child noted that the destructions were not what we were supposed to be mourning, but rather we should be mourning our disconnect from Hashem. The child is wise; the child is young.

 

Most years I, too, need help finding the mood, and I probably will at some point tomorrow. But this year, as we headed into our day of mourning, I had other thoughts.  On Tisha B’Av we are mourning the fact that our spiritual home is broken, and I know now the pain of a home that is broken.  I know waking up and feeling loss, feeling sadness and pain and anger and the desperate desire to know how to put things right. I know the heartache of seeing my children have hurt that I cannot heal, that I cannot fix, even though it is the thing that I most wish for.  Is this, Hashem, how You feel?

 

My pain right now is … selfish. Selfish in that it is bound to me and my family. I can only imagine, Hashem, how much pain we have caused You. I can only being to think I understand the pain I should be feeling for the loss of our everything.

Being Bnei Yisrael means many things. One of my favorite understandings of the term Yisrael is  “He who wrestles with God.” In true honesty, right now, I am not wrestling with God… I am not yet on a level to even conceive of what that would feel like.

 

The pain of the day of Tisha B’Av is rooted in the crying out of Bnei Yisrael after the report of the spies. They were scared to go into Eretz Yisrael. They were scared to let go of the spiritual lives that they were living in the Wilderness, to be on their own and responsible for themselves even as Hashem promised them that He would be there with them.

 

They were scared to accept their independence with the Shechina among them, and I am scared of what that actual spiritual dependence might look and feel like. I live so deeply in the Olam Hazeh that I have to work to mourn, that I often need to find tools to help me maintain my mourning on this day.

 

The deep and difficult emotional tumult of my recent life has given me pause for thought. I now know what it means to feel bereft, to feel lost and empty and shattered… emotions I had never really experienced in the many years of my life.  As I sit here and listen to Eicha, I am becoming aware that the feeling of my personal life are, perhaps, a shadow of the feelings I should feel about the loss of Beis Hamikdash, about the loss of the ability to understand what it means to have the Shechina dwell among us.

 

And I feel like, perhaps, I can understand that Hashem “feels” a similar loss from the other side, that He wants to understand how we, His people, gave up on everything we built together.

 

Tonight is Tisha B’Av, the night and the day on which our people cry for ourselves, cry for what we have been through and cry for what we have lost.  I have a long, long way to go on my spiritual journey, on my path out of the wilderness that is truly full of thorns and bristles, to even think of standing on the precipice of a spiritual haven. But this year I feel, just a little more, like I understand how I should feel about all that we are missing.