Tonight will be Channuka.With darkness, we will gather as family and light the menorah (or here in Israel more commonly called, 'chanukiya'). Brachot will be made, songs sung, not to forget the tasty treats. We will usher in the 8 days of celebration.
There is a beautiful composition recited after lighting the candle called "hanairot halallu". The passage reminds us of why we light the candles, "to mark the miracles and wonders... done for our Fathers in those days at this time". It goes on to tell us "... these candles are holy. And we have no right to make use of them (not for light nor for warmth etc)... They are only for us to gaze
on, so that we may thereby give praise to Your Great Name for all Your miracles and wonders and salvation".
The odd thing about Channuka is that it is of the most spiritual of Jewish holidays. The Rabbis taught that Channuka is different from Purim. Purim marks a time where our physical survival was threatened. We celebrate G-d's redemption with food and drink and indulgences of our body. Channuka was not a time where the physical existences of our people was at risk. It was the Jewish spirit that was persecuted and as much by the Hellinistic Jews as by the Greco-syrio rulers. The spirit of Hellinism was sweeping the world. Jews who believed in the values of Torah were out of step. The edicts that caused us anguish in the period of Channuka were not those of Haman, focused on our destruction. The edicts were those focused on compromising our observance of Shabbat, kashrut, and the study of Torah. The heroes of Channuka were martyrs for the faith like Channa and her 7 sons, all of whom perished rather than submit to the Greco-Syrian authority .
Indeed Channuka was the first time in Jewish history where martyrdom for the faith, something we would sadly see as commonplace in the times of the Crusades, was invoked and called for, a new kind of Jewish heroism.
It is for that reason,since Channuka as essentially a triumph of the Jewish spirit, that there are no mitzvot associated with Channuka that focus on the physical. It may be nice to eat sufganiyot and latkes, but no mitzvah! The one mitzvah is to light the menorah. And even there we are not meant to make use of the light as mentioned above, but rather just to gaze on it and give thanks.
Whats odd about all this is that Channuka has become the most materialistic of Jewish holidays, especially in the States. Its a holiday where no one feels guilty, even the least affiliated Jew, because there is so little to observe. Light candles? give gifts? eat latkes? Why not? One can live a totally assimilated life and embrace that!
I remember many years ago when living in a small Jewish community in moderately sized Southern city, that the newspapers, as was their custom, did a feature on a Jewish family at the season of the holiday, in this case Channuka. They showed pictures of the family readying for lighting candles and interviewed the mother. The mother, trying to be informational, told the reporter of how Channuka marked a miracle that happened to the oil in the Temple and that therefore we have a custom to eat foods made with oil. She then went on to give a recipe for Channuka of a food cooked in oil. Latkes? no! Sufganiyot? no! Crab cakes!! She actually gave a Channuka recipe for crab cakes!
It is sad when one thinks about it, that this holiday that speaks to the heroes, both men and women, who gave their lives for observance and Torah, so that Judaism should persevere,those who said "we are different from you and we refuse to surrender our uniqueness," would be celebrated by their children as the holiday of assimilation. What so much of the Jewish world is essentially saying in the current secular theme of Channuka is "We are just like everyone else. We eat the same. Live the same lifestyle. Being a Jew is just a matter of culture and history, but with little real consequence. We want to be like you!"
So when we come to make our blessings tonight and light our candles
what are we celebrating? What should we see when we gaze on the lights?
What we celebrates is the survival of our faith! What we see in the candles is that pure light, with G-d's help, triumphs. Despite the woman and her Channuka crab cake recipe and many like her, who sadly have gotten lost along the way, Torah Judaism thrives and prospers. Despite all the efforts throughout Jewish history to compromise our commitment to our faith, we remain strong and determined. I go to Mir Yeshiva every day to learn. Would you believe five and a half thousand young men and some older, like me, do the same. And that's just one Yeshiva amongst thousands around the world! That's what one sees in the candle! The power of the pure to triumph, even if few, even if weak. Would that the martyrs of Channuka and all our history could see the vibrancy of Torah today...all resultant from their devotion.
Indeed there is much to celebrate and for which to thank Hashem.
Chag Urim Samaiach
Shabbat Shalom
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Going Home
Many years ago Thomas Wolfe wrote a novel "You Can't Go Home Again".
In it he told the story of a man, himself a novelist who becomes an instant success for his first book. However that very book is seen by the people of his hometown as describing them in unflattering ways. He becomes a hero in society. Yet, because of the anger he causes in the town of his roots, he can't go home again!
"You can't go home again" has become much more famous as an individual maxim than as a novel. Its core concept expresses the idea that once one grows up and grows out of the limited family environs, s/he can never really go back home, at least not as the person/child they once were.
This week, in the parsha of Vayishlach, we read of Yaakov, our father, finally coming home. In truth it seems a much delayed homecoming, and one Yaakov did not seem very keen on. You recall, several weeks ago we read how Yaakov was sent away by his mother Rivka, after he stole the blessings from Esav, his brother. Rivka and Yitzchak envisioned Yaakov being away as short time, just long enough to marry and for his brother's anger to abate.
In the end Yaakov stays away all of 36 years. Twenty of them he spends in the home of his father-in-law, Lavan. By the time he returns his mother already died. He had opportunity to return home after being with Lavan 14 years. Instead he chose to stay-on and make money growing his flock. Even when he finally decided to return to Canaan, it only came after he no longer felt welcome in the house of Lavan. He expressed to his wives the need to leave, not so as to return to his parents, they are not mentioned. Rather he claimed the need to redeem the pledge he made to G-d at Bet El,before he began his long and difficult journey.
Still more, after his encounter with Esav, of which we read this week, we would expect Yaakov to finally go home. But no, he moved his family to Succot, there setting up a home for a year and a half.
And even after that, Yaakov moves to Sh'chem where the terrible story of the rape of his daughter Deena takes place, and in consequence the whole town is massacred. Who knows how long he might have stayed there if he were not compelled to leave because of the circumstances.
Only after Rachel died did Yaakov finally come home. Why? Why does Yaakov seem to resist going home? Why does he disappoint both parents desire to see him, and keep away so long? How can we explain this? And if he truly avoided home for so long, how is it that he finally does indeed go home again?
We call this blog The Torah and the Self. Its intent is to make the Torah personal so as to grow from what the stories and laws have to teach us about ourselves. None of us can be sure why Yaakov stayed away so long, why he avoided going home. But knowing ourselves, and knowing his story we can speculate. It would not be surprising if in Yaakov's time away and in his maturation he got in touch with some conflicted feelings towards one or both of his parents. After-all, his father Yitzchak preferred his older brother Esav to him, as the Torah told us. Yaakov was the Tzaddik yet his father loved more his older sibling who was not. That hurts!
As for Rivka, Yaakov might well have wondered about the way she loved him. Why did she send him in to lie before his father in the deception of the blessings, rather than confront his father herself. Why did he have to carry the burden of the wrath of Esav, when it was his mother's agenda he was following? Questions that while when young and living at home one might put aside, as one matures and moves away, cause one a sense of conflictedness towards a parent and perhaps even some anger.
Many of us who were 'perfect' children, as we grew became conscious of issues we had about our upbringing. Often we brought them to therapy. If we were fortunate we got to raise the issues with our parents, express our feelings and achieve a special reconciliation, one only possible adult to adult. That's hard work. Many a child, now adult, resists going home if their feelings never get worked through.
Yaakov had reason to avoid going home.It was uncomfortable for him at best. He had feelings about his childhood and upbringing. How could he not? So how is it that he finally goes home? What makes the homecoming possible?
I believe the Torah tells us exactly what made Yaakov able to go home. He needed to! When does Yaakov go home, after the debacle with Deena, when he cannot protect his only daughter from harm and fails as a father. When does Yaakov go home, after he is ashamed of Shimon and Levi his older sons for there act of mass murder, and for making the family vulnerable to attack.When does Yaakov go home, after his beloved Rachel dies on the road, in giving birth to his child! and, in tradition, as a consequence of an oath he swore to Lavan! Indeed he goes home after he has failed as a husband too!
Yaakov goes home because he needs to. Yes, he felt conflicted towards his mother and father. But he needed the love and affirmation only a parent could bring. The angel he wrestled with, in the beginning of this week's reading, wounded him a wound time and attention could heal. These wounds were different. They affected his core sense of self and person and required much more to heal. These wounds needed the warmth of home and nurturing. Yes, Yaakov the adult,the one accomplished and mature, needed the love and caring available to children in their time of vulnerability. That kind of caring can only be gained at home and from one's family of origin.
Seen in this light the story of Yaakov's homecoming is both profound and personal. In it we can very much find pieces of ourselves and of those we know. Can we go home again? We can when we need to! Who was it that said "necessity is the mother of invention!".
Yaakov's story is indeed our own...
Shabbat Shalom
PS I want to thank my wonderful wife Lindy for her thoughts on this that much inspired me.
In it he told the story of a man, himself a novelist who becomes an instant success for his first book. However that very book is seen by the people of his hometown as describing them in unflattering ways. He becomes a hero in society. Yet, because of the anger he causes in the town of his roots, he can't go home again!
"You can't go home again" has become much more famous as an individual maxim than as a novel. Its core concept expresses the idea that once one grows up and grows out of the limited family environs, s/he can never really go back home, at least not as the person/child they once were.
This week, in the parsha of Vayishlach, we read of Yaakov, our father, finally coming home. In truth it seems a much delayed homecoming, and one Yaakov did not seem very keen on. You recall, several weeks ago we read how Yaakov was sent away by his mother Rivka, after he stole the blessings from Esav, his brother. Rivka and Yitzchak envisioned Yaakov being away as short time, just long enough to marry and for his brother's anger to abate.
In the end Yaakov stays away all of 36 years. Twenty of them he spends in the home of his father-in-law, Lavan. By the time he returns his mother already died. He had opportunity to return home after being with Lavan 14 years. Instead he chose to stay-on and make money growing his flock. Even when he finally decided to return to Canaan, it only came after he no longer felt welcome in the house of Lavan. He expressed to his wives the need to leave, not so as to return to his parents, they are not mentioned. Rather he claimed the need to redeem the pledge he made to G-d at Bet El,before he began his long and difficult journey.
Still more, after his encounter with Esav, of which we read this week, we would expect Yaakov to finally go home. But no, he moved his family to Succot, there setting up a home for a year and a half.
And even after that, Yaakov moves to Sh'chem where the terrible story of the rape of his daughter Deena takes place, and in consequence the whole town is massacred. Who knows how long he might have stayed there if he were not compelled to leave because of the circumstances.
Only after Rachel died did Yaakov finally come home. Why? Why does Yaakov seem to resist going home? Why does he disappoint both parents desire to see him, and keep away so long? How can we explain this? And if he truly avoided home for so long, how is it that he finally does indeed go home again?
We call this blog The Torah and the Self. Its intent is to make the Torah personal so as to grow from what the stories and laws have to teach us about ourselves. None of us can be sure why Yaakov stayed away so long, why he avoided going home. But knowing ourselves, and knowing his story we can speculate. It would not be surprising if in Yaakov's time away and in his maturation he got in touch with some conflicted feelings towards one or both of his parents. After-all, his father Yitzchak preferred his older brother Esav to him, as the Torah told us. Yaakov was the Tzaddik yet his father loved more his older sibling who was not. That hurts!
As for Rivka, Yaakov might well have wondered about the way she loved him. Why did she send him in to lie before his father in the deception of the blessings, rather than confront his father herself. Why did he have to carry the burden of the wrath of Esav, when it was his mother's agenda he was following? Questions that while when young and living at home one might put aside, as one matures and moves away, cause one a sense of conflictedness towards a parent and perhaps even some anger.
Many of us who were 'perfect' children, as we grew became conscious of issues we had about our upbringing. Often we brought them to therapy. If we were fortunate we got to raise the issues with our parents, express our feelings and achieve a special reconciliation, one only possible adult to adult. That's hard work. Many a child, now adult, resists going home if their feelings never get worked through.
Yaakov had reason to avoid going home.It was uncomfortable for him at best. He had feelings about his childhood and upbringing. How could he not? So how is it that he finally goes home? What makes the homecoming possible?
I believe the Torah tells us exactly what made Yaakov able to go home. He needed to! When does Yaakov go home, after the debacle with Deena, when he cannot protect his only daughter from harm and fails as a father. When does Yaakov go home, after he is ashamed of Shimon and Levi his older sons for there act of mass murder, and for making the family vulnerable to attack.When does Yaakov go home, after his beloved Rachel dies on the road, in giving birth to his child! and, in tradition, as a consequence of an oath he swore to Lavan! Indeed he goes home after he has failed as a husband too!
Yaakov goes home because he needs to. Yes, he felt conflicted towards his mother and father. But he needed the love and affirmation only a parent could bring. The angel he wrestled with, in the beginning of this week's reading, wounded him a wound time and attention could heal. These wounds were different. They affected his core sense of self and person and required much more to heal. These wounds needed the warmth of home and nurturing. Yes, Yaakov the adult,the one accomplished and mature, needed the love and caring available to children in their time of vulnerability. That kind of caring can only be gained at home and from one's family of origin.
Seen in this light the story of Yaakov's homecoming is both profound and personal. In it we can very much find pieces of ourselves and of those we know. Can we go home again? We can when we need to! Who was it that said "necessity is the mother of invention!".
Yaakov's story is indeed our own...
Shabbat Shalom
PS I want to thank my wonderful wife Lindy for her thoughts on this that much inspired me.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Who Am I?
When we first meet someone and attempt to get to know them one of the first questions we ask is "What do you do?". In asking the question we reveal an assumption; who we are can be gleaned from what we do!
But is that really true? I want to explore with you this week's parsha and in particular the lives of our matriarchs, Rachel and Leah, to test our assumption.
On Rosh Chodesh, after our early morning daf yomi, the Rav left the shule.Before he left he asked me if he should bring my regards to "Mama Rachel". You see, he was leaving to recite early morning prayers at Kever Rachel in Bethlehem, on the outskirts of Yerushalayim. His question led me to wonder. What is it about Rachel, our mother, that makes her the mother-ideal in the eyes of our people and throughout the generations? After-all she only gave birth to two of the twelve tribes. Moreover nearly none of the Jews who survive today can be said to be her descendants. For most of us, and here I mean most as in likely some 90%, Leah is our mother. Rachel is our aunt.Moreover Rachel died young, in childbirth. She was only a mother to one of her children, Yosef, and was not there for much of his life either. How does she become the mother in death when she spent so few years being the mother in life!
If we were to name the ultimate 'mother' of our people it would be likely to choose Leah. She is our true mother. She gave birth and raised most of the people of Israel and most of the Jews alive today. Yet in the long-run, while Leah was the mother, based on her life and deeds, she is better noted for being Yaakov's wife than for being the mother. She is buried with Yaakov in Hebron. Rachel, the wife Yaakov loved is buried in a grave of her own in Bethlehem.
When we name the couples buried in the M'aarat Hamachpaila we name Yaakov and Leah.
Yet the oddity here is that Yaakov never seemed to really love Leah. She bore his children but never became the 'wife' to him that Rachel was. Yet after her death, in the context of history,she seems recognized in tradition, not as the mother, but as the wife!
How can that be?
The answer to the riddle teaches us something profound. It surely is true that Rachel in her lifetime was much more the 'wife' than the 'mother'. But what we do does not so much define who we are as what we yearn for. The story of Rachel's short and tragic life is the story of the yearning for children. Yaakov's love mattered less to her than being a mother, so much so that she told him "Give me children else I will die!". When Reuvan, Leah's eldest, brings home the wondrous flowers from the field for his mother, as we are told in this week's reading, Rachel is willing to give up a night of intimacy with Yaakov to know the gift of as child's love, even vicariously. Rachel dies in childbirth. No woman more yearned for children. She is the mother-ideal, and not just for the two children she bore. She is our mother. Her life was all about the yearning to be a mother, even if so little of it was actually spent raising children.
On the other hand, yes, Leah was the mother in the story of her life. Her work was very much the raising of children. But the Torah is clear, what Leah yearned for was the love of her husband. She wanted more than anything to be the 'wife' to Yaakov.She named each of her children for the impact she hoped that child would bring to win her the love of Yaakov. She gave up her son Reuvain's gift of the wondrous flowers for the night of intimacy with the husband who loved her less. Leah's life was raising children. Yet her yearning was to finally be the wife! It is as the wife of Yaakov she is remembered, buried by his side for all eternity, not as the mother, for this was her yearning. We are what we yearn for, not what we do!
When I say "yearn", it is not the same thing as wish! A yearning is something deep within us. It becomes our source of hope and joy. A yearning gives us reason for living, it motivates our existence.
Let me give an example. A young woman had a severe accident as a child and is left without the use of her legs. She cannot walk, never mind dance. Yet she yearns to dance. She watches ballet with an uncommon intentionality. She follows every motion. She identifies with the ballerina, feeling herself move with the dancer's turn and jumps. In her mind, she is one with the ballerina. She dances each dance she watches. She loves ballet. She loves to dance. It gives her life meaning. Who is this paralyzed young woman. Her yearning defines her! Though she cannot move her legs, she is a dancer!
Do you and I have yearnings? Do we have deep seated hopes and dreams that give our life its energy. For the one most spiritual the yearnings that define him/her is the intimacy with G-d. For others the yearning may be for something far less noble, money, prestige, position etc.
Who we are is revealed by what we yearn for not by what we do!
Re-adjusting our yearnings,though difficult, may be the most important work we can invest in!
Shabbat Shalom
But is that really true? I want to explore with you this week's parsha and in particular the lives of our matriarchs, Rachel and Leah, to test our assumption.
On Rosh Chodesh, after our early morning daf yomi, the Rav left the shule.Before he left he asked me if he should bring my regards to "Mama Rachel". You see, he was leaving to recite early morning prayers at Kever Rachel in Bethlehem, on the outskirts of Yerushalayim. His question led me to wonder. What is it about Rachel, our mother, that makes her the mother-ideal in the eyes of our people and throughout the generations? After-all she only gave birth to two of the twelve tribes. Moreover nearly none of the Jews who survive today can be said to be her descendants. For most of us, and here I mean most as in likely some 90%, Leah is our mother. Rachel is our aunt.Moreover Rachel died young, in childbirth. She was only a mother to one of her children, Yosef, and was not there for much of his life either. How does she become the mother in death when she spent so few years being the mother in life!
If we were to name the ultimate 'mother' of our people it would be likely to choose Leah. She is our true mother. She gave birth and raised most of the people of Israel and most of the Jews alive today. Yet in the long-run, while Leah was the mother, based on her life and deeds, she is better noted for being Yaakov's wife than for being the mother. She is buried with Yaakov in Hebron. Rachel, the wife Yaakov loved is buried in a grave of her own in Bethlehem.
When we name the couples buried in the M'aarat Hamachpaila we name Yaakov and Leah.
Yet the oddity here is that Yaakov never seemed to really love Leah. She bore his children but never became the 'wife' to him that Rachel was. Yet after her death, in the context of history,she seems recognized in tradition, not as the mother, but as the wife!
How can that be?
The answer to the riddle teaches us something profound. It surely is true that Rachel in her lifetime was much more the 'wife' than the 'mother'. But what we do does not so much define who we are as what we yearn for. The story of Rachel's short and tragic life is the story of the yearning for children. Yaakov's love mattered less to her than being a mother, so much so that she told him "Give me children else I will die!". When Reuvan, Leah's eldest, brings home the wondrous flowers from the field for his mother, as we are told in this week's reading, Rachel is willing to give up a night of intimacy with Yaakov to know the gift of as child's love, even vicariously. Rachel dies in childbirth. No woman more yearned for children. She is the mother-ideal, and not just for the two children she bore. She is our mother. Her life was all about the yearning to be a mother, even if so little of it was actually spent raising children.
On the other hand, yes, Leah was the mother in the story of her life. Her work was very much the raising of children. But the Torah is clear, what Leah yearned for was the love of her husband. She wanted more than anything to be the 'wife' to Yaakov.She named each of her children for the impact she hoped that child would bring to win her the love of Yaakov. She gave up her son Reuvain's gift of the wondrous flowers for the night of intimacy with the husband who loved her less. Leah's life was raising children. Yet her yearning was to finally be the wife! It is as the wife of Yaakov she is remembered, buried by his side for all eternity, not as the mother, for this was her yearning. We are what we yearn for, not what we do!
When I say "yearn", it is not the same thing as wish! A yearning is something deep within us. It becomes our source of hope and joy. A yearning gives us reason for living, it motivates our existence.
Let me give an example. A young woman had a severe accident as a child and is left without the use of her legs. She cannot walk, never mind dance. Yet she yearns to dance. She watches ballet with an uncommon intentionality. She follows every motion. She identifies with the ballerina, feeling herself move with the dancer's turn and jumps. In her mind, she is one with the ballerina. She dances each dance she watches. She loves ballet. She loves to dance. It gives her life meaning. Who is this paralyzed young woman. Her yearning defines her! Though she cannot move her legs, she is a dancer!
Do you and I have yearnings? Do we have deep seated hopes and dreams that give our life its energy. For the one most spiritual the yearnings that define him/her is the intimacy with G-d. For others the yearning may be for something far less noble, money, prestige, position etc.
Who we are is revealed by what we yearn for not by what we do!
Re-adjusting our yearnings,though difficult, may be the most important work we can invest in!
Shabbat Shalom
Friday, November 5, 2010
Truth or Consequence
There is no more confounding story in the Torah than that of Yaakov and Esav. In this week's parsha of Toldot we read how our father, Yaakov, at his mother's behest, steals the blessing his father Yitzchak intended to bestow on Esav. Yaakov clearly engaged in act of deception. Yet nowhere does the Torah indicate that it was a sin. On the contrary,Yaakov was the one deserving of the blessing, the son with moral values and the one faithful to the tradition of Avraham. Moreover he was obedient to his mother. In this case we might well argue, the ends justified the means.
We all know times in our lives where we might well argue that the ends justify the means. Lets say we are applying for a job, one we need desperately to provide food for our family and a roof to live under.Yet we also know that unless we lie on the application about something in our past or some personal detail, like our age, we will never get the post. In a case like this we might well argue that our lie is not only justified but mandated by our circumstances. We might say the wrong in this case is in fact a right and ought to be done!
Yet if we follow the story of Yaakov, the deception he engaged in came back to haunt him and confound his life. In the parsha of the week coming, that of Vayetze, Yaakov is deceived by his father-in-law, Lavan, and his intended bride, Rachel, as he wedded her sister Leah in error. And in the following weeks in the parsha of Vayeshev, Yaakov's sons deceive him regarding the sale of Yosef, bringing him Yosef's coat dipped in blood and leading him to believe Yosef was killed by a wild animal. The impact of both deceptions was huge on Yak's life. That they follow the story of the stolen blessings seems meant for us to conclude that the former led to the latter and as a consequence.
If Yaakov's act of stealing the blessings intended to Esav was justified and correct then we might wonder why does he seem to pay such a heavy price in his life with the deceptions played on him?
In coming to terms with this difficult question I want to share with you a story in the Talmud. The Gemara in Sanhedrin (87a) tells of Rav Tuvis who had the excellence of never telling a lie. He shared that once he travelled to a town called Kushta (which in Aramaic means truth). There no one told a falsehood. There also no one died prematurely. Rav Tuvis settled in the town and married a woman from the community.They were blessed to have two sons. One day, he related, a neighbor woman knocked on the door while his wife was washing her hair. In order to protect his wife's privacy he told the neighbor that his wife was not home. Shortly thereafter both sons died. The people of the town came to Rav Tuvis and asked how could this have happened, after all no one died prematurely in their town. He told them the story of his lie. They in turn asked him to leave the town lest he bring tragedy on all of them.
What's amazing about the story is that while Rav Tuvis indeed told a lie, it was a lie justified in halacha and appropriate to protect the modesty of his wife. He did no wrong. Nonetheless his untruth had huge repercussions for him and his family. Why?
The Maharal, in explicating the story makes clear that even when a lie is told for good reason and is the correct thing to say, it does not go without consequence. It leaves its mark. The lie was spoken, that it was the right thing to say does not make it less a lie. And for every act we do, even one that is warranted, if it contains a deception it has an effect.
Yaakov and Rav Tuvis both had good cause to engage in the deception. It was the right thing to do. Yet because it was a lie in fact, while they received no punishment for their act, it nevertheless had impact on their lives. All our actions, even when the ends justify the means, have consequence, even if no punishment.
This week marks the yahrzeit of Rabbi Baruch Ber Leibowitz, one of the Torah giants of a generation ago. During World War One he was compelled to flee Poland where he had his Yeshiva for Russia. After the war he wanted to return to Poland. The guards at the border would only let Polish citizens return. They asked him if he was a citizen. Reb Baruch Ber would not tell a lie even where it was warranted to escape the upheaval in Bolshevik Russia. He told them "I am not a citizen but many of my students are citizens of Poland". The border guards were so impressed with Reb Baruch Ber's honesty that they let him pass.
Clearly Reb Baruch Ber had justification to deceive the border guards. If he had lied it could not have been called a sin. Yet he insisted on telling the truth. He knew that an untruth even justified in speaking leaves both an impression and a consequence.
What does all this mean for you and me? We are not the Tzaddik of Reb Baruch Ber, and we need at times to lie. Indeed at times halacha may want us to lie to protect another or to avoid hurting another. Yet we need to be conscious that all our actions have consequences. And if even those times where we do the right leave an impression, if not a punishment, how much more so the wrong we do and the unjustified leaves a mark in the world and on ourselves and family.
Everything we do has consequence. We need to be aware and intentional!
Shabbat Shalom
We all know times in our lives where we might well argue that the ends justify the means. Lets say we are applying for a job, one we need desperately to provide food for our family and a roof to live under.Yet we also know that unless we lie on the application about something in our past or some personal detail, like our age, we will never get the post. In a case like this we might well argue that our lie is not only justified but mandated by our circumstances. We might say the wrong in this case is in fact a right and ought to be done!
Yet if we follow the story of Yaakov, the deception he engaged in came back to haunt him and confound his life. In the parsha of the week coming, that of Vayetze, Yaakov is deceived by his father-in-law, Lavan, and his intended bride, Rachel, as he wedded her sister Leah in error. And in the following weeks in the parsha of Vayeshev, Yaakov's sons deceive him regarding the sale of Yosef, bringing him Yosef's coat dipped in blood and leading him to believe Yosef was killed by a wild animal. The impact of both deceptions was huge on Yak's life. That they follow the story of the stolen blessings seems meant for us to conclude that the former led to the latter and as a consequence.
If Yaakov's act of stealing the blessings intended to Esav was justified and correct then we might wonder why does he seem to pay such a heavy price in his life with the deceptions played on him?
In coming to terms with this difficult question I want to share with you a story in the Talmud. The Gemara in Sanhedrin (87a) tells of Rav Tuvis who had the excellence of never telling a lie. He shared that once he travelled to a town called Kushta (which in Aramaic means truth). There no one told a falsehood. There also no one died prematurely. Rav Tuvis settled in the town and married a woman from the community.They were blessed to have two sons. One day, he related, a neighbor woman knocked on the door while his wife was washing her hair. In order to protect his wife's privacy he told the neighbor that his wife was not home. Shortly thereafter both sons died. The people of the town came to Rav Tuvis and asked how could this have happened, after all no one died prematurely in their town. He told them the story of his lie. They in turn asked him to leave the town lest he bring tragedy on all of them.
What's amazing about the story is that while Rav Tuvis indeed told a lie, it was a lie justified in halacha and appropriate to protect the modesty of his wife. He did no wrong. Nonetheless his untruth had huge repercussions for him and his family. Why?
The Maharal, in explicating the story makes clear that even when a lie is told for good reason and is the correct thing to say, it does not go without consequence. It leaves its mark. The lie was spoken, that it was the right thing to say does not make it less a lie. And for every act we do, even one that is warranted, if it contains a deception it has an effect.
Yaakov and Rav Tuvis both had good cause to engage in the deception. It was the right thing to do. Yet because it was a lie in fact, while they received no punishment for their act, it nevertheless had impact on their lives. All our actions, even when the ends justify the means, have consequence, even if no punishment.
This week marks the yahrzeit of Rabbi Baruch Ber Leibowitz, one of the Torah giants of a generation ago. During World War One he was compelled to flee Poland where he had his Yeshiva for Russia. After the war he wanted to return to Poland. The guards at the border would only let Polish citizens return. They asked him if he was a citizen. Reb Baruch Ber would not tell a lie even where it was warranted to escape the upheaval in Bolshevik Russia. He told them "I am not a citizen but many of my students are citizens of Poland". The border guards were so impressed with Reb Baruch Ber's honesty that they let him pass.
Clearly Reb Baruch Ber had justification to deceive the border guards. If he had lied it could not have been called a sin. Yet he insisted on telling the truth. He knew that an untruth even justified in speaking leaves both an impression and a consequence.
What does all this mean for you and me? We are not the Tzaddik of Reb Baruch Ber, and we need at times to lie. Indeed at times halacha may want us to lie to protect another or to avoid hurting another. Yet we need to be conscious that all our actions have consequences. And if even those times where we do the right leave an impression, if not a punishment, how much more so the wrong we do and the unjustified leaves a mark in the world and on ourselves and family.
Everything we do has consequence. We need to be aware and intentional!
Shabbat Shalom
Thursday, October 21, 2010
The Stranger
The Medrash taught "Great is 'hesed' (acts of loving kindness)that the Torah begins with hesed and ends with hesed." The Medrash goes on to point out that the Torah begins with the story of Adam and Chava in Gan Eden,where after their calamitous sin G-d Himself clothes them. At the Torah's end we read of G-d's hesed in seeing to the burial of Moshe.
If the Torah is replete with a message of hesed much of the call to hesed is found in the early portions of the Torah we are currently reading . And that call is not given to us directly in the form of commandments but rather we learn from stories, stories of G-d's kindness, stories of G-d's loving ways, stories that teach us behaviors we are meant to emulate in our challenge to follow in G-d's ways.
And so from this week's reading of Vayeira we are called to the hesed of visiting the sick even as Hashem visited our father Avraham after his brit mila. And from the reading of next week, where we read of Hashem's blessing to Yitzchak after his mother, Sarah's death, we learn to comfort the mourner etc.
What is interesting however is that one of the most important mitzvot of hesed we don't learn from Hashem's ways at all, but rather we learn from the acts of human-kindness, in fact the kindness of Avraham and his actions in this week's parsha.
What mitzva is that? The mitzvah of'hachnasat orchim, inviting guests into one's home, hospitality.
The mitzva of hospitality, 'hachnasat orchim' is learned from the outset of this week's reading where Avraham rushed from his tent to meet the angels, he believed were travellers, walking down the road. It mattered not to Avraham that he has no idea who they were. He invited them into his home, washed them, fed them and served their needs as a valet. More, Avraham sets-out a lavish feast for them as if they were royalty honoring him with their presence. His hospitality knows no bounds. It models for us our call to the hesed of 'hachnasat orchim'.
But the question we might ask is why of all the calls to hesed is this hesed of hospitality learned from a human example and not one Divine? The call to 'hachnasat orchim' unlike 'bikur cholim','malbish arumim' and 'nichum availim' emerges not from 'Imitatio Dei' but from the inspiring example of our Patriarch.
Why? Why is their no Divine example here?
Many of us know the story of the birth of the Baal Shem Tov. He was the only child to his parents and born in their old age. Tradition has it that it was the 'zechut', merit of the mitzva of 'hachnasat orchim' that gained Reb Eliezer, the father of the Besht, this unusual gift from Heaven. Indeed the story goes that Satan challenged Heaven's intent to reward Reb Eliezer for the 'hachnasat orchim' he and his wife performed in such an exemplary way. And so Reb Eliezer and his wife were put to a test. The prophet Eliyahu came to them on Shabbat dressed in weekday clothes and appearing to have desecrated the Shabbat in his behavior. He even said "Gut Shabbos" to Reb Eliezer so there could be no excuse that he was confused or unaware of the holy day. Reb Eliezer might have good reason to resist inviting this 'sinner' into his home especially on the Shabbat itself. Yet Reb Eliezer and his wife extended themselves to this seeming Shabbat violator. They hosted him, providing him with wonderful meals and lodging. They never mentioned his wayward behavior. In fact, when it was time to part, Reb Eliezer and his wife invited the Jew to please return to them again and soon so they might host him once more.
The story of Reb Eliezer and that of our father Avraham have one important thing in common. They teach us that the mitzva of 'hachnasat orchim' is essentially intended to host the stranger, s/he who is other than us. Its no great deal to invite our family, our neighbor, a community member or a 'landsman', a friend into our home. What we are challenged to do in this mitzva of hesed is to invite someone whose ways and behaviors are different than our own. Avraham invited those he thought non-believers, men whose purpose and values were totally alien to his own. Reb Eliezer invited the 'sinner' and on Shabbat. We, in their image, are called to reach out to the ones living on the margins, those whose ways may not conform to ours at all. Yet we extend our lives and our homes to them.
Think about it. We may argue that its a sin to invite such persons into our homes, our sacred and protected space. We may well argue that allowing the one estranged into our personal sanctuary will pollute the place we most treasure and safeguard from the 'bad' influences that exist in the world without.
Yet from the story of Reb Eliezer and from the model behavior of Avraham we learn that 'hachnasat orchim' calls us to invite into the place most private to us and protected s/he who is in need of hospitality. It calls on us to risk exposing ourselves to those foreign, even those holding beliefs and values antithetical to our own, into the core of our existence.
It is for this reason that the mitzva of 'hachnasat orchim' is learned from the behaviors of a human, Avraham, rather than through imitation of the ways of G-d. Its true G-d extends himself and makes a home for the the one in need and estranged. But we cannot learn the extent of the mitzva of 'hachnasat orchim' from Hashem because no one is a 'stranger' to Hashem. Even the greatest of sinners is still His child. We all are to Him 'bnai bayit', members of the home. For the mitzvot of ' bikur cholim' and 'nichum availim' it matters not whether the person is family or stranger to the essence of the mitzva. In all cases the hesed essentially remains the same. But 'hachnasat orchim' has meaning to the extent that we reach-out to the person different from us and welcome him/her into our home. For that we can only learn from another human dealing with an 'other' not from Hashem for whom all are part of His family.
Few mitzvot earn for a person the blessing in this world that does the hesed of 'hachnasat orchim'. But we must not fool ourselves. The essence of the mitzva calls for us to invite into our home and life the one who is not us, the one different and other, no small challenge for sure!
The opportunities for fulfilling the mitzva of 'hachnasat orchim' are many. And we can do so in ways that require less effort than preparing and serving a meal or giving lodging. Simply saying "Shabbat Shalom" can be a form of hachnasat orchim, or perhaps engaging another in the language they know when its a language in which we are not fluent. The main ingredient of this hesed is found not in the 'what' we do, but to whom! "Shabbat Shalom" to the stranger, trying to communicate with the one different from us in culture and background, that is what matters!
Do you want to have a part of this great mitzva? Do you want to be called a 'machnis orach'? Look around you, find the stranger, and extend yourself! How much more beautiful our world would be if we indeed took this hesed in its truest form to heart.
Shabbat Shalom !
If the Torah is replete with a message of hesed much of the call to hesed is found in the early portions of the Torah we are currently reading . And that call is not given to us directly in the form of commandments but rather we learn from stories, stories of G-d's kindness, stories of G-d's loving ways, stories that teach us behaviors we are meant to emulate in our challenge to follow in G-d's ways.
And so from this week's reading of Vayeira we are called to the hesed of visiting the sick even as Hashem visited our father Avraham after his brit mila. And from the reading of next week, where we read of Hashem's blessing to Yitzchak after his mother, Sarah's death, we learn to comfort the mourner etc.
What is interesting however is that one of the most important mitzvot of hesed we don't learn from Hashem's ways at all, but rather we learn from the acts of human-kindness, in fact the kindness of Avraham and his actions in this week's parsha.
What mitzva is that? The mitzvah of'hachnasat orchim, inviting guests into one's home, hospitality.
The mitzva of hospitality, 'hachnasat orchim' is learned from the outset of this week's reading where Avraham rushed from his tent to meet the angels, he believed were travellers, walking down the road. It mattered not to Avraham that he has no idea who they were. He invited them into his home, washed them, fed them and served their needs as a valet. More, Avraham sets-out a lavish feast for them as if they were royalty honoring him with their presence. His hospitality knows no bounds. It models for us our call to the hesed of 'hachnasat orchim'.
But the question we might ask is why of all the calls to hesed is this hesed of hospitality learned from a human example and not one Divine? The call to 'hachnasat orchim' unlike 'bikur cholim','malbish arumim' and 'nichum availim' emerges not from 'Imitatio Dei' but from the inspiring example of our Patriarch.
Why? Why is their no Divine example here?
Many of us know the story of the birth of the Baal Shem Tov. He was the only child to his parents and born in their old age. Tradition has it that it was the 'zechut', merit of the mitzva of 'hachnasat orchim' that gained Reb Eliezer, the father of the Besht, this unusual gift from Heaven. Indeed the story goes that Satan challenged Heaven's intent to reward Reb Eliezer for the 'hachnasat orchim' he and his wife performed in such an exemplary way. And so Reb Eliezer and his wife were put to a test. The prophet Eliyahu came to them on Shabbat dressed in weekday clothes and appearing to have desecrated the Shabbat in his behavior. He even said "Gut Shabbos" to Reb Eliezer so there could be no excuse that he was confused or unaware of the holy day. Reb Eliezer might have good reason to resist inviting this 'sinner' into his home especially on the Shabbat itself. Yet Reb Eliezer and his wife extended themselves to this seeming Shabbat violator. They hosted him, providing him with wonderful meals and lodging. They never mentioned his wayward behavior. In fact, when it was time to part, Reb Eliezer and his wife invited the Jew to please return to them again and soon so they might host him once more.
The story of Reb Eliezer and that of our father Avraham have one important thing in common. They teach us that the mitzva of 'hachnasat orchim' is essentially intended to host the stranger, s/he who is other than us. Its no great deal to invite our family, our neighbor, a community member or a 'landsman', a friend into our home. What we are challenged to do in this mitzva of hesed is to invite someone whose ways and behaviors are different than our own. Avraham invited those he thought non-believers, men whose purpose and values were totally alien to his own. Reb Eliezer invited the 'sinner' and on Shabbat. We, in their image, are called to reach out to the ones living on the margins, those whose ways may not conform to ours at all. Yet we extend our lives and our homes to them.
Think about it. We may argue that its a sin to invite such persons into our homes, our sacred and protected space. We may well argue that allowing the one estranged into our personal sanctuary will pollute the place we most treasure and safeguard from the 'bad' influences that exist in the world without.
Yet from the story of Reb Eliezer and from the model behavior of Avraham we learn that 'hachnasat orchim' calls us to invite into the place most private to us and protected s/he who is in need of hospitality. It calls on us to risk exposing ourselves to those foreign, even those holding beliefs and values antithetical to our own, into the core of our existence.
It is for this reason that the mitzva of 'hachnasat orchim' is learned from the behaviors of a human, Avraham, rather than through imitation of the ways of G-d. Its true G-d extends himself and makes a home for the the one in need and estranged. But we cannot learn the extent of the mitzva of 'hachnasat orchim' from Hashem because no one is a 'stranger' to Hashem. Even the greatest of sinners is still His child. We all are to Him 'bnai bayit', members of the home. For the mitzvot of ' bikur cholim' and 'nichum availim' it matters not whether the person is family or stranger to the essence of the mitzva. In all cases the hesed essentially remains the same. But 'hachnasat orchim' has meaning to the extent that we reach-out to the person different from us and welcome him/her into our home. For that we can only learn from another human dealing with an 'other' not from Hashem for whom all are part of His family.
Few mitzvot earn for a person the blessing in this world that does the hesed of 'hachnasat orchim'. But we must not fool ourselves. The essence of the mitzva calls for us to invite into our home and life the one who is not us, the one different and other, no small challenge for sure!
The opportunities for fulfilling the mitzva of 'hachnasat orchim' are many. And we can do so in ways that require less effort than preparing and serving a meal or giving lodging. Simply saying "Shabbat Shalom" can be a form of hachnasat orchim, or perhaps engaging another in the language they know when its a language in which we are not fluent. The main ingredient of this hesed is found not in the 'what' we do, but to whom! "Shabbat Shalom" to the stranger, trying to communicate with the one different from us in culture and background, that is what matters!
Do you want to have a part of this great mitzva? Do you want to be called a 'machnis orach'? Look around you, find the stranger, and extend yourself! How much more beautiful our world would be if we indeed took this hesed in its truest form to heart.
Shabbat Shalom !
Friday, October 15, 2010
Following Our Destiny
Some years ago Paul Cohelo wrote an interesting book titled "The Alchemist". In it he told a fable of a boy, a poor shepard, who had a vision that a great treasure lay waiting for him in a very distant land, far far from his home. The story is of the boys journey towards the realization of his dream, a journey that is replete with obstacles, distractions, and dangers, a journey of many years and even more encumbrances.
The end of last week's Parsha of Noach and the outset of the portion of this week of Lech Lecha gave mind to that compelling story. You may recall, at the end of last week's reading we first meet our father Avraham. We are told that he was born into the family of Terach, his father, in the land of Ur Casdim. Further we are told that Terach uprooted the family from Ur Casdim with the intention of migrating to Canaan. On the way he stopped in Charan and wound-up settling there. Eventually he died there, never making it to Canaan.
In the beginning of Lech Lecha, Hashem commands Avraham (then Avram) to travel to a land that he will be shown. Avram is promised that if he travels as G-d commands, even though he does not yet know the destination, he will be rewarded with great blessings, blessing that would never be possible for him if he remained in Charan.
In keeping with G-d's command Avraham takes his family and migrates. Where does he go? We would expect the verses to tell us that G-d, somewhere along the line, informed Avraham of where he is to go. But no, nowhere does it say that Avraham received instructions as to his destination. Rather the 'pasuk' tells us "And Avram took his wife Sarai and Lot, his nephew, and all their property and the souls he made in Charan and they left to go to the land of Canaan, and they came to the land of Canaan." Only once he was there do we find Hashem appeared to him and told Avram that indeed this is the land that was destined to belong to his descendants.
The question is how did Avraham know where to go? How did he decide on his direction, his course? On the basis of what did he journey to Canaan?
I believe the answer is that even though Avram did not know what Hashem had in store for him as a final destination, he knew that if he was meant to travel it had to be to Cannan. Cannan was after-all the place his father was meant to make home. Life's issues got in the way and he settled in Charan. Yet Cannan was always the family's destiny.If Avram was going to travel at all, if he was to realize the blessings Hashem intended for him, he knew he had to get to Cannan. From there he might have to go to other places Hashem had in mind. But once given the command to travel it was obvious that Cannan was the direction. In the end,as it turned out, Canaan was not only the immediate destination but the ultimate destiny and home G-d had intended for Avram,for his family, and indeed for us.
What's the message here? My sense is that we are being shown an important truth for all of our lives. Each of us at one time or another has had a sense of a journey we were meant to make, a destiny or as we say in the holy language, a 'tachlis', a calling that was ours, our personal journey we were meant to make, one we may have long forgotten.What happened to our call. It may have gotten buried in the exigencies of life or neglected in favor of other more accessible goals. The price we may have had to pay to realize the call may have made our destiny feel unattainable. Or we simply may have given up in frustration and chosen another path.
In the end, not pursuing our personal call has had its consequences. It compromises our spirit and robs us of our 'joi de vivre'. Most importantly the blessings that were meant for us can never be gained. Our life lacks the gifts intended for us.
The story of Avraham's journey tells us that it need not be too late. Though Terach died and missed his call, Avram could yet realize it, and he was already 75! We need to go back and remember. What remains unfinished for us? What calling did we know way back when that we can yet reclaim. True it may have to take a slightly different shape, and it may not be the full measure possible for us in an earlier time in our life, but yet the call may well be redeemable, if only we give it the attention and priority it deserves.
What "lech lecha" is there for us in fulfilling a destiny yet unrealized? What blessing remains for us to claim?
Things to think about this Shabbat, things to excite the memory and imagination.
We are never too old to pursue our journey!
Shabbat Shalom!
The end of last week's Parsha of Noach and the outset of the portion of this week of Lech Lecha gave mind to that compelling story. You may recall, at the end of last week's reading we first meet our father Avraham. We are told that he was born into the family of Terach, his father, in the land of Ur Casdim. Further we are told that Terach uprooted the family from Ur Casdim with the intention of migrating to Canaan. On the way he stopped in Charan and wound-up settling there. Eventually he died there, never making it to Canaan.
In the beginning of Lech Lecha, Hashem commands Avraham (then Avram) to travel to a land that he will be shown. Avram is promised that if he travels as G-d commands, even though he does not yet know the destination, he will be rewarded with great blessings, blessing that would never be possible for him if he remained in Charan.
In keeping with G-d's command Avraham takes his family and migrates. Where does he go? We would expect the verses to tell us that G-d, somewhere along the line, informed Avraham of where he is to go. But no, nowhere does it say that Avraham received instructions as to his destination. Rather the 'pasuk' tells us "And Avram took his wife Sarai and Lot, his nephew, and all their property and the souls he made in Charan and they left to go to the land of Canaan, and they came to the land of Canaan." Only once he was there do we find Hashem appeared to him and told Avram that indeed this is the land that was destined to belong to his descendants.
The question is how did Avraham know where to go? How did he decide on his direction, his course? On the basis of what did he journey to Canaan?
I believe the answer is that even though Avram did not know what Hashem had in store for him as a final destination, he knew that if he was meant to travel it had to be to Cannan. Cannan was after-all the place his father was meant to make home. Life's issues got in the way and he settled in Charan. Yet Cannan was always the family's destiny.If Avram was going to travel at all, if he was to realize the blessings Hashem intended for him, he knew he had to get to Cannan. From there he might have to go to other places Hashem had in mind. But once given the command to travel it was obvious that Cannan was the direction. In the end,as it turned out, Canaan was not only the immediate destination but the ultimate destiny and home G-d had intended for Avram,for his family, and indeed for us.
What's the message here? My sense is that we are being shown an important truth for all of our lives. Each of us at one time or another has had a sense of a journey we were meant to make, a destiny or as we say in the holy language, a 'tachlis', a calling that was ours, our personal journey we were meant to make, one we may have long forgotten.What happened to our call. It may have gotten buried in the exigencies of life or neglected in favor of other more accessible goals. The price we may have had to pay to realize the call may have made our destiny feel unattainable. Or we simply may have given up in frustration and chosen another path.
In the end, not pursuing our personal call has had its consequences. It compromises our spirit and robs us of our 'joi de vivre'. Most importantly the blessings that were meant for us can never be gained. Our life lacks the gifts intended for us.
The story of Avraham's journey tells us that it need not be too late. Though Terach died and missed his call, Avram could yet realize it, and he was already 75! We need to go back and remember. What remains unfinished for us? What calling did we know way back when that we can yet reclaim. True it may have to take a slightly different shape, and it may not be the full measure possible for us in an earlier time in our life, but yet the call may well be redeemable, if only we give it the attention and priority it deserves.
What "lech lecha" is there for us in fulfilling a destiny yet unrealized? What blessing remains for us to claim?
Things to think about this Shabbat, things to excite the memory and imagination.
We are never too old to pursue our journey!
Shabbat Shalom!
Thursday, October 7, 2010
When Thanks is No Thanks
"Thank you". I am not sure there are any two words more often spoken in our society than those. We say thanks to everyone, from the waiter who brings our food in the restaurant to the person who cuts our hair. We thank when someone does us a favor and we thank when we pay for what we receive. We say thanks to strangers, people we don't actually know, and we say thanks to members of our own family for kindnesses both great and small.
The importance of "thank you" should not be minimized. Our Sages long taught that our relationship to G-d is founded on 'hakarat hatov', gratitude for the good we receive from Him.To the extent we lack gratitude is to the very extent our devotion to Hashem is compromised. Ramchal in his classic Mesilat Yesharim makes clear that the key to being faithful to G-d is feeling appreciation for all the blessings He bestows on us.
Yet I think it is important to realize that being thankful is much more than saying "Thank you". We can say "Thank you" a thousand times a day and remain essentially ungrateful. When the Sages called us to "hakarat hatov", they were focusing on our internalization of the indebtedness we owe for the goodness we receive. In short, gratitude is seen, not so much by what we say, but by what we do!
Let me give an illustration. The other night an old friend from the States called and said she was in Yerushalayim and wanted to visit, in a few hours! She realized she had not given any notice and since it was my daughter she most wanted to see, she said "I will take her out for Pizza". Wanting to be a good host I said "Why go out? Come and we will make supper here".
It was nice of me to offer. But the task of making the supper fell on my wife, who had just gotten home from working all day when I go the call. To Lindy's credit, in the spirit of our Matriarch Sarah, she was happy to prepare the meal, and on the spot! She was a great host and the food was delicious.
Now after Lindy's effort, of course, I said "Thank you". In fact I repeated several times that night how much I appreciated what Lindy did, and for someone who was not her friend, nor the friend of her daughter, but mine and the friend of my daughter!.
Yet, and here's the rub, the next day there was a confusion about the time of a meeting we were supposed to attend together and Lindy came home late . I was upset and angry.I blamed her. I expressed annoyance with her.
Where had all the thankfullness of the day before gone? I mean, if I was truly grateful for her great kindness of the day prior how could I become so upset now. Sure I said "thank you". But unless I feel thankful, and not only in the moment but in the context of our life together, the thanks is empty.
In the Parsha of Noach, which we read this week, one of Noach's sons, Ham, and his grandson, Canaan, see Noach in a vulnerable moment. They comrpomise him in his time of shame. And in the end, for their lack of respect for their father, they are cursed by him.
We might imagine that Ham, and all the family , had expressed thankfulness to Noach and many times. After all, because of him they were spared when the whole world was destroyed in the flood. Yet when it came time to show thanks, in Noach's moment of weakness, they ridiculed him or worse. The thanks they may have spoken was empty, no matter how sincerely expressed, if it did not translate into grateful behavior.
It is not enough that we say "thank you" or even feel "thank you" in the moment. Our relationship to G-d and to our spouses and community is based on our feeling a continuing sense of indebtedness, one that effects our behaviors towards the other even when we don't quite feel the "love". Gratitude needs to be more than a sentiment. It needs to be an operating dynamic in our lives, and in relationship.
In this case as in so many others in our lives, the call to us when we say "thank you" is "show, don't tell!". We need to show the gratefulness to make it matter. Talking the words without the concommitant behaviors is vacuuous.
Shabbat Shalom
The importance of "thank you" should not be minimized. Our Sages long taught that our relationship to G-d is founded on 'hakarat hatov', gratitude for the good we receive from Him.To the extent we lack gratitude is to the very extent our devotion to Hashem is compromised. Ramchal in his classic Mesilat Yesharim makes clear that the key to being faithful to G-d is feeling appreciation for all the blessings He bestows on us.
Yet I think it is important to realize that being thankful is much more than saying "Thank you". We can say "Thank you" a thousand times a day and remain essentially ungrateful. When the Sages called us to "hakarat hatov", they were focusing on our internalization of the indebtedness we owe for the goodness we receive. In short, gratitude is seen, not so much by what we say, but by what we do!
Let me give an illustration. The other night an old friend from the States called and said she was in Yerushalayim and wanted to visit, in a few hours! She realized she had not given any notice and since it was my daughter she most wanted to see, she said "I will take her out for Pizza". Wanting to be a good host I said "Why go out? Come and we will make supper here".
It was nice of me to offer. But the task of making the supper fell on my wife, who had just gotten home from working all day when I go the call. To Lindy's credit, in the spirit of our Matriarch Sarah, she was happy to prepare the meal, and on the spot! She was a great host and the food was delicious.
Now after Lindy's effort, of course, I said "Thank you". In fact I repeated several times that night how much I appreciated what Lindy did, and for someone who was not her friend, nor the friend of her daughter, but mine and the friend of my daughter!.
Yet, and here's the rub, the next day there was a confusion about the time of a meeting we were supposed to attend together and Lindy came home late . I was upset and angry.I blamed her. I expressed annoyance with her.
Where had all the thankfullness of the day before gone? I mean, if I was truly grateful for her great kindness of the day prior how could I become so upset now. Sure I said "thank you". But unless I feel thankful, and not only in the moment but in the context of our life together, the thanks is empty.
In the Parsha of Noach, which we read this week, one of Noach's sons, Ham, and his grandson, Canaan, see Noach in a vulnerable moment. They comrpomise him in his time of shame. And in the end, for their lack of respect for their father, they are cursed by him.
We might imagine that Ham, and all the family , had expressed thankfulness to Noach and many times. After all, because of him they were spared when the whole world was destroyed in the flood. Yet when it came time to show thanks, in Noach's moment of weakness, they ridiculed him or worse. The thanks they may have spoken was empty, no matter how sincerely expressed, if it did not translate into grateful behavior.
It is not enough that we say "thank you" or even feel "thank you" in the moment. Our relationship to G-d and to our spouses and community is based on our feeling a continuing sense of indebtedness, one that effects our behaviors towards the other even when we don't quite feel the "love". Gratitude needs to be more than a sentiment. It needs to be an operating dynamic in our lives, and in relationship.
In this case as in so many others in our lives, the call to us when we say "thank you" is "show, don't tell!". We need to show the gratefulness to make it matter. Talking the words without the concommitant behaviors is vacuuous.
Shabbat Shalom
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