I have a riddle for you. There is only one yahrzeit mentioned in the Torah. Only once does the Torah provide us with the date of someone’s death. In fact, there is only one time the Torah gives us a date relative to any event in someone’s life. Who is this person and what is the date?
The answer is found in the reading of Massai and the person is Aharon. The Torah tells us, in the middle of the listing of the encampments of Israel during their 40 years in the wilderness that when they got to Hor Hahor, Aharon went up to the mountain there to die. It goes on to say that his death occurred on the first day of the fifth month (Av) in the 40th year from the Exodus. We might well wonder why? Why is Aharon’s death significant enough that we are given its exact date. Why only him, not Moshe or Avraham, Yaakov or Noach? And why does the Torah interrupt the names of the encampments to tell us this event that occurred when they reached Hor Hahor. Until this point the list was given with no mention of events that occurred in the places the Israelites camped. We were told a list of names, without reference to their historical relevance. When we are told about the encampment at Sinai there is no mention of the giving of the Torah. Nor is their mention of the story of the spies when we are told of the encampment at Kadesh. Why is the episode of Aharon’s death recorded here with the place of the encampment. It is not given to us to tell us the story . We already know the story of his death from the parsha of Chukat we read a few weeks ago. Why then interrupt the series of names with the telling, albeit briefly of Aharon’s death ?
I must say that the questions posed caused me considerable challenge. I could not make any sense of the Torah’s message when I thought of why Aharon might be special so as to have his yahrzeit marked. I then thought not about Aharon but about the people, the Israelites and their experience in the wilderness and with loss. And I thought about the message we may be being given here in the context of my own life and the losses I have sustained.
Truth is I have found that people can be divided into two groups; those that have gone through a significant loss, like the death of a parent, and those who have not. Persons who have sustained the loss of a loved one or of something profound that can never be retrieved have a sobriety about life that is absent in the one who has not yet lost. They never again have the full smile, the innocent belief in life’s fairness, the care-free way that at times the one who has not yet sustained loss can experience. For those who have lost, life is no longer a game. They evidence a seriousness, a certain heaviness absent in the one who has been spared. It’s not a bad thing . It’s simply different. The one’s who have lost see the world and life very much out of a different lense. Some might call it maturity.
And I thought that in that truth, in the realization that loss changes us in some profound way, we may find the secret to unravel the mystery of why the Torah this one time tells us a date, the date of Aharon’s yahrzeit. After all, what we are being given in the text is the sequence of Israel’s travels, encampment after encampment. We are told of forty two places of camp over the forty years in the wilderness. The Torah may be interrupting the list with the record of Aharon’s passing to mark a distinction. True many more significant events happened in various places, like the giving of the Torah. Yet those events represent what happened to the Israelites. The death of Aharon is not a story of what happened to the People . Nor, in this context, is it a story about Aharon. Rather it is a story about the transformation of the nation from a people who have not known national loss to a nation which has. Israel is not the same nation after Aharon died that it was prior. Yes, there were many many personal losses in the wilderness. A whole generation died. But here we are talking of something different. Here we are talking of the nation’s loss. Miriam died earlier, but she had not the prominence in every-day life Aharon had. Aharon was the kohain gadol, the high priest. His death was to the nation as the death of a parent is to an individual. While Moshe died later, the people had already known the loss of a spiritual parent in Aharon. In Aharon’s death the nation gained a new sobriety and sense of life’s temporality. They were changed and forever.
It is for this reason, I suggest, the Torah tells us of Aharon’s death, and only of Aharon’s death in the list of encampments. The nation’s character was altered through the experience of his passing. The People that arrived at Hor Hahor were not the same People that left. It is because Israel was different before and after and because we are speaking in some profound way of a new national reality, that the Torah must record the passing of Aharon even as it lists the travels themselves. Who is travelling changed at Hor Hahor.
What of the date? Why does the Torah in this case provide the yahrzeit ? Here we come to another important and related idea. When we mark the anniversary of the passing of a parent whose occasion is it, ours or theirs ? Typically we assume that the yahrzeit marks a day of significance for the departed, the culmination of their life. I suggest that the yahrzeit marks a day of equal or perhaps even greater significancance for us, we who survive. The yahrzeit marks a day that changed our lives. We are not the same after our parent passes. We mature. We become more conscious of life’s fragility. We know the finiteness of existence in a way we never knew before. And while the transformation for us happens most dramatically on the passing of the first parent, each loss deepens our insights and makes us more wise and aware.
I suggest that it is for this reason the date of Aharon’s yahrzeit is made known to us. If it were a personal loss, or the loss that occurred in the context of a family the date would not be made known to us in the Torah. The Torah does not give us data in the life of individuals no matter how great. But Aharon’s yahrzeit was a date of national consequence. We, the People of Israel, were changed forever through the event. Aharon was to the nation what a parent is to the family. He was a spiritual mentor and protector. He was a healer. If Moshe was the teacher of the nation Aharon was its care-giver. His death marked an important occasion in Israel’s story. It signified the nations struggle with mortality, even as does the death of an individual does for a family. It is in the context of its meaning for the nation that Aharon’s yahrzeit becomes worthy of being known. No other yahrzeit or day in the life of an individual was as consequential to the formation of the People.
So what’s the message for us. We each sustain losses in our lives, losses that can never be retrieved. Sometimes it’s the death of someone near and dear to us. Or it may be the death of a marriage, or the permanent loss of certain capacities through the aging process or disease. These losses mark points of demarcation in our lives. We become different on the other side of the loss. We have the dynamics of survivors. It is important that we honor those date and times, not only for the person or potency lost, but for the power the loss has to shape and form us, we who grieve, and to help us mature. Loss typically engenders tears and grief. Yet in the aftermath of those tears and the grieving process we become more real and more beautiful. We become more authentic. Is it any wonder then that a yahrzeit gives us occasion to share a l’chayim and a tasty delight with the minyan after davening. We would not be who we are without it!
Shabbat Shalom
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Mixed Messages
Many years ago the famed British anthropologist Gregory Bateson proposed that schizophrenia was caused by children living in a home where they received from their parents 'double bind' messages. By 'double bind' messages he meant that the content of the message conflicted with the context. In example, the mother of the child who grows up to become schizophrenic may tell him/her often that she loves him/her. The problem is that she says the words while displaying an angry or impatient face, a face that speaks anything but love. Bateson felt that the ever present conflict between what the child heard, content, and what the child saw, context, created double bind messages that were crazy making and ultimately contributed greatly to the mental illness that would show-up in later life.
And while Bateson's theory of schizophrenia has been debunked, the concept that double bind messages or what we commonly call 'mixed messages' can have a deliterious effect remains true and compelling.
I was remembering that when I read the early parts of this week's parsha of Matot.
There Moshe tell the heads of the Tribes the laws of vows. He speaks powerfully of the importance of the spoken word and its power to bind someone except in certain and specific exceptional cases. The Torah tell us that Moshe opened his instructions to them with "These are the words that Hashem commanded." Our Sages taught that Moshe was unique amongst the prophets in his clarity of prophesy. Only he could use the words "these" or in Hebrew 'zeh'. All other prophets could only say "So spoke Hashem", in Hebrew 'ko', a less exact term. They could not say "These words spoke Hashem" with certainty. Their vision was inexact and required interpretation. Not so Moshe, whose prophesy was precise and direct.
Question we might ask is why does the Torah tell us of the unique nature of Moshe's vision, in contrast to all other prophets, here. Why does the Torah reveal this truth about Moshe's experience at this time and with these laws of vows. It was always true to Moshe's prophesy. Why here are we told of it with the Torah telling us that Moshe used the word 'ze', "these", and not 'ko' "so".
I believe the answer may be very much in keeping with the ideas with which we began.
Moshe was instructing the Israelites about the importance of being true to one's words. It was the laws of vows they were being given. One cannot give laws which speak to the importance of the word using "'ko'" or "so spoke Hashem". Here, where the very content is about being true to what one pledges with words, Moshe needed to be able to say "'ze'" or "these are the precise words G-d told me to command you".
One cannot give a message that says words matter in such a form that implies words can be used inexactly. Doing so would be to deliver a double bind message, the content and context would be in conflict. Rather than be effective, delivering messages in that way produces confusion and ambiguity.
I can remember once going to hear a talk by the famed cancer doctor Bernie Siegel. He argued that one must be honest with how one feels and not deny one's experience even when one is trying to be strong. He said "If someone, say a friend you meet on the street asks you "how are you"? If you are not feeling great don't lie. Don't say "fine" when its not. Its never good to deny your experience to your own body and self. If you know the other person does not want to hear a true account of your circumstances just say "6 out of 10". Thats enough to own your truth and yet allow your friend to say "I hope it gets better for you" and move on." Siegel, similar to Bateson, argues that one needs to keep the content of ones messages consistent with the context of one's experience. To do otherwise is harmful.
I would like to suggest that the message we need to take to heart here, both from the Torah text of this week and from the wisdom of the world, is that we need to be consistent even when it comes to reconciling our personal experience and our faith.
So often when we are asked how we are doing we say "Baruch Hashem", or "Thank G-d". We reply that way no matter how we in fact feel, whether sick or healthy, suffering or at ease. Its as if baruch Hashem covers all cases. And why not. Don't we believe all G-d does is for our good. In that case we can and must bless G-d no matter what our circumstances and indeed its all good.
Yet in doing so we miss an important point. When we are asked "how we are doing?" we are not being asked for some objective assessment. Of course to the person of faith all is good. The question we are being asked is a personal one. "How are 'we' doing?"
How are we coping with the 'good' we are receiving, which in some cases can feel pretty awful. To answer honestly and in consistancy with our experience we need to say more than "baruch Hashem". We need to say "Baruch Hashem good" or Baruch Hashem not so good". We need to claim our experience. Our content needs to match our context. We need to own our personal truth as much as we need to affirm the truth that all that Hashem does is for the good. Unless we do both we will never allow for a real reconciliation of the internal struggle between what we believe and what we feel. Unless we are willing to claim the totality of our experience real acceptance of our fate, in more than cliches, will never be possible.
It is important for our own wellbeing, as much as for others, that we minimize the inconsistancies in our life between the content and the context, between what we say and what we show, between our words and our feelings. I do not believe that lying about our truth, even when attempting to be faithful, is in our best interest or is in keeping with the will of the Divine.
Shabbat Shalom
And while Bateson's theory of schizophrenia has been debunked, the concept that double bind messages or what we commonly call 'mixed messages' can have a deliterious effect remains true and compelling.
I was remembering that when I read the early parts of this week's parsha of Matot.
There Moshe tell the heads of the Tribes the laws of vows. He speaks powerfully of the importance of the spoken word and its power to bind someone except in certain and specific exceptional cases. The Torah tell us that Moshe opened his instructions to them with "These are the words that Hashem commanded." Our Sages taught that Moshe was unique amongst the prophets in his clarity of prophesy. Only he could use the words "these" or in Hebrew 'zeh'. All other prophets could only say "So spoke Hashem", in Hebrew 'ko', a less exact term. They could not say "These words spoke Hashem" with certainty. Their vision was inexact and required interpretation. Not so Moshe, whose prophesy was precise and direct.
Question we might ask is why does the Torah tell us of the unique nature of Moshe's vision, in contrast to all other prophets, here. Why does the Torah reveal this truth about Moshe's experience at this time and with these laws of vows. It was always true to Moshe's prophesy. Why here are we told of it with the Torah telling us that Moshe used the word 'ze', "these", and not 'ko' "so".
I believe the answer may be very much in keeping with the ideas with which we began.
Moshe was instructing the Israelites about the importance of being true to one's words. It was the laws of vows they were being given. One cannot give laws which speak to the importance of the word using "'ko'" or "so spoke Hashem". Here, where the very content is about being true to what one pledges with words, Moshe needed to be able to say "'ze'" or "these are the precise words G-d told me to command you".
One cannot give a message that says words matter in such a form that implies words can be used inexactly. Doing so would be to deliver a double bind message, the content and context would be in conflict. Rather than be effective, delivering messages in that way produces confusion and ambiguity.
I can remember once going to hear a talk by the famed cancer doctor Bernie Siegel. He argued that one must be honest with how one feels and not deny one's experience even when one is trying to be strong. He said "If someone, say a friend you meet on the street asks you "how are you"? If you are not feeling great don't lie. Don't say "fine" when its not. Its never good to deny your experience to your own body and self. If you know the other person does not want to hear a true account of your circumstances just say "6 out of 10". Thats enough to own your truth and yet allow your friend to say "I hope it gets better for you" and move on." Siegel, similar to Bateson, argues that one needs to keep the content of ones messages consistent with the context of one's experience. To do otherwise is harmful.
I would like to suggest that the message we need to take to heart here, both from the Torah text of this week and from the wisdom of the world, is that we need to be consistent even when it comes to reconciling our personal experience and our faith.
So often when we are asked how we are doing we say "Baruch Hashem", or "Thank G-d". We reply that way no matter how we in fact feel, whether sick or healthy, suffering or at ease. Its as if baruch Hashem covers all cases. And why not. Don't we believe all G-d does is for our good. In that case we can and must bless G-d no matter what our circumstances and indeed its all good.
Yet in doing so we miss an important point. When we are asked "how we are doing?" we are not being asked for some objective assessment. Of course to the person of faith all is good. The question we are being asked is a personal one. "How are 'we' doing?"
How are we coping with the 'good' we are receiving, which in some cases can feel pretty awful. To answer honestly and in consistancy with our experience we need to say more than "baruch Hashem". We need to say "Baruch Hashem good" or Baruch Hashem not so good". We need to claim our experience. Our content needs to match our context. We need to own our personal truth as much as we need to affirm the truth that all that Hashem does is for the good. Unless we do both we will never allow for a real reconciliation of the internal struggle between what we believe and what we feel. Unless we are willing to claim the totality of our experience real acceptance of our fate, in more than cliches, will never be possible.
It is important for our own wellbeing, as much as for others, that we minimize the inconsistancies in our life between the content and the context, between what we say and what we show, between our words and our feelings. I do not believe that lying about our truth, even when attempting to be faithful, is in our best interest or is in keeping with the will of the Divine.
Shabbat Shalom
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Life as Lottery
Have you ever had the experience of just having bought something new, and then passing another store selling the same thing and going in to ask the shopkeeper his/her price? for something you already bought! Why? Why do we do that? We have no intentions of returning the item we just purchased. We are not about to buy another.
Yet we go in to compare the price we paid with what the same item is selling for somewhere else. And why? What compels us to make the comparison?
This week in the parsha of Pinchas we are told of the 'chalukat haaretz', the dividing of the land of Israel, soon to be inherited by the People, into portions, portions for the Tribes and smaller portions for each family within the tribe.
The Torah tells us that the division and allotment of portions was not done by a selection process in which each tribe and family participated and made their preference known. Nor was the allotment done by Israel's leadership through logical consideration of each tribe and family, their needs and numbers. No the allotment and assignation of portions in the land was done by a lottery. "Al pee ha'goral taichaleik et ha'aretz, bain rav lim'at". After the Torah tells us that the allocation will be in accord with the numbers within each family and tribe it goes on, not once but twice, to insist that the lottery will be the means of assignation.
Question is why? Why is the Torah so insistent that the land cannot be aportionned except through lottery. One other time the Torah requires a lottery and that for the assignation of the two goats of Yom Kippur, one to be a sacrifice and the other the scapegoat, to be sent to the wilderness, their to be thrown down into the gulley carrying with it the sins of the Nation of Israel. Those goats needed to be identical in appearance, in stature, in value. Each could equally lay claim to be the sacrifice whose blood was brought into the Holy of Holies. Yet only one got such an honor. The other was relegated to be shunned, ignominiously killed, with the sins of the People. It was only by dint of lottery that the assignation was made.
Is there a correlation between the two circumstances in the Torah where lottery becomes the decision making process. Can we make a comparison between the lottery of the aportionnment of the land and the lottery of the assignation of the goats of Yom Kippur?
Rebbe Nachman of Breslav understood the 'gorol', the lottery of Moshe in the division of the land in a way quite compelling. He explained that the land simply could not be divided by preference or a human decisor on the basis of logic, no matter how well reasoned. The land, he argued, was not given to the tribes and families at the end of the wilderness journey. The land was already theirs. It belonged to them intrinsically and from the time they left Egypt. Each tribe and each family within that tribe had a piece of land that was as much theirs as was their name and story. The land and the family it belonged to were one, inseparable, indivisable. It is for this reason the land could never be sold in perpetutity and returned to its original owner at the Jubilee year. It was one with its owner, part of his self. That being true, the land could not be divided on the basis of preference or human logic. To do that one would have to assume the land had no owner and now we were deciding who gets what. The land however already belonged to its owners. It was only that we did not know who indeed was the rightful partner to this piece of the land of Israel. What was needed was not a decision but a revelation. What was needed was the awareness of who was the owner of each section of property. Revelation can only be gleaned by means of lottery. The lottery did not decide.The lottery was Divinely inspired. The lottery revealed who belonged to what?
If I understand Rebbe Nachman right, then the lottery of the goats of Yom Kippur is very different from the lottery of the 'chlaukat ha'aretz'. Though both use the same process for decision making they do so for polar opposite reasons. The lottery to decide the fate of the goats of Yom Kippur is used because there simply was no other way to decide. They were identical goats. One had no more merit to be chosen for his role than his peer. Reason could not help us. Sometimes, when we have no other means by which to make a decision, when reasoning will not help us, we use a lottery, or in our times we may flip a coin. Not so the lottery of the assignation of the portions for the land of Israel. There the lottery was necessary because we needed something beyond reason. Reason could help us but it would not do. Through reason we can discern what we should do, what is logical. Reason cannot reveal what the reality is. Only lottery, Divinely inspired, can show us what is existentially true.
Only a holy lottery can show us the real.
So now that we have the two models of 'gorol' I want to ask you, which one feels most true to the story of your life? When you think of all the things that have happened to you, the important decisions you have made, like who you married and your choice for career and business decisions, do you feel that it really could have been otherwise? Is the way your life turned out essentially similar to the lottery of the Yom Kippur goats, it could have gone either way? Or do you see your life as predestined? I mean the important things in your life story, like who you were going to marry, whether you would be rich or poor, healthy or sickly, the kind of work you would do and whether you would have success, were they random or like the lottery of the land already written in Heaven only to be revealed in the flesh through the years of your life?
From the wisdom of our tradition it seems clear. The story of our life is more similar to the lottery of the Land than the lottery of the Yom Kippur goats. Our Sages already told us long ago, "All is decided in Heaven except for fear of Heaven". They taught us that before a person is born all the details of his/her life are decided, whether s/he will be rich or poor, weak or strong, sickly or healthy etc. Our life is a unpacking of what was already decided. Yes, we have freedom of choice and whether we will be good or bad remains in our hands. But the rest belongs to fate and destiny.
I share this understanding because it seems to me the core of having a happy life is not about having been given a 'happy' portion in heaven or even about good decision making here on earth. Rather happiness comes when we accept that the story we are living is the story we are meant for and that it could not be otherwise. We find happiness when we believe our life is a revelation, and like the lottery of the Land something that had to be and is as much a part of us as is our name and our existential reality. What happens to us in our life is no more an accident than who we are as persons. To say "me" is to say my story as much as it is to say my form.
I suspect that this idea is very much behind the teaching in Ethics of the Fathers, "Who is rich? He who is happy with his portion". When we feel our life is our portion even as the land was the portion for each tribe and family, something that was theirs inherently and not a matter of choice, no matter how well argued, then we no longer compare our story to others, we no longer see our lives in relative terms. Our life then can not be otherwise. Comparisons make no sense. We are living the one and only destiny that belongs to us.
And so we return to where we began, our visit to shops selling items just like the one we just bought to see if we could have gotten it cheaper or on the positive side ,to see if we got a bargain. We asked what's the point in this? What motivates us?
The answer is that we see our decision making as the lottery of the Yom Kippur goats.
We are not sure we made the right choice. It felt arbitrary or perhaps we suspect we did not reason as well as we should have when we decided to buy. Sadly, too often we do the same thing with the man or woman we decide to marry. After the fact we start making comparisons. It's not whether we are happy. It's whether we got maximum value in our spouse. Whether we could have done better. Comparative shopping may save some money, but as a way of life it kills the joy. We never know the peace that comes with accepting our story as the destiny meant for us. We never really inherit the land that is ours and know the feeling of belonging and ownership.
No matter where we are in our life, no matter where we have been, no matter our story it is part and parcel of who we are. It could not have been otherwise. That is not to say we can not do better. We must always strive to be better persons within our story and more faithful to Hashem and our peers. We remain challenged to be good and grow. But what happens to us, and even what we decide, outside of the arena of morals and right and wrong, is our destiny and meant for us.
Our life is our lottery. Its the portion in the land of the living meant for us even as the lottery of the land of Israel was for meant for our ancestors.
To be happy is to enjoy what is ours!
Shabbat Shalom
Yet we go in to compare the price we paid with what the same item is selling for somewhere else. And why? What compels us to make the comparison?
This week in the parsha of Pinchas we are told of the 'chalukat haaretz', the dividing of the land of Israel, soon to be inherited by the People, into portions, portions for the Tribes and smaller portions for each family within the tribe.
The Torah tells us that the division and allotment of portions was not done by a selection process in which each tribe and family participated and made their preference known. Nor was the allotment done by Israel's leadership through logical consideration of each tribe and family, their needs and numbers. No the allotment and assignation of portions in the land was done by a lottery. "Al pee ha'goral taichaleik et ha'aretz, bain rav lim'at". After the Torah tells us that the allocation will be in accord with the numbers within each family and tribe it goes on, not once but twice, to insist that the lottery will be the means of assignation.
Question is why? Why is the Torah so insistent that the land cannot be aportionned except through lottery. One other time the Torah requires a lottery and that for the assignation of the two goats of Yom Kippur, one to be a sacrifice and the other the scapegoat, to be sent to the wilderness, their to be thrown down into the gulley carrying with it the sins of the Nation of Israel. Those goats needed to be identical in appearance, in stature, in value. Each could equally lay claim to be the sacrifice whose blood was brought into the Holy of Holies. Yet only one got such an honor. The other was relegated to be shunned, ignominiously killed, with the sins of the People. It was only by dint of lottery that the assignation was made.
Is there a correlation between the two circumstances in the Torah where lottery becomes the decision making process. Can we make a comparison between the lottery of the aportionnment of the land and the lottery of the assignation of the goats of Yom Kippur?
Rebbe Nachman of Breslav understood the 'gorol', the lottery of Moshe in the division of the land in a way quite compelling. He explained that the land simply could not be divided by preference or a human decisor on the basis of logic, no matter how well reasoned. The land, he argued, was not given to the tribes and families at the end of the wilderness journey. The land was already theirs. It belonged to them intrinsically and from the time they left Egypt. Each tribe and each family within that tribe had a piece of land that was as much theirs as was their name and story. The land and the family it belonged to were one, inseparable, indivisable. It is for this reason the land could never be sold in perpetutity and returned to its original owner at the Jubilee year. It was one with its owner, part of his self. That being true, the land could not be divided on the basis of preference or human logic. To do that one would have to assume the land had no owner and now we were deciding who gets what. The land however already belonged to its owners. It was only that we did not know who indeed was the rightful partner to this piece of the land of Israel. What was needed was not a decision but a revelation. What was needed was the awareness of who was the owner of each section of property. Revelation can only be gleaned by means of lottery. The lottery did not decide.The lottery was Divinely inspired. The lottery revealed who belonged to what?
If I understand Rebbe Nachman right, then the lottery of the goats of Yom Kippur is very different from the lottery of the 'chlaukat ha'aretz'. Though both use the same process for decision making they do so for polar opposite reasons. The lottery to decide the fate of the goats of Yom Kippur is used because there simply was no other way to decide. They were identical goats. One had no more merit to be chosen for his role than his peer. Reason could not help us. Sometimes, when we have no other means by which to make a decision, when reasoning will not help us, we use a lottery, or in our times we may flip a coin. Not so the lottery of the assignation of the portions for the land of Israel. There the lottery was necessary because we needed something beyond reason. Reason could help us but it would not do. Through reason we can discern what we should do, what is logical. Reason cannot reveal what the reality is. Only lottery, Divinely inspired, can show us what is existentially true.
Only a holy lottery can show us the real.
So now that we have the two models of 'gorol' I want to ask you, which one feels most true to the story of your life? When you think of all the things that have happened to you, the important decisions you have made, like who you married and your choice for career and business decisions, do you feel that it really could have been otherwise? Is the way your life turned out essentially similar to the lottery of the Yom Kippur goats, it could have gone either way? Or do you see your life as predestined? I mean the important things in your life story, like who you were going to marry, whether you would be rich or poor, healthy or sickly, the kind of work you would do and whether you would have success, were they random or like the lottery of the land already written in Heaven only to be revealed in the flesh through the years of your life?
From the wisdom of our tradition it seems clear. The story of our life is more similar to the lottery of the Land than the lottery of the Yom Kippur goats. Our Sages already told us long ago, "All is decided in Heaven except for fear of Heaven". They taught us that before a person is born all the details of his/her life are decided, whether s/he will be rich or poor, weak or strong, sickly or healthy etc. Our life is a unpacking of what was already decided. Yes, we have freedom of choice and whether we will be good or bad remains in our hands. But the rest belongs to fate and destiny.
I share this understanding because it seems to me the core of having a happy life is not about having been given a 'happy' portion in heaven or even about good decision making here on earth. Rather happiness comes when we accept that the story we are living is the story we are meant for and that it could not be otherwise. We find happiness when we believe our life is a revelation, and like the lottery of the Land something that had to be and is as much a part of us as is our name and our existential reality. What happens to us in our life is no more an accident than who we are as persons. To say "me" is to say my story as much as it is to say my form.
I suspect that this idea is very much behind the teaching in Ethics of the Fathers, "Who is rich? He who is happy with his portion". When we feel our life is our portion even as the land was the portion for each tribe and family, something that was theirs inherently and not a matter of choice, no matter how well argued, then we no longer compare our story to others, we no longer see our lives in relative terms. Our life then can not be otherwise. Comparisons make no sense. We are living the one and only destiny that belongs to us.
And so we return to where we began, our visit to shops selling items just like the one we just bought to see if we could have gotten it cheaper or on the positive side ,to see if we got a bargain. We asked what's the point in this? What motivates us?
The answer is that we see our decision making as the lottery of the Yom Kippur goats.
We are not sure we made the right choice. It felt arbitrary or perhaps we suspect we did not reason as well as we should have when we decided to buy. Sadly, too often we do the same thing with the man or woman we decide to marry. After the fact we start making comparisons. It's not whether we are happy. It's whether we got maximum value in our spouse. Whether we could have done better. Comparative shopping may save some money, but as a way of life it kills the joy. We never know the peace that comes with accepting our story as the destiny meant for us. We never really inherit the land that is ours and know the feeling of belonging and ownership.
No matter where we are in our life, no matter where we have been, no matter our story it is part and parcel of who we are. It could not have been otherwise. That is not to say we can not do better. We must always strive to be better persons within our story and more faithful to Hashem and our peers. We remain challenged to be good and grow. But what happens to us, and even what we decide, outside of the arena of morals and right and wrong, is our destiny and meant for us.
Our life is our lottery. Its the portion in the land of the living meant for us even as the lottery of the land of Israel was for meant for our ancestors.
To be happy is to enjoy what is ours!
Shabbat Shalom
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Eyes to See
The Talmud, when it reviews the writers of the works of the Holy Scriptures tells us that Moshe wrote three books, the five books of the Torah, of course, the Book of Job, and the book of Bilaam. Rashi there explains the need for the Gemara to tell us that Moshe wrote the book of Bilaam. Surely its part of the Torah, of course Moshe wrote it. He explains that since the story of Bilaam, that which is the parsha of this week, Balak, is not in its essence a story of the Children of Israel, nor does it include laws relevant for us, we might think Moshe would have no business or reason to write it. The Talmud therefore tells us that indeed while Bilaam's story is one that happens in the background, and one that Moshe did not participate in, nonetheless he is the one who wrote it.
The presence in the Torah of this weeks Parsha is puzzling and for the very reasons Rashi felt the Talmud needed to tell us it was written by Moshe.It seems so uncharacteristic of the text.Its not really our story. But I want to raise with you a follow-up question and not about the context of the story but about the content.How is it that Bilaam when he goes to curse the Nation of Israel is unable to find a flaw. How is it that each time he aspires to rain down a curse he is overwhelmed with the People's goodness.
This is the Israelites we are talking about, a nation whose sins fill the book of Bamidbar, the current book we are reading, and much of the Torah in its entirety.
These are the people who, shortly after Bilaam gives up on his efforts,at the end of the reading, engage in lascivious behavior with Moabite women, in concert with idolatry, in a calamity that brought about the death of 25,000.
How is it that Bilaam can only find the good in this People? What does he see that we are missing? The story in the context of the Book of Bamidbar seems incongruous.
I think to comprehend what is going on here we need to make a critical distinction.
There are two words in the English language that seem synonomous but in fact are not. The words are 'guilt' and 'shame'. On the surface to say "I feel guilty" after doing something wrong seems the same as saying "I feel ashamed of doing something wrong". Maybe shame is a stronger word, but its essentially appears just a stronger expression of the same feeling. But in fact guilt and shame are different in kind not in degree. When I feel guilty I feel I have done something bad. When I feel shame I feel I am bad. The difference between the two sentiments is enormous.
In feeling guilt I acknowledge wrong-doing but retain my inner sense that I am a good person. That makes change possible. I am good and can correct my behavior.
When I feel shame I feel I am inadequate. The problem is not with what I have done but with who I am. I feel flawed of my essence. In the feeling of shame we are stuck . We could change behavior, especially if we believe we are made of good.
We cannot change our essence. In shame we are left to despair and resignation.
The difference between people who make ammends for wrongful behavior and who improve in life and those who do not may not be so much about their respective wills or motivations. The difference may boil down to how they view themselves, as either guilty or shame-full. People who feel themselves good will feel guilty and improve.
People who feel themselves bad will see their plight as hopeless and while feeling shame it will not move them to change or improve, on the contrary, it will cause them to stagnate.
In this backdrop we can perhaps understand the story of Bilaam. True the Israelites were guilty of serious sins. The Torah recounts story after story, both before the episode of Bilaam and after, of our waywardness. Bilaam knew that. Perhaps thats why he felt a curse could be placed on us. What he saw, to his chagrin, was that what we did as a people, our sinfulness, no matter how grave, did not reflect who we were. It had no bearing on our essence.
Israel, the people, were without blemish. Israel, the people, were good through and through. The transgressions reflected poor judgement, not poor character.
The Torah, in its wisdom, needs to give us this story. With all we read of our shortcomings in the recent readings, and week after week, we are liable to believe we are unredeemable, that we are damaged goods and despair of improvement. There is a danger we would see the problem is not with what we did but with who we are. Guilt would become shame and we would be doomed to mediocrity. It is for this reason the Torah gives us the perspective of Bilaam. His eyes on us tell us that what we did is no reflection of who we are. Bilaam provides us with the ultimate blessing. Through him we are given the gift of belief in ourselves despite our litany of wrongs. In that change becomes possible. We can grow and improve...and we do!
The lesson Bilaam provides us with is as vital to our lives as to those of our ancestors. We each need to believe in our intrinsic goodness to have any chance to grow and become. Guilt, yes, shame, never!. Neither for us nor for our children. Nor should we let anyone else place shameful messages on us or our children. There is no room for shaming messages...not even from those who say they love us. Shame kills our possibilities. It keeps men and women stuck in bad marriages. It keeps people from advancing in their careers. It keeps us from realizing our potential in relationship to Hashem. Shame is a poison that keeps us from our sh'laimut waiting to be realized.
We are good! Would that we would see ourselves as Bilaam saw us. We don't need to feel more guilty. We need to feel less shame!
Shabbat Shalom
The presence in the Torah of this weeks Parsha is puzzling and for the very reasons Rashi felt the Talmud needed to tell us it was written by Moshe.It seems so uncharacteristic of the text.Its not really our story. But I want to raise with you a follow-up question and not about the context of the story but about the content.How is it that Bilaam when he goes to curse the Nation of Israel is unable to find a flaw. How is it that each time he aspires to rain down a curse he is overwhelmed with the People's goodness.
This is the Israelites we are talking about, a nation whose sins fill the book of Bamidbar, the current book we are reading, and much of the Torah in its entirety.
These are the people who, shortly after Bilaam gives up on his efforts,at the end of the reading, engage in lascivious behavior with Moabite women, in concert with idolatry, in a calamity that brought about the death of 25,000.
How is it that Bilaam can only find the good in this People? What does he see that we are missing? The story in the context of the Book of Bamidbar seems incongruous.
I think to comprehend what is going on here we need to make a critical distinction.
There are two words in the English language that seem synonomous but in fact are not. The words are 'guilt' and 'shame'. On the surface to say "I feel guilty" after doing something wrong seems the same as saying "I feel ashamed of doing something wrong". Maybe shame is a stronger word, but its essentially appears just a stronger expression of the same feeling. But in fact guilt and shame are different in kind not in degree. When I feel guilty I feel I have done something bad. When I feel shame I feel I am bad. The difference between the two sentiments is enormous.
In feeling guilt I acknowledge wrong-doing but retain my inner sense that I am a good person. That makes change possible. I am good and can correct my behavior.
When I feel shame I feel I am inadequate. The problem is not with what I have done but with who I am. I feel flawed of my essence. In the feeling of shame we are stuck . We could change behavior, especially if we believe we are made of good.
We cannot change our essence. In shame we are left to despair and resignation.
The difference between people who make ammends for wrongful behavior and who improve in life and those who do not may not be so much about their respective wills or motivations. The difference may boil down to how they view themselves, as either guilty or shame-full. People who feel themselves good will feel guilty and improve.
People who feel themselves bad will see their plight as hopeless and while feeling shame it will not move them to change or improve, on the contrary, it will cause them to stagnate.
In this backdrop we can perhaps understand the story of Bilaam. True the Israelites were guilty of serious sins. The Torah recounts story after story, both before the episode of Bilaam and after, of our waywardness. Bilaam knew that. Perhaps thats why he felt a curse could be placed on us. What he saw, to his chagrin, was that what we did as a people, our sinfulness, no matter how grave, did not reflect who we were. It had no bearing on our essence.
Israel, the people, were without blemish. Israel, the people, were good through and through. The transgressions reflected poor judgement, not poor character.
The Torah, in its wisdom, needs to give us this story. With all we read of our shortcomings in the recent readings, and week after week, we are liable to believe we are unredeemable, that we are damaged goods and despair of improvement. There is a danger we would see the problem is not with what we did but with who we are. Guilt would become shame and we would be doomed to mediocrity. It is for this reason the Torah gives us the perspective of Bilaam. His eyes on us tell us that what we did is no reflection of who we are. Bilaam provides us with the ultimate blessing. Through him we are given the gift of belief in ourselves despite our litany of wrongs. In that change becomes possible. We can grow and improve...and we do!
The lesson Bilaam provides us with is as vital to our lives as to those of our ancestors. We each need to believe in our intrinsic goodness to have any chance to grow and become. Guilt, yes, shame, never!. Neither for us nor for our children. Nor should we let anyone else place shameful messages on us or our children. There is no room for shaming messages...not even from those who say they love us. Shame kills our possibilities. It keeps men and women stuck in bad marriages. It keeps people from advancing in their careers. It keeps us from realizing our potential in relationship to Hashem. Shame is a poison that keeps us from our sh'laimut waiting to be realized.
We are good! Would that we would see ourselves as Bilaam saw us. We don't need to feel more guilty. We need to feel less shame!
Shabbat Shalom
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
The Time to Grieve
"To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven....a time to weep...." (Kohelet 3:1,4). In this weeks parsha of Chukat we are told of two times that warranted weeping. Yet, from what we can discern, only on one of those occassions did our ancestors in fact weep. Why?
Aharon dies in this weeks reading. In the aftermath of his death we read, "And when all the congregation saw that Aharon was dead, they wept for Aharon thirty days, even all the house of Israel." Yet earlier in the very same reading we are told Miriam died. On her death all we are told is that she was buried in the place of her death. There is no mention of mourning or of grief. What follows Miriam's death is the story of the drying up of the nation's water supply and their complaints to Moshe and Aharon. That leads to the sin of Moshe and Aharon at the "waters of quarrel" which caused them to have to die in the wilderness and not enter the Promised Land.
Why did the Israelites not cry and mourn Miriam? She too, like Aharon and Moshe was a communal leader. In fact, the miraculous well that gave the nation water all the years in the wilderness was in her honor. Our sages taught that the lack of water that followed Miriam's death was due to the fact that in her absence the well dried up. She was the one who led the women in song by the sea. It is for her, we read several weeks ago, that the nation waited before travelling when she was stricken with 'tzaraas' and left outside the camp. Why then no tears? Why no national mourning?
There is one commentary that says the reason the water supply dried up after Miriam's death was as a punishment for the People's failure to grieve her. He explained that G-d said to the Israelites, "Measure for measure. You failed to tear for Miriam. The well then will not tear and produce moisture for you."
What the commentary struggles to answer is why did the People not cry for Miriam. Why did they cry for Aharon and not her? While he offers an answer it does not seem satisfying.
I would like to suggest a different approach, one that emerges out of my years of providing care for those who go through loss. We know in our tradition its a mitzvah to cry for our dead. We are mandated to sit shiva and mourn. Its also a mitzvah for the community to support the mourners in their time of loss. We are called upon to see to their needs, that they have food and attention. We are charged to make sure that that their world is safe enough for them to let go, that they need not fear to be vulnerable enough to cry and lament their loss. I suggest that the people did not cry at Miriam's passing because immediately on her death they were thrust into a crisis. They had no water. It is not possible to grieve when one is in the midst of a battle for one's life, when one's world feels unsafe, when one is overwhelmed with fears. When Aharon died the nation also lost a great gift. Tradition tells us the Clouds of Glory ceased to hover over the camp. That too was a loss,but a loss not near as immediately felt as the absence of water felt on the passing of Miriam.
For Aharon the nation could feel safe enough to grieve. Not so for Miriam.
My understanding of the story is in concert with the Rambam's understanding of Moshe's sin at the well. He explained that Moshe's sin was in becoming angry with the People and inappropriately saying to them "Listen you rebels....." Rambam noted that we do not find that G-d had expressed anger at the People for their complaint. Moshe had no reason to chastise them. Yet we might understand Moshe's anger in the context of the story. Here his beloved sister died and he and Aharon are the only ones mourning. The People not only do not grieve, they come disturb his grief period with boisterous complaints. Its fascinating that the word Moshe used when he put down the nation is "rebel" in Hebrew "morim". The four letters of the word, mem resh yud mem are the same as the letters of his sister's name Miriam. Indeed from the Torah text itself the word rebel could be read Miriam. It seems clear that Moshe was troubled by the failure of his People to pay proper respect to his sister on her passing and why not?
Yet G-d did not hold the nation at fault here. He understood, as Kohelet taught us, "there is a time to grieve..." When we are overwhelmed by fear and anxiety we cannot be expected to cry. It does not mean the loss was not significant nor that our sadness is not real. It simply means now is not the time!
This is a most important concept to take to heart when we consider our own reactions to loss and the reactions of others. My daughter lost her mother to cancer when she was thirteen. Her tears were few. I struggled to understand her limitted reaction. I knew she loved her mother. Many young people don't grieve as we expect, whether it be a death or the break-up of the family through divorce. We often are surprised by their lack of emotionality. Yet we need know that the lack of tears and anger does not mean a lack of feeling or care. What is means is that their world feels too unsafe for them to allow themselves to be vulenrable. Often they fear their feelings if expressed will overwhelm them. They sense a need to wait for the time when they feel they can let go. It maybe months, it maybe years, or maybe never.(Of course these dynamics are not something the young person is conscious of. One cannot simply ask the young adult or child what they are feeling and why and expect a response).
And we too, as adults, are not different. The woman who after years of abuse breaks away from the offending husband, taking her children with her, will not likely feel the anger or sadness the dissolution of the family warrants. Its not that she does not have the feelings inside, nor is it that they don't need expression. But now she is fighting the battle of her life. She is seeking to secure a new future, provide for the family's needs. Its not a safe moment to take time-out and mourn for what was and is no longer. She will need to do it at another juncture in her life when the world feels safe and life has come to a place of repose.
We need to learn from the story of Miriam's passing to be gentler with ourselves and others in the aftermath of loss. We need to know that each of us has our own time to grieve, and our own time to hold-back tears. The lack of tears does not mean a lack of care. It simply means the time for us is not yet!
Shabbat Shalom
Aharon dies in this weeks reading. In the aftermath of his death we read, "And when all the congregation saw that Aharon was dead, they wept for Aharon thirty days, even all the house of Israel." Yet earlier in the very same reading we are told Miriam died. On her death all we are told is that she was buried in the place of her death. There is no mention of mourning or of grief. What follows Miriam's death is the story of the drying up of the nation's water supply and their complaints to Moshe and Aharon. That leads to the sin of Moshe and Aharon at the "waters of quarrel" which caused them to have to die in the wilderness and not enter the Promised Land.
Why did the Israelites not cry and mourn Miriam? She too, like Aharon and Moshe was a communal leader. In fact, the miraculous well that gave the nation water all the years in the wilderness was in her honor. Our sages taught that the lack of water that followed Miriam's death was due to the fact that in her absence the well dried up. She was the one who led the women in song by the sea. It is for her, we read several weeks ago, that the nation waited before travelling when she was stricken with 'tzaraas' and left outside the camp. Why then no tears? Why no national mourning?
There is one commentary that says the reason the water supply dried up after Miriam's death was as a punishment for the People's failure to grieve her. He explained that G-d said to the Israelites, "Measure for measure. You failed to tear for Miriam. The well then will not tear and produce moisture for you."
What the commentary struggles to answer is why did the People not cry for Miriam. Why did they cry for Aharon and not her? While he offers an answer it does not seem satisfying.
I would like to suggest a different approach, one that emerges out of my years of providing care for those who go through loss. We know in our tradition its a mitzvah to cry for our dead. We are mandated to sit shiva and mourn. Its also a mitzvah for the community to support the mourners in their time of loss. We are called upon to see to their needs, that they have food and attention. We are charged to make sure that that their world is safe enough for them to let go, that they need not fear to be vulnerable enough to cry and lament their loss. I suggest that the people did not cry at Miriam's passing because immediately on her death they were thrust into a crisis. They had no water. It is not possible to grieve when one is in the midst of a battle for one's life, when one's world feels unsafe, when one is overwhelmed with fears. When Aharon died the nation also lost a great gift. Tradition tells us the Clouds of Glory ceased to hover over the camp. That too was a loss,but a loss not near as immediately felt as the absence of water felt on the passing of Miriam.
For Aharon the nation could feel safe enough to grieve. Not so for Miriam.
My understanding of the story is in concert with the Rambam's understanding of Moshe's sin at the well. He explained that Moshe's sin was in becoming angry with the People and inappropriately saying to them "Listen you rebels....." Rambam noted that we do not find that G-d had expressed anger at the People for their complaint. Moshe had no reason to chastise them. Yet we might understand Moshe's anger in the context of the story. Here his beloved sister died and he and Aharon are the only ones mourning. The People not only do not grieve, they come disturb his grief period with boisterous complaints. Its fascinating that the word Moshe used when he put down the nation is "rebel" in Hebrew "morim". The four letters of the word, mem resh yud mem are the same as the letters of his sister's name Miriam. Indeed from the Torah text itself the word rebel could be read Miriam. It seems clear that Moshe was troubled by the failure of his People to pay proper respect to his sister on her passing and why not?
Yet G-d did not hold the nation at fault here. He understood, as Kohelet taught us, "there is a time to grieve..." When we are overwhelmed by fear and anxiety we cannot be expected to cry. It does not mean the loss was not significant nor that our sadness is not real. It simply means now is not the time!
This is a most important concept to take to heart when we consider our own reactions to loss and the reactions of others. My daughter lost her mother to cancer when she was thirteen. Her tears were few. I struggled to understand her limitted reaction. I knew she loved her mother. Many young people don't grieve as we expect, whether it be a death or the break-up of the family through divorce. We often are surprised by their lack of emotionality. Yet we need know that the lack of tears and anger does not mean a lack of feeling or care. What is means is that their world feels too unsafe for them to allow themselves to be vulenrable. Often they fear their feelings if expressed will overwhelm them. They sense a need to wait for the time when they feel they can let go. It maybe months, it maybe years, or maybe never.(Of course these dynamics are not something the young person is conscious of. One cannot simply ask the young adult or child what they are feeling and why and expect a response).
And we too, as adults, are not different. The woman who after years of abuse breaks away from the offending husband, taking her children with her, will not likely feel the anger or sadness the dissolution of the family warrants. Its not that she does not have the feelings inside, nor is it that they don't need expression. But now she is fighting the battle of her life. She is seeking to secure a new future, provide for the family's needs. Its not a safe moment to take time-out and mourn for what was and is no longer. She will need to do it at another juncture in her life when the world feels safe and life has come to a place of repose.
We need to learn from the story of Miriam's passing to be gentler with ourselves and others in the aftermath of loss. We need to know that each of us has our own time to grieve, and our own time to hold-back tears. The lack of tears does not mean a lack of care. It simply means the time for us is not yet!
Shabbat Shalom
Thursday, June 23, 2011
What Do I Really Want?
Have you ever found yourself humming a song and you don't know why? Maybe its a popular tune from long ago or some jingle from a television commercial you thought you hardly noticed. You wonder, why is this melody playing for me today? Why does this song I have not thought of in many a year come up in my head right now?
There is a folk wisdom that says that what you find yourself humming spontaneously will reveal what matters to you now in this moment of your life. Through the song's title, its lyrics, its message, your unconscious is revealing the current drama of your life and what you really want.
That folk wisdom,while intriguing, has been debunked by many and found to be untrue.
But the question it prompts remains. How do we know what we really want? How do we know our heart? There was an article this week in the Maariv about a young chatan, groom, from a charaidi background, who left his kallah, bride right after the chuppah and all the wedding guests. He fled and was not found for a month. A 'get' quickly followed. But what prompted the chatan to marry and then so quickly opt out? Did he not know his own heart?
And while the above example may be extreme how many of us have felt ambivalent about what we want in terms of career, family, level of Observance, community. Who has not felt certain of what they want only to feel very much unsure shortly after? We make choices and then choose again. Some of us remain so paralyzed by our ambivalence that we don't choose at all. How indeed do we know what is our true desire? Would that we could so easily look at the song of the day and find a solution.
From this week's parsha of Korach perhaps we can get some insight. You recall Korach, a man of stature, from the same tribe as Moshe, the tribe of Levi, stirred up a mutiny against Moshe. He questioned whether Moshe and Aharon had not taken too much of the responsibility for communal leadership unto themselves. His motivation was jealousy and self-agrandizement. He couched his challenge as a call to equality.
He said "For the whole nation, all of it is holy.And why have you raised yourselves above the congregation of Hashem".
The results of the mutiny of Korach are legendary. After a test by means of the firepans of incense in which only the firepan of Aharon was chosen, the earth opened up and swallowed Korach and all his mutineers died with him.
What is interesting to note is that Moshe called for the test of the true by means of the firepans of incense not on the day of the mutiny but rather the next morning.
Moshe said "Tomorrow morning G-d will reveal who is truly his and who is holy that He wants him near, and who He has chosen to be near to Him."
The commentaries wonder why the delay? Why does Moshe wait a day to bring the mutiny to closure? Why did he not immediately call for the test and validation of his leadership?
The answers are many, including several in the Medrash. In keeping with the concept of the blog, that is, understanding the Torah through the window of our self, I think Moshe was telling Korach and his followers something profound. Moshe was telling them, "Look I know you think you are motivated by holy desires and that you believe you are really only interested in the welfare of the People. Wait then. Wait til the morning, til the next day, after the heat of the moment of challenge has past. Tell me then, when you are calm and serene and all the passion has cooled, in the morning when you wake, do you still want this revolt? Are you still committed to it? Is it your ego compelling you in which case you will find less enthusiasm for your agenda come next day, or is it really a matter of conscience that you cannot desist from, something you truly feel called to, no matter the consequences."
Many years ago I had a teacher who was taken by my ability to get very excited about a particular issue, express strong feelings, only later to quickly forget about it and move on to something else. He said to me, "Israel, you are a mile wide and an inch deep." Indeed not all passion reflects depth. We can feel something very strongly and with emotion and yet it will not leave a trace a few minutes later.
To feel deeply, for something to really matter to us and at the core of our being, it needs to leave a residue. It needs to effect us in some significant way and for more than the passing moment.
If I want to know what really matters to me, what I really want, the lesson Moshe is teaching me is that I need to wait. If what I want continues to hold importance in the light of the new day, when I am calm and serene, then I know what I want is core to my real self. If the passion and yearning passes, now matter how strong it seemed in the individual moment, it is driven by forces external and maybe even impure. No matter how many times the passion may return, if it does not hold force in the 'morning' of my life when all is calm and quiet, it does not warrant a place of importance and in many cases it should command no place at all.
So many questions lie before us. So many decisions. What do we do about our marriage or our work? In what do we invest our self? Where do we put our energies? To answer those questions and so many more, we need to know what we really want, what matters to us. And to know that we will have to get past the emotional moments, the moments of passion and look towards the morning, the moments of serenity, when our heart speaks to us and we have the capacity to listen.
Then, in the morning, we will know our truth. Then, in the calm,when the passions have quieted, we will know what we need do.
Shabbat Shalom
There is a folk wisdom that says that what you find yourself humming spontaneously will reveal what matters to you now in this moment of your life. Through the song's title, its lyrics, its message, your unconscious is revealing the current drama of your life and what you really want.
That folk wisdom,while intriguing, has been debunked by many and found to be untrue.
But the question it prompts remains. How do we know what we really want? How do we know our heart? There was an article this week in the Maariv about a young chatan, groom, from a charaidi background, who left his kallah, bride right after the chuppah and all the wedding guests. He fled and was not found for a month. A 'get' quickly followed. But what prompted the chatan to marry and then so quickly opt out? Did he not know his own heart?
And while the above example may be extreme how many of us have felt ambivalent about what we want in terms of career, family, level of Observance, community. Who has not felt certain of what they want only to feel very much unsure shortly after? We make choices and then choose again. Some of us remain so paralyzed by our ambivalence that we don't choose at all. How indeed do we know what is our true desire? Would that we could so easily look at the song of the day and find a solution.
From this week's parsha of Korach perhaps we can get some insight. You recall Korach, a man of stature, from the same tribe as Moshe, the tribe of Levi, stirred up a mutiny against Moshe. He questioned whether Moshe and Aharon had not taken too much of the responsibility for communal leadership unto themselves. His motivation was jealousy and self-agrandizement. He couched his challenge as a call to equality.
He said "For the whole nation, all of it is holy.And why have you raised yourselves above the congregation of Hashem".
The results of the mutiny of Korach are legendary. After a test by means of the firepans of incense in which only the firepan of Aharon was chosen, the earth opened up and swallowed Korach and all his mutineers died with him.
What is interesting to note is that Moshe called for the test of the true by means of the firepans of incense not on the day of the mutiny but rather the next morning.
Moshe said "Tomorrow morning G-d will reveal who is truly his and who is holy that He wants him near, and who He has chosen to be near to Him."
The commentaries wonder why the delay? Why does Moshe wait a day to bring the mutiny to closure? Why did he not immediately call for the test and validation of his leadership?
The answers are many, including several in the Medrash. In keeping with the concept of the blog, that is, understanding the Torah through the window of our self, I think Moshe was telling Korach and his followers something profound. Moshe was telling them, "Look I know you think you are motivated by holy desires and that you believe you are really only interested in the welfare of the People. Wait then. Wait til the morning, til the next day, after the heat of the moment of challenge has past. Tell me then, when you are calm and serene and all the passion has cooled, in the morning when you wake, do you still want this revolt? Are you still committed to it? Is it your ego compelling you in which case you will find less enthusiasm for your agenda come next day, or is it really a matter of conscience that you cannot desist from, something you truly feel called to, no matter the consequences."
Many years ago I had a teacher who was taken by my ability to get very excited about a particular issue, express strong feelings, only later to quickly forget about it and move on to something else. He said to me, "Israel, you are a mile wide and an inch deep." Indeed not all passion reflects depth. We can feel something very strongly and with emotion and yet it will not leave a trace a few minutes later.
To feel deeply, for something to really matter to us and at the core of our being, it needs to leave a residue. It needs to effect us in some significant way and for more than the passing moment.
If I want to know what really matters to me, what I really want, the lesson Moshe is teaching me is that I need to wait. If what I want continues to hold importance in the light of the new day, when I am calm and serene, then I know what I want is core to my real self. If the passion and yearning passes, now matter how strong it seemed in the individual moment, it is driven by forces external and maybe even impure. No matter how many times the passion may return, if it does not hold force in the 'morning' of my life when all is calm and quiet, it does not warrant a place of importance and in many cases it should command no place at all.
So many questions lie before us. So many decisions. What do we do about our marriage or our work? In what do we invest our self? Where do we put our energies? To answer those questions and so many more, we need to know what we really want, what matters to us. And to know that we will have to get past the emotional moments, the moments of passion and look towards the morning, the moments of serenity, when our heart speaks to us and we have the capacity to listen.
Then, in the morning, we will know our truth. Then, in the calm,when the passions have quieted, we will know what we need do.
Shabbat Shalom
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
"Where Am I ?"
A short time before my father died I asked him where he saw himself in the context of his life. I said, "Dad, if you drew a line and the starting point of the line represented your birth and the line's end symbolized your passing, where are you now?" My father's response was somewhat startling. He said "Now, I see myself as a little past the middle."
My father's sense of self in the context of his life's journey at the age of 84 contrasts markedly with the wisdom we find expressed by one of our great sages who taught us to view every day as if its our last,no matter how old we may be, so that we will always be in a state of 'teshuva', repentance.
"Location, location, location!" In the world of real estate, all that matters is location. The emphasis on location can be equally compelling in our spiritual journey. Nowhere does that become more clear than in the parsha this week of Shlach Lecha. Our ancestors were in the wilderness, on the threshold of the Promised Land. Moshe sent the spies, all men of distinction, to explore the land and bring back a report in anticipation of the invasion. Ten of the twelve men brng back a disheartening report. They speak of the difficulty of the conquest and of the harshness of the country. In response, the People lose heart. They cry and lament their situation. They despair of enterring Israel. And with that the fate of the Generation of the Wilderness is sealed. They are condemned by G-d to wander and ultimately die in the wilderness, never to enter the Promised Land they rejected in their cowardice.
The core error made by the spies and the people who believed them was that the wilderness offerred an alternative home, and a safe one at that. True, they were a nation in transition, but they had so many comforts. They had the manna to eat and waters to drink. They were protected by G-d's pillar of fire by night and Cloud of Glory by day. They had Moshe and Aharon to lead them and the Mishkan as a house of worship. Why risk enterring the Land of Israel? Why compromise a good thing for something that seemed risky at best?
Israel's mistake was a mistake in location. They did not realize where they were. They thought they were in a spiritual haven in the wilderness. They thought "what we have is plenty good." They did not understand that as good as the 'midbar' seemed it was never meant to be their dwelling place. Israel the people need Israel the land. Just as their could be no nation without the Torah, their could be no nation without its homeland of Israel.
The Torah, in the first part of the book of Bamidbar focused on forming the People's identity. All the emphasis on the counting, according to family and tribe, the travels by position and flag, the order of society including the Levites and their tasks, were meant to help the Israelite define in clear and certain terms "who am I?"
"Who am I?" is a question of deep and abiding importance for a nation and its constituents. One needs to have an unequivical sense of one's own identity to fulfill ones purpose in the world.
But "who am I?" is only one of two compelling questions vital to our People's health and wholeness. The other, equally significant, is "where am I?". Unless a nation and its members know where they are in the context of their life and history they will be equally compromised in fulfilling their call. Israel knew who they were. But the sin of the spies indicates they did not know where they were!
In the sections of the Torah that follow the story of the sin of the spies and its horrific consequences we have several laws given to us. All involve knowing our location. The first two deal with the laws of donating wine and oil for libations for individuals who bring a sacrifice, and the taking of challa from the dough to give to the kohain. Both laws only apply once the people are in Israel. In the wilderness, where this generation was to die, the laws were irrelevant. Knowing where one is is central to the mitzvah's observance.
After those laws we are told of the requirement to bring special sin offerings if we violated a Torah law unintenionally. In each of those cases, the sin typically occurs when a person does not know where s/he is. S/he is missing some vital information on their situation that causes the unintentional sin. And then we have a story of the man who violated the Shabbat in the wilderness and who, in the end, was stoned to death for his sin. Here too, the man did not recognize his location, in this case, his location in time. He failed to accept that he was living in the Sabbath.
And finally the reading ends with the portion of Tzizit, which we say twice a day in the sh'ma. Tzizit are not like tefilin. Tefilin are holy, they contain the name of G-d on parchments. We wear them on our head and opposite our hearts. They are meant to remind us who we are. Tzizit are not holy. Our Sages taught the blue dye, the 'techailet' of the tzizit is meant to remind us of the blue of the sea, and the sea of the sky, and the sky of our call to fulfill G-d's laws. Tzizit are meant to remind us as to where we are, our fragility in life and our calling. They answer the question "where am I?"
Where am I? is a question we need to constantly be asking ourselves throughout our life. We need to ask it in terms of our physical space and in terms of our space in time.
In terms of our physical space how tragic that those who live outside Israel build a home and life without even feeling the absence of Eretz Yisrael. The comparison to the Generation of the Wilderness and their willingness to forgo settling the land with its challenges for the spiritual and physical comforts of foreign soil is too compelling to dismiss.
And even those of us who live here in the Holy Land, do we realize its kedusha. I see litter everywhere. Garbage on the street. Yes, people desecrating Yerushalayim with schmutz. How can that be? How can we live here and be so mindless. We too fail to comprehend where we are!
And just as important we need to ask "where am I?" in the context of our lives.My father's optimism about life as he neared death is inspiring, but it won't serve us well if we delay doing what we need to do in our lives because we feel we have time.
Life moves on, years pass. We have work to get done, growth to accomplish. We cannot postpone the changes we need to make, our improvements forever. The time for most of us is here and now. For most of us the excuses of youth are past. We need to know our location and respond with the urgency it warrants.
"Where am I?" is a question each of us has to ask ourselves and grapple with on a regular basis. To live well and meaningfully we need to know our location, both in space and time. Its the way to the Promised Land, both for us as individuals and for us as a People.
Shabbat Shalom
My father's sense of self in the context of his life's journey at the age of 84 contrasts markedly with the wisdom we find expressed by one of our great sages who taught us to view every day as if its our last,no matter how old we may be, so that we will always be in a state of 'teshuva', repentance.
"Location, location, location!" In the world of real estate, all that matters is location. The emphasis on location can be equally compelling in our spiritual journey. Nowhere does that become more clear than in the parsha this week of Shlach Lecha. Our ancestors were in the wilderness, on the threshold of the Promised Land. Moshe sent the spies, all men of distinction, to explore the land and bring back a report in anticipation of the invasion. Ten of the twelve men brng back a disheartening report. They speak of the difficulty of the conquest and of the harshness of the country. In response, the People lose heart. They cry and lament their situation. They despair of enterring Israel. And with that the fate of the Generation of the Wilderness is sealed. They are condemned by G-d to wander and ultimately die in the wilderness, never to enter the Promised Land they rejected in their cowardice.
The core error made by the spies and the people who believed them was that the wilderness offerred an alternative home, and a safe one at that. True, they were a nation in transition, but they had so many comforts. They had the manna to eat and waters to drink. They were protected by G-d's pillar of fire by night and Cloud of Glory by day. They had Moshe and Aharon to lead them and the Mishkan as a house of worship. Why risk enterring the Land of Israel? Why compromise a good thing for something that seemed risky at best?
Israel's mistake was a mistake in location. They did not realize where they were. They thought they were in a spiritual haven in the wilderness. They thought "what we have is plenty good." They did not understand that as good as the 'midbar' seemed it was never meant to be their dwelling place. Israel the people need Israel the land. Just as their could be no nation without the Torah, their could be no nation without its homeland of Israel.
The Torah, in the first part of the book of Bamidbar focused on forming the People's identity. All the emphasis on the counting, according to family and tribe, the travels by position and flag, the order of society including the Levites and their tasks, were meant to help the Israelite define in clear and certain terms "who am I?"
"Who am I?" is a question of deep and abiding importance for a nation and its constituents. One needs to have an unequivical sense of one's own identity to fulfill ones purpose in the world.
But "who am I?" is only one of two compelling questions vital to our People's health and wholeness. The other, equally significant, is "where am I?". Unless a nation and its members know where they are in the context of their life and history they will be equally compromised in fulfilling their call. Israel knew who they were. But the sin of the spies indicates they did not know where they were!
In the sections of the Torah that follow the story of the sin of the spies and its horrific consequences we have several laws given to us. All involve knowing our location. The first two deal with the laws of donating wine and oil for libations for individuals who bring a sacrifice, and the taking of challa from the dough to give to the kohain. Both laws only apply once the people are in Israel. In the wilderness, where this generation was to die, the laws were irrelevant. Knowing where one is is central to the mitzvah's observance.
After those laws we are told of the requirement to bring special sin offerings if we violated a Torah law unintenionally. In each of those cases, the sin typically occurs when a person does not know where s/he is. S/he is missing some vital information on their situation that causes the unintentional sin. And then we have a story of the man who violated the Shabbat in the wilderness and who, in the end, was stoned to death for his sin. Here too, the man did not recognize his location, in this case, his location in time. He failed to accept that he was living in the Sabbath.
And finally the reading ends with the portion of Tzizit, which we say twice a day in the sh'ma. Tzizit are not like tefilin. Tefilin are holy, they contain the name of G-d on parchments. We wear them on our head and opposite our hearts. They are meant to remind us who we are. Tzizit are not holy. Our Sages taught the blue dye, the 'techailet' of the tzizit is meant to remind us of the blue of the sea, and the sea of the sky, and the sky of our call to fulfill G-d's laws. Tzizit are meant to remind us as to where we are, our fragility in life and our calling. They answer the question "where am I?"
Where am I? is a question we need to constantly be asking ourselves throughout our life. We need to ask it in terms of our physical space and in terms of our space in time.
In terms of our physical space how tragic that those who live outside Israel build a home and life without even feeling the absence of Eretz Yisrael. The comparison to the Generation of the Wilderness and their willingness to forgo settling the land with its challenges for the spiritual and physical comforts of foreign soil is too compelling to dismiss.
And even those of us who live here in the Holy Land, do we realize its kedusha. I see litter everywhere. Garbage on the street. Yes, people desecrating Yerushalayim with schmutz. How can that be? How can we live here and be so mindless. We too fail to comprehend where we are!
And just as important we need to ask "where am I?" in the context of our lives.My father's optimism about life as he neared death is inspiring, but it won't serve us well if we delay doing what we need to do in our lives because we feel we have time.
Life moves on, years pass. We have work to get done, growth to accomplish. We cannot postpone the changes we need to make, our improvements forever. The time for most of us is here and now. For most of us the excuses of youth are past. We need to know our location and respond with the urgency it warrants.
"Where am I?" is a question each of us has to ask ourselves and grapple with on a regular basis. To live well and meaningfully we need to know our location, both in space and time. Its the way to the Promised Land, both for us as individuals and for us as a People.
Shabbat Shalom
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