Jews
of medieval times sought to guide their children by writing ethical wills. In
these documents, the authors shared their wisdom with those who would follow,
teaching how Jews ought to behave. From Hebrew Ethical Wills, we
read: "Raise not your hand against your neighbor. Never be weary of making
friends; consider a single enemy as one too many. If you have a faithful
friend, hold fast to him. Let him not go, for he is a precious
possession." (Asher b. Yehiel, 13th century Germany and
Spain)
Mensch•Mark For Elul 17
Text
"Hillel says: Be among the disciples of Aaron, loving peace and pursuing
peace, loving people and bringing them closer to the Torah." (Avot 1:12)
Commentary
Aaron, the brother of Moses, was considered an exemplar of a peacemaker among
his people. It is told that when Aaron saw two people at odds with each other,
he would approach each one separately, without the other one's knowledge, and
say,"Why are you fighting with your friend? He begged me to approach you
and arrange a reconciliation." With this tactic, Aaron was able to bring
about peace between the two people. (Pirkei Avos Treasury, p. 38)
Similarly,
if a man and his wife were experiencing marital problems, Aaron would even
allow himself to be degraded in order to restore harmony between them. In
gratitude, couples whose marriages he had strengthened would often name their
next son after him. At Aaron's funeral, there were said to be eighty thousand
other "Aarons" that walked behind his casket. (Kallah Rabbasi 3)
The
concept of peace (shalom) can refer to intra-personal, interpersonal,
and international relationships. Without inner peace, a person is anxious,
confused, and hurting. Without communal peace, each person is isolated,
separate, and detached. Without global peace, our world will remain in pieces,
fractious and fractured. The need for a unified and harmonious whole exists in
a person, in a family, in a people, and in all peoples.Shalom is
still an unrealized ideal.
Language
itself hints at the centrality of peace in Jewish tradition. The word shalom carries
a wealth of positive meanings. Referring not only to the absence of war, shalom also
means "safety," "wholeness," "completion,"
"fulfillment," "prosperity,",and "peace of mind and
heart.".In English, "peace" is often understood to be the
absence of something—a lack of conflict. In Hebrew, shalom is understood to be
the presence of something—a sense of well-being and fulfillment. (Artson, It's
a Mitzvah, p. 121)
How
can Ma'amido al HaShalom (setting others on the path of peace)
lead to becoming a Torah-wise person? In a commentary on this middah,
it is suggested that by being flexible and ready to compromise when possible,
and legitimate, the Torah scholar promotes peace among people (Midrash
Shmuel) and increases peace in the world. (Berachos 64a)
Mensch•Mark For Elul 18
Text
"Who studies gladly for a single hour will learn vastly more than one who
studies glumly for hours on end." (Hayyim of Valozhin, a Lithuanian
talmudist of the 18th century)
Commentary
One of the 48 qualities needed to acquire Torah is the ability to concentrate
on one's studies. Concentration is focusing one's undivided attention for a
particular purpose.
As
mentioned in the translation, there are several different interpretations of
this middah. In Midrash Samuel, the commentator
understands this middah to mean "thinking deliberately in
one's study." This means that the learner studies in a composed and steady
way rather than quickly and haphazardly. The commentary Tiferes
Yisrael characterizes the learner in this middah as
one who thoroughly prepares before giving a Torah lecture or presentation. The
competent scholar prepares not only content but also the style of presentation.
The commentary Sfas Emes translates this middah as,
"ne whose heart becomes composed by Torah study." This describes the
individual who, though beset by problems, is able to subdue them by deep,
concentrated Torah study. The Chofetz Chaim understood this middah to
say, "one's heart derives the lessons of one's learning." Simply put,
the learner internalizes the lessons of the Torah and lives his/her life
completely by them. ( Pirkei Avos Ethics of the Fathers, p.422)
Reuven
Bulka taught the following interpretation of this middah,
"One
may be involved with the destiny of others, but is still important to
concentrate on Torah by being studious in learning, by recognizing that even
though one has reached the point of being able to teach others, nevertheless,
it is still important to continue being a student oneself." (As A Tree
by the Waters, p.258)
In
each of these instances, the commentator is describing the way in which the
learner approaches Torah, the intent with which the learner studies and how
that study manifests itself in the learner. All of these take concentration and
focus which is reflected in this text: "Who studies gladly for a single
hour will learn vastly more than one who studies glumly for hours on end."
In other words, concentrated learning for one hour is more effective than
several hours of uninspired learning.
The
Talmud says, "If you see a student who finds it as hard as iron to study,
it is because his/her studies are without system." (Ta'anit) We
affect our own ability to concentrate, to focus and to learn. There are all
sorts of ways to create your own system of study. Some learners thrive in study
groups, others need to read in isolation, some learners take notes or make
outlines. Some learn best by hearing a lecture or presentation others by a
hands-on experience. Each of us as a learner is unique and we each must find
our own way to concentrate and learn.
Mensch•Mark For Elul 19
Text
"Rabbi Hama son of Rabbi Hanina said: What is implied by the verse 'Iron
sharpens iron' (Proverbs 27:17) It tells you that just as one piece of iron
sharpens another, so two scholars sharpen each other's mind by discussion of
the Law." (Sefer Ha Aggadah - Legends of the Jews, 428:260)
Commentary
Intense debate and discussion have a long history in Jewish tradition. As early
as the book of Genesis we read of Abraham debating with God the destiny of the
citizens of Sodom and Gomorrah. It was through debate that Abraham learns that
there are no righteous people in these cities and therefore they do not merit
being saved.
The middah of pilpul
hatalmidim teaches two values: the value of debate and the value of
learning with others.
Debate
sharpens one's mind and makes the subject under discussion clearer. As the Text
asserts, "iron sharpens iron." Spirited and learned discussion
elevates one's thinking. It pushes one to higher realms of learning, thinking,
and understanding.
Rabbi
Samson Raphael Hirsch taught,
"Isolation
is incompatible with Jewish knowledge; it is only by association with living
sages, in close communion with associates, and by the clarity of thought and
judgment that can be attained by teaching it to disciples that the knowledge of
Torah can be nurtured and allowed to flourish." (Chapters of the
Fathers, Hirsch p.105)
Simply
put, one must combine a relationship with sages, a closeness with colleagues,
and sharp discussion with students in order to tap all the resources of Torah
knowledge. (Pirkei Avos, ArtScroll, p. 415)
Rabbah
bar Bar Hanah said:
"Why
are words of Torah likened to fire, as in the verse, 'Is not My word like fire?
says Adonai' (Jeremiah 23:29) To teach you that just as fire does not ignite
itself, so words of Torah do not abide in one who studies alone."
Simply
put, we are to be samayach b'chelko—satisfied with our portion from
the effort we expend in life whether it is in acquisition of material
possessions or acquisition of skills and knowledge not the number of
possessions we have or the level of learning we achieve. It is in the doing,
not the acquiring, that satisfaction and happiness are to come.
Mensch•Mark For Elul 20
Text
"Ben Zoma said: Who is rich? Those who are happy with their portion."
(Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 32a also found in Pirkei Avot 4:1)
Commentary
Being content with one's portion is an age-old Jewish concern. In the book of
Proverbs, we read, "A joyful heart makes a cheerful face; A sad heart
makes a despondent mood. All the days of a poor person are wretched, but
contentment is a feast without end." (Proverbs 15:13 and 15)
To
be truly joyful with one's lot in life is wise advice. It is a wonderful way to
live, but how easy is it to adopt this attitude? How many of us are truly
satisfied with our portion? How do we recognize our own good fortune? All
around us the world advertises the goods and services we all seem to
"need." Our world is characterized by material acquisition, and to
paraphrase a popular game show "who 'wouldn't' want to be a
millionaire?
This
obsession with our "needs" is not just a contemporary concern.
Solomon Ibn Gabirol, an eleventh-century Spanish poet-philosopher taught:
"Who seeks more than he needs, hinders himself from enjoying what he has.
Seek what you need and give up what you need not. For in giving up what you
don't need, you'll learn what you really do need." (Mivhar Hapeninim 155,161
as found in The Jewish Moral Virtues, Borowitz and Schwartz, p.164)
This
is the challenge—balancing what we need and what we want in order to
become samayach b'chelko—satisfied with our portion.
Several
commentators have suggested a variety of reasons why one should be samayach
b'chelko - satisfied with one's portion. Reuven Bulka has written,
"Whatever bounty and good one is given in life should be greatly
appreciated. Unlike affliction, which one lives with by almost ignoring it and
transcending it, that which one has been granted which seems to be beneficial
should be accepted in joy." (As A Tree By The Waters p. 256)
As
it relates to acquisition of Torah, Midrash Samuel states,
"…one must be happy that one can be involved in the study of God's
word."
Our
personal attitudes affect how we study and what we acquire through our studies.
According to Machzor Vitry, if a person spends time worrying and
brooding over one's portion of this world's pleasures (i.e., material
possessions) one cannot concentrate on learning.
The Ruach
Chaim explains that one's lot means one's ability to learn and
comprehend. A person should not be dissatisfied if he or she cannot live up to
one's ambitions or the standards of others with greater ability, one should do
one's best and constantly review until the learning is mastered. In the end the
individual will succeed and even excel. (The Pirkei Avos Treasury p.
418)
Samson
Raphael Hirsch taught that just as we should be satisfied with our portion of
earthly goods, so too should we rejoice in the measure of intellectual talent
we have been granted. For one should derive satisfaction from the knowledge
that one has faithfully used one's abilities for the advancement of one's
skills and learning, for God evaluates the achievements of each of us solely in
terms of the extent to which one has made good use of one's intellectual
abilities. (Chapters of the Fathers, p. 107)
- On
Passover, Elijah opens the door - for him!
- He
once caught a real gefilte fish.
- On
Purim, he comes dressed – as himself!
- He
can do Hagba AND Glilah – at the same time!
- At
Tashlich, the fish throw his bread back.
He
is… the most interesting Jew in the world.
Stay thirsty, my friends.
Seriously. Stay
thirsty.
To
no one’s surprise, the guy who plays the most interesting man in the world in
the commercials, an actor named Jonathan Goldsmith, IS Jewish. And
why wouldn’t he be? We may or may not be the Chosen people, but
we are, without a doubt, the most interesting.
But
does being interesting make us happy? And if not, what does?
So
now, the camera is turned on us. Today, a sermonic
selfie. Enough with the whats and wheres. Today, we
look squarely in the mirror and see what stares back. Who are
we? What can give us fulfillment?
Last
week I spoke of a prayer that frames the liturgy, which we recited at the very
beginning of the service and will recite at the very end of Yom Kippur
tonight. And that prayer asks the question. Mah
Hasdenu?
Hesed is kindness, goodness. Unconditional
love. Tenderness. Consideration.
Empathy. Profound connection. Steadfast love. There is
really no precise equivalent in
English. In fact a word was created to approximate it:
“loving-kindness.” But Hesed is not kindness as in when you let someone go in
front of you in a long line at Stop and Shop. Hesed is much deeper
than that.
It’s
mentioned over and over in the Bible, a total of 250 times, involving
heroes like Ruth and David. Abraham was a hesed machine.
Jeremiah defines Hesed as an Ahavat Olam – Pure, unbounded love.
The
prophet Micah defines Hesed further, in a verse that concludes
this afternoon’s haftarah as an add-on to the story of Jonah:
“(Mi el Kamocha) Who is a God like unto You, that pardons
iniquity, and passes by the transgression of the remnant of His heritage? He
retains not anger forever, because Hesed makes God happy. (Ke
Hafetz hesed hu.”).
Hesed,
then, is the key to God’s happiness - and our own. Hesed allows God
to “let it go,” to overcome anger and indignation. So the question
“Mah Hasdenu?” really is a way of asking,
“How can we find happiness?”
What
I’d like to do today is unpack that idea some more. Because in
our world there is such profound sadness. I don’t know, it seems to
be even more prevalent than at any time since 9/11. Signs of
unhappiness are everywhere.
Jacob
Burak, a financial and cultural guru, wrote last month in Aeon magazine
that Humans seem to be hard-wired for bad news, angry faces and sad
memories. He says that we have a “negativity bias.”:
“…While a good day has no lasting effect on the following day, a
bad day carries over. We process negative data faster and more thoroughly than
positive data, and they affect us longer. Socially, we invest more in avoiding
a bad reputation than in building a good one. Emotionally, we go to greater
lengths to avoid a bad mood than to experience a good one.”
Needless
to say, Jacob Burak is Jewish. If human beings have a bias for
negativity, Jews are “exhibit a”. We veer toward the negative.
We look up at the ceiling and our eyes are drawn toward the missing tile right
away. Of the 613 mitzvot, only 248 are
positive. 365 are thou-shalt-nots, enough for us to break one
negative commandment each day of the year. Even some of the positive commandments
have been given a negative spin. Like the greatest of them all,
“Love your neighbor as yourself,” which was reframed by the sage Hillel as,
“What is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor.” He takes the
ultimate positive and flips it over to its negative side. Hillel, it
seems, like the rest of the Jewish people, needs a shrink.
As
Henny Youngman put it, Why don't Jews drink? It interferes with our
suffering.
As
Leonard Fein, a great Jewish pundit who died recently, used to say, a Jewish
telegram is one that reads, "Start worrying. Letter
follows." Fein goes on, “We worry about everything. We
worry about Israel, we worry about anti-Semitism, we worry about demographics,
we worry about war, we worry about peace. When someone
says "All's right with the world," we know that something
must be wrong; he has overlooked the cloud, the flaw, the imminent crisis. He
has been lulled; the storm is brewing just out of sight, we can feel it in our
ancient bones.”
So
here’s where we are. Everything around is conspiring to drag us
down. The tragic death of Robin Williams brought home to us the prevalence
of depression and mental illness in our society. Last year a study in England warned
that teenagers are becoming increasingly unhappy, with growing concerns about
school, their appearance and the amount of freedom they have. At
about the same time the New Yorker reported that
going online makes us unhappy – primarily because we become jealous of all the
people on social media who seem to be doing so much better than us.
If
it’s not our emotional wiring, it’s our culture, it’s our perfect neighbors,
it’s our health or it’s the body’s inexorable decline; it’s our
mortality. The rise of mental illness is being called an epidemic, where the
CDC, last year, reported that the suicide rate among Americans ages
35–64 years increased 28.4 percent between 1999 and 2010, where our
society breeds anxiety, depression and
dysfunction, where people who seem to have every reason to be happy, suffer
horribly, and the symptoms aren’t recognized or properly treated, and they do
horrible things to themselves and others.
No
doubt many of us here have had to stave off bouts of depression. Let
me amend that. All of us. All of us. For some
the issues are clinical, for others circumstantial – and for some, both.
"Life,"
said Woody Allen, "is full of misery, loneliness and suffering - and it's
all over much too soon."
Oy.
Can’t
we ever be happy?
Yes
we can. And that brings us back to Ma Hasdenu? For
while Jews may not score well on the happiness scale, Judaism provides us with
the keys to happiness. True, we are glass half
empty people, but ours is a glass half full tradition. So let’s
learn from it. Here are nine quick lessons Judaism teaches us:
Lesson one: Recognize that Happiness is a worthy and
attainable goal.
It’s
OK not to feel burdened and guilty all the time. Sometimes we
feel guilty when we feel good. Alan Cohen defined guilt as “punishing yourself
before God doesn’t”.
Rabbi
Nachman of Bratzlav said, “Mitzvah g’dolah lihyot b’simcha tamid.” “It
is a great mitzvah to be happy always.” “He understood, way before
Freud, that sadness could lead to sickness – even though Nachman himself
struggled deeply with depression. Aristotle called happiness
"the chief good," the end towards which all other things
aim. And in full agreement, Moses Chayim Luzzato, who in the 18thcentury
wrote “The Path of the Just,” begins the first chapter saying, “Man is created
to take pleasure.” For him, there was no greater pleasure than seeking
closeness with God.
Which
brings us to Lesson Two: Come to Services.
I
believe that religion has an enormous role to play in combating the incessant
negativity, cynicism, alienation and depression that surrounds
us. Surveys show a distinct correlation between happiness and
frequency of church attendance in America. But oftentimes, religion
is accused of fostering a false sense of happiness by denying harsh
realities. I can’t speak for other faiths, but that’s not true for
Judaism. Judaism is not a religion that teaches us to comfort
someone on his deathbed by saying that he is going to a “better
place.” Judaism does not promote the kind of saccharine happiness
that denies life’s struggles; but rather a deep, rich affirmation of life, with
no denial, recognizing our mortality. And it’s a life that connects –
a life of Hesed.
Lesson three: Remove the Masks.
Happiness
happens when we get real. Rav Kook, in his classic work on Teshuvah,
stated, “The primary role of penitence is for the person to return
to himself, to the root of his soul.” That’s where Carlebach got the
lyrics to the song – return to the root of your soul.
This
implies a deep acceptance of who we are.
My
colleague Rabbi Irwin Kula has tried something different at his congregation in
Chicago. During Neilah, in fact while reciting our prayer, Mah
anahnu, mah hayenu? (What are we? What are our lives?), he leads a ten
minute, "Who am I" exercise, conducted in pairs.
Each
person is allotted five minutes to answer; then the roles reverse. A sample
dialogue:
"Who
are you?" "I'm Joshua Hammerman."
"Who
are you?" "I'm a father."
"Who
are you?" "I'm a son."
"Who
are you?" "I'm a husband."
Kula
says, "By the thirtieth question, the answers reach the level of
vulnerability."
"Who
are you?" "I'm lonely."
"Who
are you?" "I'm scared."
In
a room this big, that’s harder to do. But it’s an exercise worth trying in a
more intimate setting.
Lesson Four: Let it Go.
With
apologies to Idina Menzel.
That
song from the film “Frozen” has been without doubt the most repeated and
reinterpreted song of the year, except for one. Every little kid I
know is singing this song. And some grown ups too. Because, in large
part, we recognize that we all need to “let it go” in order to be
happy. As we saw from the prophet Micah, even God needs to let it
go.
The
Talmud tells of a drought, when Rabbi Eliezer prayed for rain, but nothing
happened. Rabbi Akiva offered a short prayer and the rains fell. A Voice from
Heaven called out, “Not that Akiva is any better than Eliezer, but Eliezer
carries a grudge against those who slight him, while Akiva forgets it and moves
on.”
The
Talmud is clearly telling us – if you don’t let go of your anger or your pain,
it will only compound your troubles and make you less able to live a productive
life. So let it go.
Lesson Five: Cultivate He-sed-ic Communities
Not
Hasidic – but Hesed-ic. Communities filled with
Hesed. Rabbi Israel Salanter, the 19th century founder of the Mussar
movement, saw a scholar with a forlorn look on his face during the days between
Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. The scholar said he was worried
because these are the days when God is judging us. To
which Salanter replied, “But other people won’t realize that that’s what’s
bothering you. They might think that you are upset with them.”
In order to be truly happy,
we’ve truly got to care about the happiness of others.
Not
long ago, PBS aired a film called “Happy,” tracking the phenomenon all over the
world. The producer spoke about how he had heard that happy people
tend to be healthier, get sick less often and live longer than unhappy people –
and that for some reason, the oldest people in the world came from Okinawa in
Japan.
He
went there on a whim and found that it was a resounding YES, they were
happy. The key is was how different generations come together on a
regular basis. One day, he noticed a group of elderly women
visiting a preschool as the kids were having a footrace. The
grandmothers convened at finish line. They hugged all the kids as they
finished. The producer went to congratulate a grandmother about having such a
grandkid.
She
said, ‘That’s not my grandchild. None of these are my grandkids.’ She was
asked, ‘Is this your friend’s?’ She said, ‘None of the women here are
related to any of these children.’
I
would love to see that happen at every bar mitzvah here. Total
strangers of the older generations hugging all the kids as they cross the
finish line. That is a culture that promotes happiness.
Lesson Six: Fake it
Nachman
of Bratzlav also said, “If you are not happy, pretend to be. Even
if you are totally depressed, act happy. Genuine joy will
follow.”
This
one might leave you skeptical, but Reb Nachman believed that when we activate
joy, it ignites a spark inside us, it opens up our aliveness and lets us see
the world from a God’s eye view. As Rabbi Mark Novak put it in a
recent issue of Moment magazine in a section about happiness, “Putting on a
smile is not intended to cover over anything, but to make room for what
is here – the divine presence – in each breathing, sacred
moment. The smile, which leads us to joy, which leads us to wonder,
calls upon the child within us to live with curiosity and creativity.”
In
that same issue, Rabbi Gershon Wimkler wrote, “Happiness should not be
something we strive for. It should be entrenched deeply within
us.” And he’s right. Despite the unimaginable tragedies
we have faced, we are a people known for our ability to rise above our sadness
and smile. Happiness for us is much more than an
emotion. It is a divine imperative.
Lesson Seven: Laugh your way through the tears.
When
we ask, Mah Hasdenu, what causes us to smile even when we
don’t feel like it – it’s our sense of humor.
Henny
Youngman put it in the form of a joke: says I go to the doctor and the
doctor says I have six months to live. I told him I can’t pay
him. So he gave me six months more.
That
is the quintessential Jewish joke. We all have six months. We’re all
up against literally a dead-line. But if we can laugh at it and
stand up to it, it will give us a reprieve from the sadness – and that’s like
bargaining for six months more.
Writer
Jay Michelson calls the uniquely Jewish form of happiness “unhappy happiness,”
“a kind of happiness that lies beneath the surface; beneath, that
is, what we ordinarily understand to be sadness or joy. A middle
path between two unsatisfactory alternatives: what he calls “the Botox-smiling
cheer of the American Dream on the one hand (in which unrelenting peppiness
coexists with some of the world’s highest levels of depression and
dissatisfaction), and the self-defeating “Oy Vey” of Jewish irascibility.”
Can
we talk? Joan Rivers, made us laugh right up to the end, when she
made us cry. She once said, in a moment not intended to draw
giggles, “I enjoy life when things are happening. I don’t care if it’s good
things or bad things. That means you’re alive.”
Lesson
Eight: Stay in the moment
There’s
an app, Track Your Happiness, which allows people to report their feelings in
real time. Its developer discovered that we're least happy when we allow our
minds to wander from the task at hand. That’s because when our minds
wander, we tend to obsess about things that worry us.
So
if your mind is wandering now, you’re probably worried. If you are
focusing on me, you are much happier.
But
even as we focus on that task, we can also get immersed in it – lost in
it. I know that I am often happiest when I look up at the clock and
can’t believe how much time has elapsed. Having a direction, a
goal, really helps, even if we may never finish what we’ve started. The
sages were onto something when they stated that it is not ours to complete the
task, but neither is it ours to desist from it.
Lesson Nine: Embrace your brokenness.
The
Hebrew word for happiness, “Simcha” was found adjacent to signatures at the
bottom of medieval legal documents found in the attic of a Cairo synagogue. Now
legal documents don’t typically ask us to express emotion. So
scholars concluded that the real meaning of the Hebrew word “simcha” is not
“joy,” but “acceptance.” And that is what, for Judaism, happiness is
all about. Acceptance of what we can’t change and learning to live
with it.
There’s
that famous story that was first reported years ago in the Houston Chronicle,
about Itzak Perlman once breaking a string during a performance in
1995. Rather than waiting for a new string to be attached, he just
kept on playing. When he finished, the newspaper reported, there was
an awesome silence in the room. And then people rose and cheered. There was an
extraordinary outburst of applause from every corner of the auditorium.
He
smiled, wiped the sweat from his brow, raised his bow to quiet us, and then he
said -- not boastfully, but in a quiet, pensive, reverent tone -- "You
know, sometimes it is the artist's task to find out how much music you can
still make with what you have left."
You
might notice that when I send out death notices, I use the traditional Hebrew
response to tragic news, “Baruch Dayan Emet,” “Blessed be the
truthful Judge.” You might wonder how we could possibly say a
blessing for bad news. A student asked that very same question of
Rabbi Eliemelech. He was instructed to go to the study hall and ask that
question to Reb Zusya.” When the student laid eyes on Reb Zusya, he
could have easily imagined the suffering this man must have experienced in his
lifetime. The pain of illness and poverty was etched on his
face. The student proceeded to ask: How is it possible to bless God
for bad news with equal fervor as for good news? Reb Zusya’s reply: “Why are
you asking me? How do I know the answer? Nothing bad has
ever happened to me!”
OK. If
this is supposed to be about happiness, why does it feel like the most
depressing sermon of all time?
Because,
I have a secret to tell you. Life is really depressing.
And
so many of us have learned, the hard way, that happiness does not come
automatically from wealth, fame or power, or the instant gratification of our
every whim or desire, or an addiction to what feels, smells or tastes
good. Revenge does not bring about happiness, nor does unlimited
freedom to do whatever you want, whenever you want, without any obligations or
responsibilities. Happiness does not come from the indulgence
of the self at the expense of others. If you live this way, you will
soon understand why Oscar Wilde said, “Some cause happiness wherever
they go; others whenever they go.”
Happiness
also does not come from the avoidance of risk or adversity.
Instead,
it comes from…. This. (Put on Pharrell hat)
I
said that “Let it Go” the most repeated and reinterpreted song of the year,
except one. Well, this is the one: Pharrell Williams’
irresistibly infectious song “Happy” is one of the best selling of all time.
Last month it became the most downloaded track ever in the UK. Including
Scotland.
And
literally just about every country on earth has created a video using this
soundtrack. And I mean everywhere. From Abidjan to
Zagreb. Both Tel Aviv AND Gaza did “Happy” videos this
summer. Efrat too, right after the three Israeli teens were abducted near
there. It inspired uplifting tributes from the
typhoon-ravaged Philippines. How about Iran, where six young people were
arrested for making a completely harmless “Happy” video. They were
sentenced to lashes and forced to recant on television.
To display happiness all around the world… a beautiful humanity
needs to be protected in such times of crisis, and for that we must talk about
the good things rather than dwell on what goes wrong.
Sometime
this coming week, go onto that site and dance from place to place, randomly, or
deliberately. Go from Abu Dhabi to Albuquerque, from the Bahamas to
Johannesburg, from Madagascar to Moskow. I t is powerful to
see. Who knew Poland was so happy? Or Morocco? There’s one in sign
language from a camp for the hearing impaired in upstate New York, and a fun
one from New Zealand senior citizens. This song transcends
language. It is truly universal. This year, “Happy”
became the new lingua franca – the language we all speak.
It’s
as if, in the midst of Ebola and Ukraine and the two Malaysian planes, Gaza,
Syria and Iraq, the Nigerian girls and Ferguson, some inner driving force that
propels the world decided to remind us that beneath all the superficial
differences, beyond the politics and craziness, we’re all the
same. (Take off hat)
In
a big square in Copenhagen, there is an enormous interactive wooden pixel
screen called the Happy Wall. When I first saw it, I said to
myself: Perfect: We’ve got the Wailing Wall
and the Scandinavians have
the Happy Wall. That’s just the way it is.
But
as I drew closer to the Happy Wall, it drew me in. There are 2000
wooden boards of all different colors, and people are invited to write messages
on individual boards or, create patterns, animals, words or statements grouping
many of the boards.
I
looked at some of the messages close up.
“Happy marriage for 30 years: Andrea and Gunnar.”
“My family is my everything: Isabel.”
“M.L: The answer is yes.”
Now
I’ve never read the messages that people put into the Kotel, but the messages I
saw on the Happy Wall were probably very similar – only happier. At
the Happy Wall we might see, “I love my great aunt Sylvia’s potato blintzes
more than life itself. I’ll love her forever.”
At
the Kotel we might see, “My great aunt Sylvia was bitten by a mosquito in the
back yard. Please keep her from dying of malaria.”
The
messages at both walls are about caring about something beyond
ourselves. And that’s what make us happy. It’s Hesed. It’s
unbounded love, the kind of love that makes not only makes forgiveness possible
– it makes it inevitable. It’s warm puppy
happiness. It’s Hesed: the key to God’s happiness,
and the key to ours.
Mensch•Mark For Elul 21
Text
"A wise person is a student who makes his/her teacher wiser." (Chaggigah
14a)
Commentary
How can a student make his/her teacher wiser? For a student to learn, she must
be willing to ask questions and challenge a teacher. This in turn gives the
teacher the opportunity to learn as well. The ideal teacher-student
relationship is one in which both are in the pursuit of knowledge and truth and
neither is interested in merely proving himself/herself right.
Rabbi
Joseph Telushkin writes that Jewish tradition generally regards a
non-aggressive demeanor as a good trait, but not when it comes to Torah study
or learning in general. He suggests that students have an obligation to
question their teachers. "Jewish law dictates that you should do so
respectfully, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't be aggressive." (The
Book of Jewish Values, Telushkin, p. 476)
The
Talmud tells the story about Rabbi Yochanan and his favorite student, and later
learning partner, Rabbi Shimon ben Lakish. After Rabbi Shimon's death, Rabbi
Yochanan became very despondent, and the other rabbis arranged for Elazar ben
Pedat to study with him. Each time Rabbi Yochanan would voice his opinion,
Rabbi Elazar would add, "You are right. There are authoritative statements
from the Sages that confirm your opinion."
Eventually,
Rabbi Yochanan became very upset and said to him:
"Do
you think you are like Rabbi ben Lakish? Whenever I stated an opinion, Rabbi
ben Lakish would raise twenty-four objections to what I said. He forced me to
justify every ruling I gave, so that in the end, the subject was fully
clarified. But all you do is tell me that you know another source that supports
what I am saying. I do not need confirmation of my position. (Babylonian
Talmud, Bava Mezia 84a)
From
Rabbi Yochanan's perspective, a student who is always agreeing, and who is too
respectful to challenge and question his teacher, causes his teacher to stop
growing.
Of
equal importance, by being assertive and questioning, the student is able to
grow in knowledge and wisdom. The Talmud reveals that Rabbi Lakish grew up
among gladiators and bandits and, as a young man, was totally ignorant about
Judaism. After a few years of studying with, questioning, and challenging Rabbi
Yochanan, he grew into one of the greatest sages of his age.
Sometimes
a student remains silent out of fear that a question might offend the teacher
by sounding antagonistic. On other occasions, shy or timid people say nothing
because they are afraid to appear ignorant in front of the other students.
The Shulchan Aruch, the 16th century standard code of Jewish law,
addresses this dilemma. It says that a student should not be embarrassed if a
fellow student has understood something after the first or second time and she
has not grasped it even after several attempts. If she is embarrassed because
of this, it will turn out that s/he will come and go from the house of study
without learning anything at all. (Shulchan Aruch, Yoreh Deah 246:11)
Mensch•Mark For Elul 22
Text
"Ben Zoma said: Who is honored? Those who honor others." (Avot 4,1)
Commentary
Our Jewish sources are extremely clear on the question of honor, as revealed by
our Text. We are reminded that we should focus our energies on honoring others,
rather than ourselves.
It
is natural for people to seek honor from their fellow human beings. However,
the rabbis consistently warn that honor cannot be acquired by one who pursues
it. In fact, the sages warn that if you pursue honor, it will flee from you. (Midrash Tanhuma)
They also offer the opposite maxim that if you flee from honor, the honor
pursues you. (Exploring Jewish Ethics & Values, p.98)
The
story is told of Rabbi Avigdor Halberstam who was once a guest for Shabbat in
the home of a wealthy Chasid. The custom in that house was to give
a distinguished guest the honor of tasting the cholent (a stew of meat, beans
and potatoes) and then serving portions to everyone else. When the cholent was
brought to R. Avigdor, he took a taste and then another taste and yet another,
finally finishing the contents of the large serving bowl down to the last bean.
"Is there more?" he asked. He finished every morsel of the cholent,
leaving nothing for any of the shocked people at the table. Later, when it was
discovered that the cook had accidentally used rancid oil in the cholent. R,
Avigdor preferred to appear as a glutton and suffer personal embarrassment
rather than allow the cook to be humiliated in front of the others. He thus
honored others at the expense of his own prestige. Is there anything more
honorable than that? (Pirket Avos Treasury, p. 216)
We
all know people who seem to need a great deal of attention and recognition,
sometimes at the expense of others. The Talmudic rabbi, R. Yose son of R.
Hanina, issued a warning to people who behave in that way. He cautioned:
"Those who endeavor to gain honor at the price of another person being
degraded have no portion in the world-to-come." (Jerusalem Talmud Chagigah 2:1)
There
are many individuals who have been very successful in business and who choose
to donate large sums of money to support various projects in the Jewish
community. Sometimes they donate these funds in honor or in memory of someone
else. Sometimes, they donate these funds anonymously. What a wonderful example
ofmitrachayk min hakavod (staying far from honor)! Questioning My New Degree (Jewish
Week)
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Joshua Hammerman
Special To The Jewish Week
I received an honorary doctorate from the Jewish Theological Seminary this
spring. I appreciate the recognition, but it has prompted some disquieting
questions.
Reform and Conservative rabbis often get these diplomas, usually after about 25
years of service. So the honor has more to do with survival than
accomplishment. I suppose it could be said that enduring 25 years in the
rabbinate, particularly in the pulpit, is deserving of special recognition.
There have been times when I wondered whether a Purple Heart might be more
appropriate, or maybe a Nobel Peace Prize.
But why a doctorate? Why measure success in a spiritual profession on purely
intellectual terms? Once upon a time, rabbinical seminaries were bastions of
cold-fish, Litvak elitism, often then wedded to its secular, German sister, the
venerable “Wissenschaft des Judentums (the science of Judaism).” But these same
schools are now committed to taking Judaism out of the ivory tower, promoting,
as JTS put it in its new strategic plan, “Scholarship in Service to the Jewish
Community.” So shouldn’t the rabbi of the 21st century be recognized as a
person of the people, not some highfalutin D.D.?
And what, really, is a Doctor of Divinity? I hear that in the United Kingdom, a
D.D. is the highest honor a university can give, higher than Doctorates in law,
medicine, science, letters or music. But American universities have no such
hierarchy, and here it almost sounds like a degree they might confer at
Hogwarts for having mastered potions and the dark arts.
How should people address me? Debretts, a website that calls itself “the modern
authority on all matters etiquette, taste and achievement” favors “Dr. Cohen”
over “Rabbi Cohen” for invitations and salutations. With the Jewish
establishment subtly agreeing that “My kid the doctor” trumps “rabbi” on the
parental aspiration scale, that trampling sound you hear is another generation
of our best and brightest running away from the rabbinate.
And why should I need an honorary title at all? Shouldn’t my life-work of
facilitating Jewish journeys be sufficient? Plus, my wife, who is a
psychologist, worked long and hard to earn her doctorate. It makes me feel a
bit uneasy about accepting one simply because I’ve survived.
The title “rabbi” signifies a mastery of knowledge, but it means much more. In
fact, maybe my original diploma, which described the calling as “rabbi, teacher
and preacher,” should be updated to include more contemporary aspects of the
job description, including rabble rouser, healer, marketing expert, surrogate
mommy, divine exemplar, standup comic, youthful elder, dispassionate zealot and
guy-who-can-unjam-the-Xerox-machine.
That’s not to say I didn’t accept this honor. For one thing, it came with
lunch. And it was a deep privilege to share this moment with my family and
leadership of my congregation, as well as a few dozen colleagues who were
similarly honored. Many of them have become major figures on the Jewish scene
and all have dedicated their life’s work to the service of the Jewish people
and God. I am proud of them and want to see their achievements recognized.
We’ve been rabbis at a time when the profession has changed dramatically, and
we’ve been the agents of that change. The paradigm of rabbi as aloof scholar,
shepherd and diplomat has been replaced, to a large degree, by other models.
The rabbi has become more of a guide, a teacher who leads by example and can
point people toward resources that will enable them to find their own solutions
to life’s dilemmas.
In what Rabbi Elie Kaunfer has aptly called an era of empowerment, Jews are not
looking for simple answers, but engagement, direction, inspiration and the kind
of encouragement that can propel a lifelong quest. They are looking less for a
rabbi and more for a rebbe, in the original chasidic sense, a mentor who can
take Judaism out of stuffy academies and let holiness breathe, sing and dance
through the lives of real people.
Maybe the new title should reflect other honorifics given rabbis over the
centuries, like “Mar” (Master)” or “Rav” (“The Great One” — I like that, but I
am not worthy). There’s always “Shlita,” an acronym for “May he live a long and
good life, Amen” and “Nasi” (Prince or President).
Throughout the Middle Ages, you had really made it as a rabbi when you became
known by your initials. Rambam (the acronym for the Hebrew letters reysh, mem,
bet, mem) and Rashi (reysh, shin, yud) were the FDR and LBJ of their day. Maybe
each of us should be given an official nickname, whether it be our initials
(mine would be “the RaYaMM — Rabbi Yehoshua ben Micha’el V’Miryam), or maybe
something more folksy. The Talmud uses nicknames like “Honi the Circle Drawer.”
Some of my classmates were also superb circle drawers as well, especially
during Talmud class. How about “Reb Danny the Doodler?”
Finally, here’s an opportunity to introduce new fields of rabbinic
specialization. As The Jewish Week’s new online Ethicist [1], maybe I should
ask that my honorary doctorate be in the field of Menschology. Many of us could
also claim expertise in Jewish Geography, Kiddush Gastronomy, Guilt Management
and Mass Miscommunication.
So I gratefully accept my new title and will work hard to truly earn it. But
the only degree I am really seeking is a degree of difficulty. With the month
of Shavuot now in our rear-view mirror, mountainous challenges still await us,
and even loftier opportunities. To scale those, American Jews don’t need
doctors.
We need rabbis.
Mensch•Mark For Elul 23
Text
"The one who understands his (her) lesson will not readily forget
it." (Talmud Yerushalmi: Berakot, 5.1)
Commentary
Many translations of Pirkei Avot have been published and in
each edition the translator has added his or her own nuances to its meaning.
Rabbi
Susan Freeman, in her work Teaching Jewish Virtues, translates
this middah as "being precise in transmitting what one
has learned." Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, in Chapters of the
Fathers, understands thismiddah as "he (or she) grasps and
retains accurately what has been handed down to him (or her) by
transmission." In the first translation, the individual is called upon to
accurately transmit learning, in the second translation the individual is
called upon to accurately understand and retain was has been transmitted. These
two translations reflect the essence of Jewish learning and the transmission of
Torah.
Pirkei Avot opens with the following teaching:
"Moses
received the Torah at Sinai and conveyed it to Joshua; Joshua conveyed it to
the Elders; the Elders conveyed it to the Prophets; and the Prophets conveyed
it to the Men of the Great Assembly."
These
individuals were our teachers and our leaders. They created the ongoing chain
of Torah learning, passing Jewish learning and tradition from one generation to
the next.
This
is what makes Jewish learning a process and a product of thinking and acting.
It is not simply a body of knowledge for an individual to absorb but a way of
living both ethically and ritually. When we learn, the activity is more than
mental gymnastics. Jewish learning engages our heart, our hands and our souls
as well as our minds.
In
this week's text the phrase reads, "The one who understands his (or her)
lesson will not readily forget it." Clearly the rabbis of the Talmud knew
that true learning comes when we go beyond mere memorization of information;
true learning comes when we comprehend the meaning and message of what has been
learned. We deepen our understanding and gain insights that will lead us to
living lives imbued with Jewish values and ethics.
Mensch•Mark For Elul 24
Text
"Mark well these three things, and you will not fall into the clutches of
sin. Know where you came from, where you are going, and to whom you are
destined to give an account and reckoning." (Akavyah ben Mahalalel, Pirkei
Avot, 3:1)
Commentary
Our text, taken from Pirkei Avot, serves as a reminder that part of
maintaining a balance in life is knowing and accepting our own place in the
larger scheme of things. (Voices of Wisdom, Klagsbrun, p.6) The text
goes on to suggest that we all begin and end our lives in exactly the same way
and that we are all ultimately accountable to God.
"Knowing who you are and
knowing what your place is, can lead you to knowing who and what you want to
become. You may need to strive to become the person you want to become.
Striving for something is not necessarily contradictory to "knowing your
place" as long as your striving is not mean spirited and you do not hurt
others and destroy relationships along the way." (Teaching Jewish
Virtues, p.211)
According to Tiferes
Yisrael, makir et mekomo (knowing one's place) refers to
self-knowledge. One must have an honest estimate of oneself, and recognize
one's own inadequacies in order to be ready to strive for more Torah knowledge
and wisdom. The Maharal writes: “Only one who senses he is
lacking something will seek out the Torah, which brings completion to the
incomplete.” (The Pirkei Avos Treasury, p.418)
Each of us is unique. Knowing
your place means understanding what it is that makes you different from
everyone else you know. The following Chasidic story, told in the form of a
riddle, helps to illustrate this point.
A man said to Mendel of Kotzk:
"This one is greater than that one." He replied, "Why make
comparisons? If I am I because I am I, and you are you because you are you,
then I am truly I and you are truly you. But if I am I only because you are
you, and if you are you only because I am I, then I am not I, and you are not
you." (Day by Day, p.56)
Rabbi Susan Freeman cautions us
that it is easy to become arrogant and judgmental about the world around you
and to look down on some people. But the knowledge that all people and things
have their place can help you be more accepting of your place in the world. (Teaching
Jewish Virtues, Freeman, p.219) The Talmudic sage, Ben Azzai, offered
similar advice when he said: "Do not despise anyone. Do not underrate the
importance of anything, for there is no one that does not have his/her hour,
and there is no thing that does not have its place." (Pirkei Avot4:3)
In an essay in The London Review
of Books, called “On Not Going Home,” James Wood relates how he asked Christopher Hitchens, long
before Hitchens was terminally ill, where he would go if he had only a few
weeks to live. Would he stay in America? “No,” he said, “I’d go to Dartmoor, in
southern England, without a doubt.” It was the landscape of his
childhood.
Roger Cohen of the New York
Times, reflecting on this response, commented, “It was the landscape of
unfiltered experience, of things felt rather than thought through, of the world
in its beauty absorbed before it is understood, of patterns and sounds that
lodge themselves in some indelible place in the psyche and call out across the
years.”
Where would you go if you knew
you only had a few weeks to live?
I guess that might be what we
call “home,” and the question “where are you” invariably dissolves into the
question, “where is your home?” Or, in the vernacular of a current
beer commercial, “Where is your beach?
Wood’s essay explores a certain
form of contemporary homelessness — lives lived without the finality of exile,
but also without the familiarity of
home. A sort of limbo, or
what Cohen calls “displacement anguish.”
We’re always coming or we’re
going. We’re never THERE.
So where is home? Is it a
geographical location? Or is it, as Robert Frost put it, the place where,
“when you have to go there, they have to take you
in.”
I thought about this several
months back, when I brought my mother down to the Jewish Home in
Fairfield. It was just getting impossible to visit her as often as I
would like. But in taking her out of the Boston area, where she had
lived for her entire life, I was not only displacing her, but displacing a
little of myself too. When I visited her up there, it was a schlep,
but it was MY schlep. I felt a sense of peace and familiarity as I
drove on that turnpike from Sturbridge to Boston. I’ve very little
family left up there, and haven’t actually lived there since the governor was
Michael Dukakis. But it’s still home.
… “Perhaps
this is our strange and haunting paradox in America,” wrote Thomas Wolfe in his
novel “You Can’t Go Home Again,” “that we are fixed and certain only when we
are in movement.”
A name for God is “hamakom,”
literally, the place. When we comfort mourners we say “May Hamakom grant
you comfort among the mourners of Zion. May you sense that comfort
wherever this journey of grief and healing may take you.” May God be
with you, everywhere.
Wherever we are, we need to keep
moving. When we stay put for too long it is all too easy to get
stuck. But while we keep moving forward, we remain grounded by
taking home with us, within us.
I have a
homeland. Israel. I have a home county: the US. I have a
home state – Connecticut and I have a home team - and I have an ancestral home-
and here is the key to the house I grew up in, which
was sold 35 years ago. I take it with me everywhere.
But where is my home?
Wherever I happen to be right now.
In this Text the verb
"teach" in Hebrew is shinantam, which is from the same
Hebrew root as mishnah—shin-nun-hey. This Biblical verse is
found in the V'ahavta prayer. This verse created the
obligation of parents to teach their children about God and Torah. While this
verse comes from Torah, or Written Law, parents are instructed to "speak
of them," to transmit Jewish knowledge verbally.
Mishnah is also a book of Jewish law. The unique feature of the text
called Mishnah is that originally it was only in oral form.
The Hebrew term for this Oral Law is Torah sheh-b'al peh, literally
"Torah from the mouth." The Hebrew term for the Written Law is Torah
sheh-bichtav or "Torah that is written." Both kinds of law
and learning are recognized as being equally important in Jewish life.
According to traditional Judaism,
the Written Law was dictated to Moses on Mount Sinai. Moses' task was to write
it all down word for word. Additionally, when the Written Law was given, God
knew there were additional laws that the people would need once they settled in
the Land, but the people were not yet sophisticated enough to understand them.
These laws were given to Moses verbally and his task was to begin a chain of
oral transmission that was to pass from one leader to the next.
This chain of transmission is
described in Pirkei Avot:
"Moses received the Torah
from Sinai and transmitted it to Joshua, and Joshua transmitted it to the
Elders, the Elders to the Prophets, and the Prophets transmitted it to the Men
of the Great Assembly." (Pirkei Avot 1:1)
Many liberal Jews believe that
the Torah was the work of numerous authors who were inspired by God. The Oral
Law was derived from the decisions of the battai din, the Jewish
courts of law. These courts derived their decisions from the Written Law. The
volumes known as Mishnah were compiled from these decisions
from over a 400-year period from 200 B.C.E. to 200 C.E.
In the Talmud there is serious
debate over whether or not this Oral Law could, or even should, be written
down. It was not until the third century that Rabbi Judah the Prince put
the Mishnah into its written form.
There are both positive and
negative arguments for writing down an oral tradition. These arguments include:
When a tradition is oral it remains open to change, variation, mistake, and
refinement. Once an oral tradition is written down it can become stagnant,
unchanging, accurate, and precise.
Mensch•Mark For Elul 25
Text
"Teach
them faithfully to your children; speak of them in your home and on your way,
when you lie down and when you rise up." (Deuteronomy 6:7)
Commentary
In
this Text the verb "teach" in Hebrew is shinantam, which
is from the same Hebrew root as mishnah—shin-nun-hey. This
Biblical verse is found in the V'ahavta prayer. This verse
created the obligation of parents to teach their children about God and Torah.
While this verse comes from Torah, or Written Law, parents are instructed to
"speak of them," to transmit Jewish knowledge verbally.
Mishnah is also a book of Jewish law. The unique feature of the text
called Mishnah is that originally it was only in oral form.
The Hebrew term for this Oral Law is Torah sheh-b'al peh, literally
"Torah from the mouth." The Hebrew term for the Written Law is Torah
sheh-bichtav or "Torah that is written." Both kinds of law
and learning are recognized as being equally important in Jewish life.
According
to traditional Judaism, the Written Law was dictated to Moses on Mount Sinai.
Moses' task was to write it all down word for word. Additionally, when the
Written Law was given, God knew there were additional laws that the people
would need once they settled in the Land, but the people were not yet
sophisticated enough to understand them. These laws were given to Moses
verbally and his task was to begin a chain of oral transmission that was to
pass from one leader to the next.
This
chain of transmission is described in Pirkei Avot:
"Moses
received the Torah from Sinai and transmitted it to Joshua, and Joshua
transmitted it to the Elders, the Elders to the Prophets, and the Prophets
transmitted it to the Men of the Great Assembly." (Pirkei Avot 1:1)
Many
liberal Jews believe that the Torah was the work of numerous authors who were
inspired by God. The Oral Law was derived from the decisions of the battai
din, the Jewish courts of law. These courts derived their decisions from
the Written Law. The volumes known as Mishnah were compiled
from these decisions from over a 400-year period from 200 B.C.E. to 200 C.E.
In
the Talmud there is serious debate over whether or not this Oral Law could, or
even should, be written down. It was not until the third century that Rabbi
Judah the Prince put the Mishnah into its written form.
There
are both positive and negative arguments for writing down an oral tradition.
These arguments include: When a tradition is oral it remains open to change,
variation, mistake, and refinement. Once an oral tradition is written down it
can become stagnant, unchanging, accurate, and precise.
MY TAKE: RITUAL AND SPONTENEITY - TURNING THE STAGNANT INTO THE
SACRED (2014)
Ever
since I was young, I’ve been intrigued by the seeming conflict within Judaism
between keva and kavanah, between prayer that is fixed and
routinized, and prayer that is spontaneous, flowing with intent from the
heart. I’ve always been a kavanah man
myself, but I came to recognize that without a fixed time for prayer, without a
built-in routine, the chances of ever achieving that spontaneity, that full
awareness and appreciation of each moment of life, would be remote. So I embarked on a life-long crusade to
transform keva into kavanah, to teach myself and others to, paraphrasing
Psalm 90, “Count our days, that we might attain wisdom.” To count our days, to make each day count,
each moment. There is nothing more
routine than the act of counting; but there is nothing more sacred than the act
of making each day count.
So
for a term paper in a course in ancient Judaism I invented a Jewish holiday. Sacred time has always been a very big thing
for me, but this term paper might have bordered on hubris. I looked closely at the tanach, studied the
ways our ancient sages justified and ritualized celebrations such as Hanukkah
and Passover in the Talmud, and I invented a holiday, gave it a biblical
support structure and then created an entire tractate of Talmud explaining how
the holiday would be observed.
That's
what Jews can do every day, when you think of it. We invent holidays.
Today
Johnny learned to ride a bicycle? Let's
say a Shehechianu, maybe read a passage from Ezekiel or some other mystic
who had visions of rolling chariots and wheels aflame; then let's look at what
the rabbis said in Pirke Avot about the importance of balance, whether it be
balancing one's own weight on a bicycle or balancing the study of Torah with
one's more secular work. Then, of
course, we eat.
New
Years Day is one of those invented holidays.
We literally count our days – it’s a real celebration of Psalm 90. Not only the days, but the minutes, the
seconds – a countdown so we can count up – one more year.
A
ball drops.
The
actual notion of a ball "dropping" to signal the passage of time
dates back long before New Year's Eve was ever celebrated in Times Square. The
first "time-ball" was installed atop England's Royal Observatory at
Greenwich in 1833. This ball would drop at one o'clock every afternoon,
allowing the captains of nearby ships to precisely set their chronometers (a
vital navigational instrument).
The
celebration of each day doesn't have to be so elaborate. And the occasion doesn't have to be so
momentous. But I believe that when we
imbue our moments with special significance, our lives suddenly are filled with
purpose; and for me the goal educationally is for people to look at each day
through Jewish eyes.
Being
a rabbi helps me to squeeze the sacred even out of the most routine events, for
two reasons above all: One -- I see the
ultimate mysteries of life and death on a routine basis, if I allowed anything
to become routine, it would be that. And
it can't be that. I see too many
precious human lives wasted, or tragically lost, to allow mine to go that
route. And two: a rabbi is so busy that
even the routine ceases to be routine.
When I used to kiss my two boys goodbye in the morning when they were younger,
I often didn’t really know when I would see them later that day. So that kiss was more than just a kiss, it
was every bit of the loving parent I can be poured into an instant. And when I spent a precious Shabbat afternoon
with them, I knew that was our only precious time together. Now when they leave home, I truly don’t know
when I’ll see them again, so that kiss goodbye is no less intense.
While
my days are a constant rush, I try to take a few moments each morning to see
the miracles and the mystery in the everyday.
Those few moments I call shacharit,
and they are usually spent surrounded by (God willing) at least nine others
doing the same. We have to reflect. We have to bring the mystery into the
everyday. A week from this Shabbat we'll
be reading the beginning of the book of the Exodus. In that portion, Moses asks for God's calling
card, and the response, "Ehyeh Asher
Ehyeh," some translate it as
"I am that I am," or "I shall be as I shall be," or "
I will be what tomorrow demands me to be," as Rashi says, or, simply,
"my name is being." God's very
name is a mystery -- a mystery wrapped in a mystery. To ponder God at all, to struggle with God,
is to seek ultimate mysteries in the routineness of life.
Mensch•Mark For Elul 26
Text
"The former generations made the study of Torah their regular concern and
their daily work their occasional concern, and they succeeded in the one and in
the other. The recent generations have made their daily work their regular
concern and their study of Torah their occasional concern, and they have
succeeded neither in the one nor in the other." (Babylonian Talmud 35b)
Commentary
This text summarizes the essential issue of miyut derech eretz—minimizing
involvement in worldly concerns so that one is able to devote more attention to
the study of Torah.
The
medieval commentator Rashi explained that "involvement in social, communal
and civic affairs can become an almost full-time preoccupation, allowing little
time for growth in Torah." The commentary Lechem Shamayimdenotes
that miyut derech eretz refers to the sciences. The commentary
teaches that one must have some knowledge of math, geometry, biology, earth
sciences and the like, but one should understand that they are only tools to
understand certain areas of Torah, but secondary to the Divine Torah." (The
Pirkei Avos Treasury, ArtScroll p.415)
A
student approached Rabbi Ishmael and asked, "May one like myself, who has
studied the entire Torah, study Greek wisdom? Rabbi Ishmael cited a biblical
verse as a response, 'This book of Torah shall not depart out of your mouth,
but you shall meditate upon them day and night.'" (Joshua 1:8). As further
explanation Rabbi Ishmael said, "Go and find an hour that is neither day
nor night, and study Greek wisdom then." (The Book of Legends Sefer
Ha-Aggadah 407:45)
Not
all rabbis saw this as a black and white issue, either Torah or worldly
concerns. In fact, Rabbi Judah ben Ilai spoke in favor of both study of Torah
and secular involvement. He said,
"Anyone
who makes words of Torah his or her primary concern and worldly matters
secondary will be made primary in the world-to-come. But anyone who makes
worldly matters primary and words of Torah secondary will be made secondary in
the world-to-come." But he also taught, "Anyone who does not teach
his or her child a trade it is as though the child has been taught to be a
thief." Additionally, Rabbi Judah ben Ilai said, "Work is primary in
importance, honoring the one who engages in it." (The Book of Legends
Sefer Ha-Aggadah 408:56)
On
first reading it seems that Rabbi Judah cannot make up his mind, on the one
hand he stresses that Torah study should be one's primary concern, yet he then
teaches that work is primary in importance, honoring the one who engages in it.
The midrash does not end with this contradiction, but continues, explaining
that Rabbi Judah was actually counseling a middle course. A parable is cited as
explanation,
"A
highway runs between two paths, one of fire and the other of snow. If a person
walks too close to the fire, that person will be scorched by the flames, if too
close to the snow, the individual will be bitten by the cold. What is the
person to do? The individual is to walk in the middle, taking care not to be
scorched by the heat nor bitten by the cold." (The Book of Legends
Sefer Ha-Aggadah 408:56)
MY
TAKE: The Most Sacred Task (1999)
What does it
mean to be a professional human being?
A
letter to my congregants:
Among
the many questions I face, one that comes up from time to time is, “Just what
do you do?” That the question usually comes out of the mouth of someone under
12 is inconsequential, for we know that kids usually ask questions that many
adults wish they could ask. As a public service, here’s a partial
response.
I
don’t intend to give a detailed log here, in part because no two days are
exactly alike. The job is so filled with variety and serendipity; a hidden
blessing around every corner. Although my commute is among the shortest around,
on any given day I navigate entire worlds of emotions and scale Himalayan
challenges.
The
essence of my work is to be fully human – to enable that spark of divinity in
me to reach out to the image of God that resides in you, and thereby to connect
us both to a life of meaning and transcendence. But doing that with so many, often
at the same compressed timeframe, is a supreme challenge. Daily, I juggle
dozens of lives in the air. Since each one is of equal, and infinite
importance, I’ve got to respond as if each encounter is the most important one
I’ll have all day -- it often is for that other person, so it’s got to be for
me. Of course that’s all but impossible to pull off, but most people are
extremely understanding as to my limitations. I am less so. But at the end of
the day, I measure how I’ve done by how human I’ve been at each encounter, not
by the quantity of lives I’ve touched.
Part
of my being a professional human being is accomplished through study, prayer
and scholarship. I try to take some time during the busy week to develop my
inner life. I read newspapers and magazines voraciously, both off and on-line,
and try as much as I can to read books. Most of the books I read have some
potential tie-in to my teaching and my sermons; there too the line between
personal and professional is blurred. It is a pleasure for me to read, but it
is not what most would call “pleasure (i.e. non work-related) reading.” Rarely
do I get to lay my hands on a good trashy novel. Who needs that, I suppose,
when I can just pick a Bible and turn to the saga of King David. I also try to
spend a part of each week writing. Often that occurs on Mondays, my “official”
day off, but at times on other days as well. In fact, there really is no day
off, because I am always available for important pastoral needs on Mondays, and
because the writing is really an important part of my work. It feeds my other
work and is fed by it.
I
work very hard at finding meaning in prayer. If I didn’t, I’d be cheating you,
and myself. Sometimes I succeed, sometimes I don’t, but am always struggling
and trying to grow. I would want my rabbi to do the same, and dream of the day
when all of my congregants will also try to stretch their souls to the limit.
When I am teaching I try to be a learner too, always open to discovering new
truths from my research and the students’ response.
There’s
lots of administrative stuff too, including letters and phone calls and,
increasingly, e-mailing congregants and college students, and team building and
program planning among our staff and volunteers.
But
there is one final aspect to my job that I find most essential: Modeling. It’s
my job to model, as best I can, what I think a Jew should do and be. That means
above all greeting everyone with a smile, looking at the half-full cup and then
both filling it and drinking from it, without worrying so darn much about the
empty half; reaching out to young and old, not robbing banks, and exploring how
to use Jewish values and observances as a means to personal and communal
growth. But it doesn’t mean being perfect. To do my job correctly, in fact,
I’ve got to be imperfect – because I also have to model how to be humble and
grow from one’s mistakes.
Finally,
how could I set an example for you if I neglected my own health and my family? So
part of my job is to set aside ample time to be fully present with them. And
since the lines between personal and professional are so blurry, it is
important for a rabbi, more than almost anyone else, to spend a few significant
chunks of time out-of-touch with most of the congregation. Many take
Sabbaticals, something I hope you will insist that I do some day. All take
significant vacation time in the summer. When a job takes someone from his
family every day of every weekend, plus almost every holiday, there must come a
point where the batteries have to recharge.
That
point is right now. While you are reading this, I’m most likely on a beach
somewhere (Unfortunately, I don’t get frequent flyer miles for all those
Himalayan spiritual challenges I scale). You won’t hear from me while I’m gone,
although I will monitor voice mail from time to time – but your pastoral and
other needs will be covered. And that’s how it should be. As a professional
human being, I’ll be working very hard for you while I’m frolicking on the
beach, engaged in my most sacred task: being human.
Mensch•Mark For Elul 27
Text
"A faithful friend is a powerful defense. One who has found such a friend
has found a treasure." (Ben Sira 6:14; also known as Ben Sirach, who was
the author of a book of proverbs called Ecclesiasticus, i.e., The Wisdom of Ben
Sira)
Commentary
Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch offered two explanations for the middah
nosay b'ol im chavayro—"to share the burden with one's friend":
one who wishes to acquire Torah must seek to ease his or her neighbor of the
burden of daily living. So too, this individual should seek to render
assistance to every fellow-seeker of Torah knowledge. (Chapters of the
Fathers, Hirsch, p.109)
The
commentary Tiferet Yisrael added,
"The
one who wishes to acquire Torah helps others in any way he or she can, whether
the help entails physical strain, financial expense, or emotional strain. He or
she feels the friend's pain and does whatever is possible to help."
The
Bible includes a story of a special friendship between Ruth and her
mother-in-law Naomi in which there were tremendous burdens to share. When Naomi
decided to return to Bethlehem in the land of Canaan, her daughters-in-law,
Orpah and Ruth, insisted on accompanying her. At the border between Moab and
Canaan, Ruth urged her daughters-in-law to turn back to their own land, their
own people, and their own gods. Orpah agreed, but Ruth responded to Naomi,
"Do
not urge me to leave you, to turn back and not follow you. For wherever you go,
I will go; wherever you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people,
and your God my God." (Ruth 1:16)
Ruth
and Naomi's relationship was a friendship born of pain. Ruth and Orpah had
married Naomi's sons. Their husbands both died, leaving the women as widows.
Naomi, also a widow, chose to return to the land of her birth, Canaan. Ruth and
Naomi went to Bethlehem impoverished, with no ready means to support
themselves. Ruth met and eventually married Boaz, a relative of Naomi's late
husband. Among their descendents was David, who became King of Israel.
Ruth
and Naomi faced many difficulties, but they faced them together, thereby
exemplifying the middah nosay b'ol im chavayro. BARBARA BINDER KADDEN
Mensch•Mark For Elul 28
Text
"What is the straight path a person should choose? That which does him/her
honor and wins him/her the esteem of others." (Avot 2,1)
Commentary
This middah reminds us that we are constantly required to make
choices related to our behavior. It encourages us to develop a love for doing
things in a straightforward way. Our text, taken from Pirkei Avot, offers
us some guidelines for making those choices based on honor and esteem.
The
commentators of this middah propose that it refers to the way
in which we interact with people. It encourages us to deal in a straightforward
fashion with the hope that others will respond in the same fashion.Midrash
Shmuel suggests that an authentic student of Torah loves
straightforwardness and does not flatter others. Flattery is considered a
distortion that undermines the intellectual honesty needed for success at
learning. (Pirkei Avos Treasury, p.420)
Jewish
tradition offers many warnings about dispensing compliments or flattery. As the
Talmud teaches, "A person should not [excessively] compliment another [who
is not present], for though he will start by speaking positively, the
conversation could soon turn to the person's negative traits." (Bava
Bathra 164b)
Another
explanation offered by Midrash Shmuel for ohev et
hamayasharim is that it refers to someone who loves straight thinking.
The rabbis argue that convoluted logic does not lead to clear conclusions in
the study of Torah. (Pirkei Avos Treasury, p.420)
Rabbi
Susan Freeman points out that how we use language should be intentional,
something we control. The goal is to choose deliberately how we speak and what
we speak about. (Teaching Jewish Virtues, p. 149)
Politicians
are notorious for 'beating around the bush.' When they are asked a question
that they do not wish to answer, their response is often a rambling, unfocused
attempt to avoid the question. It is often difficult to get a straightforward
answer. Perhaps this is one of the reasons why some people find it difficult to
trust certain politicians. The same holds true for personal relationships. How
often have you become frustrated because you've asked someone a direct
question, and you can't seem to get a direct response?
MARLENE
MYERSON
Mensch•Mark For Elul 29
Text
"Faith is the essence of Torah." (Mivhar Hapeninim)
Commentary
According to our Text, faith (emunah) is the most important element in
Torah. This idea is developed even further in the commentary on this middah found
in the Pirkei Avos Treasury. There it is suggested that faith
in the authenticity of the teachings of the Sages is the foundation of Torah
study. (p.417)
In
Jewish tradition, the Sages (chachamim) are held in very high esteem. We
can find evidence of this in the Talmud where we learn that a sage has
precedence over a king of Israel. "For when a sage dies, we have none like
him; but when a king of Israel dies; all Jews are worthy of kingship." (B.
Hor 13a) (Sefer HaAggadah, p.471)
R.
Avraham of Slonim suggests one need not believe that his or her teacher has
achieved great spiritual heights; nothing is gained by such a belief and one
may even experience great disappointment if through age and personal experience
it becomes clear that these expectations were unreasonably high. Rather one
must trust a teacher's instruction as if the teacher had received it from Moses
or even as if it had been learned from God. This is not because teachers or
rabbis are of that level, but because these Sages are links in the chain of
tradition that began at Sinai. (Pirkei Avos Treasury, p.411)
According
to Meshivas Nefesh, one will succeed in understanding the words of
the Sages only if
he or she trusts that they were infinitely greater than he.
Then, even if a particular statement of the Sages seems unclear and
incomprehensible, one will realize that one's failure is due to one's own
deficiency, and will exert oneself to understand. Only if we trust the Sages,
can we, as humans, perceive their wisdom.
There
is another interpretation of this particular middah (virtue)
that translates emunat chachamim to mean "the faith of
the Sages." It explains that although the wise are skeptical of what they
hear and read, they accept the Torah's teachings with unquestioning faith.
Thus, one must have the type of faith that the Sages themselves had. (Pirkei
Avos Treasury, p. 417) MARLENE
MYERSON
Mensch•Mark For Tishrei 1
Text
"The fruit of boasting is hatred." (Mivhar Hapeninim)
Commentary
This week's text comes from a work called Mivhar Hapeninim, a book
of proverbs attributed to Solomon Ibn Gabirol, a Spanish poet and philosopher
of the 11th century. Clearly, Ibn Gabirol is warning us that being boastful or
arrogant engenders hatred. In contemporary language, Ibn Gabirol is warning us
not to "show-off." We can apply his advice to our learning, to our
income and to our material possessions. We should not flaunt what we know, what
we own or who we are, for this attitude will cause others to hate us. The
Talmud teaches that even the members of his or her own household do not accept
an arrogant person…at first they will show respect, but in the end the arrogant
person becomes repugnant to them. (Babylonian Talmud, Sotah 47a )
In
relation to learning, Judaism values humility and scorns arrogance. A scholar
should refrain from boasting. This means one is not to feel superior because of
what one has learned. According to Midrash Shmuel, thismiddah (virtue)
encourages the Torah scholar to feel that whatever he or she knows is
insignificant compared to what he or she should have learned. So this middah should
serve as an inspiration to learn more.
This
teaching is illustrated in a midrash about Rabbi Akiba, who was once publicly
asked to read the Torah lesson, but refused. After he and his disciples left
the synagogue, Rabbi Akiba began to apologize to them saying: May such-and-such
befall me if it was out of arrogance that I did not rise to read the Torah. So
they asked: Then why did Rabbi Akiba not rise up to read? He replied: Because I
had not prepared myself. The disciples fell to wondering about what Rabbi Akiva
had said. The disciples marveled that even Rabbi Akiva, who was so well versed,
felt he needed special preparation to read and expound a lesson in Torah. (The
Book of Legends - Sefer Ha-aggdah, Bialik and Ravnitzky, 235:160)
We
live in a world that is competitive, rewards excellence and stresses individual
self-esteem. The challenge we face is in balancing healthy pride and unhealthy
prejudice, self-confidence and self-aggrandizement.
Jewish
tradition offers a beautiful, compelling response to that challenge: Rabbi
Simcha Bunam of Prysucha taught that we should keep two pieces of paper in our
pockets, one saying, "For my sake the world was created," and the
other, "I am nothing but dirt and ashes." Whenever we are overcome by
feelings of pride, he said, we should read the paper with the words, "I am
nothing but dirt and ashes." And when we feel as if our ego and sense of
self have been decimated, reach into the other pocket and read, "For my
sake, the world was created." (Striving Toward Virtue: A Contemporary
Guide for Jewish Ethical Behavior, Olitzky and Sabath p.35) MARLENE MYERSON
Mensch•Mark For Tishrei 2
Text
"Happy is the person who You discipline, Adonai, the person
You instruct in Your teaching." (Psalms 93:4)
Commentary
There are several explanations in Jewish tradition for the purpose of
suffering. For each explanation the rabbis provided a proof text or reason from
Scripture. One explanation is that suffering is seen as punishment for a
person's sin or wrongdoing: "No harm befalls the righteous, but the wicked
have their fill of misfortune." (Proverbs 12:21) Another explanation
describes God as a parent and just as a parent sets limits (which may include
punishments), so does God. The text affirms this by telling us: "Bear in
mind that Adonai your God disciplines you just as a parent
disciplines a child." (Deuteronomy 8:5)
Some
interpret suffering as a test of an individual's spirit and commitment to God.
Abraham was tested by God when God commanded him to sacrifice his son, Isaac.
The Talmud offers this explanation of the incident: "If you go to the
marketplace, you will see the potter hitting his clay pots with a stick to show
how strong and solid they are. But the wise potter only hits the strongest pots
never the flawed ones. So, too God sends such tests and afflictions only to
people God knows are capable of handling them, so that they and others can
learn the extent of their spiritual strength." (When Bad Things Happen
To Good People, Harold S. Kushner, p.25)
Midrash
Samuel states simply: "Everyone undergoes some suffering in life. Only one
who can keep it from distracting him will succeed at Torah study." (The
Pirke Avos Treasury, ArtScroll Mesorah Series, p.417) The "true"
student of Torah carries on studying despite whatever sufferings or hardships
come about.
In
the commentary Ruach Chaim, the "suffering" a student
faces refers to the diminished life-style that the Torah demands. When one
willingly gives up creature comforts and commits to the regimen of the Torah,
one's suffering is a mitzvah (good deed) and is duly rewarded. (The Pirke
Avos Treasury, ArtScroll Mesorah Series, p.417) The proof for this
explanation is found in Pirkei Avot 6:4, "This is the way
of Torah: Eat bread with salt, drink water in small measure, sleep on the
ground, live a life of deprivation-but toil in the Torah! If you do this, you
are praiseworthy--in this world; and it is well with you--in the World to
Come."
Montefiore
and Lowe wrote in The Rabbinic Anthology,
"The
Rabbinic attitude towards sufferings is…one of humble resignation to the will
of God. The convinced faith in a future life of blessedness and happiness
enabled the Rabbis to face sufferings, not indeed, for the most part, with
pleasure, but with fortitude, and even sometimes with joy,
because they were regarded as sure passports to 'heaven.'"
Montefiore
and Lowe and other contemporary commentators see these explanations for the
existence of suffering as inadequate. The idea that one suffers here as a test
of faith, or that God delivers hardship and suffering on individuals and
society for atonement of sin, or that suffering here on earth is a prerequisite
for a good afterlife casts God as spiteful and vengeful. A God who delivers
hardship and suffering for reasons we are not to question makes it hard to see
God as loving and caring.
What
then is the purpose of suffering? Maybe there is no purpose at all. Suffering
simply exists as part of the human condition. If suffering is part of the human
experience, what then is God's role? Perhaps God is there to be with us in
times of adversity. The next verse after Psalms 93:4 reads: "Happy is the
person who You discipline, Adonai, the person you instruct in
Your teaching, to give the person tranquility in times of misfortune…"
This
is the perspective taken by Harold Kushner in When Bad Things Happen To
Good People:
"If
God is a God of justice and not of power, then God can still be on our side
when bad things happen to us. God can know that we are good and honest people
who deserve better. Our misfortunes are none of God's doing, and so we can turn
to God for help. We will turn to God, not to be judged or forgiven, not to be
rewarded or punished, but to be strengthened and comforted." (p.44) BARBARA BINDER KADDEN
Mensch*Mark For Tishrei 3
"One who is too self-confident in handing down legal decisions is a fool, wicked and arrogant of spirit." (Avot 4:7)
Commentary
The sages teach that a judge must always view himself as one standing on the edge of Gehinnom (Hell) with a sword over his neck. Afraid to make a mistake, one who judges or makes decisions does not want to be defined by this text.
On the other hand, a judge realizes that it is his/her responsibility to rule when s/he is the most qualified to do so. A student of the Chofetz Chaim once said that he was afraid to assume a rabbinical position for fear of erring in halachic (legal) judgment. Replied the Chofetz Chaim, "Who then should be a rabbi - someone who has no fear of making a mistake?" (Pirkei Avos Treasury p. 21)
The Talmudic rabbis emphasized the importance of careful decision-making by suggesting, "when a judge issues a true verdict in keeping with the facts, God leaves Heaven and sits at the judge's side, for Scripture says, "And when God raised them up judges, then God was with the judge." (Judges 2:18).
The sages carefully enumerated the qualifications for one who might be considered as a judge in an effort to ensure that people would be judged fairly. They wrote,
"He who is wise, humble, clear-headed, and fearful of sin; whose youth was of unblemished repute; and the spirit of his fellows takes delight in him - he may be made a judge in his city."
They specifically asked that,
"Those whose speech is confusing and whose reasoning is flawed, those who jump to conclusions and whose utterances are not thought through be excluded from consideration." (The Book of Legends, p.736)
Why can't we just relax and recognize that people make mistakes? It's OK to make them, and it's OK to confess to them, and it's OK to forgive them. Clint Eastwood talked to an empty chair. No big deal... I speak to empty seats all the time.
Which reminds me of a joke. Two men were watching a John Wayne movie and one said to the other, "I'll bet you a dollar that John Wayne falls off a horse within five minutes." The other man accepted the bet and within five minutes, John Wayne fell off the horse.
The man wanted to pay, but the first man refused saying, "I saw the film already and can't accept your money." The second man replied, "I saw it too."
"Then why did you accept the bet?"
"I didn't think John Wayne would be foolish enough to make the same mistake twice."
No one is too big to fail. Not even John Wayne. Some corporations might be too big to fail. Some banks might be. Some auto manufacturers might be. But that's what makes them different from human beings.
No person is too big to fail.
Failure is not an option... it's a given. It is inevitable. We're all going to fail at some point. Moses did. King David did, big time. Murder, theft and adultery: the trifecta - and his lust-driven crime inspired some of the liturgy of the Sh'ma Kolenu prayer. We all fail.
Heck, even God fails. Imagine; according to the midrash, God created and destroyed the world several times over before hitting upon the right combination. In chapter 6 of Genesis, God even expresses regret for having created human beings. Commentators are aghast that a supposedly omnipotent God could feel that way. But the verse is right there, right before the story of Noah and the Flood. It's hard to ignore.
"The Lord regretted making the man - God was heartbroken over it."
What's that all about?
We can find a clue in the only other usage of that expression "Vaynachem Adonai" in the Torah. It's in Exodus 32:
"And the Lord repented of the evil which he had spoken of doing to God's people."
It's the Golden Calf incident - and God is convinced by Moses not to destroy Israel. In the case of the Flood, God regrets having created humanity and destroys everything and starts again. In the case of the golden calf, God regrets wanting to destroy, has mercy toward the people and steps back from the precipice.
A blogger called "The Curious Jew," points out the "great distinction between Flood Logic and Golden Calf Logic. Flood Logic assumes that the world must be perfect, and that wickedness cannot be tolerated. (There the God of Justice reigns) ...In Golden Calf Logic, it is the God of Mercy who is dominant, God who understands the flaws and who is able to tolerate wickedness, comprehending that these errors can be rectified."
Interesting. It's almost as if God undergoes a process of growth in the Torah, something that is, by the way, very consistent with how the ancients viewed God. The lesson here is not to expect perfection. By the time we get to the Golden Calf, which, as failures go, was a doozy, God has learned that no one is too big to fail.
God has learned it.
And the word Vayinachem, which here means "repented," can also mean "was comforted." In that translation, the verse from Genesis could be read, "And God was comforted at having created humanity - though also disheartened." The comfort could come from the knowledge that although the experiment looked like a failure, God recognized that this human being would be a resilient creature. Yes, things were going to get hairy. Moses would hit the rock and David would hit rock bottom - but in the end it would be OK.
Failure is not an option. It's a given.
Mensch*Mark For Tishrei 4
Text
"I have given you a wise and understanding heart." (I Kings 3:12)
Commentary
This week's text comes from the book of Kings, which recounts a dream of King Solomon. In the dream God appears to Solomon and asks Solomon what gift he desires. Solomon wisely asks for "an understanding heart" in order to judge the people by distinguishing between good and bad, innocent and guilty.
In Jewish tradition the heart is also the seat of all emotions. There is a midrash that lists over 60 emotions of the heart. Among these emotions: "the heart sees, hears, speaks, falls, stands, rejoices, weeps, comforts, sorrows. . ." (Ecclesiastes Rabbah 1:16). In Judaism, our hearts are the vessels of both our feelings and our wisdom.
Reuven Bulka asserted that it was vital for a person to have an understanding heart in order to absorb Torah. He taught that one can mechanically perform the 48 middot - ethical precepts for learning Torah - but one must really have their heart in it in order for the Torah to be fully integrated. (As A Tree by the Waters, p.254) In other words, if we learn with an understanding heart, we embrace the words of Torah with our minds and souls. An understanding heart changes our learning from a memorization of Torah facts and obligations to an appreciation of Torah as the basis of our lives.
In Judaism there is a clear connection between study and action. Each and every Jew is commanded to set time aside for study. The rabbis recognized the difficulty in fulfilling this precept. To accommodate this commandment, the rabbis added three verses from Torah and two rabbinic passages to the morning service. One of the rabbinic teachings describes leaving the corners of the fields unharvested so that the poor might glean and gather food to eat. It is important to note that the specific amount of the corners was not a part of the commandment. It is left up to our discerning heart to determine how much is enough. In any age this does not make economic sense, but as Borowitz and Schwartz point out in The Jewish Moral Virtures, "whatever involves us, we should let our hearts, rather than our wallets, decide just how much is enough." In feeding the poor or in the fulfillment of any mitzvah we should allow our understanding hearts to decide what is appropriate.
There is an old expression which describes a person who does not fully commit to a task: 'his/her heart was just not in it.' Though not rabbinic, it captures the intent of Binat HaLev. Tasks and commitments done with heart are substantially different than those that lack passion. BARBARA BINDER KADDEN
