Parshat Vayeira reveals Abraham's strong sense of justice. Going to bat for strangers, and really bad strangers at that, Abraham bargains with God: "Perhaps there are fifty righteous people within the city" he says -will that be enough to spare the town from destruction? Yes, says God. Abraham continues, upping the ante --or more accurately, lowering the ante: maybe 40 righteous people will be enough? Hmm, okay, how about 30? Let's make it 20. Would you settle for 10?
The very premise of appealing God's decision is bold; continually lowering the number of righteous residents required is bold; but perhaps the most shocking sentence in the bible appears at the very beginning of Abraham's negotiation. Pointing out that it would be unfair for good people to die as a result of others' sins, Abraham says:
"It would be a profanation for You to do such a thing, to put to death the righteous with the wicked, that the righteous should be treated like the wicked! It would be a profanation for You! Will the Judge (Ha-shofeit) of all the world not do justice (mishpat)? (Genesis 18:25)
While the operative word seems to be mishpat and the accurate themes that of justice and equality, the Midrash's elaboration takes us in a different direction. Here is what Abraham told God, according to Rabbi Shim'on ben Lakish:
"If you wish to maintain the world, there cannot be absolute justice; if you desire absolute justice, the world cannot exist...You want the world and yet you want absolute justice! If you do not forgo ever so little (of the realization of absolute justice), the world will be unable to exist." (1)
God, in this version, is being told He can't both eat and have his cake. Abraham isn't really arguing for justice; he is asking for God to act lifnim mishurat ha-din, beyond what is fair and just.
Abraham basically tells God: Are you within your rights to destroy S'dom and Amorah (Sodom and Gemorrah)? Sure.
Should you? Probably not.
Choose.
You can be a letter of the God, but you may not have too many people left to worship you; if you want the world to go on, you sometimes need to temper justice with compassion.
God agreed. (2)
That's the punch line and that is the lesson.
There may not be a S'dom and Amorah to be spared, but the Midrash's teaching is timeless.
On its face, the simplest application for us would be about how we see and judge others. (3) But I think there is something even more profound.
In self help parlance, people are asked: "Would you rather be right, or be happy?"
Like God, we have a choice - and we have to choose what we focus on.
Fighting for what we believe in, at the broadest level, is inspiring -and important.
But we all spend lots of time and energy fighting for what we (just plain) believe -and the what we believe is a much longer and sundry list of stupidities.
"I told you to park the car at a meter."
"No, you didn't."
"Yes, I did."
Or:
"Seinfeld was the greatest show ever."
"That's absurd."
"You're Absurd."
You can supply your own examples.
It could be about what someone wore, or said, a fight about whose memory is more accurate or whose opinion is more valid.
Healthy discourse is fine. I am talking about a type of unhealthy discourse, passionate discussions where the passion can better be described as violent disagreement.
The kind of frivolous -- but frequent -- debates that transpire between husbands and wives, parents and children, friends, and co-workers.
Tempers flare, voices rise, and some comments which can never be taken back escape.
For what?? Ask these otherwise reasonable people -- if you can get their attention in the midst of their ranting and raving -- ask these people why they are fighting and invariably they will look at you as if you were the crazy one.
Because I am RIGHT they will say!
In school, we all learned of the philosophy that MIGHT was RIGHT; maybe this problem could be described as thinking that RIGHT needs to equal MIGHT.
Why fight? What did you gain? And, just as important, what do you lose?
Ok, maybe you are correct, you're RIGHT, she's wrong, but So what? What price are you willing to pay?
That is the significant lesson here that the Midrash leads us to -we have to choose.
God had His choice to make, and we have ours.
Ours is usually between what's right and what really matters.
And (if this is an exam, get ready for the answers in advance) you know what? You should always choose people over positions, and fellowship over fighting.
A nice image suggests itself if we consider the parsha's key metaphor --
of seeing and looking.
Let's explore that separate theme in full and, after noticing how it plays out in Vayeira, we can explore the image to which I am alluding.
We say, Vayeira eilav....God appears to Abraham (Genesis 18:1).
The word used (which also gives our parsha its name) is vayeira; it implies that God
not only appears, but is seen by Abraham.
In the next verse, Avraham see the stranger/angels who are passing by -the word va'ya'ar appears twice in this verse alone, and superfluously (4):
"He looked up and saw (va'ya'ar) that there were three men standing near him; he saw (va'ya'ar) and ran to greet them..." (Genesis 18:2).
The next instance of "seeing" involves Sarah.
Upon hearing that she will give birth, and in light of her advanced age, Sarah laughs -not even out loud. The bible describes Sarah as laughing "b'kirbah" -to herself (Genesis 18: 12). Immediately God "calls her out" so to speak. Sarah tries to deny it, but God says (and I picture two people bickering and the accuser responding with just the right tone) NOOO, you DID laugh. (Genesis 18: 15).
And so, without any "seeing"-related word, we still have a seeing-related message: there is no hiding from God.
God sees and God knows, and whether it is Adam and Eve hiding from God post-sin (5) or Sarah hiding her true thoughts and actions, it won't work.
The very next verse describes the angels and their looking at S'dom. We are still at the parsha's beginning. S'dom has not been mentioned. It's all been good news so far. Three unexpected guests show up; they are treated by Abraham and Sarah to impressive displays of hospitality; and then they let the cat out of the bag: Sarah will have a boy next year at this time, they promise. After the brief critique of Sarah mentioned above for her momentary laughter [taken as disbelief](6), the story resumes:
"The men [angels] rose from there and LOOKED OUT --va'yashkifu -- over S'dom...(Genesis 18: 16)."
The angels' have one more stop: they need to go to S'dom and save Lot. Whatever the city's fate, he --either in his own merit or as a relative of Abraham --lucks out.
And, as they part from Abraham, the angels look at/over/ahead to S'dom in verse 16.
Verse 17 begins with God answering a seemingly unasked question, as He explains the need to fill Avraham in, to tell him what is about to happen to S'dom:
"Hashem [God] said, 'Should I hide -ha-m'khaseh -from Abraham what I am about to do?"
...(Genesis 18: 17)."
This is a beautiful usage of seeing, similar in form and subtlety to the example with Sarah just a few verses before. (7)
God is saying, if I can see and know all -I want the same for Abraham.
That is the kind of open - and mutual - relationship I seek.
Four verses later, we again talk about seeing and God, but this next example is more straight-forard. God says:
"I will go down/descend and see (v'err-eh)..." (Genesis 18:21)
The reference is to God's checking out for Himself the situation in S'dom? Is it as bad as it seems? And, sadly, it was.
God's plan of destruction proceeds. The angels go to Lot's house. Having been well-trained by Abraham, Lot is the consummate host. In S'dom, no good deed goes unpunished and in moments, Lot's home is "surrounded" (Genesis 19:4), appeals for reason or compromise are ignored, and they are ready to huff, puff and blow the door down ("then they approached to break the door"; Genesis 19:9) so as to rape the visitors (who are actually angels).
And so, even before the angels save Lot from S'dom's larger destruction, they must save him that night. What do they do?
"Then they smote the men at the entrance of the house with blindness..." (Genesis 19:11)
Later in this same chapter, Lot is told he will be safe -and when and how to escape.
Part of this instruction and warning is that he not look back when fleeing:
"...Escape with your life. Do not look back..." (Genesis 19: 17)
When Lot's wife ignores this warning, she famously suffers:
"His wife looked behind him and she became a block of salt." (Genesis 19: 26)
The people of S'dom were made blind; Lot and his wife were allowed to see, but only if they directed their seeing in a certain way. And while Lot does not suffer his wife's fate, he is also tricked by his daughters who come to him under cloak of darkness (8) so as to sleep with him (Genesis 19:33-35).
Seeing is something that we can do, but that God controls. He is all seeing, and he can let us in to the sight/secret as he did for Abraham, or leave us in the dark.
In the very next chapter, we find an additional and intriguing example of seeing.
Abraham travels to the land of G'rar. As in the past, he pretends Sarah is his sister, and as in the past, Sarah is taken captive by the king. Finally, as in the past, God intervenes, Sarah is saved, and an aplogetic king makes amends.
Avimelech, the king of G'rar, gifts Abraham with flocks, servants and land. And then the king turns to Sarah and as part of a speech to her which confounds commentaries, he says "Hinei hu lakh c'sut eynamyim." (Genesis 20:16)
The words have something to do with covering eyes, but the exact meaning is unclear.
A fascinating interpretation appears in the Talmud in Bava Kama 93a. Avimelech tells Sarah, you blindfolded me, you tricked me, I thought Abraham was your brother because you said so; you hid the truth of who you were from my sight, and so I curse you -and that is what led to Sarah's son Isaac becoming blind.
And so we have another example of seeing and not seeing, as well as the related notion of hiding.
Abraham and Sarah return home, the saga of G'rar now behind them. The parsha continues with Chapter 21.
Sarah gives birth (Genesis 21:2), Abraham names the child Issac (Genesis 21:3), circmcises him (Genesis 21:4), and throws a big party on the occasion of Isaac's being weaned (Genesis 21:8).
But Sarah SEES something troubling: "vateireh Sarah" (Genesis 21:9; emphasis mine).
More seeing.
Whatever the specifics --and naturally the Rabbis have several different explanations to supplement the text's ambiguity -- Sarah SEES something that gives her pause.
This could be seeing in the physical sense , intuition, or even prophecy, but Sarah SEES trouble ahead.
She knows that Isaac has a role to play. She knows what God has promised and that Isaac must carry on Abraham's faith and be a leader. (This Jewish mother wanted her son to be neither a doctor nor a lawyer, but a rabbi -strange!)
And so, fearing that Abraham's older son Ishmael is a bad influence, Sarah asks Abraham to kick out the mother and child (Genesis 21:10). This does not sit well with Abraham; he is "greatly troubled" (Genesis 21:11), but after God instructs Abraham to listen to Sarah (Genesis 21:12), and reassures him that Ishmael too will have a bright future (Genesis 21:13), Ishmael and his mother Hagar leave Abraham's house, and journey in the desert of Be'er Sheva (Genesis 21:14).
Disaster strikes immediately, "their water in the jug is gone" (Genesis 21:15), and convinced that all hope was lost, Hagar walks away from Ishmael saying, "let me not SEE the death of the child..." (Genesis 21:16; emphasis mine).
Salvation comes right away. God keeps his promise to Abraham; Ishmael, too, will be a great nation. An angel comforts Hagar and then:
"God opened her eyes and she SAW a well of water. She went and filled the jug with water and gave the boy to drink." (Genesis 21:19; emphasis mine)
Hagar didn't want to see her son suffer but she was also incapable of seeing, even the well which was right in front of her. With God's help, she is made to see. (9) No sooner are her eyes opened than she realizes, as so many of us do, that what she wanted was there the whole time.
Once again, the notion of God's role in our seeing, as well as how often we are blind and blinded (10), is stressed.
The next chapter, chapter 22, relates the well known story of the akeidah, the binding of Isaac.
God commands: "Please take your son, your only one, whom you love, Isaac, and go for yourself to the Moriya region and offer him up there as a burnt-offering on one of the hills that I shall designate to you." (Genesis 22:2)
As difficult as it is for us to fully comprehend the story and Abraham's total faith and trust, Abraham pushes himself and even gets up early (Genesis 22:3) to follow God's word.
On the third day of his travels, Abraham "looked up and saw the place from afar." (Genesis 22:4) Our Rabbis understand this seeing as being more like sensing -Abraham understood the holiness of this place, which would also be the site of the holy Temple. And according to the Midrash, Isaac was similarly attuned. (11)
They both SAW and SENSED something spiritual, and responded to it.
But that is only part of the story.
Isaac WAS in the dark, metaphorically, even before his ultimate blindness. Isaac doesn't know what is in store, doesn't realize HE is meant to be the sacrifice: "The fire and the wood are here, but where is the lamb for the burnt-offering?" he asks (Genesis 22:7).
Abraham answers.
"Elohim yir'eh lo ha-seh l'olah, b'ni (Genesis 22:8)."
Some translate this simply, assuming the subterfuge continued:
"God himself will see to the lamb for the burnt-offering, my son," a plausible answer for a man of faith (12)
Others translate this as the moment when Abraham levels with Isaac: "God will make YOU (lo, in Hebrew) the lamb for the burnt-offering, my son."
The ambiguity surrounding this verse is fitting, as if to say the text itself is veiled.
Isaac, we think, is about to be slaughtered, but the suspense doesn't last long.
As with Ishmael, Isaac's rescue comes quickly --and via an angel.
"[And the angel] said, "Do not raise your hand to the boy and do not harm him, because now I know that you are one who fears God...(Genesis 22:12)
The angel saves Isaac, but also enlightens us. The Hebrew words for God-fearing are yirei elohim, and while yir'eh means fear, it is meant to evoke our parsha's key words: yir'eh is like vayeireh -Abraham sees what God wants from him (13).
Immediately after learning that Isaac will be saved, and then "Abraham looked up and saw that a ram had its horns entangled in the tree, so Abraham went and took the ram and offered it up as a burnt-offering in place of his son." (Genesis 22:13)
Abraham was seeing, but not fully seeing -like Hagar he needs to be made aware of the salvation that is right before him.
In the very next verse Abraham names this all important spot/place (14)
"Abraham named that place, Hashem Yir'eh -- About it later generations will say, 'This is the mountain on which Hashem (God) reveals Himself.'" (15) (Genesis 22:14)
There are nuances to seeing. Abraham knows more than Isaac. Isaac knows more than the servants. Isaac may either know the whole story before Abraham binds him, or he may not.(16) Abraham at the akeidah sees Isaac, but needs to be shown the ram.
It's not the only thing that Abraham doesn't see. Blinded by his love for Ishmael, Sarah can see what Abraham does not, and so God tells him to listen to her. Hagar might know some things that Lot's wife did not (See my note 7). The angels know many things that humans don't, but it is likely they who don't see the need to tell Abraham about S'dom -and they are wrong. Avimelech was fooled, but then sees what he perceives as injustice, and he may well be right. At the same time, he cannot see himself for who he truly is: he mistakenly believes Abraham would have been safe had he always identified himself as Sarah's husband.
We have touched both on the prevalence of seeing and looking themes in parshat Va'yeira and identified some of what these images may be meant to suggest.
Now let's return to the Midrash about S'dom, to the notion that God and all of us must occasionally give up being right in order to be happy.
Using the new verbiage we have, and focusing on the interpersonal, this parsha reminds us that we can...
...either see what's there, or see what we want to be there...
...we can look, or we can overlook...
If we let people live in to and up to their potential, give them the benefit of the doubt, encourage them, focus on what they do, and not on what they don't do, see what they can be -even before they sometimes see the good in themselves - then, like God himself we will be compassionate and we will be holy.
Vision is a gift from God.
Parsta Va'yeira reminds us to use that gift properly.
Let's look away from others' mistakes and foibles,
from any hurts we feel we suffered, or slights we feel we've been given.
Let's look to the bigger picture of love and friendship, as well as service of God and dedication to things we treasure.
If we truly learn and live this lesson, we will have earned the right to see the final redemption; then again, if we truly learn and live this lesson, the final redemption won't be all that different from our daily lives and experiences.
We will grow used to seeing the appreciation of our friends and our family as we "cut them slack" and look the other way. We will also see how much better we feel when we know what's worth looking at, and when to look away. (17)
Lot's wife looked when she shouldn't have; we know better.
Notes:
1) Note: while our Midrash sources this idea of tempering justice with compassion to Abraham at this point in time, a similar thought is identified with the very first verse in the Bible. "It says God created -- And it does not say "Hashem created" [i.e., the Torah refers to the Creator by the name Elokim, signifying strict justice, rather than by the 4-letter Name Hashem, signifying mercy], because initially [God] thought to create [the world] with the attribute of strict justice. But [God] saw that the world would not last [if governed only with strict justice], so He had the attribute of mercy precede and partner with the attribute of strict justice, and so it is written: "In the day that Hashem God created earth and heaven" (Genesis 2:4) [i.e., the name denoting mercy preceding the one denoting strict justice]."
2) S'dom and Amorah were destroyed but only because the more relaxed compassionate conditions were also not satisfied.
3) On Yom Kippur one sin for which we ask forgiveness is the sin of judging others.
4) The repetition of va'ya'ar is so odd that the second va'ya'ar is sometimes translated as referring to Abraham's perceiving something about the strangers. I am suggesting that it is extra emphasis pointing to the parsha's key word and theme.
5) "They heard Hashem, God's, voice moving in the western part of the garden, and the man and his wife hid from Hashem, God, among the trees of the garden." (Genesis 3:8) Note in both Adam and Sarah's case, the text explains/justifies their actions as having been out of fear: Adam said, "I heard your voice in the garden and I was afraid because I am naked, so I hid" (Genesis 3:10). About Sarah, it says, "Sarah denied it, saying, "I did not laugh," because she was afraid...(Genesis 18:15).
6) Sarah's reaction, and God's response to it, span Genesis 18: 12-15.
7) Since verse 17 uses the word and idea of hiding and verse 15 does not, we might also say that verse 17 helps us "see" the seeing imagery implicit in verse 15.
8) Jewish tradition actually aspires noble motives to the daughters and blames Lot. The daughters' noble motives are alluded to in the text itself, but Lot's guilt is derived from a dot in the text as well as various traditions. The simpler meaning of the text is that Lot was innocent and tricked, bith by drink and the fact that it took place at night when presumably he might have mistook his daughters for other women.
9) Chazal criticize Hagar for leaving her son, but there is almost a midda k'neged middah (measure for measure reward) hinted at here. Perhaps Hagar's respect for the power of seeing, Hagar's sensitivity to not look at his suffering helps earn her the right to then see the well. Hagar represents rhe counterpoint to Lot's wife; Lot's wife was told not to look at others, not to watch them suffer. Hagar understood this without needing to be told.
10) The words here are no doubt also foreshadow the story of Bil'am, prophet of the nations. On his way to curse the Jeiwsh people, Bil'am's donkey stops repeatedly, infuriating Bil'am. Only then does God "open his eyes" and this prophet realizes that an angel of God was blocking the way. In the case of Bil'am he was blinded, but his donkey was not -until God let him in on the joke, and warning. The warning goes unheeded. Interestingly, in our parsha we find a further connection between the Bil'am story when Abraham and Isaac, en route to the akeida, leave the servants with their donkeys. According to some traditions (see note 9) the servants are compared to the donkeys as being equally clueless. So we have perhaps the first donkey story -where the donkey, and a few servants, are blind as expected and it sets up and further highlights the contrast when we are to reach the Bil'am story
11) According to the Midrash, Abraham says to Isaac: "My son, do you see, as I do, a cloud close to the mountain?" He replied, "Yes." The Abraham asked the two servants what they saw. They answered, "Nothing." He said to them: "Since the donkey sees nothing and you see nothing, stay with the donkey at the foot of the mountain" (Genesis Raba, 56)
12) It is also an accurate description of what ultimately happens. Abraham is told to leave Isaac and he finds an animal already caught, and ready to be slaughtered.
13) Isaac is safe and --depending on how you understand the lesson of the akeidah
--Abraham also knows what type of God he is working for: a God of compassion; a melech (king) not molech, who asked worshippers to burn their babies and so on. That is not the way of Hashem, something Abraham intuitively knew, but which is now confirmed.
14) The word used in Hebrew is ha-makom; the same word appears to designate the place where Abraham's grandson Jacob would rest when on the run from his brother Esau. Jacob awaked ans recognizes that the spot where he slept is holy, and he had been unaware. This lack of awareness (v'anochi, anochi lo yada'ati -and I, I did not know)is a continuation of our theme, a blind spot for Jacob, but only a partial one as he ultimately comes to the recognition of where he is and of the holy angels who would accompany him on his missions.
15) Note that in naming the place, Abraham uses the word yir'eh, noun for both seeing and fearing (depending on vocalization). This clues the reader into how to interpret the description (2 verses earlier; 22:12) of Abraham as a yir'ei elohim. It is the same form and even as in verse 14, Abraham explicitly uses the word for yir'ah to connote seeing, we should likewise understand the description of Abraham as yir'ei elohim to mean one who SEES and perceives G-d, not merely one who fears God.
16) According to one Midrash, Isaac become blind at the akeidah (binding) when a tear from an angel falls into his eye. This is an extra layer and tension reflecting how mch Isaac sees or doesn't see in the current story.
17) In Hebrew there is a word, l'sanein, to filter, that my father in law alav ha-shalom would always cite. Ignore things, let them roll off you. My own father, amu’sh, once gave an entire Rosh Hashana sermon about the food farfel (egg barley). There is a custom to eat farfel on Rosh Hashana –as an allusion to the word farfallen, to forget (in Yiddish). There is a need to forget, and a value to the fact that we all can forget. It’s not just passive though: we should actively seek to forget insults and frustrations. There is wisdom in the English expression “forgive and forget” but it is out of order: the true order is often, make a decision to forget and overlook, and then you will be able to forgive.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Ki Tavo & Transitions: From You, to We, to Me -and Back
Personal growth requires steps as much as it requires leaps. The Torah recognizes and encourages these transitions, acknowledging that people need to take change in stages.
Parshat Ki Tavo illustrates this theme. The parsha opens with a discussion of bikkurim, the first fruits which the Jews would need to bring to the kohanim (priests).
On one level, this is here simply because it is a law conected to the land of Israel; as such, in advance of entering the land, a crash course in the laws of bikkurim is appropriate.
But if we pay attention to a few linguistic clues, a deeper lesson emerges.
A regular Joe/Jew comes in front of the Priest -- substitute, Rabbi, Rosh Yeshiva, or Big Kahuna.
I don't mean to be flip; the Priest is holy, and the Jew is intimidated.
His words make clear his uncertainty, and extreme humility:
I declare today to Hashem, YOUR God, that I've come to land that Hashem swore to our fathers to give to us. (Deuteronomy 26:3; emphasis mine)
Even while acknowledging that God promised the land to OUR fathers (including himself), the man --and let's remember this is a Good man, fulfilling a mitzvah--this same man somehow feels outside the religious circle.
Hashem is the PRIEST'S God, not his own.
This is evocative of the mistake the Jews' made the first time around, associating God too closely with Moshe, and not believing sufficiently in themselves. And so, when they thought Moshe was gone, they built a golden calf. Without Moshe, they mistakenly thought, how else could we get to God?
But while the Torah, almost reassuringly lets us know that "slips happen", we also get the good news: this is a new generation, and we have learned our lesson. All Jews can and should get close to God (1).
And so within the same bikkurim description, we read what else the Jew who brought bikkurim said, and it is more encouraging:
I have taken away what was holy from the house...I have not violated and have not forgotten any of your commandments....I have listened to the voice of Hashem, MY God (Deuteronomy 26: 13-14; emphasis mine).
In the span of 11 verses, a new acceptance of his own worth has emerged. He has gone from YOUR God to MY God -- and while intellectually he probably knew this all along, he is first able to feel and acknowledge his own connection to God.
It may be the kohein to whom he brings his offerings, and through whom he honors God, but now he can see all that as a technicality. At the end of the day, he recognizes, I matter because God matters to me.
This theme and plot of personal growth has at least one more appearance in our parsha. Moshe tells the nation, "Today you have become a people."
To explain the full significance of this verse, Rashi cites a fascinating Midrash:
"I heard that on the day that Moshe gave the Torah to the sons of Levi [the priests], as it says "And he gave it [the Torah] to the priests, the sons of Levi. And all of Israel came and said to him, "Moshe our teacher, we too stood at Sinai and received the Torah and it was given to us -how can you know give its control over to your fellow tribesmen [the Levites; as Moshe was a Levite]....And Moshe was happy about this and in response said, (Deuteronomy 27: 9, in KaTavo) "Today you have become a people." [Rashi to Ki Tavo, 29: 3]
The Midrash brings our earlier observation into even sharper focus: the Jews are comfortable in their own skin, and happpy in their own sheivet (tribe). They assert their rights and their role: to be God's people. They are prepared to act on behalf of their God; after all, says each man and woman to themselves, this God is MY God.
That is one story which plays out this week. The shift from YOUR God to MY God.
Tonight we begin selichot, the special prayers leading up to Rosh Hashana. There we see a slightly different transition -- from US to ME.
On the very first night of these special selichot we say:
"L'kha Hashem Hatzedakah, v'lanu boshet hapanim -- To you
God can be attributed justice, but for US, there is only embarrasment."
This prayer is at attempt to admit our own lack of worth, akin to saying, "God, we don't have a leg to stand on, all we can do is shame-facedly ask for your mercy during this period of judgment."
This is Night 1. The selichot cycle comprises many days. The specifics vary by year, but there are approximately 14 days from the first night we say selichot until the Ne'ilah prayer which closes the Yom Kippur service.(2)
During Ne'ilah, as individuals we again confess. Again we acknowledge our unworthiness. Again we bring up feelings of shame and inadequacy. But this time the language is different:
"...harei ani l’fanekha kichli malei busha u’khlima - Behold,
I am, in front of you, like a vessel filled with embarrasment (busha)
and despair"
What has changed during these 2 weeks of introspection? We have moved levels, from the easier stage of saying, "We are all sinners" to the far more challenging step of saying, "I am a sinner." (3)
In short, the selichot journey is about going from OUR sins to MY sin; it is a transition that is critical in matters of responsibility, and in laying the groundwork for accountability.
We have described 2 transitions so far, and in each the goal was to "get personal" --to accomplish all that we can in this world, we must recognize that it is our God, and it will be our good or bad deeds that affect the world's future.
I have a suggestion though. I think that if the laws betwen man and God (bein adam l'makom) require us to get from YOUR and OUR to MY and MINE, we have the opposite challenge when it comes to those laws that govern our interpersonal lives.
To grow close to each other, we must recognize our uniqueness, but temper it, honor our potential, but be as willing and as focused on nurturing the talents of others.
To truly be ONE people, we must move from a ME mentality to a WE mentality.
There's a great and well known story about Rabbi Aryeh Levine, who, taking his wife to see the doctor for pain she was suffering, said: "Our leg hurts."
The aspiration is nothing more or less than the difference between sympathy and empathy.
Introspection calls on us to focus IN; Compassion asks us to also focus OUT: it is the yin-yang, point-counterpoint.
God looks to us, yes, but He also wants us to look. To look around. To see the world's problems and make them our problems. To feel and act as part of a larger whole. To act like a c'lal, from the root col, where all parts matter.
At the moment the Torah was given, our rabbis say we were united, k'ish echad, b'leiv echad -- like one person with one heart.
A similar phrase is mentioned about the Egyptians in the Passover narrative. It is said that they pursued the Jews, b'leiv echad, k'ish echad -- with one heart, like one person.
Rav Hutner seizes on the difference and in so doing makes a beautiful and relevant point to our current discussion:
The Egyptians shared a practical and tactical goal: kill the Jews. Because they shared a goal, it was almost as if they were one person, but it was an artificial link.
At Sinai, we forged a deeper link: we were one. When you are truly united, the one "heart", or goal flows naturally as an expression of your unity. What he wants, I want for him.
Are we truly prepared to extend ourselves for loved ones? For strangers?
Just this week, my mother witnessed a car accident. It involved a New York taxi cab and another car, and the taxi driver was in the right. The poor cabbie was being yelled at by the very woman who was at fault. What are the odds, thought my mother, that people would believe the cabbie? Between stereotypes of how cabbies drive, and the fact that the driver's English was so poor, what were the chances that the story would be properly told, and blame properly alloted? And then my mother did something that most of us wouldn't do: she acted. She told the cabbie she had seen the whole thing; she wrote down what she saw and signed it; she reassured him that he had done everything properly; she offered to testify if needed and gave him her name and number. But there is a shorter way to dscribe all the individual actions that my mother did that day: she acted like it was HER problem, not his.
Earlier, we said that the goal bein adam l'makom was to get to a recognition of ME and MY, while the goal bein adam l'chaveiro was to move from self concern to selflessness, and from a narrow looking ME to a broad and broadening concern with WE.
But perhaps what we are doing bein adam l'chaveiro is not moving from ME to WE at all. Perhaps, in the final analysis, it is the ultimate ME expression: recognizing that his suffering is MY suffering, and that, whether I have sinned or not, his sins are MY sins. That, after all, is what being a WE is about: connection and culpability as flip sides of the same shekel.
It is important to understand what God expects of us, and what we can expect of each other.
Parshat Ki Tavo speaks in part of accountability and responsibility. Let's not forget though how all our stories began. Change takes time: whether it is 11 verses, 14 days, shorter or longer gaps of time and space, change is a process.
And while allowing ourselves and others the room to change, let's continue to remember how precious change can be -- and look forward to the day when we can honestly stand up and talk of MY God, MY people, and MY challenges.
On that day, God will be proud to call us HIS.
End Notes:
1) Of course, this itself is a reminder of why we should get close to each other; Judaism isn't a caste society
2) Ne'ilah is named for when the gates of prayer are metaphorically closing and comes from the Hebrew word, l'nol, to lock or close).
3) The contrast and link between the first night of selichot and the ne'ilah prayer was made by Rav Meir Goldvicht, shlita.
Parshat Ki Tavo illustrates this theme. The parsha opens with a discussion of bikkurim, the first fruits which the Jews would need to bring to the kohanim (priests).
On one level, this is here simply because it is a law conected to the land of Israel; as such, in advance of entering the land, a crash course in the laws of bikkurim is appropriate.
But if we pay attention to a few linguistic clues, a deeper lesson emerges.
A regular Joe/Jew comes in front of the Priest -- substitute, Rabbi, Rosh Yeshiva, or Big Kahuna.
I don't mean to be flip; the Priest is holy, and the Jew is intimidated.
His words make clear his uncertainty, and extreme humility:
I declare today to Hashem, YOUR God, that I've come to land that Hashem swore to our fathers to give to us. (Deuteronomy 26:3; emphasis mine)
Even while acknowledging that God promised the land to OUR fathers (including himself), the man --and let's remember this is a Good man, fulfilling a mitzvah--this same man somehow feels outside the religious circle.
Hashem is the PRIEST'S God, not his own.
This is evocative of the mistake the Jews' made the first time around, associating God too closely with Moshe, and not believing sufficiently in themselves. And so, when they thought Moshe was gone, they built a golden calf. Without Moshe, they mistakenly thought, how else could we get to God?
But while the Torah, almost reassuringly lets us know that "slips happen", we also get the good news: this is a new generation, and we have learned our lesson. All Jews can and should get close to God (1).
And so within the same bikkurim description, we read what else the Jew who brought bikkurim said, and it is more encouraging:
I have taken away what was holy from the house...I have not violated and have not forgotten any of your commandments....I have listened to the voice of Hashem, MY God (Deuteronomy 26: 13-14; emphasis mine).
In the span of 11 verses, a new acceptance of his own worth has emerged. He has gone from YOUR God to MY God -- and while intellectually he probably knew this all along, he is first able to feel and acknowledge his own connection to God.
It may be the kohein to whom he brings his offerings, and through whom he honors God, but now he can see all that as a technicality. At the end of the day, he recognizes, I matter because God matters to me.
This theme and plot of personal growth has at least one more appearance in our parsha. Moshe tells the nation, "Today you have become a people."
To explain the full significance of this verse, Rashi cites a fascinating Midrash:
"I heard that on the day that Moshe gave the Torah to the sons of Levi [the priests], as it says "And he gave it [the Torah] to the priests, the sons of Levi. And all of Israel came and said to him, "Moshe our teacher, we too stood at Sinai and received the Torah and it was given to us -how can you know give its control over to your fellow tribesmen [the Levites; as Moshe was a Levite]....And Moshe was happy about this and in response said, (Deuteronomy 27: 9, in KaTavo) "Today you have become a people." [Rashi to Ki Tavo, 29: 3]
The Midrash brings our earlier observation into even sharper focus: the Jews are comfortable in their own skin, and happpy in their own sheivet (tribe). They assert their rights and their role: to be God's people. They are prepared to act on behalf of their God; after all, says each man and woman to themselves, this God is MY God.
That is one story which plays out this week. The shift from YOUR God to MY God.
Tonight we begin selichot, the special prayers leading up to Rosh Hashana. There we see a slightly different transition -- from US to ME.
On the very first night of these special selichot we say:
"L'kha Hashem Hatzedakah, v'lanu boshet hapanim -- To you
God can be attributed justice, but for US, there is only embarrasment."
This prayer is at attempt to admit our own lack of worth, akin to saying, "God, we don't have a leg to stand on, all we can do is shame-facedly ask for your mercy during this period of judgment."
This is Night 1. The selichot cycle comprises many days. The specifics vary by year, but there are approximately 14 days from the first night we say selichot until the Ne'ilah prayer which closes the Yom Kippur service.(2)
During Ne'ilah, as individuals we again confess. Again we acknowledge our unworthiness. Again we bring up feelings of shame and inadequacy. But this time the language is different:
"...harei ani l’fanekha kichli malei busha u’khlima - Behold,
I am, in front of you, like a vessel filled with embarrasment (busha)
and despair"
What has changed during these 2 weeks of introspection? We have moved levels, from the easier stage of saying, "We are all sinners" to the far more challenging step of saying, "I am a sinner." (3)
In short, the selichot journey is about going from OUR sins to MY sin; it is a transition that is critical in matters of responsibility, and in laying the groundwork for accountability.
We have described 2 transitions so far, and in each the goal was to "get personal" --to accomplish all that we can in this world, we must recognize that it is our God, and it will be our good or bad deeds that affect the world's future.
I have a suggestion though. I think that if the laws betwen man and God (bein adam l'makom) require us to get from YOUR and OUR to MY and MINE, we have the opposite challenge when it comes to those laws that govern our interpersonal lives.
To grow close to each other, we must recognize our uniqueness, but temper it, honor our potential, but be as willing and as focused on nurturing the talents of others.
To truly be ONE people, we must move from a ME mentality to a WE mentality.
There's a great and well known story about Rabbi Aryeh Levine, who, taking his wife to see the doctor for pain she was suffering, said: "Our leg hurts."
The aspiration is nothing more or less than the difference between sympathy and empathy.
Introspection calls on us to focus IN; Compassion asks us to also focus OUT: it is the yin-yang, point-counterpoint.
God looks to us, yes, but He also wants us to look. To look around. To see the world's problems and make them our problems. To feel and act as part of a larger whole. To act like a c'lal, from the root col, where all parts matter.
At the moment the Torah was given, our rabbis say we were united, k'ish echad, b'leiv echad -- like one person with one heart.
A similar phrase is mentioned about the Egyptians in the Passover narrative. It is said that they pursued the Jews, b'leiv echad, k'ish echad -- with one heart, like one person.
Rav Hutner seizes on the difference and in so doing makes a beautiful and relevant point to our current discussion:
The Egyptians shared a practical and tactical goal: kill the Jews. Because they shared a goal, it was almost as if they were one person, but it was an artificial link.
At Sinai, we forged a deeper link: we were one. When you are truly united, the one "heart", or goal flows naturally as an expression of your unity. What he wants, I want for him.
Are we truly prepared to extend ourselves for loved ones? For strangers?
Just this week, my mother witnessed a car accident. It involved a New York taxi cab and another car, and the taxi driver was in the right. The poor cabbie was being yelled at by the very woman who was at fault. What are the odds, thought my mother, that people would believe the cabbie? Between stereotypes of how cabbies drive, and the fact that the driver's English was so poor, what were the chances that the story would be properly told, and blame properly alloted? And then my mother did something that most of us wouldn't do: she acted. She told the cabbie she had seen the whole thing; she wrote down what she saw and signed it; she reassured him that he had done everything properly; she offered to testify if needed and gave him her name and number. But there is a shorter way to dscribe all the individual actions that my mother did that day: she acted like it was HER problem, not his.
Earlier, we said that the goal bein adam l'makom was to get to a recognition of ME and MY, while the goal bein adam l'chaveiro was to move from self concern to selflessness, and from a narrow looking ME to a broad and broadening concern with WE.
But perhaps what we are doing bein adam l'chaveiro is not moving from ME to WE at all. Perhaps, in the final analysis, it is the ultimate ME expression: recognizing that his suffering is MY suffering, and that, whether I have sinned or not, his sins are MY sins. That, after all, is what being a WE is about: connection and culpability as flip sides of the same shekel.
It is important to understand what God expects of us, and what we can expect of each other.
Parshat Ki Tavo speaks in part of accountability and responsibility. Let's not forget though how all our stories began. Change takes time: whether it is 11 verses, 14 days, shorter or longer gaps of time and space, change is a process.
And while allowing ourselves and others the room to change, let's continue to remember how precious change can be -- and look forward to the day when we can honestly stand up and talk of MY God, MY people, and MY challenges.
On that day, God will be proud to call us HIS.
End Notes:
1) Of course, this itself is a reminder of why we should get close to each other; Judaism isn't a caste society
2) Ne'ilah is named for when the gates of prayer are metaphorically closing and comes from the Hebrew word, l'nol, to lock or close).
3) The contrast and link between the first night of selichot and the ne'ilah prayer was made by Rav Meir Goldvicht, shlita.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Ki Tetze: Embarrasingly Simple
Good teachers think ahead. From the very outset, they look not only to edify, but to clarify (1).
*Be polite -but not if you are a child being asked to get into a stranger's car.
*Don't murder -but by all means save your life when you are attacked, even if you must kill to do so.
*Honor your parents -but not if they ask you to steal or do other actions you know to be wrong.
As the ultimate teacher, Moshe follows suit, albeit more subtly.
Two laws follow each other in Parshat Ki Tetze, two stories which, when taken together, clarify the rules and complement each other.
The first story is about yibum. When a man dies childless, his brother is supposed to marry his former sister in law, saving her from widowhood. The hope is for them to have a child, ensuring that his brother's family line and name continue. That is the mitzvah of yibum.
But there is an out clause: the brother can say no.
When he does, the process of chalitzah is remarkable. The woman is asked to embarrass this man. Here is someone who won't step up and do the right thing. We allow him to move on, but we don't hide our disappointment.(2)
Public humiliation is prescribed -and doled out.
And then the sedra skips to a very different law.
Two men are fighting, and the wife of one jumps in to help. In grappling and wrestling, the wife ends up --and I am sorry but I will be as delicate as I can be --grasping the privates of the other man.
How mortifying for him, and upsetting to her. But since she is the one at fault, she must pay a fine for having caused him embarrassment. (3)
What links the two stories is the theme of embarrassment. The message, following the stories' order, is: Yes, there are times when you can embarrass someone else and be justified. There are even times when you should.
Here comes the But: never forget, not even for a moment, that those situations are rare.
They are the exceptions that prove the rule.
And Moshe, and the Torah, quickly follow the ONE time when you CAN embarrass a friend, with a reminder of when you CAN'T. A well intentioned wife tries to protect her husband and accidentally embarrasses his attacker -- Sorry, she is in trouble.
That is how careful we need to be with the dignity of other people. Accidents are not excuses. Nothing can be risked when man's essential pride and image are at stake. (4)
This lesson is both old and timeless.
And if we see the echo of this idea in the Torah's last book, we also see it in the Torah's first book.
"Tamar came close to being burned alive and was spared only when Yehuda admitted, “Tzadkah mimeni.” With the help of Rashi, who draws on the teachings of Chazal, we discover that Tamar was prepared to remain silent rather than embarrass Yehuda, even to the point of taking her secret to the grave...
Rashi points out that this story is the source for the Gemorah in Sotah (10b) and Bava Metziah (59a), which teach that it is better for a person to throw himself into a burning furnace than to cause public embarrassment to a fellow Jew.
When we learn that Rashi, we recognize the value of the lesson that it’s not nice to embarrass other people. We think, “Okay. I’ll be more careful next time. When the opportunity arises, I will try not to embarrass anyone.” And then we go on to the next story and the next Rashi.
Shouldn’t we pause for a moment and try to absorb what the Torah is telling us? That a person is better off jumping into a burning fire than causing someone else embarrassment? It’s an amazing concept when you think about it. This is not a metaphor; it’s meant to be taken literally.
If we took it seriously, we would be so much more careful about our interactions with other people. How many times do we poke fun at other people to display our genius? How often are we guilty of turning someone else into the target of our brilliant wit? Yet, here the posuk teaches us that such conduct is reprehensible - so much so that a person should be prepared to end his life rather than bring shame to someone else."
I quoted the above from Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz (5).
It is a beautiful commentary on the Tamar and Yehudah story, and, I hope, an inspiring addition to what we witness in Ki Tetze.
Remember, that our parsha does not bother to remind us that we shouldn't embarrass anyone trying to watch them suffer, or to take revenge.
That would be too obvious, the Torah hopes.
And so the Torah warns about ACCIDENTALLY causing embarrassment.
Sadly, most of us need the broader reminder, we need to be told, "Don't get so mad, you put your friend down out of anger. Don't get so jealous, you want to see your friend hurt. Don't be so insecure that you can only feel good when your friend feels bad."
Our hope, as we prepare for a New Year, is that we will pay attention to these reminders -- and remember to change.
That we commit to spare not only the rod, but others' embarrasment.
That we will finally treat others as we would like to be treated.
And while the above is cliche, and even embarrasingly simple,
wouldn't it be a better world if it were also overwhelmingly true.
End notes:
(1) On the topic of student's failing to think through implications or distingush on their own....Rav Ya'akov Kaminetzky, zt"l, was once at the men's mikva and happened upon a childhood acquaintance. They were both getting dressed and Rav Ya'akov could not help but notice that the other man's tzitzit were tiny, barely a bib in relation to his body. When Rav Ya'akov asked the man why he was wearing tzitzit that were clearly too small, the man explained that before leaving Europe his grandfather made him promise: "When you get to America, never take off the tzitizit that you are wearing." Clearly this man missed his grandfather's larger point.
(2) I think of the term "no-fault" insurance -and imagine the Torah saying, "Let's be clear, this is Fault insurance. You're covered, but you messed up."
(3)This follows the general laws of nezek, or torts. Categories of payment correspond to nezek (damages), tza'ar (pain and suffering), boshet (embarrasment), ri'poi (health costs) and shevet (lost wages).
(4) There is a related point we gain in comparing and conmsidering the 2 stories: precisely because the cost of embarrassment is so high, we choose it as a punishment for the man who won't rise to the occasion and do what the Torah requests of him.
(5) Originally printed in the Yated; see http://www.theyeshivaworld.com/article.php?p=12260 . I have made slight cuts for the sake of pasting here.
*Be polite -but not if you are a child being asked to get into a stranger's car.
*Don't murder -but by all means save your life when you are attacked, even if you must kill to do so.
*Honor your parents -but not if they ask you to steal or do other actions you know to be wrong.
As the ultimate teacher, Moshe follows suit, albeit more subtly.
Two laws follow each other in Parshat Ki Tetze, two stories which, when taken together, clarify the rules and complement each other.
The first story is about yibum. When a man dies childless, his brother is supposed to marry his former sister in law, saving her from widowhood. The hope is for them to have a child, ensuring that his brother's family line and name continue. That is the mitzvah of yibum.
But there is an out clause: the brother can say no.
When he does, the process of chalitzah is remarkable. The woman is asked to embarrass this man. Here is someone who won't step up and do the right thing. We allow him to move on, but we don't hide our disappointment.(2)
Public humiliation is prescribed -and doled out.
And then the sedra skips to a very different law.
Two men are fighting, and the wife of one jumps in to help. In grappling and wrestling, the wife ends up --and I am sorry but I will be as delicate as I can be --grasping the privates of the other man.
How mortifying for him, and upsetting to her. But since she is the one at fault, she must pay a fine for having caused him embarrassment. (3)
What links the two stories is the theme of embarrassment. The message, following the stories' order, is: Yes, there are times when you can embarrass someone else and be justified. There are even times when you should.
Here comes the But: never forget, not even for a moment, that those situations are rare.
They are the exceptions that prove the rule.
And Moshe, and the Torah, quickly follow the ONE time when you CAN embarrass a friend, with a reminder of when you CAN'T. A well intentioned wife tries to protect her husband and accidentally embarrasses his attacker -- Sorry, she is in trouble.
That is how careful we need to be with the dignity of other people. Accidents are not excuses. Nothing can be risked when man's essential pride and image are at stake. (4)
This lesson is both old and timeless.
And if we see the echo of this idea in the Torah's last book, we also see it in the Torah's first book.
"Tamar came close to being burned alive and was spared only when Yehuda admitted, “Tzadkah mimeni.” With the help of Rashi, who draws on the teachings of Chazal, we discover that Tamar was prepared to remain silent rather than embarrass Yehuda, even to the point of taking her secret to the grave...
Rashi points out that this story is the source for the Gemorah in Sotah (10b) and Bava Metziah (59a), which teach that it is better for a person to throw himself into a burning furnace than to cause public embarrassment to a fellow Jew.
When we learn that Rashi, we recognize the value of the lesson that it’s not nice to embarrass other people. We think, “Okay. I’ll be more careful next time. When the opportunity arises, I will try not to embarrass anyone.” And then we go on to the next story and the next Rashi.
Shouldn’t we pause for a moment and try to absorb what the Torah is telling us? That a person is better off jumping into a burning fire than causing someone else embarrassment? It’s an amazing concept when you think about it. This is not a metaphor; it’s meant to be taken literally.
If we took it seriously, we would be so much more careful about our interactions with other people. How many times do we poke fun at other people to display our genius? How often are we guilty of turning someone else into the target of our brilliant wit? Yet, here the posuk teaches us that such conduct is reprehensible - so much so that a person should be prepared to end his life rather than bring shame to someone else."
I quoted the above from Rabbi Pinchos Lipschutz (5).
It is a beautiful commentary on the Tamar and Yehudah story, and, I hope, an inspiring addition to what we witness in Ki Tetze.
Remember, that our parsha does not bother to remind us that we shouldn't embarrass anyone trying to watch them suffer, or to take revenge.
That would be too obvious, the Torah hopes.
And so the Torah warns about ACCIDENTALLY causing embarrassment.
Sadly, most of us need the broader reminder, we need to be told, "Don't get so mad, you put your friend down out of anger. Don't get so jealous, you want to see your friend hurt. Don't be so insecure that you can only feel good when your friend feels bad."
Our hope, as we prepare for a New Year, is that we will pay attention to these reminders -- and remember to change.
That we commit to spare not only the rod, but others' embarrasment.
That we will finally treat others as we would like to be treated.
And while the above is cliche, and even embarrasingly simple,
wouldn't it be a better world if it were also overwhelmingly true.
End notes:
(1) On the topic of student's failing to think through implications or distingush on their own....Rav Ya'akov Kaminetzky, zt"l, was once at the men's mikva and happened upon a childhood acquaintance. They were both getting dressed and Rav Ya'akov could not help but notice that the other man's tzitzit were tiny, barely a bib in relation to his body. When Rav Ya'akov asked the man why he was wearing tzitzit that were clearly too small, the man explained that before leaving Europe his grandfather made him promise: "When you get to America, never take off the tzitizit that you are wearing." Clearly this man missed his grandfather's larger point.
(2) I think of the term "no-fault" insurance -and imagine the Torah saying, "Let's be clear, this is Fault insurance. You're covered, but you messed up."
(3)This follows the general laws of nezek, or torts. Categories of payment correspond to nezek (damages), tza'ar (pain and suffering), boshet (embarrasment), ri'poi (health costs) and shevet (lost wages).
(4) There is a related point we gain in comparing and conmsidering the 2 stories: precisely because the cost of embarrassment is so high, we choose it as a punishment for the man who won't rise to the occasion and do what the Torah requests of him.
(5) Originally printed in the Yated; see http://www.theyeshivaworld.com/article.php?p=12260 . I have made slight cuts for the sake of pasting here.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Masei, Miklat and Trickle Down Morality
Parshat Masei covers things the Jewish people would need to know once they arrived in Israel. Hashem instructs Moshe, and Moshe relays the message. The 5th aliya deals with the land's division and, in doing so, touches upon the cities of refuge where accidental killers can go and be protected.
"Hashem spoke to Moses, saying, Speak to the Children of Israel and say to them: 'When you cross the Jordan to the land of Canaan, you shall designate cities for yourself, cities of refuge shall they be for you, and a murderer, who takes a life unintentionally shall flee there. The cities shall be a refuge for you from the redeemer, so that the murderer will not die until he stands before the assembly of the judgment. As to the cities that you shall designate, there shall be six cities of refuge for you. Three cities shall you designate on the other side of the Jordan, and three cities shall you designate in the land of Canaan; they shall be cities of refuge. For the Children of Israel and the proselyte and resident among them shall these six cities be a refuge, for anyone who kills a person unintentionally to flee there.'" (Bamidbar 35: 9-15)
Observing that the number of cities of refuge would be equal inside and outside Israel, The Talmud in Makkot wonders:
[Why] Were three cities [necessary] in Trans-Jordan [the same as] three cities for the [whole] land of Israel (as there were many more tribes in Canaan, why would both areas require the same number of cities of refuge)? Said Abaye: By reason that murder was rife in Gilead [Gilead is in Trans-Jordan, and thus Trans-Jordan would disproportionately require cities of refuge] (Makkot 9b).
On the face of it, Abaye's answer falls flat. After all, these safe cities are meant for ACCIDENTAL killings. What is the connection between that scenario and one where actual (and planned) murder rakes place?
Rabbi Yitzchak Blau of Yeshivat Hamivtar offers 2 classic commentaries.
"Ritva suggests that intentional murderers pretended that their acts were accidental and they fled to cities of refuge until the courts could sort out who belonged where. Thus, a more murderous society does require more cities of refuge. (Rabbi Blau gave a nice contemporary parallel when giving this shiur at The Jewish Center, adding: "When the mafia moves into town, a lot of "accidents" suddenly occur")
Maharal suggests a more powerful answer. A society with many murderers clearly does not value human life nor recoil at the idea of causing a person’s demise. Such a society will also have more inadvertent murder because it will not take the precautions that would limit such occurrences....
The relationship between negligence and willful misbehavior is a point of broad educational significance. Moral and religious success mandates internalizing the notion that "I didn’t mean it" often fails to excuse.
I find Rabbi Blau's words, and the Maharal's idea, striking. They remind me of a story told by Rabbi Telushkin in his "Words That Hurt, Words That Heal." A successful Hollywood producer “flipped out,” making quite a scene, yelling and worse. "I can't help myself, I lost my temper," he rationalized. Sadly, it's a familiar enough scenario, and a familiar way that we all let ourselves off the hook.
Fortunately, though, this Producer wasn't let off the hook. An actor called him aside and shared some powerful advice.
The advice he was given changed his life. It is both simple and profound, and goes to the very heart of responsibility, as does the Maharal with which we started.
The producer was asked what would happen if he knew that he would have to pay a $1 million fine every time he lost his temper.
A simple question, but the truth of the answer is unavoidable:
We can control our reactions, the things we do, the way we treat those around us.
We can value values.
The extra care we show can make itself felt in concrete ways.
In the same way that a society which doesn't care about life will invariably see death flourish, a society which focuses on love, friendship and concern, will spread life --and be a tribute to the kind of life worth living.
This reminder and aspiration is especially appropriate in the week before Tisha B'Av. We are ready to show God: we have, finally, learned our lesson. The Temple was destroyed because Jew hated Jew, needlessly, inappropriately, excessively. The time for ahavat chinam is long overdue. But it is here. We love each other, and we will go to any length to demonstrate that love.
"Hashem spoke to Moses, saying, Speak to the Children of Israel and say to them: 'When you cross the Jordan to the land of Canaan, you shall designate cities for yourself, cities of refuge shall they be for you, and a murderer, who takes a life unintentionally shall flee there. The cities shall be a refuge for you from the redeemer, so that the murderer will not die until he stands before the assembly of the judgment. As to the cities that you shall designate, there shall be six cities of refuge for you. Three cities shall you designate on the other side of the Jordan, and three cities shall you designate in the land of Canaan; they shall be cities of refuge. For the Children of Israel and the proselyte and resident among them shall these six cities be a refuge, for anyone who kills a person unintentionally to flee there.'" (Bamidbar 35: 9-15)
Observing that the number of cities of refuge would be equal inside and outside Israel, The Talmud in Makkot wonders:
[Why] Were three cities [necessary] in Trans-Jordan [the same as] three cities for the [whole] land of Israel (as there were many more tribes in Canaan, why would both areas require the same number of cities of refuge)? Said Abaye: By reason that murder was rife in Gilead [Gilead is in Trans-Jordan, and thus Trans-Jordan would disproportionately require cities of refuge] (Makkot 9b).
On the face of it, Abaye's answer falls flat. After all, these safe cities are meant for ACCIDENTAL killings. What is the connection between that scenario and one where actual (and planned) murder rakes place?
Rabbi Yitzchak Blau of Yeshivat Hamivtar offers 2 classic commentaries.
"Ritva suggests that intentional murderers pretended that their acts were accidental and they fled to cities of refuge until the courts could sort out who belonged where. Thus, a more murderous society does require more cities of refuge. (Rabbi Blau gave a nice contemporary parallel when giving this shiur at The Jewish Center, adding: "When the mafia moves into town, a lot of "accidents" suddenly occur")
Maharal suggests a more powerful answer. A society with many murderers clearly does not value human life nor recoil at the idea of causing a person’s demise. Such a society will also have more inadvertent murder because it will not take the precautions that would limit such occurrences....
The relationship between negligence and willful misbehavior is a point of broad educational significance. Moral and religious success mandates internalizing the notion that "I didn’t mean it" often fails to excuse.
I find Rabbi Blau's words, and the Maharal's idea, striking. They remind me of a story told by Rabbi Telushkin in his "Words That Hurt, Words That Heal." A successful Hollywood producer “flipped out,” making quite a scene, yelling and worse. "I can't help myself, I lost my temper," he rationalized. Sadly, it's a familiar enough scenario, and a familiar way that we all let ourselves off the hook.
Fortunately, though, this Producer wasn't let off the hook. An actor called him aside and shared some powerful advice.
The advice he was given changed his life. It is both simple and profound, and goes to the very heart of responsibility, as does the Maharal with which we started.
The producer was asked what would happen if he knew that he would have to pay a $1 million fine every time he lost his temper.
A simple question, but the truth of the answer is unavoidable:
We can control our reactions, the things we do, the way we treat those around us.
We can value values.
The extra care we show can make itself felt in concrete ways.
In the same way that a society which doesn't care about life will invariably see death flourish, a society which focuses on love, friendship and concern, will spread life --and be a tribute to the kind of life worth living.
This reminder and aspiration is especially appropriate in the week before Tisha B'Av. We are ready to show God: we have, finally, learned our lesson. The Temple was destroyed because Jew hated Jew, needlessly, inappropriately, excessively. The time for ahavat chinam is long overdue. But it is here. We love each other, and we will go to any length to demonstrate that love.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Parshat Korach
The image of the earth opening to swallow Korach and his followers is
a powerful one -- "...and the earth opens its mouth and swallows -u'putzitah - them and all that they possess..." (Numbers 16:30)
Perhaps equally powerful is the connection drawn between this scene and one found at the very beginning of B'reishit.
Rabbi Munk, in Kol Torah, puts it this way:
"The kabbalists find a poetic justice in that the earth here repaired its failure of the time of Cain and Abel, when it opened to receive the innocent blood of a righteous man. Here it covered over sinful men, preventing further conflict instead of abetting it."
When chazal utilize the notion of the ground and other inanimate objects "sinning," it is an example of what is known in literature as the "pathetic fallacy" (based on the word pathos).
But toward what end?
It is safe to say that implicit in such ultimate accountability is an unspoken -but nearly shrieking -kal v'chomer(1), along the lines of..."Wow, if the ground which couldn't help itself, still needs to make up for any inadvertent role it played in Abel's murder, imagine how much more we need to make up for all our conscious, planned mishaps and misdeeds."(2)
Equally important is the context - it isn't just any wrong that the Torah tells us that the Earth must repent for, and it's not murder per se that is the problem. We learn about murder and the first sin in part from how the ground makes good. It is about "preventing further conflict instead of abetting it."
As with all lessons worth learning, the implications are broad -- and broadening.
This isn't about fratricide, or, a one-time Korach cataclysm.
This is a lesson about what is important, a mission and a challenge for us all.
That challenge can reassert itself as a question: to paraphrase Rabbi Munk, the question is are we preventing conflict - or are we creating conflict? We can and should use this question as a sort of behavioral litmus test -and use it often.
When considering choices, we should ask ourselves: will this new action ease tension, or increase it, will it help or hurt my relationship with my friends, family and community? (3)
It is reminiscent of the talmid chakham (scholar)'s ultimate goal, to be marb[eh] shalom b'olam, increasing peace in the world.
One final thought:
When we look at the Cain and Abel story itself, we find a final idea to guide us. On B'reishit 4:11, Rabbi Munk quotes Ramban, who notes that as punishment for the ground's swallowing Abel's blood, there would be only meager harvests until such time as the innocent blood was atoned for.(4)
That is the final lesson, and it can be reinterpreted in a natural way: when we do the wrong thing, it has an effect. And hopefully, when we do the right thing, when we care for others, and share with others, it can be its own reward.
In his book, The Ten Commandments of Character, Rabbi Joseph Telushkin provides a beautiful example of how doing good also leads to feeling good.
Here is the story.
Like many of us, Rabbi Telushkin receives calls from telemarketers, invariably coming at dinnertime, and complete with the butchering of his name. And so, also like many of us, he would not hide his displeasure, often slamming down the phone as he hung up on the caller. One day a friend asked Rabbi Telushkin to consider what type of people make these calls? In all likelihood, they are single mothers or other unlucky worker bees, people who take this job knowing they will be hated but unable to turn down the few dollars it offers them. The comment stayed with Rabbi Telushkin. At his friend's suggestion, the next time someone called, he very politely demurred, but wished the caller luck on future calls.
Two things happened. The caller was shocked and thanked him profusely. And for the first time in fielding these calls, Rabbi Telushkin got off the phone and felt good.
--------------
1) Kal v'chomer, literally light and heavy, is one of 13 ways of studying the bible(this list appears in the daily morning prayers). In Latin, it is known as
a fortiori.
(2)This d'var torah can be phrased slightly different fashion. Jumping back to the earth and with a slightly different focus, we can say: there are certain times when we extend blame beyond what makes sense, when an extra degree of caution kaviyachol is appropriate, and that time is when conflict is the issue.)
(3) It reminds me of the old Jewish response when asked to evaluate everything from voting to a new car launch: "That depends. Is it good for the Jews, or bad for the Jews?" But for this, we really can and should be single minded.
(4)Continuing this theme, Rabbi Munk quotes the Sifra (Exodus 15:12) which says that at the Red Sea, God had to reassure the earth that it would not be punished for swallowing the Egyptians!
a powerful one -- "...and the earth opens its mouth and swallows -u'putzitah - them and all that they possess..." (Numbers 16:30)
Perhaps equally powerful is the connection drawn between this scene and one found at the very beginning of B'reishit.
Rabbi Munk, in Kol Torah, puts it this way:
"The kabbalists find a poetic justice in that the earth here repaired its failure of the time of Cain and Abel, when it opened to receive the innocent blood of a righteous man. Here it covered over sinful men, preventing further conflict instead of abetting it."
When chazal utilize the notion of the ground and other inanimate objects "sinning," it is an example of what is known in literature as the "pathetic fallacy" (based on the word pathos).
But toward what end?
It is safe to say that implicit in such ultimate accountability is an unspoken -but nearly shrieking -kal v'chomer(1), along the lines of..."Wow, if the ground which couldn't help itself, still needs to make up for any inadvertent role it played in Abel's murder, imagine how much more we need to make up for all our conscious, planned mishaps and misdeeds."(2)
Equally important is the context - it isn't just any wrong that the Torah tells us that the Earth must repent for, and it's not murder per se that is the problem. We learn about murder and the first sin in part from how the ground makes good. It is about "preventing further conflict instead of abetting it."
As with all lessons worth learning, the implications are broad -- and broadening.
This isn't about fratricide, or, a one-time Korach cataclysm.
This is a lesson about what is important, a mission and a challenge for us all.
That challenge can reassert itself as a question: to paraphrase Rabbi Munk, the question is are we preventing conflict - or are we creating conflict? We can and should use this question as a sort of behavioral litmus test -and use it often.
When considering choices, we should ask ourselves: will this new action ease tension, or increase it, will it help or hurt my relationship with my friends, family and community? (3)
It is reminiscent of the talmid chakham (scholar)'s ultimate goal, to be marb[eh] shalom b'olam, increasing peace in the world.
One final thought:
When we look at the Cain and Abel story itself, we find a final idea to guide us. On B'reishit 4:11, Rabbi Munk quotes Ramban, who notes that as punishment for the ground's swallowing Abel's blood, there would be only meager harvests until such time as the innocent blood was atoned for.(4)
That is the final lesson, and it can be reinterpreted in a natural way: when we do the wrong thing, it has an effect. And hopefully, when we do the right thing, when we care for others, and share with others, it can be its own reward.
In his book, The Ten Commandments of Character, Rabbi Joseph Telushkin provides a beautiful example of how doing good also leads to feeling good.
Here is the story.
Like many of us, Rabbi Telushkin receives calls from telemarketers, invariably coming at dinnertime, and complete with the butchering of his name. And so, also like many of us, he would not hide his displeasure, often slamming down the phone as he hung up on the caller. One day a friend asked Rabbi Telushkin to consider what type of people make these calls? In all likelihood, they are single mothers or other unlucky worker bees, people who take this job knowing they will be hated but unable to turn down the few dollars it offers them. The comment stayed with Rabbi Telushkin. At his friend's suggestion, the next time someone called, he very politely demurred, but wished the caller luck on future calls.
Two things happened. The caller was shocked and thanked him profusely. And for the first time in fielding these calls, Rabbi Telushkin got off the phone and felt good.
--------------
1) Kal v'chomer, literally light and heavy, is one of 13 ways of studying the bible(this list appears in the daily morning prayers). In Latin, it is known as
a fortiori.
(2)This d'var torah can be phrased slightly different fashion. Jumping back to the earth and with a slightly different focus, we can say: there are certain times when we extend blame beyond what makes sense, when an extra degree of caution kaviyachol is appropriate, and that time is when conflict is the issue.)
(3) It reminds me of the old Jewish response when asked to evaluate everything from voting to a new car launch: "That depends. Is it good for the Jews, or bad for the Jews?" But for this, we really can and should be single minded.
(4)Continuing this theme, Rabbi Munk quotes the Sifra (Exodus 15:12) which says that at the Red Sea, God had to reassure the earth that it would not be punished for swallowing the Egyptians!
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Parshat Kedoshim, May 3,2008
(From Mrs. Elana Stein Hain)
Two Rabbis argue over the foundational value of the Torah. The one, Rabbi Akiva, suggests, ve'ahavta l'reiakha ka'mokha, "Love your neighbor as yourself" (Lev. 19:18), while the other, Ben Azzai, quotes zeh seifer toldot ha'adam "This is the book of the generations of humanity" (Gen 5:1). What is the kernel of their debate?
The Malbim suggests motivation as the central issue. For Rabbi Akiva, kindness may even be self-serving: Treat your neighbor as you wish to be treated. For Ben Azzai, generosity of spirit is a product of idealism: Do what is best for your fellow human being.
But there is another difference: Rabbi Akiva mentions reiakha, "your friend," someone whom we already know, someone with whom we already have a relationship. Ben Azzai, though, advocates good will towards all, even those who are complete strangers.
On Yom HaShoah we achieve a synthesis of these two -the ability to relate and to care about the experiences of perfect strangers the way we would care about our next of kin, even sometimes the way we would care about ourselves. May this sensitivity and this empathy inspire us throughout the year.
Two Rabbis argue over the foundational value of the Torah. The one, Rabbi Akiva, suggests, ve'ahavta l'reiakha ka'mokha, "Love your neighbor as yourself" (Lev. 19:18), while the other, Ben Azzai, quotes zeh seifer toldot ha'adam "This is the book of the generations of humanity" (Gen 5:1). What is the kernel of their debate?
The Malbim suggests motivation as the central issue. For Rabbi Akiva, kindness may even be self-serving: Treat your neighbor as you wish to be treated. For Ben Azzai, generosity of spirit is a product of idealism: Do what is best for your fellow human being.
But there is another difference: Rabbi Akiva mentions reiakha, "your friend," someone whom we already know, someone with whom we already have a relationship. Ben Azzai, though, advocates good will towards all, even those who are complete strangers.
On Yom HaShoah we achieve a synthesis of these two -the ability to relate and to care about the experiences of perfect strangers the way we would care about our next of kin, even sometimes the way we would care about ourselves. May this sensitivity and this empathy inspire us throughout the year.
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