Soccer, Torah and Life

The Israeli novelist, Etgar Keret, writes:

I love soccer because it is so painfully similar to life: slow, unjust, fairly random, usually boring, but always holding out the hope that, at some moment, however brief, everything will come together and take on meaning. There’s no getting away from it—life isn’t about limber athletes sinking hoops from the three-point arc; life is an ongoing, uncoordinated, anguished effort to transcend our trivial existence, an effort that, if we’re lucky, might lead to one brilliant move by Messi, Kaká, or some other dribbling magician. And then, for one split second, that whole damp 90-minute mishmash will turn into something coherent, beautiful, and worthwhile. And, when that moment and its endless playbacks fade, we will all return to our same drab reality of wasted time, pointless fouls, unreceived passes, and wild kicks that miss the goal by kilometers, only to wait with infinite patience and boundless hope for that next moment of grace.

I do not share Keret's observation that most of life is boring (or his talent for spinning humor out of the ordinary), but I do share the sentiment that life, like soccer, is punctuated with flashes of brilliance and grace when everything seems to work and everyone seems in sync.

Such is not the story in this week's Torah portion, Korah. Our portion is about the greatest rebellion against Moses and the authority God placed in him. In fact one can read much of the Torah, especially the Book of Numbers, as a record of how bad things can really go and how telling Keret's observation may be. Very little goes according to plan. God frees the people from Egypt, gives them the Torah and prepares them to entire the Promised Land. They in turn whine and complain. They gripe about Moses and his leadership.

Korah screams, "You have gone too far! For all the community are holy, all of them, and the Lord is in their midst. Why then do you raise yourselves above the Lord's congregation?" (Numbers 16: 3) In the end Korah's rebellion is violently crushed. God does not easily forgive those who question Moses' authority.

The Israelites move on to the next episode. Again they complain; this time about a lack of water. In this episode it is Moses who questions God's authority and is punished.

Where are the flashes of brilliance? Where are the models to emulate? My teacher used to quip, "There is no one in the Bible you would want your son or daughter to grow up to be like."

Then why read the Torah? If it is not to provide us with models to emulate and characters to which we aspire, why read it at all?

It is because the Torah mirrors life. It is filled with ordinary people who occasionally do extraordinary things and more often than not do embarrassing things. We can see ourselves in its characters. We can find ourselves in its pages. How often do we discover the soccer-like quality of present reality in the words of Torah?

There is a little bit of Korah in each of us. There is a measure of Moses in all.

Loving the Torah does not always mean imitating it. Loving the Torah and Bible does not mean saying, "It must be right if David did it. It must be true if Moses said it." Torah means instead learning and growing from its words.

There are times when you can appreciate Keret's observation. It was not so long ago that I stood on the sidelines watching my son slide to make a save or leap to knock the unexpected shot out of bounds. Most of the time it was spent kibbitzing with fellow parents, talking about schools, parenting, the news and weather. To be honest I sometimes had to be told about the slide or leap because the kibbitzing so distracted me. You have to remain attentive. You have to be patient. The moments do arrive.

The hours of driving and watching are redeemed by those brief moments of beauty and grace.

We travel from moment to moment, through ordinariness to such grandeur. We are sustained by the moments of illumination and brilliance. We pray that they might be more frequent. We recognize that they are elusive—and infrequent.

Such is life. Such is soccer. Such is Torah.

Selfies and Spies

“Don’t tag me in that photo; I look fat,” a friend once said. In this social media age, we are especially cognizant of how we appear to others.

Perhaps that is Snapchat’s appeal. The image is fleeting. It is shared with only a select group of friends. On Facebook the image can outlive the individual. After death a community of mourners is born on a page. Facebook thinks friendship is eternal. It continues to suggest that I post on a friend’s wall even though he died several years ago.

We coif our image. We hold our selfie stick in the air. We smile. Then we review the photos to be sure we look good. We post. We await the likes and comments. How much of our time is now spent reviewing photos to be sure we look good to others? How many hours do we spend fashioning our digital self-image?

How many selfies are to be found in your iPhone’s camera roll?

The spies scout the land of Israel. Ten return with a negative report. They say: “All the people that we saw in it are men of great size…and we looked like grasshoppers to ourselves, and so we must have looked to them.” (Numbers 13:33)

How did they know how they appeared to the inhabitants of the land? Such knowledge is impossible to gain. In fact the Haftarah contradicts their impression. The Book of Joshua records that the citizens of Jericho are afraid of the Israelites and terrified to confront them.

It is clear that the Israelites’ self-image is negative. It is obvious that they see themselves as a weak people. This negative impression colors how they view the world. They run away from the Promised Land.

Success begins with what one sees in the mirror. Is it beauty one sees? Is it confidence that shines through? If you look in the mirror and see beauty and confidence then the world appears conquerable. If you see yourself as a little grasshopper then that is how you imagine everyone sees you. Then the world makes you cower in fear.

Can a Facebook photo change your world?

The Hasidic rebbe, Menahem Mendl of Kotzk, imagines God saying to the Israelites: “Why are you so concerned with how you look in the eyes of the Canaanites? Such concern distracts you from your sacred task.”

Spending too much time worrying about how you appear to others can very well divert you from the sacred work God intended for you to shoulder.

Years ago I read a story about a musician who played the violin in a subway station. In the 45 minutes he played, only six people stopped and stayed for a while. About twenty gave him money but continued to walk at their normal pace. He collected $32. When he finished playing no one noticed it. No one applauded. There was no recognition. No one knew this but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the best musicians in the world. He had played one of the most intricate pieces ever written and with a violin worth 3.5 million dollars. Two days before his playing in the station, Joshua Bell sold out a Boston theater. The average price of a ticket was $100.

People just thought he was a street musician and not a famous violinist. That did not deter him. He played as masterfully as ever. He did not allow how others viewed him to effect his self-perception. He did not allow the lack of recognition or the absence of the usual applause and standing ovations to divert him from his God-given talent of bringing music to people’s hearts.

The world must be conquered each and every day. It must be bettered each and every day. That is what God calls us to do. The strength to do so begins with how we view ourselves.

It does not matter how others see us. What matters is how we see ourselves.

Shira, She-Ra and Wonder Woman

Some twenty-four years ago when my daughter Shira was born my mother announced her new granddaughter’s name to her high school English class. One of the students said, “You mean like She-Ra, princess of power.” My mother responded, “No. As in the Hebrew word shira, meaning song.” Her students returned baffled looks. The class clown raised his fist and shouted, “She-Ra, princess of power, twin sister of He-Man!” The students laughed. A young girl said, “Congratulations, Mrs. Moskowitz.” “Enough class. Open your books. We are reading The Canterbury Tales today.”

She-Ra was developed by the toy company Mattel to appeal to young girls. If boys could have the powerful He-Man then girls could buy the protective She-Ra. He-Man carried the sword of power and She-Ra the sword of protection.



She-Ra was portrayed as extraordinarily powerful. She was able to lift not only buildings and mountains but men. Her powers were supernatural. Girls could discover in her a positive role model because she, like her male counterpart, made the best use of her God-given talents. She saved the day, and of course the world, in each and every episode.

I just saw the new “Wonder Woman” movie. I felt compelled to go. I grew up watching Lynda Carter transforming into Wonder Woman. Cue the music. “Wonder Woman!”

Time marches forward. Shira joined me.

In this year’s movie, the lead actress is Israeli and the villain German. Like She-Ra, Wonder Woman has supernatural powers. She fights alongside the United States against its enemies. In the 1970’s TV series she fought against the Nazis. In the movie the enemies are WWI Germans. I wish the scriptwriters kept the villains of the original TV series. WWI Germany was not the evil Nazis.

Why choose enemies that history deems more benign? It is because the 2017 battle is against war. It is not against a specific enemy. Have we forgotten the message of the TV series? We continue to face specific enemies. To name but one example, Lebanon banned the showing of “Wonder Woman” because Gal Gadot is Israeli. There are far too many who declare our way of life their enemy. While we might pray for peace and an end to war we recognize that war is a sad feature of humanity.

How else do we explain the Torah’s discussions of war? When the Ark was carried into battle, and to this day in traditional synagogues when the Torah is taken from the Ark, we say: “Vayihi b’nsoa ha’aron… Advance, O Lord! May your enemies be scattered. And may Your foes flee before You!” (Numbers 10:35) We can remove these words from our prayer books, as our Reform Siddur does, but the reality is sadly here to stay. War continues. We have self-described enemies.

Today’s Wonder Woman fights to end war.



Towards the end of the movie she kills the man who she believes to be Ares, the ancient Greek god of war. (Sorry if you have not seen the movie yet.) But the war continues. The killing does not end. Wonder Woman is baffled. That would have been a fitting conclusion to the film. End on a question mark.

Surgical strikes will not end today’s war. Larger bombs will not decide the battles. They might make us feel safer and they might event prevent another attack. But the war against terror is won by banishing fear, by going about our everyday lives, by embracing the pluralistic society that is the greatness of our country (and Britain’s, France’s and Israel’s) and the most powerful sword we can wield against our enemies.

But Hollywood has to tidy up the conclusion. Its films cannot end on a question mark. Ares appears. War can indeed be defeated. And then Wonder Woman, after gaining renewed strength because of her love for Steve, kills the god of war. Killing Ares vanquishes war. The Americans and Germans embrace. War is banished from their hearts.

I prefer questions. Does Wonder Woman represent progress? Yes and no.

Yes because Wonder Woman and the Amazon women successfully defend their island against German invaders. As many reviewers have noted, they do so without any assistance from men. They are extraordinary fighters. Never is Wonder Woman portrayed as a damsel in distress. Moreover she leads the charge through no man’s land and against impossible odds. She does so not to regain a few feet of territory but to rescue a town and save its inhabitants. Her cause is noble.

No. War cannot be erased from men’s hearts. Our Torah in contrast offers realism. It affirms questions. It rejects fantasy. Only in comic books is history so tidy and neat. While war cannot be eradicated, people are indeed capable of unimaginable good. Still it is nice to have a two-hour respite from the news of war. And it is not all bad to have superheroes.

When Shira was born familial priorities were reordered. We were now parents. And my parents were now grandparents. Shira’s grandparents (and of course later Ari’s) became the most esteemed of titles.

It is wonderful, and really not all that mysterious, how one woman can reorder a world.

Sparks of Holiness

The Levites were divided into three clans: Gershonites, Merarites and Kohathites. They were charged with the priestly duties. Some of these tasks apparently required some heavy lifting. So Moses gave the Gershonites two carts and four oxen and to the Merarites he gave four carts and eight oxen. But to the Kohathites he gave nothing. They had to do everything with their own arms and legs.

“But to the Kohathites Moses did not give any carts or oxen; since their duties were to the most sacred objects. They had to carry these on their shoulders.” (Numbers 7) Was it because the Kohathites were particularly strong? Or instead because these objects were not very heavy? It appears not. They were charged with carrying the ark, lampstand, altars and sacred utensils.

It was instead because their responsibilities were most sacred. They therefore had to do everything with their own hands. No matter how heavy these were, the Torah’s intention appears to be that when it comes to these particular objects, an ox or cart will not do. Only one’s own hands could carry these.

I once read that the Hasidic rabbis would sweep the floor of their sanctuaries themselves. They left this to no else. I suspect that it was because their synagogues could not afford a custodian. In impoverished Eastern Europe they could not afford much. And yet this is not how these rabbis chose to understand their task.

They saw instead the mundane and every day care of the synagogue, from cleaning up after services to turning on the lights, as holy work.

They decided that no task was beneath them. No job was beneath any person. When it comes to the religious life of the synagogue no one should see any duty as beneath them. Lifting a heavy load must be done with one’s own hands. Carrying the sacred objects must be done on one’s own back.

The Hasidic Rabbi Menahem Mendl of Kotzk comments: "All work for any holy cause requires extra effort. One must harness all one’s powers to do this work. One does not acquire a spark of holiness without effort."

Holiness is not a divine gift. Sparks of the divine must be gathered up and carried. They are the result of hard work. They are the result of even the most seemingly mundane and menial tasks.

Gather them up. Carry them. They are everywhere and anywhere.

My Relationship with a Tree

It was many, many years ago that I read the line, “I consider a tree.” In Martin Buber’s I and Thou. And it was as well not until many, many years later that I understand its import, if only partially.

Buber, the great 20th century Jewish philosopher, argues that relations are the foundation of life, that we are most human in relation to others. There are encounters with others when all that exists is the relationship. “All real living is meeting,” he states. It is in our meetings with others that we most experience life and even sense a glimmer of the divine.

In an “I-Thou” encounter the “I” does not exist and the “Thou” does not exist. All that exists is the “I-Thou,” the relationship. Anyone who has experienced the love between one spouse and another or the bond of parents with children can appreciate Buber’s insight. Yet the perfect relationship, where all that exists is care and concern for each other, is fleeting. We cannot sustain this perfect moment.

We strive for perfection. We hope and pray that the knowledge of these perfect, fleeting, moments, when all that appears to exist is the relationship, forces us to reach out to others. I continue to marvel at the insight. It marks a breakthrough. I came to believe that the “I-Thou” commands us to treat others with respect and concern.

Then I read Buber’s insights about a tree....

This post continues on The Wisdom Daily.

Jerusalem, Manchester and Concertgoers

Our hearts are again saddened and sickened, and terror stricken, by yet another murderous attack. This time against children, and youth, enjoying a concert in Manchester England. We stand in solidarity with the people of Manchester. We pray for healing for those injured. We pray for solace for those whose lives have been taken. We pray for justice!

Lost among this week’s news was the word that 34 people, again mostly children, drowned in the Mediterranean. These refugees were attempting to reach Italy when their overcrowded boat capsized. They were fleeing Libya. The same murderous hatred that propels these refugees to flee their homes targets concertgoers. And yet the victims of the Arianna Grande attack find our sympathy. They could be us. We have taken our children to concerts. We have attended shows at the Garden, Jones Beach and Met Life Stadium.

We are separated from these refugees by two or three generations. They could have been my grandparents. Is our compassion only a matter of generations? I am called to have sympathy for all human beings. All of life is sacred. A murderous hatred, wrapped in the guise of Islam, seeks to engulf the world. It drowns and murders children. It targets the freedom to gather, to revel in music and speak our mind. We must be vigilant. We must be compassionate. I pray for peace.

Yesterday's Yom Yerushalayim, Jerusalem Day, marks the 50th anniversary of Israel's victory in the 1967 war. It is a complicated day. While it commemorates Israel’s victory, it also marks the stalemate that has existed for the past fifty years. Peace between Israel and the Palestinians remains a distant dream. I hope and pray that President Trump’s efforts prove successful. Will moving the US embassy to Jerusalem, for example, advance the peace process?

Today, I do not wish to focus on such questions. Instead I wish to dwell on the following. I have never known a Jewish world without the State of Israel. I have been privileged to witness, and celebrate, many of its milestones. I have been privileged as well to debate many of its controversies and even swim in its contradictions. I have also been fortunate enough to travel there frequently.

I have only known a Jerusalem since 1967. I have read about Jerusalem’s no man’s land that separated Jordanian forces from Israel’s, and that now is home to Mamilla Mall. Many have walked through this corridor of shops and restaurants as they make their way to the Old City through the Jaffa Gate. No area of Jerusalem has ever been no man’s land to me.

Years ago I attended a concert in this very area. I then attended the opening of the Jerusalem Film Festival in this very spot. Here is that story from the summer of 2007. It illustrates what modern day Jerusalem represents. It tells a story that we will not read about in our newspapers.

We sat in Jerusalem’s outdoor amphitheater, Sultan’s Pool. Now Sultan’s Pool is no ordinary theatre. It was constructed by the Ottoman ruler Suleiman, nearly 500 years ago, who also rebuilt the Old City’s walls. It is a magnificent amphitheater that sits outside the Old City. Prior to 1967 it marked what was once the heart of no man’s land. The theatre sits in the valley of Hinnom, a valley referred to by the prophets of old, a valley whose ancient practice of child sacrifice gave rise to the Jewish image of hell, Gei-Hinnom, the Valley of Hinnom. The prophet Jeremiah’s harsh words and Amichai’s lyrical poems swam through my heart.

Yehuda Amichai writes: 

An Arab shepherd is searching for his goat on Mount Zion
And on the opposite hill I am searching for my little boy.
An Arab shepherd and a Jewish father
Both in their temporary failure.
Our two voices met above
The Sultan’s Pool in the valley between us.
Neither of us wants the boy or the goat
To get caught in the wheels
Of the “Had Gadya” machine. 

Afterward we found them among the bushes,
And our voices came back inside us
Laughing and crying. 

Searching for a goat or for a child has always been
The beginning of a new religion in these mountains.

It was a cool evening and blankets were given away to help keep out the chill of Jerusalem’s desert evening. The Old City’s walls were awash with lights. I remembered sitting in this very spot some twenty years prior with my then girlfriend Susie (Susie and I met in Jerusalem) and watching Santana perform. There were no seats then, only the ancient stones of the pool—and Santana jamming and talking about peace. “I say to these walls, man, let there be peace.”

The film festival began with a few speeches. First a petite 90-year-old woman, Lia Van Leer, chair of the festival spoke about her passion for Jerusalem and film and how especially proud she was that next year the festival will mark its 25th anniversary. An achievement award was presented to Avi Lerner and Danny Dimborf, Israeli born producers who have made it big in Hollywood. Their company has produced such classics as “Delta Force—1, 2, 3 and 4.”

The final speech was delivered in broken English by the chair of the Berlin Film Festival, Dieter Kosslick. He spoke about his long time friendship with Mrs. Van Leer, making some embarrassing slips because of his command of English, telling the crowd of nearly 10,000 how he looks forward to sleeping with Lia when they both attend Cannes. (I presume it sounds more appropriate in German.) He laughed when he realized his gaffe and then told this story.

When he was a young boy he witnessed the rise of Nazism and the devastation this ideology brought to the world and his country. He spoke about how the Nazis once burned Jewish books in his native Berlin. Because his birthplace saw the destruction of Jewish books he vowed to rectify this wrong. Every year Mrs. Van Leer brings him a gift. It is a book written before 1933 and written by a German Jewish author, a book that is tattered and worn, a book that seems beyond repair and that can no longer be read. Every year he lovingly takes this book and has it restored by a bookbinder in his native home. Every year books that would have been burned by the Nazis return to their native home and are there restored and I imagine thereby restore a piece of this man’s tattered soul. There was silence and then a standing ovation.

He declared the festival open and we watched the opening film, “Ratatouille.” Yes that’s right. Only in Israel would the Jerusalem Film Festival open in an ancient Turkish pool with speeches by an elderly Jewish woman and a repentant German and culminate with a Disney movie. In Israel one of the greatest compliments you can offer is: “This is American.” Israelis’ love of everything American is proof that an important part of Zionism is: “Let’s just fit in.”

On the other hand, unlike any other nation, Israelis feel that their everyday actions redeem the atrocities of a former century. On that cool desert evening I participated in redemption. I witnessed a German man publicly offer atonement. I watched a Disney film in an ancient pool and declared, along with 10,000 other Jews: “We can laugh and play just like you.”

Yes indeed, we can still laugh and play.

Perhaps that is the justice we seek. Perhaps that is the peace that so eludes us.

Holy Earth

The Torah portion makes clear that the land of Israel is particularly dear. It is of course the holy land. This is why it alone is granted a sabbatical year. One might therefore think, especially given the success of modern Zionism, that only the land of Israel is holy. But in fact all lands are holy. The earth, the very ground beneath our feet, is sacred.

Our blessings do not say, for example, “Thank You God for the fruit of Israel,” but instead “for the fruit of the earth—borei pri ha-adamah.” The Psalms declare, in a decidedly universal tones, “The earth is Adonai’s and all that it holds; the world and all its inhabitants. For God founded it upon the ocean, set it on the farthest streams.” (Psalm 24) Another psalm provides a litany of God’s earthly creations. “How many are the things You have made, O Lord; You have made them all with wisdom; the earth is full of Your creations.” (Psalm 104)

I have been thinking about the power of nature. Often it is nature’s fury that reminds me of its majesty. Recently, we have witnessed, tornadoes and flooding, earthquakes and hurricanes. The psalmist’s words again come to mind: “You make springs gush forth in torrents; they make their way between the hills.”

The psalms remind us again and again. “God looks at the earth and it trembles; God touches the mountains and they smoke.” And so I have no choice but to: “I will sing to the Lord as long as I live; all my life I will chant hymns to my God. May my prayer be pleasing to God; I will rejoice in the Lord.” (Psalm 104)

As we stand before the awesome power of nature, we have no choice but to sing God’s praises. At times that is all we can do to rescue us from the earth’s fury. We require such reverence not only before God but before nature.

For too long we have believed that we are masters of nature, that we can control its fury, that we can tame mighty rivers and hold back oceans. We might be able to build better locks and even higher levees, but nature cannot be controlled. In fact some have suggested that our lock and dam system has made catastrophic floods more likely. Furthermore we know now that Army Corps of Engineers lock and dam system prevent vital nutrients from reaching the Mississippi river’s delta and enriching its delicate ecosystem.

I am not of course suggesting that we give up the effort of building levees and dams. However, reverence combined with knowledge, and scientific learning, might be in fact a much better approach. We would do well to remind ourselves of God’s admonition to Job: “Where were you when I laid the earth’s foundations? Speak if you have understanding.” We require such humility!

And so we must relearn this truth. All lands are indeed holy. It is not just one land. It is not just our own backyard but all the earth.

Why was the Torah revealed in the wilderness of Sinai? It was revealed there to make clear that it was given to all. The desert wilderness belongs to no one. The Torah therefore is for everyone. It was given there moreover so that no land can claim the Torah as its alone.

Eretz Yisrael, the land of Israel, is of course my favorite land. So much of Jewish history occurred there. I love nothing more than to hike its wadis and swim in its waterfalls. But it is not the only land.

The reverence for the land that the sabbatical year suggests is something we must apply to all lands. We must restore a sense of reverence for the earth and the land.

We can no longer afford to do whatever we want with our precious earth.

It is not just about my own backyard. It is not just about my own holy land.

Let us restore reverence in our hearts. Let us infuse humility in our souls.

Holy Terror

The Book of Leviticus is singularly obsessed with ritual. It is filled with laws about sacrifices and ritual purity. There are the occasional details about the familiar: keeping kosher and the more frequent unfamiliar: the mixing of wool and linen.

It contains only two stories. Both are tragedies. Both involve incidents where ritual goes terribly wrong.

The first is the story of the priests, Nadav and Avihu. They offer an alien fire. They die at the instance of the Lord. (Leviticus 10) Little explanation is offered. We are left wondering what they did that merited the punishment of death. I remain baffled.

I remain troubled.

The other story appears in this week’s Torah portion. It offers more details but is equally troubling. “The son of the Israelite woman cursed the Name of God, and he was brought to Moses—now his mother’s name was Shelomit—and he was placed in custody, until the decision of the Lord should be made clear to them.” (Leviticus 24)

And what is God’s determination? “And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying, ‘Take the blasphemer outside the camp; and let all who were within hearing lay their hands upon his head, and let the whole community stone him.” Sadly, the Israelites did as God commanded and stoned him to death. Again what did he say that merited death? How can a curse deserve such punishment? What was so offensive about his words?

Perhaps his blasphemy was only inadvertent. Perhaps he sought to praise God but in his zealousness said something that others deemed inappropriate. What could have been so terrible that there was no other fitting punishment? I am baffled.

I am troubled.

What is blasphemous or alien are subjective determinations. What is labeled as foreign can only be discovered in the eyes of the insider. Such determinations draw a line between insiders and outsiders, between us and them. The Torah offers a counter impulse. It seeks to bring more inside. It repeats over and over again the command “There shall be one law for stranger and citizen alike.” While Leviticus is obsessed with ritual, the Torah as a whole is determined to establish one law for all. No distinction must be drawn between citizen and stranger.

The judgments of blasphemy and alien require an insider perspective. What I deem holy you might view as profane. What you view as a curse I might view as sacred. What you call alien I might call ordinary. What you deem foreign I might see as uplifting.

We are left perplexed. Do these stories contradict the law?

On the surface these episodes can be read as cautionary tales. Take God’s instructions wrong and death ensues. Curse God and you will be punished. Do a ritual in a foreign way and you will be killed. These stores are warnings. But what is a curse and what is foreign are matters of interpretation.

The plain meaning of these tales appears too severe. Too often the law writes people out. And then the narrative writes the unexpected in.

There is only one woman who is named in the entire Book of Leviticus. It is Shelomit, the mother of the man put to death for blasphemy. Why do we know her name? Why do we know the name of the person who suffers the unimaginable horror of witnessing her son stoned to death? Her name leads us to a discovery. There are times when the law turns tragic, when its observance can cause pain. Its terror is humanized. He had a mother!

And we are also intimately acquainted with the father of Nadav and Avihu. It is Aaron. He too sees his sons killed for what was perhaps only a youthful mistake. Perhaps they became carried away with their singing and dancing.

Aaron and Shelomit share a sad, and tragic, connection. Their children die. And their deaths are (apparently) sanctioned by God. We are left wondering. Can law lead to tragedy?

I remain baffled. I remain troubled.

“And Aaron fell silent.” And I imagine, Shelomit watched in horror.

Love Your Neighbor!

The Torah commands: Love your neighbor as yourself. (Leviticus 19:18)

And the Talmud weaves stories to illustrate the importance, and perhaps difficulty, in observing this command.

It is told that Rabbi Hillel was open to any question, and welcomed people with open arms. Rabbi Shammai, on the other hand, focused more on his books and a strict interpretation of the law.

Here is their story (Babylonian Talmud, Shabbat 31a).

One time two people made a bet about whether it was possible to anger Hillel. They shook hands and agreed on the amount: 400 zuzim. One Friday evening, as the rabbi was bathing and preparing for the start of Shabbat, the man stood at the entrance of Hillel’s house and in a demeaning manner said, “Who here is Hillel, who here is Hillel?” Hillel wrapped himself in a garment and went out to greet the man. He said, “My son, what do you seek?” He said, “I have a question to ask.” Hillel said, “Ask, my son, ask.” The man asked, “Why are the heads of Babylonians oval?” Given that Hillel was from Babylonia, he could have viewed this as an insult, but instead said, “My son, you have asked a significant question. The reason is because they do not have clever midwives. They do not know how to shape the child’s head at birth.”

Our hero gets an A for patience but unfortunately an F in science. This goes on and on. The man asking more and more ridiculous, and politically incorrect, questions. He finally stammers and says, “I have many more questions to ask, but I am afraid because you will certainly get angry.” Hillel responds: “All of the questions that you have to ask, ask them.” The man became angry and went to pay off the 400 zuzim bet.

Another time a gentile came before the two rabbis. The gentile first approached Shammai and said: “How many Torahs do you have?” He said to him: “Two, the Written Torah and the Oral Torah.” The gentile said to him: “With regard to the Written Torah, I believe you, but with regard to the Oral Torah, I do not believe you. Convert me on condition that you will teach me only the Written Torah.” Shammai scolded him and cast him out with shouts and reprimands.

The same gentile came before Hillel, who immediately converted him and began teaching him Torah. On the first day, he showed him the letters of the alphabet and said to him: “Alef, bet, gimmel, dalet.” The next day he reversed the order of the letters and told him that an alef is a tav and so on. The convert said to him: “But yesterday you did not tell me that.” Hillel said to him: “You see, it is impossible to learn what is written without relying on an oral tradition. Didn’t you rely on me? Therefore, you should also rely on my teaching with regard to the matter of the Oral Torah, and accept the interpretations that it contains.” Nothing can truly be understood without interpretation, nothing can fully be explained without a teacher. This is why we need the Oral Torah and the body of rabbinic works, most especially the Talmud and Midrash.

There was another incident involving another gentile who came before Shammai and said to him: “Convert me on condition that you teach me the entire Torah while I am standing on one foot.” Shammai pushed him away, swinging at him with a yardstick. The same gentile came before Hillel. He converted him and said to him: “What is hateful to you do not do to another; that is the entire Torah, all the rest is commentary. Now go and study.”

Years later these converts gathered together. They reflected on their experience and said, “Shammai’s impatience sought to drive us from the world; Hillel’s patience brought us beneath the wings of the Divine Presence.” Who knows where even the most seemingly ridiculous question might lead. If it serves as an entry to more learning, to a life of meaning then it is not demeaning of even the greatest of scholars.

True learning begins with a question.

The sages advise: A person should always be patient like Hillel and not impatient like Shammai.”

I have learned. There is a little of Hillel in each of us. There is a little of Shammai in all.

And the Torah continues to demand: Love your neighbor as yourself!

The Spiritual Truth of the Desert

Recently my wife and I visited Southern California’s Joshua Tree National Park. As we entered the park we briefly noted the sea of yellow wildflowers covering the desert floor. I wondered why so many were stopping to take pictures. Flowers are not so rare on the east coast. What are called wildflowers in the desert may very well be weeds in the green expanse I call home.

Later we were told that we were privileged to witness a once in ten-year bloom. The winter rains had produced abundant flowers. We initially took little notice. We were busy speaking with our son on the cell phone as we drove into the park. It was not until we lost reception that we began take in the desert’s beauty. I wonder how much is missed because we insist on remaining connected to those thousands of miles away rather than the world that stands before our eyes.

It was also not until were told by residents, “We have never seen anything like this before,” that we began to breathe in the beauty. Why is it as well that we must be told, “This is extraordinary!” in order to appreciate beauty? The Jewish tradition recognizes this impulse. It offers a myriad of blessings to recite before the wonders of nature. There is a blessing when seeing a mountain. There is a blessing for a rainbow. There is a blessing for the ocean. It is almost as if the ancient rabbis, who composed these blessings, are instructing us, “Get off your cellphone. You are standing in front of the ocean. Pause. Breathe. Look at God’s extraordinarily beautiful world. Say, ‘Thank you.’’

That’s not of course the words to the blessing, but it is perhaps the intent.... 

This post continues on The Wisdom Daily.