Childish Things - by Etgar Keret
Childish Things - by Etgar Keret; Tablet Magazine
Here is another great story by Israeli writer, Etgar Keret, in today's Tablet Magazine. It is another take on my post Hanukkah Fires. Keret dreams of an argument with Bibi Netanyahu and concludes:
Here is another great story by Israeli writer, Etgar Keret, in today's Tablet Magazine. It is another take on my post Hanukkah Fires. Keret dreams of an argument with Bibi Netanyahu and concludes:
“I’m sorry,” I say. “But I just can’t accept, that you, the prime minister of Israel, are evading responsibility and trying to shift the blame on a 5-year-old.”
“Prepare for action,” Bibi interrupts me in the middle of my dream. “A huge, nasty robot dog at 12 o’clock is trying to devour our slide.” And then I woke up, I think, or maybe I was just watching the news.Are we in danger of burning down our home?
Psalms 16-18
16. I am ever mindful of the Lord's presence;
He is at my right hand; I shall never be shaken.
So my heart rejoices,
my whole being exults,
and my body rests secure.
In typical Jewish fashion this is one of the psalms read at a funeral. The opening can be alternatively translated: "I have set the Lord before me--always. Because He is at my right, I shall not falter. Therefore my heart celebrates, and my being sings, and my flesh rests--assuredly." Why read these verses at a funeral? It is of course a statement of faith. Hold God close. Draw Adonai near. Then you will not fall. You may very well feel like you are faltering, but say a blessing and a prayer. Baruch dayan ha-emet.
For You will not abandon me to Sheol,
or let Your faithful one see the Pit.
You will teach me the path of life.
In Your presence is perfect joy;
delights are ever in Your right hand.
With God at your side you might feel like there are only simchas. These celebrations are more indicative of the path of life than any of the many tragedies, pains and difficulties we face. We are commanded to say a blessing in the face of death. We are also commanded to dance at parties. Blessings and whirling about in song and dance these are the defining Jewish postures.
17. A prayer of David.
Only five psalms open with this superscription: 17, 86, 90, 102 and 142. Many times the psalms refer to the prayers of David, but only these five open with this description. 17, 86 and 142 are called prayers of David, although 142 is not just a prayer of David but a maskil: a prayer composed when he was in the cave, 90 a prayer of Moses, and 102 a prayer of a poor man. What distinguishes a prayer from a psalm? For the Bible a prayer appears to be akin to a plea. Please hear my words, listen to the outpourings of my heart.
Hear, O Lord, what is just:
heed my cry, give ear to my prayer,
uttered without guile....
You have visited me at night, probed my mind,
You have tested me and found nothing amiss...
I call on You;
You will answer me, God;
turn Your ear to me,
hear what I say.
Is it positive to be visited at night? Is it comforting? The idea that God sees and knows all is comforting to the saint. But who is so perfect? Who is without blame? Even David sinned. And what a mighty list of sins he committed! Nonetheless here the person offering this prayer, if it is in fact David, has the confidence, and perhaps audacity, to say that he has passed all tests. He says, I have examined my ways and found them to be blameless, so answer me. Listen to my prayers! There is a confidence here, even a chutzpah, that evades me. I find comfort in the closing lines.
Guard me as carefully as the pupil of Your eye.
Hide me in the shadow of Your wings...
Then, I justified, will behold Your face;
awake, I am filled with the vision of You.
Each morning I awake to sing blessings and prayers, to give thanks for the morning. Baruch...yotzer ha-m'orot.
18. According to the superscription this psalm was composed by David when he was hiding from Saul in the caves of Ein Gedi. It is remarkable in its imagery.
I adore You, O Lord, my strength,
O Lord, my crag, my fortress, my rescuer,
my God, my rock in whom I seek refuge,
my shield, my mighty champion, my haven.
All praise! I called on the Lord
and was delivered from my enemies.
Many are the nooks and crannies of Ein Gedi. In these David hides and in these God is found. God is a rock. God is, as the prayer recounts, the Rock of Israel. A rock is of course immovable. While unfeeling a rock can be felt and seen. It is dependable and sturdy. Perhaps this is why the ancients felt God's nearness in the hills of the Judean desert.
In my distress I called on the Lord,
cried out to my God;
in His temple He heard my voice;
my cry to Him reached His ears.
Our cries reach to the highest heavens and find their way to the loftiest of abodes. Imagine the trickles of water that make their way through the rocks of this desert oasis.
The ocean bed was exposed;
the foundations of the world were laid bare
by Your mighty roaring, O Lord,
at the blast of the breath of Your nostrils.
But during the winter rainy season flash floods can topple boulders and wash away desert roads. Our prayers can be faint cries and mighty torrents of sobbing and pleading.
He rescued me because He was pleased with me.
David can sin. He can murder. He can commit adultery. God always forgives David because God loves David. He was rescued not because of his merit but instead because of God's love and affection. Is this the meaning of hesed, a love that is undeserved? Is David the measure of divine hesed?
The Lord lives! Blessed is my rock!
Exalted be God, my deliverer...
Hold a rock in your hand. Keep a blessing on your lips.
To read the psalms online, in both English and Hebrew, follow this link.
He is at my right hand; I shall never be shaken.
So my heart rejoices,
my whole being exults,
and my body rests secure.
In typical Jewish fashion this is one of the psalms read at a funeral. The opening can be alternatively translated: "I have set the Lord before me--always. Because He is at my right, I shall not falter. Therefore my heart celebrates, and my being sings, and my flesh rests--assuredly." Why read these verses at a funeral? It is of course a statement of faith. Hold God close. Draw Adonai near. Then you will not fall. You may very well feel like you are faltering, but say a blessing and a prayer. Baruch dayan ha-emet.
For You will not abandon me to Sheol,
or let Your faithful one see the Pit.
You will teach me the path of life.
In Your presence is perfect joy;
delights are ever in Your right hand.
With God at your side you might feel like there are only simchas. These celebrations are more indicative of the path of life than any of the many tragedies, pains and difficulties we face. We are commanded to say a blessing in the face of death. We are also commanded to dance at parties. Blessings and whirling about in song and dance these are the defining Jewish postures.
17. A prayer of David.
Only five psalms open with this superscription: 17, 86, 90, 102 and 142. Many times the psalms refer to the prayers of David, but only these five open with this description. 17, 86 and 142 are called prayers of David, although 142 is not just a prayer of David but a maskil: a prayer composed when he was in the cave, 90 a prayer of Moses, and 102 a prayer of a poor man. What distinguishes a prayer from a psalm? For the Bible a prayer appears to be akin to a plea. Please hear my words, listen to the outpourings of my heart.
Hear, O Lord, what is just:
heed my cry, give ear to my prayer,
uttered without guile....
You have visited me at night, probed my mind,
You have tested me and found nothing amiss...
I call on You;
You will answer me, God;
turn Your ear to me,
hear what I say.
Is it positive to be visited at night? Is it comforting? The idea that God sees and knows all is comforting to the saint. But who is so perfect? Who is without blame? Even David sinned. And what a mighty list of sins he committed! Nonetheless here the person offering this prayer, if it is in fact David, has the confidence, and perhaps audacity, to say that he has passed all tests. He says, I have examined my ways and found them to be blameless, so answer me. Listen to my prayers! There is a confidence here, even a chutzpah, that evades me. I find comfort in the closing lines.
Guard me as carefully as the pupil of Your eye.
Hide me in the shadow of Your wings...
Then, I justified, will behold Your face;
awake, I am filled with the vision of You.
Each morning I awake to sing blessings and prayers, to give thanks for the morning. Baruch...yotzer ha-m'orot.
18. According to the superscription this psalm was composed by David when he was hiding from Saul in the caves of Ein Gedi. It is remarkable in its imagery.
I adore You, O Lord, my strength,
O Lord, my crag, my fortress, my rescuer,
my God, my rock in whom I seek refuge,
my shield, my mighty champion, my haven.
All praise! I called on the Lord
and was delivered from my enemies.
Many are the nooks and crannies of Ein Gedi. In these David hides and in these God is found. God is a rock. God is, as the prayer recounts, the Rock of Israel. A rock is of course immovable. While unfeeling a rock can be felt and seen. It is dependable and sturdy. Perhaps this is why the ancients felt God's nearness in the hills of the Judean desert.
In my distress I called on the Lord,
cried out to my God;
in His temple He heard my voice;
my cry to Him reached His ears.
Our cries reach to the highest heavens and find their way to the loftiest of abodes. Imagine the trickles of water that make their way through the rocks of this desert oasis.
The ocean bed was exposed;
the foundations of the world were laid bare
by Your mighty roaring, O Lord,
at the blast of the breath of Your nostrils.
But during the winter rainy season flash floods can topple boulders and wash away desert roads. Our prayers can be faint cries and mighty torrents of sobbing and pleading.
He rescued me because He was pleased with me.
David can sin. He can murder. He can commit adultery. God always forgives David because God loves David. He was rescued not because of his merit but instead because of God's love and affection. Is this the meaning of hesed, a love that is undeserved? Is David the measure of divine hesed?
The Lord lives! Blessed is my rock!
Exalted be God, my deliverer...
Hold a rock in your hand. Keep a blessing on your lips.
To read the psalms online, in both English and Hebrew, follow this link.
Vayechi
This week’s Torah portion, Vayechi, is the final portion in Genesis. Two death scenes are recorded in this week’s portion. Both are framed by journeys. The final act in the Joseph saga begins. The aged patriarch Jacob summons his son Joseph to his bedside and says, “Do me this favor, place your hand under my thigh as a pledge of your steadfast loyalty: please do not bury me in Egypt. When I lie down with my fathers, take me up from Egypt and bury me in their burial place.” (Genesis 47:29-10)
After Jacob blesses his grandsons Ephraim and Manasseh he offers a unique blessing to each of his sons. He then breathes his last breath and is gathered to his people. “Joseph flung himself upon his father’s face and wept over him and kissed him.” (Genesis 50:1) Jacob is mourned for 70 days and then Joseph asks Pharaoh for permission to travel to the land of Israel to bury his father. Joseph and his brothers, as well as many of the leaders of Egypt, travel to Hebron to bury Jacob alongside Abraham and Isaac, Sarah, Rebekah and Leah. Before crossing the Jordan they observe another mourning period, this time for seven days.
It was of course a lengthy journey from Egypt to the Cave of Machpelah in Hebron. The Torah notes the journey but records nothing of the conversations that must have occurred. What did the brothers say to each other as they traveled to bury their father? What did the Egyptians say to each other about the Jewish customs they observed? What did Joseph say to his sons Ephraim and Manasseh about the land to which they were journeying?
It is curious that Genesis provides little detail about the journeys it records. The majority of the Torah is of course about a journey from Egypt to the land of Israel. The remainder of the Torah details discussions and arguments, successes and failures. Yet in our Torah portion the most important journey, the one that presages the Jewish people’s defining journey, is reported only with its beginning and end points. Why?
I have often wondered what family members say to each other as they drive from funeral home to cemetery. It seems to me among the more difficult steps in an extraordinarily difficult day. The journey, between the obligations of funeral and burial, seems particularly wrenching. What do siblings, living apart for so many years but thrust together by grief, say to each other in the car ride? What can parents say to a child grieving for a beloved grandparent as they mourn for their own parent?
I remember in particular my grandfather’s funeral procession. There were few words. I looked out the window and listened to my father’s cries. I remember my mother’s words of reassurance to my brother and me. The procession took a detour so that it might drive by my grandfather’s shul. On that cold December day, the doors of the synagogue were opened in a gesture of respect. A number of men, friends of my grandfather, stood beside the doors.
I turned to my parents, “Why?” There were only tears. There were no fitting words. It is perhaps for similar reasons that the tradition requires no words to recite before lighting the yahrtzeit candle. On such journeys it is often impossible to find adequate words.
For Jacob the funeral procession concludes with no words, but with all of his children reunited in a final act of burying him in his ancestral home. For Joseph the procession is delayed. It will not be until the Israelites are freed from Egypt that Moses takes with him Joseph’s bones. The Israelites tend to their packing and make ready for the journey. Moses on the other hand fulfills a nearly forgotten vow, made to his forefathers hundreds of years before, and carries Joseph's bones out of Egypt. “Why?” the Israelites might have asked.
There was only silence. There are times when that is the only and best response. And there are times like Moses and Joseph before him, when are hands become our prayers.
To read the Torah portion online follow this link.
To read the Torah portion online follow this link.
Heroes
Again, I don't usually cite CNN or favor it as a resource, nonetheless its series on this year's everyday heroes is inspiring. CNN presents a selection of ordinary people doing extraordinary things. Peruse the nominations and their accompanying videos on CNN.com (2010 Heroes) to witness these remarkable examples of humanity at its best. I presume this is part of CNN's intention. What most often makes the news is unfortunately the opposite. This year's winner is Anuradha Koirala, a humble woman from Nepal who has nearly singlehandedly rescued 12,000 girls from Asia's sex trade. I found the below story about India's Narayanan Krishnan particularly inspiring. Krishnan is a Brahmin and therefore according to Hinduism's orthodox interpretation is not supposed to come in contact with anyone who is "impure" and not a member of his caste. But he states: "I am just a human being. Everybody is the same."
According to rabbinic legend the messiah will be found caring for the lepers outside the gates of the city. The rabbis understood that the world's redemption will be brought not so much from heaven but by ordinary people doing extraordinary acts, transcending station and position to care for those less fortunate. My donations and contributions of food and clothing to local soup kitchens seem so minuscule by comparison. I must do more to feed the hungry and care for the homeless!
And thanks to Marc for first bringing this video to my attention.
According to rabbinic legend the messiah will be found caring for the lepers outside the gates of the city. The rabbis understood that the world's redemption will be brought not so much from heaven but by ordinary people doing extraordinary acts, transcending station and position to care for those less fortunate. My donations and contributions of food and clothing to local soup kitchens seem so minuscule by comparison. I must do more to feed the hungry and care for the homeless!
And thanks to Marc for first bringing this video to my attention.
Nobel Prize
On a number of recent occasions I have found myself profoundly disappointed by the Nobel committee's selection for their prestigious peace prize. This year's winner however is an inspiring choice. Liu Xiabo, a dissident who languishes in a Chinese prison cell, stands alongside other giants. He appears equal to the legacy of such winners as Andrei Sakharov and Martin Luther King. Liu Xiabo was of course one of the leaders of the Tienanmen Square protests of June 1989 and is now jailed for continuing to speak in behalf of human rights. He could not travel to Norway to accept the award and so in his stead last year's "I Have No Enemies" speech was read. Last December, he delivered this final statement to the court sentencing him. He steadfastly holds to the principle of non-violent resistance. Remarkably he speaks of having no enemies, and no hatred. Freedom of expression, he argues, is the foundation of human rights. He believes, moreover, that ultimately China will bow to the universality of human rights. He writes:
Hatred can rot away at a person's intelligence and conscience. Enemy mentality will poison the spirit of a nation, incite cruel mortal struggles, destroy a society's tolerance and humanity, and hinder a nation's progress toward freedom and democracy. That is why I hope to be able to transcend my personal experiences as I look upon our nation's development and social change, to counter the regime's hostility with utmost goodwill, and to dispel hatred with love.His language, even in translation, soars in particular when speaking of his love for his wife.
If I may be permitted to say so, the most fortunate experience of these past twenty years has been the selfless love I have received from my wife, Liu Xia. She could not be present as an observer in court today, but I still want to say to you, my dear, that I firmly believe your love for me will remain the same as it has always been. Throughout all these years that I have lived without freedom, our love was full of bitterness imposed by outside circumstances, but as I savor its aftertaste, it remains boundless. I am serving my sentence in a tangible prison, while you wait in the intangible prison of the heart.
Your love is the sunlight that leaps over high walls and penetrates the iron bars of my prison window, stroking every inch of my skin, warming every cell of my body, allowing me to always keep peace, openness, and brightness in my heart, and filling every minute of my time in prison with meaning. My love for you, on the other hand, is so full of remorse and regret that it at times makes me stagger under its weight. I am an insensate stone in the wilderness, whipped by fierce wind and torrential rain, so cold that no one dares touch me. But my love is solid and sharp, capable of piercing through any obstacle. Even if I were crushed into powder, I would still use my ashes to embrace you.
His images and language conjure remembrances of Pablo Neruda's "Poet's Obligation" in my mind. I suspect that Liu Xiabo might bristle at the comparison, the devoted communist poet side by side with the steadfast fighter of communism. Nonetheless the prison cell is the focus and source of much poetry.
To whoever is not listening to the sea
this Friday morning, to whoever is cooped up
in house or office, factory or woman
or street or mine or harsh prison cell:
to him I come, and, without speaking or looking,
I arrive and open the door of his prison,
and a vibration starts up, vague and insistent,
a great fragment of thunder sets in motion
the rumble of the planet and the foam,
the raucous rivers of the ocean flood,
the star vibrates swiftly in its corona,
and the sea is beating, dying and continuing.
So, drawn on by my destiny,
I ceaselessly must listen to and keep
the sea's lamenting in my awareness,
I must feel the crash of the hard water
and gather it up in a perpetual cup
so that, wherever those in prison may be,
wherever they suffer the autumn's castigation,
I may be there with an errant wave,
I may move, passing through windows,
and hearing me, eyes will glance upward
saying, "How can I reach the sea?"
And I shall broadcast, saying nothing,
the starry echoes of the wave,
a breaking up of foam and of quicksand,
a rustling of salt withdrawing,
the grey cry of sea-birds on the coast.
So, through me, freedom and the seaAnd finally David declared when hiding in a cave:
will make their answer to the shuttered heart.
My heart is firm, O God;May we indeed see the day when no one will need to demonstrate, yet again, that the heart and soul and mind can never be imprisoned!
my heart is firm;
I will sing, I will chant a hymn.
Awake, O my soul!
Awake, O harp and lyre!
I will wake the dawn. (Psalm 57)
Vayigash Sermon
Our Torah portion contains the dramatic reunion of Joseph and his brothers. In this story Judah pleads in behalf of Benjamin, who has been framed by Joseph, by offering himself instead. Joseph is unable to control himself, sends his servants out of the room, and forgives his brothers. He tells them not to worry about what they did to him so many years ago. It was, he states, to do God’s will that he was sent into slavery in Egypt. Finally the brothers are able to speak and they hug and kiss each other, crying over the remarkable turn of events. Joseph sends them back to the land of Israel to bring their father to Egypt. I wonder: Why did Joseph not go back with them to see his father after these 20 years?
There are two possibilities to explain Joseph’s motivation for the elaborate test he creates for his brothers. 1. He wanted to exact revenge and so the thought of throwing his brothers in jail was too tempting to avoid. Or, 2. Joseph wanted to test his brothers to see if they had repented. This second option is of course the explanation our tradition favors. The only way to see if someone has made teshuvah shleymah, complete repentance, is to test them by the exact same situation. Only if you say no to the same temptation that before you said yes to, do we know that you have changed.
But rarely do we find ourselves in this same circumstance. And so how do we know if a person has truly changed? Michael Vick for example admitted his wrongs and served time in jail. Ben Roethlisberger by contrast never really owned up to his wrongs.
Some have argued that we are too quick to forgive our modern heroes. They have said that sports achievements give Vick and Roethlisberger an unfair advantage. We forgive them too easily because they win football games. But from a Jewish perspective we can say that Vick has changed. Our judgment of Roethlisberger must remain unclear.
Judaism fundamentally believes that people can change. I confess perhaps we do so with great difficulty. Nonetheless we can change. It is a matter of first admitting the wrong. And then asking forgiveness of those we have wronged. Then we must resolve to change. At some point we will be tested by the same circumstances. In that moment we will discover if we have indeed changed.
But changing ourselves is in some ways the easier task. Allowing others to change comes with greater difficulty. Forgiving others of their wrongs is the more trying test. Following Joseph’s example is the mightier task.
We must therefore continually remind ourselves that people can change. We must say to ourselves that nothing is fated. If I can change then others can change. Can we forgive and forget the wrongs done to us? Can we allow for others to change? Michael Vick is indeed a great football player. Believing that he has changed gives me hope. Believing that others can change gives us hope in the future.
According to the rabbis repentance is built into the fabric of creation. It was made by God before the world. Why? It is because the ability for people to change sustains the world. There is no future without change.
Have hope in yourself and your ability to change. More importantly, have hope in others. It is not simply a matter of our Jewish faith. It is instead because the world depends on it.
Correction
In my recent post "Hanukkah Fires" I failed to note all of the countries that came to Israel's aid in fighting the Carmel forest fires. Here is a more complete list of countries:
Azerbaijan
Bulgaria
Croatia
Cyprus
Egypt
France
Germany
Greece
Holland
Italy
Jordan
Palestinian Authority
(The PA is of course not a country, but perhaps the most significant of my prior omissions. The Palestinian Authority sent three fire engines and 21 firefighters.)
Russia
Spain
Switzerland
Turkey
United Kingdom
United States
This is an extraordinary list, especially given the number of Muslim and Arab countries who participated. Turkey for instance sent two planes
Azerbaijan
Bulgaria
Croatia
Cyprus
Egypt
France
Germany
Greece
Holland
Italy
Jordan
Palestinian Authority
(The PA is of course not a country, but perhaps the most significant of my prior omissions. The Palestinian Authority sent three fire engines and 21 firefighters.)
Russia
Spain
Switzerland
Turkey
United Kingdom
United States
This is an extraordinary list, especially given the number of Muslim and Arab countries who participated. Turkey for instance sent two planes
Psalms 13-15
I continue my soliloquy on the psalms... Is anyone listening? No matter, the psalmist speaks to my heart. That place is always the measure of true poetry.
13. How long, O Lord; will You ignore me forever?/ How long will You hide Your face from me?/ How long will I have cares on my mind,/ grief in my heart all day?
We begin with a lament. We continue with a prayer. We plead to God.
Look at me, answer me, O Lord, my God!/ Restore the luster to my eyes...
And we conclude with a song.
My heart will exult in Your deliverance./ I will sing to the Lord,/ for He has been good to me.
Often people come to services with broken hearts. They are drawn to attend to mark a yahrtzeit or because they are in mourning or because they wish to offer a Mi Shebeirach for friends or family who are sick. Rarely do people come because of the joy of Shabbat. It is difficulty and brokenness that compels people to pray. Like the psalmist we open with a cry, we begin with pain. If our prayer services work then that the pain and difficulty is transformed into song. We always conclude with songs of joy. The kaddish must never be our final word. We sing to Shabbat with the kiddush, Adon Olam, Ein Keloheinu. Our pain must be transformed into song. This is the journey of faith.
14. The fool says in his heart; there is no God.... The Lord looks down from heaven on humankind/ to find a person of understanding,/ a person mindful of God.
The fool is the person who believes that God does not take notice. The wise understand that God sees all of our actions. This is the theology of the psalmist. It is not here a matter of God creating the world, or redeeming the world, but instead a matter of taking note of human behavior. God is the God of justice. God is noted in human action. The fool is the person who says, "My actions do not matter. They have no significance." Or the mantra of our society, "...As long as he or she is happy." Happiness is not the concern of this psalm. It is instead about doing right and not doing wrong. Even though the wicked might seem to have the upper hand, God notes what we do and don't do. Our small, seemingly insignificant actions have cosmic significance. God sits with the righteous. God keeps company with those who do good. Our task is to do more good than bad. Think to yourself: Everything I do is not just about me but about others. What I do matters to the world. What I do matters to God.
Are they so witless, all those evildoers,/ who devour my people as they devour food,/ and do not invoke the Lord?/ They will be seized with fright,/ for God is present in the circle of the righteous.
15. In case you did not get the point of what the psalmist is trying to convey...
Lord, who may live in Your tent,/ who may dwell on Your holy mountain?/ He who lives without blame,/ who does what is right,/ and in his heart acknowledges the truth;/ whose tongue is not given to evil;/ who has never done harm to his fellow...
Why is religion defined more by ritual acts rather than ethical behavior? Is he religious means does he keep kosher, does he keep Shabbat? Why is the definition of religious not about business ethics? If one lies or cheats or steals one should never be called religious. You can pray all you want. And I do like to pray. But better, you should focus on the small details of how you treat others. These are the core of the religious life. They are the foundation of any faith. The psalmist has the final word:
The person who acts thus shall never be shaken.
13. How long, O Lord; will You ignore me forever?/ How long will You hide Your face from me?/ How long will I have cares on my mind,/ grief in my heart all day?
We begin with a lament. We continue with a prayer. We plead to God.
Look at me, answer me, O Lord, my God!/ Restore the luster to my eyes...
And we conclude with a song.
My heart will exult in Your deliverance./ I will sing to the Lord,/ for He has been good to me.
Often people come to services with broken hearts. They are drawn to attend to mark a yahrtzeit or because they are in mourning or because they wish to offer a Mi Shebeirach for friends or family who are sick. Rarely do people come because of the joy of Shabbat. It is difficulty and brokenness that compels people to pray. Like the psalmist we open with a cry, we begin with pain. If our prayer services work then that the pain and difficulty is transformed into song. We always conclude with songs of joy. The kaddish must never be our final word. We sing to Shabbat with the kiddush, Adon Olam, Ein Keloheinu. Our pain must be transformed into song. This is the journey of faith.
14. The fool says in his heart; there is no God.... The Lord looks down from heaven on humankind/ to find a person of understanding,/ a person mindful of God.
The fool is the person who believes that God does not take notice. The wise understand that God sees all of our actions. This is the theology of the psalmist. It is not here a matter of God creating the world, or redeeming the world, but instead a matter of taking note of human behavior. God is the God of justice. God is noted in human action. The fool is the person who says, "My actions do not matter. They have no significance." Or the mantra of our society, "...As long as he or she is happy." Happiness is not the concern of this psalm. It is instead about doing right and not doing wrong. Even though the wicked might seem to have the upper hand, God notes what we do and don't do. Our small, seemingly insignificant actions have cosmic significance. God sits with the righteous. God keeps company with those who do good. Our task is to do more good than bad. Think to yourself: Everything I do is not just about me but about others. What I do matters to the world. What I do matters to God.
Are they so witless, all those evildoers,/ who devour my people as they devour food,/ and do not invoke the Lord?/ They will be seized with fright,/ for God is present in the circle of the righteous.
15. In case you did not get the point of what the psalmist is trying to convey...
Lord, who may live in Your tent,/ who may dwell on Your holy mountain?/ He who lives without blame,/ who does what is right,/ and in his heart acknowledges the truth;/ whose tongue is not given to evil;/ who has never done harm to his fellow...
Why is religion defined more by ritual acts rather than ethical behavior? Is he religious means does he keep kosher, does he keep Shabbat? Why is the definition of religious not about business ethics? If one lies or cheats or steals one should never be called religious. You can pray all you want. And I do like to pray. But better, you should focus on the small details of how you treat others. These are the core of the religious life. They are the foundation of any faith. The psalmist has the final word:
The person who acts thus shall never be shaken.
Hanukkah Fires
Hanukkah has of course ended but its themes still linger. In Israel this past week 39 ultra-Orthodox rabbis representing various municipalities issued a ruling that Jews should not rent to non-Jews. The vast majority have of course decried their ruling and the Attorney General is now investigating whether any laws have been broken. Prime Minister Netanyahu denounced the ruling as well. Even Rabbi Yosef Shlomo Elyashiv, the head of Israel's ultra-Orthodox Lithuanian community, said in response, "I've said for some time that there are rabbis who must have their pens taken away from them." I am sure he might say the same thing to some of my writings, nonetheless his words are here on the mark. No matter where you live it is impossible to cut off the world.
The spirit of the Maccabees lives on. That is what I have been thinking about lately. I have been mulling over Hanukkah's long since suppressed history. The heroes of our Hanukkah story quickly became corrupt and oppressive. Civil war soon erupted under their autocratic rule. They executed their fellow Jews who opposed their rule. (According to one history that I read, they in fact crucified hundreds of opponents.) They practiced forced conversions. They persecuted the Pharisees, the forerunners of who we know as the rabbis. Absolute rule breeds corruption and more importantly an unwillingness to confront the other. It fosters an insularity from ideas different than one's own.
On the other hand a small part of me understands the rabbis' ruling. Many Israelis feel besieged and delegitimized. When far too many, most especially the Palestinians and their Arab supporters, declare that Jews never lived in the land of Israel or the city of Jerusalem it fosters in our hearts contempt for the world at large. But we must fight this feeling. The impulse to shut the world out is the far more dangerous and sinister feeling. Those are the consuming fires the Maccabees lit centuries ago. It was they who rightly fought against outside oppressors but who then shut out and persecuted all who opposed their views (except of course when it served to maintain their power, as for example when they hired gentile mercenaries).
This past week as well the fires in the Carmel forest were finally extinguished. 42 police officers lost their lives, including the highest ranking woman in the Israeli police force, Haifa police commander Ahuva Tomer. The fire was apparently started by a high school boy smoking a hookah. He was so afraid to tell anyone that he was smoking hashish that when he accidentally started the fire he neglected to tell anyone. The fire quickly spread because of high winds and the extensive drought Israel is now experiencing. For all who have contributed to the JNF and planted trees in Israel, thereby participating in the reclamation of the land, this fire is particularly wrenching. So many years of tree planting burned in a few short days! Israel's lack of preparedness and lack of proper firefighting equipment is (pick your language) a busha, shanda, embarrassment. How does arguably the best air force in the world not have any firefighting planes? How did Israel not learn after the Hezbullah rocket started fires of 2006? Netanyahu was forced to appeal to the world for help. Planes and firefighters arrived from Bulgaria, Greece, Cyprus, Switzerland, the United States, Azerbaijan, Croatia and France. Israel is supposed to be able to defend itself. In this instance it could not.
Perhaps this is the lesson those 39 rabbis need to learn. It is impossible to live alone. It is impossible to live in isolation. The Maccabees were ultimately consumed by their inability to learn this truth If we relearn this lesson then the Hanukkah fires will not have burned for naught.
The spirit of the Maccabees lives on. That is what I have been thinking about lately. I have been mulling over Hanukkah's long since suppressed history. The heroes of our Hanukkah story quickly became corrupt and oppressive. Civil war soon erupted under their autocratic rule. They executed their fellow Jews who opposed their rule. (According to one history that I read, they in fact crucified hundreds of opponents.) They practiced forced conversions. They persecuted the Pharisees, the forerunners of who we know as the rabbis. Absolute rule breeds corruption and more importantly an unwillingness to confront the other. It fosters an insularity from ideas different than one's own.
On the other hand a small part of me understands the rabbis' ruling. Many Israelis feel besieged and delegitimized. When far too many, most especially the Palestinians and their Arab supporters, declare that Jews never lived in the land of Israel or the city of Jerusalem it fosters in our hearts contempt for the world at large. But we must fight this feeling. The impulse to shut the world out is the far more dangerous and sinister feeling. Those are the consuming fires the Maccabees lit centuries ago. It was they who rightly fought against outside oppressors but who then shut out and persecuted all who opposed their views (except of course when it served to maintain their power, as for example when they hired gentile mercenaries).
This past week as well the fires in the Carmel forest were finally extinguished. 42 police officers lost their lives, including the highest ranking woman in the Israeli police force, Haifa police commander Ahuva Tomer. The fire was apparently started by a high school boy smoking a hookah. He was so afraid to tell anyone that he was smoking hashish that when he accidentally started the fire he neglected to tell anyone. The fire quickly spread because of high winds and the extensive drought Israel is now experiencing. For all who have contributed to the JNF and planted trees in Israel, thereby participating in the reclamation of the land, this fire is particularly wrenching. So many years of tree planting burned in a few short days! Israel's lack of preparedness and lack of proper firefighting equipment is (pick your language) a busha, shanda, embarrassment. How does arguably the best air force in the world not have any firefighting planes? How did Israel not learn after the Hezbullah rocket started fires of 2006? Netanyahu was forced to appeal to the world for help. Planes and firefighters arrived from Bulgaria, Greece, Cyprus, Switzerland, the United States, Azerbaijan, Croatia and France. Israel is supposed to be able to defend itself. In this instance it could not.
Perhaps this is the lesson those 39 rabbis need to learn. It is impossible to live alone. It is impossible to live in isolation. The Maccabees were ultimately consumed by their inability to learn this truth If we relearn this lesson then the Hanukkah fires will not have burned for naught.
Vayigash
I love to watch football. Even given its violence I enjoy watching any game, especially close contests. Sunday night’s Steelers-Ravens game was thrilling. Monday’s Jets-Patriots was disheartening. I admit as well that although I favor the Jets (and even the Giants) I carry no loyalties. When I was young I cheered for the St. Louis Cardinals who are now the Arizona Cardinals where a cardinal can scarcely be found sitting in a tree (nay, a cactus). Soon after I left my home town St. Louis acquired the Rams who I still remember as coming from Los Angeles but who now have Oakland’s Raiders. So I am left only watching for the love of the game.
A few short weeks ago I found myself cheering for the Philadelphia Eagles. In that game Michael Vick ran for two touchdowns and threw for another four. Despite the fact that I don’t believe that history is made on a football field it was still an extraordinary performance, and a worrisome one for the day when I will cheer for the Giants in their upcoming game against Philly. (Let’s hope New York’s defense can match Chicago’s performance.)
Nonetheless the accolades showered on Michael Vick raised for me a question of faith. Can a person change? And can others forgive him for his wrongs? All know that Vick was convicted of running a dog fighting ring for which he served nearly two years in jail. And so I wonder: has Michael Vick fully repented?
It is this very question that occupies the Torah portion Vayigash. The curtain opens on Act III of our Joseph drama with Joseph sitting in a throne-like chair surrounded by servants. His brother Benjamin is bound in chains and held by the Egyptians. Judah draws near (vayigash) Joseph and pleads for his brother Benjamin finally saying, “Now, if I come to your servant my father and the boy is not with us—since his own life is so bound up with his—when he sees that the boy is not with us, he will die, and your servants will send the white head of your servant our father down to Sheol in grief…. Therefore, please let your servant remain as a slave to my lord instead of the boy, and let the boy go back with his brothers. For how can I go back to my father unless the boy is with me? Let me not be witness to the woe that would overtake my father!”
Joseph could no longer control himself and sends his servants out the room. Through his sobbing and tears he says “I am Joseph. Is my father still well?... I am your brother Joseph, he whom you sold into Egypt. Now do not be distressed or reproach yourselves because you sold me here; it was to save life that God sent me ahead of you… So, it was not you who sent me here, but God…” With that Joseph embraced his brother Benjamin around the neck and wept, and Benjamin wept on his neck. He kissed all his brothers and wept upon them; only then were his brothers able to speak. (Genesis 44:18-45:15)
According to Moses Maimonides the test of true repentance is to be tempted again by the same sin but instead to commit no wrong. A person must stand in the same situation where before he or she sinned but this time behave differently, this time refrain from sinning. This is the only way one can know if a person has changed. Our tradition therefore understands Joseph’s elaborate trap as a test. Joseph frames his brother Benjamin by placing the goblet in his food bag not to be cruel and exact revenge but instead to see whether his brothers are now different men. Will they now abandon the only other son of Jacob and Rachel and leave him imprisoned? Or will they rise up to defend him? Will they turn their backs on a brother or hold him close to their hearts?
This is the test Joseph devises for his brothers. It is of course possible that Joseph was at first motivated by revenge. But when Judah approaches him in the portion’s opening chapter, he becomes overwhelmed by feelings of love and affection for the family from whom he has been separated for so many years. He realizes that his brothers have indeed changed. Joseph must also of course realize that he is a changed man.
And so this is our question for our Shabbat. Do we believe as Judaism does in the ability of people to change? Can we change and find our way out of destructive habits and paths that lead only to self-ruin? Is there room in our hearts to allow ourselves to change? Is there room in our hearts to allow others to change and forgive them their wrongs?
Michael Vick is indeed a great football player. The more important question is: Is he a changed man? While football might make for great entertainment, history is not made by extraordinary passes and dazzling runs. History is made instead by great men and women. And they are, like Joseph and his brothers, changed men and women.
A few short weeks ago I found myself cheering for the Philadelphia Eagles. In that game Michael Vick ran for two touchdowns and threw for another four. Despite the fact that I don’t believe that history is made on a football field it was still an extraordinary performance, and a worrisome one for the day when I will cheer for the Giants in their upcoming game against Philly. (Let’s hope New York’s defense can match Chicago’s performance.)
Nonetheless the accolades showered on Michael Vick raised for me a question of faith. Can a person change? And can others forgive him for his wrongs? All know that Vick was convicted of running a dog fighting ring for which he served nearly two years in jail. And so I wonder: has Michael Vick fully repented?
It is this very question that occupies the Torah portion Vayigash. The curtain opens on Act III of our Joseph drama with Joseph sitting in a throne-like chair surrounded by servants. His brother Benjamin is bound in chains and held by the Egyptians. Judah draws near (vayigash) Joseph and pleads for his brother Benjamin finally saying, “Now, if I come to your servant my father and the boy is not with us—since his own life is so bound up with his—when he sees that the boy is not with us, he will die, and your servants will send the white head of your servant our father down to Sheol in grief…. Therefore, please let your servant remain as a slave to my lord instead of the boy, and let the boy go back with his brothers. For how can I go back to my father unless the boy is with me? Let me not be witness to the woe that would overtake my father!”
Joseph could no longer control himself and sends his servants out the room. Through his sobbing and tears he says “I am Joseph. Is my father still well?... I am your brother Joseph, he whom you sold into Egypt. Now do not be distressed or reproach yourselves because you sold me here; it was to save life that God sent me ahead of you… So, it was not you who sent me here, but God…” With that Joseph embraced his brother Benjamin around the neck and wept, and Benjamin wept on his neck. He kissed all his brothers and wept upon them; only then were his brothers able to speak. (Genesis 44:18-45:15)
According to Moses Maimonides the test of true repentance is to be tempted again by the same sin but instead to commit no wrong. A person must stand in the same situation where before he or she sinned but this time behave differently, this time refrain from sinning. This is the only way one can know if a person has changed. Our tradition therefore understands Joseph’s elaborate trap as a test. Joseph frames his brother Benjamin by placing the goblet in his food bag not to be cruel and exact revenge but instead to see whether his brothers are now different men. Will they now abandon the only other son of Jacob and Rachel and leave him imprisoned? Or will they rise up to defend him? Will they turn their backs on a brother or hold him close to their hearts?
This is the test Joseph devises for his brothers. It is of course possible that Joseph was at first motivated by revenge. But when Judah approaches him in the portion’s opening chapter, he becomes overwhelmed by feelings of love and affection for the family from whom he has been separated for so many years. He realizes that his brothers have indeed changed. Joseph must also of course realize that he is a changed man.
And so this is our question for our Shabbat. Do we believe as Judaism does in the ability of people to change? Can we change and find our way out of destructive habits and paths that lead only to self-ruin? Is there room in our hearts to allow ourselves to change? Is there room in our hearts to allow others to change and forgive them their wrongs?
Michael Vick is indeed a great football player. The more important question is: Is he a changed man? While football might make for great entertainment, history is not made by extraordinary passes and dazzling runs. History is made instead by great men and women. And they are, like Joseph and his brothers, changed men and women.
Race to Nowhere
Here is a film that adds more evidence to one of the themes in this year's Rosh Hashanah sermon. Our schools are indeed quashing creativity and papering over mistakes.
Amen! Selah!
Amen! Selah!
Hanukkah in the Soviet Gulag
Camp Fire - by Natan Sharansky; Tablet Magazine - A New Read on Jewish Life
What follows are a few excerpts from Natan Sharansky's moving story of lighting the Hanukkah menorah when he was a Soviet dissident and was imprisoned in the gulag. Read the story in its entirety by following the above link.
On the sixth night of Hanukkah the authorities confiscated my menorah with all my candles. I ran to the duty officer to find out what had happened. “The candlesticks were made from state materials; this is illegal. You could be punished for this alone and the other prisoners are complaining. They’re afraid you’ll start a fire.” I began to insist. “In two days Hanukkah will be over and then I’ll return this ‘state property’ to you. Now, however, this looks like an attempt to deny me the opportunity of celebrating Jewish holidays.” The duty officer began hesitating. Then he phoned his superior and got his answer: “A camp is not a synagogue. We won’t permit Sharansky to pray here.” I was surprised by the bluntness of that remark, and immediately declared a hunger strike. In a statement to the procurator general I protested against the violation of my national and religious rights, and against KGB interference in my personal life....
“Listen,” I said, “I’m sure you have the menorah somewhere. It’s very important to me to celebrate the last night of Hanukkah. Why not let me do it here and now, together with you? You’ll give me the menorah, I’ll light the candles and say the prayer, and if all goes well I’ll end the hunger strike.” Osin [the camp commander] thought it over and promptly the confiscated menorah appeared from his desk. He summoned Gavriliuk, who was on duty in the office, to bring in a large candle. “I need eight candles,” I said. (In fact I needed nine, but when it came to Jewish rituals I was still a novice.) Gavriliuk took out a knife and began to cut the candle into several smaller ones. But it didn’t come out right; apparently the knife was too dull. Then Osin took out a handsome inlaid pocketknife and deftly cut me eight candles....
I arranged the candles and went to the coat rack for my hat, explaining to Osin that “during the prayer you must stand with your head covered and at the end say ‘Amen.’ ” He put on his major’s hat and stood. I lit the candles and recited my own prayer in Hebrew, which went something like this: “Blessed are You, God, for allowing me to rejoice on this day of Hanukkah, the holiday of our liberation, the holiday of our return to the way of our fathers. Blessed are You, God, for allowing me to light these candles. May you allow me to light the Hanukkah candles many times in Your city, Jerusalem, with my wife, Avital, and my family and friends.” This time, however, inspired by the sight of Osin standing meekly at attention, I added in Hebrew: “And may the day come when all our enemies, who today are planning our destruction, will stand before us and hear our prayers and say ‘Amen.’ ”
“Amen,” Osin echoed back.
What follows are a few excerpts from Natan Sharansky's moving story of lighting the Hanukkah menorah when he was a Soviet dissident and was imprisoned in the gulag. Read the story in its entirety by following the above link.
On the sixth night of Hanukkah the authorities confiscated my menorah with all my candles. I ran to the duty officer to find out what had happened. “The candlesticks were made from state materials; this is illegal. You could be punished for this alone and the other prisoners are complaining. They’re afraid you’ll start a fire.” I began to insist. “In two days Hanukkah will be over and then I’ll return this ‘state property’ to you. Now, however, this looks like an attempt to deny me the opportunity of celebrating Jewish holidays.” The duty officer began hesitating. Then he phoned his superior and got his answer: “A camp is not a synagogue. We won’t permit Sharansky to pray here.” I was surprised by the bluntness of that remark, and immediately declared a hunger strike. In a statement to the procurator general I protested against the violation of my national and religious rights, and against KGB interference in my personal life....
“Listen,” I said, “I’m sure you have the menorah somewhere. It’s very important to me to celebrate the last night of Hanukkah. Why not let me do it here and now, together with you? You’ll give me the menorah, I’ll light the candles and say the prayer, and if all goes well I’ll end the hunger strike.” Osin [the camp commander] thought it over and promptly the confiscated menorah appeared from his desk. He summoned Gavriliuk, who was on duty in the office, to bring in a large candle. “I need eight candles,” I said. (In fact I needed nine, but when it came to Jewish rituals I was still a novice.) Gavriliuk took out a knife and began to cut the candle into several smaller ones. But it didn’t come out right; apparently the knife was too dull. Then Osin took out a handsome inlaid pocketknife and deftly cut me eight candles....
I arranged the candles and went to the coat rack for my hat, explaining to Osin that “during the prayer you must stand with your head covered and at the end say ‘Amen.’ ” He put on his major’s hat and stood. I lit the candles and recited my own prayer in Hebrew, which went something like this: “Blessed are You, God, for allowing me to rejoice on this day of Hanukkah, the holiday of our liberation, the holiday of our return to the way of our fathers. Blessed are You, God, for allowing me to light these candles. May you allow me to light the Hanukkah candles many times in Your city, Jerusalem, with my wife, Avital, and my family and friends.” This time, however, inspired by the sight of Osin standing meekly at attention, I added in Hebrew: “And may the day come when all our enemies, who today are planning our destruction, will stand before us and hear our prayers and say ‘Amen.’ ”
“Amen,” Osin echoed back.
Psalms 10-12
Sorry for the delay... It was the many distractions of Hanukkah!
10. Why O Lord do You stand so far away/ concealed in times of great sorrow.
When people experience tzuris they often ask, "Where is God?" The psalmist echoes this sentiment. During times of great pain we feel that God is distant and most certainly, concealed. The remainder of the psalm is a restatement of a familiar theme. Rise up against the wicked. Banish evil. Robert Alter suggests that these verses do not fit with the opening line, but to my mind they do. Sometimes our pain is the result of other people's misdeeds. Therefore the psalmist cries out to God. Live up to Your promise to be a God of justice. Yet there are other times when our problems are not the result of others or of our mistakes, but instead because of nature. People are struck with disease not because of any fault of their own. Such is the nature of our bodies. It is in these moments that the psalmist most accurately captures our mood. I need You. Where are You? You appear hidden and remote. It is also possible that these moments of pain are when God is nearest. When we most need God, God is there. At least that is my prayer.
11. The Lord in His holy palace;/ the Lord--His throne is in heaven;/ His eyes behold, His gaze searches mankind.
Even though God is remote and indeed far away God still sees all. Even our innermost thoughts and our every day actions are not beyond God's gaze. While our eyes cannot see to heaven, God can see to earth. Abraham Joshua Heschel speaks of "God in search of man." This is the sentiment here expressed.
In the Lord I take refuge/... For see, the wicked bend the bow,/ they set their arrow on the string/ to shoot from the shadows at the upright.
What an extraordinary image! I am surrounded by evil-doers who lurk in the shadows, their bows pulled taut and their arrows aimed at me. Yet I must walk upright. To walk upright on the straight path is the highest accolade the Bible can shower on a person.
For the Lord is righteous (tzaddik);/ He loves righteous deeds;/ the upright shall behold His face.
Only those who walk upright, despite the sound of bows quivering in the dark, will behold God's face. To overcome the distance that sometimes appears between God and humanity, between God and me, I must continue to walk in the path of righteousness. Such is the view of the psalmist. Such is the view of Heschel. There are of course no guarantees that I will feel God's nearness. But righteousness is all that I can do. I might not even be able to repair all the world's or my brokenness. Nonetheless truth and compassion must carry the day. They are the path that I must walk.
12. May the Lord cut off all flattering lips,/ every tongue that speaks arrogance/.... The words of the Lord are pure words,/ silver purged in an earthen crucible,/ refined sevenfold.
There is a distinct difference between human and divine speech. We try to write about God. We try to describe God, yet all our attempts are in vain. We cannot even fathom God's wonders. How often does religion speak with confidence about God's ways! How can anyone truly know and understand! Even though God's words are pure they must be refined here on earth. So it is a catch-22. Even those words that we believe are God's were distilled through human ears. Franz Rosenzweig once wrote that the only word we can be sure God spoke at Mount Sinai was "Anochi--I am." The rest is, as the saying goes, commentary. I love poetry. I love the words of the psalms. But they are all approximations. Yet words can be like a silver kiddush cup held in my hand.
10. Why O Lord do You stand so far away/ concealed in times of great sorrow.
When people experience tzuris they often ask, "Where is God?" The psalmist echoes this sentiment. During times of great pain we feel that God is distant and most certainly, concealed. The remainder of the psalm is a restatement of a familiar theme. Rise up against the wicked. Banish evil. Robert Alter suggests that these verses do not fit with the opening line, but to my mind they do. Sometimes our pain is the result of other people's misdeeds. Therefore the psalmist cries out to God. Live up to Your promise to be a God of justice. Yet there are other times when our problems are not the result of others or of our mistakes, but instead because of nature. People are struck with disease not because of any fault of their own. Such is the nature of our bodies. It is in these moments that the psalmist most accurately captures our mood. I need You. Where are You? You appear hidden and remote. It is also possible that these moments of pain are when God is nearest. When we most need God, God is there. At least that is my prayer.
11. The Lord in His holy palace;/ the Lord--His throne is in heaven;/ His eyes behold, His gaze searches mankind.
Even though God is remote and indeed far away God still sees all. Even our innermost thoughts and our every day actions are not beyond God's gaze. While our eyes cannot see to heaven, God can see to earth. Abraham Joshua Heschel speaks of "God in search of man." This is the sentiment here expressed.
In the Lord I take refuge/... For see, the wicked bend the bow,/ they set their arrow on the string/ to shoot from the shadows at the upright.
What an extraordinary image! I am surrounded by evil-doers who lurk in the shadows, their bows pulled taut and their arrows aimed at me. Yet I must walk upright. To walk upright on the straight path is the highest accolade the Bible can shower on a person.
For the Lord is righteous (tzaddik);/ He loves righteous deeds;/ the upright shall behold His face.
Only those who walk upright, despite the sound of bows quivering in the dark, will behold God's face. To overcome the distance that sometimes appears between God and humanity, between God and me, I must continue to walk in the path of righteousness. Such is the view of the psalmist. Such is the view of Heschel. There are of course no guarantees that I will feel God's nearness. But righteousness is all that I can do. I might not even be able to repair all the world's or my brokenness. Nonetheless truth and compassion must carry the day. They are the path that I must walk.
12. May the Lord cut off all flattering lips,/ every tongue that speaks arrogance/.... The words of the Lord are pure words,/ silver purged in an earthen crucible,/ refined sevenfold.
There is a distinct difference between human and divine speech. We try to write about God. We try to describe God, yet all our attempts are in vain. We cannot even fathom God's wonders. How often does religion speak with confidence about God's ways! How can anyone truly know and understand! Even though God's words are pure they must be refined here on earth. So it is a catch-22. Even those words that we believe are God's were distilled through human ears. Franz Rosenzweig once wrote that the only word we can be sure God spoke at Mount Sinai was "Anochi--I am." The rest is, as the saying goes, commentary. I love poetry. I love the words of the psalms. But they are all approximations. Yet words can be like a silver kiddush cup held in my hand.
Another Hanukkah Message
The End of Hanukkah by Rabbi Donniel Hartman
Hanukkah lends itself to many interpretations. My teacher Rabbi Donniel Hartman offers the following insights in his most recent opinion piece.
Hanukkah is a holiday with an identity crisis. From the beginning, the rabbis had difficulty pinpointing what it was that we are celebrating. Was it the Maccabees' or God's military victory over the Assyrians? Was it a spiritual victory of Judaism over Hellenism? Or was it the miracle in which one small jar gave light in the Temple for eight days? Or is it a holiday celebrating a victory of the Jewish people against religious oppression?
...The essence of the modern era, however, may be encapsulated as the period in which such dichotomies have come to an end. A modern Jew is one who has multiple identities and multiple loyalties. He or she is a traveler in an open marketplace of ideas in search of new synergies and meanings. What a previous generation would call assimilation, that is, the penetration of "outside" ideas and cultures within a Jewish one, the modern Jew sees as essential to building a life of meaning and a Judaism of excellence.
Whatever Athens or Jerusalem might have signified in the past, today they represent the notion that to be a Jew is to live in the larger world and who aspires to create a new dialogue with that world in which both sides learn from and impact on each other. As a result, Jewish identity has changed. We no longer see our identity as singular and unique, but as integrated and complex. Jews today see themselves as citizens of both Athens and Jerusalem.
...A so-called "good Jew" is no longer one who fights Hellenism but one who maintains a Jewish core within the multiple facets of their life. It was often much easier to be a Jew when we were fighting "them," whoever "them" may have been. To maintain a Jewish commitment within a world in which dichotomies are gone requires a level of Jewish education and knowledge unparalleled in Jewish history. A dialogue between Jerusalem and Athens in which the value of each is maintained will only be possible if one knows what Jerusalem means and what values and ideas Judaism can contribute to living a meaningful life.
Hanukkah lends itself to many interpretations. My teacher Rabbi Donniel Hartman offers the following insights in his most recent opinion piece.
Hanukkah is a holiday with an identity crisis. From the beginning, the rabbis had difficulty pinpointing what it was that we are celebrating. Was it the Maccabees' or God's military victory over the Assyrians? Was it a spiritual victory of Judaism over Hellenism? Or was it the miracle in which one small jar gave light in the Temple for eight days? Or is it a holiday celebrating a victory of the Jewish people against religious oppression?
...The essence of the modern era, however, may be encapsulated as the period in which such dichotomies have come to an end. A modern Jew is one who has multiple identities and multiple loyalties. He or she is a traveler in an open marketplace of ideas in search of new synergies and meanings. What a previous generation would call assimilation, that is, the penetration of "outside" ideas and cultures within a Jewish one, the modern Jew sees as essential to building a life of meaning and a Judaism of excellence.
Whatever Athens or Jerusalem might have signified in the past, today they represent the notion that to be a Jew is to live in the larger world and who aspires to create a new dialogue with that world in which both sides learn from and impact on each other. As a result, Jewish identity has changed. We no longer see our identity as singular and unique, but as integrated and complex. Jews today see themselves as citizens of both Athens and Jerusalem.
...A so-called "good Jew" is no longer one who fights Hellenism but one who maintains a Jewish core within the multiple facets of their life. It was often much easier to be a Jew when we were fighting "them," whoever "them" may have been. To maintain a Jewish commitment within a world in which dichotomies are gone requires a level of Jewish education and knowledge unparalleled in Jewish history. A dialogue between Jerusalem and Athens in which the value of each is maintained will only be possible if one knows what Jerusalem means and what values and ideas Judaism can contribute to living a meaningful life.
Hanukkah-Miketz Sermon
At services we not only celebrated Shabbat and Hanukkah but presented our fourth graders with their very own prayerbooks. What follows is the sermon I delivered marking this special occasion.
It is interesting that Shabbat Hanukkah nearly always coincides with Parshat Miketz, this week’s Torah portion about Joseph and his brothers. Here is why I find this coincidence so intriguing.
The very first Hanukkah was quite different than our own. As you know centuries ago the Maccabees fought a three year struggle against the mighty Syrian-Greek army. The ruler of the Syrian-Greeks, Antiochus Epiphanes had decreed that our people could no longer practice their Judaism.
Here are just a few of his oppressive rules. No Jewish sacrifices could be offered. Instead sacrifices of pigs had to be made to Zeus. Pagan temples had to be built in the land of Israel. Circumcision was prohibited. We could no longer observe our Torah laws but instead had to follow Greek laws. Shabbat and holiday celebrations were strictly forbidden. Everyone had to party on the Emperor’s birthday. Participation in Greek parades was mandatory. The penalty for not following any of these rules was of course death. And finally it was forbidden to identify oneself as a Jew. No one was even allowed to use Jewish names any more. So you could not be called Noah or Talya or Josh, but you could be called Bruce, Kim or Steve.
Well thank God the Maccabees did not want to be called Steve. (By the way the meaning of the name Steven comes from the Greek meaning crown. The ironies abound!) The Maccabees would not have any of these laws. They fought a long hard battle and as you know, won. They cleaned up the Temple, dedicated it in an eight day long celebration (Hanukkah means dedication), threw out all of those Jewish Steve’s, and proclaimed the holiday of Hanukkah for all generations to come. Today we light our menorahs to commemorate their victory and also of course as a reminder of the miracle of oil. Everyone knows this part of the story. There was barely enough oil for a one day dedication ceremony. Nonetheless the menorah was lit and the oil miraculously lasted for all eight days.
The first Hanukkah was about fighting not to be like others. But in our Torah portion Joseph is the first Jew to live in a foreign land. He lives among the Egyptians, making a home for himself there and becomes the second in command of all of Egypt. It is therefore more than a bit ironic that on the Shabbat when we celebrate Hanukkah and its message of being different than others and more importantly our right to be different, we read of Joseph taking on an Egyptian name and acting so much like an Egyptian that his brothers don’t even recognize him when they come begging for food.
Throughout the generations Judaism has gone back and forth between these poles. We want to be different. We want to be the same. Look at the next generation! My children are called Shira and Ari. And if you haven’t figured out already, my parents did not name me rabbi. When I was born the mohel did not announce, “We are proud to welcome rabbi into the covenant of Israel!” Shira’s and Ari’s parents are of course not named rabbi and rabbi, but Susie and Steve. Back and forth with the names we travel, always struggling to live as a Jew while being a part of the world at large. We want to be different. We want to be the same. That is the eternal story of Hanukkah.
On this Shabbat we will soon present our fourth graders with their very own prayerbooks, their very own Siddur. Why on Shabbat Hanukkah? It is because every Jew needs at least two books. The Bible and the prayerbook are the essential ingredients to building a Jewish life. (You will get a Bible in sixth grade.) You can be anywhere, in any land, in your home or synagogue, even in a church, as long as you have a Bible and a prayerbook in your hand, you can make a Jewish life.
But the Siddur, more than the Bible, is the book that represents the marriage of tradition with contemporary culture. It is of course about how we pray, how we thank God, how we celebrate our holy days. But it also reflects today. We use the words of Hebrew and our tradition as well as the melodies of American culture and the poetry of contemporary society. Perhaps in our congregation we combine cultures more forcefully than in others, but to my mind, the Siddur has always been about that. It has always been about this back and forth.
Prayer is about many things. It is first about reaching to heaven from the depths of inspiration—sometimes out of pain, but mostly out of joy. Prayer is also about reaching back through history. That is the power of the Hebrew. That is also why we more often than not use the words of our tradition and don’t write new prayers each and every time we gather. We stand on the shoulders of prior generations of pray-ers. We sing Lecha Dodi and Shalom Aleichem and V’Shamru. Few of our words can match those of the mystics who penned for example “Beloved, come to meet the bride; beloved come to greet Shabbat.” But we also sing Od Yavo Shalom Aleinu. We are still figuring out how to do both, how to live as Jew and to be part of the world at large. That is what the prayerbook is about and that is what Hanukkah is about.
My hope and prayer for our fourth graders is that you will use this prayerbook well. Carry it with you throughout your lives. (Yes I know it is too big to fit in your pocket. But it is certainly smaller than many of the textbooks you already carry.) Refer to it when you are unsure how to give thanks. Open its pages when you want help to sing with joy, especially about the joy of Shabbat. Don’t worry so much about making sure it always looks perfect. It is always better to use a book than to allow it to sit on your bookshelf as if it were a framed picture.
I imagine that in the next generation our prayerbooks will look different. I also imagine that in the next generation our names will be different. Both of course will be different, but the same. You can change a name. You can add more English readings to the next prayerbook. But we will forever remain the same. We will always be the Jewish people.
That is the meaning of Hanukkah. That is the import of the twists and turns in this week’s Torah portion. That is the power of the book you will soon hold in your hands.
Matisyahu's New Video
Here is Matisyahu's new video and song, "Miracle on Ice." My favorites are still "Exaltation" from the "Shake Off the Dust" album or of course "Jerusalem" from "Youth." For those who are unaware Matisyahu is a Hasidic reggae artist. Enjoy!
Miketz
This week’s Torah portion, Miketz, is part two of the Joseph saga. Our hero Joseph is in an Egyptian jail. He was there because he was wrongly accused of having an affair with his master’s wife. Having dreamed dreams all his life, Joseph has the uncanny ability to interpret others’ dreams. He occupies himself with dream interpretation while languishing in jail. Scene two: Pharaoh is plagued with frightening dreams. No one is able to interpret their meaning. The chief cupbearer (what kind of a job is that!) who remembers Joseph from the days when they shared a jail cell tells Pharaoh of Joseph’s remarkable abilities.
Joseph is summoned, interprets Pharaoh’s dreams and thereby accurately foretells seven years of plenty followed by seven years of famine. Joseph wisely prepares Egypt for the years of want by storing up food during the preceding years of abundance. Meanwhile back in Canaan Joseph’s family has run out of food and is forced to travel to Egypt to seek relief. Given Joseph’s newly acquired station his brothers come to him asking for food. He recognizes them, but they do not recognize him. He now acts and dresses like an Egyptian.
Joseph creates an elaborate trap to see if the brothers have indeed changed. He frames Benjamin to test whether or not the other brothers will defend him or throw him into the pit as well. Act two concludes. I will share more about this trap and test next week when the story nears conclusion. This week I would like to focus on one verse. In the course of his discussions with the brothers Joseph asks, “How is your aged father of whom you spoke? Is he still in good health?” (Genesis 43:27-28)
Most of the time when we ask others, “How are you?” or as our children now say, “How ya doin?” we don’t expect them to tell us the details of their health and welfare. We expect them to say, “Ok.” The deep and probing question, “How are you?” has become a formula. It no longer seeks to uncover how a friend or neighbor or even family member is really doing. How many of us greeted long since seen family members on Thanksgiving vacation with the words, “How are you?” and listened with all our hearts for a truthful response? And how many of us answered with more than the formulaic, “Ok”?
Joseph’s brothers respond, “It is well with your servant our father; he is still in good health.” According to the rabbis visiting the sick and caring for others is not a matter left to professionals or a private affair. It is instead a public concern and the responsibility of all. It is incumbent upon the entire community.
A Hasidic story. Once the Gerer Rebbe decided to question one of his disciples. He asked, “How is Moshe Yaakov doing?” The disciple didn’t know. “What!” shouted the Rebbe, “You don’t know? You pray under the same roof, you study the same texts, you serve the same God, you sing the same songs—and yet you dare tell me that you don’t know whether Moshe Yaakov is in good health, whether he needs help, advice or comforting?”
We sit next to each other so that we might support each other and truly know how our friends are doing. So let us reach out to others and truly listen to their needs. That would be the best celebration of Hanukkah and a fitting testament to the true meaning of community.
History and the Land
As we look forward to tomorrow's celebration of Hanukkah we are reminded of the importance of history. This week's papers reported that the Palestinian Authority continues to deny the Jewish connection to historical sites in the land of Israel. The PA even goes so far as to deny that the Western Wall was part of the Temple Mount. UNESCO calls Rachel's tomb in Bethlehem a mosque alone. The Association of Reform Zionists of America (ARZA) issued the following statement in response:
"If there is ever to be true peace in the Middle East, the shrines of each of the three Abrahamic religions must be respected by the political bodies in the region and by the United Nations. Referring to Rachel's tomb as a 'mosque' is both factually and historically inaccurate. Similarly statements by the Palestinian Authority that the Western Wall in Jerusalem is not the retaining wall of our Temple Mount ignores established historical fact. Both of these references are disrespectful of Judaism and of the generations of Jews who have consistently venerated these sites; one from the time of Genesis and the second from before the Christian era to the present. Accordingly, we call upon UNESCO, the Palestinian Authority and upon all people and all nations of good will to cease referring to Rachel's tomb as a mosque or the Western Wall as anything other than a treasure of the Jewish people."
In order for peace to be achieved we must affirm each others' claim to the land. Rabbi Irwin Kula rightly noted: "People who want to erase each other inflame each other. This just hardens everyone at a time when we need to soften." You can read more about this issue in last week's Jewish Week.
"If there is ever to be true peace in the Middle East, the shrines of each of the three Abrahamic religions must be respected by the political bodies in the region and by the United Nations. Referring to Rachel's tomb as a 'mosque' is both factually and historically inaccurate. Similarly statements by the Palestinian Authority that the Western Wall in Jerusalem is not the retaining wall of our Temple Mount ignores established historical fact. Both of these references are disrespectful of Judaism and of the generations of Jews who have consistently venerated these sites; one from the time of Genesis and the second from before the Christian era to the present. Accordingly, we call upon UNESCO, the Palestinian Authority and upon all people and all nations of good will to cease referring to Rachel's tomb as a mosque or the Western Wall as anything other than a treasure of the Jewish people."
In order for peace to be achieved we must affirm each others' claim to the land. Rabbi Irwin Kula rightly noted: "People who want to erase each other inflame each other. This just hardens everyone at a time when we need to soften." You can read more about this issue in last week's Jewish Week.
Hanukkah Message
Fourteen years before he was killed during Israel’s daring rescue of Jewish hostages at Entebbe airport, Yoni Netanyahu wrote the following: “Because each and every minute is made up of seconds and of even briefer fragments of time, and every fragment ought not to be allowed to pass in vain… I must feel certain that not only at the moment of my death shall I be able to account for the time I have lived; I ought to be ready at every moment of my life to confront myself and say: This is what I’ve done.” (Yonatan Netanyahu, Self-Portrait of a Hero)
Nearly 2,200 earlier Mattathias and his sons led a revolt against the oppressive rule of Antiochus IV Epiphanes, the ruler of the Seleucid Empire. The first battle occurred in Modein, in the land of Israel, when Mattathias killed a fellow Jew who was obeying the king’s order to sacrifice to his pagan gods. Mattathias then single handedly killed the king’s officers standing nearby. He cried out in a loud voice, saying, “Let everyone who is zealous for the law and supports the covenant come out with me!” And he and his sons fled to the hills and left all that they had in the city. (I Maccabees 2) Thus begins the three year war which culminates in the Jewish fighters reclaiming Jerusalem and rededicating the ancient Temple.
Our history is filled with many battles, wars and struggles. To my mind they are far too numerous. My rabbinic forebears felt so as well and thus recast Hanukkah into the holiday that we know today. They made the day not so much about a military victory but instead about a divine miracle. We light the menorah not to commemorate the Maccabees’ bravery, military cunning and ultimate victory but the miracle of oil lasting for eight days. In the rabbinic imagination the soldier must be stilled and war silenced. Only God’s power remains manifest. Authoring their books in the years following Jerusalem’s destruction and subsequent failed rebellions (in particular Bar Kochba’s in 135 C.E.) they saw only danger in celebrating the feats of soldiers. They foisted all their hopes on God and scant few on their own might and power.
Our world is of course not like the early rabbis and not as well like the Maccabees. Here in the United States we are blessed with a vibrant diaspora community. 6,000 miles away there exists the seemingly unprecedented, a sovereign Jewish state. Never before have we beheld such blessings in the same day and age.
When Shimon Peres asked the soldiers returning from Entebbe how Yoni Netanyahu was killed, the answer came immediately: “He went first; he fell first.” Whether we rely on God’s miracles or our own strength we must always have such faith to go first. Yoni Netanyahu is perhaps the modern embodiment of Hanukkah’s ancient message. Netanyahu like the rabbis reveals in his letters that he was disheartened by war. But Yoni Netanyahu was also like Mattathias because he was zealous and unafraid.
As we light our menorahs and celebrate Hanukkah we thank God for daily miracles. But we must also remember we dare not wait for them.
Hanukkah YouTube Message
Below is this year's YouTube Hanukkah message. Enjoy! Hanukkah samayach! Happy Hanukkah!