Reb Barry's Blog ... neshamah.net

Vayikra 5770 -- God Calling

"  And God called to Moses "

Rashi, the medieval rabbinic commentator par excellence, brings two interesting teachings about this phrase, which opens this week's Torah reading:

1) When the Torah says God "called" to someone, it is language of affection, as we see exemplified by Isaiah who quotes the angels "and they called to one another, holy, holy, holy, is the Lord of Hosts."

2) Rashi also says that "the voice traveled and reached Moses' ear, but all Israel did not hear."  In other words, when God was calling Moses, only Moses heard the calling.

God calls to each of us, in a unique way.  God called to Abraham, from a mountain.  God visited Jacob in a dream.  God called Moses from a burning bush, and in this week's parsha at the Tent of Meeting.  Ezekiel's calling came in a wild vision, Elijah's in still small voice. 

God calls to each of us: there is a reason we were put here, and God calls to us, asking us to fulfill our mission, to accomplish our work, to do our task, to help with the project of making this world a better place.

But doesn't everyone who acts in the name of religion think that God is calling them to do so?  Doesn't the suicide bomber think he is answering a call from God?

The first Rashi comment says calling is language of affection.  God calls to us in love.  God doesn't call to us in hate, and doesn't call on us to kill.  It is interesting to note, that in Exodus chapter 17, when Amalek comes to attack, God doesn't call Moses to go to war.  The war -- both the start and the initial response -- are human initiatives.  The Torah does show God taking sides -- but God didn't call on us to start a war.

God didn't give us the world to destroy it, and he didn't create people for us to destroy each other.  Seems pretty simple.  We're all God's children, and I'm quite certain that what God calls on us to do is to find a way to get along and love one another.  We are partners with God in creation, responsible for helping God with the perfection of the world.

And as God called to Moses and the prophets, God also calls to each of us, asking us to fulfill our role.  Sometimes we don't hear it, sometimes we don't recognize God calling us:

In Samuel I, chapter 3, God calls to the prophet Samuel, and Samuel fails to recognize the call:

That the Lord called Samuel; and he answered, Here am I.  And he ran to Eli, and said, Here am I; for you called me. And he said, I called not; lie down again. And he went and lay down. And the Lord called again, Samuel. And Samuel arose and went to Eli, and said, Here am I; for you did call me. And he answered, I called not, my son; lie down again. And Samuel did not yet know the Lord, nor was the word of the Lord yet revealed to him.

God is calling to you to.  Are you like Moses, responding to the call?  Or like the young Samuel, not even recognizing it when God does call?

Shabbat shalom,

Reb Barry

Vayakhel 5770: Skiing on Shabbat?

Two weeks ago I found myself in Breckenridge, Colorado for the weekend.  My brother's family rented a ski condo, so we had a "mini family reunion" on the ski slopes.  For the first time I was presented with skiing on Shabbat as a practical question, not just a theoretical question.

After thinking about it, I decided it was technically OK to ski -- the ski lift is basically an outdoor Shabbat elevator.  I bought my ticket before Shabbat, the condo was "ski-in, ski-out," so no need for any transportation to the lifts -- also convenient for lunch without having to carry food or spend money.

So I went skiing.  I tried to make it somewhat Shabbas-dik: I started late, after davenning; I even took a nap after lunch, to try and keep a bit of the feeling of a day of rest, and I tried not to push myself too hard (normally I spend all day on the "black diamond" mogul slopes and keep my heart rate up).

However, after having done it, I don't think I would do it again.  It wasn't that restful -- I couldn't resist the temptation to ski my usual terrain, especially since I was skiing with my brother-in-law who's a great skier.  The day just did not "feel" like Shabbat at all.  Part of that is not being with a community on Shabbat. 

This week's Torah portion starts our with Moses gathering the people together; and right after they are gathered together, he reiterates the commandment to keep the Sabbath.  Seven years ago, for this parsha in 5763, I gave a d'var Torah where I explored the relationship between community and the Sabbath; you can read it here.  In that drash I observed:

A few weeks ago I had what for me is an unusual experience:

Shabbat without community. I had surgery on a Friday, and Shabbat was spent recovering at home. Most of that Shabbat was spent sleeping. I observed all the traditional observances—we had a Shabbat dinner, I prayed, etc.—but all without the presence of community.

It was a much different experience than a “regular” Shabbat. Yes, it was a very restful day. However, the lack of community—the lack of praying together, studying together, eating together—also made it

less spiritually fulfilling and uplifting. A lot of the power of Shabbat to change our lives comes because of the power of community to nurture us.

So a few weeks ago I was given a reminder that "community" does make a difference. 

So I would in the future hold that skiing on Shabbat is something I won't do, not because it's technically prohibited, but because I would include it in the category of a "shvut" prohibition, something that not in keeping with the spirit of Shabbat.

There are things that are considered forbidden on Shabbat because of shvut; personally, I don't think I would make halachic rulings for other people based on shvut because what's in keeping with the spirit of Shabbat is clearly in the eye of the beholder.  TV can make an interesting example.

I consider it OK to use electricity for permitted purposes on Shabbat.  As a practical matter, this means that I will flip light switches on Shabbat, but not anything else, because pretty much anything else you might want to do with electricity -- cooking, grinding, etc., -- is forbidden on Shabbat regardless of how you do it.  However, I never watch TV on Shabbat -- not for any playoff games, not for the Olympics, nothing.  Not with the TV left turned on before Shabbat or any other technique.  Because for me, even though I'd say it's OK to turn it on and off from the electricity perspective, I consider TV totally NOT in keeping with the spirit of Shabbat, so we're very strict about it.  But I had a congregant a few years ago who posed an interesting question: what if he ONLY watches TV on Shabbat, so it's part of how he makes Shabbat different than the rest of the week?  Could it be permissible then?  I had to admit it was a good question.  I'd probably rule it permissible for him, even though I'd never consider it permissible for me.

However you manage to find it, may your Shabbat be filled with the spirit of Shabbat, filled with good food, family, friends, and the presence of the Shechinah!

Shabbat shalom,

Reb Barry

Mishpatim 5770 -- Take a Leap of Action

Is it foolish to accept instructions on blind faith?

Among the many commandments in this week's Torah reading, Mishpatim, is the response of the Jewish people: "All the Lord has commanded, na'aseh v'nishmah, 'we will do and we will hear(understand).'"  The Talmud records that when the people responded this way, the angels cried out, "who has told the people this great secret from on high???!!!"Why is this a big secret?  Because it's contrary to human nature.

In Madregat HaAdam, a work of Mussar, R. Joseph Horowitz explains that in the normal course of events, when someone makes a request of them, they first consider the request and decide whether or not they want to do it, and they are cautious, lest the request be something that will cause them harm, or it will be something impossible for them to live with.  In other words, they put “nishma,” we will hear or understand, ahead of “na’aseh,” we will do.

By giving precedence to "we will do" the people were demonstrating their love of God. The Slonimer Rebbe says the goal of every Jew should be to achieve devekut, a cleaving to God, a powerful connection with God.  Na’aseh v’nishmah shows this, because the essence of na’aseh v’nishmah is that even in dark times, when we don’t understand the will of God very clearly, when our understanding is limited, we still put we will do before "we will understand."  We still cleave to God, we still accept God, even if we don’t totally understand God.

If someone you love asks you "do me a favor?" What's your response?  "Sure, what is it?"  You don't say "what is it" before you say "sure."  It's the same way with God.  If you believe God loves you, you know God wouldn't give you commandments that are bad for you.  So you say "sure" and later you'll understand.

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel said Judaism does not call on us to make a leap of faith -- it calls on us to make a "leap of action."  Believe what you want, but do the mitzvot.

And that's the secret of na'aseh v'nishmah.  It's the Jewish path toward knowledge of God, and love of God.  Just as Buddhists meditate to draw close to God, Jews do mitzvot.

If you want to understand what Shabbat is about, trying to understand it intellectually is not the way to do it -- you need to "take a leap of action," put na'aseh before nishmah and give it a try.

Shabbat shalom,

Reb Barry

Beshalach 5770 -- Are we redeemed?

What if the redemption had come, and no one noticed?

At the start of this week’s Torah portion, Beshalach, the Jewish people are fleeing for their lives – running away from Pharaoh, ready to cross the Red (or Reed) Sea, and leave Egypt behind.  We are at the climax of “Yetziat Mitzrayim,” the Exodus from Egypt.  The geulah – redemption – is well under way.

This week’s Torah portion continues the theme of “redemption” started a few weeks ago.  But what does it mean to be redeemed?  Since redemption is also supposed to happen again, in the future, how will we know when it has happened?

When was the past redemption?  Did it happen when Israel left Egypt?  Or was it when they arrived in the Promised Land, forty years later?

One hint: we refer to the event as “yetziat Mitzrayim,” going out from Egypt.  We don’t commemorate it as “hachnasat Yisrael,” the “going in” to israel.

Maybe the answer is really both.  Maybe yetziat Mitzrayim, going out from Egypt is the first stage of redemption, and its fulfillment is forty years later with the going into Israel.

What about today?  Are we redeemed already?  If not, what are the criteria for calling ourselves “redeemed?”

In the Talmud (Shabbat 63a), Shmuel says there is no difference between these days and the days of the Messiah, except that in the days of the Messiah Israel will no longer be under foreign domination.  That has been fulfilled: as a people, Israel is no longer under foreign domination.  We have a country with an overwhelmingly Jewish population, a Jewish government, including (for better AND worse) compulsory laws enforcing the observance of certain Jewish rituals including the Sabbath and holidays, marriage and divorce, etc.  The Jewish people, are, once again, able to determine their own destiny (at least to the extent any country determines its own destiny in this highly interconnected world).

Despite the freedom from foreign domination, there are those who say that the secular state of Israel cannot count as “redemption” because we are not ruled by a king descended from the house of David.

But I would argue that the tradition uses monarchy as the form of government because two thousand years ago that was the dominant form of government.  If the rabbis of the Talmud had said “in the days of the Messiah Israel will be a secular democracy with a Knesset, President, and Prime Minister,” it might not have made much sense.  The Torah speaks in the language of man – and not just in the language, but in the concepts people can relate to.  If the Torah were written today, you can bet there’d be a lot more about the internet, and a lot less about slaves.

Folks, redemption is here.  One of the main features of redemption is “the ingathering of the exiles.”  We now have a plurality of Jews living in Israel – there are more Jews in Israel than in any other country, and within not too many years, a majority of the world’s Jews will be living in Israel.  Jews have flocked to Israel from all over the world: in one of my daughter’s classes, with 35 kids in the class, they were born in 26 different countries.  I don’t think the in-gathering of the exiles has to mean all Jews will live in Israel.  That will never happen – and what’s more, it never really happened in the past, either.  During the late Second Temple period, Jewish world demographics were similar to today, in that there were more Jews living outside Israel than in it, although Israel still likely had more Jews than any other single country.

Today, Jews who need to move to Israel to flee oppressions have already moved to Israel, or have decided they don’t want to.  After all those years of efforts to “free Soviet Jewry,” Soviet Jewry has been freed.  Aliyah from America and Western Europe will never amount to more than a trickle.  Israel is only an El Al ticket away, and the Jewish Agency is ready to help any Jew who wants to move here.  For all intents and purposes, the ingathering of the exiles has been successfully completed.

Given the tremendous changes the Jewish world has experienced in the last 60 years, it might be time to update our liturgy—in particular, the Amidah.  Why should we pray for the restoration of a king descended from the house of David?  We already have a Jewish government.  What I want to pray for is that those leaders should rule us wisely and capably, guided by the Torah.  Similarly, now that the exiles have been gathered, I would pray for dynamic relationship between Israel and the Diaspora, as envisaged by Achad Ha’am, each strengthening the other.

I find the traditional Musaf Amidah almost impossible to pray.  It’s just too much cognitive dissonance to be standing in a synagogue in vibrant, Jewish Jerusalem saying words like “on account of our sins we were exiled from our land.”  Hello, we’re not exiled anymore!

But what about the Temple?  It’s not rebuilt.  Isn’t that the real measure of “redemption?”

The truth is, Israel has physical control of the Temple Mount.  If the will were there, the Temple could be rebuilt (yes, a billion Muslims would object and possibly wipe us off the face of the earth, but in theory we could do it).  We don’t rebuild the Temple because it feels like the price would be too high, and it’s perhaps not seen as such a critical thing anymore.  We believe peace with the Muslim world is more important than restoring animal sacrifice.

In general, I prefer to leave the liturgy the way it is.  I generally do not favor updating the liturgy to make it more politically correct – I personally do not add the imahot (mothers) when I pray, because I’m more comfortable with the traditional form.  However, the founding of the state of Israel – having this little strip of land under Jewish control for the first time in 2,000 years – is significant enough that I believe it merits making more liturgical changes than we have so far.  What we’ve done so far is “tippy toeing.”  We add a blessing for Israel, “the beginning of the flowering of our redemption” to the grace after meals.  Some (but certainly not all) recite Hallel on Yom Atzmaut, Israel Independence Day.

This is the most important thing to happen to the Jews in 2,000 years, I think we can do more than that.  The rabbis made liturgical changes when the Temple was destroyed and many went into exile.  Another update is in order.

But if we change the liturgy, what do we pray for?

My friend David Breakstone was interviewed by the Jerusalem Post recently, in an article by Haviv Rettig Gur entitled “Zionism was always about building an exemplary society.”  David says that the work of Zionism is not finished.  We need to work on creating the “model society.”  He asks the interviewer whether he had ever read Herzl’s Altneuland.  He hadn’t.  David said:

"Nobody has. But that's a very important starting point" to answering the question, "because it tells us that when we talk about Zionism being not just about the founding of Israel, but about what kind of Israel we're building, then we're not inventing this as a new agenda. Making a better society, talking about the issues that face us - that is the heart of Zionism itself."

Instead of talking only about the "crisis Zionism of [Herzl's political manifesto] Der Judenstaat - that Jews need a shelter, a safe place to live" - the WZO must start talking about "the positive Zionism of Altneuland - about creating a model society."

The original Zionist vision – Herzl’s vision – was Israel as a “light to the nations,” as an international center of peace and prosperity, a beacon in the Middle East.  This is also completely consistent with the religious view of God’s purpose in forming a partnership with the Jewish people.  We are to be “or l’goyim,” a light to the nations, leading the way to a better world for all God’s creatures.

This Shabbat – Shabbat Shirah AND Tu b’Shvat – is a very appropriate time to rededicate ourselves to that ideal working to improve the world.  Shabbat Shirah, the Shabbat when we recite the “song of the sea,” a poem of thanksgiving to God for bringing us out of Egypt, is an appropriate to celebrate the fact that we have, in fact, left behind “mitzrayim,” which means “constricted place,” and are once again subject to God’s rule, not the rule of a foreign king.  And Tu b’Shvat, which has become a “Jewish Earth Day” celebrating the birthday of trees and our connection to nature is an appropriate time to reflect on our role as guardians of the planet – and not just for plants, trees, and animals, but for our fellow humans as well!

So the update to the liturgy I would seek is one that acknowledges where we are today – partially redeemed, “out of Egypt,” but not yet in the “promised land” of a world of peace, prosperity and harmony for all of us.

I’m not yet ready to turn Tisha b’Av into a day of feasting – our work is not yet complete – yet neither can we spiritually ignore the most significant change in our status in 2,000 years.

Shabbat shalom,

Reb Barry

R. Abraham Joshua Heschel, z"l

Today, the 18th of Tevet on the Jewish calendar, is the yartzeit (anniversary of the death) of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel, who passed away in 1972.

If you have not read any of Heschel's works, you should stop right now, and go to Amazon and buy two books: God in Search of Man, and The Sabbath.  It doesn't matter if you are Jewish, Christian, Muslim, whatever.  Those two books have the power to change what you believe.  And how you believe.

It is incredibly appropriate that Rabbi Heschel's yartzeit falls during the week that we are reading parshat Shemot, the beginning of the book of Exodus.  Shemot is the beginning of the story of Moses and the Exodus.  Heschel was a rabbi who had a lot in common with Moses.  As we know from the story of Moses, Moses was a mystic -- he spoke directly to God; Moses was "the lawgiver," compelling his people to act righteously; Moses was an activist, not just a speaker, as he personally marched the people out of Egypt.  Heschel was, very fittingly, professor of ethics and mysticism. at the Jewish Theological Seminary.  Like Moses the mystic, he spoke to God, but not only that, he helped many of us figure out how we too could speak to God.  Like Moses, he charged his people to behave ethically.  His daughter Susanna has spoken about how Heschel would be unable to sleep at night because he was so upset over Vietnam.  And like Moses, Heschel was an activist who marched -- in his case, the march was in Selma, Alabama, with Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.

There is a PBS segment where you can see some clips of interviews with the great rabbi.

Thanks to google desktop, I know I have 147 documents on my computer which mention Heschel.  Clearly he has influenced my thinking and my theology in a profound way. Heschel had a great way of finding the dialectic in Jewish thought, the diverse poles, and bringing them together in an unexpected way that brings with it new insight.  A few examples:

“God is in need of man for the attainment of His ends, and religion, as Jewish tradition understands it, is a way of serving these ends, of which we are in need, even though we may not be aware of them, ends which we must learn to feel the need of.  Life is a partnership of God and man.”

 

---God in need of man?  There's a radical idea.  We think of God as being perfect and omnipotent; Heschel shares with us the idea from Kabbalah that God needs us as well.

 

“A Jew is asked to take a leap of action rather than a leap of thought. He is asked to do more than he understands in order to understand more than he does.”

 

---This is Heschel's explanation of the teaching in the Talmud about "na'aseh v'nishmah," we will do and we will understand, putting doing, following God's path, ahead of mere intellectual understanding.  Completely the opposite of the way we usually think things work, understand first and then do.  But I love the way he puts it: take a leap of action.

One of Heschel's teachings that effected me the most was his teaching on awe or wonder.  He said:

"As civilization advances, the sense of wonder declines.  Such a decline is an alarming symptom of our state of mind.  Mankind will not perish for want of information; but only for want of appreciation.  The beginning of our happiness lies in the understanding that life without wonder is not worth living.  What we lack is not a will to believe, but a will to wonder."

Reading that paragraph was a profound experience for me.  A real "lightbulb going off" epiphany.  I had been approaching God all wrong.  I had been thinking about God, wrestling with abstract intellectual concepts.  Yet the path to faith is lined with wonder and awe, not words.

 

To feel awe or wonder, we need to create the space for awe.  We need to create the time.  Heschel's book on the Sabbath is considered by many to be his finest work.  Pure poetry, which can also help transform your understanding -- your experience -- of the holy day:

"He who wants to enter the holiness of the day must first lay down the profanity of clattering commerce, of being yoked to toil. He must go away from the screech of dissonant days, from the nervousness and fury of acquisitiveness and the betrayal in embezzling his own life. He must say farewell to manual work and learn to understand that the world has already been created and will survive without the help of man. Six days a week we wrestle with the world, wringing profit from the earth; on the Sabbath we especially care for the seed of eternity planted in the soul. The world has our hands, but our soul belongs to Someone Else. Six days a week we seek to dominate the world, on the seventh day we try to dominate the self... “

Heschel lived what he preached and taught.  He marched in Selma, and when he marched there he said "I felt like my feet were praying."  I will close with yet another quote, one that reminds us that while Rabbi Heschel is gone, continuing his work--God's work-- is up to us:

"The world is in need of redemption, but the redemption must not be expected to happen as an act of sheer grace.  Man's task is to make the world worthy of redemption.  His faith and his works are preaparations for ultimate redemption."

May his memory be a blessing.  I'm envious of my older colleagues who had the opportunity to study with him.

 

Reb Barry

 

 

Kol Nidre Night Live From Los Angeles

Last year 220,000 people watched Rabbi Naomi Levy lead her congregation Nashuva's Kol Nidre service.  No, they did not expand the size of the Hollywood Bowl.  The service was broadcast live online by the Jewish Television Network.  JTN will be broadcasting the service again this year, and think they may get even more viewers.  You can watch it Yom Kippur Eve, Sept 27 at 6PM Pacific Time -- and you can watch last year's "show" right now, no waiting -- at http://jewishtvnetwork.com/highHolidays .

Is this a good thing?  Or a bad thing?  With over 200,000 people participating, I suppose it must be either VERY good or VERY bad.

What's good about it?  Over 200,000 people were able to hear a high holiday service from the comfort of their own homes.  Or from a hospital, a nursing home, or a remote military camp in Iraq or Afghanistan.  I suppose a lot of Christians were probably watching too, people who were always curious about what Jews do on Yom Kippur.  Of course, those who watched still would not know what Jews usually do on Yom Kippur.  The Nashuva service -- with a band including guitar, violin, etc. -- is certainly not what you'll hear at your grandfather's shul.

I was sent a JTN press release that quotes a woman named Kathy as saying "My father was recently diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. It is likely that this will be our last High Holy Days together. This broadcast allowed my father, my daughter and I to share the High Holy Days together. I wish I could have shown you my father sitting and watching your broadcast while holding the hand of his granddaughter.”

It's certainly hard to argue that Kathy and her family benefited greatly from being able to watch the service.

My friend Rabbi Jason Miller thinks it's a great idea.  He wrote in his blog "In this multimedia, high-speed communication, open-source age we are now living in, we must allow Judaism to adapt to these times by embracing new modes of communication and new concepts of community."

I am a little more skeptical than my esteemed colleague.  I have a lot of reservations about the idea of participating in High Holiday services by watching TV.  And it's not because I'm a Luddite.  I bought my first computer in 1980, have had a personal web site for ten years, blog, facebook, twitter, etc.  But I'm still a bit of a skeptic on this one.

First of all, there are the halachic issues.  There are certain prayers we need a minyan to say.  Rabbi Avram Reisner, in his groundbreaking teshuva "Wired to the Kadosh Baruch Hu," ruled that while you cannot make a minyan with electronic participants, you can fulfill your obligation to say certain prayers like Kaddish by listening, in real time, to a service that does have a minyan and answering "Amen." 

While R. Reisner found sources allowing fulfilling your obligations this way, the sources are not unanimous on this.  There are also halachic considerations regarding the video transmission itself.  Taking pictures is forbidden on Shabbat.  I would not allow a photographer into a synagogue on the Sabbath.  There are those who say that if you had a video camera in a discreet location, no one touched it, it came on with a timer, etc., it is halachically OK.  Maybe so.  But JTN's production values are greater than that, and watching the video it's obvious they have live camera people.  And what about the obtrusiveness of the TV camera?

On the other hand, maybe the presence of a TV camera could be a good thing, reminding us that God is watching (and recording) our every deed.  ??

Halacha aside -- clever rabbis will always find solutions to halachic problems, and Reform rabbis would generally ignore halachic problems -- I have social and philosophical concerns.

What does watching the service on TV do to the idea of community?  In his teshuva R. Reisner said:

When the rabbis moved to require a quorum for communal public prayers and banned response absent a quorum, it seems that they were opting to force the community to come together, whereas otherwise, if one could fulfill all obligations alone, they feared that public communal structures would not develop.

I think that is a very real concern.  If anything, an even greater concern today, in our "impersonal" age than it was 2,000 years ago.  Will we eventually end up with no one showing up in the synagogue?  The rabbi transmitting his sermon from home to his congregants sitting in their homes?  No kiddush? No bagels?  No Scotch?

Besides the community aspect, there is the passivity aspect.  Watching TV is as passive an activity as our society offers up.  Think couch potato.  Prayer, on the other hand, is NOT supposed to be a passive activity.  On Yom Kippur you are not supposed to be watching a show the rabbi and cantor are putting on for you.  You are supposed to be pouring your heart to God, praying for dear life.

Many people feel that coming to services on Yom Kippur is like going to a performance. The Machzor is the script, the rabbi/cantor/choir are the performers, and they are the audience. I usually try encourage the congregants to instead view the service as one where the Machzor is the script, the rabbi/cantor/choir are the prompters, they are the performers, and God is the audience.

Kathy and her family had a meaningful experience watching the High Holiday service over the internet.

On the other hand, could they have had an even more meaningful experience if they really truly prayed together?

Reb Barry

Shanah Tovah

Rosh Hashanah starts tomorrow night.

And I'm not ready.

I'm not talking about cooking -- I won't get anywhere near a stove before the holiday starts, as I'm currently in the States on business and don't get back until hours before Rosh Hashanah starts.

I'm talking about my soul.  Elul is the time for us to wake up, to repent, to hear the call of the shofar.  I've done some studying of texts on teshuvah, I've done some "cheshbon hanefesh," some taking stock, I've heard the shofar blown at morning minyan in three different countries, but I feel my efforts are inadequate, I haven't done as much as I wanted to do, and now I'm almost out of time...

But only almost...I'll try to put the 12 hour airplane to good use, at least the part in which I'm awake.

How about you?  Have you thought about how you would like to change and grow in the coming year?  What you want to do different?

Remember the joke about how many psychoanalysts does it take to change a light bulb?  Only one, but the bulb has to really want to change?

Life is like that.  Nothing changes unless you want it to change.

If you want to change -- if you want to be more "x" but aren't sure how to get there -- let me suggest the practice of mussar, the character improvement from the Jewish ethical tradition.  Check out my friend Alan Morinis's Mussar Institute.

May 5770 be a year filled with blessings, with peace, with health, with prosperity, with love for you and yours, for k'lal Yisrael, and for all mankind.

Reb Barry

Ki Tetze 5769 -- Tradition and Change in Delhi

**This D’var Torah was presented at the Judah Hyam Synagogue in New Delhi, India, on August 28, 2009

If the Torah is eternal, how can our practice of Judaism legitimately change?

An article on the Kulanu web site about your community mentions how not so long ago the community decided to count women for a minyan; Mr Malekar (leader of the community) is quoted as saying ““If I want Judaism to survive in India, I must shed all the religious beliefs which are not practical in today’s world.”

But can we do that?

The Torah tells us “everything that I command you, you shall take care to do them, do not add to them, and do not take away from them.”  And not only that, the Torah also tells us “you shall take care to do what the Lord your God has commanded you, do not turn to the right or left.”

That certainly seems pretty limiting!  Do not add or subtract, do not turn right or left – the Torah does not seem to give us much maneuvering room!

However, the truth is that the Jewish tradition has always been an interpretative tradition.  Rabbis have ALWAYS studied the Torah, applied the general principles we learn from the Torah to specific teachings, and often come up with a law that seems to differ from the “plain text.”

A prime example is found in this week’s Torah reading, Ki Tetze.

One of the many commandments in this week’s Torah reading is about the “ben sorer u’moreh,” the stubborn and rebellious son:

If a man have a stubborn and rebellious son, that will not hearken to the voice of his father, or the voice of his mother, and though they chasten him, will not hearken unto them;  then shall his father and his mother lay hold on him, and bring him out unto the elders of his city, and unto the gate of his place;  and they shall say unto the elders of his city: 'This our son is stubborn and rebellious, he doth not hearken to our voice; he is a glutton, and a drunkard.'  And all the men of his city shall stone him with stones, that he die;

All I can say is “Thank God they don’t interpret that one literally anymore!”  As stubborn and rebellious as I was as a teenager, I wouldn’t be here to talk to you!

We don’t obey that commandment literally – and we have not done so for at least the last several thousand years.  There is a fascinating passage in the Talmud about that section.  The rabbis basically did the same thing they did with capital punishment in general.  They put so many restrictions and conditions on implementing the law that they effectively rendered it null and void.  “Son” implies less than full grown, but how can you punish someone who isn’t yet bar mitzvah age?  So they came up with about a three month window of age, and since it says “glutton and drunkard” they defined how much meat and booze the kid had to consume, etc., etc.  After going through all the discussion, one rabbi says “there never was one….so why is it in the Torah? So we get merit from studying it.”  On the other, another rabbi responded that yes there was at least one, he put a stone on his coffin!

But either way, it’s quite clear that the rule has not been taken literally for a long time, if it ever was.  We have another example, again from this week’s Torah reading.  The Torah says “Do not oppress your hired worker, the poor and deprived of your brethren, or the stranger that is in your land; you shall pay him his wages the same day, and you shall not let the sun set on him for he is poor and his soul will cry out to me and it will be accounted a sin to you.”

Do we pay our workers every day? No, not even in Israel.  The rabbis interpreted this verse as meaning you have to pay your workers on time: if you agree to pay them once a week, you have to pay them on whatever day has been set aside as payday.  I’m responsible for seeing that my company’s employees in Israel get paid on time.  According to Israeli law, we have to pay them by the ninth of the month following the month in which they worked.  I make sure we comply, since meeting that deadline is both a secular legal requirement, and a religious (and moral) requirement. 

But where does the authority come from to make such changes from the plain commandments in the Torah?

The authority comes from the Torah itself: we are told “lo b’shamayim hee,” it (the Torah) is not in heaven, that you should say “who will go up to heaven and bring it to us, so that we should hear it and obey.”  The Talmud brings a fascinating story to make the point:

R. Eliezer and his colleagues were having a heated argument about whether a particular oven was ritually pure or impure. R. Eliezer was certain that he was right, and God was on his side. So after he brought forward every imaginable argument, and still was not accepted, he said, “if the halacha, the law, agrees with me, let this carob tree prove it!” And immediately the carob tree moved 50 yards away. The rabbis said, “we don’t bring proof from carob trees.” R. Eliezer said, “if the halacha agrees with me let the stream prove it!” And immediately the stream started flowing backwards. They responded “you can’t bring proof from a stream of water.” R. Eliezer tried again, “if the halacha agrees with me, let the walls of the study hall prove it!” and the walls started to fall in, and R. Yehoshua rebuked them, saying “what right do you have to interfere in a debate of the rabbis?” and they stopped falling in his honor, but stayed bent in R. Eliezer’s honor. Not one to give up easily, R. Eliezer said “if the halacha agrees with me, let if be proved from Heaven” and a Heavenly Voice cried out “why do you argue with R. Eliezer, seeing that in all matters the halacha agrees with him!” R. Yehoshua stood up and said, “lo b’shemayim he, it is not Heaven!” R. Jeremiah explained this means the Torah had already been given at Mt. Sinai. We no longer follow attention to heavenly voices, because it is written in the Torah “you shall follow the majority,” meaning the law is decided by the majority. The Talmud continues and says God laughed and said “my sons have defeated me!”                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

We don’t turn to prophets or voices in the sky when we need to decide how to behave – we turn to the rabbis, our judges.

And not only that, we are specifically told that we turn to the rabbis of today, not the rabbis of 2,000 years ago when seeking answer difficult questions.  The Torah tells us we go to the Kohanim and judges “b’yamim hahem,” in THOSE days to settle disputes.  The rabbis have to apply their judgment to the situation in front of them – you can’t always find the answer in a book, not even directly in the Torah or Talmud.

If we had no room for interpretation and application, Judaism would have died out many many years ago.  The openness to interpretation has kept Judaism alive.  Those who continue to interpret the Torah in light of contemporary reality are following the authentic path of the Torah.  Those who would say Judaism can not evolve, that everything is locked in concrete never to adapt to the world around us, are doing a disservice to Judaism.

But the great challenge is how to balance tradition and change.  If we change too radically, soon we won’t recognize Judaism any more.  If we change too slowly – if we try to keep stoning rebellious sons – that would also be the death of the religion.   For communal decisions we have rabbis, who study the law and are faithful to it, but who also know the broad principles of the Torah we must apply to the different situations we encounter in the modern world.

In the system of halacha, theoretically rabbis make such decisions for individuals as well.  But the truth is, we don’t live in communities where the norms can be enforced – so in effect, in this day and age of the primacy of the individual, everyone decides for themselves how to practice Judaism.

We are now in the Hebrew month of Elul, the month before the High Holidays, traditionally a time for cheshbon hanefesh, taking an “accounting of our souls” in preparation for upcoming Day of Judgment (Rosh Hashanah) and Day of Atonement (Yom Kippur).  This makes it a very appropriate time to reflect on our relationship with God and our tradition, to seek to turn closer to God, to bring more Torah into our lives.

But turning towards God does NOT have to mean turning away from the world He created.

Shabbat Shalom

Tisha b'Av 5769

This year is my third Tisha b'Av since becoming an Israeli.  The Messiah still hasn't come; we're still fasting, not feasting.

Two years ago I wrote about experiencing Tisha b'Av here, and the disconnect I felt mourning for the destruction of Jerusalem while sitting in the middle of a lively, vibrant Jerusalem.  You can read that post here.  This year I feel the same disconnect...and have a few additional observations.

Ironically, it seems like it's easier to get into the traditional spirit of mourning for destruction of Jerusalem when sitting far away from Jerusalem.  When Jerusalem can be a disembodied theoretical sort of place, it's easier to simply mourn for the destruction of 2000 years ago.  When you're living in Jerusalem, and are surrounded by the life and vitality of Jerusalem, it's hard to mourn for its destruction.

On the other hand, it's still easy to feel sad today, and I do indeed feel sad, and it's not just because the themes and words in Lamentations are so darn depressing.  "The hands of compassionate women have boiled their own children; they were their food in the destruction of the daughter of my people."  That line is just a little too hard to relate to; on the other hand, when I read "Our pursuers are swifter than the vultures of the sky; they pursued us upon the mountains, they laid wait for us in the wilderness" I am reminded of more contemporary enemies, and missiles that are definitely swifter than vultures of the sky.

This year I found myself again on the Haas Promenade (aka "The Tayellet"), and felt, in addition to the other emotions, a sense of responsibility.  The temple was destroyed twice; the Jews have suffered numerous exiles and tribulations.  Today, once again, we finally have a land of our own, a country we call home.  Yet what are we doing with it?  How are we treating each other?  Will we merit to still be living here generations from now, or will we blow it again?  The last time the temple was destroyed we are told it was because of sinat chinam, gratuitious hatred.  How much gratuitous hatred do we still have around here, hatred for Arabs, hatred for Jews who practice Judaism differently than we do (secular vs. ultra-Orthodox vs. Reform, etc.)? 

I even got a taste of that sinat chinam today.  I went to a gathering at the Van Leer Institute, sponsored by Rabbis for Human Rights that was supposed to be a discussion about what happened during the Gaza War.  RHR wanted a balanced discussion -- representatives of the IDF were invited -- but the IDF refused to participate (see the J Post article about it here).  The IDF might have been a no show, but the protesters were there.  Not exactly in force -- across the street from the entrance to the Van Leer Institute were half a dozen protesters, one with a megaphone, yelling insults at people going into the conference.

The promoters of the conference aren't even accusing the IDF of anything; all they are saying is that there have been enough soldiers that have come forward with troubling testimony (see Breaking the Silence ) that an independent inquiry is called for.  We hope and pray that an independent inquiry would show that any untoward episodes were individual acts, not a result of bad orders; but there should be an inquiry so that we know.  For favoring such an inquiry, visitors to the Van Leer Institute this morning were treated to insults and cat calls.  On the day before the holiday when we commemorate the destruction of the temple for gratuitous hatred.

As the great sometimes Jewish poet and singer Robert Zimmerman put it "when will they ever learn?"

May those of you fasting have a meaningful fast.

Reb Barry

Balak 5767

What does the prophet say to his donkey?  "And Balaam said to the ass, Because you have mocked me; I wished there was a sword in my hand, for now would I kill you."  Of course, what's even more interesting is that it was the donkey that opened the conversation!

This is one of my favorite stories in the Torah: Balaam, the non-Jewish prophet, and his talking donkey.

Just think of how many different lessons we can learn just from outline of the story!

First of Balaam is a prophet -- he speaks to God, God appears to him.  And he is NOT Jewish.  This is a hugely important lesson.  One of the great novelties of the founding fathers of Judaism was the idea that there was one God who was in charge of everything -- the whole world, the whole universe.  In our prayers we call God "koneh hakol," the creator/possesor of everything.  So it's only logical -- if God is God to the whole world, he would speak to others, not just our particular group, even if we do feel we have a special relationship with the Creator.

This non-exclusivity is a very important and fundamental religious concept.  I am very troubled by some of the more fundamentalist branches of Christianity that maintain if you don't believe the right way (like them) you will go to Hell.  If God is God to everyone, doesn't He love and accept all his children?  How could the God of Everyone punish someone for an accident of where they were born? Exclusivity to one group of people is definitely totally contradictory to the idea of "the God of the Universe."

And our non-Jewish prophet has a talking donkey.  What's more, the donkey has a clearer vision of reality at times than the prophet does: when there is an angel of the Lord standing in the road with a sword in his hand, ready to attack Balaam, Balaam is clueless.  It's the donkey who sees the angel, and saves the ungrateful prophet's life by turning away from the sword-wielding angel.

There are important messages in this episode as well.  Even prophets can have blind spots, can miss things that might be obvious to others.  It's worth keeping this in mind as we consider our earthly leadership -- presidents and prime ministers are no more immune to blind spots than prophets.

And the fact that it's a donkey that shows the prophet reality -- I guess we need to be open to having the truth pointed out to us from the most unlikely of sources.  Of course, any parent has gained tremendous insights through the eyes of his/her children.  So we are not surprised at learning and perception being able to come from seemingly humble sources.

There's also an interesting lesson about free will in the tale of Balaam the prophet: he can't curse the people in the name of God, because God doesn't want them cursed -- he keeps giving them blessings.  But the midrash tells us that even though Balaam knew that the Jewish people were in favor in the eyes of God, he was able to use his free will and give the wicked king Balak advice that Balak was able to use against the Jews.  Of course, it might not have been smart for him to do that, as he later got his come-uppance.  But he did have the free will to go against what he knew was the will of God.

May we all use our free will in line with the will of God, not in opposition to it!

Shabbat Shalom,

Reb Barry