The midrash states in the name of Rabbi Nechemia that just as Moshe acted towards Hashem with temimut (naiveté or simplicity) so too Hashem acted towards Moshe with temimut. From where do we see this? From the story of the burning bush, where Moshe asks, “Why does this bush not burn up?” Hashem then calls out from the bush, “it is because my presence is found within it” (Vayikra Rabbah, Parshat Shmini, Chapter 11).
I heard an explanation of this midrash as follows: Moshe’s question is almost childlike, filled with a state of wonder and innocence. “How can this be?” he asks simply. Hashem answers Moshe’s question: “It is not consumed because I am in it.”
I can imagine a similar unassuming exchange between a parent and a curious child.
“Abba, what makes an ant move?”
“Hashem gives him his life just like Hashem gives life to you and me.”
Though the exchange is one of innocence and simplicity, it resonates with tremendous preciousness and depth. The notion that Hashem is the One who fills all of existence, and Hashem is constantly bestowing life on all of creation is a matter of tremendous complexity. The philosophical issues surrounding such statements, and the understanding of how such a relationship occurs has fascinated sages throughout the centuries, and has filled libraries with its discussion.
Yet simple words can fill us with a deep consciousness beyond the level of logic and complexity. At the most basic level there is nothing other than Hashem. As important as it is to understand the depth of that statement with the intellectual abilities that Hashem has granted us, it is equally important to contemplate with childlike simplicity that Hashem simply is.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Saturday, April 3, 2010
Sefirat HaOmer: Counting Up to Mt. Sinai
The first evening after the Seder Night, the Torah presents us with the following mitzvah:
“And you should count for yourselves from the day after Passover, from the day that you will bring the barley offering (omer in Hebrew), count seven complete weeks, until after the seventh week, count fifty days” (Vayikra 23:15).
From this passage we learn two mitzvot: the first is the priestly obligation to bring a special barley offering in the Temple each evening beginning from the sixteenth of the month of Nissan for fifty consecutive days, until the holiday of Shavuot.
The second is a seemingly bizarre mitzvah, called Sefirat HaOmer, or the Counting of the Barley Offering. Every Jew is told to count each day that the barley offering is consumed on the Temple altar. Even though we have no Temple to offer sacrifices today, we still count at the end of the evening prayer service, along with a special blessing made in conjunction with the counting, till Shavuot fifty days later.
The meaning behind this mitzvah of counting is not revealed in the passage. One midrash (quoted in a respona of the Rashbah) explains it as follows:
“When Moses told the Nation of Israel that they were going to serve Hashem on Mount Sinai, the Nation responded, ‘Moses our Teacher, when is this going to happen?’ He answered them, ‘Fifty days from now.’ Afterwards, each person counted the days to himself (until the time of serving Hashem at Mount Sinai). Therefore, the Sages set as a custom that each Jew should count the fifty days for himself.”
The midrash illustrates the great longing that the Nation felt after being told of the opportunity to serve Hashem. There was a deep anticipation, almost an obsession, with Mount Sinai, so much so that every day their longing grew stronger and stronger.
As we count the omer each evening, we also can experience this sense of longing. The anticipation for our personal receiving of the Torah on Shavuot can inspire our daily rituals, and motivate new goals in personal and character growth. These days leading up to Shavuot are auspicious times for this type of work, and we should attempt to maximize them with focus and excitement.
“And you should count for yourselves from the day after Passover, from the day that you will bring the barley offering (omer in Hebrew), count seven complete weeks, until after the seventh week, count fifty days” (Vayikra 23:15).
From this passage we learn two mitzvot: the first is the priestly obligation to bring a special barley offering in the Temple each evening beginning from the sixteenth of the month of Nissan for fifty consecutive days, until the holiday of Shavuot.
The second is a seemingly bizarre mitzvah, called Sefirat HaOmer, or the Counting of the Barley Offering. Every Jew is told to count each day that the barley offering is consumed on the Temple altar. Even though we have no Temple to offer sacrifices today, we still count at the end of the evening prayer service, along with a special blessing made in conjunction with the counting, till Shavuot fifty days later.
The meaning behind this mitzvah of counting is not revealed in the passage. One midrash (quoted in a respona of the Rashbah) explains it as follows:
“When Moses told the Nation of Israel that they were going to serve Hashem on Mount Sinai, the Nation responded, ‘Moses our Teacher, when is this going to happen?’ He answered them, ‘Fifty days from now.’ Afterwards, each person counted the days to himself (until the time of serving Hashem at Mount Sinai). Therefore, the Sages set as a custom that each Jew should count the fifty days for himself.”
The midrash illustrates the great longing that the Nation felt after being told of the opportunity to serve Hashem. There was a deep anticipation, almost an obsession, with Mount Sinai, so much so that every day their longing grew stronger and stronger.
As we count the omer each evening, we also can experience this sense of longing. The anticipation for our personal receiving of the Torah on Shavuot can inspire our daily rituals, and motivate new goals in personal and character growth. These days leading up to Shavuot are auspicious times for this type of work, and we should attempt to maximize them with focus and excitement.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Gathering our Stories for Seder Night
The Hagaddah teaches that no matter how knowledgeable the person, “one who prolongs the telling of the story of the Exodus [on seder night], behold this is praiseworthy.”
Rav Zadok HaCohen of Lublin asks a question about this passage: how long can the telling go on? All we have are the passages themselves in the Torah and the midrash. Once we’ve recounted them, what else is there?
He answers that each one of us should innovate a new angle to the Exodus story. Without bringing our unique insights and praises into to the story, it remains incomplete.
It seems to me that can happen when, in the words of the Rambam, every person experiences him or herself as personally coming out of Egypt. This pertains not only to imagining and recreating the historical Exodus, but being deeply in contact with our own personal Egypt, the narrow places that constrict our lives and our consciousness, and the ideal vision of how we want to live our lives.
In this way the seder table becomes not a re-telling, but an actual experience of personal redemption. By sharing the places in our lives where we are stuck, along with all the kindness that Hashem bestows upon us, the seder night becomes alive with the spirit of redemption, and can propel us towards the ideal vision of who we want to become.
Rav Zadok HaCohen of Lublin asks a question about this passage: how long can the telling go on? All we have are the passages themselves in the Torah and the midrash. Once we’ve recounted them, what else is there?
He answers that each one of us should innovate a new angle to the Exodus story. Without bringing our unique insights and praises into to the story, it remains incomplete.
It seems to me that can happen when, in the words of the Rambam, every person experiences him or herself as personally coming out of Egypt. This pertains not only to imagining and recreating the historical Exodus, but being deeply in contact with our own personal Egypt, the narrow places that constrict our lives and our consciousness, and the ideal vision of how we want to live our lives.
In this way the seder table becomes not a re-telling, but an actual experience of personal redemption. By sharing the places in our lives where we are stuck, along with all the kindness that Hashem bestows upon us, the seder night becomes alive with the spirit of redemption, and can propel us towards the ideal vision of who we want to become.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Embracing the Clarity of Hindsight
“Please show me Your Presence,” Moshe asks Hashem on Mt Sinai after Israel has been forgiven for the sin of the golden calf.
“I cannot, since no one can see my face and live,” Hashem answers. “I will put you in a cleft in the rock…you will see my back, but my face cannot be seen” (Shemot 33, 18-23).
Much has been written about this dialogue between Hashem and Moshe; what is Moshe asking for, and what is Hashem’s answer?
Rav Mordechai Yosef, the Ishbitzer Rebbe, offers a deep explanation. When Hashem’s presence passed over Moshe, he saw all that happened in the past through God’s perspective. Even the most theologically problematic matters, i.e., the existence of evil, disease, etc., were all revealed to Moshe. This is Hashem’s back.
But what Hashem could not show Moshe was the future, i.e. Hashem’s face. That is something no one can see. Hashem’s providence can only be fully understood in retrospect. Especially in light of the great numbers of tragedies that Israel has undergone, Hashem cannot be understood in the now. Only through the passage of time, when we reach a point of greater clarity, can we see the present in its proper context.
Hashem’s Presence may be hidden in the now, but the faith that carries us is the knowledge that in the future we will see clearly how Hashem was guiding us the whole time.
Dedicated to the complete healing of my dear friend Eliezer Chaim ben Zelda Tzipora.
“I cannot, since no one can see my face and live,” Hashem answers. “I will put you in a cleft in the rock…you will see my back, but my face cannot be seen” (Shemot 33, 18-23).
Much has been written about this dialogue between Hashem and Moshe; what is Moshe asking for, and what is Hashem’s answer?
Rav Mordechai Yosef, the Ishbitzer Rebbe, offers a deep explanation. When Hashem’s presence passed over Moshe, he saw all that happened in the past through God’s perspective. Even the most theologically problematic matters, i.e., the existence of evil, disease, etc., were all revealed to Moshe. This is Hashem’s back.
But what Hashem could not show Moshe was the future, i.e. Hashem’s face. That is something no one can see. Hashem’s providence can only be fully understood in retrospect. Especially in light of the great numbers of tragedies that Israel has undergone, Hashem cannot be understood in the now. Only through the passage of time, when we reach a point of greater clarity, can we see the present in its proper context.
Hashem’s Presence may be hidden in the now, but the faith that carries us is the knowledge that in the future we will see clearly how Hashem was guiding us the whole time.
Dedicated to the complete healing of my dear friend Eliezer Chaim ben Zelda Tzipora.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Broken Tablets and Believing in Hashem’s Faith
Imagine the following scene: Moshe ben Avraham is called up for an aliyah to the Torah on Shabbat morning. He says his blessing, and the reader begins to chant the text. The shul is packed, and immediately everyone starts schmoozing, even though the rabbi has already asked them several times to keep quiet.
Suddenly the reader grabs the scroll, lifts it over his head, and hurls it towards the floor; wood shatters and flies into the air, and the parchment unfurls almost out the door. Everyone is in shock.
“Yashar Koach,” says the rabbi as he stands up from his chair on the dais, and starts clapping his hands. The congregation is quiet.
Even someone with the lowest level of religious sensitivity could never throw down a Torah scroll. Yet as Moshe descends from Mt. Sinai with the tablets in his hands, his reaction to Israel’s worshiping a golden calf is to smash the Torah. Equally shocking, as the midrash paints it, Hashem says, “Yasher Koach that you broke them (the tablets).”
Rav Zadok HaCohen (Tzidkat HaTzadik 154) attempts to make sense of Moshe’s severe reaction. Moshe understood the magnitude of the nation’s transgression, and knew the repercussions would be great. Indeed, Hashem suggests to Moshe that Hashem will wipe out the nation and begin afresh with him. “Blot me out of your book,” Moshe replies. Moshe refuses to give up on Israel.
Says Rav Zadok, this is why Moshe broke the tablets: he needed to do an act of equal atrocity, so that he too would be on the same level as the nation. What more dreadful act could there be then breaking the tablets carved out by Hashem?
“Yasher Koach,” Hashem replies. Moshe threw his lot in with the people based on his belief in himself and in the nation. Forgiveness could be Hashem’s only appropriate response. The message that Rav Zadok draws out from this difficult story: one not only needs to believe in Hashem, but one also needs to believe that Hashem believes in us also. Despite our flaws and missteps we are still endowed with a divine aspect of Hashem, and are always connected to our Creator.
Suddenly the reader grabs the scroll, lifts it over his head, and hurls it towards the floor; wood shatters and flies into the air, and the parchment unfurls almost out the door. Everyone is in shock.
“Yashar Koach,” says the rabbi as he stands up from his chair on the dais, and starts clapping his hands. The congregation is quiet.
Even someone with the lowest level of religious sensitivity could never throw down a Torah scroll. Yet as Moshe descends from Mt. Sinai with the tablets in his hands, his reaction to Israel’s worshiping a golden calf is to smash the Torah. Equally shocking, as the midrash paints it, Hashem says, “Yasher Koach that you broke them (the tablets).”
Rav Zadok HaCohen (Tzidkat HaTzadik 154) attempts to make sense of Moshe’s severe reaction. Moshe understood the magnitude of the nation’s transgression, and knew the repercussions would be great. Indeed, Hashem suggests to Moshe that Hashem will wipe out the nation and begin afresh with him. “Blot me out of your book,” Moshe replies. Moshe refuses to give up on Israel.
Says Rav Zadok, this is why Moshe broke the tablets: he needed to do an act of equal atrocity, so that he too would be on the same level as the nation. What more dreadful act could there be then breaking the tablets carved out by Hashem?
“Yasher Koach,” Hashem replies. Moshe threw his lot in with the people based on his belief in himself and in the nation. Forgiveness could be Hashem’s only appropriate response. The message that Rav Zadok draws out from this difficult story: one not only needs to believe in Hashem, but one also needs to believe that Hashem believes in us also. Despite our flaws and missteps we are still endowed with a divine aspect of Hashem, and are always connected to our Creator.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
The Month of Adar: C’mon Get Happy
¨ Before you go to bed at night, write down three things that happened that day for which you feel thankful to Hashem.
Saturday, February 6, 2010
The Moment after Receiving the Torah
The transition between the Torah’s description of the national revelation at Mt. Sinai to the bulleted list of property laws listed immediately afterwards is jarring.
Imagine the scene at Mt. Sinai: the sages tell us that we were like a unified body in our mutual desire to receive the Torah. God reveals Himself to the nation; it was an event that, according to the Zohar, caused their souls to literally leave their body.
It was the absolute height of spirituality.
Then, in the next moment, Moshe enrolled the nation in Tort Law 101. We learn about indentured servitude, personal damages, property damage, etc. Where’s the transition? What happened to the spiritual experience, to the oneness?
The Ramban, in his first comment on Mishpatim, explains that the laws elucidated in the adjacent section are a translation of the last of the Ten Commandments, i.e., the prohibition of coveting.
Says the Ramban, if it were not for the property laws listed directly after the prohibition of coveting, you would not know what is yours and what is not. Therefore the Torah has to describe the parameters of ownership.
Spirituality can be defined as engaging with the entity that created and gives life to all of creation. A moment when one experiences this greater reality can alter one’s life. I remember distinctly a Shabbat meal where a friend shared a moving experience during his first trip to the Western Wall, where he felt “so connected.” That moment opened him up to further exploration of his Judaism and to pursue a life in Israel.
True, tasting the oneness can provide a high like none other. However, it is not the end goal. Jewish spirituality values both the concept of oneness, along with well-defined boundaries. We must develop a clear sense of self, as well as maintain the consciousness of our greater context. The awareness of this paradox prevents perversions of spirituality that violate healthy borders in all types of relationships.
Imagine the scene at Mt. Sinai: the sages tell us that we were like a unified body in our mutual desire to receive the Torah. God reveals Himself to the nation; it was an event that, according to the Zohar, caused their souls to literally leave their body.
It was the absolute height of spirituality.
Then, in the next moment, Moshe enrolled the nation in Tort Law 101. We learn about indentured servitude, personal damages, property damage, etc. Where’s the transition? What happened to the spiritual experience, to the oneness?
The Ramban, in his first comment on Mishpatim, explains that the laws elucidated in the adjacent section are a translation of the last of the Ten Commandments, i.e., the prohibition of coveting.
Says the Ramban, if it were not for the property laws listed directly after the prohibition of coveting, you would not know what is yours and what is not. Therefore the Torah has to describe the parameters of ownership.
Spirituality can be defined as engaging with the entity that created and gives life to all of creation. A moment when one experiences this greater reality can alter one’s life. I remember distinctly a Shabbat meal where a friend shared a moving experience during his first trip to the Western Wall, where he felt “so connected.” That moment opened him up to further exploration of his Judaism and to pursue a life in Israel.
True, tasting the oneness can provide a high like none other. However, it is not the end goal. Jewish spirituality values both the concept of oneness, along with well-defined boundaries. We must develop a clear sense of self, as well as maintain the consciousness of our greater context. The awareness of this paradox prevents perversions of spirituality that violate healthy borders in all types of relationships.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
