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Parsha Perspectives: Mending the Torn Fabric (Vaeyra)

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We had all hoped that 2021 would be different. We hoped that the violence and discord which was so prominent last year would not follow us into this new one. But alas, infighting has reared its ugly head in the first weeks of this new year. It is over a week since the violent protest in our nation’s capital, and it still seems surreal. The images, the violence seem like scenes from a distant land. But yet, it was here, just an hour away. There has been much commentary and blame. But is there something to be learned?  Is there a lesson? Or is this simply another dark chapter for our great nation? I would like to share some thoughts and insights as I grapple with these events.

Pharaoh was bent on destroying the Jewish people.

And Pharaoh commanded all his people, saying, “Every son who is born you shall cast into the Nile, and every daughter you shall allow to live (Exodus 1:22).”

I have often wondered – how can this happen? How can an advanced culture like the Egyptians take innocent babies and cast them into the Nile? The answer is tragically simple – dehumanization. The moment you can convince a nation that the Jew is not a person is the moment that anything becomes possible. Pharaoh had convinced his people that the Jew was a threat, would consume all of the wealth, collude with Egypt’s enemies, and lead an insurgency from within. He transformed us into beasts of burden – he made us into animals. In that moment, it was no longer human children being thrown into the Nile. We were animals, property who could be discarded with little regard. Throughout the generations this very same strategy has been employed. How did the Nazis murder 6,000,000 with gas, ovens, torture, and mass executions? By portraying the Jew as sub-human. When the Jew is dehumanized – anything is possible.

When I look around at our greater society, I am truly saddened by what I perceive as the dehumanization of the “other.” The other can be someone who does not agree with my political views.  The other can be someone who does not share my opinions on race and religion. We talk about each other as fakes, thieves and deplorables (and many other names not fit for print).  How did this happen?  When did we lose our way? I believe the answer is quite simple – we have forgotten how to be nice.

This is not just in the political sphere. I have seen a difference in many daily interactions as well.  Perhaps, people are more on edge with the pandemic and political turmoil, but I have found that people are faster to anger, accuse and attack in a heightened state of emotional volatility. Many of us have forgotten how to express our opinions, concerns, and points of view with respect.

There is no question that there is a trickle-down effect. President Trump has made name calling and public humiliation of others common place and acceptable. But let us be honest; everyone is doing it.  The President must own the role his words and actions played in the violence which occurred.  Unfortunately, as leader of the free world, the President has not modeled dignity, civility, tolerance, acceptance, and the ability to be nice. The reality is that we have not tried to seek out these attributes and cultivate them within ourselves either.

There is a real danger of dehumanization. When you dehumanize those who disagree with you, you can hit a police officer in the head with a fire extinguisher and end a precious life for absolutely no reason.  When you dehumanize someone, you can turn on those who are charged to protect you. But it is not only the events of last week to which I refer.  When we look at what happened in Portland, in New York City and at numerous other protests which turned violent and unruly, we have seen people turning on each other with sheer hatred. This is not our way.

If there is one thing I know, it is that there will be people who will be upset with my words. Some will say that I am not condemning President Trump’s actions in harsh enough terms. Some will say that I am simply lapping up what the media is feeding me. The time has come to stop assigning blame and for each of us to take responsibility to fix our great nation.

So, what we can do?  I read an incredible opinion piece in the Wall Street Journal this past week. Mr. Chip Roy, a Republican, represents Texas’ 21st Congressional District and wrote a column titled, “Why I’m Taking a Social-Media Sabbatical.”

I’m suspending indefinitely my use of Twitter, Facebook, and other social media. I’m doing so not to make a political statement, but in the hope that America can return to kitchen tables, churches, taverns, coffee shops, dance halls (it’s a Texas thing)—whatever it takes to look others in the eye and rebuild our communities and humanity … While social media has proved a useful vehicle for sharing information quickly, I have concluded that it does more harm than good to individuals and society alike. It tempts us to be reactive and feeds the worst of our human tendency to respond in anger rather than to stop and think before communicating. The result is more verbal combat and less deliberative thought—all with language we often wouldn’t use while looking someone in the eye. I have been guilty of this recently, and I haven’t always been proud of my language …  Of all God’s earthly creations, man is the only one with rational speech, but we used to have a better way to communicate with each other. Let us dine together. Let us look each other in the eye. Let us sit down and talk again. Then, let us unite again as Americans.

Now I will admit, I am bit biased; I don’t have a Facebook or Twitter account. I know that all of these platforms can be and are used for such incredible good. But imagine if we took a break from the toxicity of social media and started working on repairing relationships. I know that for some, this ask sounds like being asked to give up a limb – but I truly believe that there is great wisdom in Mr. Roy’s suggestion.

Another suggestion.  The great sage Shammai is quoted in Pirkei Avos (Ethics of our Fathers 1:15):

“Shammai said … receive every person with a pleasant countenance.”

The attribution of this idea to Shammai is very strange. Throughout the Talmud, Shammai is known as the more austere, strong, and rigid personality while Hillel is known for his more gentle, kind, and serene approach. Rabbi Yisroel Meir Lau in his commentary explains that Shammai made this statement after realizing that his more rigid and sometimes caustic approach with people was flawed (see Shabbos 31a). You can’t accomplish much in this world if you can’t dialogue properly with the other. The great Chassidic master, Rav Yitzchak of Vorka (1779-1848) says, that the word “sever” which we translate as countenance (in the above-mentioned Mishna) can also be vocalized as “savar” which means to “hold an opinion.” The Rebbe explains that sometimes I may not like someone and perhaps, even for legitimate reasons, but when we encounter one another, the other should never feel my disdain. The Mishna teaches us, “receive every person in a way which makes him feel accepted and respected by you.”  Sometimes, you have to use your poker-face to live in harmony with the other. The purists amongst might say that is disingenuous, but as I get older, I have begun to realize, the world has no room for purists. We live in complicated times, and our country has grown ever more turbulent – the time has come to be nice. We must work on this each and every day. Each day we encounter situations which cause us to become angry. How do we deal with our anger? Do we unleash upon the other who is evoking these feelings within us? Do we lash out with put-downs, insults, and personal attacks? When we perceive that an injustice has taken place, do we use this as an excuse to unleash pent up animalistic tendencies which manifest in violence, looting, and many others forms of egregious behavior? We are better than this. We have a legal system, and if you have a grievance, there is a mechanism to address it. We have the right to demonstrate and make our voices heard. But the moment you lift your hand against your brother or sister is the moment you lose your credibility, is the moment you no longer stand for a cause, is the moment you become an animal looking for prey.

I know that taking a social-media sabbatical and actively working to be nice are not the sole solutions for our country’s issues. But sometimes we look for big solutions to solve big problems, when in fact, we have to take small steps to make some progress. It would be wonderful to think that when President-Elect Biden takes the reigns next week, a wave of civility and comradery will sweep over our great nation – but we cannot engage in self-delusion. I pray that President-Elect Biden has the wisdom and courage to do what is right for this nation and all its citizens. But no man, even the President of the United States, can affect change all alone. The fabric of our nation has been torn, but it is not beyond repair.  Let us do our small part and begin to create change.

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Parsha Perspectives: Extend Your Reach (Shemos)

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Republished from 5780

Servitude had begun. Our Egyptian hosts turned into our oppressors. Bondage and slavery had replaced civility and coexistence. Pharaoh decreed, “Kol ha’beyn ha’yilod ha’yiorah tashlichu’hu (Cast every baby boy into the river).” Yocheved hid her infant son for as long as she could. After three months, she could hide him no longer, and on that fateful day, she fashioned a basket and set him afloat in the Nile, saying goodbye to her son forever. Then something amazing occurred.

“Pharaoh’s daughter went down to bathe, to the Nile, and her maidens were walking along the Nile, and she saw the basket in the midst of the marsh, and she sent her maidservant, and she took it.” (Exodus 2:5)

Rashi explains the phrase “she sent her maidservant” can also be interpreted to mean “she outstretched her arm.” The Talmud explains that the daughter of Pharaoh extended her arm to grab the basket, a miracle occurred, and her arm extended beyond its normal reach.

The great Chassidic master, Rav Menachem Mendel of Kotzk (1787-1859) is perplexed by this Talmudic passage. Why would Pharaoh’s daughter stretch out her arm to grab something which was clearly out of reach? A person can easily gauge what is within their reach and it appears that the basket was a significant distance away (as evidenced by the fact that a miracle was needed). Why even try to grab it? The answer is quite profound. Sometimes in life you just have to try. You just have to extend your hand and attempt to grab your goals, dreams and aspirations. There are many things in life which look “too far away.” There are many initiatives, ideas, and finish lines which look out of reach. This is where our relationship with God comes in. God whispers in our ear, “Stretch out your hand, put in the effort, push yourself as hard as you can, and just when you think your reach has ended, I will extend your grasp a bit more. Where your human limitations begin is where I will partner with you and extend your reach.” The daughter of Pharaoh did not know how she would reach the basket, but she knew she had to try.

Too many times in life we look at an aspiration or goal and tell ourselves, “it’s too far, it’s out of my reach, no way I can accomplish this feat, it simply looks impossible.” The truth is, anything that is comfortably within reach is usually not worth having. The very things you have to stretch and exert for are the things which infuse meaning into life. Our life’s mandate and mission is to dream beautiful dreams and stretch as far as we can to bring them to fruition. If the dream is truly holy and important then God will extend our reach and help us actualize our aspirations.

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Parsha Perspectives: An Everlasting Ending (Vayechi)

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This week is an end. This Shabbos marks the end of Sefer Bereishis, and this past Thursday marked the end of 2020. It has been a most turbulent year. A pandemic, raucous presidential election, and racial tensions are just some of the major issues which have made this year challenging and overwhelming. It comes as no surprise that many feel relieved that 2020 is coming to an end; January 1, 2021 can only pave the way for something better and brighter. But as Jews, we look at “endings” a bit differently.  When we conclude a Book of the Torah (Chumash), we recite the words, Chazak Chazak V’Nischazeyk, Be Strong, Be Strong and let us be strengthened. We understand that “endings” are an incredible opportunity to take stock and evaluate the past while simultaneously planning for the future. An “ending” allows me to learn from the past, from both my achievements and mistakes, and do better going forward.

This week’s Parsha is not only the conclusion of the book of Bereishis but also the end of the story of the Patriarchs, Matriarchs, and their children. The story ends with the death of Yosef.

And Joseph died at the age of one hundred ten years, and they embalmed him, and he was placed into the coffin in Egypt (Genesis 50:26).

The Tosafists in their commentary explain, “Misaymim B’Tov, we conclude (a Book of the Torah) with good (some piece of positive or upbeat information).  But what is the “good” in this conclusion?  Yosef died and with his death, Egyptian persecution and enslavement begins.

The great Chassidic master, Rav Tzvi Elimelech Shapira of Dinov (1783-1841), in his sefer Bnai Yissoschar, provides an incredible explanation.

“… On the caskets of kings, they would inscribe the royal name of the deceased monarch. However, on Yosef’s casket they did not write Tzafnas PaNeyach (his Egyptian name), rather, they inscribed the name Yosef …”

The Rebbe is teaching us a profound lesson. Yosef was known by many names. He was a son, a brother, Hebrew, slave, adviser, servant, husband, father, and viceroy.  But at the end of his life, the name inscribed on his casket was Yosef. His many names represented the many identities he had to assume at different times. Yosef had to change and evolve. He never intended to serve a gentile master, but when the circumstances called for it – he did it. He never intended to be an Egyptian king – but when he was needed, he rose to the occasion. He never thought he would be sold like a piece of property, but when it happened, he accepted and navigated this new reality. But after all that happened, he reclaimed his primary identity, Yosef. After all that occurred, he found the ability to be a simple Jew in a complex world. At the end of the day, he remained a man committed to growth and self-actualization in every situation.

Our circumstances are not as turbulent as Yosef’s – but life is life. Things happen, and we change. At times we change because of tragedy and adversity, and at times we evolve because of our life circumstances and surroundings. These changes can be positive and conducive to growth and accomplishment, or they can represent the loss of certain positive qualities and attributes I once possessed but have now lost along the journey of life. If the changes are positive, I must reinforce them, but if I realize that I have lost vital parts of self, I must figure out how to reclaim them.

Perhaps, this is our avoda (lifework) at this end of 2020 and Sefer Bereishis.  Although it is overused, it is still true. We have lived through unprecedented times, and we have all changed in some way.  The only question is – are the changes good or bad? Perhaps, over these last 9 months, we have discovered incredible strengths and abilities we never knew we possessed.  Perhaps, I have created a stronger bond with my family and have come to appreciate my home life like never before. Perhaps, I have figured out how to be comfortable being alone and have used my time to introspect and think. Or perhaps, I have been riddled with stress. Perhaps, as a result of pandemic and politics, I find my relationships and ability to deal with others strained.  Perhaps, I lost my rhythm of learning and davening and find myself spiritually listless. We must end the year and Sefer Bereishis with “tov, good.”  Let us identify the positive steps and strides and bring them with us into this new chapter. Let us take these newly discovered strengths and utilize them to create new realities. And if we have lost valuable pieces of self – let us reclaim them. What have I lost? And where did I lose it?  Yosef lost and reclaimed, and now, we can do the same.

Chazak Chazak V’Nischazeyk.

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Parsha Perspectives: An Unnecessary Kiss (Vayeshev/Shabbos Chanukah)

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Every Shabbos is special, but this coming Shabbos will have the extra dimension and radiance of Chanukah holiness.  We have entered the 8 days of beautiful illumination, inspiration, and rededication. It is on this Yom Tov of Chanukah that we remember our brave ancestors, who after defeating the Syrian Greeks, rededicated the Temple, lit the spark of Jewish rejuvenation, and breathed new life into our collective soul.

There are two parts of our Chanukah celebration. We commemorate and celebrate the military victory.  “Masarta Giborim B’Yad Chalashim, You delivered the strong into the hands of the weak;” a small army of Kohanim (priests) defeated the mighty Greek army. We celebrate the miracle of the pach shemen, the small cruse of oil which lasted for eight days. Interestingly, the military victory receives almost no attention (aside from a mention in Shmona Esrei and Birkas Hamazon, Grace after Meals). The miracle of the oil takes center stage and informs the way we celebrate this holiday. How are we to understand the emphasis on the oil? Why does the pach shemen become the dominant point of focus during these eight sacred days?

Perhaps we can answer this question and gain new insight on Chanukah from this week’s Parsha. The Parsha begins with Yosef sharing his dreams with his brothers. These dreams, which prophetically foreshadowed Yosef’s ascent to spiritual and material greatness, infuriated the brothers. Their anger and animosity towards Yosef festered until they stripped him of his clothing, threw him into a pit, and sold him to an Ishmaelite caravan. The Torah records a peculiar piece of information:

“And they sat down to eat a meal, and they lifted their eyes and saw, and behold, a caravan of Ishmaelites was coming from Gilead, and their camels were carrying spices, balm, and lotus, going to take [it] down to Egypt (Genesis 37:25).”

Rashi comments:

Why did Scripture publicize their burden (of the Ishmaelite caravan)? To let you know the reward of the righteous, for it is customary for Arabs to carry only naphtha and tar, whose odor is foul, but for this one (Joseph) it was arranged that they should be carrying spices, so that he should not be afflicted by a foul odor.

Rav Chaim Shmulevitz (Mirrer Rosh Yeshiva, 1902-1979) asks a simple question, “Do you think Yosef cared about the smell of the caravan? He was just stripped of his clothing, dignity, and family. Would the malodorous caravan have made things worse? Conversely, do we think the aromatic spices somehow lifted his spirits? Yosef must have felt broken and forsaken; no amount of sweet-smelling spices could repair the hurt visited upon him. If this is so, why bother with the miracle?”

To answer this question, we must understand that there are two types of categories of miracles. The first category is a miracle that is necessary to remedy an immediate need. For example, when the Jewish people left Egypt and found themselves stuck between the Red Sea and the pursuing Egyptian Army, they needed an immediate salvation to escape the clutches of the Egyptian oppressor. God split the sea in order to save His nation. The miracle was necessary and needed. However, there is another category of miracles, a non-utilitarian miracle. This second type of miracle is not performed to address or remedy an immediate need but rather to send a message. More specifically, this non-utilitarian miracle is performed by God as an expression of Divine love – it is in essence a kiss from above. God knows that in times of difficulty, we often feel alone and forsaken. God knows that when we suffer, the words of the Psalmist, “Eli Eli Lama Azavtani, My God, My God why have you left me,” dangle from our lips. In those moments when we feel estranged and unloved, God “kisses” us.  He provides a “neshika,” a kiss from above. It is through this kiss that He reminds us that we are not alone.  It is through this kiss that He reminds us that He is right by our side. It is through this kiss that He reminds us that although the road ahead may be dark and difficult, we need not traverse it alone. This kiss is the miraculous kiss of companionship and love.

Are we to understand that because Yosef was surrounded by some sweet-smelling herbs, suddenly his suffering and anxiety melted away? Could the aromatic scent take away the pain, heartbreak, and humiliation he was experiencing? Of course not. But in that moment when Yosef was sitting in the caravan like a piece of chattel, being led away from his homeland, his family, and his life, he felt alone.  It is true that the sweet smell would not mend Yosef’s broken heart. But this nuanced change, this slight aberration was a sign from above that God was with him in those heartbreaking moments. The sweet scent was to remind Yosef that he was not alone. The fragrant smell conveyed the message, “My beloved child, I am here with you. I know you are hurt; I know you are broken, but I am by your side now and forever.”  The pleasing aroma was a Divine kiss (neshika) of reassurance, love, and companionship.    Sometimes, the miracles God performs for us do not remedy the current crisis or remove the pain. They simply allow us to feel the Divine companionship and embrace it.

This is the essence of the Pach Shemen (cruse of oil) miracle. God did not need to do it. It was not “necessary.” We could have easily gotten by without it. If the oil would have run out after one day, we would have managed just fine. But this is exactly what makes this miracle so special. It was a “kiss” from God to us. It was a kiss that reflected God’s pride and admiration for the sacrifices we were willing to make. It was a kiss that reminded us that even when life is dark and difficult, we are never alone. It was a kiss that gave us the strength to weather the difficulties and vicissitudes of life.

Now we can understand why this miracle takes center stage on Chanukah.  The pach shemen is much more than a jug of oil. It is the kiss that has held us through the centuries; it is the kiss that dispels the darkness; it is the kiss that gives us the strength to get back up when life has knocked us down. We all encounter challenge and adversity, and at times we wonder why Hashem allows these things to happen.  We wonder why God has forsaken us and seems not to care. Yet, when we take a step back and look at all of the “Divine kisses” we have in life, we begin to realize that although there are many things we do not understand – we are never alone. These kisses are the ultimate testament to the presence of Hashem in our lives and the ultimate reassurance that even when we struggle – we never struggle alone.  The kiss of the pach shemen is the kiss that opens our eyes and provides the illumination to see all of the other Divine “kisses” we experience throughout life.

As we bask in the glow of the Menorah, let us remember the kisses of the past, appreciate the kisses of the present, and eagerly anticipate the Divine kisses of the near future.

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