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Parsha Perspectives: Start Dreaming (Vayelech)

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If there is one prayer that resonates in the heart of every Jew it is Kol Nidrei. The very tune is haunting yet enchanting, saddening yet uplifting. Yet, when one looks at the words – they seem to be anything but inspirational. Kol Nidrei is a form of Hataras Nedorim, revocation of vows. We begin the holiest day of the year by releasing ourselves from the vows of the past and proactively annulling the vows of the future. On a legal level this is very important as violating one’s vow is considered a severe transgression. We do whatever we can to repent and absolve ourselves of sin as we enter this sacred day. And still, we find ourselves confounded by a basic question: of all the beautiful prayers we have in our liturgy, why begin the holiest day of the year with revocation of vows? There are many prayers with moving words, prayers that capture the true essence of Yom Kippur; prayers that speak to the theme of purity and repentance. Wouldn’t it be more appropriate to use some of these prayers as the liturgical introduction to this holy day? Why do we begin with Kol Nidrei? What is the message?

Perhaps, to answer this question we must strive to understand the purpose and power of a neder (vow). The paradigmatic neder is the Nazirite vow. A person takes a vow to abstain from wine and cutting his hair. The Nazir is forgoing certain physical pleasures and choosing to place less emphasis on his “self.” Why would a person do such a thing? The Rabbis explain – because deep down he knows he can be something more, deep down he knows he possesses greatness within but needs the proper framework to extract it. He needs to shift the focus from pleasure seeking to purpose seeking. Sometimes in life we need a push; we need some level of tension to actualize our potential. This is the neder – the binding promise which creates the framework to allow the individual to access his internal reservoir of potential.

To take this one step further, perhaps, the neder can be viewed as a personal aspiration or dream. I know where I am now, and I know where I need to be; the neder is the vehicle to help me bridge the gap. The neder creates a legal reality in which I must actively work to actualize my dream/aspiration. But there is a danger in dreaming – many dreams fail to materialize, many dreams come crashing down, many dreams end in disappointment. When one experiences too many failed dreams, one loses his resolve and courage to dream any more. It is too hard to leave oneself open to hurt and feelings of failure; better to live without dreams than to dream and fail.

This coming Wednesday night when we enter the hallowed sanctity of Yom Kippur, we reflect on last year and realize that many of the things we wanted to do, we didn’t. Many of the dreams we had remain unrealized or worse, ended in failure. And so, the first thing we do on this sacred day is revocation of vows, Hataras Nedorim – we let go of our failed dreams. We let go of the unrealized dreams of last year. We let go because we will not allow ourselves to be burdened by the yolk of failed dreams. Carrying around these failures can be stifling. We let go in order to dream anew.

This is our mandate over Yom Kippur – dream a new dream! Ask yourself, who do I want to be? What do I want my life to look like? What do I need to accomplish? We unburden ourselves in order to fill our hearts and souls with new, magnificent and holy dreams for the coming year. There is no better, more appropriate way to start this special day than with the recitation of Kol Nidrei. (From 5774)

I hope and pray that we will each find the courage to dream a new dream. Let us hope that God sees the beauty in our dreams and gives us the strength to make them come true.

G’mar Chasima Tova and Good Shabbos

 

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Parsha Perspectives: One Step at a Time (Nitazvim)

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“For this commandment which I command you this day, is not concealed from you, it is not far away. It is not in heaven, that you should say, ‘Who will go up to heaven for us and fetch it for us, to tell it to us, so that we can fulfill it?’ Nor is it beyond the sea, that you should say, ’Who will cross to the other side of the sea for us and fetch it for us, to tell it to us, so that we can fulfill it?’ Rather, this thing is very close to you; it is in your mouth and in your heart, so that you can fulfill it.” (Devorim 30:11-14)

Which “commandment” was Moshe Rabbeinu referring to? Many of the commentaries explain that Moshe was not referring to one specific mitzvah, rather to the Torah in its entirety. Moshe was telling the people, although there are many mitzvos and expectations, do not get overwhelmed. There are many obligations and responsibilities, but you will succeed. Others explain that the mitzvah (commandment) refers to the mitzvah of Teshuva (repentance and return). Although we may stray far from God, the ability and opportunity to return and rekindle the relationship is always available to us.

Whatever the precise definition may be, the message is the same. Creating personal holiness, cultivating a spiritual identity, cementing a passionate relationship with God may seem difficult, all our spiritual aspirations are within reach.

Rebbe Nachman of Breslov advances an alternate insight.  Moshe says to the Jewish people:

Lo Ba’Shamayim Hi, (It is not in the heavens) God does not ask you to live in the heavens. God does not expect us to achieve angelic perfection, He does not ask us to stop being human and live in the celestial sphere. He doesn’t even demand of us to be wholly righteous.

What does God ask of us?

 Ki Karov Eylecha HaDavar, (This thing is very close to you) Just reach a bit beyond yourself. Hashem wants us to grow. It doesn’t have to be in a dramatic or heroic growth, just be a little more, just become a bit holier each and every day. When Yaakov fled from home to escape the wrath of Esav, he received a magnificent vision. He saw a ladder with its base on the earth, yet its top extended into the heavens. What was the meaning of this vision?  Yaakov was to be the father of the 12 tribes, the father of Bnai Yisroel, and God was communicating to him the Divine expectations of Yaakov’s offspring. God says to us: Life is a ladder – all I ask is that you try to advance up the rungs. You need not climb two at a time, you need not ascend at a quick pace, just climb. Just take the opportunities that are within reach (karov, close) and find a way to move yourself and your life forward.

This was one of the last messages Moshe gave to our ancestors. Moshe, who taught us so much, provided us with the Divine framework for successful living and concluded his tenure of leadership with a simple message. God doesn’t expect perfection, God doesn’t need us to be angels, He just wants us to grow. All Hashem desires is for us to climb the ladder of personal development and self-actualization.

As we enter the Yomim Noraim, we must feel confident and excited for the year ahead. There is much we must accomplish and much we must rectify. There are things which work well, things which need repair, and things which must be fundamentally changed. But we must remember Rome wasn’t built in a day. People aren’t built in a day. To fully actualize our potential takes years and for some an entire lifetime. Yet, all God asks of us is just a little growth every day. All my Father desires is for me to try to climb up another rung. And if I fall, all He asks is for me to find the courage to once again begin the ascent. Ki Karov Eylecha HaDavar, it is very close to us – happiness, fulfillment, and self-actualization are all closer than we think. All we need to do is reach a bit beyond ourselves.

IJC-Parsha Perspectives-Nitzavim from 5778I want to take this opportunity to wish each of you Kesiva V’Chasima Tova. May each of us, together with our families and our nation, be inscribed for year of life, growth, holiness, health, happiness, and redemption.

(Reprinted from 5778)

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Parsha Perspectives: I Have Not Forgotten (Ki Savo)

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“When you have finished tithing all the tithes of your produce in the third year, the year of the tithe, you shall give [them] to the Levite, the stranger, the orphan, and the widow, so that they can eat to satiety in your cities. Then you shall say before the Lord, your God, ’I have removed the holy [portion] from the house, and I have also given it to the Levite, the stranger, the orphan, and the widow, according to all Your commandment that You commanded me; I have not transgressed Your commandments, nor have I forgotten [them].’” (Devorim 26:12-13)

The Torah commands us to distribute various tithes to the Kohanim, Leviim and the poor. Different tithes apply throughout the 7-year agricultural cycle. In year three of this cycle, there is a process known as vidui maaser (confession of the tithes), during which the farmer “confesses” that he has properly distributed his tithes to the needy and tribe of Levi. There appears to be an extraneous phrase in this confession, “Nor have I forgotten.” What is the meaning of this statement? Is it not obvious the farmer has not forgotten? He just stated, “I have removed the holy portion from the house, I have given it to the Levite, the stranger…” What is the purpose of explicitly stating that he has not forgotten?

Rashi explains, “nor have I forgotten: to bless You [to recite the beracha (blessing) on the performance of the mitzvah] of separating tithes.” The great Kabbalist, Rav Yaakov Shaltiel, in his work titled Emes L’Yaakov, provides an incredible insight on this statement of Rashi. There are times when we are proficient in the automatous details of Torah and mitzvos yet fail to feel. We know what to do and how to do it, but lack excitement and passion. Our Judaic obligations offer us an opportunity to connect to the Divine and establish a meaningful relationship with God. But that relationship only occurs if we serve and perform with meaning and devotion. This dynamic is encapsulated in a beracha. The Talmud explains that in most situations, “berachos eynan mi’akvos,” failure to recite a blessing doesn’t compromise the validity or effectiveness of the mitzvah. If you blow the shofar and fail to make a beracha beforehand, you have still fulfilled the mitzvah. If you light your menorah and neglect to make a beracha beforehand, you have still fulfilled your obligation. If so, then what is the role of a beracha? It is a preparatory act to create a sense of excitement for what is about to occur. We make a beracha and say, Baruch Ata Hashem, God, you are the source of all blessing; Elokeinu Melech HaOlam, My God, the King of the Universe… With these words we are acknowledging that through this act we have the privilege of connection. With this act, we can establish a relationship with Hashem and connect to the infinite holiness of our Creator. This realization creates an intense passion and longing, and fundamentally transforms the act of the mitzvah from a mechanistic behavior to a service of devotion and excitement.

This is the deeper meaning of Rashi. The farmer says, “God, I have done all you have asked me, I separated and dispersed the tithes, I took care of Your children as You asked me to. I have adhered to all the details as You have commanded. But I have not forgotten. In the flurry of details and obligations, I haven’t forgotten what this mitzvah and all other mitzvos are really about – connection. I made my berachos, I have served You with excitement and passion. I have continuously recognized the privilege I have to forge a relationship with You through the performance of Your mitzvos. I have adhered to the details but have never forgotten to simultaneously stoke the spiritual fire of excitement.”

These are exciting and overwhelming days. As one year comes to a close and another is poised to begin we must introspect and examine our relationship with God. Too often we only look at this relationship though the lens of sin and salvation. This is important but is not the totality of our relationship. Many of us go through life and miss out on the awesome opportunity to have a truly meaningful and deep relationship with God. Our Judaism must be more than just doing good deeds and avoiding sin (again, very important), it must be about creating relationship, it must be about making berachos and infusing passion wherever we can. The first step in the process is a beracha. A beracha forces us to pause before we act and allows us the time to contemplate what we are about to do. If it is a beracha before the performance of a mitzvah, we can think about how this mitzvah affords us the opportunity to connect with God. If it is a beracha before eating, we can think about our relationships to the material world and if we are using our material wealth to bring us closer to God and our fellow man. The beracha provides us with the few moments of contemplation which then creates the opportunity for excitement and passion.

May we be privileged to make the farmer’s statement, “I have done all You have asked me”, and may we be privileged to always say, “nor have I forgotten.”

(Reprinted from 5778)

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Parsha Perspectives: Waging the Ultimate Battle (Ki Teitzei)

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 “כי תצא למלחמה על אויביך”

 “When you go out to war against your enemy ….”

War – it is something we try our best to avoid, yet, we know it to be a reality of our national existence. We understand the difficult truth that national survival often entails difficult battles. Yet, the Torah also understands that not everyone is fit for battle. As the Jewish army prepares to meet its enemy, the Kohen stands before the assembled troops and announces those who are exempt and ordered to return home.

“And the officers shall speak to the people, saying, what man is there who has built a new house and has not [yet] inaugurated it? Let him go and return to his house, lest he die in the war, and another man inaugurate it. And what man is there who has planted a vineyard, and has not [yet] redeemed it? Let him go and return to his house, lest he die in the war, and another man redeem it. And what man is there who has betrothed a woman and has not [yet] taken her? Let him go and return to his house, lest he die in the war, and another man take her (Devorim 20:5-7).”

What is the common denominator between these exempted individuals? Each of these men will be focused on something other than the battle. For the soldier to be effective he must think of nothing other than subduing the enemy. If his thoughts are diverted to home, family, or if he longs to enjoy the literal fruits of his labor – he becomes a liability and puts his fellow soldiers in danger. The Kohen orders these individuals to leave the front and serve the war effort from home.

However, there is one additional exemption that is particularly intriguing; “And the officers shall continue to speak to the people and say, “What man is there who is fearful and fainthearted? Let him go and return to his house, that he should not cause the heart of his brothers to melt, as his heart (Devorim 20:8).”

The Talmud (Sotah 44a) quotes two opinions as to the meaning of “fearful and fainthearted.” Rabbi Akiva explains that it literally refers to one who is scared of the “drawn sword” – this individual is simply too scared to fight. Rabbi Yossi HaGlili explains that it refers to someone who is fearful of the sins he has committed. The solider is concerned that as a result of his sinful behavior, he may not deserve spiritual protection during battle. What types of sin are we discussing? The Talmud Bavli (Babylonian Talmud) answers that we are referring to one who speaks between putting on the Tefillin of the arm and the Tefillin of the head. Such an individual has committed a sin that excuses him from going to battle. The Talmud Yerushalmi (Jerusalem Talmud) explains that it refers to one who speaks between Yishtabach (the concluding blessing of Psukei D’Zimra, introductory psalms in the morning service) and Yotzer Or (the opening blessing of the blessings of Shema). An individual who spoke during these prohibited times during prayer would not go to battle.

How are we to understand these two views? Although neither of these behaviors is “praiseworthy,” they hardly seem to represent the type of sinful behavior for which one would worry about losing Divine protection during battle.

Rav Gershon Stern (1861-1936) in his sefer Yalkut Gershuni explains that there are two components to waging a successful war; skilled officers to plan strategy and brave soldiers who are physically capable of executing the commands. If everyone is an officer then there may be detailed plans and incredible strategy, but there is no one to carry out the orders. However, if everyone is a soldier, there will be a flurry of chaotic activity but no strategic framework. The synergistic relationship and partnership between leadership and the men on the ground is required in order to be successful.

It is the same in life. We have ideas, ideals, beliefs, and values. We each possess a particular life hashkafa (outlook) and have a picture in our mind’s eye as to how these values should inform the way we live. However, sometimes there is a disconnect between what I believe and know and what I do and perform. Our most important life task is to make sure that what we believe is clearly mirrored in how we live. Values and beliefs are hollow if they are not expressed in the way one behaves and conducts oneself.

This idea is symbolized in the Tefillin. The Shel Yad (Tefillin of the arm) represents action, while the Shel Rosh (Tefillin of the head) represents thought. If a person speaks between putting on the Shel Yad and the Shel Rosh, he is interrupting the connection between belief and action.

In the same vein, the blessing of Yishtabach is a beautiful praise to God, in which we recognize the multi-faceted dimensions of God’s splendor in the world. Following this blessing we recite “Yotzer or u’borei choshech, He who fashions light and creates darkness,” which discusses the fact that God created the world and has given us a mandate to build beautiful and meaningful lives. If we sing God’s praises but fail to build a life where He is a dominant fixture, then our praise is empty.

Both the Talmud Bavli and Yerushalmi are echoing the same sentiment. God accepts the fact that we have and will sin. He understands that we are frail and subject to temptation, and as a result, He does not ask us to be perfect. What God does ask is for us to demonstrate sincerity; if we “believe” in something, we must be ready to act on it as well. If we commit ourselves to a certain set of values and ideals, we must make sure that we are ready to live them. We must make sure that our beliefs inform the way we live and are apparent in the actions in which we engage.

If there is a disconnect between what I believe and what I do, God asks me not to fight His battles. It is only those who do not speak between the Shel Yad and the Shel Rosh, only those who do not converse between Yishtabach and Yotzer, who have earned the right to defend the honor of God.

This message resonates with acute importance during this month of introspection. As we continue to take a spiritual accounting of what we have accomplished and in which areas we must improve, we must take the time to analyze and review our beliefs. What do I stand for? What do I believe in? What is important to me? What are my priorities? After answering these questions, we must make sure that these answers are not just contained in the words we use, but must also be apparent in the things we do and the lives we lead. (Reprinted from 5778)

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Parsha Perspectives: Generous Judgement (Shoftim)

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“You shall set up judges and law enforcement officials for yourself in all your cities that the Lord, your God, is giving you, for your tribes, and they shall judge the people [with] righteous judgment.” (Devorim 16:18)

The beauty of our Torah lies in its ability to convey profound, life-enhancing messages in a nuanced and gentle manner. Moshe instructs us to set up judicial systems in each of our communities. The judges must be just, pious, and upright and dedicate themselves to upholding the rule of law. They may not give preferential treatment to one litigant over the other, and their conduct both in and out of the court must be beyond reproach. They must overcome their fear of the powerful and not instinctively side with the poor. Their ultimate allegiance is to God, the Torah, and the creation and preservation of a just society. The great Chassidic master, Rav Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev (1740-1809), sees an additional, spiritual, and interpersonal message in this verse. During this month of Elul, we prepare for the upcoming Days of Judgement, Yimei HaDin. We ask God for mercy and compassion. We ask our Father to look at us through the Divine lens of rachamim (compassion) and not through the prism of din (justice). How do we “convince” God to make this shift? After all, if we have done something wrong, if we committed a relationship trespass against God, what right do we have to ask for the mercy? If we committed the “crime,” are we not deserving of the punishment?

The Rebbe explains that our actions in this world impact and inform the way God acts towards us (the Baal Shem Tov explains that God is like our shadow (Hashem Tzilcha –Psalms 121:5); meaning, just as my shadow mimics my every move, so too God’s reaction towards me is a reflection of my actions towards others). Thus, if we want Divine compassion and mercy we must extend those very traits and behaviors towards others. If we want God to give us the benefit of the doubt, we must extend that same courtesy to others. If we want God to bestow blessing upon us, we must go out of our way to bestow upon others. If we want God to help us in difficult times, we must be ready to roll up our sleeves and help another in their time of need.

This is the meaning of the above mentioned verse. “Shoftim V’Shotrim Titen Lecha B’chol She’arecha, (you shall set up judges and law enforcement officials for yourself in your cities).” We each have the ability to influence Divine judgment through the judgements we make within our own city, within our own world. “V’shaftu Es Ha’am Mishpat Tzedek (you shall judge the people righteously).” If we judge the other with compassion, if we judge the other with mercy, if we give the other the benefit of the doubt, we will bring down Divine compassion from above.

It is during this sacred month that we must prepare ourselves to give an accounting of the past year and to ask for another year in which we can accomplish and be productive. We all need a bit of Divine compassion, rachamim, to help us through this process. We learn from this opening verse that the best way to convince God to take care of us is to take care of one another. If we shower compassion, mercy, and love upon one another, if we are a bit less critical of one another, we will be privileged to receive a generous dose of rachamim from our Father above.

Let us learn this lesson, let us live this lesson, and in its merit, may we all be inscribed in the Book of Life. (Reprinted from 5778)

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Parsha Perspectives: Hope and Holiness (Re’eh)

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Moshe Rabbeinu spends his final days reviewing and reinforcing the ideas and perspectives necessary to allow the nation of Israel to become a successful, powerful, and strong people. He reminds them to avoid the temptations of idolatry and immorality and to remain true to the tenets of our Torah and relationship with God. Moshe also dispensed a healthy dose of chizuk (positive reinforcement).

“For you are a holy people to the Lord, your God, and the Lord has chosen you to be a treasured people for Him, out of all the nations that are upon the earth.” (Devorim 14:2)

God loves us. Not only when we behave or follow His dictates, He loves us all the time. Moshe tells us that failure is inevitable, but he also reminds us that God’s love and commitment to us is constant. God does punish, and there are repercussions for our negative or sinful behaviors, but the Divine love is always present (even if at times it cannot be felt). It is this message which gives us the strength to rebuild in the aftermath of communal and national failure. God forgives, and God loves. Why? Because we are the chosen treasure of our Father Above.

Rashi (Rav Shlomo Yitzchaki 1040-1105) advances a simple yet profound insight:

For you are a holy people: Your holiness stems from your forefathers, and, moreover, “the Lord has chosen you.” – [Sifrei]

Moshe is not simply telling us we are holy; he is explaining that our holiness is innate. Our personal holiness doesn’t only stem from what we do or the choices we make; it is the result of who we are. We are the children of Avraham and Sarah, Yitzchak and Rivka, Yaakov, Rachel, and Leah. We are the descendants of Moshe Rabbeinu and Dovid HaMelech. Holiness is contained in our very life-blood and embedded in our DNA. Moshe Rabbeinu was teaching us that no matter how profoundly we fail or how far we fall, we are still holy. No matter how many times we sin or how many bad choices we make, we are still holy. But how can this be? Haven’t we divested ourselves of our personal holiness? “For you are a holy people, your holiness stems from your forefathers.” There is earned, personal holiness and conferred, national holiness. Earned holiness is the result of our good deeds and positive accomplishments. It is attained through positive actions, but it can be lost through negative or sinful behavior. Conferred holiness is the result of who we are as the Jewish Nation. We are part of a people that is endowed with an irrevocable holiness. Conferred holiness cannot be lost or even compromised. No matter what we do, no matter how badly we mess up, we are still holy. This was the ultimate chizuk and message of hope Moshe was giving to his beloved flock. My dear children, you are holy and will always be holy. Even when you fail, you are holy. Even when you fall, you are holy. It is this holiness that God sees in you, and it is this holiness with which create the unbreakable bond of love between your Creator and you.”

This Shabbos is Shabbos Mevarchim Elul. This last month of the year provides us the opportunity for reflection and introspection. It is during these upcoming days that we ponder our accomplishments and failures of the past year and think about what we want to accomplish and who we want to be in the year to come. All too often, we feel overwhelmingly saddened by our failures and shortcomings. At times, we feel frustrated as the things we resolved to fix this past year are still in a state of disrepair. It is during this sacred, last month of the year that we must remember we are holy. No matter how many failures we encounter or how far we may have fallen, we are still holy. We can squander our personal holiness, but we are always blanketed by our conferred national holiness. Where there is holiness, there is hope, and where there is hope, there are untold possibilities. (Reprinted from 5778)

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Parsha Perspectives: Heeding the Heel (Eikev)

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And it will be, because you will heed these ordinances and keep and perform them, that the Lord, your God, will keep for you the covenant and the kindness that He swore to your forefathers.” (Devorim 7:12)

At first glance, it represents a simple, straightforward theme; if we follow the word of God, He will take care of us. The Torah is replete with verses emphasizing the reciprocal nature of our relationship with God. If we are willing to commit our allegiance to the Torah and Mitzvos, God will see that our needs are met. This idea is at the core of our relationship contract with God: You will get out what you are willing to put in. Yet, the famed commentator, Rashi (Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki 1040-1105) highlights an additional dimension of meaning:

“And it will be, because you will heed: Heb. עֵקֶב, lit. heel. If you will heed the minor commandments which one [usually] tramples with his heels [i.e., which a person treats as being of minor importance].”

The Torah uses the word eikev which contextually means “if” but can also mean “heel.” As such, Rashi understands an additional nuanced message, “If we are vigilant with the details which people normally trample upon, there will be abundant Divine blessing.”  Rashi is teaching us two profound lessons.

Lesson #1: We all trample on something.  In our spiritual lives, we consciously or subconsciously create a religious hierarchy. There are some obligations which we feel are important and other obligations which are not.  There are details which apply to each individual and details which do not. There are mitzvos we each can relate to and others which seem anachronistic or at odds with our personal life outlook or philosophy. And so, we trample. We adhere, obey, and admire the aspects with which we agree and intentionally or unintentionally set aside the aspects with which we don’t. Here is the beautiful reality: God doesn’t ask us to be perfect. He doesn’t expect us to perform all of His commandments, and He doesn’t expect proficiency in every area of Judaic practice. All God desires is effort. We create these “mitzvah rankings” as a way of justifying non-performance. But we don’t have to do that. We don’t perform all the mitzvos because we are limited human beings who try hard but can’t always get it right. We recognize that every law and detail in the Shulchan Aruch (Code of Jewish Law) is binding and obligatory but are not always able to live up to this standard. The good news is, it’s ok. God understands. Just don’t trample and make things unimportant to justify our human finitude. In fact, if you look at the wording of the verse, it says, “And it will be if you listen (tishmaun) …” – just listen! Yes, the ultimate goal we aspire to is performance (va’asisem), but start just by listening and acknowledging that these are the expectations.

Lesson #2:  Spiritual success doesn’t require spiritual heroism. Little things make all the difference. This is true in many life relationships. In marriage, it is not the birthday or anniversary gifts which shape the fabric of the relationship, it is the phone calls during the day to say, “I love you,” or the small acts of consideration, companionship, and love (though the presents certainly help). When our children bring home a project for Mother’s Day or Father’s Day, our hearts are filled with joy even though these creations are objectively junk (please don’t share with my children). Why? Because it is a genuine expression of love. The same is true in our relationship with God. The little things make all the difference. The way we talk to others, the manner in which we conduct our business dealings, our concentration during prayer, our commitment to daily Torah learning, our willingness to give charity. These are the little things which have such a dramatic impact. The Torah and our history are filled with stories of great people making enormous sacrifices for God. But day to day life is filled with the opportunities to do small things for God. These are the “eikev” moments. The little things that at first glance seem so insignificant that you can just step on them with your heel, yet, these are the very things which determine our spiritual identity and relationship with God. If you are grumpy in the morning and push yourself to greet people with a smile, the sea will not split before you, but you have done something amazing. If you see someone in need and manage to step out of yourself and help them, God will not call out your name from the heavens, but you have furthered your relationship with Him. If you are exhausted after a long day of work but manage to carve out some time to learn Torah, you won’t see the lightning and hear the thunder of Sinaitic revelation, but you have shown your Father how truly committed you are.

We must find the strength to stop trampling and start building with the small bricks of “eikev” accomplishment. God promises that He is waiting for us and ready to reciprocate our efforts. May we find the courage to take the first small step and feel the blessing of His love in the journey ahead. (Reprinted from 5778)

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Parsha Perspectives: True Consolation (VaEschanan)

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Each and every Shabbos is a special, meaningful, and holy experience. Yet, some Shabbasos seem to distinguish themselves from the rest. Shabbos Bereishis fills us with excitement and hope for a bright future. Shabbos HaGadol (the Shabbos before Pesach) reminds us that redemption is in the air. And, it is with this excitement that we approach this coming Shabbos, Shabbos Nachamu, the Shabbos of Consolation. The name of this Shabbos comes

from the opening words of the Haftorah where the prophet Yeshayahu says, “Nachamu Nachamu Ami, (Be consoled, be consoled my people)” (Isaiah 40:1). We began to feel this consolation after the fast of Tisha B’Av. When the fast ends, we feel euphoric, excited and optimistic. But why? What has changed? The Temple has not yet been rebuilt, anti-Semitism still exists, and there is still in-fighting within our people. Why is this Shabbos a Shabbos of Consolation when nothing has seemingly changed?

Rav Ephraim Oshry (1914-2003) provides an amazing insight. Rav Oshry was the Rav of the Kovno Ghetto and answered many questions of halacha (Jewish law) throughout the war. He compiled these heartbreaking, yet inspiring responsa in a work titled Responsa from the Depths. In his introduction to the third volume, he raises an interesting question. The Torah states:

“You shall remember what Amalek did to you on the way, when you went out of Egypt, How he happened upon you on the way and cut off all the stragglers at your rear, when you were faint and weary … Therefore, it will be, when the Lord your God grants you respite from all your enemies around [you] in the land which the Lord, your God, gives to you as an inheritance to possess, that you shall obliterate the remembrance of Amalek from beneath the heavens. You shall not forget! (Devorim 25:17-19).”

“Why must the Torah tell us to “remember” and “don’t forget”? Is this not redundant? Rav Oshry explaines: “God knew we would remember what Amalek (a reference to the Nazis) did to us. How can we not remember? The fire still burns; the pain is still acute. How can we not remember Auschwitz, the Ninth Fort, and Bergen Belsen …? But the Torah explains, ‘when the Lord your God, grants you respite from all your enemies … In the land which the Lord your God, gives you as an inheritance to possess;” God knows that we will rebuild. We will rebuild our families, we will rebuild our wealth, we will rebuild our people, and we will rebuild ourselves. And we will begin to think, why should we hold on to the pain of the past? Let the past be the past. What good does it do to hold on the pain when all it does is hold me back and anchor me in my heartbroken circumstances? God knew that when life became good, we would want to try to forget our pain. Therefore, God commands, ‘You shall not forget.’

Even when life is beautiful – never forget your pain.”

But why not? After all, doesn’t there come a point in time when we have to let go of the past in order to build a future? Doesn’t there come a point when we should unshackle ourselves from heartbreak to feel joy? The Torah is teaching us an important lesson. The Jew never forgets or buries his pain. He owns his pain. We look at our pain and ask ourselves, “What can I learn about myself, my life and, my world from this difficult situation?” We own our pain and use it as a catalyst for growth. We own our pain and use its lessons as the fuel for our engine of life productivity and meaning. “You Shall Remember,” is the natural reaction to pain. When the wound is open, the pain is clearly felt. But lest we think that at some point we need to forget to move on. God reminds us “You shall not forget.” Don’t try to bury, conceal, or hide your pain – learn and grow from it.

Perhaps, this is the consolation, the nechama, of Shabbos Nachamu. On Tisha B’Av we allow ourselves to experience the crushing burden of 2,000 years of collective and individual pain. At times throughout the day, we feel as if our soul will burst from the sadness and despair. But then something amazing happens. We begin the process of owning our pain. From our tears and tragedies, we have learned the need for compassion, empathy, and unconditional love. From our heartbreak, we have learned tolerance and respect. From our adversity, we have learned that there is no greater force in nature than the Jewish soul. And so, we take these lessons, and we inculcate within ourselves these powerful traits. We own our pain, and we recognize that nothing and no one can stop us from accomplishing our spiritual goals and aspirations. The moment we learn from our pain and realize that pain is the ultimate catalyst for growth is the moment we begin to feel a wave of comfort. Those who own their pain are comforted by their pain.

I wish each of you a Shabbos of introspective consolation. May we merit the ultimate consolation with the arrival of the Moshiach, speedily in our days, amen. (Reprinted from 5777)

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Parsha Perspectives: Shabbos Chazon-The Greatest Mitzvah

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The Torah is filled with many beautiful and meaningful mitzvos (commandments). These mitzvos teach us to how to create and sustain a relationship with God and with one another. Imagine for a moment if you were asked, which is the most important of all of God’s commandments? Which mitzvah do you think outweighs the rest? Perhaps, it is Shabbos or Bris Milah (circumcision) both of which are referred to as an “Os” (sign) between God and His nation. Perhaps, it is not any one mitzvah but a unit of mitzvos like the Aseres HaDibros (Ten Commandments), which are the spiritual centerpiece of our Torah. In fact, the great sage, Rav Saadiah Gaon explains that all 613 mitzvos are derivatives of the Ten Commandments. Long before you and I pondered this question, the great rabbinic sages of yesteryear were conducting this very discussion.

You shall love your neighbor as you love yourself (Leviticus 19:18); Rabbi Akiva said, “This is an important principle of the Torah.” Ben Azai said, “This is the narrative of the generations of man on the day that God created man, in the likeness of God He created him” (Genesis 5:1), is even more important (Sifra, Kedoshim). 

Rabbi Akiva and his disciple Ben Azai were trying to figure out what is the most important, core principle we have in our Torah. Rabbi Akiva explains that everything comes from loving the other. This is reminiscent of the story of the gentile who approached the great sage Hillel and said, “I want to convert on the condition that you (Hillel) teach me the entire Torah standing on one foot.” To which Hillel responded, “That which is despicable to you, do not visit upon the other.”  Rabbi Akiva continues this tradition and explains that the mitzvah of “V’Ahavta L’Reyacha Kamocha, love your fellow as you love yourself” is the most important tenet of our belief. If you can’t love another, how can you love God? If you can’t love someone who you can see, touch, and experience, how can you love that which is amorphous and beyond the scope of human comprehension? If you work to love your fellow Jew, you will come to love God.

Yet, Ben Azai, Rabbi Akiba’s trusted disciple disagreed with his rebbe (teacher). However, at first glance we don’t understand Ben Azai’s statement.  There is no mitzvah contained in the verse he quoted. This verse from the fifth chapter of Bereishis (Genesis) begins a listing of the lifespan of the generations beginning with Adam. What is the nature of Ben Azai’s disagreement with Rabbi Akiva? Rav Asher Weiss advances a beautiful insight.  Ben Azai says, “My great teacher, Rabbi Akiva if only we could be as pure as you. It would be wonderful to think that we could love each other as we love ourselves, but this aspiration is fraught with so many problems. There are people who have wronged me, and it is difficult for me to forgive, let alone love them. There are people who do bad things, and who is to say they deserve my love. They’re simply not “loveable” because of their temperament and disposition. And therefore, I would like to suggest something else. There is something more basic and important than love – respect. We can’t love every other Jew, but we can learn to respect them. “This is the narrative of the generations of man on the day that God created man, in the likeness of God He created him (Genesis 5:1).”  Every Jew (it is true for all humanity, but let’s first focus on the Jewish people), is made in the image of God, and for that alone, (s)he deserves my respect. To require us to love one another is a tall order, but to respect each other; this is attainable.”

Such a powerful lesson.  Perhaps, it isn’t possible to love everyone – but I must work on my ability to respect the other.  There is a societal trend to vilify anyone who does not share “my” views. This is true on an individual and national level.  Even the most open minded of people often lack tolerance for opinions and views that may differ from their own. We are each entitled to our personal religious, socia,l and political views, but we must learn to respect even those who don’t share them. We can disagree and argue our positions vociferously and passionately, but always with respect and dignity for the other.

This Motzai Shabbos and Sunday, we will observe the 9th of Av. It is on this day thousands of years ago that our beloved Beis HaMikdash (Temple) was set ablaze. So much of the hardship, so many of the heartbreaking difficulties were the result of infighting, factionalism, and indifference to the other. We don’t have to agree – we just must respect.  We can do better; we can be better.

What is the most important mitzvah of the Torah? I’m not sure – much greater men have pondered this question, and the answer still seems far from reach. But here is what I do know. The path forward must be lined with love for our fellow Jew, but before we can love, we must learn to respect. We need not compromise our beliefs and values we hold dear to make someone else feel happy, accepted, or validated. But we must respect the other no matter how deep the divide or disagreement. Why?  “…for in the likeness of God, He created him;” we are each a beautiful Tzelem Elokim (image of God). May we be privileged to see this Divine identity within ourselves, and may we be courageous enough to see it within one another. (Reprinted from 5778)

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Parsha Perspectives: New Beginnings, Ancient Problems (Rosh Chodesh Av)

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Rosh Chodesh, the beginning of a new Hebrew month, brings with it promise, potential and joy. There is nothing more beautiful than a new beginning, an opportunity to start again, to rejuvenate and regenerate. But today, the beginning of this new month, the month of Av is different. As the Talmud states:

“Mi’shenichnas Av, Mi’maatin B’Simcha, (When the month of Av enters we diminish our joy).” (Mishna, Tractate Taanis 26a) 

This Rosh Chodesh ushers in 9 days of mourning and sadness. We refrain from various activities including the consumption of meat and wine (except on Shabbos). Our hearts are filled with the pain of thousands of years of collective sorrow. The Mishna recounts the various events that make this month one of sadness and pain. The mergalim (spies) returned from the Land of Israel on the 9th of Av and delivered their disastrous report; the city of Beitar, the city of the Bar Kochba rebellion, was crushed by the Romans and its inhabitants slaughtered; and many other unfortunate and tragic events unfolded during this auspicious month. However, the central event on which we focus is the destruction of the Temple (Bais HaMikdash). Each and every year we face the same challenge. How do we mourn for something we have never known? We have existed without a Bais HaMikdash for over 2,000 years, and although deep in our souls we know that something is missing, it is difficult for us to feel a true and real void. It is difficult to shed a tear for something for which we have no frame of reference. It is challenging for us to relate to that which we do not know. So how can we connect? How do we appreciate the loss of the Temple and make it relevant?

I want to share with you an idea which I have discussed many times in the past but has timely relevance during these important days. In Pirkei Avos (Ethics of our Fathers, Chapter 5 Mishnah 5), we are told about ten miracles that occurred in the Temple. The 8th miracle listed is, “Omdim tzefufim, u’mishtachavim revachim”, (the people stood crowded together, yet prostrated themselves in ample space). When our ancestors came to the Temple on the Regalim (Pesach, Shavuos, and Succos) and Yom Kippur, the Bais HaMikdash was packed from corner to corner. In fact, Jerusalem was teeming with people from the cities of Israel and beyond. The courtyard of the Temple was so crowded that people literally stood shoulder to shoulder. However, when they bowed in prayer, there was room for everyone to have personal space. An amazing miracle, clearly in defiance of natural law. But why the need for such a miracle? What was the message?

Rashi (Rabbi Shlomo ben Yitzchak, 1040-1105) explains that when the people would bow in prayer, each person would ask for his/her personal needs. If individuals were in earshot of one another, the supplicant would feel self-conscious about articulating his needs. Furthermore, on Yom Kippur when people would bow in order to confess their sins, if the penitent felt he could be overheard by his neighbor, he may have been hesitant to confess. Therefore, to allow each person to have a personal dialogue with the Divine, God performed this miracle.

Rav Menachem Mendel of Kotzk (1787-1859) offers an additional insight. The Rebbe explains that this Mishna is not simply relaying a miraculous event but is also conveying an important life lesson. Omdim (standing) – if a person always stands his ground and is never willing to yield to another, the result is, Tzefufim (crowded) – the world is very crowded and constricted, there is no room for the other. However, if a person is Mishtachavim (prostrating) and willing to yield to another, then Revachim (ample space), there is room for everyone. The secret to successful life relationships is knowing when to stand your ground and when to yield. There are things in life that we must fight for, and there are many more things for which conflict is not the answer. There are times when we must be an Omed on certain issues and accept the negative repercussions, and there are times when we must be a Mishtachaveh and learn the art of yielding to the other for the sake of peace and harmony. We must learn the delicate balance of knowing when to use each of these powerful traits.

The Bais HaMikdash was the address for the entire Jewish community. There were not different temples for different hashkafos (religious philosophies), there were not different temples for different levels of observance. There was one Bais HaMikdash for the Jewish nation. There was one address where we had to learn how to come together in brotherly harmony and serve our God with one heart and one soul. There was one place where we were required to come and learn the art of bowing to one another, yielding to one another, respecting one another.

In the Bais HaMikdash, Jews of all stripes and colors would gather to worship together. We mourn the absence of this unifying place. We don’t mourn the loss of a building, as buildings can always be rebuilt. We mourn the loss of an ideal. When the Bais HaMikdash stood, it was clear that the will of God was for us to unite. The Bais HaMikdash, through its mere existence reminded us that to remain a nation we can’t argue over every single issue. There are issues that are so delicate and important that we must vociferously disagree and yes, draw our line in the sand. But I would venture to say that for many other issues, we must find the strength to yield. We mourn the unifying absence of our beloved Bais HaMikdash.   

It is difficult to cry and mourn for that which we do not know. But if we can’t cry – we must at least yearn. We must yearn for a time in which we can embrace our differences and coexist as a cohesive nation.

Truth be told, we must do more than yearn – we must do. We must learn to bow, learn to yield, learn to make the hard sacrifices in order to achieve true shalom with one another. Before getting into an argument with another, before saying something that may be hurtful, before doing something that may be “correct” but may not be “right”, we should ask ourselves: Is it really worth it? There are times in life when we may be truly in the right, but this doesn’t mean a battle should be waged. It is difficult to strike the balance between being a principled and peaceful person. The Bais HaMikdash helped us to achieve this equilibrium; now we must do it on our own.

Today is Rosh Chodesh, but it is unlike all other monthly new beginnings. We feel a sadness, we feel a heaviness as we continue to mourn over what has been lost. But as we observe our mourning practices and reflect on our national and personal tragedies and set-backs, let us resolve to do our part in bringing shalom into our personal, communal, and national lives. There are times to be rigid, but there are many more opportunities for understanding, compassion and flexibility. In the merit of bowing before one another, may we be privileged to bow together before God in a rebuilt Jerusalem – bimheyra b’yameynu, amen.

(Reprinted from 5778)

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