Posts
We are currently in the month of Cheshvan, which is also called in Hebrew “mar (bitter) Cheshvan.” Although no one knows why for sure, some say that this name refers to the fact that Cheshvan is the only Jewish month with no holidays. (Although from a rabbi’s point of view, after the holiday-packed month that precedes it Cheshvan can feel like a welcome relief!)
But of course in America this month, we do have a holiday. When I was younger my mother used to remind me that our rabbi (who immigrated to this country as a child from Germany) always praised the American holiday of Thanksgiving. I agree with him – Thanksgiving is a very Jewish holiday (not just because it was modeled after Sukkot!), and a wonderful time to express our gratitude for this great country and its values.
It is also a fine time to express our gratitude for all that is good in our lives. As I know I have mentioned before, the Jewish practice of saying 100 brachot/blessings each day points us toward the value of expressing gratitude. I hope you will join with me in taking on this practice. Happy thanks-giving!
November 3, 2009
October 23, 2009
In honor of Jacob's 20th birthday
When my son Jacob was a very little boy, I shared with him a practice for helping us ease our way out of agitating, seemingly insolvable dilemmas. The practice was to sit very quietly, with our eyes closed, and simply breathe, and wait, and trust that an idea would "bubble up." It always worked. For me, it still does.
In Genesis chapter two, we read that God ceased on the seventh day after all the work of creation. The verb is often translated as "rested," but the plain sense of the root sh-v-t is to cease. This is the root from which we get the name sabbath, or Shabbat in Hebrew.
A few verses later, in the account of the creation of humans, the Torah tells us that God formed the human from the dust of the earth. God blew into its nostrils the breath of life, and the human became a nefesh chayah - a living being. The root n-f-sh in biblical Hebrew signifies a person, but could also be translated as soul.
These two root words - sh-v-t/to cease, and n-f-sh/soul - come together in a passage in Exodus which we sing every Friday evening: "The Israelite people shall keep the sabbath, observing the sabbath throughout the ages as a covenant for all time. It shall be a sign for all time between me and the people of Israel. For in six days God made heaven and earth, and on the seventh day shavat va-yinafash - God ceased and was refreshed."
The essence of Shabbat is not about resting in the sense of getting more sleep (although that helps!). Shabbat is meant to be a weekly experience of ceasing from our striving to be productive and in control of the natural world. In other words, to cease from playing God.
On Shabbat we are called upon to let go of that striving - to cease - and in the quiet space that opens up when we cease striving, our soul is refreshed. The Hebrew word for refreshed can actually be translated "re-souled." Just as God in the biblical story ceased and was re-souled, so too are we re-souled every time we put down the heavy work of acting like we're in control of the universe.
When I read these verses, I remember those moments with Jacob when we would cease trying to fix what couldn't be fixed. The ceasing in and of itself was refreshing, and inevitably led to some bubbling up of creative thoughts and ideas.
Shabbat comes once a week; it also comes in those moments - any moments - when we close our eyes, and breathe, and wait, and trust.
In Genesis chapter two, we read that God ceased on the seventh day after all the work of creation. The verb is often translated as "rested," but the plain sense of the root sh-v-t is to cease. This is the root from which we get the name sabbath, or Shabbat in Hebrew.
A few verses later, in the account of the creation of humans, the Torah tells us that God formed the human from the dust of the earth. God blew into its nostrils the breath of life, and the human became a nefesh chayah - a living being. The root n-f-sh in biblical Hebrew signifies a person, but could also be translated as soul.
These two root words - sh-v-t/to cease, and n-f-sh/soul - come together in a passage in Exodus which we sing every Friday evening: "The Israelite people shall keep the sabbath, observing the sabbath throughout the ages as a covenant for all time. It shall be a sign for all time between me and the people of Israel. For in six days God made heaven and earth, and on the seventh day shavat va-yinafash - God ceased and was refreshed."
The essence of Shabbat is not about resting in the sense of getting more sleep (although that helps!). Shabbat is meant to be a weekly experience of ceasing from our striving to be productive and in control of the natural world. In other words, to cease from playing God.
On Shabbat we are called upon to let go of that striving - to cease - and in the quiet space that opens up when we cease striving, our soul is refreshed. The Hebrew word for refreshed can actually be translated "re-souled." Just as God in the biblical story ceased and was re-souled, so too are we re-souled every time we put down the heavy work of acting like we're in control of the universe.
When I read these verses, I remember those moments with Jacob when we would cease trying to fix what couldn't be fixed. The ceasing in and of itself was refreshing, and inevitably led to some bubbling up of creative thoughts and ideas.
Shabbat comes once a week; it also comes in those moments - any moments - when we close our eyes, and breathe, and wait, and trust.
September 12, 2009
Do we have control, or don't we?
Life is messy and fundamentally out of our control. Over and over, we learn the lesson - I certainly do, pretty much on a daily basis - that efforts to control situations and other people are largely efforts in futility. The mind continually generates images of how things ought to turn out, and life continually turns out differently. Other people (and nature) stubbornly do what they feel is best, rather than what we are certain that they ought to do.
How much energy do we expend each day - physical and emotional energy - on attempting to have life turn out the way we think it ought to - only to receive the humbling lesson that Life had other plans for us? The words of our prayerbook on the High Holidays, and on Shabbat as well, point to this truth - there is a bigger picture within which we live, which is beyond our control.
And the liberating message is: that's okay - it doesn't have to be a problem. We can loosen our grip a little.
Now paradoxically - and the rabbinic tradition is wonderfully paradoxical - it is also a fundamental teaching in Judaism that in every moment we have freedom of choice! So saying that life is messy and out of our control is not a license to throw up our hands and be fatalistic and passive.
Do we have control or don't we? Yes, and yes. (A classic Jewish answer!) Our ancient sages expressed the paradox this way: "Everything is foreseen, and freedom of choice is given."
There is a ripple effect out into the world of every choice we make. From the atomic level to the cosmic level, our lives are interconnected in ways that we cannot even begin to fathom.
And there is the possibility at every moment to "choose life" - to choose to do something that will have a positive impact on the world. Although of course, paradoxically, we never know what that impact will be, and it isn't really in our control. Here again, it becomes a matter of faith - stepping out into the unknown again and again.
Life is messy and fundamentally out of our control, and yet we are called upon to keep trying to act rightly. Our actions (including our misguided efforts to be controlling) have consequences beyond what we can foresee. And, in the midst of our misguided efforts to control what cannot be controlled, love and joy are possible.
May each of us be blessed in the coming year with love and joy, and a willingness to loosen our grip a little and choose life.
How much energy do we expend each day - physical and emotional energy - on attempting to have life turn out the way we think it ought to - only to receive the humbling lesson that Life had other plans for us? The words of our prayerbook on the High Holidays, and on Shabbat as well, point to this truth - there is a bigger picture within which we live, which is beyond our control.
And the liberating message is: that's okay - it doesn't have to be a problem. We can loosen our grip a little.
Now paradoxically - and the rabbinic tradition is wonderfully paradoxical - it is also a fundamental teaching in Judaism that in every moment we have freedom of choice! So saying that life is messy and out of our control is not a license to throw up our hands and be fatalistic and passive.
Do we have control or don't we? Yes, and yes. (A classic Jewish answer!) Our ancient sages expressed the paradox this way: "Everything is foreseen, and freedom of choice is given."
There is a ripple effect out into the world of every choice we make. From the atomic level to the cosmic level, our lives are interconnected in ways that we cannot even begin to fathom.
And there is the possibility at every moment to "choose life" - to choose to do something that will have a positive impact on the world. Although of course, paradoxically, we never know what that impact will be, and it isn't really in our control. Here again, it becomes a matter of faith - stepping out into the unknown again and again.
Life is messy and fundamentally out of our control, and yet we are called upon to keep trying to act rightly. Our actions (including our misguided efforts to be controlling) have consequences beyond what we can foresee. And, in the midst of our misguided efforts to control what cannot be controlled, love and joy are possible.
May each of us be blessed in the coming year with love and joy, and a willingness to loosen our grip a little and choose life.
August 29, 2009
The Possibility of Transformation
Sometimes we meet someone, or learn something, and in the process we are changed. We are not the same person as we were before this encounter. The trajectory of our life has shifted - sometimes subtly, sometimes profoundly.
When someone or something opens our eyes to a reality that has been there all along, thereby providing us with the opportunity to act in response to a human need, some say this is God acting in the world. Whatever our understanding of God might be, we are transformed by such encounters.
Rosh Hashannah is about transformation. It is not just about saying "I'm sorry" and promising to do better (although that's an important start). It's about believing in the possibility of being re-created. The prayer book reminds us, today is the birthday of the world! We are each of us being re-born. We have the potential to change in ways we cannot even imagine. We have the potential to encounter someone or something that blows our mind, that cracks our heart open with wonder or outrage, that makes us a different person than we were before.
In one of the Torah readings traditionally read on Rosh Hashanah, the story is told of Hagar and Ishmael being sent off into the wilderness by Sara and Avraham. Just when Hagar is certain that Ishmael will die, she has an encounter that changes everything. An angel speaks to her, telling her not to be afraid, and to lift up Ishmael and hold him by the hand. And then God opens Hagar's eyes and she sees a well of water.
God does not create a supernatural miracle to save the day - God opens Hagar's eyes to see a well that was there all along. At that point, Hagar is able to take action - she goes and fills the skin with water and gives the water to Ishmael. Human action, responding to human need.
Whether our eyes are opened by an encounter is, paradoxically, something we can develop through practice. As Louis Pasteur is quoted to have said, "Chance favors the prepared mind." We can increase the likelihood of having such encounters if we practice opening our eyes. For me, it is often as simple as scanning the "new books" section of the public library, or listening to younger people talk about a topic I know nothing about.
What might there be, right there in front of you, that you could open your eyes to with a bit of wonder? What will you learn this coming year that might transform you?
One of my teachers used to say, "the world is in desperate need of repair and healing." Our response to that desperate need begins with opening our eyes. It also begins with opening our ears.
Right before God opens Hagar's eyes, the angel says to Hagar: "Fear not, for God has heard the cry of the youth where he is." Rabbinic commentators puzzle over this seemingly redundant phrase, "where he is." It could easily have said simply, "God has heard the cry of the youth." What does it mean that "God has heard the cry of the youth where he is"?
Here is one possibility: Hearing the cry of a person where they are means hearing their story with empathy, not with moralistic judgment. Hearing the cry of a person where they are means hearing their pain with compassion, not with criticism. Hearing the cry of a person where they are means opening our minds and hearts to a reality other than our own, without needing to assert that our reality is morally superior.
Listening to someone where they are requires a willingness to enter the unknown, and we don't know how we may be affected.
May we all open our eyes to encounters with the unknown in the coming year, thus increasing the likelihood that we will hear the cries of others where they are, and be moved to respond.
When someone or something opens our eyes to a reality that has been there all along, thereby providing us with the opportunity to act in response to a human need, some say this is God acting in the world. Whatever our understanding of God might be, we are transformed by such encounters.
Rosh Hashannah is about transformation. It is not just about saying "I'm sorry" and promising to do better (although that's an important start). It's about believing in the possibility of being re-created. The prayer book reminds us, today is the birthday of the world! We are each of us being re-born. We have the potential to change in ways we cannot even imagine. We have the potential to encounter someone or something that blows our mind, that cracks our heart open with wonder or outrage, that makes us a different person than we were before.
In one of the Torah readings traditionally read on Rosh Hashanah, the story is told of Hagar and Ishmael being sent off into the wilderness by Sara and Avraham. Just when Hagar is certain that Ishmael will die, she has an encounter that changes everything. An angel speaks to her, telling her not to be afraid, and to lift up Ishmael and hold him by the hand. And then God opens Hagar's eyes and she sees a well of water.
God does not create a supernatural miracle to save the day - God opens Hagar's eyes to see a well that was there all along. At that point, Hagar is able to take action - she goes and fills the skin with water and gives the water to Ishmael. Human action, responding to human need.
Whether our eyes are opened by an encounter is, paradoxically, something we can develop through practice. As Louis Pasteur is quoted to have said, "Chance favors the prepared mind." We can increase the likelihood of having such encounters if we practice opening our eyes. For me, it is often as simple as scanning the "new books" section of the public library, or listening to younger people talk about a topic I know nothing about.
What might there be, right there in front of you, that you could open your eyes to with a bit of wonder? What will you learn this coming year that might transform you?
One of my teachers used to say, "the world is in desperate need of repair and healing." Our response to that desperate need begins with opening our eyes. It also begins with opening our ears.
Right before God opens Hagar's eyes, the angel says to Hagar: "Fear not, for God has heard the cry of the youth where he is." Rabbinic commentators puzzle over this seemingly redundant phrase, "where he is." It could easily have said simply, "God has heard the cry of the youth." What does it mean that "God has heard the cry of the youth where he is"?
Here is one possibility: Hearing the cry of a person where they are means hearing their story with empathy, not with moralistic judgment. Hearing the cry of a person where they are means hearing their pain with compassion, not with criticism. Hearing the cry of a person where they are means opening our minds and hearts to a reality other than our own, without needing to assert that our reality is morally superior.
Listening to someone where they are requires a willingness to enter the unknown, and we don't know how we may be affected.
May we all open our eyes to encounters with the unknown in the coming year, thus increasing the likelihood that we will hear the cries of others where they are, and be moved to respond.
August 16, 2009
Spiritual Housecleaning
In a way, the Jewish High Holidays are about spiritual housecleaning.
Think about it. Much of the focus of the liturgy as well as the many commentaries written to accompany us during the holiday season are about taking stock of who we are and how we behave, and doing an honest self-appraisal of what we need to throw away.
The "tashlich" ceremony of throwing crumbs or pebbles into the water on Rosh Hashanah is a perfect example.
As far as anyone knows tashlich was not instituted by rabbis. Tashlich was something that ordinary people developed hundreds of years ago as a very physical way of showing our intention to throw away those aspects of our behavior and our personality that are no longer serving us well.
Whether you use the term "sin" or not, the concept is the same as it has been for hundreds if not thousands of years.
So we could say that the High Holidays are about spiritual housecleaning. What we experience on the material plane, we can experience on the spiritual plane as well. Just as we can let go of material possessions that are no longer meaningful or valuable to us, so too we can let go of old beliefs and opinions that keep us from seeing reality, that keep us from seeing ourselves and the people around us as we really are.
And of course it's also about letting go of behaviors - behaviors that have become habits, that may no longer be serving our highest visions of who we are and what we are here to do. This letting go necessarily involves a stepping out into the unknown - which means ultimately it's about trust.
In the traditional study of Hebrew scripture, we pay careful attention to the use of language. There is an unusual expression which appears only twice in the entire Torah - both times in the book of Genesis. The expression is "lech lecha," which is usually translated as an emphatic "GO!" - but can also mean "go towards yourself."
The first use of the expression is in our mythic tale of the birth of monotheism, when God says to Abraham: Lech lecha - go out and leave the land of your father and go to a place that I will show you. The only other use of the expression lech lecha in the whole Torah is in one of the readings chanted on Rosh Hashanah, in which once again Abraham is called by God to go out somewhere to a place that God will show him, to a place that he does not yet know.
In both cases the experience is one of being called to MOVE - to move out into the world without knowing one's destination. To do this requires trust. Trust that there is value and ultimate meaning in our striving to evolve spiritually. And trust that this moving outward is simultaneously a movement closer to who we really are.
May the approaching New Year provide us all with renewed energy to hear the call of lech lecha - to keep growing, to keep evolving, to keep moving closer to being who we are really meant to be.
Think about it. Much of the focus of the liturgy as well as the many commentaries written to accompany us during the holiday season are about taking stock of who we are and how we behave, and doing an honest self-appraisal of what we need to throw away.
The "tashlich" ceremony of throwing crumbs or pebbles into the water on Rosh Hashanah is a perfect example.
As far as anyone knows tashlich was not instituted by rabbis. Tashlich was something that ordinary people developed hundreds of years ago as a very physical way of showing our intention to throw away those aspects of our behavior and our personality that are no longer serving us well.
Whether you use the term "sin" or not, the concept is the same as it has been for hundreds if not thousands of years.
So we could say that the High Holidays are about spiritual housecleaning. What we experience on the material plane, we can experience on the spiritual plane as well. Just as we can let go of material possessions that are no longer meaningful or valuable to us, so too we can let go of old beliefs and opinions that keep us from seeing reality, that keep us from seeing ourselves and the people around us as we really are.
And of course it's also about letting go of behaviors - behaviors that have become habits, that may no longer be serving our highest visions of who we are and what we are here to do. This letting go necessarily involves a stepping out into the unknown - which means ultimately it's about trust.
In the traditional study of Hebrew scripture, we pay careful attention to the use of language. There is an unusual expression which appears only twice in the entire Torah - both times in the book of Genesis. The expression is "lech lecha," which is usually translated as an emphatic "GO!" - but can also mean "go towards yourself."
The first use of the expression is in our mythic tale of the birth of monotheism, when God says to Abraham: Lech lecha - go out and leave the land of your father and go to a place that I will show you. The only other use of the expression lech lecha in the whole Torah is in one of the readings chanted on Rosh Hashanah, in which once again Abraham is called by God to go out somewhere to a place that God will show him, to a place that he does not yet know.
In both cases the experience is one of being called to MOVE - to move out into the world without knowing one's destination. To do this requires trust. Trust that there is value and ultimate meaning in our striving to evolve spiritually. And trust that this moving outward is simultaneously a movement closer to who we really are.
May the approaching New Year provide us all with renewed energy to hear the call of lech lecha - to keep growing, to keep evolving, to keep moving closer to being who we are really meant to be.
July 30, 2009
Missing the Mark
This past year I unearthed a large stack of old letters from my best friend.
She and I have been friends since we were about twelve years old! These letters date back to when we were teenagers in high school and college, in the 1970s.
Re-reading these letters has been a remarkable experience. Not only is it a relief to find that the various exploits which once brought us so much angst no longer hold any emotional juice - but even more gratifying is the joy I experience, feeling the depth of my friend's love for me. All these decades later that voice of love comes through in these letters loud and clear.
There is one letter in particular which moved me to tears. Apparently responding to something I had complained of in my previous letter, my friend wrote an intense apology and pledge to change her behavior - because, she said, she valued my friendship so highly.
Teshuvah - which literally means returning, or turning back - involves the honest admission that we've done something regrettable. We feel moved to apologize for the hurt we may have caused, and express our sincere intention to behave differently in the future. There is an ancient midrash, a teaching of the early rabbis from the first century of the common era, which tells us that teshuvah was one of the seven things that were created before the creation of the world.
What the rabbis were trying to say, I think, is that the process of teshuvah is woven into the essence of reality. We cannot help but make mistakes - and we are hardwired, if you will, to learn from those mistakes and to try again and again and again. This is, among other things, what it means to be human.
The challenge, as I see it, is to do this endless self-correction with compassion. To say that teshuvah has existed from before the beginning, is to say that the process of teshuvah is natural and unavoidable and doesn't have to be a problem. The suffering we experience when we berate ourselves for our lack of perfection - that suffering is self-inflicted and unnecessary. This is what Buddhist teachers mean when they say "suffering is optional."
Hebrew scholars have pointed out that the ancient Hebrew word that we translate as "sin" - chet - actually comes from a term in archery for "missing the mark." The pain of missing the mark is real - when we make mistakes, we sometimes hurt others and ourselves. In doing teshuvah, the challenge is to have compassion both for others and for ourselves, and to remember that in any given moment we are doing the best we can. How could it be otherwise? And at the same time, paradoxically, the possibility for change is always present.
The High Holidays are approaching. It's not too early to start thinking about how we've missed the mark this past year.
She and I have been friends since we were about twelve years old! These letters date back to when we were teenagers in high school and college, in the 1970s.
Re-reading these letters has been a remarkable experience. Not only is it a relief to find that the various exploits which once brought us so much angst no longer hold any emotional juice - but even more gratifying is the joy I experience, feeling the depth of my friend's love for me. All these decades later that voice of love comes through in these letters loud and clear.
There is one letter in particular which moved me to tears. Apparently responding to something I had complained of in my previous letter, my friend wrote an intense apology and pledge to change her behavior - because, she said, she valued my friendship so highly.
Teshuvah - which literally means returning, or turning back - involves the honest admission that we've done something regrettable. We feel moved to apologize for the hurt we may have caused, and express our sincere intention to behave differently in the future. There is an ancient midrash, a teaching of the early rabbis from the first century of the common era, which tells us that teshuvah was one of the seven things that were created before the creation of the world.
What the rabbis were trying to say, I think, is that the process of teshuvah is woven into the essence of reality. We cannot help but make mistakes - and we are hardwired, if you will, to learn from those mistakes and to try again and again and again. This is, among other things, what it means to be human.
The challenge, as I see it, is to do this endless self-correction with compassion. To say that teshuvah has existed from before the beginning, is to say that the process of teshuvah is natural and unavoidable and doesn't have to be a problem. The suffering we experience when we berate ourselves for our lack of perfection - that suffering is self-inflicted and unnecessary. This is what Buddhist teachers mean when they say "suffering is optional."
Hebrew scholars have pointed out that the ancient Hebrew word that we translate as "sin" - chet - actually comes from a term in archery for "missing the mark." The pain of missing the mark is real - when we make mistakes, we sometimes hurt others and ourselves. In doing teshuvah, the challenge is to have compassion both for others and for ourselves, and to remember that in any given moment we are doing the best we can. How could it be otherwise? And at the same time, paradoxically, the possibility for change is always present.
The High Holidays are approaching. It's not too early to start thinking about how we've missed the mark this past year.
July 23, 2009
God is in the Obstacles
The people stood at a distance, and Moses approached the thick cloud where God was. - Exodus 20:18
Rebbe Nachman of Bratslav's spin on the Torah verse (my translation): "When you have been going through your whole life in the material world, and you get inspired and want to be on God's path - God's judgmental side puts obstacles in your way. But God's loving side hides in the obstacles! If you are knowing, you will look into the obstacle and find God within it. But if you are not knowing, you will simply see an obstacle and will immediately turn around and go back.... And this is how to understand the Torah verse: The people saw only the thick darkness of the cloud, and turned away; but Moses knew to seek God within the thick darkness."
Okay, so name one thing in your life that you are experiencing as an obstacle, or that you are witnessing is an obstacle for someone you know.
What might it mean for you that God is within the obstacle?
Rebbe Nachman of Bratslav's spin on the Torah verse (my translation): "When you have been going through your whole life in the material world, and you get inspired and want to be on God's path - God's judgmental side puts obstacles in your way. But God's loving side hides in the obstacles! If you are knowing, you will look into the obstacle and find God within it. But if you are not knowing, you will simply see an obstacle and will immediately turn around and go back.... And this is how to understand the Torah verse: The people saw only the thick darkness of the cloud, and turned away; but Moses knew to seek God within the thick darkness."
Okay, so name one thing in your life that you are experiencing as an obstacle, or that you are witnessing is an obstacle for someone you know.
What might it mean for you that God is within the obstacle?
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