Mindful Torah

Parshat Yitro: The Voice of Sinai Continues

2012-02-09T23:13:00.002-05:00

This week's parashah/portion) is Yitro (Shemot/Exodus 18:1-20:23). It contains within of the central, dramatic mythic moments, when God speaks the Ten Commandments (literally, the ten utterances) from the mountain. But the text is unclear as to what the people heard and what Moses heard.

There is a story about a group of rabbis who were arguing (what a surprise) about exactly what the people heard at Sinai. The first rabbi said that the people heard the first two commandments: I am the Lord and You Shall Have No Other Gods Before Me (nor make any graven images). No, exclaimed the next rabbi, the people only heard the first commandment "I am the Eternal, Your God. That's all they needed to hear in order to begin their relationship with the Divine!'

Each rabbi claimed that the people heard progressively less and less until the final rabbi stated that all the people heard was the first letter of the first word of the first commandment. That letter 'aleph' is silent. However, the rabbi taught, it is not merely silent, but it is the beginning "no-sound" that
precedes speech. In other words, the aleph that the people "heard" was the "no-sound" sound that begins God's conversation with us - and ours with God. That is the teaching behind this poem that I would like to share with you.

Some of you have read this poem before, but I have edited it yet again, as I feel so many of my poems, are always evolving. And so I hope that this current version begins a new conversation between each of and the Divine, however you choose to define, experience or understand it.

Shabbat Shalom,

SPN

The Conversation Begins

we stand beneath the mountain
the ground    our bodies   shaking    quaking
we see the thunder
    the voices of God
we not only hear     but see God's voice
reaching our soul
becoming part of us
reality shifts
we see the world   differently
see what before      we could only hear
see what before    was beyond our perception
see within ourselves
feel within our souls
the voice essence    of God

what is this voice
I cannot tell
I think   I know
     it is me
but you say   you know
    it is you
and you say   you know    it is
child    mother    father     friend
comforting     frightening      challenging       compassionate

yet within we each know

it is none it is all of these

I stand here frozen
fear terror joy

in liminal space
on the boundary between the realms
     of divinity and humanity

I cannot move
I cannot speak
I can only   hear   feel   sense

I know not exactly what

a voice
that is no voice
a word
never uttered word
only thunder and lightning
a barely perceptible deafening whisper

I hear the aleph
the no-sound sound
beginning of a conversation
the contents I do not know
I only know
that it is real true
more than anything

I have will ever experience

strange
the deepest truth
cannot be heard or truly known
still
I hear I know in my soul

what it is

we stand at sinai
long ago        this moment
hearing the lightning
Feeling the earth    my soul   quake
we listen for the voice
trying to discern what it says
in this moment

that is our task
our holy work each and every day
to delve in to decipher the sound and meaning

of the aleph
the no-sound sound
the beginning with no end

infinite continuation
of the conversation
with God world all existence
returning us once again to sinai

though we have never left it

it has never left us

etched on our souls

engraved on our hear

we are one with it and it with us

for all eternity

Parshat Beshallakh: Creating Miracles

2012-02-02T22:14:00.000-05:00

This week's parashah, Beshallakh (Shemot/Exodus 13:17-18:1) contains within it the splitting and crossing of the Sea of Reeds. At first glance, this is a story of God redeeming the people through the performance of a miracle. In the narrative, the role of the people is clearly secondary to that of God. Nevertheless, there is some human involvement in the miracle. When Moses prays to God for deliverance at the shore of the sea God responds, "Why do you cry out to Me? Tell the Israelites to go forward. And you, lift up your rod and hold out your arm over the sea and split it, so that the Israelites may march into the sea on dry ground."

We also read in a midrash (rabbinic legend), the rabbis tell us that God splits the sea because one man, Nachshon ben Aminadav, walks into the sea first, rather than waiting around for God. Nachshon acts. He takes matters into his own hands. God sees this and tells Moses that it's time for him to lead the people through the sea. Therefore, even though this is the story of a Divine miracle, without human action, the miracle might not have taken place. The mystical tradition of kabbalah teaches that our actions can affect the Divine realms. Or one might say that a miracle happens when human beings connect with the Divine that is within and around us. However one chooses to frame it, I believe that the splitting of the Sea reminds us that miracles require a degree of divine-human interaction. In fact, it would seem that the Divine cannot enter our life if we do not act first, nor is there a reason for God to enter our life if we do not first make it known that we have some desire for this to occur. This is reminiscent of Hassidic rebbe Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev's dictum that “God dwells where we let God in.”

The image of the splitting and crossing of the Sea is a powerful one that contains a multitude of truths and meanings within it. Each of us faces seas that we must cross in our lives. We each face obstacles that seem insurmountable. Yet, when we stand before our own Sea of Reeds, our own challenges, we know that we must either cross the sea or perish.

In order to do so we must take the first step. We must walk or leap into the sea as did Nachshon. We must raise our arms and stretch forth our staff, like Moses, showing the strength within us, in order to split the sea. Either action shows not only our desire for a miracle, but the trust that God will deliver one. The Hebrew phrase for the splitting or tearing of the sea is k’riyah. This same word also describes the act of tearing a garment when a loved one dies. Here it symbolizes a tear in the fabric of our lives that can never be completely mended.

The splitting of the sea is a tearing in the fabric of nature. It is a radical action which reminds us that what we assume to be permanent and unchanging can indeed change. One could call this a paradigm shift, but 'shift' is not radical enough. For the splitting of the sea symbolized a total obliteration of the old paradigm and the creation of a new one. But even after the tearing is “repaired,” anyone who witnessed it knows that its effects remain. On the surface, the sea may look the same, but beneath it is not. If we look closely and pay attention we can actually see the almost imperceptible traces of the place where the waters were torn apart and the natural order was turned upside down before our very eyes. So when we look at our sea before us it reminds of what happened, just as when the Israelites looked at the now calm sea, they knew that the Egyptian soldiers lay dead just beneath its surface.

As we look at our own “seas” after they have been torn apart we are reminded the parts our lives that needed to die in order to bring about our redemption. We must mourn the loss of these forces, ideas, habits and desires, just as a midrash teaches that God mourned the death of the Egyptians. For these too were a part of us, even if they did keep us from growing.

The crossings of the sea is a difficult process. Change often is. There will indeed be many dead left on the floor of the sea after it closes. Sometimes the process takes longer than we had hoped. Yet, with faith, we can remain confidant that the redemption will occur and that the crossing will be successful.

Each moment provides an opportunity for the sea to be torn apart. At times it takes great human effort, at other times it simply seems to happen on its own. In either case we need to watch and pay attention so that we do not miss the splitting. For just as quickly as the sea splits, it can close up again, and if we did not pay attention enough to see it split we will never know that it did. We often live much of our lives as consecutive moments of oblivion trying to avoid these moments of change – and pain. Perhaps we believe that if we do not pay attention the sea will never split and all will always be as it was. Perhaps we are simply so caught up in the minutia of our lives that our oblivion unintentionally takes over because of our lack of attention to what is really happening. No matter the reason, ignoring the changes that take place does not prevent them from occurring. Lives change, the world changes, seas get torn apart every moment. Noticing this can cause uncertainty or pain, but ignoring this reality is what will eventually cause true suffering.

This scenario does not only work for us as individuals, but as a community or even a nation as well. As we face one of the most difficult economic times in recent history, as well as difficult societal battles which are being fought, we are each provided the opportunity to choose how to act in each moment.

May we each face our seas, individually and communally, with faith, even in the midst of fear. May we pay attention to the changes happening in each moment and continue to praise creation even as it constantly changes and shifts around and beneath us. Together with God, may we create a world filled with love and compassion for all humanity as we collaborate to create miracles and make the world better for all.

Parshat Bo: On Redemption and the Slaying of the First Born

2012-01-27T17:06:00.005-05:00

This week's Torah portion is Bo (Shemot/Exodus 10:1-13:16). In some ways this is one of my least favorite portions, even though it includes the redemption of the Israelites from slavery. What makes me uncomfortable about the narrative is the price that was paid by the Egyptian first born in order for the Israelites to finally become free. No one in the entire land was spared, from Pharaoh down to the Egyptian slaves and servants. But the Israelites remained unscathed thanks to the lamb's blood they put on the doorposts of their homes as a sign that Israelites dwelled within.

As I began writing this commentary I was about to write that it was "The Angel of Death" who wrought the destruction of the tenth plague. After all, that is what it says in the Haggadah (the book telling the story of the Exodus that is used at the Passover seder). Yet, in the text, God says to Moses:

"About midnight I will go throughout Egypt. Every firstborn in Egypt will die, from the firstborn son of Pharaoh, who sits on the throne, to the firstborn of the slave girl, who is at her hand mill, and all the firstborn of the cattle as well. There will be loud wailing throughout Egypt—worse than there has ever been or ever will be again." (Exodus 11:4-6).

But does it really matter whether God or the Angel of Death slew the first born? After all, angels are simply manifestations or messengers of God.I believe the answer is yes.

It is important to remember that throughout the first nine plagues it was as if God was two degrees removed from the actual events. For the plagues were announced by Moses through his brother Aaron. Then Aaron would raise Moses's staff and the plague would commence. That is why, at first, Pharaoh and his magicians believe these were just tricks, such as they could perform, and not divine miracles.

However, when it comes to the final death and destruction of the first born, it is God who comes down to earth, so to speak, and kills them. God cannot be two degrees removed when the lives of human beings are at stake. But this happens only after God instructs Moses and Moses instructs the people to sacrifice a lamb per household, smear it's blood on the lintels of their doors and then to share a ritual meal to thank God for their deliverance (the prototype of the Passover seder). Only after these instructions were given and the rituals carried out did the plague actually take place.

When this plague occurred, Moses and Aaron were not involved. Moses uttered no final words of warning to Pharaoh. No staff was raised by Aaron. Both brothers were seated at the ritual meal along with the entire people of Israel at the moment when death struck the land. Just as no one in Egypt, including Pharaoh, was exempt from the plague, no one among the Israelites, including Moses and Aaron, was exempt from the obligation to stop for the moment, give thanks and be sheltered from the death around them.

So often in our lives we either participate in or are the cause of chaos, and perhaps even destruction, though on a smaller scale. And so often we try to distance ourselves from our actions, create stories in our minds to put the blame on others or relieve our own sense of guilt or even blame God. But in the end, the only way we can grow is if we take responsibility for our actions. This is especially true during the "life and death" decisions we make in our lives.

When lives were clearly at stake, God could no longer send messengers to announce what was to come. God could not allow anyone to believe that Moses and Aaron had anything to do with this plague. God needed to take full responsibility and make it clear to everyone, both Egyptian and Israelite, that this was a Divine intervention.

At the same time, before the final act was to take place, God wanted to make sure that every Israelite was truly present and connected to the moment of redemption. God insured this by commanding them to gather in their own homes, slaughtering their own lamb, spreading the blood for protection and by participating in their own ritual. Then at around midnight, the time of transition and uncertainty, God brought about the destruction of the tenth plague.

In the moment when the plague struck, the Israelites were living out what is perhaps the most difficult, yet essential, tension of human existence. They were dwelling in a place of gratitude and joy, as well as one of fear and sadness. For I cannot help but believe, even though it does not say so in the Torah, that the Israelites were still cringing in fear and overwhelmed with sadness over what was occurring around them, while still celebrating and giving thanks for their redemption.

God made sure that the Israelites could not ignore this existential tension and the reality of the moment. For each person was commanded to give thanks and rejoiced, while the blood that each family spread on its doorpost insured that each would also remember the destruction happening around them from which they were spared.

And while the Israelites were caught in between these contradictions, God was focused on what needed to happen in order to bring about the promised redemption. But even God was not immune from the tension of the moment. We read in a midrash (rabbinical exegetical legend) that when the Egyptians were drowning in the Sea of Reeds and the angels began to sing a song of celebration, God rebuked them by saying "how can you sing when my children [the Egyptians] are drowning?!"

If God mourned the loss of the Egyptian soldiers in the Sea, even though they were pursuing the Israelites, it stands to reason that God would be even more saddened by the death of multitudes of innocent first born men, women and children. So God too was experiencing that mix of joy and sadness that is the essence of so much of our lives.

In reading this narrative it is important to remember not only that we are the descendants of the Israelites, but that we are created in the image of God. As Israelites, we need to be present in each moment and recognize the joy and sadness, fear and elation that are always present within us. We must also remember that there are forces around us that are out of our control, but which are clearly the catalyst for those mixed emotions within us.

Yet, as beings created in God's image, we must also remember that often we have the ability and the power to wreak the havoc and destruction around us as well. We create and we destroy from moment to moment, even if we don't realize it. Both creation and destruction are necessary in life; they are mutually dependent. In the end, God could not create freedom for the Israelites without destroying part of the Egyptian world. The Israelites could not celebrate their freedom without also acknowledging the destruction. Nor could they ritually celebrate their freedom without taking the life of an innocent animal for God. No joy can happen without some sadness. No creation can occur without destruction. And vice versa.

As we live our lives from moment to moment, let us be aware of these constant contradictions. But let us not judge either aspect as good or bad, for they are neither and both. They are all part of the whole. All part of the One of existence. And let us always remember, that whatever is happening within and around us, just as that horrible-wonderful night in Egypt, God is the source of all that is happening and the force that connects us and everything. Only then can we sit in our homes, in our bodies, aware of all that is happening in that moment and give shouts of Hallelujah for the awesome wonderful terrible glorious gift of life and of this moment that God has given us.

Shabbat Shalom.

Parshat Shemot: From Fear to Knowing

2012-01-12T23:45:00.000-05:00

This week we begin reading the book of Shemot/Exodus with Parshat Shemot (Ex. 1:1 - 6:1). In reading the beginning of this familiar story of slavery and redemption, I could not help but be struck by verse 8 “and a new king arose over Egypt who did not know Joseph.” There are many commentaries about this verse. Some say that he just didn't want to acknowledge all that Joseph had done. Others said that he did not remember about Joseph or that so many year had passed that the new Pharaoh just simply didn't know what Joseph had done for Egypt. His name had become a distant memory.

And yet the fact that he did not know Joseph then led Pharaoh to fear the Israelites. They had grown so numerous, he was concerned that they would eventually rise up against him. And so he made them slaves. They were forced into hard labor and task masters were placed over them. Then, still afraid that they might rise up against him in the future, he decreed that all male babies were to be killed. Of course, as the text tells us, the midwives refused to kill the male children and eventually our hero, Moses, is born.

I couldn't help but be struck by the simplicity of the verse phrase “a new king arose who did not know Joseph...” Some of the translations I found added phrases such as “who did not know Joseph or acknowledge all he had done.” But this is simply a commentary or expansion. The verse simply states that he did not know Joseph and this contributes, or perhaps even causes, his extreme reaction against the Israelites.

In Biblical Hebrew, the word for “know” is yada ידע . This verb also means to know intimately in a sexual way. It can also mean to acknowledge or approve. Either way, it implies more than just a surface knowledge of something or someone. Rather, it implies either an intimate knowledge. It is Pharaoh's inability to have this kind of knowledge that makes him fear the Israelites. As descendants of Joseph and his family, he does not understand or acknowledge them. They are simply a nuisance and a possible political problem. The fact that they are growing as a nation is a threat to him. And yet, if he had truly remembered and known Joseph, he might have realized that their presence could be an asset rather than a potential liability.

So often in our lives we think we know the reality of a situation. We think we understand what is going on in our lives and our world. And yet, so often we are as clueless as Pharaoh. We see what is going on, but we don't take the time to really know what is happening. Once again, it is our ego that prevents us from seeing clearly and causes us to take destructive, often self-destructive, action. Like Pharaoh, we try to enslave or suppress those people and things in our life that we see as dangerous. We try to kill or destroy what makes us afraid. But this fear is based on a lack of knowledge or a lack of connection with the reality and essence of the moment.

Historian George Santayana wrote that those who do not remember history are doomed to repeat it. Rabbi Alan Lew wrote that those who cling to tightly to history and don't let go of the story are also doomed to repeat it. We must somehow find a balance in each moment that allows us to acknowledge the past while remembering that we are living in the present. Pharaoh could not find that balance. He simultaneously chose to forget and to remember all too well the past, and this led to his fear that the Israelites might overwhelm him

Pharaoh chose, most likely out of fear, to not even acknowledge the existence of someone who helped his people and country to survive. Or perhaps it was because he did inded remember that Joseph had been so powerful that he feared a potential nation of Josephs! In this way, he remembered too well, but he remembered incorrectly because his memory was clouded by his ego. Either way, it was the ego's fear that led him to his destructive behavior.

There is no way to know for sure what caused Pharaoh to act as he did and to set in motion what ultimately became a great tragedy for him, his family and his nation. But if he had been able to be in the present and to find some sense of balance in terms of his memory of the past, without the ego playing its tricks, perhaps he could have welcomed the flourishing of the Israelites as a phenomenon that would have simply aided the flourishing of Egypt.

But alas, fear, ignorance and ego were his downfall, just as they are for so many of us. As we read this story let us remember that we all have the potential to act as Pharaoh did out of fear and ego. But if we allow our fear (which is a natural part of life) to draw us in rather than close us off, perhaps we will be able to see what is really beneath it all: the natural fear of the uncertainty of life. The ego reacts to this fear of uncertainty by striking out at anything that it might view as a threat. But if simply let go of the egos stories, we can embrace that fear, while also embracing the joy of living. Only then can we truly know and acknowledge the forces that have brought us to where we are and bless the moment with all of its contradictions and complication. If Pharaoh had done that, who knows how the story might have played out?

Shabbat Shalom,

SPN

Parshat Va'yehi. Dinah's Story

2012-01-06T15:46:00.007-05:00

This week we conclude the reading of the Book of Bereshit/Genesis with Parshat Va’yehi (Genesis 47:28-50:26). The name and first word of the parashah/portion means, “he lived.” This refers to Jacob, who is on his deathbed. He had been brought down to Egypt to live with his beloved son Joseph, whom he thought dead for over 20 years. Now, after 17 years in Egypt he is ready, at the age of 147, for his life to end. He gathers his twelve sons around his bed (daughter Dinah has long since disappeared from the narrative. But that is for another time), as well as Manasseh and Ephraim, Joseph’s sons by his Egyptian wife Osnat. When he blesses his two grandsons, he crosses his hands, thereby giving the preferred blessing of the elder child to the younger. And so, this family tradition that blessed Isaac over Ishmael, Jacob over Esau and Judah over his elder brothers continues on to the next generation.

It has always struck me, and many others, how Dinah disappears after she is raped by Shekhem earlier in Genesis, which is followed by her brothers murder of Shekhem and all of the men of his community in order to rescue Dinah.

In the midrash (rabbinic lore) the rabbis create a story whereby Dinah actually becomes pregnant from the rape and gives birth to a daughter called Osnat. In order to protect Osnat from Dinah's brothers, who are still angry over the 'afront to the family honor' (or something along those lines), Jacob places an amulet around her neck and an angel spirits her down to Egypt, where she is adopted by Poti-phera, priest of On. Joseph finds Osnat and, seeing the amulet around her neck, realizes that she is an Israelite. So he marries her. In this way the rabbis solve the "problem" of Joseph's "intermarriage." We won't discuss the implications of him marrying his own niece.

My midrashic story is based on this midrash. In addition, it is meant to provide an etymology for Dinah's name, which can find for all of her brothers at the time of their birth. In Hebrew Din-ah can mean "her justice." What exactly is that justice? You'll need to read further to find discover the answer.

Shabbat Shalom,

SPN

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A Sister's Justice

My brothers,

It has been years since we have seen one another. I suppose you wondered if I was still alive. Though I know that once we held a great deal of affection for one another I don't suppose we were ever able to get beyond the feelings which were stirred up by my encounter with Shekhem and your reaction.

I was there when you murdered Shekhem and his men in order to avenge what had been done to me. However, I only wish that you had taken my feelings into consideration when doing so. It is true that Shekhem violated me, and yet I never wanted to be the cause of more bloodshed. Enough violence had been perpetrated already and heaping more violence upon that did nothing to help. I wish that you had allowed me to handle the situation myself; to deal with Shekhem in my own way, rather than taking justice into your own hands.

But that is not why I am writing you. Rather, I am writing because word has just reached me of our father's death and I am deeply grieved. It seems impossible that he is no longer on this earth. I only wish I could have been there to see him one last time, and receive his blessing directly, but I am pleased to know that I at least was able to do so through Ephraim and Menasseh. It seems fitting that they received such a special blessing from our father since it was he who is truly responsible for their birth. I assume you know not of what I am speaking, that you are somewhat perplexed, so let me enlighten you.

I am sure you remember how distraught you were when you discovered that I had conceived a child by Shekhem. And when my daughter was born your distress turned to anger. Once again, thoughts of violence filled your minds -- as if you hadn't perpetrated enough violence already. You sought to kill my daughter for she reminded you of her father and what he had done to you and our family honor (I truly don't believe that any of this had much to do with me, when it comes down to it). It is as if her birth meant that your slaughter of Shekhem was for naught. Luckily, father showed compassion towards her. He inscribed the Divine Name on an amulet, placed it around her neck to assure her of God's protection and sent her way. And God did indeed provide. With the assistance of the angel Michael she made her way to Egypt. My little Osnat, who could have been my comfort in my old age, so far away. Yet she was again blessed, for she was adopted by Poti-phera a high priest of Egypt, and his wife, who were childless. They loved her and cared for her until she grew to be a beautiful and bright young woman. I know all this for I followed her to Egypt and watched from afar^ⁱ, afraid to let my identity be known lest you should search for her, or me, and find us together.

When our brother Joseph came to Egypt it was as if my Holy Protector had provided me with another miracle. I knew who Joseph was from the first moment I lay eyes upon him and yet I spoke not. I watched as he fell in love with my daughter and as he struggled with the fact that she was of Egypt and not a worshipper of the One God, creator of Heaven and Earth. When he discovered the amulet which father had made for her he knew then that she was indeed a Hebrew. Out of love for him she renounced her heathen ways and embraced our God - her God. They were married and had two lovely boys.

How I would watch them play, my dear Ephraim and Menasseh. Longing to hold them, to kiss them, to call them my own. And yet I dare not. To this day I am not sure why. Surely I would hope that Joseph would have sympathized with my plight, considering what he had been through. We had both been betrayed by our brothers. And yet I no longer felt like I could be part of the family of Jacob. I could not consider myself to be a part of a family of sons who kill, of sons who sell their brother into slavery, who lie to their father, who treat their sister with disdain. I had to be my own person. I had to distance myself from all the men in my family, even father, whom I loved. I was now simply Dinah bat Leah and I chose to remain silent.

So I lived silent, anonymous, alone for many years, receiving vicarious pleasure as I watched my daughter and her sons from afar. Then you came to Egypt in search of food and all the old memories were stirred up. The hatred began to well up inside me. Hatred of those who killed,supposedly, in my name. Those who forced me into hiding, who drove my only child away, who caused me to remain nameless. Yet, as I heard the stories of how Joseph dealt with you, in spite of all you had done to him... when I heard of Judah's bravery; how he offered himself in Benjamin's stead; when I heard that you had reconciled with Joseph and that he had forgiven you, I realized that perhaps the time had come for me to forgive as well. After much prayer and meditation I made peace with you in my heart and I then left. I left all of you, my daughter, my grandsons, in order to truly start a new life elsewhere, having now let go of my anger, having let go of the past.

Not long after I left I heard tales of the death of the father of the great Joseph. Stories reached me of the address which he gave to you and the blessings he gave my grandsons. Had I been there I do not know that I would have been blessed, for I was never destined to be a leader of our people; my biology saw to that. And yet, though absent for so many years and by so many miles I still received my blessings; I received my place as an ancestor of generations of our people to come, through our father's decision to bless my dear Ephraim and Menasseh.

It is as if all that had happened to me and to all of you has been made right. You had tried to deny me my place in our family history. You sought to destroy my name by destroying my daughter and forcing me to flee. You thought you had achieved your goal. No more was the name of Dinah, the one who brought shame to the family, mentioned. The feelings of love which we had for one another had long been submerged beneath a sea of denial, shame and anger. (Please pardon me if I am beginning to sound harsh again. I know I said that I had made peace with you and your actions. But that does not mean that some underlying anger and resentment - if not hatred - will not always exist somewhere in my heart.)

As I listened to these tales of the blessing of Jacob's grandsons....my grandsons, something struck me. You see, I had always found it strange that in the family lore everyone seemed to know the origins of their names except for me. Each of you knew why you had been given a certain name. I was simply Dinah. No reason, no origin was ever given for my name. But now our father's deathbed blessing has given meaning to my name. For finally I am truly the one who has found Din-ah, her justice^ⁱⁱ. Not the bloody justice of her brothers, but the righteous justice which she desires and deserves. In the blessing of my grandchildren justice has finally been done for me by our father and our God. I have found my place in our family. I have found my place amongst our people. I can now say that I am Dinah bat Leah v'Yaakov - the one who found justice in the blessing of her seed, at the hands of her father. The one who sits with her brothers, her parents and her grandparents as a matriarch of Israel from now until eternity. You may have tried to erase me from the family history, but in the end it was your actions which ensured that I will always have a place in it. It may not be as good as getting my place directly and fairly, but I'll take what I can get ... for now. I simply hope that you will accept this as you have accepted my daughter and my grandsons, for I truly believe that this is what our father, and our mothers, would have wanted.

May peace be unto you my brothers and may we some day be together again, united in love, as a family, with all the women and men who have gone before us and all those who will follow us in the future.

Your sister,

Dinah bat (daughter of) Leah and Yaakov/Jacob, mother of Osnat, grandmother of Ephraim and Menasseh, ancestor of generations yet-to-come

Joseph's Path to Reconciliation and Redemption

2011-12-28T10:05:00.003-05:00

With the new year approaching, I thought that this was a good time to re-post my midrashic story for this week's parashah/portion. I am posting this early, as I may not have internet access on Friday. I hope you enjoy it and find it meaningful.

Early Shabbat Shalom and a Happy (secular) New Year to you all!

SPN
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This week's Torah portion, Vayigash (Genesis 44:18), begins "Vayigash aylav Yehudah...." "And Judah drew near" to Joseph to plead for his brother Benjamin's freedom. Judah volunteered to be taken as a slave in Benjamin's place, so that his father Jacob would not 'lose' the only other son of his beloved Rachel (believing still that Joseph was dead).

Judah pleads with Joseph to keep him in Egypt, instead of Benjamin. Moved by Judah's appeal, Joseph, moved to tears, decides at the moment Judah offers himself to reveal his true identity to his brothers. He then orders his servants to leave them alone and he tells his brothers that he is indeed Joseph . He then tells them not to feel guilty for having left him in the pit. He is certain that it was God's plan that he should end up in Egypt, where he could predict the famine, become Pharaoh's administrator, and save his own family from starvation. Joseph told his brothers to return to Jacob and bring the entire clan to Egypt where he will ensure their well being for the remaining years of the famine.

The entire Joseph narrative can be seen as an allegory for the journey of the ego, as represented by Joseph (see my past commentaries). Ultimately, we must negate the ego in order to allow the soul to shine forth. In this week's climax Joseph, faced with the reality of all the suffering that ego can bring to the world, realizes that he must unite all the pieces of himself in order to reconnect with the soul. He sends away his Egyptian servants, representative of his ego's "power," and standing there, stripped of all sense of pretense and self-importance, joins in a tearful reunion with all the disparate aspects of himself and the universe. This eventually results in the reuniting with Jacob, his father, his human source of life (along with his long-deceased mother). This reunion represents the oneness that we find when we unite ourselves with our divine source, the oneness of all existence.

This story of reconciliation is a moving one and brings us closer to the end of this chapter in Joseph's life. Yet, as always, there is another chapter yet to be lived. In sharing these thoughts on the reunion as representative of the journey of negating the ego, I would also like to share with you another Midrash I have written as a continuation of the Joseph saga.

Shabbat Shalom,

Steven

Joseph's Choice

Joseph was seated on his throne as he watched his brothers preparing to leave. They had just enjoyed a sumptuous feast together. They enjoyed each other, as if they were old friends; they had no idea that they were dining with their brother, nor that he had been setting a trap for them this entire time.

As they prepared to leave Joseph sprang his trap. "Wait," he cried, "someone has stolen my goblet. The perpetrator shall be discovered and punished appropriately." As all 11 brothers denied any wrongdoing Joseph watched as his men searched their bags. When the goblet was found in the sack belonging to Benjamin, the only other son of Rachel, Joseph could hear the jaws of the trap slam shut. "This one shall remain here as punishment for the wrong he has done me. The rest of you may return to your father."

Then something happened that Joseph never expected. Judah, the one who had been so instrumental in what happened to Joseph all those years ago, offered himself in Benjamin's stead. He pleaded with Joseph to keep him in Egypt rather than see the only other son of Rachel, the child of Jacob's old age, remain captive, and thereby grieving, and possibly killing, their elderly father.

As Joseph stood there looking down on his brothers, he could feel hatred and triumph raging in his heart. Yet, somewhere deep inside he felt another emotion trying to emerge, though he did his best to keep it repressed. For he knew that this emotion was compassion, the source of forgiveness, and he did not want to forgive. He wished nothing less than that. To see his brothers suffer as he did was his greatest desire. Only after that might he be willing to entertain any other idea.

As he felt hatred and compassion struggling within him he suddenly remember a dream he had the night before. And once again, it was a dream that held the key to his decision and his future.

In this dream, he imagined that he was standing, as he was now, above his brothers as they watched the goblet emerge from Benjamin's sack. In that moment, it appeared all the brothers turned as one towards Benjamin pointing an accusing finger at him. They encircled him like lions surrounding their prey, moving ever closer, tightening the circle, and preventing his escape.

Then, Joseph saw a deep pit in the earth just behind Benjamin. As the other brothers moved closer to Benjamin he continued to step back in fear, unaware of the danger behind him. As Benjamin stood almost at the edge of the pit, Joseph cried out "stop!" This the brothers did. Yet, what happened next astonished Joseph even more than it did his brothers.

Joseph descended the steps from his throne and pushed aside the brothers. He then stood in front of Benjamin and looked deeply into his eyes, not saying a word. All held their breath, wondering what he would do. He then reached out his hands and placed them on Benjamin's shoulders, all the while fixing his gaze on those familiar eyes. Their mother's eyes. Then, without warning, Joseph shoved Benjamin as hard as he could and listened to him screaming as he fell into the pit. The brothers gasped as they witnessed history repeating itself.

The room was silent, but for the low sobs rising from the depths where Benjamin lay. Joseph looked down into the pit, but all he could see through the darkness was Benjamin's eyes looking up at him through his tears. As he looked deeply into the well, into the eyes of Rachel's only other son, he suddenly heard a wail, a scream, unlike any he had heard before. This cry pierced his heart; it pierced the heavens. It was as if its grief could tear the world in two.

Then Joseph awoke. Yet, he was confused, for the scream still continued. He looked around his bedchamber, but could not find its source. He looked outside, but no one was there. He wanted to follow the sound of the cry, but he could not tell from which direction it came. It was as if the cry came from everywhere and from nowhere. It was as if it came from deep within Joseph, himself.

Then the wail changed to a deep sobbing, which gave way to the voice of a woman crying softly, "Joseph, my Joseph, what have you done to your brother? What have you done to yourself? To me? To us all?" Joseph knew that voice. Even though he had not heard it since he was a youth, it was a voice he could never forget. The voice of his mother. Joseph remained silent.

Then Rachel's voice spoke again. "Joseph, you must undo what you have done. You must release your brother from the pit. You must undo what has been done to him and to you." "But how? Why?Joseph asked. For all these years, I have never forgotten what my brothers did to me. Not a day has passed when I did not dream of setting things right. Now my opportunity has arrived. How can you deny me this justice, mother?"

"Justice!" replied Rachel, "this is not justice. This is hatred. This is revenge. This will eventually bring about the destruction of our family, our people and all humanity, if it does not cease." Joseph again remained silent, as his mother continued. "Joseph, look down into the pit. Look into the eyes of the only other child ever to emerge from my womb. "But the pit is not here," replied Joseph, "that was merely in my dream." "Look," Rachel commanded. Joseph turned around saw to his surprise that there was indeed a pit in front of him, just as in the dream. Perhaps he had never really awoken? Perhaps he simply went from one dream into another? Or perhaps in that moment there was no separation between the world of dreams and the world of reality.

Joseph looked into the pit and saw his brother's eyes staring at him through the darkness. "Look deeply into those eyes," implored Rachel, "and tell me who you see." Joseph looked deeply for what seemed an eternity, then he spoke, "I see my brother. I see you, my mother.I see myself." "Exactly," exclaimed Rachel, "We are all one. And so are we one with your other brothers as well. Benjamin lying there in the pit is your entire family; he represents a family that has tricked and deceived so many through the years. A family where twin brothers vied for parental blessings. A family where sisters strove with one another for a man's love and attention. A family where brothers plotted together to destroy the life of another brother. He is all of these, as are you.

"Continue looking into his eyes, my beloved son, and you will see yourself in him. Then look inside your soul and you will see him, as well as the rest of our family, within you. You must release him from his captivity. If you do not, neither you nor anyone in our family will every be free!"

Joseph suddenly looked up, breaking gaze with his brother, and cried into the air, "But why should I release him? You said it yourself. In our family it has always been brother against brother, sister against sister, parent against child. Perhaps it is seeking retribution that is truly the fulfillment of our destiny!"

"No!" cried Rachel, "I have come to you from my grave to tell you that this is not the way! I am here in Bethlehem alone. I was not buried with my family. I was not gathered to my ancestors, as is our custom. I was left out here alone by the side of the road where I died, as a reminder of what jealousy and struggle brings. I may have received more love from your father than did my sister, but in doing all I could to hold on to that love, I separated myself from her, and ultimately from everything and everyone.

"Yet, I know that Leah and I never truly hated one another, nor do you hate your brothers. We just were too narrow-minded and selfish to see that we were actually part of each other. Perhaps we understood this at the beginning. But as the competition for love and children continued we could each only see our individual suffering and pain. We were blind to the suffering of the other and everyone around us, just as your father had been blind to the suffering of his brother when he stole the blessing and the birthright.

"Do not be blind Joseph! See not with your eyes, but with your soul. Listen not with your ears, but with your heart. See the suffering of your brother; for it is your suffering and the suffering of all humanity. Hear his sobs, for they are your sobs. They are also the sobs of all who desire simply to live in freedom and happiness and are prevented from doing so. Hear him and see him now, for he is the same as you, all those years ago. He is the same as those yet to be born who will also suffer so long as there is hatred in the world. Look! Listen!Feel! my beloved son, and you will understand what I mean."

Slowly Joseph walked again to the edge of the pit and looked down again. Benjamin had been but a mere child when Joseph was sold into slavery. As Joseph continued to look at him, he began to feel the hatred well up within him once again. Then he remembered his mother's plea. He breathed in deeply and looked again, this time with his soul. He saw the pain and the fear in his brother. The longer he stood there, the more he felt the same pain and fear within himself. He wanted to run from it, but he did not. He knew he needed to stay there, still, quiet, and allow himself to feel these emotions, no matter how difficult it might be.

Then Joseph began to truly listen, for the first time, to the sounds coming from the well. They were not sounds of hatred, envy or jealousy. They were the sounds of pain and fear. They were the cries of someone who did not know if he would ever see sunlight again. They were the sounds of someone who believed that he would never again know happiness. They were the sounds that Joseph had made all those years ago, as he lay in the pit alone, prepared to die.

As he truly looked and listened, he could feel the pain, fear and longing deep within him. As he continued to pay attention to those feelings, he then sensed them slowly turning into compassion and mercy toward his brother, towards himself, toward his brothers and towards all who are suffering. As compassion and mercy grew, the pain, fear, and anger diminished enough for him to begin to realize that his mother was right. The only way to break the cycle of anger, fear, jealousy and hatred that had plagued his family was to release Benjamin from the pit. The only way to do his small part in bringing compassion and peace to humanity and the world was to show compassion towards Benjamin. But this was not enough. For he knew that he needed to show compassion and mercy not just to Benjamin, but also to all of his brothers.

The past was past. This was a new day, a new moment. Joseph had the opportunity to change the present. Hopefully, the future would follow suit. But that would remain to be seen.

Suddenly, Joseph realized that he was still in his throne room, surrounded by his brothers. He saw the youngest, Benjamin, not deep in a pit, but in the clutches of his soldiers, prepared to be taken into slavery. He saw Judah, now with a look of bravery and compassion on his face, prepared to take Benjamin's place so their father would not again experience a loss like he had when they sold Joseph into slavery. The faces were the same as all those years ago, yet they were completely different. As he looked at them, he felt love and compassion begin to well up inside him. He then had no doubt what he must do.

And so he ordered his guards to release Benjamin and then commanded them to leave him alone with these Canaanite men. He knew that he was about to reveal his true self to his brothers and that they were about to begin the process of which his mother had dreamed. His reunion with them, with himself, and ultimately with his father, was about to begin.

He had no idea how things would turn out. All he knew in that moment was what he must do in order to bring some peace and healing to his family and himself, thereby bringing a little more peace and wholeness to all of God's creation then, and hopefully in the future.

Parshat Miketz (and Hanukkah): Joseph and the Journey of the Ego

2011-12-23T11:06:00.000-05:00

In this week's parashah/portion, Miketz (Genesis/Bereshit 41:1 - 44:17), the saga of Joseph and his brothers continues. We read in the narrative of Joseph interpreting Pharaoh's dreams, being made vizier of Egypt and then of his brothers coming to seek food during the famine. We also read of Joseph hiding his true identity from his brothers and "torturing" them – and indirectly his father Jacob – by sending them back to Canaan to bring back his youngest brother Benjamin while keeping Simeon captive. Then, when the brothers return with Benjamin, much against Jacob's wishes, Joseph has his silver goblet hidden in Benjamin's sack and accuses him of stealing, sentencing him to remain as Joseph's slave.

One can view the entire Joseph saga as an allegory for the journey of the ego. When Joseph is filled with pride and hubris, he is the personification of the ego. It is the job of the ego to obfuscate one's view of reality and replace the sense of union with the One of the Universe with the sense that the individual is the only ONE that matters. Joseph's time spent in the pit and in jail represents the repression or negation of the ego. It is in these places of lowliness that Joseph sees his connection to others and the universe. The is the disappearance of the ego and the emergence of the the soul, which is not really a `self' at all, but a recognition of the Godliness that is within all of us.

Once Joseph is released from the jail and interprets Pharaoh's dreams he is again elevated. This reminds each of us that even when the ego seems to have been obliterated, it is still there waiting in the wings to take center stage. Yes, in his position as vizier Joseph helps the land of Egypt and is seen part of God's plan, but in this allegory this stage represents the reemergence of the ego.

His brothers, the forces within and around that challenge us on each step on our journey, bring about Joseph's sense of superiority, as well as hatred and revenge, which are all rooted firmly in the ego. The virtues compassion, mercy and love, rooted in the soul, are nowhere to be found. Joseph, the ego, plays games with the world and the people around him, seeking to find satisfaction in revenge and in retaining the
place of prominence.

The other forces working within and upon him, his brothers, seek compassion and reunion with the source. But, though at first he does provide for their physical sustenance through food, no spiritual sustenance is to be found. For the ego cannot sustain anything but itself. It needs to use all of its energy to keep the façade in tact and to protect it from the soul which is always there awaiting the opportunity to emerge in all its ersatz glory.

As we end this week's parashah, the ego is in control and subjugating all the forces around it. There is no chance of a reunion of the soul with its source, for the ego has separated all the parts from the whole and sent Benjamin, the youngest, representing innocence and joy, into exile. Benjamin, the only other child of Joseph's father and mother, is the conduit by which the soul can find reunion with the source is sent
to jail. He is cast into the pit.

If our story were to end here, the allegory would certainly not leave one feeling very optimistic. However, we know that the story does not end here. But, for now, we are where we are. Such is the way of life; in any moment we know that the ego or the soul can be the dominant force in our lives. However, no situation is ever permanent. And so we must wait and see what the next step of the journey holds in store for us.

As we begin Shabbat with the light of four Hanukkah candles, let us remember that there are four more that remain. And each night the light gets brighter until the hanukkiah (menorah) is complete ablaze with light.

Each night when we light the candles let us look at where our balance of ego and soul is. Let us acknowledge the reality of where it is ...where we are ... and continue on our journey towards making the soul and not the ego the center of our
lives.

Shabbat Shalom and Happy Hanukkah.

SPN

The Psalm for Wednesday: Psalm 94, verse 12

2011-12-21T17:31:00.000-05:00

אַשְׁרֵ֤י הַגֶּ֣בֶר אֲשֶׁר־תְּיַסְּרֶ֣נּוּ יָּ֑הּ וּֽמִתֹּורָתְךָ֥ תְלַמְּדֶֽנּוּ

Happy is the one who is chastened by God, and those whom You teach from Your Torah.

In my commentary on Psalm 94:10 (two weeks ago), I discussed the issue of “chastisement.” In that Psalm, God was referred to as the One who chastises the nations. In my commentary I wrote that chastisement was simply punishment for its own sake, whereas rebuke (also used in that verse) had the greater purpose of educating as well.

In this verse, it seems strange at first that those who are chastised should be happy. However, it also seems that the psalmist is also in some way connecting chastisement with learning. That is what leads to happiness. But, it's not just any teaching, but God's teaching, or Torah.

However, in reading this verse it is also important to note which name for God that is used. The Psalmist here does not use the full tetragramaton (4 letter name of God), but only the first two letters, יָּ֑הּ , which simply reads as “Yah”. There are those who teach that this name of God represents the breath, both of God and humanity. God is not only the source of breath, but God is breath itself. And so that which chastises and teaches us is simply the breath. This is an essential teaching of mindfulness. For in mindfulness practice we return over and over again to the breath. When our mind wanders, we return to the breath. When we obsess on our thoughts, we return to the breath. And in doing so, we are returning to God. In the process, we learn about ourselves, God and the essence of existence.

However, unlike in the verse, there is no punishment involved. As a matter of fact, the essence of being mindful is being non-judmental and non-punishing. So how do we reconcile that with verse 12? The answer is simple. We change the translation. After all, translation is itself a form of commentary and every word has a myriad of meanings. Just because I understood the same verb as meaning chastised in verse 10, does not mean that it needs to mean that here. For the root of the verb can also mean “to discipline.” Therefore, I will change my translation to “Happy is the one who is disciplined by Yah, and those who are taught from God's teaching!”

For it is the discipline, as in instruction, of returning to the breath, and to God, that is the teaching. It is God, the breath of life, who teaches us with each breath, if we pay attention. This is the discipline that we must learn. In some moments we get it and in other moments we don't. But that's fine, for there are an infinite number of moments for us to find the discipline. With each breath we do our best to find God in the breath of that moment. From each breath and from this Divine discipline we continually learn how to pay attention to life in the moment, and how to be compassionate, caring and loving human beings. That is the ultimate teaching and the ultimate discipline that will bring about happiness and contentment in each moment.

Parshat Va'yeishev: Living in the Shalshelet

2011-12-16T16:53:00.005-05:00

This week we begin reading the story of Joseph with Parshat Va'yeishev (Bereshit/Genesis 37:1- 40:23). In this parashah we read of Joseph's contentious relationship with his brothers, his receiving of an “ornamental tunic” (read: Technicolor Dreamcoat) as a sign of his father's favoritism and of his dreams which seem to symbolize that his family members would some day bow down to him.

Then Joseph is thrown into a pit by his brothers and eventually they sell him to a traveling nomadic caravan rather than kill him. The brothers convince Jacob that Joseph must have been killed. Once the caravan arrives in Egypt, Joseph is sold as a slave to Potiphar. While in Potiphar's house, his (nameless) wife attempts to seduce Joseph numerous times, but to no avail. We read of her first attempt, “After a time, his master's wife cast her eyes upon Joseph and said, 'Lie with me. But he refused (Genesis 39:8).” In her final attempt, she grabs hold of Joseph's garment and again exclaims “Lie with me!” Joseph breaks free and runs away, leaving his garment in the hands of Potiphar's wife. She accuses him of attacking her and he is thrown in jail.

I would like to focus specifically on the phrase “but he refused.” In Hebrew this phrase is one word, vay'ma'ein. But there is something unique about this word. For in the Torah text there are cantillation marks that were added in order to tell the Torah reader how each word or phrase should be chanted in synagogue. The mark above vay'ma'ein is called a shalshelet and it only appears four times in the entire Torah. Therefore, it is always interpreted as having special meaning. The shalshelet is a wavering note that is held for a long period of time. For this reason, the traditional interpretation is that it reflects ambivalence on the part of Joseph. Rather than being the virtuous man immediately refusing her advances, he does indeed consider her demand before refusing. But, there is more to it.

In his commentary on the parashah (http://www.jewishmosaic.org/torah/show_torah/137) my friend Joseph Shapiro likens the confrontation between Joseph and Potiphar's wife to his own experience being married to a woman and eventually finding the courage to come out to her as being gay. We know that Rashi (12^th century France) wrote that “although Joseph was indeed seventeen,[he is called a na'ar/youth because] he ‘behaved like a boy, penciling his eyes, curling his hair and lifting his heels’ (Genesis Rabbah 84:7).” I am not suggesting that the rabbis of old believed that Joseph was gay or transgender. However, a number of contemporary commentators and scholars have remarked on how Joseph was seen as defying what we consider to be traditional gender stereotypes, which both feminized Joseph and showed him to be different than everyone else. And so for many LGBTQ folks struggling with identity, the Joseph narrative is one that rings true.

In Shapiro's commentary, he focuses on Joseph refusing to submit to Potiphar's wife numerous times. Joseph finally flees the scene, leaving his garment in her hand, rather than succumb to her demands to "lie with me." She cannot accept this humiliation and so she blames Joseph for making the advances.

Shapiro compares this to his own process of finally deciding to leave his own “house” rather than continuing the charade that he had been living all those years. He recounts the pain of "laying next to my heterosexual spouse in bed, having finally accepted my homosexuality, and listening to my spouse say, “Lie with me,” and wanting to – needing to – refuse." A very different context than with Potiphar's wife, but a need to react similarly to the biblical Joseph.

In discussing this with him, the thought occurred to me that both this Joseph and Joseph in the Torah were actually living their lives in the shalshelet. They were living, whether for hours, days, weeks or years, in that wavering, uncertain place. Unsure whether to follow ones heart or do what was expected. For Joseph, son of Jacob and Rachel, as a slave he could have been expected to do his mistresses bidding. Yet he states that he feels loyalty to his master and could not betray him by sleeping with his wife. On the other hand, tradition also portrays him as wavering between giving in to his urges or doing what was right in God's eyes.

For the other Joseph, and for so many men in his situation (myself included, at one time) the struggle is between playing the role that he had chosen in order to meet society's expectations or making the choice that would reveal his true self as something other than what society and family imagined. But in a way it is also about whether or not to do what was right in God's eyes. Traditional Judaism may teach that homosexuality is forbidden. And yet, being true to oneself is also being true to God. And so he, I and so many others eventually made the choice to be true to God and ourselves by 'coming out', whether or not it met societal or familial expectations.

Yet, this is not something that is limited to issues of sexual orientation or identity. For at various times in our life we all live in the shalshelet, that long, drawn out, wavering place where all seems uncertain. The place where we hear voices telling us what to do, while other voices within and without are telling us to do something else. But one cannot live in the shalshelet forever. Eventually we all need to make choices. And so, we need to find a place of stillness where we can listen to the melodies of the shalshelet and eventually discern what our true melody is and what we should do.

I couldn't help but think of a recent even that also exemplifies this process. The hassidic reggae superstar Matisyahu has made his career around the image of being a talented musician performing in traditionally secular venues while wearing traditional Hassidic garb, a long beard and payos (long side curls). This was who he was. Or so the world thought.

Then this past week he shaved his beard and hair, removed the equivalent of his ornamental tunic and announced to the world that the facade of Matisyahu no longer existed. He was now once again Matthew Miller, his given name. There was no more hassidic reggae singer.

I would not say that Matisyahu was a fraud, for I don't believe he was. For years that was his identity, both inside and out. But it met a need and served a purpose for him (see the many articles online for a detailed explanation). Yet, he is clearly a different person now and so the outer garb was no longer true to who he is now.

Like Joseph, he was living in the shalshelet, that liminal space, and was finally able to hear the melody that was true for him. He then shed his clothes and embarked on the path to expressing that true melody.

We must remember that neither Matisyahu, nor any of us, is a static being. We are always changing and evolving. Sometimes we rid ourselves of old garments because they never truly represented who we are, such as with my friend Joseph and me. Others remove the old garments because they are no longer the same person they once were, like Matisyahu.

Dwelling for a time in the shalshelet allows us the time and opportunity to assess where we are spiritually. Whether through prayer, meditation, or other spiritual practice, we can hopefully discern the truth in the given moment. Then we can take the necessary steps to reveal to others what has been revealed to us. Only then are we truly expressing our divine selves and not just what others or our ego want us to express.

May we all take the time to dwell in the uncertainty of the shalshelet so that we can emerge more serene and more connected to that which makes us aware of our connection to the divine and what God desires of us.

Shabbat Shalom.

Psalm for Wednesday. Psalm 94, verse 11

2011-12-14T23:35:00.002-05:00

יְֽהוָ֗ה יֹ֭דֵעַ מַחְשְׁבֹ֣ות אָדָ֑ם כִּי־הֵ֥מָּה הָֽבֶל׃

God knows the thoughts of human beings, for they are breath.

I must begin by admitting how glad I was to first read the verse for this week, especially since I waited until the last minute to write my commentary!

It's not that this is such a simple or transparent verse, since I don't believe that any verse in the psalms is either of those. However, it was a verse that spoke to me the second I read it. For it is a verse that in some ways expresses my idea of mindfulness.

It may be true that the essence of mindfulness is the concept of “moment to moment non-judgmental awareness”, as Jon Kabat-Zinn once said. However, from a religious/Jewish point of view, this is just the starting point. For to me, it is about the moment to moment awareness of God's presence, however one chooses to define that.

To say that God knows the thoughts of human beings means simply that God is a part of everything and everyone, and we are a part of God. Therefore, God is aware of each thought. Or perhaps one could say that God is that within us which enable us to become aware of each thought as it arises.

But God, and we, also know that thoughts are fleeting, as is everything in life. They are as breath. They are worthless in and of themselves. They are simply what our mind produces every moment of our lives in response to what is happening. But it is God's presence that gives meaning to existence and enables us to find that meaning in each moment beyond the thoughts that our mind and our ego create.

Simple? Transparent? It may seem so, at first blush. But in fact, this realization is more profound than any of us can imagine.

Parshat Va'yishlakh. The Rape of Dinah, the Death of Compassion

2011-12-09T17:02:00.001-05:00

This week's parashah/portion is Va'yishlakh (Bereshit/ Genesis 32:4 – 36:43). The parashah begins with Jacob wrestling through the night with the stranger/divine being/angel (take your pick) and his reunion with his brother Esau. It then continues with one of the most disturbing narratives in the Torah, the rape of Jacob's only daughter Dinah.

In this narrative (Gen. Ch. 34) Dinah, the daughter of Jacob and Leah, “goes out to see the women of the land.” Then, Shekhem, the son of Hivite, chief of the country in which they were dwelling (also called Shekhem) “saw her, and took her and lay with her by force.” We then read that he is in love with “the maiden” Dinah and he demands that his father get her for him as a wife.

Hamor negotiates with Jacob for Dinah. Jacob has already heard of Dinah's rape, but says nothing. His sons, who had been working in the fields, are incensed by the fact that Shekhem had “committed an outrage against Israel by lying with” Dinah. Not aware of this, Hamor asks Jacob and his sons not only to allow Shekhem to marry Dinah, but for the sons of Shekhem to intermarry with the daughters of Jacob's people, settle in the land and acquire holdings in the area.

Finally a deal is struck whereby Shekhem may marry Dinah, and the women of Israel may marry the men of Shekhem, but only if the men are first circumcised. Hamor agrees and brings the news back to Shekhem and his people.

Three days after the mass circumcision of the men of Shekhem, Jacob's sons Shimon and Levi attack the men who are still recuperating. They kill Hamor and Shekhem and rescue Dinah. Then the other brothers sack and plunder the town. The men are killed and the women, children and property are taken as booty. Thus ends the saga. Never again do we read anything about Dinah.

Many feminists have written commentaries on this disturbing text. I also wrote my first midrashic story approximately 17 years ago in the form of a letter from Dinah to her brothers upon hearing of the death of their father Jacob (perhaps I shall post this here for Parshat Va'yehi, which is when it would fit in the narrative). Though feel free to message me if you'd like to read it). However, I wanted to attempt to tackle this story from a mindfulness perspective. But what on earth could this story teach about mindfulness?

In re-reading the story, what first caught my eye was the description of Shekhem as simply seeing Dinah, taking her and “lying with her.” Yet, immediately following the rape, the text says that Shekhem's “soul cleaved” to that of Dinah. He suddenly loved her.

Rape, which is always an act of violence and power in real life, is described in this story as an act of passion and desire, which then miraculously turns into love. This is, of course, problematic. It can easily be seen as a romanticizing of a violent act (which, unfortunately, is not unusual). However, for my purpose, I want to focus on the issue of desire and passion. In mindfulness, we learn to acknowledge and become aware of our desires and passions, but not to act based upon them. For our passions and desires are rooted in the ego and are about nothing more than self-satisfaction.

Here, the desire is clearly for sexual satisfaction. But somehow it morphs into is portrayrd as love. And yet, it is not. For Shekhem does not speak tenderly to Dinah and she never speaks to him at all. Nor does he say to his father “I love her. Please talk to her father and see if he will consent to our marriage.” Rather, he simply says “Get me this [nameless]girl as a wife!” This is clearly still about passion and desire, about wanting something and wanting it now! It is still about ego.

And the brothers reaction is not much better. They act quickly and rashly. They act out of anger and a sense of betrayal. They are driven by their emotions and by their collective ego. Shekhem has defiled their sister, and therefore their entire family has been defiled. Let's not take the time to think this through and seek some kind of retribution in a thoughtful (read: mindful) way. Instead, we will simply follow our passions and desires!

The impulsive decisions of the men in the story brings about only pain, suffering and destruction. On the other hand, Jacob seems to say and do nothing. His inability to act allows the tragedy to progress. We know that Jacob has a history of acting from a place of ego and desire, as when he tricked his father and stole his brother's birthright. We know that he can do extraordinary things when his passions dictate so, such as working a total of 14 years so that ultimately he could marry Rachel, the sister he desired,. But here, it is as if he is stuck. We don't know what he is thinking. But we know that he does not act.

These are the men in this narrative. They are either guided by passion, desire and ego or they are unable to act. What about the women?

We know nothing of Dinah's reaction to the rape. We never hear from her after the story. As a matter of fact this parashah brings about the disappearance of all the remaining women in Genesis. For right after this narrative ends, we read that Rebecca's nurse Deborah dies and is buried (35:8). This is unique, in that it tells of the death of someone who is never mentioned elsewhere in the Torah. And a woman, no less! It also marks the death of the women of the eldest generation of the family.

We read that the place where Deborah was buried was name Allon-bakut. Translated as the “tree of weepings”, a midrash states that actually, two women died and two women were buried in that place: Deborah and Rebecca. For the death of Rebecca is nowhere mentioned in the Torah. Nor is the death of Leah, Dinah's mother. However, we do read at the end of the book that Jacob had buried her in the Cave of Machpelah, where his ancestors were buried. So I am going to assume that she is no longer living when these actions occur. After all, if she were, I would find it hard to believe that the text mentions nothing of her reaction to her only daughter's rape!

Finally, in Chapter 35, verses 16-20, we read of the Rachel's death, which occurs immediately after giving birth to Benjamin. And so, as far as we know, there are no women remaining in the “immediate family.” I couldn't help but think that. Somehow, the passionate, ego-driven, impulsive behavior of the men in the story (or the inaction, Jacob's case) set in motion the loss of women from a narrative which, until this point had quite a few strong female characters.

The final woman to die is Rachel, and she dies after her son exits her womb. In Hebrew the word for womb, rehem, is also the root of the word for compassion, rahamim. It is as if the violence of the men culminates with what is a violent and deadly birth process for Rachel. And this has left the story, and the family, without any source of compassion. Perhaps Rachel knows that, with her death, so too will compassion and mercy die. Perhaps that is why she actually names her son Ben-oni, the son of my affliction. This affliction is not only her pain and suffering. Rather, she is able to see beyond herself to the true affliction, the recognition that mercy and compassion shall die with her. She could see this happening when the sons of Jacob acted as they did. And she knows that with her death, this family/community of impulsive men who simply take what they want when they want it, will have nothing to bring balance to their lives.

In Jewish thought, din (justice, judgment, strictness and boundaries) must be balanced by rahamim (compassion and openness). But in this narrative, the din sought and enacted by the brothers totally overwhelmed any rahamim which may have existed. And the denouement of the story occurs when Jacob actually changes the name of the son Rachel bore from Ben-oni, son of my suffering, to Ben-yamin (Benjamin) son of the right (hand) or son of strength. With this, the remembrance of Rachel's suffering, whih was the last vestige of hope that compassion would survive, disappears. And in its place we are instead reminded of the centrality of strength and power.

It is through connecting with the suffering of others that we find compassion within ourselves. Perhaps if the brothers had not acted impulsively, non-mindfully, they would have been able to sense the suffering of their sister. And perhaps they would have sought her return without the use of violence and show of power. Perhaps if Shekhem had stopped for a moment and recognized Dinah's vulnerability and then her suffering, he might not have raped her or at least not completed the act.

Perhaps if Jacob had been aware of all of the suffering going on around him instead of, as I imagine, being caught up in the stories his own ego was telling him, he might have acted in order to both rescue his daughter and prevent any further violence.

And so, at least for today, I read this story as a cautionary tale, but not in the usual sense. Rather, it is a cautionary tale that reminds us of the need for compassion and awareness in every moment. Compassion not only for ourselves, but for all. It is a cautionary tale which teaches of the need to stop, pay attention and be in the moment before we follow the lead of the ego and act on our impulses, passions and desires. And ultimately, it is a story which reminds us that without compassion, we are left with a world that is guided solely by the desire for strength, power, domination and ego. Alas, we know that all too well.

But as we continue next week with the Joseph narrative, we will begin the long process of healing and reconciliation to be achieved at the end of the book of Genesis. Perhaps not ironically, this is ultimately brought about by the same Benyamin (Ben-oni) born in this week's parashah and due in great part to the actions of Yehudah (Judah) who is the namesake of the Jewish people. And so the journey continues, as does our ability to learn from it.

Shabbat Shalom.

Psalm for Wednesday. Psalm 94, verse 10

2011-12-07T21:28:00.001-05:00

הֲיֹסֵ֣ר גֹּ֭ויִם הֲלֹ֣א יֹוכִ֑יחַ הַֽמְלַמֵּ֖ד אָדָ֣ם דָּֽעַת׃

Shall the one who chastises the nations not rebuke; Shall the one who teaches humanity not know?

There seems to be a difference of opinion as to the correct translation of the second part of the verse. Some translate it as I have above. Others translates the verse as, “Shall the one who chastises the nations not rebuke? The one who teaches humanity knowledge!”.

The first translation follows the same pattern as verse 9 (see last week's commentary): “Shall the one who implanted the ear? The one who formed the eye not see?” And so that seems to me the more likely. However, nothing says I can't use a little of each translation when writing my commentary!

In this verse, God is portrayed as the one who chastises the nations. This is certainly a powerful image of punishment. However, the other verb in the first half of the verse has a different connotation. Rebuke can also be translated as “reprimand” or “admonish”. To me, rebuke has tellins someone exactly what they did wrong and that they'd better not do it again. Rebuke, though harsh, implies some kind of corrective intention. Chastise, on the other hand, is about punishment and discipline, plain and simple.

So one could read the first half as saying, “yes, God will discipline or punish us when we do something wrong, but in the end it's really about teaching us how we have erred, so we don't make the same mistake again.”

The idea of teaching then leads us right into the second half of the verse, which is all about God teaching humanity. Continuing from my translation above, one can read the second part of the verse as , “after all, the one who teaches humanity has the knowledge.” The one who is the source of all knowledge knows how to use it. You just have to trust. For if you don't trust and you don't have faith, where are you spiritually? But here is where the two variant translation become important. “Shall the one who teaches humanity not know?” seems to me a response to someone who doubts. It is in itself a kind of rebuke: 'how could you think that the source of knowledge doesn't know what's right or best for you?!!'

The other translation, which reads simply “...the one who teaches humanity knowledge” is more of a statement of “fact” modifying the first half of the verse. It is as if the psalmist is calmly say, “of course the one who teaches humanity knows what's right/good.”

For many of us, both punishment and rebuke are difficult. They are difficult to give and they are difficult to receive. This also applies to ourselves. We have a difficult time accepting our own faults sometimes. Then again, at other times perhaps we take our faults too seriously. But this verse can serve as a reminder. When we chastise others or ourselves, do it for the sake of change. Do it so we hopefully won't make the same bad choice again. Chastisement for chastisement's sake is simply about degrading ourselves and others. And that's not what God is about. That's not what the Divine within is urging us to do.

But ultimately this all comes down to knowledge. In our lives, we can vacillate between belief in a God who knows what is best and is trying to help us act differently the next time, and a God that just wants to punish us. That is an image of a God who doesn't know what is best, who doesn't care what happens to us. That image of God only wants to punishment.

As we look at ourselves in each moment, let us always choose to use chastisement or criticism of self or others as an opportunity to impart knowledge of God's will, however we choose to define that. Let it not be about denigrating others or ourselves. Nor, let it be about doing the ego's bidding and simply denigrating others in order to lift up our own sense of self.

As with all things, this is ultimately about acting from a place of compassion and love. Always doing what we can to make the world better. Always doing what we can in each moment to remember that we are connected to one another, we all depend upon one and other, and we are all united within the love and compassion that is Divine.

Parshat Va'yetze: Jacob Begins to Find Himself

2011-12-03T15:57:00.002-05:00

In this week’s parashah, Va’yetze (Genesis/Bereshit 28:10 - 32:3) the saga of Jacob/Yaakov continues. After fleeing from the anger of his brother, Esau, he finally arrives in the land of Haran, his ancestral homeland. Almost immediately upon arriving, he meets his cousin Rachel at the well. There he is immediately so smitten by her that he, the one often portrayed as weak, sedentary and studious – is miraculously able to role a heavy stone away from the well with a single push!

When taken to meet his maternal uncle Lavan he is embraced warmly. When Lavan agrees to allow Yaakov to work for him, he asks what his salary should be. Yaakov responds that he would like nothing more than to work for Lavan seven years in exchange for Rachel’s hand in marriage. Lavan agrees.

Of course, most of us are aware of what ensues: Yaakov works for seven years in order to marry Rachel. Lavan, reminded that in his part of the world the younger is not to be married before the firstborn, substitutes Rachel’s sister Leah behind the wedding veil. Yaakov marries Leah. Yaakov then agrees to work another seven years if he is allowed to marry Rachel. Lavan agrees. Yaakov is now married to Leah and Rachel. The two sisters, along with their handmaids Bilhah and Zilpah, are to be the mothers of Yaakov's 13 children.

Two particular aspects of the story struck me when reading the text this time. The first is that, when Rachel is described in the text at the moment when Yaakov first sees her, she is described as the “daughter or Lavan, his mother’s brother.” Yaakov then introduces himself to Rachel as Rivkah /Rebecca’s son.”

It is seems clear to me that, even after everything that Yaakov has gone through, he still sees himself as his mother’s son. It almost does not matter that he is now the favored one possessing blessing, birthright and power derived (and stolen) from his father. His primary identity is still that of his mother’s son. Yet, when he sees Rachel something within him stirs. He finds within him a strength that previously unknown to him. This strength, which comes seemingly from nowhere, enables him to move the rock from the mouth of the well.

Perhaps this strength was from God? Perhaps it was from love or passion arising within him that he had never known before? Perhaps it was strength that comes from feeling the connection to the source of maternal compassion, nurturing – and strength – that Rachel represented to him? Wherever the strength came from, at that moment we see Yaakov, Rivkah’s son, in a new light.

The other point on which I would like to focus is his eventual marriage to Leah and Rachel. In many translations, one reads that Leah is switched for Rachel because the younger was not to be married prior to the elder. However, as Richard Elliot Friedman points out in his commentary, the text reads that the younger is not to be married prior to the firstborn. Therefore, Yaakov. who is now the de facto firstborn “…suffers because of the birthright of his beloved’s sister” (Friedman, p. 99). In order to bring balance back to the family after stealing Esau’s birthright, he must in turn allow Leah to receive the birthright that was due her.

This brings me back to Yaakov’s sense of himself as “Rivkah’s son.” For on some deep level he knows that he has arrived at this particular place, literally and figuratively, precisely because he is Rivkah’s son. He would not have needed to flee were he not Rivkah’s son. He would not have come to the house of Lavan were he not Rivkah’s son. For it was Rivkah who masterminded all that happened which eventually brought him to this place. Or was it?

It is true that Rivkah convinced Yaakov to masquerade as Esau in order to receive the first born's blessing from Yitzhak. However, it was Yaakov, earlier in the narrative, who thought to offer a bowl of lentil stew to Esau in exchange for his birthright. Yaakov is not merely some innocent pawn in this game of family deception. He is an active player, even if he is playing on a team with his mother. He is more than just Rivkah’s (or Yitzhak’s) son. He is a person unto himself. Perhaps it is this inner sense of his identity, and not the connection to his mother, that causes strength and passion to arise in him so that he can roll the stone away from the well? However, it is encountering the challenges provided by his uncle (his mother’s brother, no less) in terms of matrimony that begins the process of Yaakov truly becoming his own person. The trickster is tricked himself, enabling him to eventually grow.

In reading this parashah, I could help but think of how so many of us are ensnared by the identities created for us by our parents. It is only by going through the trials and difficulties of life on our own that we are able to separate ourselves from the origins of our past to the degree that we can then begin to understand and become the person who we truly are in the present moment. Perhaps that is the lesson we can learn from the trials of Yaakov?

In the opening passages of this parashah –before arriving in Haran – Yaakov has his famous dream of angels climbing up and down the ladder to heaven, with God standing above him. Upon awakening his response is “Surely, God was in this place and I, I did not know!” In contemporary parlance, Yaakov was clueless to God presence. It took a dream consisting of a coterie of busy angels and God standing over his head to make him aware of God’s presence, which was there all along. Perhaps an awakening came from that dream that allowed him to also sense something of the Divine within him when he saw Rachel. This enabled him to become aware of a strength within him that he did not know he had before, even though it too was always present. Still, he needed to go through the trials with his uncle and his two brides before he was truly able to embark on the road to becoming the patriarch and namesake of the people of Israel.

Only after bringing balance back into his life and his family through all that happens in this week’s I – and beyond – with all of its complexities and even distastefulness, is he finally ready to state with certainty that God is in this place, wherever that may be. For he finally realizes that God is within him. In this way, his exclamation can be understood as “God was within me, and I did not know!”

My wish is that each of us may do the necessary work – no matter how difficult it might often be – so that each of us can be aware of God’s presence in every place, for God’s presence is always a part of us, as we are a part of God. Only then can we truly bring balance into our lives, the lives of our family and loved ones, and into our world.

Shabbat Shalom.

Psalm for Wednesday: Psalm 94, verse 9

2011-11-30T22:28:00.001-05:00

הֲנֹ֣טַֽע אֹ֖זֶן הֲלֹ֣א יִשְׁמָ֑ע אִֽם־ יֹ֥צֵֽר עַ֝֗יִן הֲלֹ֣א יַבִּֽיט .9

Does the One who has implanted the ear not hear? Does the one who formed the eye not see?

In my commentary on this verse I continue the them from my previous commentaries (sorry it has been so long since my last one. See my posting from May 31, 2011 for verse 8 and a recap of the first 7 verses). I read this psalm as the struggle between humanity and the ego. The ego is what tries to separate us from the Divine in the universe. The ego is the enemy of Oneness.

What struck me immediately in this verse is the use of the singular nouns eye and ear, as well as the use of the two different verbs to describe their creation. God implants (literally, “plants” the ear and forms the eye. Then the psalmist asks the rhetorical question: “doesn't the one who created the eye and ear hear and see what's going on (even when we try to hide it)?” This is a theme first broached when God asks Adam where he is (after eating the fruit) and then asks Cain where his brother Abel is. If God is an omnipotent and omniscient creator, then of course God knows the answer to these questions before they are even asked.

So clearly God wants both to hear how Adam and Cain respond and to see how these two first humans use the faculties God has given them.

But, in this psalm it's a little different. God is not playing ersatz hide and seek with us. Rather, the psalmist is making it abundantly clear that, as we try to avoid the pull of the ego, God is always within us. God sees and hears all that is happening. And, by extension, God gives us the strength to subdue or negate the ego.

But God does not do this by any supernatural means. God does this by simply being a part of us. And we allow God to do this by acknowledging the divinity within and around us. God has implanted deep in us the the ability not only to hear, but to understand, the Truth of existence. God has formed the eye, which seems to be a simple, perfect orb from the outside, yet we know connects through the nerves to the brain and our innermost self, thereby enabling us to see beneath the surface. God is our ability not only to hear and understand, but to discern the difference between fantasy and reality. Between ego's lies and the Divine/human truth.

But why only one eye and one ear? I see this as a reminder that, though God is within and gives us the ability to see and hear in a deeper way, we are also partners with God. God is one ear and one eye only. If we rely solely on God to “deliver” us, without acting in partnership, then we will only understand a portion of what we hear. And we will see the world around us without any depth and with muted color. However, if we act as partners with God, not from the place of the ego, but from our neshamah/soul, that Divine spark within us, then we can see with both eyes and we can hear with both ears. Only then can we understand and experience the depth and breadth of existence. Only then can we see and hear the ego for what it really is. And only then can we begin to do the holy work necessary to bring Oneness into the universe and into our lives.

Mindful Torah: Toldot: On Being a Jewish Man

2011-11-25T11:57:00.000-05:00

I hope those of you in the USA are enjoying their Thanksgiving holiday. As this is a holiday weekend, I am publishing a previously published post from two years ago. However, it is also in keeping with much of what I have been thinkin about recently, especially having led a men's Shabbaton (Shabbat retreat) in Boston two weeks ago. I hope you find it meaningful.

Shabbat Shalom.

Mindful Torah: Toldot: On Being a Jewish Man: This week’s parashah /portion is Toledot (Bereshit/Genesis 25:19 – 28:9). It begins with the phrase “these are the generations of Isaac, so...

Parshat Hayei Sarah: The Redemption of Isaac

2011-11-18T15:07:00.000-05:00

This week's parashah is Hayei Sarah (Bereshit/Genesis 23:1 - 25:18 ), which begins by informing the reader that Sarah was 127 years old when she died. It then continues with the story of Abraham buying the Cave of Machpelah in Hebron in which to bury her and to then serve as the family burial site. He then commands his chief household servant to return to his homeland of Haran in order to find a wife for Isaac from among his kin. The servant returns with Rebekah, the daughter of Abraham's nephew Bethuel. Isaac then marries her and they begin their life together. The parashah ends with Abraham's death and Isaac and Ishmael burying him together alongside Sarah in the Cave of Machpelah.

This is the parashah which marks the transition from the first patriarch/matriarch couple to the birth of Jacob, who is to be born in next week's parashah, whose sons are to be the patriarchs of the future 12 Tribes of Israel. Without the birth of Isaac, God's promise of a people as numerous as “the starts in the heavens” could never have been fulfilled. So too, without Isaac's marriage to Rebekah, the lineage could not have continued with the birth of Jacob. However, it has always frustrated me how Isaac's personality is never fleshed out as much as that of his father or sons (especially Jacob). We know by reading that narrative what happens TO Isaac, but we know precious little of what actions he takes on his own.

In last week's parashah we read of his circumcision and of the ordeal when he was bound and almost sacrificed by his father. In the future, we shall read of how he is tricked by Jacob into giving him the paternal blessing that should have been Esau's. And in this week's parashah we read of how his father, with his servant's help, finds a suitable wife for him. But what about Isaac? What does he do? What is he thinking? What is he feeling? Alas, we shall never know.

In previous commentaries, I have written about both Jacob and his son Joseph as representing the ego. I have particularly focused on Joseph's journey as the journey of the ego, which eventually we need to negate in order to realize that it, and the self, are but illusions. In truth, there is only the One, of which we are a part. But what is Isaac? In some ways he could be seen as representing the desired negation of the ego. After all, he seems to have no sense of self. No ego. No needs or desires, at least up until this point. So what is he? What does he represent to us? I have a thought, but I want to explore the parashah a little more before revealing my answer.

In reading the parashah again, a few facts caught my attention:

Isaac and Abraham never speak to each other after the Akeidah (Binding) in last week's parashah. As far as we can tell, they never saw each other again. Abraham returns from Mt. Moriah and the Akeidah.
Sara’s death is mentioned, but we know nothing of Isaac's emotions, even though we know that Abraham and the people around him are described as mourning and bemoaning her death. However, this is hinted at by the fact that when Isaac takes Rebekah into his tent to be his wife, she “comforts him after the death of his mother.”
The chief servant is instructed to bring back someone from Abraham's family, because Abraham did not want Isaac marrying from among the other nations. Abraham also makes it clear that Isaac is to stay where he is (wherever that may be) and may not return to Haran with the servant, saying that God has made him a promise to provide a suitable wife for Isaac and will send an angel ahead of the servant to insure this.
Finally, in spite of the fact that Abraham almost sacrificed Isaac and exiled Ishmael, the two sons return to bury their father together.

So what has any of this to do with my thoughts about Isaac's role and what he might represent to all of us? To begin with, I must return to the opening lines of the parashah, where we read of Sarah’s death. According to various rabbinic commentaries and legends, Sarah died as a direct result of the Akeidah (Binding) of Isaac. In the Torah, Sarah is not made aware of what Abraham is doing. However, in the rabbinic texts, she does discover why Abraham has taken Isaac to Mt. Moriah. In some versions, she dies because she believes Abraham has killed Isaac. In others, she dies when she is overcome with joy at discovering that Abraham did not carry out the deed. However, what struck me was a commentary by Aviva Gottlieb Zornberg, a contemporary scholar who writes, “even after learning that Isaac has survive [her death represents] an inability to live in a world as dangerous and unreliable as she has found this world to be, a world where life hangs by such a fragile thread.”

Sarah simply could not bear to live in a world that was filled with uncertainty and danger. It was just too much for her. If that is the case, how much more so would this be true for the one who was almost sacrificed by his father! But Isaac was not 127. He was not ready to die. And yet, a part of him did die that day on Mt. Moriah. Israeli poet Haim Guri wrote that the legacy of the Akeidah is that Jews are born with a “knife in their heart.” But for Isaac, it went deeper than that. The knife pierced his heart, his soul, his very being. He could not face father nor mother. He could not return to where he lived or to the person he was. And so he left, though we know not his destination. Due to the violence brought upon him, it was as if his very being was negated. His body existed, but little else. One could view this as the negation of the ego, which is what we supposedly strive for, but at what cost?

Still, even though Isaac leaves his family and his home, they somehow know where he is. After all, Abraham sends his servant to bring a wife home for him. So he must know where that home is. The father and son may no longer speak, but there is still some connection, even if tenuous at best. And Isaac must be complicit in the arrangement as well. After all, he accepts the bride his father provides with open arms. He takes him into his tent (a midrash says it was Sarah's tent in which she welcomed all visitors), consummates the marriage and finally finds comfort after the death of his mother.

What fascinated me when reading the parashah this time is that the chief servant of Abraham remains nameless. Tradition states that he was Eliezer, who is mentioned prior earlier in Genesis. But we do not know that for sure, even though he is the instrument of Abraham's plan. Actually, he is really the instrument of God's plan. It is God who promised Abraham a bride for Isaac and sends an angel to Abraham's native land with the servant. In this case, Eliezer – God is my help – would indeed be a fitting name for the servant. It is as if Eliezer himself is an angel. He is God's helper in bringing a bride from Abraham’s' land and from his kin, thereby insuring that Abraham and Isaac, though estranged, will forever be connected through Rebekah.

Rebekah then leaves her family and her home willingly, perhaps because she realizes her role in God's plan. For she is not merely a bride for Isaac, but the one who brings Isaac comfort after his mother's death. In this reading, she also brings him comfort after being spiritually (and almost physically) killed by his father. It is through Rebekah that Isaac is able to live again, even though he will always be wounded. It is through Rebekah that he finds a purpose in life, to continue the lineage as God has promised. Even though, as we know, things don't exactly go as he might have hoped in the future.

Finally, at the end of the parashah we are presented with a scene that in many ways is the final reconciliation or redemption in the narrative: Isaac and Ishmael bury their father together. After all he had done to them, they could have simply refused to honor him in this way. And yet, they realized that in order to move on, they needed to bury the past, but also honor it. They also needed to acknowledge that, for better or worse, they are in part who they are, and who they shall become, because of their father.

After the Akeidah and the death of his mother, Isaac could not bear to live in the world of uncertainty and danger, and so he allowed his soul to die. In Rebekah, who represents kindness, gentleness and generosity, he finds someone to care for him as Sarah did. He also finds someone to repair the broken relationship with his father, at least symbolically. Thus, in Sara’s tent, now Rebekah's, according to legend, he begins to heal. But it is only when he meets his long lost brother, looks him in the eye and together buries their father, that he is released from the past and able to reclaim his 'soul identity', the essence of his being, which he had lost. This soul identity, is found in the meaning of his name. He was named Yitzhak, in Hebrew, meaning “he shall laugh.” This was in response to the laughter of Sarah after hearing that she was to give birth at the age of 90, which was a miracle. But the true miracle, at least in this parashah, is that he is finally, or once again, able to embrace that name. That is the answer to the question I posed at the start of this commentary.

Who is Isaac? What does he represent? He is the part within each of us that is damaged or traumatized by life. It is the piece of us that does not want to accept the uncertainty and fragility of life. It is that within that would rather disconnect than take the risks inherent in relationships. And he is that within us that knows, deep down, that if we stay present in the moment, where we are, we can eventually find healing and redemption. The servant is commanded not to take Isaac to the place from which his father came, because he needed to stay right where he was. He needed to experience the reality of who and where he was in that moment, so he could acknowledge all the loses of his life, and come to terms with the fact that life is filled with uncertainty, and sometimes even danger and violence. But, staying present where he was also enabled him to finally be willing to accept the compassion, mercy and beauty that also exists, and which can redeem us all, as it is represented by his joining together with Rebekah Only then was he able to accept that very uncertainty of life that had killed his spirit and take the next step on his journey of life. Our lives may still hang by a “fragile thread”, as Aviva Zornberg wrote, but Isaac's story reminds us that the thread need not break. And if it does, there is someone there to catch us and to help us reweave the thread one step at at time.

Shabbat Shalom.

Parshat Lekh L'kha: It's the Journey That Counts

2011-11-04T17:01:00.004-04:00

This week's parashah/portion is Lekh L'kha (Genesis/Bereshit 12:1-17:27). It begins with the call from God to Abram (later Abraham), “Go forth from your land, and from your birth place and from your father's house to the land that I will show you.” It seems that every year when I comment on this parashah, I never get beyond this particular verse. Yet each year I find new meaning in it. Such is the way of Torah.

I have focused in the past on the phrase “lekh l'kha – go forth.” Because of it's unusual construction the phrase can mean, and is interpreted by many as, “go (in)to yourself.” The central idea of these commentatories is that Abram is commanded by God to take a journey inward to find his “authentic self, to learn who he was meant to be” (Mei ha'Shiloah).

Others comment on the fact that God commands Abram not simply to leave his home, but to leave his land, his birth place and his father's home. Each place that he is commanded to leave is both more intimate and more difficult to leave behind.

In this commentary I would like to focus on a comment by Aviva Gottlieb Zornberg, from her book Genesis: The Beginning of Desire. Zornberg writes, “for the first time [in the Torah], a journey is undertaken not as an act of exile (Adam, Cain) or a quest for domination (the generation of [the Tower of] Babel) but as a response to divine imperative.” For the first time God is not casting someone out or using exile as punishment. Instead, God is commanding an individual (and his wife) to leave for a higher purpose. What is that purpose? To go to an unknown land that God will show him.

Abram is commanded by God to leave all that is familiar to him and travel to a place that is totally unknown. But this journey must be taken step by step. He must first leave his general surroundings, then the places more familiar to him, and finally, the place with which he is most intimate. The home in which he was raised. And yet he is actually only leaving one place. But the process of detaching from that place takes place one step at at a time.

So it is for us when we embark on a spiritual journey into the unknown. Following, the commentary of Mei ha'Shiloah, if this is an internal journey towards our “authentic self”, then it doesn't happen all at once. The journey involves detaching from our various attachments, those things that we believe are most central to our lives. It means letting go not of preconceived notions, but the notions and beliefs about who we are, of which we (or actually our ego) have carefully conceived and constructed over time. These seem to be the parts of us in which we are most invested and find most difficult to discard. For the building of these constructs has been so slow and incremental, that we haven't even noticed them being built. In fact, it seems as if these pieces of our identity have always been there. They have become like our parent's house, the place in which we have always dwelled, or the ideas that have always dwelled in us. We believe that we simply can't exist without them.

For Abram, the most difficult place to leave is his father's house. For us it is those pieces of our identity that seems so central to who we are. And yet, just as God commands Abram to leave that place of safety and comfort, so too are we commanded to detach from those pieces with which we are so comfortable, which we belief keep us safe, but which ultimately impede our spiritual growth.

But what does it mean in this case to be commanded by God? Of course, it means something different to each of us. And for many of us, it is language with which we may be uncomfortable. For me, it means that there is a Divine force that is the source of all, and with which we are all connected, that naturally propels us towards that which is best not only for us, but for all. If we listen to the voice deep within, we can hear it's call to take the journey. It is what we are meant to do. It is why we are here.

Yet, when we first hear that voice, it may seem like it is asking us to give up everything. Indeed, it may seem like it is desiring a kind of exile from that with which we are most familiar. Yet, viewing this through the lens of Zornberg's commentary above, it is actually a call not so much to leave, as to take a journey. Others in our life might tell us to leave as punishment (like Cain and Adam). And our ego may want us to take a journey that is all about self-aggrandizement and power (like the Tower of Babel). But God, that power that is the source all, simply wants us to take a journey to a new place. It is the journey that is important, not the destination. For, as I have written so many times before, each step of the the journey is in itself a destination.

Yet, it is written in the Torah that there is an ultimate destination, though it is shrouded in mystery. Abram and Sarai are to travel to the place that God will show them. But a rabbinic midrash (legend/commentary) reads the lines as “the land wherein I [God] will appear to you.” So the journey we are taking is simply to the place where God becomes manifest in our lives. For them and for us, it is the place where we come to experience our connection to and compassion for all of creation. That place is deep within, but when we get there it calls on us to move outwards and act in compassionate ways in that world of which we are a part, and which is a part of us.

In this way, I disagree slightly with the wording of the Mei ha'Shiloah's commentary. We are not exactly journeying to find our “authentic self, to learn who you are meant to be.” For the idea of self is a construct created by the ego to convince us that our individual “self” is all that matters and that we are not really connected to the universe. The self created by the ego tells us that we can use others and the world around us to fulfill our needs and desires. But taking this journey, we instead reach a place where we actually become authentically “no self”; a place where we can truly feel our connection to the Divine flow of the Universe. And when we reach that place, we are then truly the people we are meant to be and in the place where our hearts are meant to dwell. We are in the place in which the Divine has been revealed to us. We may only be there for a moment before the demands of the world or the machinations of our ego bring us back to focus on self. But our own Abrahamic journey is not a one time thing. It is a journey which we try our best to make all of our years, each day of our lives and in each moment that we live and breathe.

Shabbat Shalom,

Steven

Who Shall Live and Who Shall Die? Some Thoughts on Connecting with Yom Kippur and It's Liturgy

2011-10-07T14:37:00.004-04:00

This evening we begin the observance of Yom Kippur, the holiest day on the Jewish calendar. Many Jews who never step foot in a synagogue during the rest of the year will do so this evening and/or tomorrow, even though they are unsure why. Perhaps it is guilt. Perhaps tradition. For everyone the reason is different. But I would would expect that for many, it is not because of the meaning of the liturgy. For so many the patriarchal, hierarchical God imagery found in the liturgy can be off-putting. The idea that we are like sheep being led before a God that sits on a throne in judgment deciding whether or not we shall be “written in the Book of Life” holds little or no meaning. This is unfortunate.

I suppose if one views the liturgy in a more literal sense, it can indeed seem anachronistic and downright silly. But the texts were always meant as metaphor or allegory. Whatever one's view of God might be, I don't think anyone ever believed in the image of the old man on the throne sitting in judgment. And yet, so many dismiss the liturgy because they cannot view the old liturgy through contemporary eyes. Otherwise intelligent people seem to somehow regress and lose their ability to view these texts as adults and instead seem to regress to the become children once again when faced with the prayers that have been ingrained in them since childhood. It is as if they feel on some level that they either must accept the prayers as they were taught or experienced them as children or they must reject them in their entirety. In doing this they miss the opportunity not only to reconnect to ancient liturgy and our ancestors, but they miss the opportunity to uncover their own connection to tradition.

Perhaps one of the most difficult prayers for many is the Unetaneh Tokef prayer that is central to the Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur liturgy. This medieval prayer is the one that specifically speaks of us passing before God lie sheep before a shepherd. God then determines “who shall live and who shall die” - and the prayer then lists the various means by which one might meet one's demise in the coming year, if that is indeed one's fate.

The historical context of this prayer, which was written in medieval times when Jews were indeed being persecuted and executed, helps one understand why this imagery was indeed so powerful. But what about for us today? We no longer face persecution as did our ancestors (yes, antisemitism still exists, but that is not the issue here). That is why, beginning in the 1970s (I believe) interpretive translations were written. In the one I remember most it is no longer literally “who by water and who by fire,” but instead it is the fire of jealousy or drowning in a sea of despair (I apologize for any misquoting, but I can't seem to find the actual prayer at the moment). Though I believe it is powerful to connect the ancient words with our modern reality, I also believe something is lost in the interpretation.

The original prayer begins “let us acknowledge the awesome holiness of this day” and imagines that even the angels stand trembling in fear before God. No one, not even the angels, are exempt from fear and awe on this day. Today we are often uncomfortable thinking about our relationship with God, if we have one, as based on fear. But there is indeed power in that image. Too often we try to avoid pain and fear in our life, and yet both are necessary parts of life. But it is not fear that a supernatural God will punish us (at least for me) but fear of what happens to us if we don't look at our lives honestly. This is the source of the holiness of the day, or that which connects us with the divine within and around us.

Mindfulness is about nothing if it is not about being aware of who and what we are in the moment. And though it teaches that we cannot live in the past, for it is gone, it does not mean that we should not look at how our past actions have contributed to who we are in this very moment. And that can indeed invoke fear in us. And we must sit with that fear and sadness. We must acknowledge what we have done that has brought pain and suffering into our lives or our world. Then we must do what we must to seek forgiveness from others if those actions had a negative impact on them. Only then can we be at one with them, ourselves and the Divine.

The prayer posits that our teshuvah, the return to our truest self, will have an effect on the coming year. Mindfulness posits that the future is but a dream, it is unknown. We only have the present. But these concepts do not contradict one another. Rather, the work of teshuvah in the present moment will have an effect on the future. How can it not? We just don't know what that effect will be, nor should we try to guess.

So my suggestion to those of us who are uncertain of how to approach the Unetaneh Tokef or other traditional liturgy to simply be present with the discomfort that arises within as we read or listen to the words. Do not judge ourselves, but do not judge the prayers either. Instead, pay attention to what arises within. If it is fear, sit with the fear. If it is anger, sit with the anger. If it is compassion, sit with the compassion. If it is all of the above and more (which it usually is) then sit with what is. Look within with the combination of awe and love that is at the center of this holiday season. Be compassionate and gentle with yourself as you think back on what you have done this past year, but be honest! Even if that honesty is the source of pain and fear. It's the only way to go.

In the end, our actions on this holiest of days will indeed impact who we are now, which will impact who we are becoming. God determining “Who shall live and who shall die” is indeed a powerful metaphor. This is especially so if we remember that we are part of God and God a part of us, so we are the ones determining the who and what we are becoming. We are the shepherd and the sheep. We are the compassionate ones and the ones in need of compassion. That is how we should approach the prayer and the day.

May we all be sealed for a good year of peace, compassion and love.

Steven

Psalm 27: Seeking Strength , Seeking God

2011-09-28T22:32:00.005-04:00

From the beginning of the month of Elul, the last month of the Jewish year, through all of the fall holiday season, it is customary to read Psalm 27 every day. Known as the Psalm for the Season of Repentance, it is a psalm filled with faith and hope.

The following is a line-by-line poetic commentary on the poem. Each line of the psalm is written in bold italics, and the poetic interpretation of that line follows. As we enter this new year of 5772, I hope and pray for all of us and our world, that we shall see an end to suffering and the beginning of a new time of peace and tranquility for us all. But it all begins with forgiveness and acceptance.

L’shanah tovah u’metukah – a Happy and Sweet New Year - to you, my online community. Thanks so much for reading my words and for allowing me to share them with you,

SPN

Psalm 27: Seeking Strength , Seeking God

The Eternal is my light and my life.
Whom shall I fear?

I am filled with fear
fear of self others the world life
fear of change of remaining the same
of moving of lingering

alone I am in darkness with God I see light
alone I fear death with God I find life

yet I still fear
I do not know who or what

at one with God
I can face the fear
I am not alone

The Eternal is the foundation of my life.
Whom shall I dread?

for so many years
I see me as
the center core foundation
the all of being

but that is not me
that is ego
cunning baffling tempting me
to forget it is not me
not self not I

at the center the core the root
but the divine
my champion my strength

I must remember this
when facing fear dread
creeping up within me
each moment each day

When evil-doers come upon me to devour me
Even my adversaries and foes stumble and fall.

forces of evil gather within
sent by ego
they bore into my soul
seeking to destroy undermine
convincing me I am not
worthy of God

but in truth god is within me
when I turn to you
the dark forces within turn on themselves
they stumble and fall

even then they are there
lying in wait for the moment when I forget you

If an army should encamp against me,
My heart will not fear.
Though war should wage up against me
Even then will I be confident.

I still fear
I still do not trust you are there
within me within others
filling the world my soul all creation
protecting each of us from enemies

I must remember

to keep my heart strong yet compassionate
towards self others humanity the world

One thing I ask of the Eternal, Only this do I seek:
To live in the house of Adonai all the days of my life,
To gaze upon Adonai's beauty; to frequent God's temple.

how do I remain

strong yet compassionate
resolute yet merciful
I ask you beloved
help me maintain balance
help me remember

I am forever dwelling within you
you are forever dwelling within me
your home is my home
your shelter my shelter
your heart my heart
your world my world
filled with beauty
divine and human together
same yet different
all is your temple your dwelling place
beautiful serene loving strong glorious comforting
help me remember this is all you
the true reality of the existence

For You conceal me in Your shelter

on the day of evil.
You hide me in the secret place

in Your tent.
You lift me up on a rock.

yet days hours minutes seconds moments arise
when it seems I can only feel evil
burrowing from within
attacking from without
causing pain suffering
my mind perceives only enemies
my heart feels only fear
under attack from others
under attack from me
my heart hardens to protect its self
to keep out others and God

in these moments protecting one
I seek your shelter
I find you within my heart my soul
in the heart and soul of others
breaking down the walls
I have built around my heart
hiding me from the forces that seek to destroy
hiding me from my ego the self that is not real
within your tent you hide me from these forces

you lift me up to realize

if I am with you and you with me
I need not hide I can stand tall
in full view of my enemies my self
filled with the strength of your glory
the inheritance of all humanity

And now my head will be lifted up above my enemies all around me; And I will offer sacrifices in Your tent

with the sound of trumpets I will sing, yes, I will sing praises

to Adonai.

in that moment I realize
I must let go of my self my desires my needs my will
I realize none of these are real
I have no strength no power no will

I surrender to the reality

all is you
I am powerless as are we all
in that moment
I sacrifice my self my ego my desires my passions
I feel power surging within coming from you
the call of the shofar arises from deep within
the place I had forgotten that the ego had obscured
shouts of praise arise songs of joy emanate from my lips
coming from my soul the divine breath within
praising the divine throughout the world
salvation has arrived
for this moment

Listen adonai when I call aloud.
Be gracious to me; answer me!

uncertainty and fear arise
as it always does
God will you hear me
beloved will you whisper back
compassionate one will I feel your compassion
merciful one will your mercy comfort me
gracious one will I receive your grace
your love overflowing unending unconditional
or will the conditions place on my self
that my ego slips into my mind and heart
cause me to disregard your answer to my call
to miss the experience of your love
always there waiting for each of us
help me to ask to find the strength to call to you

help me receive that which you are
always there to give freely to your children
help me hear the questions and the answers
within me coming from you

To you my heart cries out, to you

my face is turned;
Your Presence, Eternal One, I seek.

feeling the need within I cry to you
from my heart I look for you
often in the wrong places

the storm the thunder the whirlwind
clouding my mind with emotions and thoughts
as I seek certainty control once again
I must turn my face and heart inward
to the soul the source
the breath of life
to find you in each breath
the still small voice whispering
I am here
you are loved
we are one

Hide not your face from me.
Do not put your servant off in anger.

You are my help.

do not allow

my ego self-doubts self-loathing fear
to hide you from me
to hid me from you

do not allow

my anger my emotions my irrationality my ego
to convince me that you have abandoned me
left me alone disconnected
without help or support

Forsake me not, nor abandon me, O God, the One who delivers me. For though my father and my mother have abandoned me
The Eternal shall gather me in.

all upon which I have built
my life my self the foundation of my existence
what I believed sustained me
what I believed was me
is gone
I am alone abandoned
I have no roots no certainty
I have no stability no grounding
I am a blank slate
that is as it should be
moment to moment we start anew
what we thought sustained us is fantasy
what we thought was eternal is ephemeral
permanence abandoned begets the transient
from the ashes of confidence in self now destroyed
arises the phoenix of uncertainty ungrounding
disconnection from the counterfeit power of the self
I can now fly free
knowing that I am guided by god not the self
present not the past
awareness not vagueness
compassion not aggression
joy not fear love not hatred

Show me Your ways, O God,
And lead me on a just path
Because of my ever-watchful foes.

eternal one source of strength and compassion
guide me help me find balance
keep me on your path
for I know the forces that brought me down are still there
the ego my passions desires frustrations
lie in wait ready to pounce
waiting for the moment when I abandon you

Deliver me not over unto the will of my adversaries
For false witnesses have risen up against me
And they fume in violence.

help me to remain with you
remind me that with you is joy peace hope
keep me from the lies snares traps of the ego
the voices within calling truth a lie
and falsehood reality
seeking to do violence against my soul
to create chaos where there is peace
to draw me back into the world of
fantasy desire obsession
where I am at the center not you
where I believe the power is mine not yours
where the master of my fate the captain of my ship
are not mere cliché but perceived realities
that can beget only pain suffering disaster

If I had not believed to look upon the goodness of God,
in the land of Life...

had I not experienced the reality of your presence
your love compassion mercy guiding me
I would never have known what it means
to be truly alive
had I not discovered you within me and others
had I not heard your voice in my heart
in the words of others
had I not known that in each moment
I can experience your goodness
I do not know how I would survive
moment to moment each day of life

Hope, then, for the Eternal; strengthen your heart with courage,
And have hope in the Eternal.

hope
not for an imagined future
a fantasy mind and ego create
hope only in you
the eternal my beloved my source my strength

hope in you
not certainty in the world the self human beings

give me the strength the courage
to face the uncertain ever-changing
reality of life

eternal one grant me courage
keep my heart and soul open
to each moment
compassionate towards self and others
seeking peace for all humanity
in each moment
finding joy where it seems most elusive
experiencing divine love in each place each moment
so that I may embark on the path of teshuvah return

in each moment with every breath
bring me back to you
bring us all back to our source
today every day each moment
so we may do your will

now and always

amen

Parshat Nitzavim-Vayelekh: What Falls Down, Must Get Up

2011-09-24T17:41:00.004-04:00

Dear online Hevre (community):

I apologize for this arriving during Shabbat. I thought I had posted it yesterday and then realized that I did not. For those who are unable to read it until after Shabbat, I am sure you can still learn something from it.

Comments are always welcome.

Shabbat Shalom or Shavuah Tov (a good week), as the case may be.

SPN

-----------------------------------

This week's Torah portion is Nitzavim-Vayelekh (Devarim/Deuteronomy 29:9 - 31:30). It is one of seven parashiot/portions that is read as a double portion in a non-leap year order to assure that the entire Torah is read in the course of a single year. The parashah/portion is near the end of Moses' speeches to the people before he is to die. At the start of Parshat Nitzavim Moses informs the people that he is addressing his remarks to all those who "stand this day, before the Eternal your God. To enter into the covenant God swore to your ancestors. I make this covenant, both with those who are standing here with us this day and with those who are not with us here this day."

In the beginning of Parshat Vayelekh, Moses warns them that God has revealed to him that, following his death, "the people will go astray and worship alien gods. They will break the covenant that God had made with them. Many evils will then befall them, at which point they will say to themselves, "surely it is because God is not in our midst that this evil has befallen us."

These two opening phrases seems at first to be contradictory. Yet, I believe instead that they present us with a tension that is an essential part of life. My teacher and friend, Rabbi Sheila Peltz Weinberg teaches that life is a series of events that can be encapsulated in the phrase "fall down get up." I have intentionally not place any punctuation in this phrase in order to emphasize R. Weinberg's point that this is a continual process and not two distinct activities. For every time we fall, we instinctively begin the process of returning to where we were before we fell. Yes, it is true that after certain false, it may be difficult or seemingly impossible for us to rise, but our instinct is to attempt to do so as quickly as possible.

Yet, viewing this as a spiritual metaphor, we often get stuck in the prone position seemingly unable to lift ourselves up again. We start to wallow in the muck that we believe to be the true nature our lives. We fill ourselves with negative messages saying that we are incompetent, ineffective, incapable of doing things differently, or simply bad people. In short, we see ourselves as powerless and unable to change.

In the beginning of Nitzavim, Moses is speaking to both "with those who are standing here with us this day and with those who are not with us here this day." He is speaking to all of humanity and we are all standing upright. As a spiritual metaphor, we are "standing" upright before God, we are fully present and we are aware of our connection to the Divine. We know that God is a part of us and that we are a part of God. We sense our connection to humanity and the world within that which we call God. This sense of connection then calls to us to take the next "step" on our journey. This is a journey of holiness, the goal of which is the betterment of God's world and strengthening the connection of all to God, self, and others.

With God as our source of strength, we embark on this journey. At this time of year, we also embark on this journey with a sense that we are returning to our "true" spiritual selves through the work of teshuvah, the act of returning and repentance. However, somewhere along the way we are each destined to experience moments that are reflected in the opening lines of Vayalekh: "[in the future] the people will go astray and worship alien gods. They will break the covenant that God had made with them. Many evils will then befall them, at which point they will say to themselves, 'surely it is because God is not in our midst that this evil has befallen us.' "

In other words, somewhere along the journey we will fall down. At some point we will stray from the path upon which we have been walking. We will be distracted by "alien gods," or those things that appeal to our passions and desires, but which ultimately are destructive forces in our world and our lives. These forces separate us from the godliness within and around us. This sense of separation and alone-ness are antithetical to the sense of connection and at-one-ness that are at the heart of a spiritual life. They leave us vulnerable, depressed, dejected and certain that the future holds nothing but despair. It is in these moments that we say to ourselves "surely, God is not our midst."

For it is in these moments that we forget that God is always in our midst. God is
always within each of our souls. Rather, it is we who are no longer in God's midst, as if that were possible. By focusing on the forces that draw us away from God, it feels as if we are no longer standing in God's presence, even though God is always there within us. We have experienced the "fall down," but we are unable to continue with "get up." We are alone. We are forlorn. We are powerless. And we are not. For, in truth, we are never alone, even though indeed we are powerless.

Yet, the feeling of powerlessness is actually not a negative experience, though our ingrained habits and beliefs lead us to label it as such. For it the experience and acceptance of the powerlessness or our “self” or “ego” that then allows us to realize that there is a power within us that can lift us up after all. However, that power does not come from us, but rather it flows through us and has its source in the Divine. As it states in the first of the Twelve Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous, we must "admit that we are powerless" and then turn to our Higher Power (as we choose to understand or experience it) as our true source of power before we can move on.

When we are spiritually in balance and we fall down, we can get up with relative ease, even though it is still a painful experience. One might call this our `autonomic spiritual system' at work. For just as our autonomic nervous system tells our body to breathe without any thought on our part, so "fall down" causes us to instinctively "get up" spiritually when we are in balance. However, when we are in the spiritual state described above, when we fall down we then find it difficult, if not impossible, to get up.

At these moments we must not struggle to lift ourselves or "pull ourselves up by our bootstraps," as the classic American ethos might tell us to do. Rather, we must simply lie where we are. We must pay attention to what is happening within and around us. We should not judge our situation or ourselves in a negative light (or any light, for that matter). Rather, we must simply experience the moment as it is, without judgment or commentary.

Lying there we can see ourselves as we are at that moment and we can experience our powerlessness, as frightening as that might feel. Then, slowly, moment by moment, we can begin to notice that there is something else present within us and around us. That something is the Divine flow of energy that we first simply pay attention to, then eventually turn to, in order to give us strength to face the challenge of the moment and eventually get up.

As we prepare to enter the Ten Days of Teshuvah/Return next week, let us remember that life is a series of these various types of moments. Some are "fall down get up" moments and others are "fall down, stay down, be present, and let God lift us up" moments. Both are part of life. Neither is better or worse. Both simply are what they are. In reviewing the series of moments that make up the year that is about to end, let us not judge ourselves for what has occurred. We each make choices that we might label as "mistakes" and choices that we might label as "good." But let us now simply see what has been, make amends for choices we have made and things we have done that have harmed self or others, and remember that in the end that we are all human, but that our ultimate strength comes from the Divine within.

If we do this, then we are prepared to take the first step of the new year and continue on our path of falling down, getting up, and everything else that we call the blessing of life.

Shabbat Shalom and Shanah Tovah,

SPN

A Poem In Remembrance of 9.11.01

2011-09-11T21:03:00.007-04:00

This poem is a work in progress. I have been working on it all day as I have watched the programs memorializing the events of 9.11.01. I am sure I will make more changes as time goes on. But please feel free to send me any comments you might have. I always welcome responses of all kinds.

Shalom/Salaam/Peace,
Steve

In the book of Deuteronomy we read of the ritual the people are commanded to enact upon entering the Promised Land. Moses tells people that they are to stand between two mountains, Gerizim and Ebal. As they stand in the valley, curses are to be pronounced from Mount Ebal and blessings from Mount Gerizim.

This is followed by the commandment for the people to utterly and completely destroy all the sites at which the other nations worship their gods in the land of Canaan (to become the “Promised Land”) and a warning that they are not to worship God in a like manner, but to "look only to the site that YHWH your God will choose" (eventually, Jerusalem, the “city of peace/ir shalom”), as the proper place for worship.

I could not help but think of this imagery of the twin mountains on this anniversary of the destruction of the twin towers of the World Trade Center. The imagery of walking in the valley between the two mountains also brought to mind the 23rd Psalm and it’s traditional translation “Yea, though I would through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil. For you are with me.”

I also thought of the commandment to destroy the worship sites of other nations in order to worship only in the place that God will command, the city of Peace, as I watched reports on the wars that have been raging since 9/11 and also the anti-Islamic vitriol that has become a part of the public discourse for some.

Keeping all of these thoughts in mind I tried to create a poem to express my thoughts and feelings in this moment. I hope you will find it meaningful.

between the mountains

between the towers

Walking between the mountains

between the towers of blessing and curse

wondering which is which

knowing each is both and neither

the curse permeates all

stench of burning flesh melted steel charred paper asbestos and fuel

the smell of hopes and dreams destroyed

permeating beyond nostrils

filling our souls as it empties them over and over

here in this valley there is no light no life

only deepest darkness and death

the curse is to live to survive when so many have died

true then and now

for those who walked that day between

the mountainous towers of blessing and curse

casting their shadow even after collapse

filling our world with putrid darkness

true for all who lived through the horror

and for those sitting glued to the screen

sorry we could not do more to help

glad we were far enough away from danger

at least for that moment

for ten years we have continued to walk through the valley

of darkness and light shadow and sun blessing and curse

still unable to know in each moment which is which

what once was seemed shadow suddenly bursts with light

what seemed a blessing now seems a curse then again a blessing

people things transformed in our minds through a mere word or gesture

gone are the days when it was simple to distinguish

right and wrong blessing and curse dark and light

if it ever was that easy

since that day when the entire world was immersed

in the valley of death’s shadow

when the obliteration destroyed all creation

the world again a formless void God waiting for us to reshape it

while in the same instance the goodness and godliness

of humanity of the world shone brightly through the darkness

on that day when humanity was at its worst

humanity was also at its best

as curses of hate were shrieked as evil ones sought to destroy our world

cries of blessings of love were uttered by those seeking to repair

from the streets the rooftops the mountains the world

those who survived those who cared

heard in the still small voice within all of us who cared

today the blessings still drown the curses

of those asserting that we must destroy

those claim that hatred can defeat hatred

for we know that it never can

as we walk between the mountains of smoke and shadow

we are called from above and within not to remain in the valley

but to walk through it on our way

to create a city country world

of peace and harmony love and blessing

the task is not easy

the memories of the days keep us stuck in the valley at times

but together we must continue to march out from the shadows

guided by the names the faces the souls

to the city of light and love that we are still creating in each moment

to the place beside the waters that restore our soul

enabling us to rest on the fields of peace

remembering all we have lost

being grateful for all we have gained

keeping the light of memories alive as new ones are created

one moment one soul one light at a time

Parshat Ki Tetze: Being Grateful for What We Have, Even Though We Know It Is Not Ours

2011-09-09T16:31:00.007-04:00

This week's parashah/portion, Ki Tetzei (Devarim /Deuteronomy 21:10 – 25:19), contains the greatest number of mitzvot/commandments of any Torah portion. The 72 mitzvot found in the parashah focus on everything from the treatment of captives, defiant children, lost animals, suspected adulterers and the poor. This amalgam of mitzvot may seem random at times, and yet there is a guiding principle which reminds us not to be indifferent to other people and the world around us.

One of the mitzvot found in the parashah concerns the to return lost property, no matter what it may be or how long ago we may have discovered it. In reading, the commentaries on Ki Tetzei I came across many concerning this specific mitzvah.

One Hassidic tale relates the story of a man who came to the great rabbi Aaron of Chernobyl to tell him of a terrible recurring nightmare that he was having. The man had found a wallet containing a fortune. When he could not find the owner in the crowd he kept the money, and with it became even wealthier than he could have imagined. In his nightmare, the man to whom the money had originally belonged became destitute and had to beg in the streets. He died leaving his wife and children in poverty so that his children could not even afford an education.

The rabbi instructed him to find the man who had originally owned the money and give him half of the wealth he had accumulated. Once he did so, the man's nightmares ceased.

The other story is used as a parable to teach about this mitzvah in a more indirect manner. In this Talmudic story (Ta'anit 25a) men carrying two measures of barley visited Rabbi Pinchas ben Yair. They deposited the barley with him and seem to forget about it. Seven years later, the men returned to find that Rabbi Pinchas had sowed the barley and reaped great harvests. When he saw them, Rabbi Pinchas told them, without hesitation, to take everything from "your storehouses filled with grain." The original grain had belonged to them, and so did all that was produced from that grain in the future,.

In the first story, the man who found the wallet realized that he had profited from the loss of another. Unable to abide this, he was instructed not to return his entire fortune, but instead to share the wealth with the man to whom the money had originally belonged. In the second story, the grain was not lost, but it was simply forgotten. Still, in good faith, Rabbi Pinchas not only shared the wealth, but he handed all of the remaining grain back to the original owners.

Both stories operate based an underlying assumption that there is someone who is the "rightful" owner and someone else who is simply a "proxy" or "temporary" owner who must eventually relinquish not only the original property, but also all or part of what had accumulated. In principle, this moral is one to which we can relate. We must care for others as well as for ourselves. We have no right to profit from the misfortune, negligence or forgetfulness of others. Nor can we profit completely from that which is not completely ours.

These parables remind us that this is part of creating a caring society, just as much as the laws that protect the widow, the orphan, the poor and the stranger that we also find in this week's parashah. However, I believe that there is another underlying assumption within these parables that we should question. The assumption of which I speak is that the property is owned by anyone at all. In Psalm 24, we read "the world belongs to God in all its fullness, the earth and all who dwell on it..." In other words, everything on this earth belongs to God. Nothing is truly owned by any human being. An extension of this can also be found in the central teachings of mindfulness practice. For mindfulness teaches that nothing truly belongs to anyone and that nothing in life is permanent. Everything is temporary and ephemeral. We must rejoice in the moment, because that is all we have. We must rejoice in what we have now because we do not know if it will be "ours" the next moment, if indeed it ever was "ours."

We spend so much of our lives focusing on acquiring things, whether money, property, books, music, etc., etc. that we often forget to enjoy what and who is in front of us at any given moment. In both of the stories above, there was an assumption that something belonged to someone and therefore needed to be returned. Yet, there was also an assumption that nothing truly belonged to anyone, or else neither of the "finders" would have dared to profit at all or to keep – or return - any of what they had amassed.

I couldn’t help but think of this both as the 10th anniversary of September 11th approaches and as I watched the victims of the horrendous flooding in the areas of Pennsylvania that surround where I live. Those who lost loved ones on 9/11 and those who lost their homes and possessions in the flooding, along with all those who have lost property and loved ones in tragedies such as Hurricane Katrina, learn this lesson the hard way.

The survivors of tragedy know too well the sense of loss, whether it is of the life of a loved one or of their property. This truly puts into perspective the need to appreciate what we have in the moment, for it may not be here the next. I am not equating these experience completely, for though the lost pictures of loved ones, of family heirlooms and even one’s home can indeed cause intense pain, yet the loss of a loved one’s life is clearly without measure.

These two stories bring to light an essential paradox in life with which we must struggle that I believe is also highlighted by the loss experienced by the victims and survivors of great tragedies. Given the nature of society as it has developed we must realistically focus on "ownership" and yet if we look at the grand scheme of things we really don't own anything. Those who choose to become monastic or practice a life of true simplicity give up everything except what they need to keep themselves warm and fed. Most people are not willing to do that, nor is that what I am proposing. For we are also commanded to rejoice in God's world and everything in it. However, we should never lose sight of the fact that everything is temporary, from a human perspective, while everything is eternal from a Divine perspective. How to enjoy what we have and who is in our lives in this very moment while knowing deep down that the next moment everything may change is one of the most common, yet most difficult, challenges of life. We all know this deep down. Yet it is tragedies such as 9/11, Katrina and the recent flooding that bring it home for us on a different level.

Therefore, we must continue to engage ourselves with things and people to fill our days, and theirs, with joy. We honestly do not know who and what will be here with us the next moment. Acknowledging the truth that everything is temporary can cause us to despair, if we let it, and yet we are commanded to rejoice in what we have and who is part of our lives at this very moment. We must participate in life with all our heart, all our soul, and all our might so that we can experience that joy.

May we experience this Shabbat and every day as the series of moments in time, which they are. May we be mindful of and experience all the joy that each moment has to offer. May we remember to be grateful for everything and everyone with whom we share each particular moment. And may we do so acknowledging that nothing and no one can ever truly belong to us, nor can anything or anyone be permanent and eternal.

Still, knowing this, and knowing that each moment will end, and a new one begin, we must praise, give thanks and rejoice for what we have. In that way we can honor God, humanity and the universe, but also the memory of everyone we have lost and all that we once thought belonged to us, even though we realize now that it never did.

Humility and Renewal: A Commentary on Parshat Shofetim and the Month of Elul

2011-09-02T10:33:00.000-04:00

This week's parashah/portion, Shofetim (D'varim/Deuteronomy 16:18 – 21:9) begins with the command to appoint judges and legal officials to carry out justice within the newly-formed Israelite society and continues with a warning against worshipping other gods. The parashah then discusses the lawas concerning witnessing a homicide, the setting up of a judicial system and the appointment of a king once the people enter and conquer the land of Canaan. In addition, it also contains specific laws against worshipping false gods, child sacrifice, sorcery and divination, as well as following "false prophets."

In writing this commentary I was also aware that this past Wednesday was Rosh Hodesh Elul – the first day of the Jewish month of Elul. This is the month that immediately precedes Rosh Hashanah, the start of the new Jewish year. Therefore, it was designated by the ancient rabbis as the time when we are to begin the process of teshuvah/return and repentance associated with the holy days of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

Traditionally, each day during Elul, with the exception of Shabbat, the shofar/ram’s horn is sounded as a wake up call that we must engage in the work of return and repentance. In addition, the ancient rabbis also read the Hebrew letters of the word Elul (aleph-lamed-vav-lamed) as an acronym for the phrase from the Biblical book Shir ha'Shirim/ Song of Songs: "ani-l'dodi-v'dodi-li," commonly translated, as "I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine."

Though in Song of Songs the phrase is spoken by a human being in reference to her beloved, the rabbis also read the entire book as an allegory of the love between God and the Jewish people. In this way, the phrase "ani l'dodi v'dodi li" can be read as "I am God's and God is mine." It is this relationship between God and humanity (or,in this case, the Jewish people), with love at its core, that enables us to turn to God and seek forgiveness.

Though in the past I liked this interpretation, this time there was something about it that disturbed me. I don't have a problem with the idea of a relationship between us and God, per se (though the nature of that relationship is something with which I struggle constantly). Rather, what disturbs me is the possessive nature ofthe phrase "ani l'dodi …". For we are taught, in various Jewish and Eastern traditions, that nothing truly belongs to us, nor do we belong to anything else. When we believe that we really possess something or someone, we bring about our own suffering, and often the suffering of others. For once something belongs to us we often desire nothing more than retaining that which we think we possess. Yet, we many traditions teach that nothing truly belongs to us. One reason it cannot is that there really is no us and them, yours and mine. All is part of the One, which Judaism and others choose to call God. So, if possessiveness is not beneficial for humanity, perhaps it is not good for the One in whose image we are created either? Actually, if we are all part of God and God is part of us, the idea of either belonging to the other is just a fantasy.

In looking at the parashah one can find examples of God's concerns for the Israelites (read: Jews) that are based on the idea of possession and exclusivity. All of the various laws, in this parashah and elsewhere, that forbid the worshipping of `other gods', the building of altars, visiting soothsayers, diviners and sorcerers,
and listening to "false prophets" are ways of saying to the people "we are God’s and we had better not cheat on God with anyone … or else." The "or else" according to the Torah, being death!

Of course, in a monotheistic system it is not surprising that deity should expect fidelity, or what I would call "spiritual monogamy." Yet the degree to which the
authors of the Torah focus on this, and on God's jealous nature, can lead one to believe that "the deity doth protest too much!" It is as if God is almost irrationally concerned with the loyalty and fidelity of the people. And it is this concern and jealousy that leads God to behave in ways that might also be considered irrational were a human being to act that way.

Perhaps it is God questioning God's own commitment to the people that leads God to question the people’s commitment to God? But all of this can also be seen as the kind of unreasonable and hyperbolic behavior that is brought about by the jealousy and suspicion that arises in people when one becomes possessive.

Both partners in a relationship do need to feel a sense of trust and security in the nature of their commitment to one another. However, commitment is not the same as possession. In applying this to the Divine-human relationship (however one chooses to interpret it) it is difficult enough to to seek forgiveness from God, just as it is from a human being. But how much more difficult the task if we are unsure of the love, commitment of the relationship!

Conversely, as Abraham Joshua Heschel (may his memory be a blessing) might say, this is not only about our desire for God, but God also needs us in order to truly be God. Therefore, it might be that God needs assurance of our love and commitment in order to hear our our please for forgiveness and to help us find kapparah/atonement and taharah/purification when this process concludes asthe end of Yom Kippur draws to a close. The relationship between God and humanity, and between humans, that is at the heart of forgiveness and return must be based on love, trust and commitment. But if it is based instead possessiveness, then it is doomed to failure.

However, the simple solution to this problem can be found through re-translating the "ani l'dodi v'dodi li" True, it can be translated as " I am my beloved's and my beloved is mine, " which implies possession. Yet, it can also be translated as "I am for my beloved, as my beloved is for me," which implies a supportive, mutual relationship. This translation is much more in keeping with what I would view as the essence of relationship within Judaism, and within mindfulness practice across traditions. The relationships we have with other human beings and with the Divine are about caring and support, not about possession. They are based on the oneness of all humanity and the universe, and not on the belief that we are separate, distinct entities. Finally, They are constantly changing and shifting each moment due to the ever-changing nature of our essence, and not fixed and static in the way that those who seek possession and control of others might desire.

In this week’s parashah, when the rules are being given concerning the future king, Moses instructs the people that the king must always study Torah throughout his lifetime in order to avoid arrogance and remain humble. The commandment to always study and connect with the teachings we have been handed down in order to avoid hubris is a commandment from which we can all benefit. However, I believe this command also serves as a reminder that the king, and all people, are constantly and eternally in a relationship with God. This is what helps guide us on our journey through life.

The proscriptions against worshipping other gods, etc. and related offenses show us the jealous and possessive side of God (and therefore, of all human beings). But this gentler prescription to study is more about reminding us that all of humanity, regardless of any “status”, has one primary relationship – the relationship with God. That is, the connection with the part that within each of us which connects us to everyone and everything else. This is something we must always keep at the front of our minds and hold within our hearts. We find this human-Divine relationship manifest in our interactions with others and the love we share with them. We also become aware of it when we look within our own souls and see who we are and how all is indeed all connected. This is what allows us to face ourselves, others and God during this significant season of the year.

May we all have a Shabbat, an Elul, and a year, filled with love, support, introspection, growth and renewal.

Steven

Parshat Ekev: The Lessons of the Journey

2011-08-19T15:43:00.000-04:00

In this week's parashah/portion, Ekev (Devarim/Deuteronomy 7:12 - 11:26), Moses tells the people that they shall be rewarded if they obey God's commandments and punished if they disobey. He recounts how God freed them from slavery in Egypt, gave them victory over enemies in the desert, and brought them to the border of the land flowing with milk and honey.

However, God did not do this because of any virtue that the people possessed. Rather, God blessed the people because they were God's "chosen" and "special people." This in spite of the fact that they were stiff-necked and often rejected or rebelled against God and Moses during the 40 years of wandering. In fact, Moses reminds them that he actually had to plead with God not to destroy the people after they built the Golden Calf (among other times)!

The verses upon which I would like to focus are found near the end of the parashah. As they are not contiguous, I will cite them below in the order of appearance and then provide my own poetic interpretation of these verses as instructions for each of us as individuals, as well as for humanity, as to how we can be mindful of God's presence in our lives and of the Oneness that sustains us and our world. (Note: for those not aware, YHWH, represents the Hebrew letters yod-hey-vov-hey. This is the four-letter ineffable name of God)

Shabbat Shalom,

Steven

"And now, O Israel, what does YHWH your god, demand of you? Only this: to revere YHWH your God, to walk only in God's paths, to love God, and to serve YHWH your God with all your heart and soul, keeping YHWH's commandments and laws, which I enjoin upon you today, for your good. (Deut. 10: 12-15)

"Cut away, therefore, the thickening about your hearts and stiffen your necks no more. For YHWH your God is god supreme ..." (Deut. 10:16)

"If, then, you obey the commandments that I enjoin upon you this day, loving YHWH your God and serving God with all your heart and soul, I will grant the rain for you land in season ... You shall gather in your new grain and wine and oil ... and thus you shall eat your fill. Take care not to be lured away to serve other gods and bow to them. For YHWH's anger will flare up against you, and God will shut up the skies so that there will be no rain and the ground will not yield its produce; and you will soon perish from the good land that YHWH is assigning to you." (Deut.11: 13-17)

"Therefore impress these My words upon your very heart: bind them as a sign on your hand and let them serve as a symbol on your forehead, and teach them to your children - reciting them when you stay at home and when you are away, when you lie down and when you get up; and inscribe them upon the doorposts of your house and on your gates - to the end that you and your children may endure, in the land that YHWH swore to your ancestors to assign to them, as long as there is a heaven over the earth... [then] YHWH will dispossess nations greater and more numerous than you. Every spot on which your foot treads shall be yours ... no person shall stand up to you ..." (Deut. 11:18-25)

the lessons of the journey

I stand     we stand
here    today
each day     each moment
in the presence of

the One

we hear God's command
to walk to stand
to be one with    the divine
heart and soul    with God
at one
joining us together
at one
with the universe

we must love
be patient    be compassionate
walk     alone together
each footstep in oneness with the divinne

but if instead
we focus on self   ego   desire   passion

not unity connection   compassion
we tear down what God has created
   we build up walls around our heart
keeping God love connection      out
keeping self   in charge

denying the One
we acknowledge only self
which is an illusion
we walk in circles
            we stumble on paths
strewn with pebbles
                  shards of glass cutting scraping
hazards created by the passions of the ego
    keeping us away from the true path to the One
keeping us on the journey of the self

        a journey leading nowhere

separate alone not at one
connected only to self
the heavens dry up
     there is no nourishment    sustenance
there is only darkness drought
solitude bitterness hatred envy
nothing

yet all is not lost
if we cut away gently surely
the walls we have built round our hearts
we find beneath
the soft sweet true light of soul
the gentle compassionate
beating of the heart
our hearts God's heart

no longer lured away
by foreign gods within separating us
we find the true god
heart of the universe
also within but not separate
connecting hearts and souls
within the one

the skies have now opened up
refreshing renewing divine rain
flows over body
through heart and soul
returning to the source of being
from whence it came

aware in the moment
we take a step
continuing on the journey
that ends and begins
with the same step

this is God's journey
not my journey
this is our journey
home to the soul
this is the lesson we must learn
this is the teaching we must impart
to us    our children     our children's children
each step   each moment
sleeping   waking   walking
night day now
is a step
on the journey

to the compassionate heart
the constantly open soul
the love the beauty
the oneness of the divine

know that in each moment
the enemies within
trying to stop us

keep us where we are
sending us in the wrong direction
can be silenced destroyed
just for the moment

that is the lesson we must learn
and relearn

with each breath
god gives to us
and we give back
in return

every day every moment

of life

From Tragedy to Comfort and Beyond: A Personal Mindful Journey

2011-08-16T21:23:00.000-04:00

There is an old Yiddish proverb which is among the most overly quoted of all the overly quoted Yiddish proverbs: Mentsch tracht, Gott lacht. Man [sic] plans, God laughs. In a moment you will see why this dictum has been ringing in my ears more than usually in the past few days. But first, I would like to provide a framework for my musings.

This commentary is tangentially connected to this past week’s Torah reading, Va’etchanan (Devarim/Deuteronomy 3:27-7:11). But it is also connected to the fast day of Tisha B’Av, which occurred last week, and the fact that this past Shabbat was Shabbat Nahamu/the Sabbath of Comfort. Tisha B’Av commemorates the destruction of the First Temple by the Babylonians in 586 BCE and the Second Temple by the Romans in 70 CE. Both of these events, as well as other tragedies, are believed to have occurred on or around Tisha B’Av (the 9th day of the month of Av). And so it has traditionally been a day of mourning and fasting in the Jewish tradition. It is actually the only complete fast day other than Yom Kippur.

Following Tisha B’Av there are six Sabbaths on which the Haftarah (prophetic portion) read are called the “portions of consolation”. This is then followed by the celebration of Rosh Hashanah, the New Year. The first of these Haftarot read following Tisha B’Av is from Isaiah 40 and begins Nahamu, nahamu ami … Comfort, comfort my people, hence the name Shabbat Nahamu . Thus begins the period where we focus on comfort and consolation following the commemoration of destruction of the two Temples.

In his book This is for Real and I am Completely Unprepared, the late Rabbi Alan Lew talks about this cycle of destruction, consolation and rebuilding as the essence of the cycle that begins on Tisha B’Av and ends with the High Holy Days and Sukkot, the fall festival of thanksgiving. Lew’s basic premise is that our own Temples, our spiritual homes, need to be dismantle in order for us to rebuild and continue to face the challenges and changes that are part of daily living. If we try to hang on to our life as solid and unchanging, as permanent as the Temples were imagined to be, then we are bound to suffer. But if we accept that tearing down our Temples is not only unavoidable, but desirable, we can face change as part of life, no matter how difficult. Taking life moment by moment, as mindfulness practice teaches, we can see each piece as an unavoidable part of life and growth.

As the plans we make with such certainty suddenly fall apart (as they so often do) we can try to hold on to what “should have been,” what we desired and what we expected. But this simply turns the unavoidable pain of life into unnecessary suffering. Our other choice is to experience and acknowledge the loss, the change and the pain and then, eventually, to laugh, along with God.

I couldn’t help but think of that this past week. For you see, our family had planned for months to celebrate my cousin’s engagement at a wonderful party in Connecticut this past weekend. My two sisters were driving down from Boston and I was driving up from Scranton with my mother. We would meet in Connecticut to celebrate and then my oldest sister, Ann, would return with us to Scranton for a week of vacation that was to include the celebration of her birthday.

As we made these plans we knew that one uncertain variable was my mother. Because of her health we knew that we wouldn’t know until the day of the party whether or not she would feel well enough to make the drive to Connecticut. However, if she didn’t, I would simply drive up myself and then bring Ann back to Scranton. And so our plans were set. Or so we thought. For as is usually the case, an unforeseen and unknwon is what caused our plans to change.

On Friday afternoon I received a call from my older Betsy that our sister Ann had fallen outside of Betsy’s apartment building. She was at the hospital in Boston at that moment and we were waiting to see whether her hip had been broken or just her leg. Luckily, her hip was not broken, but her femur was snapped in two. She would need surgery the next day to insert a rod in her leg. Then she would need time in the hospital followed by considerable rehab.

We were all distraught over what had occurred. This not only for the obvious reasons, but because the lower bones in the same leg were seriously broken 23 years ago when Ann was hit by a car. This certainly was not fair to Ann. It changed all of our plans. And it was no laughing matter.

And so on Shabbat Nahamu/the Sabbath of Comfort I was driving my mother to Boston (from where she had returned five days prior) to see her eldest daughter following surgery. How ironic, I thought. On this day that focuses on consolation in response to tragedy, we were in the midst of our own family tragedy or crisis. Certainly it was not on the same scale as the destruction of a nation’s spiritual home and the slaughter of thousands of people, but for our small family, it was indeed a tragedy.

So many thoughts were running through all of our minds: we couldn’t go to the party, which meant that hardly anyone from our side of the family would be there. My mother would not be there to in some way “represent” her deceased sister, the grandmother of my engaged cousin. In addition, Ann couldn’t come home for her birthday and other plans needed to be put on hold or scrapped altogether. It was difficult in that moment to move beyond focusing on what wasn’t going to happen in the future, as well as what did happen in the immediate past and focus instead on the present. Yet when this struck me I began to write this commentary in my mind.

I had the opportunity to live on a personal level what Alan Lew writes about on a communal level. Our Temples du jour (and we all have them) were the celebration of the engagement and Ann’s coming home for her birthday. These both were laid waste by her fall. And yet in the midst of the sadness we were already finding comfort.

My mother, Betsy and I were there with Ann. Friends and family galore were writing, calling and emailing to be supportive. Friends of mine who don’t even know Ann were sending love and support to all of us via Facebook. We were indeed living the essence of Shabbat Nahamu. We were creating, over many days, an extended Sabbath of Comfort.

As I wrote above, none of this was a laughing matter. Yet, by the end of Saturday, once Ann had come through the surgery with flying colors and her healing process had begun, we also began to make jokes about the fall, the recovery process and even about missing the party (“if you didn’t want to go to the party there were certainly easier ways to get out of it!”). Of course, most of the attempts at humor were fairly lame. It was also clear that underlying the laughter was our sadness and frustration. But still, we laughed as if that were the only logical response. Mentsch tracht, Gott lacht! And so it goes.

Now, of course, comes the time of repair, renewal and rebuilding. Physically this is about rehab and medical treatment. But it is also about more than that. Each day there is a new reality to face (OK. Each moment, really!) Things may go smoothly, there may be set backs, we don’t know when Ann will be able to go back home (as she lives on her own and there are 17 steps to her apartment). So many unknown variables. But that is why the only way to proceed is moment by moment. That is the essence of the renewal and rebuilding.

As I wrote these words, three passages from the Torah portion (Va’etchanan) that had been read in synagogues around the world as we drove to Boston this past Saturday entered my mind: (1) You shall not add anything to what I command you or take anything away from it, but keep the commandments of the Lord your God that I enjoin upon you. (Deuteronomy 4:2); (2) The Eternal our God made a covenant with us…It was not with our parents that the Eternal made this covenant, but with us, the living, every one of us who is here today (Deuteronomy 5:2-3) and finally, one of the central verses of Jewish tradition: (3) Hear, O Israel, the Eternal, our God, the Eternal is One! (Deuteronomy 6:4).

From a mindfulness perspective, the first passage can serve as a reminder that in life we have no ability to add or subtract from the reality of the moment. What is, is what is. What happens, is what happens. Sure, we can try to change it. We can play mental games as much as we like. But that does not change the reality of the moment. What we are commanded is to be mindful of the moment, to experience the reality of what is. Nothing more and nothing less.

In the spirit of the second passage, we must remember that this reality is not about the past. Of course, I cannot deny the reality that we all build on what has been given to us. However, the commandment to live in the present is meant for the present. It is meant for us. We have inherited from those who came before, but ultimately that is not what matters. What is important is our covenant with the reality of this moment. Nothing else.

And finally, that which gives us the ability to attempt to live this way in each moment is the One of the Universe. God. Our Higher Power. The Divine Spirit. The Eternal One. Whatever name you choose, it is the unseen essence that connects all of humanity and the universe which provides us with the strength to face tragedy, accept it, rebuild and renew ourselves. Perhaps most important of all, it is the power that enables us face each moment and laugh.

We must pay attention with heart and soul to that still small voice within. However, we must also remember that God is not a panacea, quick solution or a “babysitter in sky”. On the contrary, that still small voice within us is what enables us to realize that there is no panacea. There is no quick fix. There is no heavenly babysitter. There is only us and the moment. But if in that moment we are connected, then that is all we need. That is what family, community, love and faith are all about. That is the essence of what we call spirituality or faith. And that is how we learn to continue one moment at a time. Moving from trial to comfort and beyond. That is how we learn to truly live.