Dvar Torah Parshat Tzav: Making Room in our Hearts

Parshat Tzav:  Making room in the heart

My heart was once just like a home

With many rooms and open doors

And I always let love in

It would change the rooms around and then

Leave them empty

'Til one by one I locked each door

And soon forgot what love was for

But I never gave up hopin'

So I left just one door open

In case you found me

So there's a room in my heart for you

If your trust has been stolen too

If you walk softly on this worn out wooden floor

And leave behind you the hurt you've had before

There's a room in my heart for you

We'll paint the walls from blue to white

And set the mood by candlelight

Together we'll keep out the cold

And I'll still be there when we're old

If you'll let me

So there's a room in my heart for you

If your trust has been stolen too

If you walk softly on this worn out wooden floor

And leave behind you the hurt you've had before

There's a room in my heart for you

(-Faith Hill)

With terrorists dealing out death and destruction to innocent civilians here and abroad, recently more than 30 murdered at the Brussels airport and metro on the same day, with a presidential campaign that has been charged, emotional, and often challenged the grand spirit of thoughtful debate laid out by the likes of the great Abraham Lincoln and Stephen Douglas over 150 years ago, we may feel overwhelmed by the amount of loss, by fear of the unknown, to the point that our hearts feel numb, and so we turn inward, turn up the music, turn up the TV, drown out and distract ourselves from the world’s painful noise.

We find in our prayers and in our  parasha today a call to action to do just the opposite.  

Take a look with me at the Second paragraph of Alenu, the section of this daily prayer that turns our attention outward to the world.  We ask God to perfect the world, that the wicked of the world will turn to God in repentance, that we will be humble and remember that we are mortal, finite, flesh and blood, each of us with unlimited potential to do good, each of us a blessing. 

While the heinous actions of terrorists such as those who perpetrated the attacks in Brussels and elsewhere do not deserve an iota of our compassion, there is still a chance, however slim, that we could influence those who might turn to terrorism to choose a different path.

Alenu demands from us that we at least pour our hearts out in this hope, however faint the hope may feel.

Alenu demands from us we leave one door of our hearts open.

Today we read God asks of Moses, “Ve’et kol ha’edah hakhel el petach ohel mo’ed.”  Gather the whole community in the tent of meeting – Now this tent for sure cannot hold the entire nation…right?

The Rabbis see it differently:  The Great Rashi brings down a Midrash, as the Rabbis teach us, the Tent of Meeting is one of the places where despite its small size it can somehow accommodate many more people than we think. 

What an amazing thought, that the holiest of places, by a miracle, can make room for everyone, that the Mishkan/Tabernacle/The Tent of Meeting, the physical and spiritual heart of the nation as we wander the wilderness, can make room for the entire people – everyone – the good, the wicked, the repentant, the as yet unrepentant, believers, non-believers, children, grown-ups, seniors, everyone.

Now the prophet Jeremiah knew, as we do, that, quote, “The heart is devious or capricious of all things…who can understand it?” (17:9)

Our attention is often short, our ability to process the most painful news and images is not unlimited.  We have to keep our feet planted on the ground so we can be available to ourselves and to those we love.

Still, we have more room in our hearts. 

When we recite Kaddish today – let’s open up a place in our hearts for the victims in Brussels, and push back on the fear instilled by terror, we’ll keep out the cold, and send the love out.

Shabbat Zachor: Jewish Unity – People, Spirit, and Purpose

I try to avoid ‘dating’ myself, but sometimes in the greater interest of teaching Torah, it’s inevitable.

We all remember answering machines.  Units attached to the phone line, rather than somewhere out there in the cloud or in a central computer, which recorded phone messages for us.  We waited to see if there was a blinking light when we came home.

Comedian Jerry Seinfeld once observed how he knew of so many people who would call a friend or family member only at a time they knew the person would not be at home, just so they could leave a message and not have to speak to the person.  The answering machine then became a relationship ventilator, with each side calling without any interest in actually talking to the other.

In my experience, hearing the stories of individuals and families over the course of a decade in my work, Seinfeld’s comical observation speaks a truth that’s very real, tragic, and much more common than I ever thought possible.  Instead of the answering machine though we have the ‘Like’ button on Facebook and calling the house instead of a cell phone to avoid speaking to someone.  The technology may have changed, even made it easier for us to be in touch and stay connected, but the disconnect between people has grown.  For every family with good relationships between parents and children, and between siblings, there are 3 families in which these relationships are barely breathing or broken.  And there is hurt, and disillusionment, and above all a sense of vulnerability.

The same vulnerability comes forward as a cause of our misfortune on this Shabbat Zachor, the Shabbat of Remembrance, literally the Shabbat of Remember! – in the command form.  Always the Shabbat before Purim, this is the day that we recall how the people of Amalek, a desert people, attacked the Israelites time and again beginning in the days of wilderness wandering after the Exodus.  The Purim Megillah connects Amalek to Haman – he is called Haman Ha’A’ga’gee, the descendant of Agag, one of the Kings of Amalek.

The vulnerability comes from any and all relationships in which our love goes unrequited, or there is chronic poor communication and misunderstanding, or the other person’s assumptions, possibly our own, hamstring us into discomfort, as we become stuck by poor information and the pain of being judged by who we were and not who we are or who we’re striving to be.

And the result of that is fracturing of unity, unity of ourselves and our perceptions of self, unity of our families, and ultimately the unity of our entire people begins to deteriorate though slowly, even under our radar screen, over generations. 

When the Great Hasidic master Rabbi Simcha Bunim of Peshis’cha reads our Shabbat Zachor Maftir, the one we heard just a few moments ago, he reads it as a moment of vulnerability and fracturing of our unity as a people.  He notices how God’s command, “Remember what Amalek did to you” is in the 2^nd person singular, directed toward an individual rather than to ‘you’ plural, the Jewish people.  In fact, he notices the whole parashah is written in the singular.  Amalek, Rabbi Simcha Bunim explains, could only have won out over an individual, one separated from the whole, one individual outside the pack…But if everyone were tied together as a whole, they would have been protected and not fallen to Amalek.  And he concludes:  This is a sign for future generations:  At all times Israel is united, Amalek – any future enemy – cannot win out over the people.(Iturey Torah, Vol 6, p. 149)

Haman is unable to win out over Mordecai, Esther, and all the Jewish people of Persia because they unite to fight back.  For sure, Esther leads the charge by pleading with the King, but she does it by including herself amongst her brothers and sisters.   

There are many Amalek type enemies – whether the regime in the same country as the Purim story today, or fundamentalist Islamic terrorism.  There are enemies such as the plague of fear that has gripped our country and taken hold of significant bandwith in the current run up to the national elections.

But how can we bring healing into our own homes?  How can we overcome the gaps of silence between parents and adult children?  How can siblings who have been at odds for so long reestablish some reconciliation?  How can Jewish communities like our own, with such a wide spectrum of backgrounds, beliefs, assumptions and traditions find our way together?

Purim is a helpful moment in beginning to confront these painful, divisive, and complicated issues.  Purim is the moment when we have official, and I mean that in the heavenly sense, official permission to laugh even when we are processing frustration, loss, and doubt.  The healing power of laughter is documented. 

According to some studies, laughter therapy may provide physical benefits, such as helping to:

Boost the immune system and circulatory system

Enhance oxygen intake

Stimulate the heart and lungs

Relax muscles throughout the body

Trigger the release of endorphins (the body’s natural painkillers)

Ease digestion/soothes stomach aches

Relieve pain

Balance blood pressure

Improve mental functions (i.e., alertness, memory, creativity)

Laughter therapy may also help to:

Improve overall attitude

Reduce stress/tension

Promote relaxation

Improve sleep

Enhance quality of life

Strengthen social bonds and relationships

Produce a general sense of well-being

Purim is also a day when we turn things on their heads the same way Esther and Mordecai overturn Haman’s evil schemes.  As the Megilah says, “Ve’naha’foch hu”, one reality is overturned and transformed into a new one.  Purim is a moment when we loosen up for a moment, turn the world upside down, and give ourselves permission to imagine what it could be.  Before we would approach anyone – a friend, a fellow congregant, a brother, a sister, a son a daughter – before approaching anyone we need to first imagine what the renewed relationship could be like, play it out in our hearts, and try to set aside burdensome resentments.

We cannot fix every relationship.  But if we are to stay committed to the larger cause of unity amongst us, individuals as part of families, families making up our communities, then even the strivings that go unanswered or unfulfilled in the end may be enough of a push in the right direction.

A famous story of the Chofetz Chayim, R. Israel Meir Ha’Cohen, the scholar who wrote the book on the ethics of speech – A student of his came to him in desperation.  “Rabbi”, the student said, “I’ve read and studied your book, it is so detailed, there are overtones of lashon ha’ra, evil tongue, in almost anything I can think of to say.  What can I do?  What can we do?”

The Chofetz Chayim thought, and meditated, and said, “We can start with a sigh.  For now the sound of our sigh will have to be enough.” 

The sigh, the broken heart, the unfulfilled expectation or hope, is in itself an awareness, a place that’s beyond the black pools of anger. 

Rather than survive on a ventilator, may the spirit of Purim help us see open doors where doors have been locked, and may the mishloach manot we give to one another, the gifts of food and good cheer, remind us that the point of this mitzvah is to show that each of us, even when we are at odds, even when we vehemently disagree with one another, that each of us is the gift and the food basket is simply a wonderful opportunity for brief time to hold onto something together in the exchange, see each other’s eyes, and hopefully a sincere and wishful sigh will break through the silence.

Finishing Exodus - Parshat Pikudey, the Mishkan & Celebrating our Own Craft

I recently watched a documentary about an annual competition amongst the best baristas in the country.  

At first, the notion of a competition among baristas seemed to me as unusual as a competition amongst those who design men’s neckties.  Yes, of course, colors and designs on the neckties may be different but the tie itself is the same here and all over the world.  In terms of coffee, of course, there are different beans, milk, no milk, espresso, Americano but in the end it is a cup of coffee.

As I learned quickly, not so fast…I was too quick to judge…

I was thinking about this film and the craft of designing tantalizing, surprising, even challenging coffee flavors and presentations of those drinks as we round out the Book of Exodus and hear this Shabbat the completion of the Mishkan.

The creation of the Mishkan involves so many crafts, weaving, wood working, metal smithing, embroidery, and more.  All the so-called Melachah, activities prohibited on Shabbat, come from the 39 types of activities involved in creating the holy portable Temple that accompanies us through our wanderings in the wilderness.

God selects the lead craftsmen Betzalel and Oholiav to lead the way, to show the others what to do and how to make their contributions to the holy place.

It’s clear that every clasp, piece of fabric, every item is holy since God gives the instructions and calls this holy place into being from the hands of the people and from all their precious valuables they contribute.  It is a work of art but more so a work of heart since the Torah explained at the beginning of its creation that the people only need to give as they are moved to do so by their hearts, “Kol nediv libo.”

When I watched and learned about the craft of coffee making I discovered new depths into something that for me is basically a daily morning exercise involving purchased coffee grounds, a filter, water, and my tried and true Mr. Coffee.  For the participants in the competition, coffee is not just morning fuel, or even just a special espresso or cappuccino from a local café, it’s a palate of flavors, something from nature that they shape with added spice and additional flavorings, in which milk, if used at all, is judged by the size of the bubbles in the milk-foam and the way that the barista tamps the espresso grounds prior to brewing – they go back to the lots of beans that come in, fixing where and how they were grown, choosing which set of grounds to use for the competition out of many possibles.

And we like Betzalel, Oholiav, and the professional baristas, also have our crafts – what is our craft? Or crafts?  Even if we do not sew, or do wood working, or scuba dive, we each have crafts that are special to who we are that may or may not coincide with the professional work we do or the professional training we have –

But each of us has at least one and probably more craft that makes our lives meaningful…

And the beauty of these elemental crafts is that it’s not a zero sum game, we know it because when we see others doing it we celebrate with that person rather than feeling a sense of competition…

A craft can be something as simple as being good a folding laundry, or using a piece of software, maybe we’re good at remembering names at meetings and parties or we are good listeners…

I’d like us all to celebrate our crafts in some way this week – as new week begins let’s think like master craftspeople or master baristas in competition, how can we make ourselves aware of the beauty and meaning of our crafts – to appreciate how they each in small ways contribute good energy into the world and make our whole world a Mishkan, a beautiful holy place full of God’s Presence.

Remembering Taylor Force of Blessed Memory

Shabbat Pikudey 2016/5776:  Unfinished, Unsettled

Lo alecha hamlacha ligmor, lo alecha ligmor, ve’lo atah ben ‘chorin le’hibatel mimenah…lo atah ben chorin…

The murder of Taylor Force this past week by a Palestinian terrorist, while he was on a school-sponsored trip in Jaffa, is a great tragedy, a tragedy no less appalling or disturbing than any other terrorist attack, but there is the element here that he is an American, he was on a group trip, and he was also a veteran – graduate of West Point, a field artillery office with tours of duty in Afghanistan and Iraq, a person who as I understand his story was enterprising and enamored to experience Israel, the Start Up Nation, that he might take lessons to bring home.

The words I started with are a quote from Rabbi Tarfon in the Mishnah, Pirkay Avot, the Ethics of the Sages (2:21) and it means, “It is not up to you to complete the work, but you are also not free to avoid it.” 

For nearly 68 years, Israelis, Jewish people of the world and our friends and allies have lived unsettled and unfinished in the project of creating a safe place to live, and grow, for all those who live within her borders – Jews, Muslims, Christians, Druze, and all others. 

I’d like to think there still could be a paradigm-shift in Israel during my lifetime, but the prospects for that began to tumbl down painfully many years ago, after Ehud Barak’s camp David meetings with Yasir Arafat in 2000 when I was, coincidentally, in Israel on one of the maiden-voyage Birthright trips that have since brought many thousands to see Israel, many for the first time.

Unfinished and unsettled – a feeling we take walking forward from this past week’s events in Israel.  Rabbi Tarfon’s wisdom hopefully proves reassuring for us, that maybe the effort and investment of time and energy is enough even though we may not see the ‘finish’. 

And then we read today, “Vaychal Moshe et Hamelachah”, Moses completed the work of assembling the Mishkan, the portable sanctuary – in language similar to when God completes creating the world Vaychal is the same root as Vay’chulu, Vay’chulu ha’shamayim ve’haaretz (God completed the creation of heaven and earth’, in similar language, Moses puts the final touches on the Mishkan and immediately God’s presence fills the holy place so completely that even Moses himself cannot enter.

Finished.  Complete.  And the proof is in the Presence with a capital “P”.

Only the empty space between paragraphs in the Torah scroll suggests the breathless pause between the completion of the structure and the infusion of God’s Presence – the moment when the hope turns into reality.

We’re still waiting and holding our breath for Israel.

We’re still waiting and holding our breath right here.

We’re watching our children, grandchildren, our students grow – wondering how their lives will progress, will they fulfill the expectations and dreams we have for them?  Will they fulfill, even surpass, the expectations and dreams they set for themselves?

As we’ve discussed in the past, Israelis are not the other, not strangers across the sea, they are our family, and for some of us they are literally family, mishpachah.  And they represent the renaissance of Jewish nationhood and self-determination.  We hope they can pursue their visions for the future without always having to look over their shoulders, without living in fear – a fear fanned by hatred preached in pulpits, condoned, and praised, by the very leadership with whom the Israelis have engaged in negotiations for a settlement.

If we are obligated to persist, then it is an obligation not only for ourselves and our families here to stay true to our values and dreams -- over and against people and forces who try to convince us we’re not good enough, or that our most passionate ideas are unrealistic and unattainable.

If we are obligated to persist, then the best way to remember Taylor is to support Israel, the "Start up Nation", Israel the democracy in a region of tyrants and bloody civil wars, Israel the underdog – scapegoated too often by the media. 

On the very slightly lighter side of the darks events in Tel Aviv-Jaffa, let’s remember the Israeli guitarist who was strumming by the sea – who used his guitar to smash the knife-wielding terrorist and was back strumming the same guitar the next day when a reporter from Yediot Achronot came by to ask him to describe what happened.  The upside here, the message of hope and continuing strength is the response to him by which he’s received so many offers of new guitars to replace the one he used to defend himself and others.

What is broken will be made whole again, perhaps not 100% complete, perhaps limping forward like Jacob after the fight with the angel, but inspired by a renewed commitment to the memory of those whose lives were taken in pursuit of their dreams.

Lo Aleca ha'melachah ligmor...