A Dayenu for Tisha B'Av: Shabbat Chazon 5780/2020

This Shabbat is the Shabbat before Tisha B’Av, the day that we remember the greatest tragedies and sufferings of Jewish history beginning with the destruction of the Temples in Jerusalem.

Tisha B’Av day falls this coming Thursday.  If we want to know what day of the week Tisha B’Av will be, look at what day is the first day of Passover.  Tisha B’Av will always be on the same day.  

These two holidays though are linked by more than a quirk of the calendar, and they also link to our experience of Jewish life, and life in general, during these pandemic days.

On Passover we say, “Dayenu”, it would have been enough, if God had only taken us out of Egypt, Dayenu, if God had only given us Shabbat, Dayenu, if God had only given us the Torah, Dayenu, it would have been enough.  All things Goddid for us.

And when the Rabbis looked back at the destruction of the Temples and of Jerusalem, they claimed in contrast to Dayenu that we caused the cataclysm.  After all, how could God permit the Destruction of God’s House & city?  The Rabbis teach the Temples were destroyed because we worshipped idols, we hated our fellow Jews, because judges ruled too strictly to the letter of the law, and we neither read the Shema morning and night, nor did we educate school children well-enough.

The litany of ways we caused the destruction of the Temple reads like Dayenu.  If we had only worshipped God, and not idols, Dayenu, if we hadnonly loved and cared for each other, Dayenu…

Looking back on the Exodus from Egypt and our return at Tisha B’Av, how could it be that God led us to the Holy Land, established us here, only for us to be exiled again?!

God’s teaching after the Exodus though makes it clear to us God wants us to be a free people, independent, thoughtful, self-determining, able to care for ourselves and others as we shed the shackles of slavery in mind and body.  

But he prayers and readings of Tisha B’Av speak of us as slaves once again, olale’ha hal’chu she’vi, in the opening verses of Lamentations, the children of Zion have gone into captivity.

So we clearly did not merit the gift of freedom God gave us at the Exodus.  And then we search our souls to figure out what we did wrong, like we sometimes do in our relationships, especially when we have fights:   if I had only kept my voice down, if I had only taken the time to look ahead and provided for the need I knew there would be.  If only I had done it, dayenu.  

It's important to look at ourselves, the way we think and act, the way we relate to others, we see that beginning next week we have 7 weeks until Rosh Hashanah.  This is the time that teshuvah begins.  This is the time to begin to unravel our bad habits and our beliefs, and how it is we find ourselves again and again in similar crises and conflicts.  

And there’s something else that’s important to realize and internalize at this time, and that is the power of dayenu in the face of the continuing worldwide pandemic and all its bitter ripple effects, that in our religious life as Jews, as adults, as parents, as members of the Jewish and larger community, it’s important for us to give ourselves dayenus of a kind.  It’s important for all of us to know that whatever efforts we’re able to make Jewishly and otherwise, whatever contributions to our communities we are able to make, or unable to make during these times, dayenu, our efforts are praiseworthy, they’re enough.  If our children couldn’t focus this past spring on that day’s school or religious school Zoom call, or any more time online, dayenu, it’s enough.  If Shabbat dinner became cold cereal in pajamas sitting on the floor, dayenu.  If gemilut hasadim, service to others, can only be calling someone who lives alone or a single parent struggling between children and work, dayenu.  

If our ancestors could have thought this way, maybe they wouldn’t have loaded their shoulders with burdens of blame in addition to watching the Holy City burn and going into exile.  Maybe they could have focused their attention on the fact that they were, and we are responsible for our actions, but the invasion of Babylonians and Romans had nothing to do with whether we cared for each other enough.  

And if we can adopt a dayenu mindset, a proactive, thoughtful, dayenu mindset, then  instead of feeling constantly these days as thought we cannot find fulfillment, instead of feeling guilty, we can celebrate what is possible, what we are able to accomplish, and then, like our ancestors who walked out of Egypt, or like our later ancestors who went into exile with Jerusalem very much still alive in their hearts, no matter what the circumstances are, we will be free.

Studying Shnei Luchot HaBrit: #1, Lost and Found

Shnei Luchot HaBrit (Two Tablets of the Law) #1:   Lost and Found

Two years ago, after reading and teaching regularly from Yesod Ve’Shoresh Ha’Avodah, I was looking for a new source of inspiration to study in a similar way – slowly over time – like Daf Yomi but not necessarily a page a day.  Yesod ve’Shoresh Ha’avodah a book by Rabbi Alexander Ziskind of Grodno (d. 1793), is a book of ethics and reflection on Jewish life and prayer.  Joseph Klausner’s article in Encyclopedia Judaica, on his ancestor’s work, explains, “the essence of observance is intent (kavvanah); the deed alone, without intention, is meaningless.”  The way he taught that kavannah to pray to God always  joyfulness, for example, inspired R. Nahman of Breslov to say that R. Ziskind was a Hasid even before there was Hasidism.”  

The pace of my life at the time I studied and taught this book, as well as work and family stress, was helpful in a way I could not have predicted.  One lesson specifically helped clarify a healthier perspective for me as Ziskind teaches us the value of hishtavut, that we should neither pay attention to the negative messages people direct to us nor seek praise from others.  Instead we should be shaveh, as the root of the word indicates, meaning balanced, calm, or in a state of equanimity.  Suffice to say it’s very difficult to live in the “hishtavut zone” when it feels like your life is falling apart with troubles and work is bleeding over into discord at home.  Somehow though I kept returning to, and reminding myself of, hishtavut and when I took up a new job in a new place the ship of life that had tossed through countless waves finally began to settle into a reasonably flowing current.  

I bought myself a set of the Shnei Luchot Habrit by R. Isaiah Horowitz as a gift in honor of completing my study and teaching of Yesod Ve’Shoresh.  I chose this particular book to study by a method comparable to shopping on Amazon when we find after scrolling down the screen a section titled “People who bought this also bought…”  I was looking for further inspiration for life from a point of view not solely rooted in Hasidism or the Talmud or Jewish law.  And in searching for similar themes I discovered Shnei Luchot HaBrit (Meaning “The Two Tablets of the Covenant”), a multi-volume work that Horowitz wrote one hundred years prior to Ziskind with commentary on faith, life, ethics and more.  I began reading Shnei Luchot during the time of upheaval which led to packing up our house to move.  The monumental job of discarding, donating, and packing for the move derailed that study project, and then, after we arrived to our new house, I found the box with the other three volumes of Shnei Luchot but not the first one.  After several attempts to find the lost book, I summoned up hishtavut again and turned attention to the new job.  Like the Ark of the Covenant, the book called ‘Two Tablets of the Covenant’, disappeared into the ether.

When the Covid-19 epidemic struck, I was already six-months into my new job, and with the kids deep into the school year, it was necessary to carve out enough working spaces in the house for everyone.  One such space is a desk in the basement where I usually sit to sort mail.  Frustrated by the buildup of paper on this small black desk, I went through it all and organized it.  There is a pink storage cube by the desk with even more papers in it that I reached into and pulled out yet another stack to sort.  When I lifted up this pile, the first volume of Shnei Luchot was there.  In that moment, I felt like Indiana Jones uncovering the Lost Ark.  It felt as though the disappearance was not an accident.  Just at the moment I could begin to mentally devote enough energy and presence of mind to study something for its own sake, as opposed to material for work, it appeared as a chance to resume a relationship that had gone cold.  Looking back on the discovery, I am reminded of Paolo Coelho’s teaching in the Alchemist, “When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.”  

Through this reflection on studying Shnei Luchot, I want to share both R. Horowitz’ wisdom and also the experience of studying a text in the context of real life and living.  The act of studying is an admittance of a teaching I heard in High School, a quotation from Aristotle, “The more we know, the more we realize we don’t know.”  During this time of uncertainty, it’s important for us to stay hungry for learning, for asking good questions, and challenge ourselves to grow.  Through sharing my learning project, I hope I can contribute to the conversation about how we choose to live both during this difficult time and beyond.

Shabbat Shekalim 2020/5780: We count

One of my favorite characters from Sesame Street is the count, who asks us what is the Sesame Street number of the day, and then counts the bats flying around his castle to tell us.

This new year 2020 is a time the County would love as we begin the national census, an effort to count, itemize, and find out more about who we are, where we are, and hopefully how best resources can be allocated to benefit our needs.

And we find ourselves this Shabbat observing Shabbat Shekalim, a day that recalls an ancient mitzvah of counting the people of Israel when they brought a half-shekel to the Tabernacle in the wilderness and later to the Temple in Jerusalem as a donation. 

Whether it’s an ancient census in which everyone gives a coin of small value, or a modern census when advanced technologies analyze and interpret data, the bottom line is the striving to show that everyone counts, everyone is recognized and validated.  

The Rabbis compare the various censuses taken in the Torah to the loving way a child counts and recounts her toys and special objects to make sure that every item is present.  They say the same is true of God looking over all of us.

But there are those times, despite the half-shekel or the census when we feel we don’t count, when we’re not recognized, left out, and overlooked, when we don’t feel others are listening to us, when we’re surrounded by people but still feel alone,  or when we are lost – not knowing what to do, what to say, or where to go.

The Rebbe Yakov of Izhbitz teaches us we all face moments like these, when we struggle to overcome what we’re lacking, what we’re hoping for.

The Izhbitzer Rebbe teaches us that to correspond with all of what we feel we lack and we’re hoping for God gives us a spark of holiness, that even in the smallest actions causes us to experience what is good, and holy, wholesome and helpful in this world,  showing us how God is present in our daily actions, however tiny they may be in relation to the bigger picture of our lives.

The half-shekel coin is like this spark of holiness inside of us – reminding us that even our small contribution, given in the cause of holiness and unity, given in the spirit of fellowship, creates a house of holiness more remarkable and bigger than the largest holy Temple could ever be.

If we could begin by seeing each other in the fullness and blessing of who we are, who we strive to be, through all that we struggle and celebrate, if we could count each other and remind each other  we are here together and you are meaningful, you are important, you are valued, we would make God  and the count from sesame street, so happy. 

Shabbat Shira - Shabbat of Song 2020/5780 - Sing it out!

The Torah explains Moses started singing and our ancestors joined in.  We don’t know if Moses is a tenor or a baritone. We don’t know if our ancestors harmonized, whether it was a hip hop sound or even barbershop.  All we know is their spirits overflow when the door of freedom opens and they sing.

So often I’ve heard people say, I don’t have much of a singing voice, or I can’t even carry a tune in a bucket.

Let’s keep in mind that, just as an example, we remember Leonard Cohen as a great singer songwriter as much as we reverence the great classical cantor Yossele Rosenblatt and others like him but of course Leonard Cohen, alav hashalom, did not have a voice like a Rosenblatt or a Koussevitzky.  He did have a heart, a spirit, a kavannah – intentionality and sense of art and purpose.

On this Shabbat Shira, it’s important for us to emphasize how our ancestors teach us God looks to the heart, rachmana liba ba’ey.  When we sing in shul, or anywhere for that matter, when we sing about what is meaningful and important to us, when we sing to advocate for causes of tzedek of righteousness, when we sing at both simchas and moments of loss, God is only listening to the character and intention of the heart, and everyone, whether you sound like Bob Dylan or Matisyahu, everyone gets the golden buzzer, everyone gets a standing ovation from heaven.

The Talmud tells the story of Rav Yehuda who was so great in his presence in the world that by removing his shoe he could cause rain to fall, whereas we cry out to the universe and the response is silence.  But the Rabbis comfort us in this passage saying, rachmana liba ba’ey, God seeks the heart, as it says in the Book Samuel, God is speaking to Samuel as he gets ready to identify who will be the next King of Israel, and God says there, “God does not see as a human being sees, people look at outward apperances, but God looks at the heart.”

And so today, on this special Shabbat of The song, and more generally a day of celebrating in song, I’m curious for us to explore which songs are most meaningful to us, which prayers that we sing, which songs from our lives are most meaningful to us and why?  What happens to us when we sing them?  

May God give us strength and open up our hearts to sing today and throughout the year in praise of the Holy One who created us with the breath and ability to make the world more beautiful with the music we create ourselves and share, that with our voices we may start the wave of tikkun that will repair the broken places in our hearts, the gaps between us, until we achieve the unity of fellowship and purpose that, with God’s help, can transform the raw and discordant melodies of polarization, violence, and injustice into what Martin Luther King Jr. called a beautiful symphony of brotherhood.

Vayetzei 2019: Ladders

How many love to climb to the top of a ladder to do work, on the house, on outdoor projects?

I’m personally not a big fan of this activity.  I enjoy doing the work, but not the feeling of seeing the ground far away, of feeling unbalanced perching on the ladder steps, and of the strange disconnect between reaching up with my hands to work while my feet feel far below.

This week in our Torah portion our ancestor Jacob sees a ladder in his dream, and this ladder inspires him, makes him feel connected with God, as he sees angels ascending and descending the ladder to the heavens.  

What is potentially uncomfortable in using a ladder here on earth disappears in this image.  Here, our ancestor Jacob is escaping from home, hoping to find extended family where he can live, and praying God will guide and protect him on the way.

At a moment when his life is all turbulence, disconnected from home, alone at night on a road, the ladder is the symbol of connection and comfort.

Ibn Ezra explains how the great Rabbi Yehoshua believed the ladder serves Jacob as a way of sending his prayers upward to God with God’s promise of help and guidance flowing down, just as the angels ascend and descend.  

At moments of struggle and loss, at times when we can summon up neither the right questions nor the right answers, the image of the ladder reassures us of our eternal link between ourselves and God, that God’s angels are always cycling out of our world and back into our world.

We called to the angels at the beginning of our service tonight as we said Shalom alechem malachey ha’shalom, welcome to you, angels of peace, because we may find at times that much as we pray, as we call out to God, we feel our prayers are hitting the ceiling and not going further, and the angels carry our prayers, or perhaps when we pray we create an angel who travels up the ladder with our prayer.

As we continue our service tonight, let’s focus on which prayers are speaking to our hearts tonight, and when we find those words that we’re focusing on, that are catching our attention, let’s take a moment to see those words, those feelings, rising up through the ceiling and out into the world.  Whether we’re sending a prayer to someone we know who’s in need, or wishing protection for our military servicepeople after the two horrific shootings on naval bases this week, or we simply need to hand over a burden to God that we’re carrying, see the prayer lift up and out – see the image of the ladder.

And remember that in the classic wonderful stories of the wise people of Chelm, they built their synagogue without a roof, why did they do such a thing?  To make sure their prayers could rise up and reach God.

"We're all in this together" Kol Nidre - Yom Kippur 2019/5780

A story is told about Fiorello LaGuardia mayor of New York city from 1934-1945 during the worst days of the Great Depression and all of World War 2, a story I think helps us focus on our goals for tonight and the next 24 hours.  On a bitterly cold night in January of 1935, he turned up at a night court that  served the poorest ward of the city.  He dismissed the judge for the evening and took the bench himself.  Within a few minutes, a tattered  old woman was brought before him, charged with stealing a loaf of bread.  She told LaGuardia, and all those assembled there, her daughter was sick, and her 2 grandchildren were starving.  But the shopkeeper refused to drop the charges.  The shopkeeper said in anger, “It’s a bad neighborhood your Honor, he told the mayor, she’s got to be punished to teach other people around here a lesson.”

La Guardia sighed.  He turned to the woman and said, “I’ve got to punish you.  The law makes no exceptions—ten dollars or ten days in jail.”  

But even as he pronounced sentence, the mayor was reaching into his pocket.  He took out a bill saying, “Here is the 10 dollar fine which I now remit; and furthermore I am going to fine everyone in this courtroom  50 cents for living in a town where a person has to  steal bread so that her grandchildren can eat.  Mr. Bailiff, collect the fines and give them to the defendant.”

And so the following day the papers reported  that 47 dollars and 50 cents were turned over to a bewildered old lady who had  stolen a loaf of bread to feed her starving family, 50 cents of that being contributed by the red-faced grocery store owner, while some 70 petty criminals, traffic violators, and NY police, each of whom had paid 50 cents for the privilege, gave the mayor a standing ovation.*

For a shining moment in the dark of night in New York, everyone was equal in their responsibility to their fellow citizen, everyone was complicit:  those who had broken the law and the police who maintained it, the judge paid the penalty for the wrongdoer, and a message went out that injustice against one is injustice against all.  

As we welcome Yom Kippur this year, I’m particularly amazed and delighted the way this story that reminds us all that we’re all human, all mortal, all responsible, all complicit.  For one full day, sundown to sundown, there are no distinctions among us at all.  We are the old woman in the story, and we’re the shopkeeper, and we’re the mayor.  No one’s more holy or more virtuous than anyone else.  There are no political parties, we’re not divided into nationals and orioles fans, into redskins and ravens fans.  We are all human and we’re all here as imperfect, flawed and fallible.  It sounds harsh since we don’t use the word sin so often but we are all sinners, all of us struggling and striving to confront what we’ve done wrong.  We do this while also recognizing so many of us sitting here tonight have been wronged and are sitting here in pain.   How do we find the path again?   We can’t do it alone.

Our ancestors knew that we need each other’s support and help not only doing the painful times when we can’t help ourselves, but all the time, every day, knowing we’re there for each other.  And nothing is worse than going through Yom Kippur feeling as though we’re alone.  For some of us, we may be surrounded by hundreds of other people tonight and still feel alone.  Knowing we’re there for each other, even if we feel alone someone’s there for us,  is vital for our Yom Kippur holiday that begins tonight, and our Rabbis made sure to explain this very clearly before we hear Kol Nidre lest we begin Yom Kippur frustrated, angry, and lonely.  

And so just before the Kol Nidre Cantor Kappell recited in such a moving way, we recite, “Bishivah shel malah…by the authority of the court on high and of this court below, with divine consent and with the consent of this congregation, anu matirin lehitpalel im ha’avaryanim…we grant permission to pray with those who have transgressed.”

At first  pass it may not seem to be the most community building, ‘love your fellow human being’ message to hear before Kol Nidre.  

But that’s exactly what happens tonight through tomorrow night – we’re all here together.  We realize we’ve all missed the mark, all of us in some way or another, and this is then highlighted even more surprisingly  immediately after  Yom Kippur.  After a day of self-reflection, prayer, and fasting we finish at Neilah, and then in the short weekday Mariv service after Neilah that follows we say slach lanu Avinu ki chatanu and hit our chest again – what could we possibly have done wrong between the end of Neilah and Mariv?  We didn’t even leave shul yet!  Still, there’s something there, at the very least our pride in thinking that we were completely cleansed.  We’re all in this together.

The Rabbis explain Ta’anit sha’ayn bah mi’poshey Yisrael aynah ta’anit (Keritot 6b) – a fast in which no sinners of Israel participate is not considered a fast and our prayers will not be accepted.

And so in truth, even if we all were clean as a whistle and free from sin, we’d have to ship in some sinners from somewhere else.

Our Machzor suggests the permission to pray with Avaryanim is a way of making us all feel welcome as we come here tonight burdened with guilt and perhaps a sense of being unworthy to join with our community in prayer.

Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik underlines the importance of all of us praying together in a lecture he gave in Boston 50 years ago, where he taught, “The communal atonement effected by the very day of Yom Kippur is compromised if any members of the Jewish people are excluded.  We therefore make this declaration that we are permitted to pray with those who have sinned…” (Machzor Masoret Ha Rav Yom Kippur, p. 66)

Then in our morning prayers, we will ask God to help us become agudah achat, one people, one nation bound together.  The word agudah takes us to Sukkot, the binding that holds the lulav pieces together is called an Egged, like the bus service in Israel that ties one location to the next.  The Rabbis teach us that each of us is like one piece of the lulav and etrog combination, and all the pieces together resemble the entire nation of Israel, none of the pieces can be left out and the Rabbis conclude that each person then, whatever his or her misdeeds, whatever he or she is struggling with now, that each of us michaprin zeh et zeh, that each of us atones for each other.  It’s like the game where we stand in a circle facing in, then turn to face the back of the person in front of us, pull the circle a little tighter, and then we all sit down, each of us supporting the next person in the circle.  We’re all involved in supporting each other and balancing the whole community.  We need everyone’s voice, everyone’s presence, everyone’s input, everyone’s energy and the holy power of each person’s soul otherwise our Yom Kippur just doesn’t work.

But with all this said, Avaryanim, the word used in the paragraph before the Kol Nidre prayer, is a strange word to use for sinners.  There are other more common words for the same thing.  Rabbi Alan Lew notices this unique word and he believes it “suggests an even deeper reality that all of us share.  Not only are we all imperfect.  We are all impermanent, all of us mortal.  In its simplest meaning avar(from the word AVAR-yanim) means ‘to pass’.  We are the Avaryanim.  We are the ones who are just passing through, every one of us…”  We must confront this reality first before we can renew ourselves, and what better way to recognize our humanity, our fragility, than surrounded by friends, family, and fellow community members.

This Yom Kippur, this year, I pray we see the people around us, the people we know, the people we don’t know yet, as our fellow travelers in our passing through this life, through this world.  Today there are no distinctions among us, we are each other’s keepers, we are responsible for each other, and if we could think this way for one full day then what miracles could we accomplish together in the days ahead knowing in our hearts, in the depths of our being, that we’re connected to each other by invisible lines?

We will not ever all agree with each other of course, and that is a good thing, too much unity begins to become uniformity and God topples the Tower of Babbel in the days after Noah’s ark lands and makes us all speak different languages for just that reason  -- but we also cannot continue to be as polarized as we are, otherwise we risk cutting those invisible lines of connection between us.  We once visited a synagogue in New Jersey where some members mentioned to us that they recently moved their seats because they did not want to sit next to other synagogue members nearby who held to different political views.  The ancient Rabbis were familiar with dissension in communities and the houses of the Great Rabbis Hillel and Shammai, who vehemently disagreed on nearly all matters of Jewish thought and practice, still maintained social relationships with each other – they were friends, their children married each other.  

Tonight each of us can be like LaGuardia at the night court, recognizing how we’re all tied together by links of tradition, family, friendship, and being part of this community we’re creating every moment we gather – all of us here, guests, extended family members, people of all faiths with us.  Hearing Kol Nidre tonight reminds us of a critical lesson from our Sages that just as a person lights one candle from another and the original flame is not diminished, so too we are strengthened when we pass our internal flame to another.  May our observance of Yom Kippur strengthen us to do so every day of this New Year.

Tzom Kal u-mash-ma-u-ti, an easy and meaningful fast for those who are fasting, and  ketivah ve’hatima tovah, may we all be written and sealed in the Book of Life.  Amen.

*I  initially heard this story from a pastor friend in  New Jersey.  He quoted the  La Guardia story from the book The Ragamuffin Gospel by Brennan Manning.  

Erev Rosh Hashanah 2019/5780: The Whale

There was a front-page article in the San Francisco Chronicle that told the story of a female humpback whale who had become entangled in a spider's web of crab traps and lines. She was weighted down by hundreds of pounds of traps that caused her to struggle to stay afloat. She also had hundreds of yards of line rope wrapped around her body, her tail, her torso, and a line tugging in her mouth.

A fisherman spotted her just east of the Farallon Islands (not far from the Golden Gate) and radioed an environmental group for help. Within a few hours, the rescue team arrived and determined that she was so badly off, the only way to save her was to dive in and untangle her. They worked for hours with curved knives and eventually freed her.

When she was free, the divers say she swam in what seemed like joyous circles. She then came back to each and every diver, one at a time, and nudged them, pushed them gently around as she was thanking them. Some said it was the most incredibly beautiful experience of their lives. The guy who cut the rope out of her mouth said her eyes were following him the whole time, and he will never be the same.

May you, and all those we love, be so blessed and fortunate to be surrounded by people who will help us get untangled from the things that are binding us, helping to enable all of us to enter the New Year having grown and matured with our past experience but unburdened by its weight. And, may we always know the joy of gratitude, as our Rabbis teach us, the word ve’natnu, meaning “and they gave” -- this word is a palindrome in Hebrew – it reads the same way forwards and backwards, because in every sincere act of giving, we also receive blessings in return, as the divers did when they helped the whale to be free.

The story of the whale is also an appreciation of life and the ability of love to cut through differences between human and animal, between one person and another, and to create in their place ties that bind us closer together, with this spirit we wish each other Shana Tovah, a year of goodness, happiness, good health and blessings.  Amen.