Rabbi Zeitlin

A “mantra” of Kiruv organizations (institutions aimed at leading unobservant Jews into (usually) orthodox lives) has long been לעולם יעסוק אדם בתורה ובמצות אף על פי שלא לשמה, שמתוך שלא לשמה בא לשמה (….sh’mitoch s’lo lishma bo lishma), “One should engage with Torah and Mitzvot even without intention and understanding (literally, not for the sake of God’s name) because performing them in that manner will (eventually) lead to performing them for the right reasons, i.e. for the sake of God’s name. (This, or slight variations, appears multiple times in the Talmud and Zohar.) With greater faith in our earlier sages than I find justified in many of today’s leaders, I’d say that this principle is at best misapplied much more often than it is applied properly.

Of course, we all need to start somewhere and that usually means slowly, tentatively, without much understanding and, inevitably, with many mistakes. The finest musician cannot pick up a score for music he’s never before heard and, even with superb sight-reading skills, give more than a superficial run-through. The technique and the notes might come easily if he is sufficiently facile, but to perform it with the power to move an audience comes only after much work discovering a deeper and deeper understanding of the inner music. One thousand repetitions, without the player listening in, exploring, “mining” for deeper meaning and then further refining it will only produce, at best, a boring and mechanical experience.

Likewise, our emotional, intellectual and spiritual engagement with God doesn’t miraculously develop because of mere mechanical repetition of our prayers and studies. We need to continuously monitor our progress and explore new directions to cultivate it. We also need to navigate the at-times-painful decision whether to retreat and change directions when we’re stuck or to keep forging ahead along the same path because we’ve possibly merely approached but not yet reached our next step. Perhaps this is the hardest part of the entire process, not least owing to the ultimate impossibility of truly measuring our progress ourselves.

Of course, no one can see inside of us and tell us if we’re feeling closer to The Creator. On the other hand, it’s far too easy to give into the narcissistic solipsism so popular in modern western thinking that “if it feels good it must be right”. Even though our great prophets, sages and mystics down the millennia describe their ecstasy when they momentarily achieved devekut, direct connection to God, all too often our reading list is highly incomplete; we ignore their descriptions of the lifelong struggles to reach it.

Having never reached these profound states myself, I can’t tell you how you can. But I can point out some traps I’ve both personally encountered and studied. They fall into two major classes which, not surprisingly, are discussed in our tradition. The first is endlessly recycling, day-after-day, year-after-year our initial, entry-level practices. We become experts at Torah and Mitzvot lo lishma (rote) because we refuse (or are discouraged) to grow. Dulled by endless mechanical acts, we fear any deviation from our baby steps, and usually there is no one to even guide us further.

The mirror of this trap is the endless search for ecstatic, “mind-blowing” thrills. With no fear or awareness that chasing our immature ideas of “spirituality”, often leads to quick, dead-end highs that have nothing to do with our unique road-map of Torah (after all, Judaism isn’t the world’s only spiritual tradition even though it is the spiritual path “fine-tuned” for our Neshamot, souls). Merely labeling whatever feels good as “Judaism”, we’re dishonest with ourselves, no matter how idealistic we are. Seduced by “spiritual” intoxication, we have no reason to change (or really grow).

With endless emphasis on cycles, yearly holidays, weekly Shabbatot, daily prayers and mitzvot, we lull ourselves into merely “going around in circles”, whether mechanical/rote or free-form/roll-your-own.

Rather, Torah demands the spiral, constantly moving higher each iteration as we search for and develop our individual/unique relationship with God. We need both bravery and faith. Each time we pass over familiar ground, daily, weekly, yearly and longer cycles, we must let go of our previous understandings and experiences, no matter how hard-earned and satisfying they were. We need find a way to bring our familiar words and rituals, our road-map, at least incrementally higher. We seek nothing less than the admittedly unattainable goal of complete merging with The Creator, even while we gratefully accept much less…..just as long as it’s a little more than yesterday, than last year….

We need neither get stuck in an eternal lo lishma nor fall to the hubris that we can begin lishma based entirely on our own yet-unschooled intuition. We can balance timidity with אהבה, Ahavah, love, self-indulgence with יראה, Yirah, awe.

Not saying it’s easy….

I am very taken with a recent article by Annika Hernroth-Rothstein, a young journalist. In it she makes the case that our instant, reflex-like response to every call for BDS and its ilk has, by our very opposition, given these essentially empty attacks against us a life and legitimacy it otherwise would not have enjoyed.

Likewise, Parshat Korach eerily resonates with our daily news feed. Just as certain anti-Israel folks who proudly proclaim their Jewish credentials to justify their attacks, Korach tried to play his Levite card to justify his attack on Moses. קֹרַח בֶּן־יִצְהָר בֶּן־קְהָת בֶּן־לֵוִי, Korach, the son of Yitzhar the son of Kehat the son of Levi (BaMidbar 16:1-5) takes up the challenge to Moshe’s authority and Aharon’s priesthood. וַיֹּאמְרוּ אֲלֵהֶם רַב־לָכֶם כִּי כָל־הָעֵדָה כֻּלָּם קְדֹשִׁים וּבְתוֹכָם יְהוָֹה וּמַדּוּעַ תִּתְנַשְּׂאוּ עַל־קְהַל יְהוָֹה, “And they (Korach and his supporters) said to them (Moshe and Aharon), ‘You have enough!’ For all this community are holy and God is among them. Why do you appoint yourself as Prince over the Community of God?'”

After first giving his grief and shock a brief moment to manifest, וַיִּשְׁמַע מֹשֶׁה וַיִּפֹּל עַל־פָּנָיו, “And Moshe heard and fell upon his face,”, he calmly invites Korach and his followers to a demonstration of God’s will the next day, בֹּקֶר וְיֹדַע יְהוָֹה אֶת־אֲשֶׁר־לוֹ וְאֶת־הַקָּדוֹשׁ, “In the morning God will make known who is His and holy.” After this, he tries to negotiate with them and, when that fails, insecure and questioning himself, he reminds The Creator that he has brought none of this upon himself.

This is not followed by any scenes of Moshe organizing protests, gathering supporters nor publicly arguing with Korach. In today’s culture, one could say that he doesn’t flood the world with op-eds and facebook posts. No tweets. Rather, what Moshe does, and has always done, is to advocate for the welfare of the Jewish People. He pleads before God to not penalize them for the actions of just a few, הָאִישׁ אֶחָד יֶחֱטָא וְעַל כָּל־הָעֵדָה תִּקְצֹף, “Will one man sin and You be furious with all the community?” (ibid. 22)

Korach’s rebellion could easily have become a permanent “faction of the disgruntled” within the Jewish People. Had Moshe felt it incumbent on himself to hold a series of public debates, rather than walking away and allowing Korach to demonstrate his own folly and insignificance, who knows what divisions would have been sown in Bnei Yisrael.

Although in official function Moshe, as both Navi, Prophet, and Nasi, leader, was somewhat separated from the people, he never saw himself as above or superior to Bnei Yisrael. Totally without arrogance,  וְהָאִישׁ מֹשֶׁה ענו מְאֹד מִכֹּל הָאָדָם אֲשֶׁר עַל־פְּנֵי הָאֲדָמָה, “And the man Moshe was very humble, more than every man on the face of the earth” (BaMidbar 12:3)–he never saw himself as more than a man. גּוֹי אֶחָד בָּאָרֶץ (Goy Echad B’Aretz), “One nation on the earth” (Samuel II 7:23), parallel to יְהוָֹה אֶחָד (Adoney Echad), “One God” (Devarim 6:4) was and is his highest teaching. Flattering our own senses of cleverness with cutting remarks in the press or on social media, even inadvertently contributing to the fragmentation of Israel is the most destructive action any of us can take. Enabling trouble-makers by giving them attention, as every parent knows, is always a mistake. Perhaps for Moshe, his own lack of eloquence, אֲנִי עֲרַל שְׂפָתַיִם, “I am of ‘uncircumcised” lips” (Devarim 6:30) became a strength. May we learn from his strength.

The most common sermon for Parshat Shelach is that bad-mouthing, יציאת דבה, (yetziat diba) Eretz Yisrael has disastrous results. The infamous Meraglim, scouts, return with a glowing report of Eretz Yisrael and then turn on it as אֶרֶץ אֹכֶלֶת יוֹשְׁבֶיהָ (Eretz Ochelet Yoshveha), a land that eats her inhabitants. They thus tore the heart out of the Jewish people who were poised to immediately enter The Land, and we were condemned to wander the desert for forty years.

I’m in the twenty-sixth year of what was intended as a two-year “sabbatical” from life in Jerusalem. I pray I’m reprieved without having to serve out the next fourteen. This parsha speaks to me as not other because it describes my very own experience.

Like many American olim, especially in the early 1980s when life in Israel was in economic chaos and the United States was experiencing unprecedented affluence, I was on the receiving end of what became for me unbearable expressions of jealousy from a number of native-born Israelis. Being dati, religious, in those years when the overwhelming majority of non-charedi Israelis were (often militantly) secular, didn’t help (nor did the increasing political power of many charedi, backwards-looking, leaders, undercutting a forward-looking orthodoxy). Having a family like this as immediate next-door (less than three feet from door-to-door) neighbors made it inescapable. Day-to-day life became unbearable.

Now pre-conditioned to anger, paranoia and defensiveness, it seemed that I attracted the sort of experiences that my friends only confronted very occasionally, and they with much more patience and equanimity than I was able to muster. I’d get overcharged when filling my car with gas, cheated by taxi drivers and by grocers who, literally, had their thumbs resting on the scale. And don’t get me started on contending with Israeli drivers.

Most of my friends, including Israelis I knew, tolerated my kvetching good-naturedly. One friend, however, was horrified and I remember her voice rising in fear when she said, “Don’t speak lashon hara (slander) on Eretz Yisrael!” I also remember trying to justify myself by repeating, for the umpteenth time, my litany of gripes.

Anyhow, it built up until I remember, screaming out to myself in my car that was caught in yet another senseless gridlock, “This place is eating me alive!” That afternoon we decided to leave.

Although I spent the next several months traveling the length and breadth of The Land, lovingly and mournfully photographing everywhere I hadn’t previously seen, and although I’ve since returned for numerous visits, although I’ve done tshuva over and over and have become a vocal advocate for Israel in every forum I encounter, I’m still here. Not all damage is reversible.

Of course the Israeli government is imperfect. Of course we can better meet our challenges. Of course there are vestiges of prejudice and racism (although in my experience vastly less than anywhere else I’ve ever visited and infinitely less than it’s regularly accused of). Of course there is crime (again, vastly less than in the US or in Europe). Of course Judaism in Israel has yet to develop to its fullest. But our approach must be to correct, not to condemn.

If one doesn’t, can’t or won’t learn the lesson from this parsha, try to learn from my experience.

Shabbat Shalom

We all live in (at least) two worlds, which I’d like to distinguish here as the spiritual and the practical. My nature draws me to the spiritual/speculative, but I’m constantly dragged back “down to earth” by the practical. In many areas this is truly a blessing since the “practical” includes my children and extended family and other people I love. Likewise, my need to make a living has led me to become a freelance Torah teacher as well as an artist.

When it comes to Judaism my attention is also torn in two. My primary focus is Torah and Mitzvot and how to better understand, practice and teach them. Although there is a political element, especially in inter-denominational politics, my not being a shul or other institutional rabbi pretty much saves me from that. Eretz Yisrael, of course, since the days of Avraham Avinu, four thousand years ago, and Yerushalayim, holy to us for three thousand years, are and have been central to the Jewish People. Exiled for two thousand years in Rome’s attempt to wipe out Judaism, our survival and return to establish in 1948 a sovereign state there, later reunifying Jerusalem in 1967, is nothing less than miraculous. Unfortunately, a world heritage of anti-semitism coinciding with the emergence of jihad-unleashed barbarism, forces a too-strong political component, impossible to ignore, on my love for Israel .

At the very least, I admit to my own inability to not get drawn in. When we’re under attack, especially from people and institutions (both from without and, more hurtfully and damaging, from within our faith) that have historically been our allies, my pain and outrage boil over. On the one hand, to remain silent is immoral, but it’s easy to go overboard. Additionally, bombarded by constant attempts to undermine our legitimacy, many of our people need and deserve reassurance that we are the victims, not the exploiters and that our legal, spiritual, historical and moral claims are just. But again, I often let myself get carried away.

All this distracts not only from my own preference and “area of expertise”, but also from my responsibilities to teach Torah and not to lecture on politics. It’s important to be able to distinguish between the two. It’s easy to miss opportunities to inspire while focusing on condemnations instead and it’s easy to discourage even when meaning to encourage.

Because of the tragic consequences of the main theme of Parshat Shelach (Bnei Yisrael is condemned to wander 40 years in the desert rather than enter The Land after the scouts (meraglim) deflate The People’s confidence with their slander of Eretz Yisrael and their emphasis on threats rather than on promise) other themes are often overlooked. This parsha, however, ends with the chapter of ציצית (Tzitzit), mitzva of “fringes” (actually eight strings) attached to each corner of our clothes.

These few verses (BaMidbar 16:37-41) are so central to our observance that they are included as the third of only three chapters of the קריאת שמע (K’riyat Sh’ma), the twice daily recital of God’s Unity and the centerpiece of our daily meditations. They are also significant halachically. First, they contain the mandate for the mitzva itself, וְעָשׂוּ לָהֶם צִיצִת עַל־כַּנְפֵי בִגְדֵיהֶם, “And you shall make “fringes” (strings) on the corners of your garments” (verse 38), followed by וְנָתְנוּ עַל־צִיצִת הַכָּנָף פְּתִיל תְּכֵלֶת, “And you shall put a blue thread (P’til T’chelet) on the fringes”. (Actually, until very recently we’ve only observed this mitzva in a symbolic way since the proper blue dye was lost for 1300 years, leaving us only the white threads.)

The very next verse (39) contains the commandment, וּרְאִיתֶם אֹתוֹ, “And you will see it (the P’til T’chelet, blue thread)” which is halachically significant in how we define morning, at least in terms of when we can first recite the קריאת שמע (K’riyat Shema), which the Mishna (Berachot 1:2) defines as when we can distinguish between (the) blue (thread) and white (the other threads on each corner), in other words when there is enough light in the sky to begin to perceive color. Another opinion (Rabbi Eliezer) in the same Mishna says that we need to be able distinguish between t’chelet (blue) and karti (green), a more subtle contrast requiring a few minutes more daylight.

Rashi (Sota 17a, quoting Tikkunei Zohar 126b) explains that t’chelet (blue) resembles the sea which resembles the “firmament” which resembles the Heavenly Throne. Seeing the t’chelet thread leads us to contemplate God which inspires us to proclaim His Majesty and Unity. Rabbi Eliezer‘s opinion is based on another association–karti is the Aramaic translation of the word chatzir (BaMidbar 11:5), meadow-green, pointing our attention to the earth. In other words, according to Rabbi Eliezer we should wait until we can distinguish between Heaven and Earth in order to proclaim God’s unity.

The distinctions between Spiritual and Practical are very real and must be recognized. But once we see honor both it’s time to recognize God’s presence transcending all.

We live as a tiny group within the context of a very large and highly complex human society. There is much to be said for open and honest conversation with people of other faiths. With our mandate to be a Light to the Nations, we need to share our unique insights and hard-won truths about the inner and the transcendent reality of this world.

Likewise, in our millennia of exile, forcibly separated from the nourishment of our land, separated from one another, forced to exist where our paths and traditions were not only forgotten, but banned and suppressed, is it any surprise that much of our knowledge was lost? There is at least anecdotal evidence that Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan z”l, who almost single-handedly (and with the endorsement of major American poskim (halachic authorities)) rekindled interest and participation in our almost-lost meditation tradition, leaned some techniques from an acquaintance who had spent time seeking in India. Likewise, Rabbi Elimelech Goldberg, a well-known orthodox rabbi in Detroit, has developed expertise in several Asian martial arts traditions with which he helps empower young cancer sufferers in his Kids Kicking Cancer organization. We have nothing to fear from conversation with other spiritual traditions. Over the years, I, myself, have also participated in many of these conversations with Christians, Moslems, Hindus and Buddhists.

We have nothing to fear, that is, as long as we remain firm and confident in our own spiritual tradition. If we are proud, rather than apologetic, of our lessons and our mission in this world, we can be partners in a dialogue of equals.

The danger is when we feel we have to break from our own roots, from our millennia-old truths and customs. If we feel we have to somehow apologize for merely surviving intact, for our age-old beliefs and traditions, for those who have remained more faithful and uncompromising than we, ourselves, might have become, then we cause more damage than we reap benefit. There are many examples, of course, of Jewish leaders who remain steadfast in their observance while establishing incredibly productive dialogues with other faiths. Just a very few who come immediately to mind include Rabbi Shlomo Riskin and the late Rabbi Menachem Froman z”l who built and continue to build many bridges with their Moslem neighbors and colleagues, Rabbi David Rosen and his dialogue with the Catholic Church which resulted in historic diplomatic ties between Israel and the Vatican, and Rabbi Alan Brill (browse around this webpage and explore his full site–there are many articles on productive relationships with other faiths) with his recent studies in India.

There’s another phenomenon I’ve noticed in my own meetings with other faith leaders. Perhaps it’s because I’m an orthodox rabbi myself that I’m paired with other “orthodox” clergy, but by far the most productive conversations I’ve had have been with leaders who are also faithful to their own traditions. I hosted a US State Department sponsored delegation of clergy and academics from Pakistan and Afghanistan several years ago,. These men neither watered down their practice nor their presentation of their beliefs and they wouldn’t have even bothered to visit me if they suspected that I had mine.

Of course we can almost infinitely expand the “agreement space” if both of us retreat from commitment to our traditional observance, but then each side only shares increasing secularity rather than sharing faiths.

In other words, while I not only support but actively engage in these dialogues, I fail to see the gain of building bridges with others when we burn bridges with our own.

I live in a state of constant dissatisfaction. No matter what I achieve, I want more. I know I can go further because others before me have.

I’m not talking about money or recognition or even fingerboard dexterity on my guitar, although more of all of these things would be, superficially at least, nice, I guess (well, certainly improved guitar dexterity would be welcome). Rather, I’m talking as a God-seeking Jew.

Perhaps it’s growing up in an era of media-launched gurus of all stripes. It could also be an outcome of the obsession for complete and instant gratification on every level. Perhaps as a result of horrific oppression and the mistaken thought that by keeping a low profile we might, as a people, escape any future return of holocaust-like experiences, leading to “white-bread” Jewish communities across the denominational spectrum. Or it could be that we all took too much LSD in our youths and developed a stupid idea that drug-induced hallucinations are equivalent to spiritual ecstasy. Perhaps we’ve all been seduced to accept that self-satisfaction and a good pat-on-the-back is a true peak experience. But, whatever the reason or combination of reasons, it’s almost impossible to find rabbis and rebbes who will lead the way towards ever-greater and deeper devekut, attachment, with The Infinite. Perhaps those few who actually know the way have been, for the most part, discouraged with our general apathy when presented the “instruction manual”.

Certainly in America, and to a large degree in Israel as well, the theme of Judaism has degenerated to “don’t rock the boat”. Millennia of galut, exile among mostly hostile people, trained us to keep our heads down, to not call attention to ourselves as Jews and, most of all, never ever do anything to incur the wrath of the nations. Israel, a sovereign nation, fears applying sovereignty and civil law on almost half its landmass, it so fears annoying the western powers by offending the waqf and allowing Jews (and Christians too, I might add) to pray on the holiest spot on earth. Most modern orthodox synagogues I’ve visited in the US look like meetings of corporate executives and lawyers (an identity which is, perhaps, more important to many than their identity as Jews), and they, along with the other denominations offer continuous reruns of Judaism 101 and old-favorite singalongs, fearful of challenging anyone to rise above themselves.

I know there are a few leaders and teachers out there who really do instill a desire as well as provide guidance on navigating our path of Torah and Mitzvot to move higher and higher; many years ago I had the privilege of knowing one. But they are rarer than fine gold (and probably always were).

I started studying the Rebbe RaShab (Sholom Dovber Schneersohn 1860-1920, the fifth Lubavitcher Rebbe) and finally find someone who explicitly talks about the passion of our relationship with God as well as the passion with which we must seek Him. He describes a hyper-real consciousness which accompanies and defines our ultimate devekut. He doesn’t discuss fund-raising,  the relationship of Lubavitch with other Chassidic groups or with other branches of Judaism. Allowing for no distractions or “issues”, he is single-focused on God and how we each can form our strongest bond with Him. Period.

Since his death in 1982, I’ve searched far and wide for someone to take up the voice of Rabbi Shloime Twerski zt”l who first showed me that our goal should be no lower than God Himself. Of course community building, the day-to-day needs of our families and ourselves, our relationship with the larger world Jewish community are all very important, but, on the one hand, I’m convinced that if we are able to achieve this Oneness, this devekut with The Creator those other needs will fall nicely into place. And, on the other hand, without this as our goal, what value at all do those other issues have?

Our tradition tells us we can fly to the greatest heights and it gives us the blueprint, our Holy Torah, to show us how. We can bring the world and everyone and everything we share it with to its highest state of perfection. There is literally no limit to what we can achieve. But we need to know that God expects our utmost, not just our barely-acceptable. And we need, ourselves, to also expect our utmost. We need, deserve and are obligated to create a modality of real passion, an inner and outer flame. Playing games and merely giving lip-service, substituting our own eg0-gratification in place of Divine Wisdom, becomes shameful in contrast.

There is as hidden conditional phrase that precedes every mitzva and halacha. It goes like this, “If you want to participate in refining the world and refining yourself, then do…..(or refrain from……)”. Torah and Mitzvot are not arbitrary. They’re also not an excuse for any select group to assume power by running the rest of us through a maze. There is no such thing as orthodox, conservative, reform, renewal reconstructionist halacha. No more so than there are orthodox, conservative, reform, renewal or reconstructionist instructions to assemble a table from Ikea, no more so than denominational directions to get from your house to the grocery store. Halacha, which literally means “the walking”, gives you an opportunity, as well as detailed instructions, at just about every moment of your life, to participate in this tikkun, repair, which the mandate for all humanity.

No one goes to Ikea, schlepps home an enormous carton, opens it and, after taking a look at the instructions stomps off declaring that they have absolutely no interest and won’t be forced to “put three anchor screws into the half-drilled holes along the edge”. If you want the couch you follow the instructions.

In many ways, halacha is no more complicated than that. Granted, it’s much more time-consuming, but it’s also infinitely more complex and engaging. Also, we don’t find the same instant gratification of a beautiful and comfortable couch after just a few hours work because completing the work of Creation, bringing the Universe to its fullest states of perfection is at least a little larger job than assembling furniture. But the principle is the same. If you want X do Y.

Of course, there’s no point in turning the same screw in the same direction year after year after millennium after millennium. The immediate job always changes since, one hopes at least, that some of our earlier efforts actually succeeded and as we enter new phases there are new tasks–once we’ve assembled one section of the couch it’s time to move to that which is yet to be done and has its own instructions. But since each of us is also considered a complete universe, עולם קטן (Olam Katan), relatively similar to all others who’ve come before us and will come after us, many of the general instructions, Shabbat, Kashrut, Limmud Torah, Tzedaka, Tefilla and others will remain constant and timeless (although the way we perform these mitzvot has evolved, and will continue to evolve in relationship to what specific repairs, tikkunim, we’re engaged it at the moment as well as the current external reality (technology, the relative safety/vulnerability of Jews in a particular place, the possibility of living in Eretz Yisrael, etc.)).

Halacha is an art. Following this road-map brings us ever-closer to our goal, even though we’ve yet to reach it. It always has been tweaked when necessary, but by “engineers” who are able to envision not only our current position while keeping an eye on the destination, but who also understand the terrain in between. But these “engineers”, our giants of halacha (and we desperately need some of them now) aren’t limited by empiricism, popular trends or other narrow tools when they evaluate our progress and chart our next steps–not only are they trained in that very special type of thinking unique to the Jewish talmudic tradition: simultaneous linear/lateral, empirical/intuitive, practical/esthetic processing, they have also cultivated a highly sensitive openness to spiritual enlightenment (which is just one product of Tefilla and Torah learning and Ma’asim Tovim (righteous actions)). Halacha evolves but only in ways to bring us closer to our goal. When it changes merely to make it more convenient, “easier”, less embarrassing to our neighbors, just like any wrong turn it brings us farther away.

Halacha is frustrating, just like any difficult task has frustrating periods. But it also brings satisfaction, analogous to but exceeding (compare the scale of perfecting the world to building furniture….) to our hypothetical couch.

But, for we Jews, at least, Torah and Mitzvot are the tools we have. They are magnificent and they are powerful. They are also compulsory, if….

If we want to bring the world to its highest possible state of perfection.

I tried to fill myself with Torah this Shavuot. I recited the bulk of the traditional Tikkun, a “sampling” of the entire Torah which not only includes selections from the beginning and end of every parsha and every book of נך (Nach, Nevi’im and Ketuvim), the Prophets and the other Writings, it also brings mishnayot from every mesechta (tractate) of Talmud, the 613 Mitzvot (commandments) and a large reading from the Zohar. I also spent time over the two-day chag with the two Gemara tractates I’m currently learning, now including the Yerushalmi on Berachot, with the Tikkunei Zohar I’m slowly making my way through, with my new Siddur based on the Kavvanot (intentions/mystical meditations) of the Ramchal, the Rambam’s “Guide for the Perplexed”, the Ramchal’s commentaries on the previous Shabbat Torah reading, BaMidbar, the chassidut of the Rebbe RaShab (fifth Lubavitch Rebbe) and more. I imagined myself a pitcher beneath the kitchen tap with the water on full-pressure.

And, yet, I wondered what I had really done, what was the value, what, if any beyond exhaustion, was the actual effect on me? Yes, I was astounded, filled with ideas and inspirations and, maybe, a couple real insights. But, beyond the thrill of those couple days, was I really changed? (I detailed the seforim I studied not to brag–many of my friends regularly learn far more than I so–but to make the point that even this quantity and quality of Torah-learning left me still feeling empty.)

Rabbi Nachman Kahana, writing about Parshat BaMidbar, talks about love, the love God has for His people, Israel, and the love we’re supposed to feel for Him and His Torah. While I’m not sure that I completely agree with him, his point that the best a Jew who remains in galut, exiled in the diaspora, can manage is to to “have an acquaintance with Judaism…… even like Judaism, but…… not love being Jewish” deeply resonated within me. He describes as a necessary aspect of love the insatiable passion to be near the one you love. Regardless of how we might fool ourselves, reciting מלא כל הארץ כבודו (M’lo kol ha’aretz kvodo), “He fills the entire world with His Presence” (which itself is, manifestly true), that we can be just as close to God wherever we are as in Eretz Yisrael, it’s just not so. There are persuasive opinions (including both Rashi and Ramban, based on Sifrei (Devarim 11:17-18)) that mitzvot performed outside Eretz Yisrael are, in effect, no more than practice for when we are able to perform them in Eretz Yisrael. And in our day, that is something all of us, after two millennia, can do.

So, I feel despair that, despite the Torah I learned that Yom Tov, I’m a pretty poor lover, sitting here half-a-world away from The Beloved.

And then I remember that we’re all, myself included, embraced in God’s love for us, whether or not we’re fully, or even slightly aware of it.

This week, as we read Birkat Kohanim in the Torah (Parshat Naso), I recall the bracha that the Kohanim make before they recite that blessing to the community,  אֲשֶׁר קִדְּשָׁנוּ בִּקְדֻשָּׁתוֹ שֶׁל אַהֲרֹן, וְצִוָּנוּ לְבָרֵךְ אֶת עַמּוֹ יִשְׂרָאֵל בְּאַהֲבָה, Who made us holy with the holiness of Aharon, and commanded us (the Kohanim) to bless His Nation, Yisrael, in/with love.

So, having tried to fill myself with Torah, even from this great distance, I hope to become a better lover this coming year.

Shabbat Shalom

Although the period of time between Pesach and Shavuot, which by all rights should be filled with the joy and anticipation of receiving Torah, has been designated a time of semi-mourning with restrictions on weddings, shopping, music and other celebrations, commemorating the slaughter of up to three-quarters of the world’s Jews during the Bar Kochba failed war of liberation, there have always been cracks in this facade of mourning. We move to the opposite pole, singing Hallel, a prayer of thanks of celebration, all seven or eight days of Pesach (depending on whether we’re privileged to celebrate in the Holy Land or are still in galut, exile), two days of Rosh Chodesh Iyyar, Yom HaAtzmaut (added just before I was born) , Yom Yerushalayim (added in my own lifetime!) and Rosh Chodesh Sivan, When you add the seven Shabbatot during which we’re exempt from any kind of public mourning, with Lag B’Omer, another festive day as well as the four days from Rosh Chodesh Sivan until Shavuot when we refrain from Tachanun (a supplicatory prayer, the deleting of which usually indicates at least a relief from mourning), this brings us to a total of 25 out of the 49 days of Sefira where we actually do not observe at least some mourning customs. Some of us observe other important yahrzeits such as the Ramchal’s (26 Iyyar) where we don’t say Tachanun, adding to the total. In other words, it appears that over time there are fewer and fewer somber days in this period.

There is an halachic principle of critical mass, often needing just a simple majority. It operates in kashrut in some cases of food from an unknown source we decide on a basis of its likeliest source (kosher or non-kosher–a simple majority). Another example is the aforementioned Tachanun prayer which, because it isn’t said on a majority of days in the month of Nissan, is omitted every day of that month.

In spite of all the world events that seem to bring us closer and closer to chaotic destruction, we are, underlying it all, inexorably also moving closer to Geula, the ultimate redemption The שיר של יום (Shir Shel Yom) daily psalm for Shabbat, as described in a final passage of the Musaf service, is מִזְמוֹר שִׁיר לְיוֹם הַשַּׁבָּת. מִזְמוֹר שִׁיר לֶעָתִיד לָבֹא, לְיוֹם שֶׁכֻּלּוֹ שַׁבָּת וּמְנוּחָה לְחַיֵּי הָעוֹלָמִים, “A psalm, a song for Shabbat, a psalm for the future when every day is Shabbat and restful peace is eternal”.

May we be filled with the pure light of Torah this Shavuot and and may we make this אור עליום (Or Elyon), Divine Light, seen throughout the world.

Moadim l’Simcha

שיר השירים ה:טו) שׁוֹקָיו עַמּוּדֵי שֵׁשׁ)

His legs are pillars of marble (Shir HaShirim 5:15)

The Rebbe Rashab (Shalom DovBer Schneerson), the fifth Lubavitcher Rebbe, refers to the Midrash (Midrash Rabba 10:1) which plays on the words שוק (shok), leg/thigh and תשוקה (t’shuka), desire, to introduce God’s Desire as a primary/foundational force in creating the universe.

The Torah teaches, וִהְיִיתֶם לִי קְדשִׁים כִּי קָדוֹשׁ אֲנִי, And you should be holy to Me since I am holy (Vayikra 20:26), from where we learn the mandate to imitate God (Just as He is graceful and merciful, you should be graceful and merciful (Bavli Shabbat 133b)).

Thus, although of course we can know absolutely nothing of the true nature of God, in so far as He reveals Himself by the ways He relates to our world, we should follow His lead and live and act, especially in our spiritual lives, with passionate desire.

How often do any of us actually learn Torah or perform any mitzva with true, unbridled passion? I’m not talking about a good sing-a-long in shul, but with the passion we exhibit when we want to please and to savor the one we truly love. How many of us follow the lead of the Shulchan Aruch whose very first instruction for each day (Orach Chayim 1:1) יתגבר כארי לעמוד בבוקר לעבודת בוראו, is “Fortify yourself like a lion to rise in the morning to serve your Creator”? I confess that I rarely do.

Our Jewish day, week and year are often mis-described as circular; rather they are, or should be, spiral. As we reencounter Shavuot each year (as well as all the other holy days), we should be be substantially different, more developed and refined, people than we were the previous year. We should enter this chag in a full-out run, starved to re-experience, this time at a higher level of understanding, experience and passion than ever before, the massive “download” of all reality which was the original (and, really, is the ongoing) Matan Torah, the gifting of Torah at Sinai.

Similarly, each Shabbat we enter should have the novelty and excitement of that first, purest experience in Eden, but deeper and deeper each and every week. My Shacharit tomorrow should far outshine my Shacharit of today which should have far outshone my Shacharit of just yesterday.

The reality, on the other hand, for most of us most of the time, is that we’re happy we davened at all, observed Shabbat at all, observed the chag at all.

We’re, all of us, running on empty. And much worse than that, we’re usually not even aware that our tank has run dry. Nor aware that we’re no longer moving.

Shavuot is, by definition, the occasion to fill up our tanks with Torah to fuel us for a full year!

But it’s impossible to fill when you don’t realize you’re empty. So I propose a new and deeper level of observing the mitzva of counting the Omer, the days between Pesach and Shavuot. It’s become increasingly popular and widespread, even (especially?) in non-orthodox circles, to follow the kavvana (intention, pre-observance meditation) in many siddurim, ….יְתֻקַּן מַה שֶׁפָּגַמְתִּי בִּסְפִירָה (y’tukan mah sh’pegamti b’sphira….), “to repair what I damaged in the sephira…..” (in this context, one of 49 systematically examined personality traits, one for each day).

I propose that rather than trying to self-analyze, given that most of us are not trained psychologists or therapists and probably not that effective in actual healing (we also have another Torah teaching that a prisoner cannot free himself), we at least begin by examining that part our our personality to see just how starved it has become. In other words, we check each of our 49 sub-tanks over this seven-week period and note just how desperately we need the nourishment, wisdom and energy of Torah to ever become effective again.

This way, rather than entering Shavuot having fooled ourselves into thinking we’re finally whole, we enter this day painfully aware of our emptiness, passionate like never before for Torah.

Moadim l’Simcha