Rabbi Zeitlin

I’ve never quite understood why “in this world” we follow the rulings of Hillel (generally more lenient) while “in the next world” we’ll follow the rulings of Shamai (generally more strict).  Likewise, we’re taught that “in this world” the dominant force is Chesed/Ahava, love and forgiveness, while “in the next” it will be Gevurah/Din, strength and strict judgement.  This always seemed counterintuitive to me.  Our current modality, “this world”, is flawed and filled with injustice–shouldn’t we demand justice here and now?  The “next” is described as our eternal reward.  Shouldn’t we have an easier, more love-filled mode of existence as a reward?

We also learn that God originally tried to create the universe using strict Din, judgement, but found that it couldn’t survive.  After many failed attempts (and how can God fail? This is for another lesson), worlds created and shattered, He finally “figured out” that He needed to mix in a good measure of Chesed.  But, we’re told, in Olam HaBa, in the next world, the “world that comes”, we’ll go back to the original plan and eternally exist with strict justice, with Din.

It almost makes us hope we’ll never reach that state we’ve longed for, Geula/Redemption, Mashiach/Messiah, Olam HaBa/the world to come.

The reason our present modality requires a strong element of Chesed, which allows for forgiveness, is because we are far from perfect.  We make mistakes all the time.  If we, and our badly messed-up world, were held to a strict accounting, this too would likely become one of the worlds unable to endure.  It would, like the previous attempts (why would we think that the previous attempts to create a world were instantaneous? Maybe, like our world, the “experiment” lasted thousands of spiritual, billion of physical years, only to eventually crash and burn as we seem so frequently on the brink of.) return to nothingness, Tohu v’Vohu, utter chaos and non-existence.

This allows a pretty good understanding why, in our present state, we need Hillel’s leniency.  Perhaps one way of looking at it’s mechanism is to see it as a “peak-delimiter”, a permanent (for the time being) control that doesn’t allow the “volume control” of justice, of full consequences for our actions, to go above, say, “5” (out of “10”).  Any stronger consequences, even though they would be deserved and “fair”, and it’s “game over”.

The “next world”, however, is the state of affairs once we’ve perfected our actions in this world, fully redeemed this world, corrected/repaired it (תיקון עולם, Tikkun Olam).  In that modality, all of our decisions and actions will be positive.  We won’t have any need to soften the consequences, but rather we’ll want to full consequences of our only-good actions.  Rather than gluing our “volume control” at “5”, we’ll want it at “11”!  Strict, unmoderated justice.  Consequences obeying a more “laws of physics” model than one of do-overs, second chances and small potches on the tuchus, as it were.  It’s not that we’ll be “able to handle it”, as if, somehow, perfecting ourselves makes us some kind of macho narcissist, but we’ll desire it because it will only be more and more and more reward.

Today’s challenge, as it’s been throughout human history, is how to we finally move ourselves to that eternal phase.  More on that in future articles.

Although there’s no way we can ever observe or otherwise verify it, one of the foundations  of our Torah revelation is that God doesn’t change, אֲנִי יְהֹוָה לֹא שָׁנִיתִי, Ani HaShem, Lo Shaniti, I am God, I do not change (Malachi 3:6).  When we view God as even more than the totality of all that is, both within that narrow bandwidth we can observe and the much greater totality that we can’t, as the “field” of all possibilities, the unchangeability of God is practically tautological and almost trivial.  In fact, it’s so easy for us who study and engage with Torah and Mitzvot to take it so much “for granted” that it’s easy to fall into the fallacy that Torah as-we-know-it is also unchangeable and thus, so should be Judaism.

God has no need to change; that concept makes no sense in relationship to Him.  But everything else in the universe, including the Jewish people and our understanding and expression of Torah does.  Not only were our ancestors forced to repeatedly and dramatically change their world-views (see Courage and Standing Tall), we’re constantly taught that תשובה, Tshuva, continual returning (from whatever our current positions are), is one of the strongest positive forces in the universe.  Our holy sages, throughout our Talmudic and Halachic history, continuously refine their thoughts and conclusions, occasionally totally reversing their previous positions, and we’re told to see them as our role models when we study Torah.  Gratuitous change, of course, is of no value, but movement towards our ultimate goal, call it either גאולה, Geula, Redemption, or משיח, Mashiach, Messiah, is our daily duty.  חס ושלום, Chas v’Shalom, God forbid, that our current state of affairs is what God intends as our eternity!

No, I’m not advocating abandoning Halacha and Mitzvot.  Voting with my own feet, the world of Torah is very much my world.  But I mourn when it’s static because that means our ultimate Geula is being pushed back all the more.  Although I’m not a member of the “We Want Moshiach Now!” choir, I believe that all Jews, at least in the depths of our neshamot, souls, share that dream. I realize that our job in bringing it about is far from completed. We have a lot of work to do and we don’t achieve anything merely marching in place.

I’m also concerned with the isolationism that currently dominates, perhaps defines, the frum world.  I am, and I think we all should be proud of what a Torah-based life can be. Unfortunately, blocking all other influences carries with it the not-so-subtle message that we really doubt any value whatsoever in Torah observance.  Those actions, speaking louder than any words ever can, shout that Torah and Mitzvot are inferior, ח”ו, that they’ll always lose out in any comparison with other values and lifestyles.  Is it possible for us to be so ashamed of the source of our own heritage?

We value בחירה, Bechira, free will, as, perhaps, the supreme mechanism in human activity.  We’re challenged to choose the good, to choose life, not because we’re coerced or because we have no alternatives, but, rather, only because it’s good and right.  We’re encouraged to make His way our way, קְדשִׁים תִּהְיוּ כִּי קָדוֹשׁ אֲנִי, Be holy because I am holy (Vayikra 19:2).  How can we steal bechira, free choice, and thus cheapen the mitzvot that people do perform, through coercion?

One of the strongest memories I have of weekday davening at Rabbi Twerski’s zt”l Bet Midrash was that, quite differently from almost every other shul I’ve ever attended, no one would parade around with the pushka collecting tzedaka (with the box for charity). Although it’s often seen as a convenience, especially in a crowded shul, the Rabbi zt”l understood that in a deeper reality this practice actually stole the mitzva from the giver. One didn’t donate only because one wanted to, but, rather, because the box was thrust under his nose.

We, in the religious Jewish world, and here I include all the denominations and even the unaffiliated and uninterested, really do share the same goal of a perfected world.  I want to invite those of us who feel the path to that is best achieved through Torah and Mitzvot to discuss how we can stop shooting ourselves in the foot.  How we can draw people to this effort rather than repel them.  How we can make our own mitzvot more powerful.  Let’s talk rather than scream.  Let’s love rather than hate.  Let us, together, usher in the new world we all long for.

One pasuk, verse, always moves me.  It occurs in this week in Parshat Toldot, Bereishit 27:33, וַיֶּחֱרַד יִצְחָק חֲרָדָה גְּדֹלָה עַד־מְאֹד, VaYecherad Yitzchak Charadah Gadolah Ad M’od, And Yitzchak trembled a very great tremble.

Until that moment, all of Yitzchak’s adult life had been based on the wrong premise, that Esav, his physically-oriented but spiritually-bereft son was The Chosen, the son who would go on to found the Jewish people.  When events overtake him he realizes that he must now totally and immediately shift his worldview, give his full backing to Yaakov instead as the future Yisrael, the one whose children will bear the responsibility and privilege of attesting to the One God, שְׁמַע יִשְׂרָאֵל יְהוָֹה אֱלֹהֵינוּ יְהוָֹה ׀ אֶחָד, Sh’ma Yisrael, Adonay Eloheinu Adonay Echad.  Like his father before him, He shows the courage to overcome even himself.

He takes no time reconcile his feelings, no time to mourn his old paradigm.  Perhaps the nation that will flow from him will not have the greatest blessings of the material and will have to rely, instead, on our spiritual gifts. Yitzchak’s courage to see the world for what it is, not what he thought it was or wanted it to be, and to then move on, “get with the program”, remains one of my greatest inspirations.

I believe that our reality is constructed in a way that, among other things, teaches us spiritual lessons.

Consider that all known matter in the universe is made up of three elementary particles, protons, neutrons and electrons.  And that each of these is made up of even smaller, sub-atomic particles which, in all probability, are made up of even smaller units of matter/energy.

Think about the Hebrew alphabet, the Aleph-Bet, into which we’re taught God compressed His essential energy/being, and then combined these letters (אתיות, Otiot, which also means “signs”) into the Torah with which He created all reality.  Each letter can be drawn, in the tradition of our Sofrim, holy scribes, with a combination of vavs, ו.  And the vav, itself, is an elongated yud, י, which, itself, tends to a single point.

These letters combine into שרשים, shoreshim, three- (and even more basically two-) letter roots, combining their energy to point-to/create something.  In Hebrew, words that share letters, i.e. share underlying spiritual energy, are related to each other in meaning, just as molecules that share certain basic elemental structure share properties (contemplate the periodic chart of elements and you might become, like I am, overwhelmed by the beauty of the simplicity/complexity of our natural world).

We’re taught that God pours his שפע, Shefa, divine elemental energy, into the universe at each and every moment; that all living things also receive a special subset of this energy called חיות, Chiyut, life energy, every moment.  And all of it in the exact amount necessary to preserve life and existence, neither too little so that it will wither, neither too much so it will be overwhelmed.

And think again about the molecules and atoms and sub-atomic particles and energy.

We take it as axiomatic that we can never describe God, but many of us retain the conceit that, somehow, we’ll eventually be able to fully comprehend the physical universe.

I don’t think so.

As I’ve written previously, I’m not very good at tefilla, prayer.  Yes, I do know the words and can read them fluently and fluidly and with understanding, very fast if necessary, so that’s not the problem I’m referring to.  I also have a deep love and appreciation for these words, how they seamlessly refer to and invoke so many deep concepts, making our thrice-daily journey one that runs the gamut of written and oral Torah.  But the experience almost always remains stuck in my head, never reaching my kishkes.

It’s not a matter of accumulated discouragement in not receiving everything, or even very much of my “shopping list” of needs and wants.  My expectations aren’t that high and, anyhow, I don’t think that’s actually the purpose of tefilla, although it might often be the motivator.  The deep purpose of tefilla is to engage The Creator along this parameter, just as the purpose of Torah study is not to gain facts or even to generate “the halacha“, but rather to engage God along the intellectual “channel”.

My problem is to feel engaged at all, to bring the thrice-daily practice our of the mere rote mode.

There have been periods of my life when I “religiously” attended synagogue every day, and there might well be periods when I’ll do that again, but these days, I find that most synagogue environments have me engaging much less than my already unsatisfying solo efforts.  I don’t like the speed davening, broken up by over-long chazzanut (musical stylings by the prayer leader).  The music is rarely to my taste or style.  The pace is usually too fast, followed by moments I find agonizingly slow.  More than that, I feel very alone since it seems that I’m the only one in the room who’s not engaged.  Sure, I say all the words, but I feel like I’m just going through the motions.  It’s a struggle to put the brakes on and remain merely discouraged and not depressed.

Lately, I’ve been trying a new (for me) approach, but one that with very few exceptions would not be welcome in many synagogues (I was first exposed to this concept when, sampling the smorgasbord of traditions in Jerusalem as a new arrival, I spent a Shabbat morning at the Karlin (one of many chassidic groups) kollel and shul.)  It’s usually only Shabbat, since there are no pressing obligations I’m running late on that day, but I’ve started shouting, chanting, whispering, singing, crying each word, beginning with the preliminary morning blessings, all the way through the last word of Adon Olam (a song/prayer which, in many traditional liturgies, both opens and closes the service).  I make up new melodies on the spot, trying to avoid dirge-like minor keys which seem so prevalent in many shuls, also trying to avoid campfire-sounding sing-alongs which, for me, are distractions.  (My terrible singing voice is only one reason this wouldn’t be welcome at most synagogues…..)  I try to let the words, both in meaning and pure sound, lead me. Other moments and I’ll be chanting through the cascade of words, just letting the sound of each letter and vowel make whatever impressions they will.  Other times, my focus is on the visual shape and form of each letter, letting the energy of each impact my brain through my optic nerve with little cognitive interference (i.e. interpretation) from me.

There are moments of exhilaration, moments of boredom.  Moments I lose myself in a thought or a sound or a shape, moments when I rush through, waiting for another moment of inspiration.  Sometimes I finish with nothing more profound than lunch on my mind, other times, quite rare, I’m overwhelmed with more thoughts and feelings than I track, let alone share.  There doesn’t seem to be a pattern, no reliable, repeatable “formula” which will lead me back to an inspiring and fulfilling experience.  They come, as if on their own, even though more often than not, they don’t at all.

I feel lucky and thankful that yesterday was one of the exhilarating days.  Now the work begins.

I often feel compelled to present long essays which develop the deepest themes of our tradition.  Once in a while, a simple word or two suffices.

Rashi, referring to Bereishit Rabba, explains the odd phrasing enumerating Sara’s age at her passing, וַיִּהְיוּ חַיֵּי שָׂרָה מֵאָה שָׁנָה וְעֶשְׂרִים שָׁנָה וְשֶׁבַע שָׁנִים שְׁנֵי חַיֵּי שָׂרָה, “And these were the day’s of Sara’s life, one hundred years and twenty years and seven years were the life of Sara” (Bereishit 23:1), שֶׁכָּל אֶחָד נִדְרָשׁ לְעַצְמוֹ, “that each (digit (1-2-7)) is independently explained/signified” (Rashi, Bereishit 23:1).

The simplest lesson is that each year, each day, each moment of life is a precious gift, filled with infinite potential.  Among the many lessons to glean from this parsha (weekly Torah portion), let’s make each moment significant, life-filled and worthy of the gift it is. We learn that Sara’s soul suddenly flew away from her upon learning of Avraham’s attempted sacrifice of Yitzchak, their son.  Never knowing exactly how many moments each of us will be granted, each is fleeting, precious and filled with opportunities.

Shabbat Shalom

There are few, if any, incidents in the Torah that are as shrouded in mystery as Akedat Yitzchak, the “binding” of Yitzchak.  The mishna in Avot (5:3) states, עֲשָׂרָה נִסְיוֹנוֹת נִתְנַסָּה אַבְרָהָם אָבִינוּ עָלָיו הַשָּׁלוֹם וְעָמַד בְּכֻלָּם, Asara Nisyanot Nitnasa Avraham Avinu Alav HaShalom v’Amad B’Kulam, Avraham, our patriarch of blessed memory, was tried with ten tests (of faith) and he withstood (i.e. passed) all of them.  But many Torah scholars of all eras wonder exactly what was Avraham’s “solution” to this final and greatest test.

Throughout his life, Avraham experienced and embodied that aspect of The Creator we call חסד, Chesed, love/kindness.  Even in relationship to the absolute evil of Sadom and Amara (Sodom and Gemorrah), he pleas for mercy and appeals to God’s sense of Chesed and justice.  At the very least, his argument results in the saving of Lot and his daughters, perhaps not the most upstanding people, but still not drenched in the evil surrounding them.  The question everyone asks is how, in the case of Yitzchak, his own pure son, could he have remained silent.  Is Avraham praised for unthinking, allegiance, unquestioning obedience and is that really what God wants of us?

Granted, and this fact makes a fortune for the advertising industry, we’re not such free agents as we often like to picture ourselves.  We’re very easily manipulated, subject to many unthinking reflexes and are, to a large degree, pre-programmed.  Although בחירה, Bechira, free will, is fundamental to the definition of Human Being, it’s highly circumscribed.  The Talmud, Berachot 33b, states, ואמר רבי חנינא: הכל בידי שמים חוץ מיראת שמים, And Rabbi Chanina says, “All is in the hands of heaven except the fear/recognition of heaven”.  We are, indeed, preprogrammed and/or manipulated in most of our decisions, but we’re always able to distinguish the morality of our actions and to alter the pre-programming if we really want to.  God wants us to choose the good, but leaves that decision in our hands, וּבָחַרְתָּ בַּחַיִּים, U’vacharta B’Chayim, and choose life (Devarim 30:19).

We return to our question of why was Avraham silent and was his silent acquiescence his “passing grade” in this, the last of his ten tests?  Rabbi Shloime Twerski zt”l, in his book Malchut Shlomo,  teaches that Avraham’s great accomplishment here was his ability and willingness to abandon his past certainty, his ability to consider, accept and act upon the realization that up to now he had been wrong.  Although this theme of constant growth, re-evaluation and admission of our own limitations resonates strongly with me, it still seems like he could, given his prior history and his relationship with God, have at least questioned this commandment.

Students of ancient middle eastern history, including several orthodox, practicing and believing scholars, point out that child sacrifice was prevalent in the area at that time and that nothing that Avraham had previously been told directly countered that practice. Perhaps he agreed since it didn’t seem at all out of the ordinary.  It was only, in the culmination of this episode, that the Jewish People are forbidden, eternally, from what we now universally recognize (and, please God, we might one day see an end to) as barbarous behavior.  Nonetheless, this “go with the flow” attitude contradicts everything we know about Avraham, the man who pled for the lives of the thoroughly evil.

It’s hinted by some that, perhaps, Avraham already knew that he’d be called back at the last minute.  He was merely playing a part in a drama he only partially understood.  He was able to agree with starting the journey to Isaac’s sacrifice only because he knew he wouldn’t be called on to actually do it.  If that’s true, how can we say that Avraham passed a great test of faith?

Another deep question is why, after hearing instruction directly from God Himself, a pretty strong motivation to go along with whatever is said, he is willing to go along with the voice of a mere מלאך, Malach, an “angel”, a messenger of God who tells him to stop.  If, and we can assume he was, Avraham was pre-disposed to mercy, why did he silently obey the first command and, if he was pre-disposed to the Word of God, why didn’t he demand some sort of higher authorization when the first commandment is countermanded?

Although these questions are all at the פשת, pshat, superficial, story level of the Torah, not even looking into the deeper meanings and ideas, they leave us with a dilemma and paradox that can’t be resolved.  And maybe that’s the actual key!

Perhaps we’ve finally approached an answer to the question of how did Avraham stand so tall in this, his final and greatest test.  Most of us, most of the time, are paralyzed when faced with radical uncertainty at any deep level.  We want to understand what we’re doing and why we’re doing it, even if it’s only a matter of putting labels like “compulsion” or “addictive behavior” on it.  The more we learn, the greater the temptation to fool ourselves into thinking that we actually “know“.  Our egos and our narcissism refuse to expose us to radical vulnerability such as this.

Perhaps Avraham’s real achievement, enabling the Jewish People and all mankind, if they chose to join us, was the acceptance of paradox, the admission that there are many many things we will never fully know.

When called, the only answer Avraham has is הנני, Hineini, here I am.

(Ideally, I’d study daily with David Minor, a top-level computer expert, amazingly gifted guitarist, incisive thinker, Torah scholar and a good friend.  As it is, we’re only able to remotely (via Skype) meet several days a week.  I hope you’ll find his thoughts and analysis as intriguing as I do — RHZ)

Multiple Layers of Meaning

 We all use the internet these days, whether on purpose or not, much of human communication and content passes through the internet. Those who have studied it technically know that the internet is based on a seven layer model. Each layer has a different technology which interfaces with the layers above and below it. These layers start from the electrical and optical wires all the way up to the highest layer, which is what our browsers and devices use to communicate. But of these seven layers, one layer is blatantly missing. The layer of content, or meaning. Without this layer, all of the other technical layers are worthless. Who cares how fast your internet connection is if it can’t transmit any meaningful information! This attitude of focusing on the medium and ignoring the message is endemic to our society. In fact, the entire “modern” world view is based on the predicate that the laws of physics, evolution and life are fundamentally “random” and meaningless. We study the syntax of the book of life (DNA) in every detail, we learn how to write valid sentences in this syntax (genetic engineering), but we never ask “what’s the content of the message”, what is the purpose and meaning behind all of this amazing living literature! The simple fact, that yes, life could, after all, have a purpose, a meaning, a message is essentially a forbidden topic in the modern world.

To return to our 7 layer internet model. If we included the content as another layer we would then have 8 layers. This eighth layer would then consist of the science and art of communicating meaningfully with others. In our current world, much of the eight layer consists in various types of manipulative communication designed to extract money or other power tokens from the consumers. Only a small portion of the communication bandwidth is taken up with meaningful communication (pornography, spam, propaganda and advertising utilize by far the largest portion of the communication bandwidth).

The sages of the Torah, on the other hand, had a multi-level view of reality which placed, meaning, purpose and content at the highest level of the hierarchy. They even described another multi-level hierarchy of meaning starting from the “simple” meaning and reaching through the human concepts of “will” and “wisdom” into higher levels of meaning far beyond the ability of humans to grasp directly. These levels can only be discussed in rare metaphors, but always keeping in mind that the essence of the discussion is beyond our understanding! They understood that life has syntax (1), but also semantics as well, evolution has a purpose (2), there is a message, a communication being sent over this fantastic infrastructure of the universe which we are called to try and understand. The Torah speaks  of this symbolically as the “eight day”, for which there was numerous examples of special celebrations and rituals. For example:

“וַיְהִי בַּיּוֹם הַשְּׁמִינִי קָרָא מֹשֶׁה לְאַהֲרֹן וּלְבָנָיו וּלְזִקְנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל.”

And it was on the eighth day that Moses called to Aaron and his sons and the elders of Israel…  Leviticus 9:1

“וּבַיּוֹם הַשְּׁמִינִי יִמּוֹל בְּשַׂר עָרְלָתוֹ.”

…and on the eight day you will circumcise his flesh. Leviticus 12:3

“וְהֵבִיא אֹתָם בַּיּוֹם הַשְּׁמִינִי לְטָהֳרָתוֹ אֶל הַכֹּהֵן אֶל פֶּתַח אֹהֶל מוֹעֵד לִפְנֵי יְהוָה.”

…and when you have brought them to be purified on the eighth day… Leviticus 14:23

…and many more like this.

The Meaning of Ritual

All cultures have rituals, they may be very elaborate, like the coming of age rituals in remote tribes in Africa, or they may be simple, like getting drunk and going to a dance, as is done in some communities in America. For us, however, our rituals are pregnant with meaning and purpose, from the symbolic foods of Rosh Hashanah, the fast of Yom Kippur, or the waving of the 4 species in the six directions under the Succah.  But where did these rituals and their meaning come from, and why are they different from the “secular”, “fun” rituals so common in the western world, or the magical rituals of the third world?  The Rambam (Maimonides) in “The Guide for the Perplexed”, says that Jewish ritual didn’t come from nowhere.  It wasn’t that Moses had this revelation and then said, “from now on guys, we’re doing it like this”. The rituals of Judaism have their root in the distant past and were once similar in meaning and purpose to the “magical” rituals of pagan society.

The revelation at Sinai didn’t necessarily create new rituals. The Israelites, like all peoples in the region already practiced animal sacrifice. The probably also practiced something like the Shabbat and other holidays that we know. The revelation at Sinai was actually a dramatic re-purposing of these “magical” rituals to another purpose. They were no longer magical “technology” for manipulating the forces of nature, they were now directed activities dedicated to establishing human beings in a partnership (ברית) with The Creator. If the result of this was better crops and good rain, it wasn’t a direct result of the ritual, it was instead just the natural consequence of being more “in tune” with creation. In fact, Maimonides goes on to say, many of the more difficult to understand and “strange” rituals in the Torah can be understood as directly contradicting the rituals of pagan society and showing the people that good harvests did not depend upon the precise enactment of a particular ritual. He then brings many examples from pre-Judaic literature to back up this statement (3).

This act, of taking something mundane and upgrading it to something supreme is called “sanctification”. An act, that before Sinai, was simply a technical matter of insuring a good harvest, was transformed into an act of worship and a message through which we can glimpse the meaning and purpose of our lives.

The Lost Sanctification of the Arts

There is a famous Roman frieze that shows the soldiers of Titus bearing away the golden menorah from the destroyed temple. While the historical veracity of the picture is open to question and the Talmud tells us there were actually many “spare” menorah’s available, the artist understood very well the symbolism and implications of the destruction of Jewish nationhood. The menorah and the temple in general, with it’s orchestra’s, fine arts and poetry was the repository of the Jewish nations culture. The seven branches of the Menorah represent the seven essential arts and sciences, healing, math, music and so on (4). When we lost our nationhood we lost these as well, as stated in the Talmud all that was left for the Shechinah (5) was the 4 steps of the Law. This was all we would be able to preserve for the next 2000 years.

But now the exile has ended and we have returned to our land and need to find meaning in many activities that were strange to us during the exile, activities that we associated with other nations that still had their land. Cultural actives such as theatre, dance and music that went underground or were even prohibited in the exile, now have to be revived in order to give life and meaning to our nation. Rav Kook in his famous letter on the founding of the Betzalel school of art in Jerusalem 1908 wrote,

(6) אחד מסמני התחיה המובהקים היא הפעולה הנכבד.. התחיית האמנות והיופי העברי בא’י

One of the most outstanding signs of the resurrection is this honorable undertaking… the resurrection of Jewish art and beauty in the land of Israel.

If we simply create art for no reason other than entertainment, money or propaganda we will simply become a nation like other nations. What we must do is to engage fully in the arts and sciences, but “sanctify” our work for a higher purpose. This does not mean using the arts as propaganda for the Torah, but using the arts themselves as a means of coming closer to the creator. The true purpose of art is not the audience, the true purpose is the higher sensitivity awakened in the artist by his engagement in the artistic process (7). It is not the infrastructure that will bring redemption, it is the content and it’s transformation and it’s “sanctification” riding on this infrastructure that will eventually bring about the dream of ages.

David Minor

Footnotes:
(1) Golden Doves with Silver Dots – Semiotics and Textuality in Rabbinic Tradition, Jose Faur 1999.
(2) Some would go as far as to say that it “is” the purpose of creation.
(3) “The Book of the Nebatean Agriculture” – Unfortunately available only in Arabic.
(4) There are various different enumerations of these arts so I won’t list them here.
(5) The presence of G-d in the world.
(6) אגרות הראיה א.
(7) Gustav Meyerink – “The Green Face”.

It’s a good thing that the word, “mother”, still fares slightly better than the word “God” which, unless is is merely the first syllable of “goddam”, is generally received among educated westerners with, at best, an eye-roll, more frequently the witticism that “more people have been slaughtered in the name of religion than any other cause”.  Recent studies of the decline of Judaism in the US don’t present any new information and are shocking only to those who’ve successfully buried their heads in the sand for decades. Between the overwhelming focus on the most superficial aspects of secularity, be it money, celebrity or simplistic social fixes, and the self-destructive elitism and arrogance and increasingly ignorant fundamentalism that entraps most of the orthodox/traditional, simultaneously repelling most other Jews, we’re back to relying solely on God since we, in the rabbinate, in Jewish education and in Jewish community organizations have largely dropped the ball.

I’m appalled by much of the response to these studies.  The, loosely-speaking, “left” seems to celebrate our “liberation” from medieval superstition and isolationism, wishing the surviving religious segment will either wise up and abandon their follies or otherwise disappear.  The “right”, on the other hand, seems to think that further extremism and neurotic social behavior will rally the faithful and finally and forever get rid of the “erev rav” (the biblical mixed multitude who accompanied the Jewish People as we left Egypt, but who were never really part of us other than as a convenient bogey-man to blame for our own sins and failures such as the Golden Calf).

The more “positive”, the “how can we fix this” responses seem equally hopeless to me, centering on marketing and gimmicks.  “Let’s poll to find out what people want and then give it to them”, an extension of the ever-popular “leading from behind” fad, neglects the question as to whether or not the resulting product will, in any but superficial “ethnic culture” ways even resemble Judaism, let alone be Judaism.  It seems more like a “Jewish” version of the ethnic pride silliness of the 1960s when dashikis and Nehru jackets were all the rage.  Nowadays it ranges from trying to create a “Fiddler on the Roof” ambience or adapting last century’s gospel church experience to Jewish-sounding words.  The conversations range from rebbes to occupy, from Uman to Memphis.  The “serious” discussions begin with the Holocaust and end with Jewish Participation in the Civil Rights Movement.  If it figures at all, Israel is either the subject of an insincere song, “L’Shana HaBa’a B’Yerushalayim” (Next year in Jerusalem) or a source of shame in the politically-correct landscape.

I try to not lose heart, but it’s an uphill battle.  I repeat my mantra that “Judaism is the art of unreasonable optimism”.  I remind myself that, in the words of Shlomo HaMelech, King Solomon, in Mishlei, Proverbs (24:16), “A Tzaddik falls seven times and then rises”, that the road directly ahead does not necessarily look like our final destination, that this historical period, approaching the Geula, ultimate redemption, are, by definition and design, scary, difficult and seemingly upside-down.  I often ask if I’m not merely kidding myself.

I don’t know if there’s a fix on the horizon.  Although my experience, my studies and my intuition is that the only real future for Judaism is in Israel, if anything there is more of a crisis there than anywhere else.  The secular hate the ultra-orthodox, the ultra-orthodox hate the secular and the center seems to rapidly shrink.  While Israel withstands ever greater international isolation and pressure, it seems to fracture within between left and right, between those who think the Palestinian issue can only be solved by getting rid of the people (unilateral expulsion) or getting rid of the land (unilateral surrender)–neither with a whisper of a chance of success.  Although there are some who talk about our spiritual heritage and connection with the land, more often it seems to be a matter of either cynical manipulation or embarrassment.

What is there to do?  What can a rabbi do?  What can this rabbi do?

One would think that such a complex problem can only be addressed with an equally complex and multi-dimensional approach.  But as I’ve spent time with this issue, it begins to appear ever more clearly to me that this approach will ultimately prove counterproductive, one more intellectualization which actually avoids the issue.

I realize that the Jewish experience, in the US and elsewhere, cannot be revitalized through argument or debate.  Very few people will be inspired for intellectual reasons because inspiration both transcends and underlies the intellect.  The thing about inspiration, however, is that it is contagious.  But this infectiousness only works if the inspiration is truly authentic.

Thus, without knowing how effective I personally will be in addressing the overall problem and in actually providing any corrective energy to it at all, I realize that I need to confront and examine my own relationship with this spiritual path of Torah and mitzvot. I need to honestly observe how much of my own practice is truly inspired and how much is merely rote, habit or lifestyle.  I need reinforce that which works best which, in my personal case is Torah study and the subsequent sharing/teaching of that experience (again, in my case it’s not a matter of sharing information that I’ve gleaned, but, rather, the intense feelings I experience while engaging Torah through this “channel” (admittedly, I’m not as proficient at tefilla (prayer), story telling, communal work as other colleagues)).

I can also suggest to my friends and colleagues, teachers and students, that they find their own strongest connections to our broad spiritual tradition and let themselves travel that road with as much love, enthusiasm, intensity and, yes, inspiration as they can generate.

Because it is only truly inspired Jews who will inspire other Jews to be, themselves, truly inspired.  The Mishna in Avot (1:6 and 1:16) instructs us to עֲשֵׂה לְךָ רַב, Aseh L’cha Rav, make yourself great (alternately, make yourself a teacher, often mistranslated as “find yourself a teacher”).  This isn’t directed only to professional rabbis, but to all of us.  I think, hope and pray that this kernel does, indeed, hold at least part of the secret of how we can possibly move on from our current doldrums.

Although we do, in fact, complete the yearly Torah cycle on Simchat Torah, the real simcha, joy, is that we begin again.  The challenge, and real joy goes beyond simple, mindless “happiness”, is to make the new year’s cycle NEW, not simply another “season of reruns”.

I always accompany my own reading of Parshat Bereishit, the opening of the Written Torah, with the first Mishna of Berachot, the opening of the Oral Torah.  It reminds me that Torah study is not a matter of pointless argument of useless “theories”, creation vs. evolution, revelation vs. redaction, but with action.  It doesn’t establish or even discuss the obligation to say the Sh’ma but, rather, takes the mandate for granted and opens with a discussion of how to perform it.

In Bereishit, the universe is created.  At the head (ראש, Rosh, the root of בראשית, Bereishit, means head), at the top, is Elohim, God showing his face as structure and laws (laws of nature, laws of physics, among many others). Our mystical tradition (I also study the holy Zohar of Parshat Bereishit in preparation for this Shabbat) brings us to before the start of Bereishit, where the simple, absolute (and wholly unknowable and unimaginable) Unity begins to descend to duality and from there the multiplicity that makes up our experienced world, meeting the “head” of the parsha with Elohim, Who then brings duality into reality, שמים וארץ, Sh’mayim v’Aretz, heaven and earth, אור וחשך, Or v’Choshech, light and darkness.

Let’s return to the Mishna and its focus on the Sh’ma, שְׁמַע יִשְׂרָאֵל יְהוָֹה אֱלֹהֵינוּ יְהוָֹה  אֶחָד, Sh’ma Yisrael, Adonay Eloheinu Adonay Echad, Listen, Israel, YHVH/God who we experience as our Elohim (God in physical/dualistic reality), YHVH/God is One. Our first and basic mandate is to return, redirect all the Divine energy which makes up our world (remember the insight of relativity theory, that matter and energy are the same basic substance) as it splits and refracts into the infinite diversity of Creation, once we’ve corrected and repaired and refined it (our privilege/challenge/responsibility in being Human, partnering with God to help complete Creation), to its ultimate Unity.

No matter how successful we’ve been in the previous year(s), and in fact, each success should reveal yet a new imperfection that stood behind it for our future efforts, infinite reality, by definition, means that from our human perspective there is alway another element of reality awaiting each of our individual, unique treatments to refine and repair it.

Are you, am I, up to the challenge?  Can we see them not as burdens to get out of the way, but as, once again, joyful opportunities to live at our highest capacities?  ‘בעזרת ה, B’Ezrat HaShem, with God’s help (and may we always be aware of that help), I know that we can be.

Moadim l’Simcha, Chag Sameach v’Shabbat Shalom