Rabbi Zeitlin

This article first appeared on jewishideas.org

Jewish Guilt, at least the European/western/Ashkenazi stereotype, is a cliché that is featured in much our unique, Jewish humor, and it is often seen as a positive trait that reflects our traditional values of personal responsibility and hard work.  Although it has the potential to effectively cripple us, we are rather fond and protective of it.  However, it’s capacity for damage shouldn’t be taken lightly.

Two ironic phenomena illustrate the danger, the irony being how often seeming rival segments of our Jewish spectrum so clearly mimic each other.  On the one hand you have the “centrist” orthodox world, where I certainly see myself, focusing on the shortcomings, intolerance and extremism within the haredi circles.  If only, we teach and tell each other, these folks wouldn’t make Jewish observance and practice so distasteful to modern, educated,sophisticated Jews, so many more of them might at least test the waters and see if there is at least some part of our tradition which engages them.

At the other end of the spectrum, the mainly non-orthodox “peace camp” regularly places all the blame for our continuing state of war with our Arab neighbors on “the settlers” and on “right-wing extremists”.  The implication is that if these folks would only behave themselves, violence against Jews and Israel would vanish and we could all live together in peace.

While it is true that there are extreme factions in both of these groups, not only are they generally much smaller and much less potent than they’re depicted, but this surprisingly similar approach also refuses to recognize that there truly are, in both cases, very real opponents.  The attitude that all the blame lies with ourselves, albeit to those far to the right of both mainstreams, and that if only we could get our own guys in line everyone would love us is unrealistic, self-serving and enables avoiding the actual threats.

The violence, constant threat of war and terrorism against Israel is intentional and actively directed by those in the Arab world who have never accepted Israel’s existence or the right of Jews to live anywhere in our ancestral homeland.  The “naqba”, shame, that they mourn began even before 1948’s birth of the State of Israel with frequent and systematic massacres, and not with the supposed “occupation” of 1967.  There has never been a change of heart among any of our foes accepting our existence in any part whatsoever of the Holy Land.  Instead, as we hear too frequently, there are daily proclamations to “wipe the Zionist Entity off the face of the map” and the like.

Nonetheless, the self-elected “elite” of the extreme “peace camp” persists in blaming fellow Jews for inciting the hatred against us.  While it might seem admirable to assume all the responsibility for the failure of a peaceful resolution, in fact it’s not only arrogant to think we have that much power, but it perpetuates this deadly situation by avoiding actions that might actually lead to a solution.  Only when there is a massive change of attitude in the Arab world, at least grudging acceptance of, if not true welcome to, our presence and right to live in our home will there be peace.  Even though the vast majority of Israelis, living on either side of the “green line” have repeatedly expressed willingness to make painful sacrifices for peace, we’re still not granted legitimacy by the Arab world to inhabit even a fraction of our territory.  Until then, we must, however reluctantly, defend ourselves militarily.

Likewise, although we are often be embarrassed by what we feel are backward attitudes and approaches issuing from the extreme haredi world, by a culture of chumrot (extreme interpretations of Jewish tradition beyond the generally accepted), withdrawal by many from civic duties and suspicion of other Jews who have chosen to not join them, this is not the main reason why most Jews today are minimally, if at all, observant, more often unaffiliated and completely alienated from Jewish tradition.  I know how easy it is to blame the ultra-orthodox–I’m ashamed to say that I do it myself too often.

Yes, they often do present a side of Jewish observance that isn’t so inviting, but our job goes beyond apologizing for them.  We are pretty successful in presenting a face of traditional Judaism that can be quite palatable to the less committed, but even that isn’t sufficient.  We need to admit to ourselves and confront the reality that just as there are terrorist leaders who vow to keep their lands judenrein and preach to their children that Jews are the “descendants of pigs and monkeys”, there are “liberal” Jewish leaders who teach that “Judaism will never evolve until all the orthodox have died out” (I have heard this opinion more than several times).  We need to work with the realization that no matter how attractive, relevant, spiritually uplifting we work to make a life of Torah observance, there is a sizable group that will continue, for their own reasons, to attack our traditions.

Of course, even though we all too often seem to operate by the same modality, assuming all the guilt and responsibility for this failure on ourselves, we need to approach the two threats quite differently.  We must employ all necessary resources, including military force, to ensure the physical survival of Jews and the State of Israel.

With our fellow Jews, however, on both sides of ourselves, we can only reach out with love and have faith that ultimately that love will overcome our differences.  We don’t require all secular Jews to become observant, nor do we need all haredim to become “modern orthodox”.  Perhaps our opportunity and charge as “centrists” is to act as a bridge between different constituencies of out people.  Actually, I believe that the solution to the political/military problems as well as our internal battles to be the same, Achdut and Ahavat Yisrael, unity (although not uniformity) and the communal love within our people.  After all, as I often say, Judaism is the art of unreasonable optimism.

Life, history and all of reality dances between the poles of singularity and multiplicity, between יקוק (Yud-Hay-Vav-Hay)-consciousness and אלקים (Elohim)-consciousness, between the finite and the infinite.  While we strive to achieve דבקות devekut, total merging with the Infinite God, we’re also reminded that a “tzadik (the paradigm of a “perfected” human) falls seven times”.  Like Moses, in preparing to receive the Torah at Sinai is repeatedly sent up and down the mountain, we can have insights and moments of ecstatic awareness, but they are, in this world, fleeting.

The irony is that consciousness, the faculty that allows us the potential to reach to God, is the very faculty that creates the separation in the first place.  It also creates the dynamic which allows growth and evolution.  It powers our journey and was, possibly, the first “product” of Creation.

I’ve struggled for years with an early paragraph in the Ramchal’s (Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzatto) classic, Derech HaShem, The Way of God.  He writes that one of the other concepts we are defined by as having an internally-generated insatiable need to understand that God exists in a state of pure simplicity, without and hint of הרכבה, harkava, being comprised of separate components or רבוי, ribui, multiplicity at all.  In other words, God exists in a state of total and simple unity, a state before (as it were) duality is even conceivable.  Why does he emphasize those two concepts as being irrelevant to the Creator, and why does he then further describe these absent concepts with the word גדר, geder, boundary?

The מגן דוד, Magen David, the six-sided star made up of two triangles, one pointing up, one pointing down, is probably the most universally recognized symbol in Judaism.  The up-pointing triangle represents, among other things, the singularity of God’s unity, the יקוק which is אחד, echad, one, that we proclaim twice daily in the Shema.  The base of the triangle implies the diverse multiplicity, tending towards infinity, of the created universe.  While from the most profound point of view these seemingly opposite concepts are one, the graphic representation of this triangle shows that as we move downward from the pure simplicity of God and begin to conglomerate and precipitate and gradually become material, first duality and then plurality and finally infinity accompany the transition.

God begins, as it were, in this singularity, without even the hint of separate components, without any sense of border or boundary.  The necessary first act of creation, then, is allowing for duality.  בראשית ברא אלקים את השמים ואת הארץ, In the beginning, God created heaven and earth, the first duality.  Even before heaven and earth is the word את, et, a word that really has no independent meaning by implies multiplicity.  The potential for duality precedes duality itself.  And at that moment, which is initiated with the command, יהי אור, Yehi Or, let there be light (pure energy which, as we know, is, in an unknown process, identical to matter), physicality and materiality begin to emerge.

And lest we despair that this journey from pure and simple unity is tragic, God immediately declares this light כי טוב, ki tov, that it is good.  As the process continues, we see more and more previously united elements divide as reality becomes more and more what we recognize.  Not only does the רקיעה, rakiah, the “firmament”, divide, so does the waters.  Even man, who is first created both דמות אלקים, demut Elohim, similar to God, and זכר ונקבה, zachar u’nakeva, male and female (i.e. fully integrated and united), is then separated into man and woman.  And even at this level of multiplicity, the world is able to remain harmonious, separate yet intimately connected to the Creator.

When do things start to “go wrong” and what does our tale really come to teach us?  We all know the story continues with mankind being given a garden to tend, easily acquired food to eat and only one restriction, to not eat from the עץ הדעת טוב ורע, etz ha’da’at tov v’rah, the tree of knowledge of good and evil.  The sin, as it were, is much more serious than mere misbehavior.  Rather, it was the premature formation of the ego, ingesting the very concept of their being actions directed to God and actions directed away from Him.  The only direction, figuratively speaking, “away” from God is to the separate individual, to the ego.  In other words, it was only at this moment that the possibility of not-God emerged through the processes of satisfying our own desires and appetites.

As the Ramchal and, really, all of our holy sages have taught, nonetheless, we remain always capable of approaching infinitely close to God.  (Perhaps Adam, man, didn’t realize that when he was still co-joined with the feminine, awareness of duality would prove fatal, but once man and woman became separate, he could then reframe duality and desire through woman as not being aimed only at his own sensual satisfaction, but as an act of creation, i.e. other-directed.  In other words, perhaps had he chosen to not blame his acquisition of a separate consciousness of Eve, but rather acknowledged her as the enabling partner in the process of god-like action, which is to say had he truly been aware of his opportunity, they would have immediately reached perfection, shlemut.  In other words, the separation could have, and should have led to perfect unity rather than to alienation and lonely separateness.) As a reminder, space in the spiritual sense is not geometric or geographical, but rather based on similarity.  Created in the “image of God”, we have the potential to act in a God-like fashion.  And as the Ramchal develops, one of the few things we know about God is that he creates only for the benefit of others.  Thus we can always make the choice to act with an eye to satisfy our own selves, which creates separation, or with an eye to benefit those around us, which becomes closeness, leading to דבקות, devekut, attachement.

Thus, it’s consciousness which creates our challenge of return while, at the same time providing us with the means to return.  In other words, and this is an old lesson, the keys are in our hand to direct us in the direction we really want to follow.  We can use every experience of pain and separation to lead ourselves and the world back to wholeness.

Shabbat Shalom.

I like to begin classes with a few minutes of guitar music.  It settles and focuses the mind and heart and takes us away from mundane preoccupations.  I usually joke that this is a secret bonus for people who study Torah with me, at least when it’s not Shabbat.

I was teaching in a program at a local synagogue this evening and after I said that as a transition to the text, one of the people asked me why I don’t play an instrument on Shabbat.  I first explained that I was taught that when our sages gave a reason for an enactment, there were always a number of reasons they didn’t mention.  Then I went on to the usual, superficial, explanation that the immediate concern was that a string might break and you could possibly forget it was Shabbat and change it.  However, since the only violation from changing a string is the same as touching the guitar in the first place, מוקצה, muktza, which means handling something that’s extraneous, and thus “excluded” on Shabbat, that explanation left a lot unsatisfied.  Then I mentioned a deeper reason, the post-Temple prohibition in order to remind us to mourn the destruction of the Temple and our resultant spiritual incompleteness.  This has often been explained with the image of the exile of the שכינה, the Shechina, the (feminine) Divine Presence, posing the question “how can we rejoice when the Shechina is in mourning?”

I paused for a moment, and then I thought of a reflection I’ve heard from several of the more spiritually-oriented leaders of our more liberal denominations, that if God and/or the sages realized just how long this exile would last, they wouldn’t have taken away the comfort of a little music on Shabbat.  I remember being inspired a number of years ago to try this logic out.  I decided that on a second in-exile day of Sukkot, in many ways less strict than the first day and certainly less so than on Shabbat, I would pick up my guitar and see how it felt to play in the Sukka.  I went to the wall where it always hangs, and for the first and only time in a half-century of guitar playing, a string had broken spontaneously and was unravelling on the wall.  I was overwhelmed with laughter and took it as a “message”.

Still, although I have never played on Shabbat, until this evening I have not really been satisfied with why I don’t.  But in the context of the discussion, it struck me that it’s vitally important for every Jew to really feel the continuing loss of Jerusalem and the Temple, not merely even today, but especially today.

Having been born in 1952, the State of Israel has been a reality my entire life.  But I remember the Sinai war in 1956, the War of Attrition, the 1967 War when we barely escaped total annihilation, Munich in 1972, the cowardly surprise attack from all sides on Yom Kippur in 1973, as well as all the terrorist attacks, the intifadas, the unprovoked attacks by Hizbollah and by Hamas.  Granted, I am consciously attached to Israel, even though I have lived most of my life in the United States.

And, although my parents and grandparents were fortunate to have escaped the Holocaust, I vividly remember my childhood where many of my beloved teachers and well more than half of my friends’ parents had numbers tattooed on their wrists.  The vulnerability of our people is not merely theoretical for me, but visceral.

But there is a different generation of Jews coming of age now.  Israel, and Jewish sovereignty in Jerusalem is taken for granted.  In a world of myriad amusements and distractions, where so many at least superficial desires are immediately satisfied, it’s hard to remember that we do, in fact, lack some very important things.  The living miracle of the State of Israel and of the post-Holocaust recovery of the Jewish people is rarely even worth noting.  And for those reasons, too many Jews, and not only in our diaspora, but, shockingly in Israel itself, are supremely indifferent to Jerusalem, to Israel and, for that matter, to Jewish survival.

So, I began to realize this evening that the very act of denying myself a pleasure and a comfort every week reminds me and keeps always fresh the longing for a fully restored Jerusalem and a renewing of what we were able to achieve once, long ago, with our Holy Temple.

Perhaps it’s a matter of orientation.  People who tend to observe Shabbat also tend to formally pray three times a day.  Each of those prayer services include the longing for our return from exile, the rebuilding of Jerusalem and the return of the Shechina to her holy residence, the Temple.  I don’t believe that it’s because observant people are somehow “better” than others that we tend to be much stronger in our support for Israel amid today’s almost overwhelming threats.  Rather, it’s that we force ourselves to confront the loss, to be hyper-aware that while we’ve made tremendous progress to date, we are still far indeed from reaching our, and the world’s, potential.

I will now daily pray to enjoy playing my guitar, along with all the other musicians of my people, in a fully revitalized and actualized Jerusalem.  במהירה בימינו, bimheyra b’yamenu, speedily in our day.

As someone who showed no interest at all in making pictures when I was growing up, it’s hard for me to come to terms with the fact that I’ve worked almost my entire adult life as a visual artist.  Additionally, as an article by Rabbi Nathan Lopes Cardoza recently reminded me, Jewish tradition has always had a very uneasy relationship with sight and is much more confident with hearing (I guess I’m lucky that I’m also a life-long guitarist…..)

One of the great conflicts in Jewish history, the Chanukah story tells of our triumph over the Greek culture which temporarily ruled our land.  On a much deeper level, Greece represents western philosophy and science which relies almost entirely on empirical principles.  The scientific method validates only that which is empirically verifiable, in other words, only that which we can observe, i.e. see.

In itself, this approach is valuable and has brought much good into this world, both in terms of rational government and, of course, the technological/medical advancements which have greatly enhanced human life.  On the other hand, it can, and arguably is right now in the process, run amock.  Aflood with deadly weapons, ecologically potential catastrophes, it can also lead to unprecedented death and destruction.

It’s often said that science (or business or government, etc.) has no conscience, but when you think about it, that’s obvious.  Empiricism is, by definition, superficial, albeit we have been able to examine the surface in ever-greater detail.  It lacks a moral sense because it’s really a separate, independent, but not complete system.  It’s unable to look “inside the heart” of anything.  For that, we also need a way to engage with the intuitive/poetic/spiritual channel, which, of course, is equally valid and equally incomplete as the empirical.

תא שמע, Ta Shema, Come and listen, the Gemara tells us when it explains the heart of the discussion.  Listening requires real engagement and processing to decode the information.  Vision seems much more direct.  And although vision was used to first get our attention, as we “saw the thunder and the sound of the shofar“, the Torah itself was given to us by voice.  In fact, just before the Revelation, we’re warned not to even gaze upwards.  We need to delve deeply into the meaning of what we are receiving and not be satisfied with a cursory, superficial overview.  In fact, the third commandment prohibits us from creating a visual representation of God.

On the other hand, when the Zohar wants to make a point, it says תא חזי, Ta Chazi, come and see!  As I learned many years ago from the late Rabbi Chaim Zimmerman zt”l, considered by many in traditional yeshiva circles as the talmid chacham, scholar, of the generation, the halachic, legal, aspect of the Torah can be seen as the bark of a tree, that which is visible and immediately interacts with the world.  Kabbalah, the mystical tradition of which the Zohar is a major foundation, is like the inner core of the tree, invisible, but providing nutrients and animation to the entire tree.  So, perhaps, the type of seeing that we should aspire to is looking beneath the surface, examining underlying structures and relationships.

Although I devote a lot of my Torah studies to what is generally considered Kabbalah, by no means would I claim the title of kabbalist.  For many years (until I realized the pretension), I used to call my photography business Art is the Spiritual and my goal was to discover and explore and present these inner connections.  That is still what I do when I work visually.  It’s only now that I’m starting to understand better what I’ve been doing all these years.

It’s based on the firm belief (remember, Judaism defines belief as a work-in-progress, a challenge and a struggle) in what we call hashgacha pratit, divine individual oversight.  One conclusion this leads to is the realization that each of us is, uniquely and individually, presented with exactly what we need at each and every moment in order to allow us to make the choice, bechira (free will), that will best further our journey towards תיקון עולם, tikkun olam, bringing the paired microcosm and macrocosm, עולם קטן, olam katan (small universe, i.e. each individual person) and אדם גדול, adam gadol (“great human”, i.e. the greater universe), closer to ultimate perfection.  That means, along with other things, that everything we experience, and the way we experience it, is just the way it should be and that it contains valuable lessons for us.  In other words, everything that the world presents to our eyes has the potential to teach us deep insights into the greater reality.

In those moments when I’m truly seeing, moments which I realize are a personal beracha, blessing, I seem to be in a hyper-aware state.  Not only does everything in my vision appear to be in exactly the right place in terms of the separate elements, the background and the light, but the relationships between luminosity, textures and placements seem highlighted.  If I have a camera with me, I, completely intuitively, am able to create the frame in just that balance point that brings everything together, that tells the story of what everything is and why it’s there.  The ultimate effect is awe, יראה, yira, which is based, not coincidentally, on the root letter that mean to see.

True art, as opposed to wall decoration, is much more than merely making a pretty picture of a pretty scene.  It really means to utilize what our eyes present us to, ultimately, to have a deeper relationship, and to enhance the viewer’s relationship with The Creator, with the universe, with the universal field in which all exists.  In other words, rather than stopping at the surface, the very definition of superficial seeing, true seeing, תא חזי seeing, leads us to deep understanding and relationship.

Is it possible to grant, without being naive, that a diverse group of people are united by a shared idealism?  Is it reasonable to assume that the satisfaction of fulfilling a responsibility, rather than wealth and fame and power, is sufficient incentive to motivate someone?

Although the traditional Jewish world is extensively diverse, running the gamut from the ultra-orthodox chassidic and yeshiva worlds, to the often more centrist Sephardic world, through the nationalist/zionist orthodox to the modern orthodox, and including, as well, many in the conservative and other liberal movements as well, there is at least one defining belief that unites everyone here.  We believe the validity and authority of the rabbinic tradition is the exact equal of the written scripture and that both are of divine source.

Although the function and the development of these traditions vary widely, that’s not because they’re somehow in competition, but rather than they complement each other as two interdependent channels which create a “three-dimensional”, i.e. real world experience of our holy Torah.

Even within the orthodox tradition, there is often a tendency to dismiss a rabbinic injunction as being just not that important or authentic.  Just a d’rabbanim, it’s only from the rabbis, is all too frequently cited when a halacha  (religious law, but it more literally means “a walking”) is inconvenient.  However, the liberal Jewish world too often tends to relegate the entire rabbinic tradition wholesale to irrelevance or, at best, interesting ideas by smart people.  “The rabbis” are too often disparaged is “dead white males who disapprove of our lifestyle”, so they ask why should their thoughts and values have any say over us today.

Anyone who has spent much time at all trying to understand our rabbis on their own terms realizes that they were the most creative, free-thinking and unprejudiced thinkers in our past and I really don’t want to defend a “when did you stop beating your wife?” attitude.  Rather, I’d like to look into some of the faulty assumptions that can lead to this often biased, always self-righteous attitude.

Perhaps the most obvious weakness is that it’s based on applying a very new, very contemporary attitude and philosophy to times that were not remotely like ours are now.  This seems to be a consistent mistake of modern philosophy, modern literary criticism and modern historical analysis.  All three assume that people in the past shared our values and prejudices and experience and motivations, and this is completely non-supportable.

Starting with Watergate, the political break-in scandal that eventually brought down the Nixon Presidency, “Follow the money” has been a consistent theme in the American lexicon.  For all practical purposes, what it really means is to see who profits in a situation.  This implies that people, especially those in some sort of leadership role, usually have nefarious side purposes to their plans and actions–they seek power and money.

While that might well often be true in contemporary politics, it’s an arrogant view of our contemporary culture to assume that people in the past had identical values.  However, it can be a useful tool if applied in reverse.  If there isn’t any money to follow, perhaps there are no “back channel” deals?

Since the destruction of the Temple and throughout our extended exile, which is also the rabbinic period of Judaism, very few of our Torah scholars had any wealth or any political power whatsoever.  There wasn’t any wealth or power to gain by “enslaving” Jews to pointless ritual just in order to boss them around.  It just appears impossible to find any ego or material gains our scholars, as a whole, could receive from their discussion, development and transmission of  the “authentic” meaning of the Torah.

Opposed to most other spiritual faiths, Judaism has never relied on private revelation to one or just a small group of “insiders”.  Rather, and this is emphasized by Rabbi Yehuda Halevi (mid-11th century), author of the Kuzari, along with Maimonides (also 11th century) and the Mishna of Avot (3rd century), one of the foundational texts developing immediately after the destruction and exile, the Torah, our spiritual tradition, was received publicly by the entire nation, men, women and children.  Of the say, two million, who experienced this and then told it over to their children and grandchildren, only an insignificant number, if any, could possible have any side motivation to impose irrational and arbitrary laws on their descendants.  Rather, they celebrated the knowledge and insights, saw them for what they are, a national treasure, and idealistically, and from love, desired to preserve this treasure both for their children, and also for the welfare of the world.  They just wouldn’t have any motivation to lie, and if they did want to fabricate something to entrap people in, wouldn’t it make more sense they would have deleted all the do’s and don’ts to make it appear more attractive?

I’m not so naive as to believe there were no rabbis in the past who were motivated by self-interest, just as I have to admit there are too many today.  But, I think the “test of time” has filtered these ego-driven distortions out of the “authentic” stream.  Perhaps it’s like comparing a top-40 music station with an “oldies” one.  It seems like, compared to today, they only made great hits in the past, but that’s because the trivial are forgotten and only the best have survived.  That which has survived and has been added to the מסורת, mesoret, tradition, represents a pretty pure stream.

We’re obligated to give others the benefit of the doubt.  דן כל אדם בכף זכות, Dan Kol Adam B’Caf Zechut (Mishna Avot), judge everyone to be innocent/worthy.  From that perspective, of course, the suspicion of “the rabbis” would never have come up.  But even though it does arise in some contemporary western approaches, we can rely on the back-handed application of “Follow the Money”.  If there ain’t no money, there ain’t no conspiracy!

With this in heart and mind, may we all become one people (always working from the center outwards (see A Lesson From Creation post), starting with our own and extending to all humanity) within the walls and the shade of the Sukka.  Let us enjoy and develop and share these sublime insights together.  Chag Sameach

It’s not arbitrary that our tradition uses the word אמונה, emunah, to describe faith.  As I’ve often written, this word shares the root form with אומן, uman, a craftsman.  Belief, as far as it is healthy, realistic and growthful, is a work in progress and it often involves deep struggle.

We would be less than human if tragedy, adversity and disaster, all common occurrences, didn’t bring us to seriously doubt whether or not there really is a transcendent, omnipotent, omniscient and beneficent  God.  But, and this is critical, we wouldn’t be Jewish if we then just let the matter drop.  That is the צרכון, the intrinsic, inner-directed need embedded in every Jewish neshama, soul.

השגחה פרטית, Hashgacha Pratit, the reality that God continually oversees every detail of Creation, is both a foundation of traditional Judaism as well as one of the hardest concepts for modern man to accept.  It’s not necessarily a stretch to grant God the ability to have created the universe, it seems, but to keep track of everything within it is, we realize, a different order of endeavor.  One implication of this principle is that nothing is random and arbitrary, but, rather, intentionally directed.  However, just because we, as humans, are limited in our ability to comprehend such an achievement doesn’t make this reality impossible.  If nothing else, we must admit that we can’t prove that it is beyond the ability of a very powerful being.  So, in at least token humility, let’s work with that assumption.

When you examine the concept more deeply, it follows that absolutely everything we experience as unique individuals has been specially selected for each of us.  Digging a little deeper than the initial “wow!”, we might then ask why each experience we have has been directed to us.  In other words, what are we supposed to learn from each moment?  Likewise, we can ask that about the “bigger questions” such as Creation itself.

Much has been recently written, not only within Judaism, but also in both metaphysics and science, linking spiritual ideas and allegories to the Big Bang Theory of Creation.  This enables many modern people in our society to be at least less uncomfortable with God the Creator.  But beneath this lies a deeper question.  Since we, as traditional Jews, also grant God omnipotence, we have to say that He could have created the Universe in any of an infinite number of processes.  Why did He choose a method which is so well described, both mathematically and poetically, as the Big Bang?  What are we supposed to learn from it?

I propose that we begin by visualizing what the Big Bang implies.  Start with an infinitely small point.  It begins to radiate out in all directions, gathering speed and momentum until in encompasses infinite space.  Now let’s translate that into human terms and begin with the smallest point of reference, each individual self.  Let it begin to radiate out to include first family, then friends, then neighbors and community, nation, and finally, all humanity.

I believe that this itself is the moral lesson divinely embedded in the chosen process of creation.  As children, we’re only self-aware. As we begin to develop we start to include more and more people into our circle of concern.  As we mature, we extend our care and sense of responsibility to our family, then our friends, then our community, our people and, finally, to all of humanity.  But the process is always one of radiating out from the center.

It’s necessary to return to the center and to consolidate our gains before moving out to the universal.  In order to be at all effective, we need to constantly shore up our foundation, always moving outward from the center.  This is the secret Hillel talks about when he asks, “If I’m not for myself, who will be for me, but if I’m only for myself, what am I?”.

A common problem we often encounter, perhaps in arrogance, is to overestimate our capabilities and to rush, prematurely, into realms we’re not yet ready to work in.  All too often, the result is disastrous.  This is the damage, for example, of very well-meaning Jews putting the welfare of everyone else ahead of Jewish survival.  Thinking, somehow, that they’re “beyond all that tribalism”, they mistakenly assume they can create solutions for, for example, Moslems in the Holy Land.  They fail to see that the underlying idealism that motivates them is a uniquely Jewish value which would cease to exist if, God-forbid, the Jewish people would cease to exist.

On the other hand, an arrogant disregard for “goyim“, non-Jews, also leads to disaster.  Once again, we need to make sure of our foundation, but we also need to imitate the Creator by moving outward from our center.  In other words, to quote Hillel, “If I am only for myself, what am I?”

The Torah isn’t telling that it’s easy or convenient, but those criteria have nothing to do with mature and responsible action, but it is telling us that in order to successfully fill our role in Creation, we need to individually and as a people, continuously strengthen our core foundation while expanding ever outwards, as we learn, “כי מציון תצא תורה”, that Torah, which is, ultimately, tikkun (repair), radiates from our very core.  Likewise, we can dedicate ourselves to follow the example of Aaron, the High Priest’s holy service on Yom Kippur.  He brings a sacrifice first for himself, next for his family and third for the nation.

One of my greatest challenges is Bitachon, trust.  This requires very deep belief that not only did God create the world, he also monitors each and every individual being in this universe each and every minute and that he is entirely beneficent.  In our day, just a generation-and-a-half from the Holocaust, a time when the very existence of the miracle of the State of Israel is increasingly threatened daily, in a world plagued with global terrorism as well as global warming, it’s much easier to conclude that either God is on break or is, chas v’chalila actually evil.

Part of that negative thinking stems from, egotistical, shallow thinking.  As finite beings in time, we’re not able to see very far ahead into the future.  If things look bad now, our overwhelming tendency can too easily be to fear that we’re headed for an inevitable bad end.  Even though we’ve been reassured over many generations that things will ultimately work out, because we can’t see it immediately, we’re more sure of our own limited vision and judgement.  If we declare that everything is going to hell, then that just must be true.  Not exactly the objectivity we’re usually so proud of.

I think, however, that there is a deeper bitachon than merely adopting an optimistic outlook (which, itself, is integral to Torah).  I call it “without a paddle” bitachon, since it requires us to periodically jettison whatever we’ve become complacent and too comfortable with.  Year after year we return through the cycle of Jewish holidays where, if we want to fully experience each one, we need to let go of what we experienced and learned last year.  Even our deepest insights and epiphanies need to be released.  We need to be ready to start all over again, basically from the beginning, and leap onto the new year’s ride.  This is especially meaningful as we face Rosh HaShana once again.

We find that the ladder that brought us from the ground to our present elevation will now function as an anchor and prevent us from climbing any higher if we don’t let go of it.  We need to force ourselves, if necessary, to joyously embrace the unknown.

Avraham, our forefather, is praised as the first Jew, more specifically, the first Ivri, the first to cross over.  Surely not everyone in his culture was a savage child-sacrificing beast.  There were probably many decent people who appreciated and agreed with his insights into the Universe, but they never reached the level of ethical monotheism.

What marks Avraham as unique, and the necessary spirit to found the Jewish people, is that he was willing to leave behind everything he knew, everything that was comfortable and familiar, and head into a new land.  Just realizing that the Creator was a necessary part of reality, he was pointed in a new direction.  He sent himself on this journey with a blessing.  As we see in later stories, of course he had many moments of doubt and fear, but he was willing, nonetheless, to constantly forge ahead.

Rabbi Shloime Twerski, of blessed memory, published an article shortly before his death on Simchat Torah in 1981, about how hard it is for us to make changes in our lives, even when we know that the change is for the best.  No matter that we just worked hard and saved up and bought a wonderful new home, it’s always so difficult to pack up and leave our crowded apartment.  For more than half of the world’s Jews, myself included right now, even though we have the opportunity of the millennia to make ourselves at home in our spiritual and historical homeland, very few of us, at least if we’re not being actively threatened at the moment, aren’t paralyzed when offered to option to live in Israel.  Bitachon is a hard road to follow.

On a deep level, it shouldn’t be, but in many personal realities, it really is too much to expect that we’ll all jump happily into the unknown in every part of our lives, trusting our instincts and training as well as, of course, hashgacha pratit.  But we can, at least once in a while, encouraged by the new opportunities of a new year, try a little, take a few small steps in the right direction.  The Psalm we read from the beginning of Elul until after Simchat Torah, chosen specifically for this holy season, tells us to “trust in God, strengthen and fortify our hearts and trust in God”.  It takes a strong heart, but we are given that by The Creator as well.

The Ramchal (Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzatto), the 18th century kabbalistic master, begins his classic, Derech HaShem, The Way of God, with this statement, “Kol Ish M’Yisrael Tzarich Sh’Ya’Amin V’Yeda”, Every Jew needs to believe and to know….. 

He completes this with a strikingly vague formula referring to God. Literally, he continues …that which is found; first, beginning and eternal; and this (Being) is Who brought all things to being found, continues to bring things into being found within the finding.  The next paragraph goes on to say that this Being (this that which is found) is totally unknowable to any being outside Himself.

This sefer is, along with the Talmud, my foundational Jewish text.  I’ve had the privilege to learn it with holy teachers, and have subsequently studied it myself and gone on to teach it innumerable times.  A “magical” phenomenon which, I suspect, is commonly experienced by most people who study Torah, is that each and every reading offers new and deeper insights.

For years, when I’ve taught this text I have emphasized that the words the Ramchal chose, “sh’ya’amin” and “v’yeda” are very poorly translated with the words believe and know.  Hebrew is a much richer language than English, with each word containing untold layers of meaning, and we often broaden our understanding by examining related words (Hebrew is largely based on three-consonant roots which can generate words of widely different meaning).  So, when we look at the root of “sh’ya’amin”, AMN, we see the familiar amen, an affirmation of belief, as well as the word “emunah” which does mean belief.  However, the root is also found in the words “uman”, a craftsman, and “amanut”, craft.  Rather than promoting blind faith, our tradition is informing us that belief is something that must be crafted over time, adding a little here, taking off a little there, much like a potter.  In other words, it aspires to be a work in progress, meaning that one continues to deepen and grow, to fill in more and more blank spaces, but realizing that the perfect expression will, ultimately, elude us.  Again, blind faith has no place in Judaism.

“V’yeda”, based on DEA, means to know, but much more than to merely have a factual knowledge, but rather a participatory, experiential and intimate relationship.  Therefore, what I used to teach is that every Jew is obligated by our tradition to continually work on the process of having an intimate knowledge and relationship with The Creator.  It seemed proper to establish a religion that, itself, contains so many responsibilities with this primary responsibility.  Still, I was always a little uncomfortable with such a peremptory and, perhaps, arbitrary pronouncement.

But each new reading does bring new meanings and layers of understanding.  Just last week it struck me that I was stuck too literally with the superficial meaning of “Tzarich”, needs, is required to.  A “tzorech” is more than just a need, but rather it’s an internally-generated need.  It is something absolutely required, just as food and air, for our continuing existence.

Turning the paragraph on its head, just a bit, I reformulated these opening words to tell us that it is a universal inner-generated need within every Jewish soul to unceasingly grapple with the idea of a God totally outside even the potential of our understanding.  Just as our physical body requires food and water, our emotional life, love and our intellect requires challenge, our spirit requires this eternal process of forming and refining relationship with The One.

(Before I’m accused of chauvinism or triumphalism (although I see nothing wrong in celebrating our continuing survival through the millennia against all odds), I want to emphasize that when I talk about Jewish souls, I’m not excluding everyone else from having deep spiritual drives and inclinations; I’m merely discussing my own field of knowledge, Jewish spirituality.  It’s inconceivable to me that God doesn’t provide unique wisdom paths to all peoples.)

We’re closely approaching and preparing for the High Holidays.  Some of us are already going to synagogue early every morning for selichot.  Others are planning for meals and guests.  Some are writing sermons.

Here’s an additional assignment.  Rosh HaShana liturgy emphasizes “Malchut”, usually translated as the Kingship of God.  I propose that the literal experience of monarchy is so far removed from our experience and understanding as to be almost useless.  We’re taught, however, that the Torah is eternal and has relevance to every generation and that it self-updates and reveals itself as necessary to each generation.  Our mystical tradition points out that “Malchut”, also means fully engaging  in the physical world we normally perceive.  One way to do that is to daily, as we prepare for Rosh HaShana and beyond, actively engage our awareness of the Eternal which transcends our individual egos and try to form an ever-growing relationship with Him.  May we all have a New Year filled with brachot and simchot, blessings and joy.

My heart always returns to this day nineteen years ago.  My children were much younger, my youngest not yet born.  My best friend and his family were visiting from Los Angeles, and the kids were playing, blissfully unaware of the nature of the day, on a long-gone swing set in a long-gone back yard in a long-gone home.  As it usually is on Tisha B’Av, even in Seattle, it was hot.

My mind wasn’t on the children or on my friends or even with the Jewish People that day.  Rather, my mother, in hospital in Denver, was undergoing an emergency angioplasty without surgical back-up, in other words and all-or-nothing final gamble to give her the strength to recover from her grave condition.  I felt people around me trying to make conversation, to help me take my mind off morbid thoughts, but I was just waiting for “the call”.

When the phone finally did ring, the news was that, somehow, my mother had come through the procedure and was stronger than she’d been in months.  The prognosis was for her to be released in about two more weeks!  I was so relieved after I had primed myself on this, the most disastrous day of our Jewish year, for the worst.  I had an overwhelming experience of redemption arising from the ashes.

Perhaps that was the beginning of my understanding that Judaism is the art of unreasonable optimism.

Her death, about a week later, hit me very hard.  It didn’t however, cancel my insight about what our tradition is all about.  Rather it taught me, among many other things, that we all have limited vision and, as such, can’t see the entire road.  We can, and should, react to “local conditions”, to what we are actually experiencing.  If needed, we should grieve fully, but we can’t let ourselves become lost in the grief.  Our question is where do we go now, not, as we all too often ask, why did this occur.

Likewise as a people, we have many things to grieve over on this day.  We should learn from our sages that the root cause of our disasters stem from lack of faith (the spies in the desert), our attempting to exempt ourselves from primary rules of civilization (the destruction of the First Temple) and our endless bickering with each other (the destruction of the Second Temple and our current exile/dispersion/alienation), but we don’t do much to relieve the problems by merely beating our chests in guilt.

Rather, we need to correct our direction, regain our faith in the beneficence of The Creator, decide that the system works only if everyone, including ourselves, plays by the rules, and remember that everyone else, working outward from the center, of course, beginning with our fellow Jews but encompassing all mankind, is also playing their part  in bringing an imperfect world to completion.

A very beautiful minhag (custom) is to sweep the floor on the afternoon of Tisha B’Av, and make our home ready to welcome the Machiach.  The means we must prepare our very center to finally sing in perfect harmony with the world.  May this be the final year of our fasting.