A broken arm, not a broken spirit-- back blogging

I read today how a blog is not about "making money" but about fostering and developing relationships. So-- I'm shamed, and hopefully, at least weekly, I'm back--

I heard it mentioned that in the educational reform movement that was playground building, at the turn of the past century in 1905, the motto was:  “Better a broken arm than a broken spirit.”  I fear in our nanny-state of 2011, we’ve sided with the broken spirit.

The NYT opined last week on the growing trend towards PC even in our children’s fun.  Playgrounds have been denuded of their see-saws and fire-poles; too-high slides are a thing of the past and even swings are on their way out.  Why?   Kid’s safety, of course.  We wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt!

But what about the injury to a kid’s spirit?

I can still remember the view from the top of the enclosure surrounding the fire-pole,  in the playground at my elementary school, Avoca, in Glenview, IL.  Off in a corner of the wonderfully-wood scented bark-chip covered ground of the yard was a four-laddered “building” which allowed enterprising kindergarteners to climb the enormous (at least it seemed to me then, at age 5) 10 feet to the metal-floored chamber with the hole in the middle, and the pole the only way out.  (Of course, you could back down the ladders—but who would do that?  Me, once, as a 5 year-old kindergartener, and the shame still remains.) 

At 6 years-old, though, finally a grown-up first-grader, I took the fall chill of the new school year to be my homing signal.  At the first (alright, maybe it was day 8) day of school, first recess, I was up one of those impossibly-tall ladders, looking ever to the azure, Indian-summer Chicago sky, that metal-floored chamber (of course, the metal had bumpy ridges to keep occupants fromt sliding out the sides) to the pole. 

I got there, quicker than I remembered from my kindergarten year.  The view was incredible—I could see everyone:  my teacher, my classmates, and even my little red-headed girl  (yes, I had one of those, too, in first-grade).  Would they see me streaking down the slick fire-pole?  Probably not.  Would I go anyway?

I would!  I did!

The distance from the end of the hole in the middle of the chamber to the pole was very scary, that first time.  I held my breath, and  . . .  jumped, and held on to the pole for dear life.  Once there, I realized I couldn’t keep on holding on—the trick was to slide down, to let go!!!!! a bit at a time, allowing my weight to pull me down in a controlled fall with the pole doing the controlling.

Terrifying.

Exhilerating.

No broken bones.

A definitely-enhanced spirit, still remembered on today, my 53^rd birthday.

But now, I’m afraid, the fire-pole is gone from Avoca’s playground.

I live in Venice, CA, so it’s hard to check it out—I’ll have to report back when I go visit for my High School class’ 35^th Reunion in November.   I hope it’s not gone.  But I worry that it is.

How will this new generation’s 6 year-old’s spirits grow?  Not by virtually sliding down a virtual pole in a virtual reality video game, that’s for sure.

Guest repost-- From Rabbi Yitzchok Adlerstein, a must read

Banning Mila and the Ascendance of China

By Yitzchok Adlerstein, on June 1st, 2011

Frum Jews seem to be aware of the proposed bans of bris mila on minor children in San Francisco and Santa Monica, but not terribly alarmed by them. (This is in contradistinction to proposed anti-shechita legislation in Holland and the EU, about which they should be very alarmed.) The arguments against the ban emerged quickly, and are percolating through the community, as people read the first op-eds that have reached the general media. Opponents of the bans have to make secular, not religious, appeals to the general public. They point to the medical benefits of circumcision that far outweigh any perceived problems. They observe that the measures may be unconstitutional, although this is not at all certain. They argue that society gives parents the right to make all sorts of health-related decisions on behalf of their children, and infringing on that right smacks of totalitarianism.
Here is an argument that has not been given as much attention. The measures do not target Jews or Judaism, but religious faith itself. All of it. Religious non-Jews should be as irked about the bans as Jews are.
For over two hundred years of American history, bris mila went unchallenged, even in times when anti-Semitism was rampant. The current opposition comes from an increasingly strident lobby of people – including Jews – who are dismissive and contemptuous of genuine religious faith. These people see the Bible as nothing more than myth. Following the Golden Rule is innocuous, but taking any other part of the Bible seriously is bad. Acting on any part of it is worse. People who listen to the Bible about circumcision could very well be opposed to gay marriage, and such opposition is a cardinal sin against the non-deity.
What galls them is that anyone could take a knife against the flesh of an infant because they are so unenlightened as to live their lives by fairy tales. The hatred of mila stems from a smug confidence in their independence from archaic notions of a Creator. Religion is for the uninformed, the unvarnished masses living in the darkness of their incomprehension. Those who comprehend have no need for religion, and no room for religiously-based (or sourced) child surgeries. The arguments are not new; the ferocity in the public domain is. It is only one part of what will be an increasing mockery of, and assault on, all forms of religious belief.
This is a pity, and possibly much worse. A decline in religious belief – at least in what we call the Judeo-Christian system of belief – may mean the loss of a leadership position in the community of nations. Lord Rabbi Sacks is his usual eloquent self in the Times of London: Towards the end of his recent book, Civilization, the historian Niall Ferguson drops into his analysis an explosive depth-charge. He quotes a member of the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences, part of a team tasked with the challenge of discovering why it was that Europe, having lagged behind China until the 17th century, overtook it, rising to prominence and dominance.

At first, he said, we thought it was your guns. You had better weapons than we did. Then we delved deeper and thought it was your political system. Then we searched deeper still, and concluded that it was your economic system. But for the past 20 years we have realised that it was in fact your religion… that made possible the emergence first of capitalism, then of democratic politics.

Has the West abandoned the very system that made it great, only to have the Chinese claim it as its own?

What has China realised that the West is rapidly forgetting? That a civilisation is as strong as its faith. As a culture grows old and tired, as people borrow more and save less, as they value present pleasures over future growth, so they begin to lose the beliefs and practices that made their society successful in the first place. …It begins to resemble the Roman Empire at the start of its decline. The Roman historian Livy wrote, with great poignancy, about how “with the gradual relaxation of discipline, morals first subsided, as it were, then sank lower and lower, and finally began the downward plunge

The observation is not terribly new

The decline and fall of civilisations has been charted by the wise for many centuries. ..Civilizations begin by valuing austerity, courage and self-sacrifice. This sets them on a path to growth. As they become successful, they grow more self indulgent and self centred. People are no longer willing to make sacrifices for the group. Trust declines. Social capital wanes. There are no heroes any more. Renown gives way to fame and then to mere celebrity. …Societies start growing old when they lose faith in the transcendent. They then lose faith in an objective moral order and end by losing faith in themselves…We are as strong as our faith. That truth, once the West’s unique selling proposition, now comes with a label saying, “Made in China.” But it’s still worth buying.

The growth that Rabbi Sacks speaks of is more akin to what is described in Startup Nation than in Pirkei Avos. The lessons of bris milah begin where those of material development end off. They include notions like the necessary curtailment of Man’s energies, and the mandate to make the world a better place in the course of one’s lifetime. They imply entering into a covenant not only with G-d, but with a people prepared to do His bidding.
These lessons as well will survive long after a few crazies in San Francisco learn that, like the generation of the Tower of Bavel, they cannot really ascend to the Heavens and attack their Resident with their cudgels.

Read more: http://www.cross-currents.com/archives/2011/06/01/banning-mila-and-the-ascendance-of-china/#ixzz1O6KTHjJ7
Under Creative Commons License: Attribution

Scary Stuff

Saw Glen Beck today-- scary stuff about Israel being the keystone of the West.

What does Hashem want us to do? 

Learn Torah, do mitzvos.

Love kindness, and walk humbly with Him.

Lev melachim b'yad Hashem-- the heart of kings is in the hand of G-d.

How can I do His will?

what do you do?

What do you do when someone you know, respect even, posts something which is innane, or prohibited by Jewish law, or even just by the laws of human decency?

It's probably no good to ream them out on FB, no?

Perhaps this whole SM business is to teach us the character trait of patience, and humility-- to hold our tongues, not to post?

What do you think?

FB posting is Fun!

It is, really, and it's much shorter than blogging. 

Find an interesting link, and share.  See if anyone likes.
Respond.  Maybe.

I'm still sorting out all of this.

How can I have my SM and my privacy, too?

5 second impact-- guest post: You must see this

I saw this post today, and I had to forward it to anyone who reads this.  (It's my way of getting back in the swing of posting, kinda-- zb)

 

The Five Second Lifetime Impression” by Prof Gerald August

by Simcha Weinberg on Sunday, May 22, 2011 at 10:09pm

In 1985, I attended the annual convention of the National Speakers Association. I had recently joined the organization, and was trying to learn how to become a professional speaker. One of the general session speakers was a man named Gene, who had won three Emmys writing for a famous television comedian.

After he finished speaking, there was a break before the smaller group sessions began. I was thinking of becoming a humorous speaker, so I approached him and was having a conversation about how to pursue that goal. At one point, a friend of Gene’s came up and started talking to him.

I figured my time with Gene had ended. I was grateful for the three-minutes, and began to turn to walk away. But out of the corner of his eye he saw me turning, and he waved with his hand that I should stay. After talking to his friend, Gene turned back and continued our conversation for another few minutes. I do not remember our conversation. But 26 years later, I still see the wave.

In 1966, I was in the yeshiva of Ner Yisrael in Baltimore. One day, Rabbi Shneur Kotler, the head of the world-renowned Lakewood yeshiva, visited our yeshiva. To understand the full impact of what happened next, you need context. The head of a yeshiva is treated with extreme respect. When he walks into a room, everyone rises. You talk to him in third person. For example,” Would the head of the yeshiva like a cup of coffee?” So, when I was introduced to him, I was startled when he slightly bowed to me. I later learned that his respect for people was on a very high level, and this behavior was not unusual. Forty five years later, I still see the bow.

In 1962, I was a freshman at Yeshiva University. My parents, my uncle and I drove to New York from my hometown. While my father was finding a parking space, my uncle and I walked into the dormitory to find my room assignment. Gary, an upperclassman who was in the lobby, opened his arms wide, smiled a big smile, and in a greeting that came from the tip of his toes to the top of his head, said, “Shalom aleichem”. That was the most genuine, welcoming shalom aleichem I have ever heard.

Whenever I went back home during the year, I would visit my uncle. His first words were not, “How are you, Gerald?” His first words were, “How is that shalom aleichem guy?” Forty nine years later, that shalom aleichem greeting still brings a smile to my face.

There is also the negative five second impact. Twenty two years ago, I was at a fundraiser for a politician in New York. A senator from another state had come to attend the event. I walked up to the man and said, “It is nice to meet you, Senator.” He replied, “Who are you?” I answered, “My name is Gerald August”. He turned and walked away. I still feel the insult.

In five seconds, we can create a lifetime memory. It can be a positive or a negative one. But even in such a short time, we can do or say something that will forever define us in someone’s mind. It doesn’t take a long time to make a lifetime impression.

Author Info: Learn & discover the Divine prophecies with Rabbi Simcha Weinberg from the holy Torah, Jewish Law, Mysticism, Kabbalah and Jewish Prophecies

I've been silent for a while.

Dear all,
I've been a bit silenced for the last month.  I'll talk soon why.  Check back--
Rabbi Zvi

Keep your eye on the ball

I love the thought-experiment that goes like this:  pretend you’re on a basketball team.  You’re playing the length of the court, jumping high for rebounds, blocking-out for the good position, shooting and moving in for the tip—everything.  Just one problem--- there’s no ball.  You’re doing all of this, fast-breaks and all, with an imaginary ball.  How long do you think you can keep it up?  A few minutes, a minute?  Somehow, without the real goal, the ball, all that activity overwhelms. 



Whereas when you’re really playing, the muscle pain and adversity confronting your opponent is almost ignored by your body, without the ball—it’s too much.

I just saw a statement on a motivational poster, in the bathroom (!), of a factory I inspect, which explains to me the reason for this fatigue.  It shows a picture of a golf ball, lying before a green, placed  back in the picture about 100 yards.  In front of the ball are arrayed 5 large oak trees, with a small passage in the middle of the trunks.  Branches verdant with leaves over-hang the passage.  In front of the green (which, on closer inspection is sloping downhill, away from the approach shot), is a monster lip, and at the base of the lip, an enormous sand trap.  Underneath this picture is a caption:

Obstacles are those frightful things you see when you take your eyes off your goals.

See?  Obstacles aren’t really real.  They’re a figment of my imagination, only possessing truth when I take my mental “eye” off the goal.  To Tiger Woods, the shot is the only thing he sees, and he lines up the shot with the muscle memory necessary to punch through and make the green.  To the  guys on the court, the pain and effort are parts of the game, as long as the goal—the ball in the bucket—is before their eyes.    Without a ball—when I take my eye off the goal, the obstacles overwhelm.

Focus removes the adversity blocking the accomplishment of my goal.  Obstacles are only present when I take my eye off it.

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Do you know what Kosher means?

Do you know what Kosher means?

All too often, when we speak of Spirituality, we do so using terms and ideas which are common in the society around us, but which are far-afield from  traditional Jewish thought.

For example, let’s take how we talk about food and eating ( and drinking, too) .  Since we know that these are patently-physical acts,  and hence they cannot be spiritual, our common language reflects that attitude.  We “pig out (oink-oink)”, we get “sloshed”, “smashed”, or “bombed”, and search for the smorg “to kill for”.  When we speak like this, the act of eating or drinking cannot but be craven.  For to sanctify something, we must think of it, and then describe it, with expressions of holiness.  Only then will we be able to embue the acts themselves with holiness.

When one of my mentors, Rav Eizik Ausband, shlit”a, would eat with the boys in the Rabbinical College, you knew that food was part of a Divine act.  The Rav never ate a sandwich.  Never did he put a large amount of food in his mouth at one time; the entire act of eating was conducted with circumspection and awareness.  Rav Eizik was mindful of his behavior and endeavored to make the physical  into something simultaneously spiritual.

And what kind of food did Rav Eizik eat?  Kosher food, of course.  But what did that mean? 

So many people think kosher means holy, or blessed.  Isn’t that what the rabbis do when they go visit a factory—bless the food, to make it kosher?

Of course, the answer is no—the Rabbi doesn’t bless the food.  (Actually, he’s an auditor, pure and simple.)  So what does kosher refer to?  What does it mean?

Kosher means ready for its purpose.  It is fit to be used for the mission for which it was created by the Almighty.  Kosher is something which each and every person should strive to be.  It’s not about having accomplished already, its about being prepared to fulfill the goal. 

In Jewish understanding, food is not an end in itself—for it was, eating would be a piggish activity, to die for.  Food is a means to a higher purpose, providing the energy to allow me to rise above my physical body.  Food in Judaism, then, is never the end-in-itself.  It is always there—would our Jewish Grandmother’s ever not let us have another piece of—whatever!—but its raison d’etre is fuel for greatness.

To be kosher is to be ready to blast-off.  Any wonder our food preparations for the overwhelming holiday of Passover take so long?!

Don't look for the sure thing.

            3000 years ago, there lived a man who didn’t look for the sure thing.  Abraham of Ur was the son of a well-off artisan (of idols, of course).  The sure thing would have been to ignore the pining of his soul for the Creative Power greater than himself, to just go with the communal flow, and connect to his spirituality in the unfree way everyone else did.  But no, he had to break all of his father’s idols, and risk the wrath of the establishment religious authorities.  In so doing, he freed mankind from the bonds of idol worship.  He bequeathed to all time a legacy of a free-will moral man following the Infinitely Free Creator.

            He did it again.

            He knew in his heart that that Creative Power had called upon him to leave the city of his birth for an unknown heritage.  The easy thing would have been to ignore it, to marry, have a family in Ur like his fathers and the fathers before them had done. 

            He left.  For where?  He did not know.  He went anyway, because he knew he had a calling.  That act paved the way for generations of “wandering Jews” throughout history.

            He did it again.

            Abraham knew it when this Creative Power, greater than himself,  called upon him to bring his only son as an “elevating offering”.    He recognized his prophecy and he knew this would likely mean—the end of his dreams for a progeny, a future family to build upon what he had begun.  But it wasn’t about him, his family, his wants.

            The sure thing would have to ignore it.  To go back to his preaching.  To play it safe.  But he didn’t-- so he offered his son, and found out that he didn’t lose his son, he was laying the spiritual genetic framework for an eternal People, his people, the Jewish people.

2500 years ago, a leader  of this people, Abraham’s great-great grandson, Nachshon, the son of Aminadav, of the tribe of Yehuda, did it too.  He went into the sea and didn’t look back because Moshe Rabbeinu, Moses Our Teacher, told him that G-d wanted him to do so.  He didn’t know the sea would split.  He didn’t look for the sure thing.  He took the action necessary, and let G-d guide him, and the result was the creation of a new, free People who would receive the Torah, G-d’s law, 6 weeks later on Mount Sinai.

Nachshon didn’t act because he knew it would change the world.  The sure thing would have been to run away from the madness—surrounded on all sides by enemies, wild animals, and the raging waters—but he acted.

In my spiritual world, I also do not know the cosmic effect of my deeds.  But I know one thing—I want to follow the lead of my holy ancestors and not simply look for the sure thing.  

We begin to think about Passover when Purim is over.  We just celebrated Purim.  Let’s now begin thinking about Passover, and for the next month, let’s not look for the sure thing.

Loser phrases

Lorna K. shared a neat idea from a sponsor of hers:  Loser phrases

I know what those are (and you probably do, too); I groan when I hear them, I know they’re bogus, yet I all-too-often use them myself.  (Well, if not openly, certainly in my own “self-talk” in my head.)  Like . . .   (Oh yeah-- don't forget to use a nice, whiney voice when you read each one  . . . )

1.         I deserve … (fill in the blank)  a good relationship, a cool car, a large expense account, honor from my friends, colleagues, family, etc.

Honey, be thankful you have a G-d of Mercy.  If you got what you deserve . . .

2.         It’s hard for me . . . to call my outreach calls, to tithe 10% of my income, to smile when I’m in pain, to help my neighbor, etc.

Honey, its hard for us all.  From Y. Berg:  Our good nature and endearing qualities will not arouse the answers to our prayers.  Rather it is our mischievous, dishonest attributes that provide the master keys to heaven.  When we identify and work to transform our self-centered qualities and crooked characteristics, the key turns and the gates unlock. . .

3.         My situation is different because . . .  I had a difficult childhood, I have greater needs, I’m too (you name it), etc.

Honey, we’re all different.  That’s the way G-d planned it.  In spirituality, we get to overcome those differences and become a part of, instead of separate from.

4.         Yes, but . . .

No buts.  Run if you hear this coming  (and you can hear the “yeah but” crowd a mile away).

5.         I’d like to, I really would.

Then do it.  Period.  Action is the magic word.  "We do not think our way to right action, we act our way to right thinking."

6.         I’m just born this way.  It’s the way I am.

You were born with a G-dly soul, uniquely suited for the purpose for which you’ve been placed on this Earth.  It may be difficult at times to perceive what that purpose is.  But, you have tools.  Use them.   G-d’s  Spirit is closer to you than you are to yourself, and He/She/It is always ready to assist you in fulfilling your mission.

As Marianne Williamson (born 1952), a spiritual activist and author wrote in her book, A Return to Love (1992) (and no, not Nelson Mandela in a commencement speech in 1994, as is often mis-attributed), “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.  Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.  It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us.

7.  I need . . .

As Rebbetzin Vichne Kaplan ob”m (of blessed memory) once said, we must be aware of the difference between our needs and our wants.  I need love, air, and Spirituality.  I want a chocolate bar.  (This is one I used to use as a mantra when I taught kindergarten.)

I must remember that the 5 most important words in Spirituality are change, change, change, change, and finally, change.  I have to give up these phrases.  I’m not going to be a loser anymore.

My memory

A nice thought- my memory is good, its just too short. 

 

A poem: 

I began to pray, thinking about what I had done, and said, "Oh Lord, bless everyone.  And lift from each heart the pain, and let the sick be well again." 

And then the next day when I did awake, I carelessly went on my way. 

The whole day I did not try to wipe a tear from any eye.  I did not try to share the load of any brother on the road.  I did not even go to see the sick man just next door to me. 

Yet once again when I thought to pray, thinking of what I had done,

I prayed, "Oh Lord bless everyone." 

But as I prayed, to my ear, there came a voice that whispered clear: 

"Pause, Zvi, before you pray, whom have YOU tried to help today?" 

 

Hashem's sweetest blessings always go to hands that serve Him here below.

 

(anonymous i.e. no attribution, on a placemat on sale at a 12-step program, and adapted by myself)

Spirituality helps in the tough times

Spirituality helps in the tough times.


It’s tough, confronting evil in the world.

I’m working throughout the day, and interspersed with my reports, notes, replies to emails—I receive commentary on the latest horror:  the brutal knife-murder of an Israeli family of 5, 3 children, the youngest only 3 months old, allegedly committed by a Palestinian infiltrator.

One comment—hard to believe coming from a normally mild-mannered Rabbinic confidante—expresses the thought that the world would be a better place without an entire nation of people.

Another from an equally generally-stoic Rabbinic correspondent,  mulls over the distinctions between “terror attack” and “serial murder”.

I just can’t get my head around all of it. 

And in contemplating my reticence, I believe it has to do with my thinking about (today, as I endeavor to write regularly on the topic) on spirituality.

At the risk of sounding pedantic, it seems to me that to be spiritual, one must maintain a grasp on those aspects of one’s humanity which is not physical, which derives from the spirit.  As a mentor of mine has said on this issue, we can identify those aspects by an easy test—does a cow do it?  Do cows contemplate murderers?  Certainly not.  Do they long for expression of common humanity?  Again, no.  Do they wish for justice?  Without a doubt—not cow behavior.  These issues undoubtedly pertain to the spirit.  Only man can yearn for peace and goodwill. 

But, I believe that speaking quickly, almost impulsively, is also not spiritual.  Cows, when provoked or startled by unusual acts do act impulsively. To quietly grieve and to allow the grief to pervade my soul, changing me, making me more aware of my own fragility, is a uniquely human, not bovine behavior.  To think how to patiently respond to those who would look to me for guidance, to meditate on how to guide appropriately, responsibly, is a product of my spirit, not cow-stuff. 

My spirit compels me to silence now, to absorb the loss of the Fogel family, in what little  way I can.   It requires me to pray and donate charity on their behalf, to be a part of the common Jewish people, and  indeed, a part of the common humanity suffering in their loss. 

Spirituality not only motivates me to different kinds of behaviors, it molds me, so I respond to those motivations entirely differently.  And sometimes, so I don’t respond, yet, at all. 

As we say in some of my spiritual groups, “Don’t just do something, sit there.”

In tough times, the quiet is comforting.  With my spirit, I’m never alone.

When someone asks me, "Who are you?", how should I answer?

When someone asks me, "Who are you, Zvi?", how should I answer?

Do I tell them that I am a Rabbi of a small but homey synagogue in Venice, California?
That's true, but also inaccurate.  After all, it's only a small part of my "living", and besides,
I don't consider what I do to put food on the table the sole definition of "me".
Indeed, it doesn't even say "Rabbi" on my birth certificate.

Perhaps, I should say that I am happily married to a wonderful woman for the past 29 years, blessed
with 5 lovely children, 4 boys and a princess, 2 exceptional and devoted daughters-in-law  and 2 delicious grandchildren (kein ayin hara).
But, does that mean I wasn't anyone until I got married?

Maybe I should try a trait which is more intrinsic, say, like, "I'm a 5' 6 1/2" male with deep brown eyes, a salt-and-pepper beard, and almost no hair on my
head!"
Nah-- that emphasizes the physical, and I'm so much more than that.

No-- I should answer that I am an eternal soul, called Zvi Boruch the son of Eliyahu, of blessed memory,
which currently resides in Zvi Hollander's body.  I am not my body, I am not my brain, or even my mind.  All
of these are tools that my soul, I, use to navigate this world.  They all make up who I am.  But, in my essence, I am a eternal  part of the Almighty,
a member of that group who stood before Him at Sinai.  I must never forget that.

In my perception of oneness, I mistakenly feel separate from the All.   In my essence, I'm part of Him, and
"ain od milvado", He is everything, of which there is nothing else.  Even in my uniqueness, I'm connected.

Alas, the question "Who are you?" never elicits answers like this.  It has become a kind of verbal short-hand for "What do you do?" or "Where do you live?" or
"To whom are you married?"  The danger is that I begin to believe the short-hand. 

I have been given a multiplicity of characteristics, physical and spiritual, social yet unique.  I must remember that all of them make up who I am. 
And since my Creator has given me all of them, I need to serve Him with all of them, too.




How poignant, then, that the fundamental offering in the Bais Hamikdash, the Holy Temple in Jerusalem was the "olah", literally, the "elevating" offering.  This offering was available for all mankind.
It was called an "elevating" offering since it directs us symbolically to contemplate our higher calling.  How significant that all of this offering, every part, is consumed in the fire of G-d's Holy Service!

Parashas Vayikra-- The greatest distance between any two points in the universe is the distance that separates our minds from our hearts

This guest post is from our dear chaver, Rabbi Elchanan Shoff, senior lecturer at Hineni International Programs (H.I.P.) Jerusalem, Israel

If his offering is a bird… and he shall sever its head (with his fingernail)”

Vayikra 1:14-15

When person offers a bird as a sin offering, he severs the head using a process called melika. But when he severs the head of the bird, he should take great care not to sever it entirely, teaches the Torah.¹ The birds brought as offerings are doves, and the Jewish people are compared to a dove², so what is done to the dove hints to what should be happening to the person offering the sacrifice.³ The neck is broken from the back, explains the Sefer Hachinuch,⁴ to remind us not to be too stiff-necked, and be prepared to change our ways that led us to sin. But the head is not to be entirely removed from the body, for the mind is always meant to lead the heart, explains the Noam Hamitzvos⁵. It can never be removed from it. We are to remind ourselves that our sins would not have occurred had we let our intellects lead the way, and forced our hearts and emotions to simply follow.

The Torah, when talking about the mind, uses the word lev, heart.⁶ But why? The great R. Avigdor Miller⁷ explained that one’s knowledge is only truly called knowledge when it penetrates his heart. We can agree that insulting someone’s mother to his face is usually the wrong thing to do. If someone insults another person’s mother, we know that it is wrong. But when someone insults your own mother, your heart begins to beat faster. Your knowledge has penetrated your heart. It beats faster based upon what you know to be right and wrong. That is true knowledge. As long as the knowledge is only in your brain, and remains separated from your heart, and your actions, it is not truly knowledge. And yet, life is about this very journey from the intellect to the heart. “You have known today, and you shall bring it home to your heart, that Hashem is the Lord, there is no other aside from him.”⁸

There is a nation that stands for the separation of the head from the heart. They are called Amalek. The very name Amalek is made up of the words am “nation,” and malak, Amalek emerges as “a nation of melika.”⁹ The gematria of Amalek is 240, as is the gematria of safek, doubt.¹ Amalek is about acting as if one is not quite certain. They were a people who knew that they would get scalded if they attacked the Jewish people¹¹ and they knowingly did so anyhow. They are a people of melika, for they refuse to allow what they know in their head to penetrate their hearts. They inherited the essence of their ancestor Esav¹² who had a head in the right place,¹³ and knew right from wrong, but would never allow that wisdom to penetrate his heart. This is what was behind Haman’s Amalkite attack on the Jewish people in the Purim story.

“And they stood at the bottom of the mountain.”¹⁴ When the Jews stood at Sinai, our sages teach us that “Hashem held the mountain over them like a barrel¹⁵. He said to them, ‘If you accept the Torah, all is well. If not, your graves will be there.’ From then on there was a great¹⁶ weakness in the [relationship that the Jewish people had with] the Torah. However, they once again accepted it in the time of Achashverosh, as it says¹⁷ ‘the Jewish people fulfilled and accepted upon themselves and their children’ they fulfilled what they had accepted long ago.”¹⁸ Rashi¹⁹ tells us that it was out of love for the miracle that Hashem preformed for them that they accepted the Torah out of love.

The significance of Hashem raising the mountain² over the heads of the Jewish people at the time of the Torah’s giving is immense. R. Meir Simcha of Dvinsk²¹ explains that in fact, the meaning of this bizarre sounding story is that the Jewish people were forced into a relationship with Torah by the clarity that they experienced. There was no doubt at Sinai about what was true and what was not. They saw reality, God, and Torah, and they were forced to accept it. It became clear to them that if they were not to accept the Torah, they would be reduced to corpses, and the world could not continue to exist. And yet there is a great deal of weakness in such an arrangement. A decision of the mind, while firm, lacks the luster of one that perhaps came from lack of clarity but strength of heart. A man who marries his wife because it was a very well thought out plan, and he sees on paper that it ought to work, has a different relationship that the person who makes his choice out of love, when things are less clear. The Purim story was the chance for the Jews to take the relationship that was based upon truth, and inject some passion into it. Out of love for the miracle done for them, they renewed their relationship.²²

The Purim story occurred in a time of darkness, in exile when the Jewish people could not clearly see the hand of God. His name is not even mentioned in the Megillah! But in fact, the Purim experience was about a time when intellectually things were not as clear as in the past, but emotionally, the opportunity was there to connect with the heart. And that is the connection that solidifies a relationship. It is the one that lasts, and the one that gives depth. When a person commits to something even in a time of darkness, without knowing what will come, in sickness and in health, that is true commitment.

This is how we beat Amalek, and his descendant Haman, who came to attack us. They are armed with knowledge as we are of what is right and wrong. They disregard it. Our job is to internalize it. When we do that, Haman is hung, and we drink. “One is obligated to inebriate himself on Purim until he can no longer distinguish between how cursed Haman is, and how blessed Mordechai is.”²³ When we get that drunk, we are dismissing our minds. Because Purim is not a holiday for the mind, it is one for the heart. Only when we have a little less clarity can we demonstrate how deep our commitment really runs. When all is sunny, and one makes a commitment, he may need to wait for the cloudy times until he discovers the depth of his commitment.

In the Spanish Inquisition, when Jewish people were forced to abandon their lives, or convert to Christianity, one great Rabbi who was witness to this horrible time, R. Yosef Yaavetz,²⁴ in his Or Hachaim,²⁵ records something remarkable. “In the exile from Spain, from where we were exiled due to our many and egregious sins, most of those who were glorified for their wisdom, and remarkable deeds all traded in their religion on that bitter day, while the simple and uneducated people sacrificed their bodies and money to sanctify their Creator.” It is only when something is in our hearts that is it truly real. Sometimes, that is easier to accomplish when our minds are not there.

The path to avoiding sin again is to make sure that the head of that bird is still connected to the body. Our heads can never be disconnected; we must always know that there is little value to all of that knowledge unless it enters our hearts. For in fact, our hearts are what Hashem really wants from us after all.

R. Yisrael Salanter once said, “The greatest distance between any two points in the universe is the distance that separates our minds from our hearts.”

¹ Vayikra 5:8, Chulin 21b

² Shabbos 49a

³ Sefer Hachinuch 124

⁴ ibid

⁵ Mitzvah 124

⁶ Radak and ibn Ezra to Tehillim 16:9

⁷ Sing You Righteous p. 16

⁸ Dvarim 4:39. See Chochma Umussar 1, 128 of R. Simcha Z. Ziv, the Alter of Kelm.

⁹ Torah Or (of R. Shneur Zalman of Liadi) to Tetzaveh p. 85

¹  See Zohar 2, 65a “Hashem said, ‘you said “is Hashem among us, or not” I will put you into the hands of the dog’ and right then ‘And Amalek arrived,’.”

¹¹ Rashi Dvarim 25:18 s.v. Asher Karcha

¹² See Shem Mishmuel Tetzaveh-Shushan Purim s.v. Bigemara

¹³ Esav’s head was buried in the Cave of Machpelah, see Targum Yonason to Bereshis 50:13. Arizal wrote that Esav’s head was connected to holiness, see Yaaros Devash 2, 15. See also Derech Sicha of R. Chaim Kanievsky vol. 1, p. 100. See also Mareh Hapanim to Yerushalmi Taanis 4:2, and Ben Yehoyada to Eruvin 53a.

¹⁴ Shemos 19:17

¹⁵ Regarding the significance of the barrel, see R. Yosef Yoizel, the Alter of Novhardok’s Madregas Haadam, Tikkun Hamidos p 27. See also Daas Zekenim and Rosh to Dvarim 32:10 who understand that the concept of the mountain being like a barrel was described in the Torah (Dvarim 32:10) as “you surrounded them.”

¹⁶ The word great here, is in fact understood by Chida in his Dvash Lifi (Mem, 29) to mean “insignificant.” For we find regarding the Kiddush of Shabbos day, which is less important than the one at night, and is called kiddusha rabba, the great kiddush, for in Rabbinic Aramaic, often something is called by its extreme opposite, a blind person is called sagi nahor, one with much light, and so on. (See Maggid Mishna to Rambam Hil. Shabbos Ch. 29)

¹⁷ Esther 9:27

¹⁸ Shabbos 88a

¹⁹ s.v. Biymei

² Regarding why specifically a mountain was put over their heads, and nothing else, see Toras Emes in Kol SIfrei R. Nosson Adler to Yisro.

²¹ Meshech Chochma shemos 19:17

²² See Alschich in Toras Moshe to Shemos 19, where he explains that this was not a new relationship, for the Gemara clearly says that they once again accepted. It means that the first one was not useless, it was simply renewed.

²³ Megillah 7b

²⁴ Also known as the Chasid Yaavetz.

²⁵ Chapter 2

A spiritual life does not equal a religious life.

Spirituality is about little things, and big things.
Of course, its about connecting with the BOSS.  I feel enormous, a part of the UNIVERSE. 
But, even when I'm tired, after a long day, if it was a day of my full effort, I can feel good that it was spiritual.
If I saw the beauty even in another Oregon rainshower, I'm being spritual.
If I didn't yell today, even though I WANTED to, I'm being spiritual.
Fatigue can rub a person out, or it can rub away all of the distractions of life and let me focus on me and my G-d and me and you, and who and what I really am and what I really feel.   When I use my fatigue this way, I'm being spiritual.

Spirituality is purpose-oriented, not process-driven.
Writing an entire "piece" is task-oriented, not purpose-oriented.  Writing because its good to be honest outside of myself, on the screen, so I can see it, and you can see it-- that is purpose-oriented, and hence, it's spiritual.

Isn't it clear that  a life lived spiritually, is not the same as a religious life?

Fringes, lights, and clocks: life and death issues

I promised to take a deeper look into the Divine commandment of fringes, tzitzis, along with the significance of the lights of the Channuka  menora, and an insight into a quirk of our language, as seen in the  nature of any man-made item, such as a  clock.  Let’s start from the beginning.

In his explanation of the tzitzis commandment, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsh, zt”l, shows that the four-cornered garment symbolizes the physical world, and the “flowering”  (the literal meaning of tzitz is ‘flower’) of the fringe off the corner of the garment refers symbolically to the world of the spirit which exists beyond the limits of the physical.  Thus, the fringes represent the spiritual reality which “goes beyond” the limits of the  apparent reality we perceive with our physical senses. 

The Biblical text in Genesis tells us that when Noah was lying in his tent, drunk and naked, 2 of his sons, Shem and Yafes, came to cover his embarrassment.  Rabbinic tradition explains the incident thus:  In appreciation, the Almighty gave Shem and Yafes rewards according to their spiritual level.  To Shem’s children, the Jewish people, He gave the commandment of tzitzis, fringes, and to Yafes’ children, the Greeks, He gave burial of the physical body after death.  (Note:  At the end of history, the Greeks will be involved in the battles during the world-turmoil which will precede the coming of the Messiah, and many will die in that turbulent time.  As a reward for Yafes’ action, the Jewish people were charged with burying the dead Greeks of this war, as described in the Biblical text in the book of Zecharia.)

Rabbi Hirsch explains that the rewards were measure-for-measure.  Yefes, who was concerned merely with his father’s physical humiliation, was rewarded with a similar concern for his progeny’s corpses.   Shem, who compassion was focused on the spiritual degredation of Noah, was given a spiritual reward.  But why the commandment of fringes?

To Shem, Noah was not simply a physical body, but a spiritual being within a body lying drunk.  He was sensitive to a reality beyond what his senses could perceive.  He saw the humiliation of the soul, lying prostrate in the body’s drunken state.  Shem was responding not just to his father’s physical distress, but to the embarrassment of his Divine soul.  Hence, he was given as a reward a mitzvah, a Divine command; moreover, this command would be the one which would remind his offspring of just such a reality beyond the physical.

In a similar fashion, the primary focus of the Hasmonean victory over the Greek dynasty of Antiochus  in the story of Channuka was not merely a military success.  It was the triumph of the spirit over the physical.  Hence, it was commemorated not with a celebration of the body, such as a meal, but with the dedication of the spiritual, a kindling of lights.

When a man-made object fulfills its purpose, we say its “working.”  But when it’s broken, when it doesn’t fulfill its purpose, in our vernacular we say, “ my car died”, “the computer is dead”, or—“the clock isn’t ticking—it just died.”   Why do we equate in our language “death” with an inability to fulfill purpose?  Perhaps, a thought, again based on the Sages:   If man truly is a composite of physical and spiritual, as we’ve suggested, then the end of the physical cannot be the limit of the spirit.  The soul, as it were, doesn’t die; it lives eternally, a piece of the Almighty Himself. 

Death, rather, is a “borrowed” usage, referring just what we’ve seen above—a failure to fulfill a purpose.  When man doesn’t fulfill his spiritual purpose, just like the broken clock, we say he’s “dead”.  Bread with bread, eat to live, live to eat—this man is truly dead.  He ignores what gives him a purpose greater than himself.  Hence, the Sages’ wisdom:

“The Righteous, even in death are still considered to be alive, while the Wicked even when  still alive are called dead.”