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.”

Man is a composite

If one  eats in order to live, and then lives in order to eat— he testifies that all that exists is his body and its nutrition, nothing more.

This worldview was taken to its pinnacle by the ancient Greeks.  They valued the human body for its form, its strength, its aesthetic beauty:  for itself.  The Olympics were their paean to this view, athletic prowess performed naked.  Bread with bread.   And yet, we Western moderns look longingly to the “Greco-Roman” ideal!

I was inspired to begin my spiritual journey, many years ago, when I accepted the bedrock intuition that what I experienced as “ beauty” had its roots in something deeper than endorphins in my frontal cortex.  When I thrilled at a majestic mountain view, I was connecting the physical world  with something else, with its spiritual  underpinnings.  As mentioned in a previous post, the earth is only physical, but at those moments my spirit connected with the spirit animating all of Creation, with G-d.  This part of me yearns to take the physical and use it for the spirit.  When I sit awestruck at a Pacific sunset at the beach in Venice, I’m doing just that. 

In perhaps the most mundane, yet sublime expression of the perception of spirit within the physical, Rabbi Moshe Isserles, the RM’A, wrote in the 16^th century of the miracles in the act of removal of waste from the body.  He comments on the text of the blessing ordained by the Sages of the Talmud following going to the bathroom, “Blessed are You, who Created Man with wisdom, by endowing him with myriad orifices and hollow tubes, so that if any opening were closed, or any of these closures were opened, man could not exist for an instant.  Blessed are You, the Healer of all Flesh, Who Does wonders.”

For He performs wonders in that he protects the spirit of Man within his body and unites a spiritual entity with a physical one .

The  choice mentioned at the outset of this Weblog  is a historic one, of the Greeks or the Sages of old:   To be blind to the spirit, emphasizing only the body, or to elevate the body with spiritual action. 

Tomorrow, let’s take this a bit deeper, into the Divine commandment of fringes, tzitzis, the lights of Channuka, and the nature of clocks.

Spirituality is no contradiction to responsibility and organization

A melava malka story:  (ht: Major Impact, by Rabbi Dovid Kaplan, Targum Press, p.88)
The Rebbe of Belz was known to daven (pray) quickly.  A man once approached him and asked that he daven for a very sick relative.  The Rebbe davened Shmoneh Esrei (the Amidah, the Silent Prayer which is the focus of the services in synagogue) that day twenty minutes longer than his usual Shemoneh Esrei.  For the next two years (!) his daily schedule was off by exactly twenty minutes.
*  COMMENT:  Whenever something is important, people relate to it with responsibility and organization.  Reb Shalom of Belz regarded avodas Hashem (his prayers, especially for others, ED.) as something important.

I love this story.  Its not for me at my level of service.  But for the Rebbe, its instructive to see how he took the responsibility to apply extra effort spiritually, to focus his concern for another human being by praying for his recovery at length.  Yet, this extra effort was a part of his personal efforts for himself, which were never abondoned in lieu of his concern for another.  Hence, his daily schedule, which must of consisted of his own personal spiritual efforts, was off time, but never ignored. 

He cared about his own growth, but with responsibility and organization, he was able to fit other into it. 

I can't match that level of effort.  But I can try to implement the idea into my own life.  Like take 2 extra minutes to thank G-d with all my heart (developing an attitude of Gratitude) and really think of others needs in my own prayer (connecting with someone outside of myself, lessening my egoism.)

Responsibility and organization, for 1 minute.  I can try that.
And I will, bli neder, this week.  Let you know how it goes.

Pikudei: Dig Deeply!

Pikudei

Dig deeply . . .

                As we finish the book of Shemos and conclude our review of the construction of the Mishkan, the portable “Tent of Meeting” and all of the concomitant utensils and clothing for its functioning, it might be worthwhile to look again at that telling verse in last week’s sedra about the Princes’ donation of the precious stones.  We can take away a lesson which will serve us well as we complete one book, Shemos, with the words:  “Chazak, chazak, v’nischzek!  Be strong!”:    This lesson will help us not only at this moment, but throughout our lives as we grow from one level to the next.

“And the Princes brought the Avnei Shoham and the Avnei Miluim for the apron and the breastplate.” (Shemos 35: 27)

Rashi comments on this verse, citing Rabbi Nosson ,  ‘Why did the Princes think to donate their gifts at the beginning of the dedication of the Mishkan, but here, at the building of the Mishkan, they offered their gifts last?  They thought, “ Let the community donate what they will, and we’ll make up what’s missing!”  When it turned out that the community donated everything, all the Princes could do was to donate the Stones—the Avnei Shoham and the Avnei Miluim.  Therefore, the next time they had the chance, at the dedication, they donated first.  Since they were initially lacking in alacrity, a letter from their name was removed (the Hebrew word for Princes, “nesi’im”, is missing the yuds in our verse.  –Ed.)

                The words of the midrash are puzzling.  Didn’t the Princes make a wise judgement?  After all, they were prepared  to fulfill whatever was missing in the communal donation for the Sanctuary, no matter how large an amount.  Even if an enormous effort would be required, they were committed to do the job, to make up whatever the Bnei Yisrael lacked, in order to insure that there would be nothing preventing the establishment of the new  Temple service.  If so, why were they punished with the loss of a letter from their name?  Even moreso—they did indeed bring a valuable donation, the precious stones, which testify to their commitment.  How then, are we to understand their lack, and subsequent “punishment” by the defective writing of their name?

                We see from here a profound insight into human motivation.  It is possible that an action may be contemplated, with the best of intention.  And indeed, the action is carried out, seemingly with righteousness and character.  And yet, if we dig deep into the psyche of the person, we may find that the true motivation was rooted in selfishness, in character flaw, and not in pristine dedication.  The Torah tells us, by removing the 2 yuds from their name, that the Prince’s apparent good intentions were really founded in a lack of zeal and commitment.  They may not even have been conscious of this flaw.  But, once shown the error of their ways—they took immediate steps to change, and dedication first,  the next time they had the opportunity. 

                The key to true spirituality is a fearless commitment to growth.

                To grow in tikkun ha-midos, to refine our character,  we need to really dig deeply!

NOTE:  This essay  is drawn from the work “Be’er M’chokek”, by the late Rosh HaYeshiva of Telshe, Rabbi Chaim Mordecai Katz, zt”l.,  edited by Rabbi Yakov Velvel Katz, and was translated and  adapted for publication by Rabbi Hollander.

Why should I be spiritual?

Why should I be spiritual?

Man is unique in Creation, the ancient Jewish oral tradition tells us,.  In all of the Universe, there are only 3 types of beings.   First, there are purely spiritual beings, such as angels.  Second, there are purely physical entities—we call them animals, or nature, like rocks and the ocean.  Some of these are alive, endowed with the gift of life.  But, like the rest, they are all purely physical.  (No, Fido does NOT have a soul, according to the Sages.)

Finally, there is Man.  As described in Ibn Pakuda’s classic exposition of this tradition, Derech Hashem, The Way of the G-d, man is the only creature who is a combination of these 2 aspects, the physical and the spiritual.  The Bible itself says, “And G-d blew the breath of life into Adam.”  Man is a composite of the dust of the universe, and the breath, or better, the spirit, of G-d.  Thus, I only have 2 choices:   will I live for my physical aspect, or--- will I be spiritual?

To live for my body  is to imitate the Babylonians of yore—

“hani bavloi tipshoi, d’ achlin nehama b’nehama, Those foolish Babylonians, who eat bread, as a side-dish to bread! 

The Rabbis weren’t merely commenting on their non-Jewish neighbors’ choice of menu.  They saw in their manner of eating a reflection of their entire approach to life.  If one  eats in order to live, and then lives in order to eat— he testifies that all that exists is his body and its nutrition, nothing more.

This worldview was taken to its pinnacle by the ancient Greeks.  They valued the human body for its form, its strength, its aesthetic beauty:  for itself.  The Olympics were their paean to this view, athletic prowess performed naked.  Bread with bread, so banal!  And yet, we Western moderns look longingly to the “Greco-Roman” ideal!

So—what else should I live for?  My spirit, of course.