Another Turning Point – Parshat Ha’azinu/Rosh HaShannah 5774

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Rosh HaShannah, the beginning of a new year.  Parts of it sped by, parts seemed to go slowly, but we reach this new year and see the broad expanse of time and possibility spread out before us.  But unlike the beginning of a secular year, this moment in the Jewish calendar is marked by transitional time.  The Jewish calendar is set up for this transition from one year to the next to be not only smooth, but transformative.  From the 17th day of Tammuz, when we enter into a period of 3 weeks of mourning leading to Tisha B’av, to the beginning of this final month of the year, Elul, we are occupied with transitions of the past, present, and future.  It is common Jewish practice to spend Elul in transformation, searching our souls to make changes and make the new year different.  So here we are at the turning point, called Shabbat Shuvah, the Shabbat of return or repentance.

One of the most remarkable aspects of the Hebrew language is the way in which the shoresh, the three letter root of a word, can often have several meanings.  For example, the shoresh Nun, Sin, Aleph, spelling Na’Sah, can mean to lift up, to carry, or to marry.  You could spend an eternity analyzing the meaning in this relationship between the words with the matching root.  It should come as no surprise that the holiday we celebrate this week, Rosh HaShannah, has wordplay of its own.

Rosh means head, but that could be the body part at the top of the neck responsible for thought processes, the person sitting at the special spot at a table, or the first day of anything.  Whatever the meaning, we know there’s some type of beginning involved when we see the word rosh.  The second word, Shannah, typically means year, but there’s a little more to it.  The root of the word is Shin, Nun, Hey.  This special shoresh can mean year, to alter, or to repeat, and the slight variation of Shin Nun Nun, even means to teach.

We’ve reached this time in our yearly cycle where we have the opportunity for a new beginning, but also an opportunity for change, for learning, and the chance to perhaps learn from or repeat our prior mistakes.  The question is how will you view this coming year?  At this Shabbat we read the words of parshat Ha’azinu and the beginning of the end of Moshe’s final instructions to the Israelites.  We are reminded about the changes he led them through, the teaching he’s done, and the years of dedication he gave to the nation.

At this turning point, the rosh, the head of a new year, give yourself the gift of change.  Make sure that it includes learning new things, repeating those things that worked in the past, and making changes for the better, toward what will lead you to your dreams.  That will make the year truly transformative.

Objects in Mirror are Closer Than They Appear – Parshat Nitzavim Vayelech 5773

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Change isn’t easy.  It has become cliche, but it’s evident whenever circumstances take a directional turn.  Think about your last move or even your last spring cleaning.  Did you pack up with dispassionate efficiency or did you reminisce as you looked at each piece of paper, book, or memento?  Did you purge the old to make room for the new?  What seemed like a straightforward process has now taken three times as much energy, and what’s worse, it feels as if you’ve taken steps back and not moved forward at all.

This week we read parshiyot Nitzavim and Vayelech, the two parshiyot that often surround the High Holy days.  Parshat Nitzavim reminds us that we always have a choice in life and that the proper path is to repent, to follow the rules, and to generally be good people.  Parshat Vayelech teaches us about Moshe’s process to transfer leadership to Joshua, and the final words he will share as the leader of the Israelite nation.  Wedged within these words is the commandment of teshuvah, repentance.

The text informs us in chapter 30 that repentance is a mitzvah in its own right.  God teaches that if we repent and open our hearts to understanding the wrong we have done and make actual effort to change, then God will bring us comfort, love, and wellbeing.  The Torah presents repentance both as an obligation and as something innately human.  But, it also understands that this act can be difficult.  Chapter 30, verse 11 states, “Surely, this instruction which I enjoin upon you this day is not too baffling for you, nor is it beyond reach.”  The rabbis of the Talmud understood this verse as referring to the entire Torah.  God is reminding us that while the laws might seem intricate and complicated, they are exactly within our reach.

The great Medieval commentator Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman (RamBaN) narrows the focus of this verse to refer only to the laws of repentance.  He teaches that it is difficult to break a bad habit, to fully repent, and to change one’s way of life.  And yet, every day there are people who prove that it can be done.  In fact, according to RamBaN, repentance is a lot like the give and take of packing.  A midrash also offers us the metaphor of a mirror.  The figure we see in the mirror seems to be twice as far from us as it really is.  But with every step we take toward the mirror, the reflection takes a step toward us.  So it is with repentance.  Our goal seems so far off, but God says to us, “Take one step toward Me, and I will do the same and meet you halfway.”

In this season of repentance, we are reminded that life is a give and take.  In order for this to work in any relationship, you must make the first move, the first step towards giving.  Whether in regard to decluttering a space, mending existing relationships, or even getting through life day by day, meeting each other halfway can make all the difference in the world.

Daily Gratitudes – Parshat Ki Tavo 5773

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Did you know ancient Jewish texts thought of sleep as 1/60th of death?  I must confess that while our daily prayer requires us to begin every morning by thanking God for waking up, it can often be difficult to thank God so early in the morning.  At 5:30 when that alarm clock goes off, I usually just want to roll over and go back to sleep.  Nevertheless, somehow I pull myself together and face the day.  Modeh ani l’fanecha (I am thankful before you) are the words we are asked to speak before stepping foot into a new day.  But what does it mean to be grateful for a day that you have yet to discover?

This week we read from parshat Ki Tavo, which is filled with the final narrative of the Israelites getting ready for their entry into the Land of Israel.  We read about the gifts the Israelites are to bring to the Beit HaMikdash as well as the blessings and curses that come to the land and to those who observe Torah and God’s commandments.  The parshah begins and ends with the requirement to recognize and give gratitude for the good that comes to us.

Chapter 26 reads like an instruction manual for those expecting to enter and participate in the Israelite community.  Specifically, verse 3 requires a person giving a gift that blesses God to say “I acknowledge this day before the Lord your God that I have entered the land that the Lord swore to our fathers to assign us.”  While this serves as what we might consider a verbal receipt of gift giving, it actually goes much deeper.  This statement requires the individual to acknowledge and make clear that they see the blessing in both the fruits that they have grown and the ability to give a gift in the first place.  In this case, the gift cannot be given until the person who gives it is able to acknowledge the blessing and meaning of the act.
Think about your morning.  How often do you greet something with a “good morning” and actually mean “I hope you have a good morning”?  How often are these just empty words we speak out of habit?  Gratitude doesn’t often come naturally to most people.  It’s not because we’re heartless or even ungrateful.  It’s because the routine of the act has superseded the meaning of the act.  In a sense, our text this week, not to mention our daily prayers, teaches us to be grateful for being grateful.  May we use that lesson as a reminder to add a little bit of ourselves back into everything we do. Good morning.

Making Memories – Parshat Matot-Ma’asei 5773

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The great Torah commentator, Kevin Arnold of The Wonder Years, once said: “Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose.” As people, we live through memory. Whether it is the first memory we have, or our last memory of another person, our lives are largely based on our ability to remember the world as we’ve experienced it.  When we get together with a group of friends we haven’t seen for a while, we might reminisce about the old days, about the “easier times” and the fun we used to have.

Our Torah portions this week, Parshat Matot and Masei, contain a brief recap of the Israelites’ journey from Egypt, another warning against worshipping other gods, instructions for the division of the land when they enter Israel, outlines for creating levitical cities of refuge and a piece on inheritance.  Based on this list, it becomes clear that the Torah is attempting to prepare the Israelites for the change of pace as they enter a permanent homestead.

At the forefront of parshat Masei is the recalling of the journey the Israelites took as they left Egypt for the Promised Land.  It begins:  “These were the marches of the Israelites who started out from the land of Egypt, troop by troop, in the charge of Moses and Aaron.  Moses recorded the starting points of their vigorous marches as directed by the Lord.”  And the text goes on to note the places the Israelites hit on their journey.  This list of locations reads like a walk down memory lane.  It’s basically Uncle George’s slideshow of every stop on the family trip, except in this case we don’t have any photos and fancy iMovie transitions to go with it, just the narrator reciting a list of places and stages along the route.  But in a way it’s better without the pictures because our imaginations create a mental photo album of this incredible journey.  And it’s not only a recap of the places visited, but also a reminder of God’s presence throughout their journey.

The capturing of memory, of holding onto the things you love, the things you are and the things you never want to lose, has evolved in recent years.  In the past I have accompanied the 6th graders at Levine Academy on their Texas trip.  About halfway through the trip my first year, I had an epiphany.  I was wondering why we had to allow so much extra time at each stop we visited, until I noticed the students taking in the journey from behind the lenses of their digital cameras.  Every moment from the time we got on the bus on Monday morning until we said goodbye on Thursday night was captured in some way, shape or form on a digital device.  Students took thousands of pictures so they wouldn’t “miss a thing.”

But I wonder how much we miss when we’re trying so hard to save the moment rather than living in it. I thought back to my own childhood, when you had to not only pay for the film, but pay for the developing, thus making excessive picture taking an expensive past time.  And if you wanted video, you had to reserve a certain amount of packing space for blank tapes. The ease with which we can identify and relive a journey now because of these new ways of recording it is wonderful, but what happens to the experience when only viewed from behind the camera lens?  What is the impact on the journey if it isn’t experienced firsthand?

In parshat Masei, the Torah takes us down memory lane, but not with twelve megapixel digital images or a cheesy montage that always, ALWAYS includes the Green Day song “Time of Your Life.”  It’s just words. It’s the narrative of a people finding freedom and finding their identity.  The Midrash imagines this section of text as God telling Moses to write down the journey so that they can look back and see what an amazing journey it actually was.  God doesn’t ask Moses to etch a picture on a stone. Words, written words, is how God asked for the journey to be remembered.

A picture may be worth a thousand words, but how many thousands more are needed to tell you what happened the moment before that picture? And the moment before that? What a picture doesn’t tell you is the back story, the intricate details of how that moment in time came to be.

Everywhere in our lives, we are constantly offered passive ways to help us remember what we’re doing, or where we’ve been.  We can sort through our emails to see how conversations played out, we set reminders on our smart phones and run through our call log to see who we’ve talked to and how our weeks have been.  We go on Facebook and see who we’ve become friends with, what pictures people have posted from a trip together.  But there’s no story to it, nothing that links it all together.

The Torah is that kind of record for us as the Jewish people, and the more we read it over and over again, the more it becomes a part of our lives. Regardless of how much of the Torah you chose to take as fact, Torah is the perfect example of memory in The Wonder Years definition. It symbolizes what we love, what we are, and what we never want to lose. Parshat Masei reminds us that as we begin or end any journey, it is important to take note, to write down what it is we’ve learned, where we’ve been, what we’ve seen and how far we’ve come.

You Had To Be There – Parshat Chukat 5773

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Sometimes the retelling doesn’t quite live up to the actual event.  This happens frequently when you work with kids.  Students will share with me what is apparently the funniest thing that has ever happened to them, and even though they can’t stop laughing about it, I have no idea why they find it so funny.  Or, I find myself relating a cute anecdote from a particular class, and somehow no one finds it quite as amusing as I do.  These are the moments when you simply had to be there.

This week we read parshat Chukat, which is full of plot twists and new experiences for the Israelites.  The lands of Sichon and Og are conquered, both Miriam and Aaron die, and we learn that Moshe will not be allowed to enter into the land of Israel.  In the middle of these major developments, we are also given a purification process that seems somewhat out of place in the context of the significant events that follow it.

Chapter 19 of sefer Bamidbar begins by instructing the Israelites how to purify themselves from contamination by a corpse, and the ritual of the “red heifer” has inspired much discussion and debate.

“Instruct the Israelite people to bring you a red cow without blemish, in which there is no defect and on which no yoke has been laid…give it to the priest to be slaughtered in his presence.  The priest shall take some of its blood with his finger and sprinkle it seven times toward the front of the Tent of Meeting.  The cow should be burned in his sight.”

Following this ritual the priest is to wash his clothes and wash himself.  Another person who is already pure is to then take the ashes of the cow and put them outside the camp so that they may be kept for future purification.
The concept of cleansing following interaction with a corpse certainly resonates with our modern sensibilities.  After all, we live in a world that requires items like latex gloves and Purell.  However, no real explanation is given for the process described.  Many commentators on the Torah see this as a classic example of a law that defies rational explanation.  We are asked to understand and follow the law not because we can make sense of it, but because it is a sign of our devotion to God.

Then again, maybe you just had to be there. Too often in our interpretations of the Biblical word, we try to view the text through a contemporary lens.  In our attempt to rationalize or comprehend, we forget how much the world has changed since the writing of the Torah.  This is by no means an excuse to ignore mitzvot or skip a Torah reading because it doesn’t make sense, but it is a reminder that in order to preserve our sacred tradition, we have to accept a degree of anachronism.

Is this a turnoff to those embracing the study of Judaism? Does it make the Jewish people out of touch? On the contrary, for me the history is part of the appeal.  Mitzvot require intention – they require the injection of blessing and meaning beyond just doing.  Nothing boosts kavanah like the knowledge that generations upon generations have struggled with the same questions and marveled at the same miracles.  Our answer to “you had to be there” has been to use our tradition as a vehicle to take us there.

When you consider the spectrum of Judaism, from the puzzling details of the red heifer to the solemn beauty of Yom Kippur, clearly this is a religion that cannot be phoned in.  You have to be there.  Think about the intricacies of the Pesach seder; this is a holiday that begs us to “be there” to experience the Exodus.  Why do we spin dreidels?  To “be there” when Greek rule forbade the study of Torah.

From this strange and thought-provoking mitzvah in Chukat, we learn there is value beyond doing something because we fully understand it and even beyond doing it because God has asked us to do it.  “Being there” means engaging in our tradition because Judaism – the entirety of our religion – has asked us to.  May we invest that level of intention in everything we do.