This week’s Torah portion is Vayakel, which means, and assembled. Moses assembles the people to begin work on the Tabernacle. He asks them to bring free-will contributions of gold, silver, copper, fabric, wood, and animal skins. They return and bring so much, day after day, that there is extra, and Moses tells them that there is enough. The portion ends with the actual construction of the shining furniture and the sacred enclosures.
In verse 36:4 the Torah says, “All the wise people came.” This phrase refers to those who were skilled, who knew how to use their talents to construct the Sanctuary, the lace curtains, the embroidered tapestries, and the holy furniture. But in a broader sense, “all the wise people came,” can also refer to those who made any contribution: money, materials, knowledge, or labor: from the wealthiest people, the princes, who contributed the precious stones for the High Priest’s breastplate, to the children who probably brought water and food to the workers. Since we are all One, giving in any form means that we are giving to God, to others, and also to ourselves. We can’t give just to one without giving to all three. The Universe is structured that way.
Knowing how the Universe works, knowing about being One with God and each other is wisdom, and when this wisdom is translated into conscious choice and conscious action it is a powerful engine leading to spiritual growth and the expansion of a person’s compassion and goodness, the ability to be a mensch in the world. The Torah also tells us, in Deuteronomy, Verse 15:10: “You shall surely give to him, and your heart shall not be grieved when you give to him; because for this thing the Eternal your God shall bless you in all your works, and in all that you put your hand to.” This means that the blessing we give somehow returns to us.
This D'var Torah is only half of the sermon I gave last week. I read a story from the book, Lamed Vav, the favorite stories of Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach. In short, a poor man whose children and wife went about in rags, somehow saved enough to buy a farm. But a widow in the town discovered that when her husband died they were destitute, and her daughter's wedding into a wealthy family was in peril. The poor man gave his life savings to the widow so that her daughter could marry the man she loved. The poor man and his family was greatly blessed with unimaginable wealth. During WWII, all his descendants were taken to Auschwitz and every one survived. They came penniless to this country, but within a month, the family was wealthy again. Shabbat Shalom!
Friday, February 28, 2014
Friday, February 21, 2014
What Love is All About
This week’s Torah portion is Ki Tissa, which means.” when you take.” It begins with the taking of a census, goes on to appoint two people to oversee the work of the Tabernacle and holy vestments, and reiterates that Shabbat observance supersedes work for God on the tabernacle. Later in the portion, while Moses is gone, the people make and worship a golden calf. Moses wins forgiveness for them and has an intimate encounter with God, in which he hears a description of God’s attributes: that God is compassionate and gracious; slow to anger, forgiving, and great in kindness and truth. At the end of the portion, Moses’ face shines with divine light.
Ki Tissa is one of the few Torah portions that speaks about relationship: specifically Moses’ intimate relationship with God. While Moses is on Mt. Sinai, with the Eternal, receiving the tablet of the Ten Commandments, the people long for him to return so they can feel connected to their Divine Protector. When Moses does not return on time, they demand an idol, the Golden Calf, thus breaking their promise to God. The prophet Hosea likens the relationship of God to the Jewish people to a marriage, where God is the groom and Israel the bride. “And I will betroth you to me forever; I will betroth you to me in righteousness, and judgment, and in loving kindness and compassion, I will betroth you to me in faithfulness; and you shall know God. (2:21-2)
Most of Ki Tissa traces the development of Moses’ relationship to God. As in a human relationship, there is testing. God offers to kill the people and create a new nation, beginning with Moses. Moses passes the test, refusing to abandon the people and hence, refusing to abandon God. Then it is Moses’ turn to seek a deeper relationship. He repeatedly seeks out God, speaking to the Divine at the entrance to a special tent outside the camp, which Moses calls tent of meeting. At one of these encounters, Moses says, in Rashi’s translation, “If I have indeed found favor in your eyes, make you ways known to me, so that I may know you, so that I shall find favor in your eyes.” Knowing someone, in the Torah, when applied to humans, means sexual relations. Here, it describes the great longing we have for completion, for perfect union, that we occasionally find in human relationships, usually only for a short while. But we are really seeking something more universal and profound. We are all looking for the Other in which we can find the Self. Only we can’t usually distinguish romantic love from spiritual love. It all feels the same and one gets mixed up with the other. We don’t have the words to describe the feeling of love, no less the difference between the two kinds. Love is one of our highest human functions.
We literally mint the spiritual currency of the universe when we love. The whole universe works on the principle of love, the more we love the more love we experience in return. Moses, like us, wants more of the good stuff – spiritual fulfillment, through love. And he finds it, by going one step further, asking God, “Show me your glory.” God grants him a close spiritual encounter, cautioning him by saying that he must not come too close, “for no human can see me and live,” which reminds us of what we all know: the flame of love, whether romantic or spiritual, can warm or burn us. This is stated in Song of Songs: “Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a sign upon your arm; for love is strong as death, Its passion as cruel as the grave. Its sparks become a raging fire. Great seas cannot extinguish love. No river can wash it away, If a man offered all the wealth of his house for love, it would be utterly scorned. I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.”(Chap 7)
In Moses’ close encounter, God calls out with the attributes of the essence of who God is: compassionate, gracious, slow to anger, truthful, and forgiving. Like the song by Lieber and Stoller recorded by Peggy Lee, Is that all there is? We feel let down. To us it sounds good, but not great; not good enough to satisfy us. However we have to put ourselves into Moses’ experience. For him it is communion or even union, for in experiencing this intense love for the other, he has lost himself in God and found himself; not only the self he knows, but his best, highest self, which, really is what love is all about. When we find that completion, those spiritual riches in ourself, we have found peace and contentment, which can then be shared. We have enough, we’re less needy, able to give more than receive. In a paraphrase of the W.B. Yeats’ poem of 1919, the center holds, the journey is more placid, we are at home in our own skin. The love we give can bring about the peace we seek. May we give it to each other, and experience that peace.
Ki Tissa is one of the few Torah portions that speaks about relationship: specifically Moses’ intimate relationship with God. While Moses is on Mt. Sinai, with the Eternal, receiving the tablet of the Ten Commandments, the people long for him to return so they can feel connected to their Divine Protector. When Moses does not return on time, they demand an idol, the Golden Calf, thus breaking their promise to God. The prophet Hosea likens the relationship of God to the Jewish people to a marriage, where God is the groom and Israel the bride. “And I will betroth you to me forever; I will betroth you to me in righteousness, and judgment, and in loving kindness and compassion, I will betroth you to me in faithfulness; and you shall know God. (2:21-2)
Most of Ki Tissa traces the development of Moses’ relationship to God. As in a human relationship, there is testing. God offers to kill the people and create a new nation, beginning with Moses. Moses passes the test, refusing to abandon the people and hence, refusing to abandon God. Then it is Moses’ turn to seek a deeper relationship. He repeatedly seeks out God, speaking to the Divine at the entrance to a special tent outside the camp, which Moses calls tent of meeting. At one of these encounters, Moses says, in Rashi’s translation, “If I have indeed found favor in your eyes, make you ways known to me, so that I may know you, so that I shall find favor in your eyes.” Knowing someone, in the Torah, when applied to humans, means sexual relations. Here, it describes the great longing we have for completion, for perfect union, that we occasionally find in human relationships, usually only for a short while. But we are really seeking something more universal and profound. We are all looking for the Other in which we can find the Self. Only we can’t usually distinguish romantic love from spiritual love. It all feels the same and one gets mixed up with the other. We don’t have the words to describe the feeling of love, no less the difference between the two kinds. Love is one of our highest human functions.
We literally mint the spiritual currency of the universe when we love. The whole universe works on the principle of love, the more we love the more love we experience in return. Moses, like us, wants more of the good stuff – spiritual fulfillment, through love. And he finds it, by going one step further, asking God, “Show me your glory.” God grants him a close spiritual encounter, cautioning him by saying that he must not come too close, “for no human can see me and live,” which reminds us of what we all know: the flame of love, whether romantic or spiritual, can warm or burn us. This is stated in Song of Songs: “Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a sign upon your arm; for love is strong as death, Its passion as cruel as the grave. Its sparks become a raging fire. Great seas cannot extinguish love. No river can wash it away, If a man offered all the wealth of his house for love, it would be utterly scorned. I am my beloved’s and my beloved is mine.”(Chap 7)
In Moses’ close encounter, God calls out with the attributes of the essence of who God is: compassionate, gracious, slow to anger, truthful, and forgiving. Like the song by Lieber and Stoller recorded by Peggy Lee, Is that all there is? We feel let down. To us it sounds good, but not great; not good enough to satisfy us. However we have to put ourselves into Moses’ experience. For him it is communion or even union, for in experiencing this intense love for the other, he has lost himself in God and found himself; not only the self he knows, but his best, highest self, which, really is what love is all about. When we find that completion, those spiritual riches in ourself, we have found peace and contentment, which can then be shared. We have enough, we’re less needy, able to give more than receive. In a paraphrase of the W.B. Yeats’ poem of 1919, the center holds, the journey is more placid, we are at home in our own skin. The love we give can bring about the peace we seek. May we give it to each other, and experience that peace.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
The Essence of Jewish Royalty
The special vestments made for Aaron, the Kohen Gadol, in his role as High Priest, comprise a grand costume, as the Torah says, “You shall make vestments of sanctity for Aaron your brother, for glory and splendor.” (Ex. 28:2) They were made of precious and semi-precious stones, gold chains, fine linen, turquoise, purple, and scarlet wool, and real gold thread. It is interesting that the priests had vestments befitting royalty but Moses had no costume or symbol of kingship. It is also interesting that the High Priest’s vestments were made of mixed fibers: wool and linen, which are specifically prohibited to us in Leviticus 19:19 and Deuteronomy 22:11, the prohibition known as shatnez, combined fibers.
Moses was humble, we are told, the most humble person on earth (Num.12:3). His royalty was inner, not outer. We are asked to emulate Moses, not the High Priest in this matter. Why is Aaron commanded to wear mixed fibers while we are prohibited from doing so? Aaron was commanded to look grand and we, as individuals are asked not to try to look like priests, to look royal. We are urged to cultivate humility as an important value in Judaism, and not to appear to be too wealthy, royal, or grand. When I hear about people who buy ostentatiously lavish lifestyles for themselves, I often feel sorry for them. That’s royalty on the outside. Those who need royalty on the outside may be compensating for a lack of royalty on the inside.
True outer royalty is always collective, not personal. Royalty comes from conferring authority upon someone to represent the nation, the group, or the tribe. Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch pointed out that the priests’ vestments were supplied by, made by, and owned by the people (Note to Lev. 28:42-43). When not serving the nation, the Talmud tells us that the priests were not to wear their vestments to go about the town (Yoma 69a). By tradition, Aaron was a regular sort of person when he was not at work. No one can be outwardly royal alone: royalty is always about the group. But inward royalty is another matter. We can and should be royal on the inside, individually. Inner value is true and lasting value. Outer royalty is fleeting at best, and usually elusive. It is comparative and subjective and has no objective reality. It is a costume we put on and take off, because none of us is really royal on the outside. Remember the adage, no one is a hero to his valet? The trappings of wealth and power are even seen, by the rabbis of the Mishnah, as a hindrance to spiritual progress (Avot, 2:10, 4:21, 6:4.
Rather than admiring the outer, the Torah teaches us to focus on the inner: that which provides lasting satisfaction, happiness, harmony, and love. We are all royal on the inside, if only we could see that our divinity comes from the Radiance of God. The full beauty of a human soul is too dazzling for us ever to comprehend. We are already royalty, descendants from the Eternal Holy Presence. We truly need no outer emblems of self-worth. Our task is to convince ourselves of the greatness within, by cultivating nobility in Godly attributes: taking care of others, acts of kindness, and compassion. The less we need to prove our worth and status to the world, the happier we become, letting our inner royalty shine forth. Inner royalty is magnetic. We respond to true inner nobility in another person because we admire and feel a kinship with God’s attributes of mercy, graciousness, kindness, integrity, and generosity. It needs no trappings. May we find within the royalty we seek, needing less and less of the outer symbols our society seems to value. May inner holiness be the royalty we seek, and may we find it, with God’s great blessing.
(Note: This piece was published in The Jewish Week, February, 2014)
Moses was humble, we are told, the most humble person on earth (Num.12:3). His royalty was inner, not outer. We are asked to emulate Moses, not the High Priest in this matter. Why is Aaron commanded to wear mixed fibers while we are prohibited from doing so? Aaron was commanded to look grand and we, as individuals are asked not to try to look like priests, to look royal. We are urged to cultivate humility as an important value in Judaism, and not to appear to be too wealthy, royal, or grand. When I hear about people who buy ostentatiously lavish lifestyles for themselves, I often feel sorry for them. That’s royalty on the outside. Those who need royalty on the outside may be compensating for a lack of royalty on the inside.
True outer royalty is always collective, not personal. Royalty comes from conferring authority upon someone to represent the nation, the group, or the tribe. Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch pointed out that the priests’ vestments were supplied by, made by, and owned by the people (Note to Lev. 28:42-43). When not serving the nation, the Talmud tells us that the priests were not to wear their vestments to go about the town (Yoma 69a). By tradition, Aaron was a regular sort of person when he was not at work. No one can be outwardly royal alone: royalty is always about the group. But inward royalty is another matter. We can and should be royal on the inside, individually. Inner value is true and lasting value. Outer royalty is fleeting at best, and usually elusive. It is comparative and subjective and has no objective reality. It is a costume we put on and take off, because none of us is really royal on the outside. Remember the adage, no one is a hero to his valet? The trappings of wealth and power are even seen, by the rabbis of the Mishnah, as a hindrance to spiritual progress (Avot, 2:10, 4:21, 6:4.
Rather than admiring the outer, the Torah teaches us to focus on the inner: that which provides lasting satisfaction, happiness, harmony, and love. We are all royal on the inside, if only we could see that our divinity comes from the Radiance of God. The full beauty of a human soul is too dazzling for us ever to comprehend. We are already royalty, descendants from the Eternal Holy Presence. We truly need no outer emblems of self-worth. Our task is to convince ourselves of the greatness within, by cultivating nobility in Godly attributes: taking care of others, acts of kindness, and compassion. The less we need to prove our worth and status to the world, the happier we become, letting our inner royalty shine forth. Inner royalty is magnetic. We respond to true inner nobility in another person because we admire and feel a kinship with God’s attributes of mercy, graciousness, kindness, integrity, and generosity. It needs no trappings. May we find within the royalty we seek, needing less and less of the outer symbols our society seems to value. May inner holiness be the royalty we seek, and may we find it, with God’s great blessing.
(Note: This piece was published in The Jewish Week, February, 2014)
Friday, February 7, 2014
Refining our Life Energy
This week’s Torah portion is Terumah, which means portion or contribution. It also means lifting up or separation. Terumah contains God’s request for the Israelites to give a freewill offering of materials needed for the construction of the Tabernacle, the portable site of worship and sacrifice that the Israelites carried with them in the wilderness. All the many detailed instructions for building it are also in this portion. Toward the beginning of the portion the text reads: "V’asa li mikdash v’shachanti b’tocham." Rashi translates this as: “they shall make me a sanctuary, so that I may dwell among them.” (Ex. 25:5) This can also be translated, they shall make for me holiness and I shall dwell within them.
There is a long rabbinic tradition that we are the place of holiness, that we should make a dwelling place in our hearts for God’s Presence to lodge there. There is a line in Deuteronomy that says, “But God has taken you, and brought you out of the iron crucible, out of Egypt, to be for God a people of inheritance, as you are this day.” (4:20) A crucible is used to refine metal. The metal is melted in the crucible and the impurities are poured off, leaving only the pure substance. The Torah is telling us that we were taken out of Egypt to refine, to purify ourselves. A crucible also is the place where what was hard becomes soft. This can be a metaphor for ego, which the Torah describes as being stiff-necked: intractable and resistant to change. We know that the priests had to purify themselves before they could approach the holy areas and holy furniture of the Tabernacle. The people had to purify themselves for three days before they could hear God speak the Ten Commandments to them; and Moses had to purify himself for six days before he could enter the cloud on Mt. Sinai and dwell with God’s Presence for 40 days and nights. So in order for us to experience God’s Presence in our lives, we are being asked to undergo purification too. The Zohar (I: 88b) tells us, “…when a person exerts himself to purify himself and to draw near to God, then the Shekinah rests on him.”
How is purification accomplished? The Tabernacle, as a place for sacrifice, always involved confession and atonement. So this is the first step: recognizing and acknowledging our faults: all the things we could have done better, all the things we did wrong. Rabbi Schneur Zalman, as quoted by Rabbi Shachter Shalomi, (Wrapped in a Holy Flame P. 195) wrote, “in this arousing of mercies following the contrition, evil and the other side are no longer nurtured from the life energy.” But there is a next step. The Chassidic masters spoke about three realms of action: thought, word, and deed. Our actions are probably the easiest of the three to purify. We can set about doing the right thing and try to carry that out. Words are harder: we slip and say things we shouldn’t say. We become annoyed and answer too quickly. We forget to take the time to be gentle with each other. Rabbi Gelberman wrote: “A word is an outer symbol of an inner feeling.” This shows us that the real work of purification should concern our thoughts.
There is an inner fine-ness that we are capable of achieving, stemming from the love and real compassion we can feel for others and for the Divine. Rebbe Levi Yitzchak of Berdichev wrote, “One should never think evil thoughts for in the mind of each individual is the holy of holies.” (Soul of the Torah, P. 154) This fine-ness is something to be sought, because as we journey toward it, the change in us activates change above, as the Zohar says,( I:77b) “…whoever makes an effort to purify himself receives assistance from above…for the upper world is not stirred to act until an impulse is given from the lower world. ” As we strive for inner purity, inner fineness we will find many levels and opportunities because we are shown the areas inwardly, that we are expected to tackle. The Apter Rebbe, Abraham Joshua Heschel of Apt wrote, God will communicate with the Jewish people in their closed, private, and protected selves, in the deepest depths of their hearts.
This is what spiritual striving is all about: the burning desire for union with the beloved Divine, that which poet Chaviva Pedaya expressed in this way: “One thing have I asked and it I seek: Your dwelling in me…”(Women’s Torah Commentary (P. 472). Our task is to lift ourselves up, by refining our life energy, our thoughts, words, and deeds, to make a dwelling place for God’s Presence. Just because we are human, we are capable of achieving it, not for its own sake, but to heal and help, to be a gift and experience God’s gifts. This is what all kabbalah is about: the thirst for spiritual love, and even ecstasy, that can be experienced when we make for God holiness, that the Divine may dwell within us.
There is a long rabbinic tradition that we are the place of holiness, that we should make a dwelling place in our hearts for God’s Presence to lodge there. There is a line in Deuteronomy that says, “But God has taken you, and brought you out of the iron crucible, out of Egypt, to be for God a people of inheritance, as you are this day.” (4:20) A crucible is used to refine metal. The metal is melted in the crucible and the impurities are poured off, leaving only the pure substance. The Torah is telling us that we were taken out of Egypt to refine, to purify ourselves. A crucible also is the place where what was hard becomes soft. This can be a metaphor for ego, which the Torah describes as being stiff-necked: intractable and resistant to change. We know that the priests had to purify themselves before they could approach the holy areas and holy furniture of the Tabernacle. The people had to purify themselves for three days before they could hear God speak the Ten Commandments to them; and Moses had to purify himself for six days before he could enter the cloud on Mt. Sinai and dwell with God’s Presence for 40 days and nights. So in order for us to experience God’s Presence in our lives, we are being asked to undergo purification too. The Zohar (I: 88b) tells us, “…when a person exerts himself to purify himself and to draw near to God, then the Shekinah rests on him.”
How is purification accomplished? The Tabernacle, as a place for sacrifice, always involved confession and atonement. So this is the first step: recognizing and acknowledging our faults: all the things we could have done better, all the things we did wrong. Rabbi Schneur Zalman, as quoted by Rabbi Shachter Shalomi, (Wrapped in a Holy Flame P. 195) wrote, “in this arousing of mercies following the contrition, evil and the other side are no longer nurtured from the life energy.” But there is a next step. The Chassidic masters spoke about three realms of action: thought, word, and deed. Our actions are probably the easiest of the three to purify. We can set about doing the right thing and try to carry that out. Words are harder: we slip and say things we shouldn’t say. We become annoyed and answer too quickly. We forget to take the time to be gentle with each other. Rabbi Gelberman wrote: “A word is an outer symbol of an inner feeling.” This shows us that the real work of purification should concern our thoughts.
There is an inner fine-ness that we are capable of achieving, stemming from the love and real compassion we can feel for others and for the Divine. Rebbe Levi Yitzchak of Berdichev wrote, “One should never think evil thoughts for in the mind of each individual is the holy of holies.” (Soul of the Torah, P. 154) This fine-ness is something to be sought, because as we journey toward it, the change in us activates change above, as the Zohar says,( I:77b) “…whoever makes an effort to purify himself receives assistance from above…for the upper world is not stirred to act until an impulse is given from the lower world. ” As we strive for inner purity, inner fineness we will find many levels and opportunities because we are shown the areas inwardly, that we are expected to tackle. The Apter Rebbe, Abraham Joshua Heschel of Apt wrote, God will communicate with the Jewish people in their closed, private, and protected selves, in the deepest depths of their hearts.
This is what spiritual striving is all about: the burning desire for union with the beloved Divine, that which poet Chaviva Pedaya expressed in this way: “One thing have I asked and it I seek: Your dwelling in me…”(Women’s Torah Commentary (P. 472). Our task is to lift ourselves up, by refining our life energy, our thoughts, words, and deeds, to make a dwelling place for God’s Presence. Just because we are human, we are capable of achieving it, not for its own sake, but to heal and help, to be a gift and experience God’s gifts. This is what all kabbalah is about: the thirst for spiritual love, and even ecstasy, that can be experienced when we make for God holiness, that the Divine may dwell within us.
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