Torah

Breaking Class

(Sermon delivered this past Saturday morning. Feel free to scroll past if you’re not into that sort of thing.)

KI TISA IS ONE OF those Torah portions that helps give G?d a bad name.

It seems that every time we turn around, in Torah and in the rest of the Bible, G?d is getting mad about something. Jealous. Wrathful, even. What could be behind this extreme behavior?

According to Maimonides’ Guide for the Perplexed, there is one thing and one thing only which sets G?d off: idolatry. Turning our backs on G?d is something that G?d just can’t abide.

Which makes sense. Not only were Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob promised that their descendants – that’s us! – would become a vast population, but that with G?d’s help, we would thrive.

In addition, there’s G?d’s delivering us from Egyptian slavery with plagues and miracles. “You owe me,” G?d seems to be saying. “After all I’ve done for you, and you go lusting after idols? Take THAT!”

But as we’ve also heard this morning, Moses calls G?d’s bluff (if it is a bluff) to annihilate the Jews with a “what-would-the-neighbors-think” argument. And G?d relents.

Of course, Moses – no stranger to anger himself – then proceeds to smash the Tablets of the Ten Precepts, as R’ Adin Steinsaltz calls them. Moses destroys the only record of the Sinai Contract, then carves out a new and slightly different one that has lasted more than 3,000 years.

The aliyot my friend Stephen Steiner just chanted are from chapter 32 of Exodus. Stephen points out that in Gematria, Jewish numerology, 32 is also the numerical equivalent for the word “lev,” lamed-bet, meaning “heart.”

Active debate with G?d might be understood as one aspect of the Jewish heart. We don’t always take what G?d says at face value, whether it’s Abraham arguing on behalf of the S’domites, Jacob’s chutzpadik deal-making en route to Laban’s house, or the rabbis of the Talmud rejecting divine miracles as legal proofs.

But iconoclasm might be seen as another Jewish heart-aspect. If Moses hadn’t broken the Tablets, our ancestors wouldn’t have awoken from their idolatrous slumber. Moses is in good company: with Abraham breaking the idols in his father’s shop, Elijah breaking the reputation of Baal’s priests in this week’s haftarah, and Jews in general throughout history making radical breakthroughs in social justice, medicine, science, entertainment, agriculture, and many other fields of human endeavor.

We’re the little kid who points a finger at the unclad emperor and dares to say so; and sometimes, we’ve taken our lumps for it. But our holy chutzpah has always been in service of creating a better world – not just for Jews, but for everyone.

May it always be so. Shabbat shalom.

It is necessary,” answered Don Quixote, “to know everything in the profession I follow.”
— Miguel de Cervantes

Eats, Life

False Economy

SO THERE I WAS, PEEPING through the window of the Eureka, California post office, waiting for my elusive boss to enter her across-the-street cafe.

The year was 1988 – a time of great personal upheaval, both good and bad. Through a combination of circumstances, my then-new girlfriend and I were trying to make a go of it in that sleepy, downbeat North Coast city. Jobs were hard to come by, at least for a journeyman printer like me, and when I saw a newspaper ad promising to train someone as a coffeehouse clerk I sprang into delighted and determined action.

At first, things were pleasant. The cafe’s owner, who I’ll call Simone, was friendly and easygoing, as were the customers, and once I had figured out the espresso machine and sandwich-making regimens I felt reasonably financially secure (and competently useful) for the first time in weeks.

Then “Dave” walked in, an itinerant handyman who lived in a big blue van well-stocked with tools of every description.

“You’re new here, huh?” he said as I handed him a double espresso and a roast beef on rye. “Simone paid you yet?”

“I’ve only been here a couple days,” I replied. “Payday’s Friday.”

“Yeah? Right. Good luck.”

Friday arrived, and at closing time, I asked Simone for my wages.

“I’m a little short right now,” she said wistfully, “and I have to move some things around at the bank. Can you wait until tomorrow?”

“Well …. I suppose so.”

Tomorrow became today, and Simone appeared late that afternoon as I was building a turkey croissant.

“I’m SO sorry,” “she said wistfully. “I just missed the bank’s hours. Can I pay you Monday?”

“I don’t know, Simone…”

“I promise. Monday morning, as soon as the bank opens.”

Monday’s dawn broke, typically foggy and grey, with me outside the cafe waiting for Simone to arrive.

She didn’t.

Neither did she on Tuesday.

Nor Wednesday.

Meanwhile, my daily phone messages went unanswered, both at the cafe and at the number purporting to be Simone’s home.

Hence, my Thursday-morning stakeout.

I can’t believe I’m doing this, I thought with one of many impatient sighs. Who am I, James Bond? But I also can’t believe I’m not going to make rent or buy groceries this week.

Suddenly, Simone’s red Gremlin pulled up across the street. As she exited her car, I exited the post office.

“Simone!” I called, breaking into a fast trot. “Hey! Simone!”

Her beseeching eyes reflected helpless and apologetic dread, but before she could say anything, I spoke with uncharacteristic bluntness.

“Look here, Simone,” I said. “I like you, and I like working here, but I need to get paid – like right now!”

Tears came to her eyes. “You don’t understand!” she sobbed. “I can’t afford to pay you. All I have is this cafe and what’s in it. I owe so many people so much money; my life is in shambles, and I’m just as much a victim as you are…”

“I don’t mean to sound harsh, Simone, but frankly, that’s not my concern. I’m not going to leave this place without your paying me.”

And that was how, and why, my girlfriend and I feasted that week on thick sandwiches of roast beef and turkey breast. Victory is indeed sweet – and sometimes, savory.

Torah

Hillel, Adapted

Q: “CAN YOU TEACH ME THE whole Torah in a dozen words or less?”

A: “‘Don’t be a jerk.’ The rest is details; now go experience them.”

Writ

First Graf (rather, Line): The Lord of the Rings

OF THE 90% PETER JACKSON got right in his 11-hour and 22-minute adaptation of J.R.R. Tolkien’s best-beloved work – the lush landscapes, the Balrog, Elves, the Nazgul, Sauron, Orcs and Uruk-hai, Gollum, Ents, hobbits (MY GHAWD! THE HOBBITS!!!), the Ring, Grima, the very different cultures and props and sets and cities and overall “look” – he got right in abundance.

But that other 10% … oy.

Read the actual books and you’ll discover that Aragorn is not a timid wimp, Gimli is not comic relief, Arwen isn’t an avenging angel, Saruman and Gandalf never duked it out with magic staves, Faramir didn’t try to bring the Ring to his father, the dialogue is more formal and less modern (except for the rustic hobbits), there’s a wonderful character named Tom Bombadil, and the book features a single climax instead of three simultaneous ones. And that well-traveled literary road begins, quite simply, like this:

When Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag End announced that he would shortly be celebrating his eleventy-first birthday with a party of special magnificence, there was much talk and excitement in Hobbiton.

Torah

One Letter (Alright, Two)

(If you’re not hot for stretchy, out-on-a-limb Jewish linguistic mysticism, best sit this one out. Otherwise, please enjoy.)

IT’S NO SECRET THAT JEWS love words. (After all, Torah begins with “God” speaking the world into being; if you need further convincing, check out almost any Jewish comedian.) Our tradition teaches that Torah contains no unintentional words nor letters – and that meaning can be extracted from it anywhere and everywhere you look. It’s all to play for, and we play hard.

Take, for example, the words “eved,” or “slave,” and “Ivri,” “Hebrew” – not the language, but a member of the tribe. Reading Fig. 1 and 2 from right to left, as one does in Hebrew, you’ll notice the third letter in each word looks very much alike: in eved, that letter is a dalet (D) and in Ivri it’s a reish (R). Another point is that the root word for Ivri is “eveir,” which means “to cross over.”

Fig. 1

Fig. 2

Now, stay with me here. It’s about to get weird.

Dalet is a 90-degree right angle, while reish is more of a sweeping curve. One way of understanding this difference may be that a slave is boxed in and constrained. A Hebrew, on the other hand, is a constraint-crosser: one who goes where the flow takes them in order to become more.

Mind you, this quality is not specific only to Jews, but to anyone who walks a way of self-transcendence. Jewish tradition teaches that anyone and everyone can practice growth – in skill sets, wisdom, spirituality, and character. But that osmotic, gut-level tradition is also one reason why there are so many Jewish doctors, scientists, philanthropists, Nobel Prize winners, and others devoted to improving the human condition.

And how exactly does one do that? See the last letter in Ivri? It’s a yod (Y), which symbolizes intuition and literally means “hand” – the appendage with which we effect change. Only good, hard, inspired and diligent work enables us to make a difference in this, the most interesting and problematic of all possible worlds.

Class dismissed.

Silence is the language of God. Everything else is a poor translation.”
— Rumi