Tag: Being Jewishly

Living Judaism with heart, soul, and all we have.

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.

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.

Minute Mitzvah: ALL ONE ALL ONE OK OK!!!

Today’s Task: Know that “God” is One.

My dead psychic twin Sputnik, who rediscovered his natal Christian faith around the same time I came back to Judaism, was fond of saying, “Monotheism is not for wimps.” By that he meant that if you subscribe to the nondual one-Source-for-everything paradigm, you have to take the bad with the good: earthquakes and aurorae, wars and wonderment, convicted felons and patriots. In other words, if you believe that “God” is only responsible for the stuff you like, and is not to be found in the stuff you don’t, you might be spiritually hobbling yourself. Since the potential for every particle of existence emerged from the Big Bang, we are ALL connected; even to the people and things we despise. That can be a hard concept to swallow — but it can also be worth the chew.

Exercise: Flex those soul-jaws by trying to digest the idea that someone or something you find objectionable, or even loathsome, also partakes of the Divine. That doesn’t mean you have to condone or agree with them or it – an important distinction! – only that you acknowledge the connection. (Or, as Robert Anton Wilson writes, “Everyone has the Buddha-nature, but some poor bastards just don’t realize it yet.”)

Looking Out, Looking In

(A recent sermon.)

SOMETIMES, A LITTLE PERSPECTIVE CAN be a good thing. A lot of perspective? Even better.

That point is illustrated in this week’s Torah reading, when Joseph admonishes his brothers after they fib that their father told them to tell him not to be angry with them for selling Joseph into slavery. Not for the first time, Joseph replies that their action was part of G?d’s plan all along. Otherwise, he couldn’t have rescued them from the worldwide famine. Joseph tells his brothers they can finally let go of their guilt. He gives them an object lesson in perspective.

In David Michie’s charming novel, The Dalai Lama’s Cat, there’s a conversation between two Buddhists about performative, ego-driven spirituality. One of them said that some people wear their spirituality like a badge, rather than living it sincerely and without a word about it to anyone else.

My copilot read me that passage, as she often does when she comes across something shareworthy. We had a brief but intense discussion, as we often do, which prompted her to ask me, “How do you keep your ego out of your religious practice?” (Followed by: “Wouldn’t this be a great topic for a sermon?”)

For me, spiritual practice is worthless without proper perspective. To hold on to that perspective, there are three things I try to keep in mind at all times – I’m not always good at it, but they do support me when I need them. The three are backyard astronomy, a quote from Rabbi Lawrence Kushner, and one from Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai.

First, astronomy. Here’s how big and empty the Universe is: Imagine the distance from the Sun to the Earth as being one inch. On that scale, a lightyear, the distance light travels in a year, is about a mile long. On that same scale, our closest star would be just over four miles away, or about from our synagogue to distant Stage Gulch Road. Our best telescopes can peer across about 14 BILLION lightyears and observe hundreds of billions of galaxies, each galaxy containing hundreds of billions of stars. And in all of that all-encompassing emptiness, there is only one of each of us: ephemeral, irreplaceable, unique.

Which leads to this quote from Rabbi Lawrence Kushner, who tells us: “You may be unique – but you ain’t special.”

The second quote comes from Pirkei Avot, a book of wise rabbinic sayings collected about two thousand years ago. In it, Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai says this: “If you have studied much Torah, do not take credit for yourself – for that is what you were created to do.”

These three things – astronomy and the pocket wisdom of two rabbis – keep me from overflowing with egotism. And as a fervent blogger and writer of short stories trying hard to be noticed in today’s “attention economy,” I need all the ego-checking I can get. My question to you today is: “How do you keep your perspective?”

Pass the microphone around the sanctuary. Afterward, thank everyone for their participation with a hearty, “I think Joseph would be proud!”

Pocket Theology

BEFORE WE BEGIN, LET’S HAVE an agreed-upon definition or two (c. OED, mostly):

mystic 1. one who believes that union with or absorption into the Deity or the Absolute, or the spiritual apprehension of knowledge inaccessible to the intellect, may be attained through contemplation and self-surrender. 2. one possessed by self-delusion or dreamy confusion of thought, especially when based on the assumption of occult qualities or mysterious agencies.

Strange words? Confusing? Off-putting, even? Granted. However:

skeptic an ancient or modern philosopher who denies the possibility of knowledge, or even rational belief, in some sphere.

Ethnically and religiously, I consider myself a Jew through and through (for some values of the word “Jew”). And as one who self-describes as mystic #1, it seems to me that “religion” is to “mysticism” as “cheering a team” is to “playing the sport.” Not content with worshipping the Divine, what I really want is to thoroughly and joyfully wallow around in It.

At the same time, experience has taught me to be leery of those self-proclaimed “mystics” who fit definition #2. That’s where skepticism can be handy; as noted elsewhere, I am wordlessly convinced of an indefinable, infinite, yet universal sentience laced through and underlying all existence. But human knowledge is only finite, and human certitude – even or especially the gut-level, immediate, intuitive variety – can be illusory and deceptive. So I also embrace the possibility that I could be completely wrong.

And I’m okay with that.

Given the universe’s detailed complexity, comfort with ambiguity is an important, even essential quality of any spiritual discipline. (As my friend Sputnik liked to interject during enthusiastic theological explanations, “Sounds about as good as any other damn thing.”) We cannot become so convinced of our own Inner Truth that we become dogmatic about it, especially at the expense of others. That way lies fanaticism, cultishness, and the darkest sort of militant, lock-brained fundamentalism.

To paraphrase Ivan Stang, another favorite philosopher: “‘God’ is not a fan club.” So join me on that field – and let’s play our hearts out.

Shock Absorber

THE MORNING OF NOVEMBER 6, 2024 gave me the biggest and most horrific shock of my sixty-two years.

I won’t go into why, because half the country already knows why, and those processing the same emotions could use fewer words rather than more.

And yet, I do have something to say.
Continue reading “Shock Absorber”

Torah, Nutshelled

(A recent Yom Kippur sermon.)

הִגִּ֥יד לְךָ֛ אָדָ֖ם מַה־טּ֑וֹב וּמָֽה־יְהֹוָ֞ה דּוֹרֵ֣שׁ מִמְּךָ֗ כִּ֣י אִם־עֲשׂ֤וֹת מִשְׁפָּט֙ וְאַ֣הֲבַת חֶ֔סֶד וְהַצְנֵ֥עַ לֶ֖כֶת עִם־אֱלֹהֶֽיךָ׃ – Micah 6:8

MANY SMART PEOPLE HAVE TRIED to distill the Torah and its 613 mitzvot – “commandments,” or “connections” – into something smaller and more digestible. When someone told the early first-century sage Hillel, “Teach me the entire Torah while I stand on one foot,” Hillel famously replied, “What is hateful to you, do not do to others. […] The rest is commentary. Now go study.” Put another way: “‘Don’t be a jerk.’ Everything else is explanation; now, go figure it out.”

The prophet Micah lived six hundred years before Hillel. He explained Torah thus: “You have been told what is good […] and what Adonai seeks from you: To do justice, love chesed, and walk humbly with your G?d.” All three instances of the word “you” or “your” are in the second-person singular. These instructions are aimed at the Jewish nation’s individual members – at you, and you, and you, and me.

So. Let’s take a closer look at what we’re getting into. Continue reading “Torah, Nutshelled”

One Another

THE SCENE: LAST WEEK AT a medical office.

It was a strictly routine matter, but one which involved removing my cabbie cap and disclosing my kippah.

“How was your Chanukah?” the technician asked.

“It was good,” I replied. “Lots of light in a very dark time.”

His eyes held mine. “Tell me about it. I celebrate Chanukah too.”

Wish List

I want the rockets and bombings to stop.
I want Hamas to surrender.
I want the hostages released.
I want civilians to stop dying.
I want peaceful coexistence.
I want to live without fear.
I want to live without being hated.
I want a better world for everyone.
I want this to be not too much to ask.

Give It Away Now

THE TALMUD SAYS THAT ONE who teaches Torah to a child is as if one gave birth to that child.

What it also says is, “That’s what you’re supposed to do.”

As noted elsewhere, Torah is a great interest and passion of mine, even more so than my other passions and interests. But if I only study Torah for my own edification and increasing my personal knowledge base, it’s as if I never studied it at all. What earthly good or use is knowing anything if you don’t share it with others?

There’s an important Hebrew concept called “l’dor vador.” This phrase is mentioned twice in the daily prayer service and is sprinkled throughout our Bible and its related teachings. It’s usually translated as “generation to generation,” and means each generation teaches the next what it has learned, all the way from Abraham to the end of recorded history (please G?d we should live so long, especially these days). Torah even states this explicitly in Genesis 18:19, where G?d says, sotto voce, “For I have singled [Abraham] out, that he may instruct his children and his posterity to keep the way of יהוה by doing what is just and right.” If Abraham had kept his monotheistic ethics to himself, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.

A friend who served as a combat medic summed up his training thusly: “Learn one, do one, teach one.” It’s a nice organizing principle, whether in medicine, in Torah — or in life. Pass it on.

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