Pesach is a time to tell the story to our children. It is a time to speak. But perhaps it is also a time to listen.
At the beginning of Magid, we are told a story about 5 rabbis who held a Seder together. What do we hear of their Seder proceedings? Only one teaching: Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah says that he was never able to prove to others that the exodus needed to be mentioned at night (in the nightly Shma) until Ben Zoma came and expounded it from a certain verse.
Discussing this passage with my high school students, they suggested that more than the content of the teaching, what is being taught here is the process. These rabbis, after all, are our model for a Seder. What does the conversation at their Seder look like?
The conversation involves not just saying your own ideas, but also listening and repeating what someone else has said, and really learning from them. Ben Zoma’s insight could easily have been quoted in his own name: Ben Zoma said . . . .. But no. Instead it is introduced by Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah, who frames it through his appreciation of its value; “Behold I am like a man of 70 years” and I was never able to prove this point until Ben Zoma explained it. Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah is humble enough to give full credit to Ben Zoma.
Interestingly enough, the sage who is quoted here, Ben Zoma, is the very same sage to have said, in Pirke Avot 4:1: “Who is wise? One who learns from every person.” Ha! Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah clearly learned both Ben Zoma’s teaching in the Haggadah and this Pirke Avot teaching – he learned from Ben Zoma how to learn from Ben Zoma.
There is more. Ben Zoma’s interpretation of the verse in the Haggadah is actually only one side of the coin. The Haggadah (also cited in Mishnah Brachot 1:5) goes on to quote the opinion of the Sages who disagreed with him. What is the content of the Sages’ opinion? That the phrase kol yemei hayekha, “all the days of your life,” which Ben Zoma understood to be teaching us to include night as well as day, according to the Sages comes to include the Messianic era in addition to the world of today.
The Messianic era? Also in Pirke Avot, we are told that a person who cites a teaching bshem omro, “in the name of the one who said it,” in other words, a person who cites his source by name, mevi geulah la’olam, “brings redemption to the world.” Citing a source by name? That is just what Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah did here in quoting Ben Zoma! Did he bring redemption into the world? His citation did bring the mention of the Messianic era into the Haggadah. It is as if there is a little hint here that acting like Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah, being humble enough to learn from others and give them credit, this is what brings about redemption, the very type of redemption we once experienced in Egypt and hope to bring about and experience again.
How do we get there? How do we get to a place of redemption? By talking and telling the story, yes. But also by listening to others – by getting outside ourselves and our need to be the smart ones at the table, by being humble enough to hear the wisdom of others, take it in, celebrate it and cite it, as Rabbi Elazar ben Azaryah did. May our listening bring redemption.
Wednesday, March 28, 2018
For Pesach: Rise Up in Praise
Our main purpose on this earth, says the Sefat Emet (and others), is to praise God, to be witness to His existence and deeply grateful for the gifts He has bestowed on us.
That is the tachlit, the destination point, of creation and that is the tachlit, the destination point, of leaving Egypt. In both cases, the goal is reached on the 7th day. On Shabbat we stop our own creative endeavors to testify that all creative activity is really God’s and we sing, as the Psalm of the Sabbath day says – tov lehodot Lashem ulezamer lishimkha elyon. “It is good to give thanks to God and to sing to His exalted name.” That is our job on Shabbat – the end-point of creation – and that was our job on the 7th day after leaving Egypt – we stood at the Sea and sang praises to the Lord, an experience that tradition considers one of our highest points of connection to God. We stood and sang out with all our hearts and rose above ourselves as we exalted God.
All of Pesach is moving inexorably toward this height of praise. The gemara says that the seder “begins with shame and ends with praise.” We are moving towards praise: We begin with stories and words, and we conclude with Hallel and song. Hallel is the end-point of our speech in Magid, and an extended Hallel and the songs of Nirtzah are the end-points of the whole seder. They lead naturally to the Song of Songs, which is read on the Shabbat of Pesach, and some read on the night of the Seder. And then we reach the pinnacle of praise – the moment at the Sea. For this purpose were we redeemed, for this moment of praise.
What does it mean to say that our life purpose is to praise God? Isn’t there so much else that needs fixing in this world? What sense does it make to focus on thanksgiving as the main goal?
The Mussar teacher Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe teaches that the virtue of hakarat hatov, gratitude, has great powers. Hakarat hatov literally means “to recognize the good.” To see the good in another – to appreciate the letter carrier for delivering your mail even though he is paid to do so, to see this act as itself a kind of small hesed— to see all those acts of goodness in the world, to notice them, is to bring warmth and friendship and love into the world. To see God’s hand of goodness in everything around you, to understand deeply that none of it, really none of it -- not the life nor the health nor the roof – none of it is deserved or obvious but all are acts of divine kindness, to understand all that is to be in a state of Dayenu, a recognition of the neverending shefa or overflow from above. Seeing the good is not passive, but active and transformative – it awakens the good and the love that is always just beneath the surface in our universe. As Rabbi Wolbe says, by noticing the good in the world, we actually “build” a world of hesed. We often think that the ultimate good is to do good; perhaps we should add to “doing good” the role of “seeing good.”
Praise transforms the world and it also transforms ourselves. On Pesach, we move from “shame” to “praise.” Shame is self-directed; it represents the normal way we exist in this world – referring everything to ourselves through the prism of the ego – did I sound ok? Did I look good? That was so embarrassing! These are the self-directed thoughts of our ego prison. On Pesach, we are delivered from many straits, including the confines of the self. Instead of shame, we emerge into the wide world of “praise,” a place where we move out of ourselves by acknowledging the existence of a Being so much larger than ourselves. We come out of the dark narrow cave and into the open light; we are no longer a little tiny ego on its own, but, in praising God, become part of the praise of the Universe, part of the waves of Halleluyahs and Hodu Lashem ki tov’s that go on without end. We raise God up, and in doing so, raise up ourselves, draw ourselves out of the self and into the vast expanse of Sea. We are free, not floating alone and free, but deeply connected and free precisely because of our connection. To this end were we made.
That is the tachlit, the destination point, of creation and that is the tachlit, the destination point, of leaving Egypt. In both cases, the goal is reached on the 7th day. On Shabbat we stop our own creative endeavors to testify that all creative activity is really God’s and we sing, as the Psalm of the Sabbath day says – tov lehodot Lashem ulezamer lishimkha elyon. “It is good to give thanks to God and to sing to His exalted name.” That is our job on Shabbat – the end-point of creation – and that was our job on the 7th day after leaving Egypt – we stood at the Sea and sang praises to the Lord, an experience that tradition considers one of our highest points of connection to God. We stood and sang out with all our hearts and rose above ourselves as we exalted God.
All of Pesach is moving inexorably toward this height of praise. The gemara says that the seder “begins with shame and ends with praise.” We are moving towards praise: We begin with stories and words, and we conclude with Hallel and song. Hallel is the end-point of our speech in Magid, and an extended Hallel and the songs of Nirtzah are the end-points of the whole seder. They lead naturally to the Song of Songs, which is read on the Shabbat of Pesach, and some read on the night of the Seder. And then we reach the pinnacle of praise – the moment at the Sea. For this purpose were we redeemed, for this moment of praise.
What does it mean to say that our life purpose is to praise God? Isn’t there so much else that needs fixing in this world? What sense does it make to focus on thanksgiving as the main goal?
The Mussar teacher Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe teaches that the virtue of hakarat hatov, gratitude, has great powers. Hakarat hatov literally means “to recognize the good.” To see the good in another – to appreciate the letter carrier for delivering your mail even though he is paid to do so, to see this act as itself a kind of small hesed— to see all those acts of goodness in the world, to notice them, is to bring warmth and friendship and love into the world. To see God’s hand of goodness in everything around you, to understand deeply that none of it, really none of it -- not the life nor the health nor the roof – none of it is deserved or obvious but all are acts of divine kindness, to understand all that is to be in a state of Dayenu, a recognition of the neverending shefa or overflow from above. Seeing the good is not passive, but active and transformative – it awakens the good and the love that is always just beneath the surface in our universe. As Rabbi Wolbe says, by noticing the good in the world, we actually “build” a world of hesed. We often think that the ultimate good is to do good; perhaps we should add to “doing good” the role of “seeing good.”
Praise transforms the world and it also transforms ourselves. On Pesach, we move from “shame” to “praise.” Shame is self-directed; it represents the normal way we exist in this world – referring everything to ourselves through the prism of the ego – did I sound ok? Did I look good? That was so embarrassing! These are the self-directed thoughts of our ego prison. On Pesach, we are delivered from many straits, including the confines of the self. Instead of shame, we emerge into the wide world of “praise,” a place where we move out of ourselves by acknowledging the existence of a Being so much larger than ourselves. We come out of the dark narrow cave and into the open light; we are no longer a little tiny ego on its own, but, in praising God, become part of the praise of the Universe, part of the waves of Halleluyahs and Hodu Lashem ki tov’s that go on without end. We raise God up, and in doing so, raise up ourselves, draw ourselves out of the self and into the vast expanse of Sea. We are free, not floating alone and free, but deeply connected and free precisely because of our connection. To this end were we made.
Friday, March 2, 2018
Post-Purim Shabbat: Walking, Not Running
In honor of the Shabbat after Purim:
Rest. Balance. Peace, inner and outer. These are among our tools for fighting powers of evil like Amalek.
The Sefat Emet points out the strangeness of the date of our celebration of Purim – we celebrate and say “for the miracles that happened at this time” on the day the people rested after their fight, not on the day of the victory itself. “With this rest [menuchah],” says the Sefat Emet, “they destroyed him [Amalek] more than with war.” Our rest is a way of fighting Amalek! We kill evil, not just through physical fighting (and I don’t deny the need also for the fight), but also through our special role in this world as carriers of God’s menuchah.
Indeed, in the megillah, the world of Haman and Achashverosh is always rushing. They have professional “runners,” ratzim, who are sent out, dechufim and mevuhalim, “harried and rushed,” with messages. And they “rush” to bring Esther her beauty needs. And later, Haman is rushed to the banquet with Esther.
Everyone is running around all the time. But not Mordecai. One gets a sense from him of steadfastness and balance. He is a calm, centered, devoted person who knows what he is about; he is said to be mithalekh, walking by the palace day in and day out to find out how Esther is faring. Notice the contrast – he walks; the rest of the world runs. Maybe that is why he finds out about the plot of Bigtan and Teresh; he is around in a calm enough state to overhear them.
Nor does Esther rush. She takes 3 days to prepare for her meeting with Achashverosh, and then meets with him twice before asking her question, striking at the right moment, not rushing into anything.
Such balance and patience are the mark of a person with faith, a person who knows, as Mordecai knows [the only person in the megillah of whom “knowing” (yada) is said, Esther 4:1] that salvation will surely come, whether through Esther or through another. Such a person has no reason to rush because he understands that he is not in charge and he trusts the One who is. He plays his part calmly and with dignity; he is on the alert to act and do his part, but he is never rushed or nervous or harried. Day in and day out he is devoted and balanced and available.
This is the rest – the peace of Shabbat – that is one of the Jewish people’s primary weapons in the war against Amalek. We walk through life in a strong steady pose of faith, trusting that the Good One is in charge, alert to play our role in His plan.
Or course, we are sometimes (often?) harried and rushed and impatient. And sometimes, as when we leave Egypt on Pesach, it is appropriate to rush, or at least to be ready, on the spur of the moment, to drop everything and follow God. But most of the time, this harriedness is a kind of imbalance, an unsteadiness and an impatience which shows – like the people in this week’s parsha, who rush to the building of a Golden Calf when Moshe is just a little bit later than expected – most of the time our rushing shows a lack of faith that all will be well, a lack of understanding about our role in the world. The world will continue to turn without us; ultimately, we do not need to rush around to make sure all will be well. We need simply to walk, like Mordecai, with faith and patience, ever-ready to seize the opportunities that emerge to those who carry themselves with balance and steadiness and menuchah.
We are not the runners of Achashverosh -- running back and forth and back and forth to little effect; we are the peaceful walkers of God.
Rest. Balance. Peace, inner and outer. These are among our tools for fighting powers of evil like Amalek.
The Sefat Emet points out the strangeness of the date of our celebration of Purim – we celebrate and say “for the miracles that happened at this time” on the day the people rested after their fight, not on the day of the victory itself. “With this rest [menuchah],” says the Sefat Emet, “they destroyed him [Amalek] more than with war.” Our rest is a way of fighting Amalek! We kill evil, not just through physical fighting (and I don’t deny the need also for the fight), but also through our special role in this world as carriers of God’s menuchah.
Indeed, in the megillah, the world of Haman and Achashverosh is always rushing. They have professional “runners,” ratzim, who are sent out, dechufim and mevuhalim, “harried and rushed,” with messages. And they “rush” to bring Esther her beauty needs. And later, Haman is rushed to the banquet with Esther.
Everyone is running around all the time. But not Mordecai. One gets a sense from him of steadfastness and balance. He is a calm, centered, devoted person who knows what he is about; he is said to be mithalekh, walking by the palace day in and day out to find out how Esther is faring. Notice the contrast – he walks; the rest of the world runs. Maybe that is why he finds out about the plot of Bigtan and Teresh; he is around in a calm enough state to overhear them.
Nor does Esther rush. She takes 3 days to prepare for her meeting with Achashverosh, and then meets with him twice before asking her question, striking at the right moment, not rushing into anything.
Such balance and patience are the mark of a person with faith, a person who knows, as Mordecai knows [the only person in the megillah of whom “knowing” (yada) is said, Esther 4:1] that salvation will surely come, whether through Esther or through another. Such a person has no reason to rush because he understands that he is not in charge and he trusts the One who is. He plays his part calmly and with dignity; he is on the alert to act and do his part, but he is never rushed or nervous or harried. Day in and day out he is devoted and balanced and available.
This is the rest – the peace of Shabbat – that is one of the Jewish people’s primary weapons in the war against Amalek. We walk through life in a strong steady pose of faith, trusting that the Good One is in charge, alert to play our role in His plan.
Or course, we are sometimes (often?) harried and rushed and impatient. And sometimes, as when we leave Egypt on Pesach, it is appropriate to rush, or at least to be ready, on the spur of the moment, to drop everything and follow God. But most of the time, this harriedness is a kind of imbalance, an unsteadiness and an impatience which shows – like the people in this week’s parsha, who rush to the building of a Golden Calf when Moshe is just a little bit later than expected – most of the time our rushing shows a lack of faith that all will be well, a lack of understanding about our role in the world. The world will continue to turn without us; ultimately, we do not need to rush around to make sure all will be well. We need simply to walk, like Mordecai, with faith and patience, ever-ready to seize the opportunities that emerge to those who carry themselves with balance and steadiness and menuchah.
We are not the runners of Achashverosh -- running back and forth and back and forth to little effect; we are the peaceful walkers of God.
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