“Perhaps you will say in your heart: these nations are greater, more numerous, than I – how will I ever be able to drive them out (Deut. 7:17)?”
Moshe understands that this is what the Israelites will feel at the prospect of the enormous task of conquering the land. The enemies, the obstacles, are too large and too many for us. We feel small and incapable. How can we possibly deal with them all?
This is a familiar feeling, this feeling of overwhelm and impossibility. We are often in this place, this place of the small self, where we see ourselves – not incorrectly – as vulnerable and limited and surrounded by insurmountable obstacles to our goals.
The answer, Moshe says, is to remember God. “Do not be afraid of them.” Zachor tizkor -- remember, oh, remember God and what God has done for you in the past (7:18). We quell our fears and our sense of inadequacy to the task at hand by remembering God’s part in this drama. If we are doing the work of God in the world – and surely all of our best work is God’s work – then we need have no fear of overwhelming obstacles. We are not small. “You shall not be broken before them, for Hashem your God is in your midst, a great and awesome God (7:21).”
We are not small when we are in touch, when we remember, this connection to God. There is inside each of us that inner point of connection which is infinite and indomitable, like its source. All those nations, all those obstacles, they do exist, but they somehow don’t matter, as Moshe says, they don’t break us, when we are in touch with this infinite side of ourselves. We see them and we persevere and keep climbing. We have work to do and God is with us. We are not daunted.
Thursday, August 2, 2018
Thursday, July 19, 2018
Parshat Devarim: Shabbat and Tisha B'av
This Shabbat is the ninth day of Av, and yet we do no mourning or fasting on it until the following day. There is a powerful message here.
Tisha B’av speaks a certain kind of truth. It speaks the truth of judgment and sadness and suffering and destruction and disconnection and dislocation. And also the truth of human imperfection – we were and are still not worthy to sustain the Presence of God in this world as it once was. We fall short; we are limited; we fail. Life is difficult and overwhelming.
These feelings are encapsulated in the three cries of Eikhah, how, that we find on this Shabbat and Tisha B’av. The Book of Lamentations cries out Eikhah yashvah badad, How has a once robust city now turned desolate and alone? Isaiah 1 (the haftarah on Shabbat) says Eikhah haytah lezonah, How has a faithful city turned into a harlot? And Moshe, in Devarim (this week’s parsha), exclaims: Eikhah esa levadi . . . How can I carry the full burden of this large people all by myself?
The first two are cries of sadness over the sudden change in status of a beloved city; we feel how quickly life can turn from good to bad, how destruction recurs in our history; how ongoing is suffering; how impermanent and unstable are our lives and fortunes. There is change and suffering and we mourn the truth of these in the world. And most especially, we mourn our role -- through our neverending capacity for faithlessness -- in contributing to this suffering. There is sadness and it is partly our fault. The third is a cry of overwhelm. Really, God put me on this earth to accomplish something, but it all seems like too much sometimes. How can I possibly carry this full weight?
These are gnawing existential burdens that we carry, our knowledge of our limitations and our failures and the truth of our impermanence and continued suffering in the world.
When Tisha B’av falls on Shabbat, we have a special opportunity to see these truths, these burdens, through the prism of Shabbat.
What is the message of Shabbat? First, the eternity of our relationship with the Holy One. Beyni ubeyn beney Yisrael ot hi le’olam. Between Me and the children of Israel it, Shabbat, is an eternal sign.
An eternal sign. Temples can come and go. Destruction and suffering and mass killing can come and go. But Shabbat wraps us in the knowledge that through it all God stands with us. Shabbat is the touchstone, the eternal Rock that reminds us we are forever. On one level, there will always be sadness and suffering coming and going. But in some other realm, beyond this world, there is eternity and we are part of that eternity.
Even as we mourn the loss of our temple of space, we hold on to our temple of time, Shabbat, our expansive sense of the whole span of human history, past, present and future, and our little taste of divine time, eternity.
We are comforted by these Shabbos concepts because they remind us that we are not alone, badad, striving in our limited way to fix a broken world. Our work is indeed imperfect and impermanent. But we are embraced by the Eternal One, embraced by the knowledge that come what may, no matter how we fail and mess up this world, we are held by the Rock. Ot his le’olam. An eternal sign.
Tisha B’av speaks a certain kind of truth. It speaks the truth of judgment and sadness and suffering and destruction and disconnection and dislocation. And also the truth of human imperfection – we were and are still not worthy to sustain the Presence of God in this world as it once was. We fall short; we are limited; we fail. Life is difficult and overwhelming.
These feelings are encapsulated in the three cries of Eikhah, how, that we find on this Shabbat and Tisha B’av. The Book of Lamentations cries out Eikhah yashvah badad, How has a once robust city now turned desolate and alone? Isaiah 1 (the haftarah on Shabbat) says Eikhah haytah lezonah, How has a faithful city turned into a harlot? And Moshe, in Devarim (this week’s parsha), exclaims: Eikhah esa levadi . . . How can I carry the full burden of this large people all by myself?
The first two are cries of sadness over the sudden change in status of a beloved city; we feel how quickly life can turn from good to bad, how destruction recurs in our history; how ongoing is suffering; how impermanent and unstable are our lives and fortunes. There is change and suffering and we mourn the truth of these in the world. And most especially, we mourn our role -- through our neverending capacity for faithlessness -- in contributing to this suffering. There is sadness and it is partly our fault. The third is a cry of overwhelm. Really, God put me on this earth to accomplish something, but it all seems like too much sometimes. How can I possibly carry this full weight?
These are gnawing existential burdens that we carry, our knowledge of our limitations and our failures and the truth of our impermanence and continued suffering in the world.
When Tisha B’av falls on Shabbat, we have a special opportunity to see these truths, these burdens, through the prism of Shabbat.
What is the message of Shabbat? First, the eternity of our relationship with the Holy One. Beyni ubeyn beney Yisrael ot hi le’olam. Between Me and the children of Israel it, Shabbat, is an eternal sign.
An eternal sign. Temples can come and go. Destruction and suffering and mass killing can come and go. But Shabbat wraps us in the knowledge that through it all God stands with us. Shabbat is the touchstone, the eternal Rock that reminds us we are forever. On one level, there will always be sadness and suffering coming and going. But in some other realm, beyond this world, there is eternity and we are part of that eternity.
Even as we mourn the loss of our temple of space, we hold on to our temple of time, Shabbat, our expansive sense of the whole span of human history, past, present and future, and our little taste of divine time, eternity.
We are comforted by these Shabbos concepts because they remind us that we are not alone, badad, striving in our limited way to fix a broken world. Our work is indeed imperfect and impermanent. But we are embraced by the Eternal One, embraced by the knowledge that come what may, no matter how we fail and mess up this world, we are held by the Rock. Ot his le’olam. An eternal sign.
Friday, July 6, 2018
Parashat Pinchas: My Grandfather's Inheritance
In devoting my life to Torah, I consider that I am carrying on the legacy of my father and my grandfather. My father loved Rashi so much that he believed that he was given an extra four years of life in order to pursue more of his work on Rashi. My grandfather was shot in a ghetto when he was found studying Talmud. My attachment to Torah is a legacy. I feel myself to be a link in this chain.
And yet I wonder – would my grandfather be happy that I, a woman, am part of the chain? Would he want me to be studying and teaching Talmud? My father was a deeply open person, and in spite of his upbringing, a feminist. But my grandfather, whom I never knew, was part of a world in which women were not taught Torah, were not considered part of this legacy. Would he, does he, smile down on my learning?
Surely in heaven what one sees is the heart.
At least that’s what the daughters of Zlophehad in this week’s parsha thought. Seeing that the land of Israel was being divided based on the male descendants of tribes and having no brothers who would inherit and a father who was already gone, they stepped forward bravely to articulate their desire also to be part of the legacy, to take their share in the nahalah, the inheritance. According to the midrash (Sifre Bamidbar 133), this was their thinking:
The mercies of flesh and blood are not like the mercies of the Omnipresent. The mercies of flesh and blood are over the males more than over the females, but He who spoke and the world came into existence is not thus. Rather, his mercies are over the males and over the females. His mercies are over all, as it is said: “The Lord is good to all, and His mercies over all His works” (Ps.145:9)
Indeed, the daughters of Zlophehad stepped forward and were not directly answered by flesh and blood, by Moshe, but were instead granted an answer from the Holy One Himself, who heard their plea and saw their sincere desire simply to be a part of the legacy, and answered them – ken, yes. Yes, when someone comes forward with a sincere desire to be PART of things, God says yes; down on earth, things might be more complicated, but God says yes to a joining heart.
I imagine that my grandfather, now taking the divine view from heaven, sees my desire to be a part of his inheritance and does smile.
At the Pesach seder, we reject only one son – the one who excludes himself, takes himself out of the game, out of the legacy and looks at us from the outside. But anyone who comes forward and says simply – I want to be part of this inheritance – how can we exclude them? I am thinking now of many others, not just women, but also those on the road to conversion or those who feel excluded for any number of reasons – if they sincerely and bravely come forward to say simply -- I want to be part of this legacy, shouldn’t our mercies be not like those of flesh and blood but rather like God’s – open and embracing and loving and compassionate to ALL?
:
And yet I wonder – would my grandfather be happy that I, a woman, am part of the chain? Would he want me to be studying and teaching Talmud? My father was a deeply open person, and in spite of his upbringing, a feminist. But my grandfather, whom I never knew, was part of a world in which women were not taught Torah, were not considered part of this legacy. Would he, does he, smile down on my learning?
Surely in heaven what one sees is the heart.
At least that’s what the daughters of Zlophehad in this week’s parsha thought. Seeing that the land of Israel was being divided based on the male descendants of tribes and having no brothers who would inherit and a father who was already gone, they stepped forward bravely to articulate their desire also to be part of the legacy, to take their share in the nahalah, the inheritance. According to the midrash (Sifre Bamidbar 133), this was their thinking:
The mercies of flesh and blood are not like the mercies of the Omnipresent. The mercies of flesh and blood are over the males more than over the females, but He who spoke and the world came into existence is not thus. Rather, his mercies are over the males and over the females. His mercies are over all, as it is said: “The Lord is good to all, and His mercies over all His works” (Ps.145:9)
Indeed, the daughters of Zlophehad stepped forward and were not directly answered by flesh and blood, by Moshe, but were instead granted an answer from the Holy One Himself, who heard their plea and saw their sincere desire simply to be a part of the legacy, and answered them – ken, yes. Yes, when someone comes forward with a sincere desire to be PART of things, God says yes; down on earth, things might be more complicated, but God says yes to a joining heart.
I imagine that my grandfather, now taking the divine view from heaven, sees my desire to be a part of his inheritance and does smile.
At the Pesach seder, we reject only one son – the one who excludes himself, takes himself out of the game, out of the legacy and looks at us from the outside. But anyone who comes forward and says simply – I want to be part of this inheritance – how can we exclude them? I am thinking now of many others, not just women, but also those on the road to conversion or those who feel excluded for any number of reasons – if they sincerely and bravely come forward to say simply -- I want to be part of this legacy, shouldn’t our mercies be not like those of flesh and blood but rather like God’s – open and embracing and loving and compassionate to ALL?
:
Friday, June 29, 2018
Parsaht Balak: Use the Energy; Don't Fight It!
Use the energy; don’t fight it or squash it. The energy may be manifesting in a negative form, but it can be turned to good.
At first, God forbade Balaam from going to curse Israel. No, you stay home and don’t prophesy at all rather than use your talents to harm My people.
But God could see how much Balaam wanted to go. Bederekh she’adam rotzeh leilekh bah molikhin oto. “ It is on the path that a person really wants to go that they are directed to go.” So, rather than fighting with Balaam’s desire and squashing it, God uses it. God moves forward with Balaam, with the energy, not against it, ultimately using that energy, Balaam’s gifts, his words and his passion, to bring forth blessing upon Israel instead of curse.
This is a model for us of how to deal with what appear to be negative forces inside us. The Talmud tells us that someone who has great sexual passions should turn those passions into a strong love of God. Don’t squash; redirect; make use of the energy rather than fighting it. We are to love God bekhol me’odekha – with all of our inclinations, both good and evil; they all have power and energy and need to be directed into service of God.
A story is told of a fight between the sun and the moon. They both looked down on a human wearing a jacket and each claimed they would be better able to get that jacket off. The wind blew and blew, sending large gusts down to the poor human below, trying to rip that jacket off him. The human only huddled and drew the jacket tighter around him, as the wind became more and more frustrated, trying to wrestle the coat off, but with no success. The sun then came out and shone brightly. The person started to get hot and took the jacket off of his own accord.
It is hard to fight the human will and we won’t succeed. It is better to go with the energy, to make use of the will and the drive that already exists and learn to use it well.
There are many parts of us that we dislike or are ashamed of – parts that make us suffer deeply or even harm us like Balaam wanted to harm Israel. We often have inner fights with these parts and try to squash them – Stop being so angry! Stop being so sad or selfish or anxious! We admonish ourselves. But maybe this is precisely the wrong approach. Maybe we need to go with the energy, to follow it and respect its power and gifts and learn to redirect them. Fighting only wastes energy. Respecting and redirecting brings us the gifts of blessing like the words of Balaam – Mah Tovu ohelekhah Yaakov. How beautiful are your tents, O Jacob.
At first, God forbade Balaam from going to curse Israel. No, you stay home and don’t prophesy at all rather than use your talents to harm My people.
But God could see how much Balaam wanted to go. Bederekh she’adam rotzeh leilekh bah molikhin oto. “ It is on the path that a person really wants to go that they are directed to go.” So, rather than fighting with Balaam’s desire and squashing it, God uses it. God moves forward with Balaam, with the energy, not against it, ultimately using that energy, Balaam’s gifts, his words and his passion, to bring forth blessing upon Israel instead of curse.
This is a model for us of how to deal with what appear to be negative forces inside us. The Talmud tells us that someone who has great sexual passions should turn those passions into a strong love of God. Don’t squash; redirect; make use of the energy rather than fighting it. We are to love God bekhol me’odekha – with all of our inclinations, both good and evil; they all have power and energy and need to be directed into service of God.
A story is told of a fight between the sun and the moon. They both looked down on a human wearing a jacket and each claimed they would be better able to get that jacket off. The wind blew and blew, sending large gusts down to the poor human below, trying to rip that jacket off him. The human only huddled and drew the jacket tighter around him, as the wind became more and more frustrated, trying to wrestle the coat off, but with no success. The sun then came out and shone brightly. The person started to get hot and took the jacket off of his own accord.
It is hard to fight the human will and we won’t succeed. It is better to go with the energy, to make use of the will and the drive that already exists and learn to use it well.
There are many parts of us that we dislike or are ashamed of – parts that make us suffer deeply or even harm us like Balaam wanted to harm Israel. We often have inner fights with these parts and try to squash them – Stop being so angry! Stop being so sad or selfish or anxious! We admonish ourselves. But maybe this is precisely the wrong approach. Maybe we need to go with the energy, to follow it and respect its power and gifts and learn to redirect them. Fighting only wastes energy. Respecting and redirecting brings us the gifts of blessing like the words of Balaam – Mah Tovu ohelekhah Yaakov. How beautiful are your tents, O Jacob.
Friday, May 25, 2018
Parashat Naso: We Need Each Other to Be Blessed
May God bless you and keep you. May He shine the light of His face on you and show you grace. May He lift up His face toward you and grant you Peace.
The priests bless us through these words. The priests are the conduits through which God’s blessings -- blessings of prosperity, protection, light, grace and peace – physical and spiritual blessings, both – they are the conduits for these divine blessings.
Why do we need intermediaries? Why can’t we each simply say: “May God bless me and keep me. May He shine His light on me and give me peace. “ Why can’t we draw down these blessings by sincerely asking for them ourselves?
Because we can’t be fully blessed on our own. It doesn’t work that way. We are not each just separate individuals with a separate path to God. God created the world in such a way that we are dependent on one another to receive His blessings. Maybe there are some small individual pipelines to God, but the major pipelines are joint. We have to help each other receive blessing.
“I get by with a little help from my friends.” This week was Senior Night at Atlanta Jewish Academy. I was struck by how many seniors said about friends, family and teachers that “I wouldn’t be here today without you.” Hyperbole, I thought. Each of those kids did the work on their own, got themselves through high school.
But the past two weeks I have been having experience after experience that teaches me that those seniors are right, and I, too, am only here because of the kindness of others.
A few times, I have been thrown into the pit of my own anxiety, despair or insecurity by something that has happened, and each time, what brought me out – as much as I tried on my own – what brought me out was a kind word from a friend or partner. I felt like I was drowning and someone passed by and saw and offered me a life preserver ring, drawing me out, back to light and life, with kindness.
The Talmud in Brachot 5b tells three stories about Rabbi Yochanan and visiting the sick. In the first and last story, Rabbi Yochanan is the one who visits – he comes and helps “raise up” the sick person to wellness. But in the middle story Rabbi Yochanan is not the visitor, but the one who is sick and suffering. Another rabbi comes and helps him. The Talmud asks – if Rabbi Yochanan could help others, why couldn’t he help himself? Answer: “A prisoner cannot free himself from prison.”
We are all prisoners in some way, stuck in the trap of our own minds and egos. We cannot get out of these prisons ourselves – often, we can’t even see what is wrong on our own. We need another person to lift us up, to free us, to show us the way.
It is an old truth but one I am just beginning to really understand; it’s not that some people are great and can do it on their own. No one can, and it is a problematic myth to think that we can. We all need each other. We need each other to buoy us in times of trouble and we need each other to draw blessing down from above. We are all priests for one another, calling down the blessings of prosperity, light and peace, and freeing each other from prison in a way that only another person can do.
May God bless you and keep you. May He shine the light of His face on you and show you grace. May He lift up His face toward you and grant you Peace.
I am grateful to those who lifted me up this week and helped me see God’s shining face.
The priests bless us through these words. The priests are the conduits through which God’s blessings -- blessings of prosperity, protection, light, grace and peace – physical and spiritual blessings, both – they are the conduits for these divine blessings.
Why do we need intermediaries? Why can’t we each simply say: “May God bless me and keep me. May He shine His light on me and give me peace. “ Why can’t we draw down these blessings by sincerely asking for them ourselves?
Because we can’t be fully blessed on our own. It doesn’t work that way. We are not each just separate individuals with a separate path to God. God created the world in such a way that we are dependent on one another to receive His blessings. Maybe there are some small individual pipelines to God, but the major pipelines are joint. We have to help each other receive blessing.
“I get by with a little help from my friends.” This week was Senior Night at Atlanta Jewish Academy. I was struck by how many seniors said about friends, family and teachers that “I wouldn’t be here today without you.” Hyperbole, I thought. Each of those kids did the work on their own, got themselves through high school.
But the past two weeks I have been having experience after experience that teaches me that those seniors are right, and I, too, am only here because of the kindness of others.
A few times, I have been thrown into the pit of my own anxiety, despair or insecurity by something that has happened, and each time, what brought me out – as much as I tried on my own – what brought me out was a kind word from a friend or partner. I felt like I was drowning and someone passed by and saw and offered me a life preserver ring, drawing me out, back to light and life, with kindness.
The Talmud in Brachot 5b tells three stories about Rabbi Yochanan and visiting the sick. In the first and last story, Rabbi Yochanan is the one who visits – he comes and helps “raise up” the sick person to wellness. But in the middle story Rabbi Yochanan is not the visitor, but the one who is sick and suffering. Another rabbi comes and helps him. The Talmud asks – if Rabbi Yochanan could help others, why couldn’t he help himself? Answer: “A prisoner cannot free himself from prison.”
We are all prisoners in some way, stuck in the trap of our own minds and egos. We cannot get out of these prisons ourselves – often, we can’t even see what is wrong on our own. We need another person to lift us up, to free us, to show us the way.
It is an old truth but one I am just beginning to really understand; it’s not that some people are great and can do it on their own. No one can, and it is a problematic myth to think that we can. We all need each other. We need each other to buoy us in times of trouble and we need each other to draw blessing down from above. We are all priests for one another, calling down the blessings of prosperity, light and peace, and freeing each other from prison in a way that only another person can do.
May God bless you and keep you. May He shine the light of His face on you and show you grace. May He lift up His face toward you and grant you Peace.
I am grateful to those who lifted me up this week and helped me see God’s shining face.
Friday, April 27, 2018
Parashat Kedoshim: Be True to Your Best Self
Elokay neshama shenata bi tehorah hi. We each have a pure soul, a piece of the divine inside us, our best, highest self. But we often forget this soul, forget our roots above, in the daily mess of life here on earth.
What it means to be kadosh, as the Torah enjoins us this week, is to remember this higher aspect of self. Kedoshim tehyu ki kadosh ani Hashem Elokeikhem. Be holy because I, Hashem, your God am holy. Our holiness stems from the mirroring of God’s holiness in ourselves, from our knowledge of our connection, our source, above.
This sense of remembering our higher selves is expressed in many of the laws:
Keep Shabbat – a weekly reminder of your connection above, as you stop the business of this-worldly achievement to be attuned to the soul.
No idol worship -- Don’t get involved in worshipping other things in the world that don’t really matter and take you away from your true self. Don’t be confused about who you are.
Leave the corners of the fields for the poor -- Yes, you need to be involved in the world, but in doing so – when you grow things in the ground or on trees – don’t rush like an animal to eat it all up. Have dignity and compassion and love for others. These are the higher sides of yourself and you need to uncover and develop them through constant limitation and giving.
Do not curse a deaf person. Why? He won’t hear you anyway. Ah, but it will affect you – it will debase you, the speaker, take you away from your true elevated self. To lie and to cheat others are similarly degrading, a debasement of the kedushah that lies in each of us. It’s not just that it’s wrong to hurt others; we are better than that. We should hold ourselves to a standard of dignity and love, be mirrors of the loving holy God who created us.
The parsha repeats again and again the reason for all these laws of kedushah -- Ani Hashem Elokeikhem. I am Hashem your God. Certainly there are other ways to interpret this phrase, but this year, what it says to me is -- Remember who your God is; remember who you are and where you came from; be true to this mirrored image of God in yourself; be true to your highest self.
Read this way, the constant enjoinment ani Hashem Elokeikhem becomes not a threat – I am the God who will punish you if you don’t follow My laws – but a source of encouragement and hizuk (strengthening). You can do this. You already have inside you what it takes to be holy and good and loving and dignified. You are already connected above. All you need to do is remember that connection.
Remember that connection in every aspect of your life. Not just when you are in shul davening, but also when you are in your fields harvesting grain or in the supermarket buying apples or eating breakfast on the run or doing the dishes or interacting with a colleague or client or child or other driver. Kedushah means bringing God into the world by remembering who we are at all times, remembering our pure soul from above, letting that knowledge seep in to every detail of how we act and every moment of our lives.
What it means to be kadosh, as the Torah enjoins us this week, is to remember this higher aspect of self. Kedoshim tehyu ki kadosh ani Hashem Elokeikhem. Be holy because I, Hashem, your God am holy. Our holiness stems from the mirroring of God’s holiness in ourselves, from our knowledge of our connection, our source, above.
This sense of remembering our higher selves is expressed in many of the laws:
Keep Shabbat – a weekly reminder of your connection above, as you stop the business of this-worldly achievement to be attuned to the soul.
No idol worship -- Don’t get involved in worshipping other things in the world that don’t really matter and take you away from your true self. Don’t be confused about who you are.
Leave the corners of the fields for the poor -- Yes, you need to be involved in the world, but in doing so – when you grow things in the ground or on trees – don’t rush like an animal to eat it all up. Have dignity and compassion and love for others. These are the higher sides of yourself and you need to uncover and develop them through constant limitation and giving.
Do not curse a deaf person. Why? He won’t hear you anyway. Ah, but it will affect you – it will debase you, the speaker, take you away from your true elevated self. To lie and to cheat others are similarly degrading, a debasement of the kedushah that lies in each of us. It’s not just that it’s wrong to hurt others; we are better than that. We should hold ourselves to a standard of dignity and love, be mirrors of the loving holy God who created us.
The parsha repeats again and again the reason for all these laws of kedushah -- Ani Hashem Elokeikhem. I am Hashem your God. Certainly there are other ways to interpret this phrase, but this year, what it says to me is -- Remember who your God is; remember who you are and where you came from; be true to this mirrored image of God in yourself; be true to your highest self.
Read this way, the constant enjoinment ani Hashem Elokeikhem becomes not a threat – I am the God who will punish you if you don’t follow My laws – but a source of encouragement and hizuk (strengthening). You can do this. You already have inside you what it takes to be holy and good and loving and dignified. You are already connected above. All you need to do is remember that connection.
Remember that connection in every aspect of your life. Not just when you are in shul davening, but also when you are in your fields harvesting grain or in the supermarket buying apples or eating breakfast on the run or doing the dishes or interacting with a colleague or client or child or other driver. Kedushah means bringing God into the world by remembering who we are at all times, remembering our pure soul from above, letting that knowledge seep in to every detail of how we act and every moment of our lives.
Friday, April 20, 2018
For Yom HaAtzmaut: Shuli Rand's "The Poet" and the Journey Towards Peace
In honor of Yom HaAtzmaut, I taught a song of Shuli Rand’s in the high school this week called Hameshorer, “The Poet.”
The song tells a story about Shuli Rand, a Haredi Israeli singer, and a friend of his, a famous secular Israeli poet. In the song the two meet while swimming in a pool and again on a city bench. Both times they connect and converse but end up in argument and discord over religious questions. “You said no. I said yes. If I said there is, you laughed, there isn’t.” The second time, Shuli says they almost end up coming to blows over the argument. A huge gulf opens between them.
The song begins with argument but ends with peace. In the final scene, the secular poet is sick in the hospital, “entangled in frightening tubes” and Shuli comes to visit him. This time, they talk little. Shuli says, “I had feelings. I had no words.” They both sense the end is near. They both see the Shekhinah, the Divine Presence, above the poet’s bed. They do not speak. They cry together. Shuli blesses his friend: Sa Leshalom. “Travel in peace.” And the friend answers: “Amen.”
Peace. Shalom. How do we move from argument to peace? Shuli Rand shows us here. The answer is Shekhinah. Not just Divine Presence, but human presence. Perhaps we can even say that the Divine Presence is drawn down to earth in places, as here, where humans are being present for one another. There is a quality of presence here that we don’t normally achieve. It is presence beyond words and beyond the ego involvement of an argument. Beyond -- I’m right. You’re wrong. We each need to defend our positions. To be present is not to be right but to care, to connect. The illness of the poet helps them see what matters, helps them see their shared humanity and mortality and understand that to be right is not as important as to love, to connect, to be at peace with another.
Ideological divisions abound in this world. What ultimately drives peace may not just be national or international work, but simple encounters like the one described in this song, person by person, in intimate and less intimate relationships, simple everyday encounters where we learn not always to assert our views with words and arguments, but to cry together, to feel together, to be present and connected, simple encounters where we ask ourselves – do I want to be right or do I want to be at peace?
Sa Leshalom. May we all be travelling daily toward peace and presence.
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