Torah & more… תורה ועוד

Vignettes:

You haven’t actually moved to another place until you spent (at least – more coming…) a day at its DMV… and – After a day of running errands in the Bronx: San Francisco drivers might have topography to contend with; New Yorkers have New Yorkers to contend with… Between that and the weather, my Blue Stallion might be waiting around for a while…

Hanukkah – still

The rabbis dedicated a whole Talmudic tractate to the Purim story, the megilla and related issues, and only a few pages to Hanukkah, hidden in the tractate of Shabbat. Since they anyway were speaking about candle lighting, it reminded them about Hanukkah so they added some rules and a relatively short discussion: what kind of oil, how many candles, should we be adding or subtracting, where to put it, etc. They emphasized the fact that women are obligated in this mitzvah as well, for “they too participated in that miracle”. But now, I wonder if it’s sort of a warning, as if they say – ‘they too participated in that miracle, some miracle’… The rabbis of the Talmud struggled with Hanukkah. There was a lot of “yes, but”. They had troubles with the Maccabees who were priests turned warriors turned rulers turned corrupt. They had trouble with war, with being defiant to the authorities, and with the short term light it brought.

It’s possible that Hanukkah caught an extra “wind” in recent decades from two unlikely partners: the neighboring xmas and its excessive consumerism, and the pioneers of the State of Israel, who saw the Maccabees as their true heroes, ideological ancestors and role models. Check the famous poem “Anu Nos’im Lapidim” where “we” are the ones creating light in the world, claiming “vayehi or!”. The words of G-d Himself from Genesis were now due to our own doings.

At a recent class, we were asked: in the war against Hellenism, who won?? The quick answer is, we, of course. But then, check again: where do we live? What’s the world around us looking like? What are we buying? Languages we’re speaking? Music we’re listening to? Clothes we’re wearing?? So who won?

Wait, so what are you saying? We didn’t lose, did we?? Which way is it??

Yes. The strength of the Jewish way of living (one of them anyway) is in our ability to dialog with our environment, bring things in, constantly kneed them, and find – and create – new meanings with them. Maybe, that is the victory of Hanukkah too, that is how darkness is dispelled, and that is light.

The Torah portion of Miketz

Usually read during Hanukkah, is the story of Joseph the dreamer who, having been sold to slavery and spending time in prison, is now rushed out to solve Pharaoh’s dreams. Long before Freud and modern psychoanalysis, the Talmud spends quite a few pages (in the last chapter of Tractate Brachot) fascinated by dreams, and I am fascinated with its fascination. A dream is a prophecy of sorts, and yet, it shows up, davka when it’s dark and our brain is seemingly least working. “An unsolved dream is like an unread letter”, they say, and teach that much depends on the dream’s solution, therefore one should consider carefully who would give the dream’s most favorable interpretation. They also say that in every dream, there is truth mixed with shtuyot (nonsense) and remind us dreams can take a long time to come true, learning from exactly Joseph here, who, as a child, dreamed of his brothers and parents bowing down to him, which took 22 years and was only partially fulfilled (his mom died long before).

22 years.

264 months.

8,030 days…

Day by day Joseph is in Egypt. First, as a servant in Potifar’s palace, then in prison, then as Pharaoh’s right hand. When he speaks, G-d is present in his life, and yet, what was he thinking every, every day?

Some suggest that as a child, he was very self-centered. Everything was about him, his specialness, his beauty, his being loved, being attractive, being wanted, being wise. Only in prison, he switches. No longer a tattletale, no longer busy with his looks and showing off his dreams to those who don’t want to hear them – things I don’t think he did maliciously, but nevertheless, he did. In prison, there are other people who need him and to whom he can be of assistance. Ironically, he needed the confined space to see outside of himself. Only once helpful to others in the world, he is invited to take a bigger role in it.

One of the hardest questions around joseph is why did he not call home?? Let’s say that he could not do so as a servant and definitely not as a prisoner, but as the second to Pharaoh, for sure he could take a few days “off” and visit his aging father. After all, everybody knew he was a “Hebrew” – so he’s introduced by the butler (Genesis 41:12). Ramban was especially bothered by this, and especially after he himself (Ramban) moved from Spain to Israel and realized how short the distance between Egypt and the Hebron area, where Jacob most likely lived.

It’s possible that Joseph didn’t know that his father was mourning for him. From his (Joseph’s) perspective, he would not do anything that his father didn’t want or ask of him, and so, if the brothers threw him in a pit and then sold him to a convoy heading to Egypt, that could be only because that was their father’s instruction to them. If so, Jacob sent him to check on the brothers, knowing they will harm him. Others suggest, that he had to have his dreams be fulfilled first and could not go home until that happened. I find the latter especially problematic, because if every dream has some nonsense, how does anyone know which part will be fulfilled until it is, and artificially pushing a dream is not a real way for it to be fulfilled.

A hint might be in Joseph’s sons names: the older one is called Menashe – כי נשני אלוהים את כל עמלי ואת כל בית אבי “for G-d has made me forget all my toil and my father’s house” (Genesis 41:51), and Ephrayim – כי הפרני אלוהים בארץ עוני – “for G-d has made me fruitful in the land of my affliction” (41:52).

Joseph is the first one to really make it in the real galut (diaspora). Until now, our forefathers, occasionally, went back to their family in Haran, but to go “down” to Egypt, get an Egyptian name, clothing, even a wife, and be successful there (and Joseph is called “ish matzli’ach” – a successful man [Genesis 39:2])? That is a first. Perhaps in order for that to happen, there are things he has to let go of – his pain in his father’s home. Only then, he can be fruitful in the new land.

We too constantly juggle the weight of the past and what we need to carry along to go forward. Our tradition struggles with memory and forgetfulness with endless commandments and instructions what to remember and what to not forget (one wonders what’s the difference between זכור and לא תשכח). Perhaps for Joseph, finding a balance between the two, means he first had to make peace with the past. It’s the darkness that precedes light. Only then his brothers can show up for the ultimate reconciliation.

Hanukkah Same’ach and Shabbat Shalom.

Life is an emotional experience, which explains why rationalizing things does not always help us take their emotional impact away; and which explains why when you escort your kid to the “Bakum”, you’re not interested in statistics on whether college life in the US or army life in Israel is safer. You’re interested in where in the world – literally – you left your sunglasses, and how will you move through the next hour without embarrassing anyone.

The Bakum is where one shows up to begin the “soldiering” process, and it is near Tel Aviv. Since my son’s home kibbutz is near the Gaza Strip, his drop off point is the parking lot for the air force museum near Be’er Sheva. Except for the other nervous and excited families, it is a mostly empty dusty field save for two booths: one, where you can buy water and sandwiches without paying any attention to what you’re being charged; and the other where you’re told which bus will take you to the real Bakum. Well, not you – you, but that kid of yours who just a few months ago told you, “mommy, mommy, I’m going to the army!” and you were hoping they don’t take 3 year old babies who babble nonsense, but then you realize that he’s actually 19 and 6’1” and all you can do is try to smear something on your face that doesn’t look like what you feel.

There’s a large group of friends accompanying us; I feel queasy as if it’s my own draft. Everybody tells jokes, laughs and slaps him on the shoulder and chest with a “sheyiheye be’mazal”, good luck wishes, like it’s a big party of some rite of passage. Overnight, I turned into a mom to not one, but two IDF soldiers. I am overwhelmed by a mixture of pride and anxiety, and seek solace with my own longtime friends who have been through this with their own kids. “Forget it”, says one, himself a retired officer, “I didn’t sleep for four years”. What can I say. The draft now is only 2 years and 8 months.

*******

On Thursday morning, I am blessed with an opportunity to visit the University of Haifa, where I was a student some decades ago. The University which has since quadrupled its student body and expanded its resources, including new departments (where learning in English is available), an extensive library and an exceptional museum of archeology and art (free and open to the public!), is located at the very top of Mount Carmel; And, while most of its buildings blend with the contours of the mountain, it does have a 30 floor tower with amazing views. Through its big glass windows, you can see almost half of Israel.

It’s a bit hazy but possible to clearly see the Galil and Rosh Hanikra by the Lebanese border; the city is stretched in front of us with its white buildings, some with lovely red roofs, nestled among the dark green pines trees which this morning sway in the fall breeze. The blue-greenish Mediterranean hugs the city gently from three sides. The Haifa port and its industrial region is on the right; the white sandy beaches, to the left. The relatively narrow road, climbing up on to the Carmel peak, winding into the woods, behind. Haifa has a pastoral side to it with its slower pace and labor mentality. There are jokes about its hardworking population and though it is “developing”, it’s still not a party-town. When we were kids, being quiet between 2-4pm was a rule; people needed their rest. There was work to be done. It’s a serious, considerate place, more European, if I may say that. It takes pride in its peaceful diversity, with the famous Bahai Gardens, and other minorities living together. Standing there, at the “top of the world”, I take a few quick random shots of “The Evergreen Mountain” and this city I love. They are not high quality, just a souvenir for myself. After all, this is the view of home we’ve always had, and will always, just the same.

Then there is a shriek from a nearby office. Below us, in the wadi, a quick pillar of smoke is rising. Within a couple of hours, the city of almost 300,000 residents, is engulfed in fires and smoke in what comes to be known as the biggest fire my hometown has ever known. There are flames through the neighborhoods of my childhood; blackened yards and schools; ashes mixed with fire extinguishing material on cars and in the streets. We head south with thousands of others, stunned.

And then, almost immediately – Israel responds. Not with a military operation, though many suspect arson as terror, but rather, with kindness, as thousands offer their homes to evacuees, discounts of toll-roads, and more.

In this week’s Torah reading Abraham’s servant is sent to find a wife for Isaac. Reading the description of the meeting at the well with Rebecca (chapter 24) is reminiscent of the description of Abraham’s hospitality when the three messengers stop by (chapter 18). The underlying message is that of kindness, which is more than doing what’s right; it is going above and beyond. This supposed to be a trait of Abraham’s children. For generations, we’ve assumed we have it. So much so, that it has been assumed a recognition sign: if someone comes and says s/he is from a village of Jews, all of whom “disappeared” somehow (presumably murdered-) and there are no “proofs” to that person’s Jewishness, just wait and see how s/he behaves. If they have the “mida of chesed” and behaves in kindness, then you know for sure, they are Jewish.

But yesterday, during the fire, something happened: Our neighbors, Abraham’s children from the other side of the fence, offered to send its 4 firetrucks over the Haifa – and 4 to the Jerusalem hills. Palestinians volunteered to risk their lives and work side by side with the Israeli fire fighters in combating the flames. Then today, as fires and evacuations continue throughout the country, Jordan and Egypt offered their planes, and Israel accepted. I may be naïve but I feel teary and chocked. Like Yitzchak and Yishma’el of this week’s reading, who set their differences aside and join together to bury their father, maybe what these Biblical siblings still need are more common projects and enemies to fight against together.

Shabbat Shalom from Kibutz Kvutzat Yavne, Israel.

Vignettes:

Hiking on Sunday morning around a random, beautiful lake near Oakland NJ. Many of the red-orange-purple leaves have already fallen, and the trail is often lost under the crinkling sound. I’m walking in a golden-copper forest.

“I got likes!”! Facebook has created a false sense of community and a false sense of self. Many of us have tens, hundreds and even thousands of friends, who “like” what we do. Those whom we don’t like, who don’t like us enough or just because we don’t want to see anymore – we can ignore, block and/ or delete, no explanation or simple politeness is necessary. We’re talking to ourselves, then we wonder how come our own echo is so empty.

Shabbat in Riverdale: On route to a semi-potluck lunch nearby, one of my friends goes to get some salad and two of us, who were walking further behind, are waiting outside the door, locked by a code. Then another person walks by: “Do you need the code to get in?” she asks seeing us there, “here”, she clicks a set of numbers. We live on a moshav at the edge of NYC.

Torah: On Getting Up Early in the Morning (published in this week’s Maharat newsletter)

In the beautiful Lecha Dodi” song, we say the famous line  סוף מעשה במחשבה תחילה- namely, that we should be thoughtful in our actions and consider the possible end when we start. In this case, from the very beginning, Hashem knew he’d create Shabbat, the crown of creation. Everything prior to it, was made for it.

That value, that we should do things with thoughtfulness and consideration has entered our life far beyond Lecha Dodi. And it’s not just ours. In Arabic there is a similar idiom: el-ajl min al-shaytan – haste is of the devil.

In this light, Avraham getting up “early in the morning” – twice – in order to do something that results potentially in harming both his sons, seems troublesome:

Fearing for Avraham’s good reputation, I was glad to find another “vayashkem” – and he rose. In chapter 19:27-28 we read:

In this case, Avraham gets up early in the morning to go to the place where he last spoke with Hashem regarding Sodom and Gamora. After pleading with Hashem to save the cities, he now stands overlooking the region which has been destroyed. There is nothing but smoke as that of a furnace and its chimney, a description that especially in our own era, is even more real and so much worse.

How do these three “early mornings” tie together and teach us, maybe even inspire us?

Avraham traditionally is associated with the quality of chesed, kindness, and with Tefilat Shacharit, the Morning Prayer, exactly because of his notorious rising early. But why is chesed associated with the morning?

When we wake up, we meet God’s in His kindness. Simply – because we are alive. The moment we open our eyes, it means that we were just given a gift: life and the potential of another day when we can partner with Hashem to better the world.

Our tradition is very clear about the idea that waking up is a gift because the first thing we say is mode / moda ani – literally – thankful I am, for even before there is an “I” which is fully present, there is already thankfulness. Saying ‘thank you’ implies that we got a something, something great. Much later, we will be named Jews – Yehudim, from Yehuda, Judah, Jacob’s son, whose name comes from – and teaches – thankfulness. That is the foundation of who we are, and therefore, of each and every one of our days.

On these three occasions when Avraham gets up early, he actually discovers, to his horror, that Someone has tampered with his morning kindness! On those mornings, God’s kindness was not at all obvious. God here was the destroyer, not the giver. A whole region was wiped out. His first born son was out in the desert and the younger one, who should have been the true heir, had to be brought up on the altar.

Avraham here gets up for a “berur” – an inquiry – with God. Things are not as they “should be” and he needs to figure them out, vis-a vis himself, vis-a vis the Divine in his life. These are times when he is called to meet God in the absence of kindness and there, to seek Him out. As Elie Wiesel said, “For a Jew to believe in God is good. For a Jew to protest against God or be angry at God, is still good. But simply to ignore God, that is not good”. For Avraham, settling his relationship with hashem, is the first thing to do in the morning. Especially when it is not there for him, he seeks the pained place to go figure it out. This also might help explain why the binding is considered Avraham’s “nisayon” – test – and not Isaac. It should have Isaac’s, to give up one’s life for Hashem?! But it is Avraham’s (as we learn from Genesis 22:2). It is possibly easier to find the quality of Din and Gevura – judgment and might – in the world, than that of chesed, kindness. Our patriarch leaves us with the message that every morning, no matter what, we need to engage with Hashem, and we need to look for, introduce and share – kindness in the world.

Shabbat Slalom from TLV!