Sukkot

Instead of my blue toyota, we now have a sukkah in our front yard, between the wooden fence and the bushes, where normally the car would be. Just like last year, people keep stopping by, asking what this is. Some are with their kids on the way to and from school, some are jogging, taking a breath as they reach the relative flat top of the hill, some are out for a walk with their dogs and other friends. Some are Jewish in variety of ways – by birth, by partnership, by family, by culture, by vague memory. Cautiously they slow down, peek around. They are curious why is this sort of tree-house on the ground; what are the palm fronds on top; why does it have funny writing on the walls, decorations from the no-ceiling and pictures of a far-away place they heard of or read in their church Bible.

We talk. “It’s a Jewish holiday”, I tell those who run and wave from the other side of the street, continuing on their journey. But some want more: “Are you fasting”? They ask compassionately, trying to show me they do know something. “Will you be fasting in here”? They look inside again, trying to confirm their guess, since we haven’t dragged our dining table out there yet. “Oh no”, I shudder. “Fasting was last week. We’re back to food and drink. Sukkot is a reminder of the Children of Israel traveling in the desert and”, I add, “of how life is fragile”, I share the Sukkot elevator speech. And then I pause: a reminder of how life is fragile? Really? Like we need reminders? Syria and Iran do that daily, and if we want to skip the news one day, we’re at an age that we can’t help notice people dying around us, or just simply pick up and move away too far. People get sick without prior notice, they lose jobs (yes, it happens), they change life styles. Reminder that life is fragile? And we celebrate that? I went back to watering the plants and waving with a quiet smile.

Now a few minutes before the holiday, when (most of) the food is ready, the table has moved in and all that’s missing are the guests, I can go back to that and add some.

I realized, that the important piece missing from my street “drashot is just one word. Or two; an obvious word but worth reinserting: sukkot is a reminder that our physical- materialistic life is fragile, and that we can and should open up to whatever is spiritual in ourselves and the universe around us – davka (especially) in a season where our tendency might be to get ready to close up and curl inside our coops.

And there is lots more, commentaries and stories and wonderful deep, meaningful, mystical things to learn. But if it’s spiritual, we won’t be able to access it just through words. The best is to find a sukkah, sit in it and take a deep breath; look up and see the stars. We have at least a week. The door is open. Stop by.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Yom Kippur: an “Afternoon Delight”

Watching Afternoon Delight makes for a pretty crazy evening. The life of LA Silver Lake mom, Rachel is turned upside down when she decides to save a young prostitute and bring her home so she can give her a new life. Indeed, not clear who is giving life to who: Is it really Rachel who is helping McKenna, giving her a good home and a decent job as her new live-in nanny, taking care of her son and the other kids who attend the local JCC? or perhaps it is McKenna, the “sex worker”, who shows up just in time to shake Rachel’s perfect life falling apart  (or perfectly falling apart life) with the “chic modernist home, successful husband, adorable child, and a hipster wardrobe” at the Jewish community of suburbia?

In spite of Rachel’s best intentions to save the “young girl”, who had “such a hard life” and who “really, really needs me”, it is not Mckenna who needs saving but the girl inside of Rachel that silently and politely and appropriately (and with her useless therapist) would like to shriek for help, that needs to break through and feel life once again in its fullest. While she can’t attend to herself directly, she can do so through someone else, someone she wouldn’t dare imagine herself as being, yet she needs now to become in order to cut lose and rearrange her life.

The rearrangement, by the way, and not to spoil it for you (trust me, I’m not), is mostly internal. Everything stays: the beautiful house, the patient, darling husband (How I met Your Mother’s Ted), the lovely child, and the cute doggy too. But life within that has become stagnant, regains its flow.

We live our life in a metaphoric “figure eight”, looping around and around: we give and we receive. Sometimes we give directly; and at other times, not only we receive, but our gift is our ability to receive so that another can feel a sense of giving…. The best we can do is flow. From modern researchers to Chasidic master to yogis, feeling that flow, that breath of life through us, is as close to happiness as we can come.

When my kids were young, I told them that Yom Kippur is like taking a bath: During the year we play around. We get dirty. Now it’s time to wash it off and start another year of playing!

All that is true for us too. We need time a chance to pause and clean out the clogged pipes blocking the flow in our own system.

Oh, and guess what, I think I also told my kids not to eat in the tub too…

 

With that, hope you have a meaningful day. chatima tova & shana tova.

Posted in Uncategorized | 1 Comment

Three (still somewhat disconnected) Thoughts, Last Shabbat 5773

Not many people fill the seats at Grand Lake Theater for the Friday matinee of Fruitvale Station, but by the time the film was over, there is not a dry eye in the audience. I thought it was only me, because I can cry even when we watch Cool Runnings for the 15th time. But as I saw the other puffy red faces at the restrooms, I had to wonder, what is it?

Maybe it’s because you can’t tell yourself it’s just a movie. And what’s worse, you can tell yourself, it just happened this once and “never again”. Maybe it’s because there are hundreds if not thousands of people in this city who wake up every day knowing that what stands between them and Oscar Grant is sheer coincidence. There are young men who walk out daily to the streets, the Bart, the bus, the stores, fully conscience that it could have been them; it can still be any one of them. There are countless mothers, fathers, siblings, grandparents, who know – every day – that this can happen to their son, their brother, their grandson, their neighbor. A recent article in the SF Chronicle shared that a Black male in Oakland has just as many chances to graduate high school ready for college, as he does to be killed.  So when he is late at night, he might be chatting with a friend, finishing work, waiting at the stoplight, hugging his girlfriend. But just the same – he might be shot. Before rushing 9000 miles away to decide for others how to live and fix the other side of the world, come to Oakland. You don’t need to go very far to do a lot of good. in the words of this week’s parasha: “ki karov elecha hadavar me’od” – For it is very near to you, in your mouth and in your heart to do” (Deuteronomy 30).

***

On the “Never Again” streak, Hannah Arendt leaves me with a different but maybe complementary message. She lies on her couch, cigarette at hand, trying to make sense of Eichmann’s trial (1961) which aims to showcase the greatest horrific evil of the monstrous Nazi machine, but the grey man standing on the podium behind the glass cage, is just a “runny-nosed bureaucrat”, a system’s “yes-man”. It’s even hard to call him an anti-Semite. He doesn’t have any umf and doesn’t seem to be pro or con anything. He couldn’t care less what or who is at the end of the train tracks. He is in uniform, he has a job, and that job must be done. She notices “the banality of evil”: small, dull, dreary, minute details that all add up to great wrong doings but leave no one directly responsible as they are composed of little people, little actions, each just doing what they are told, just moving train schedules, just making sure the locomotives are well stocked, just making sure factories have the right orders. It’s a long ride to Poland, and gasoline is expensive. He was a hard working officer, a good soldier, following orders, doing his best for his superiors (Whom he viewed as a Superior, but that’s for another time -).

We, the audience, wanted a simple story: with good (us), and with bad (them). We did not want to bother with this grey, messy stuff in the middle. We wanted an obvious tale, where we did everything right, and other bad people out there did bad things to us. We wanted the good to be close and those evil forces to be far, on someone else, on something we can point and pin and then punish. We did not want a chance that evil might be a fluid matter that can enter anyone, anywhere, anytime; that it might be in us too, and that therefore we will have to struggle with it ourselves in a real, painful, intimate manner.

Hannah Arendt – and the Torah portion – further deny us this option, as is so poignantly pointed out by a long ago dear student of mine, Ahuva Zaches, in her sermon: We are to stand “kulchem”, “all of us”, meaning, not just each one of us together, but each one bringing his – or her – whole self, the good and the pretty, along with the bad and the ugly. The bad news is – we have to live with the fact that we have both; the good news – there is room to us to have this and that. We don’t have to be perfect. We can be who we are.

***

This week’s Shabbat, the last Shabbat before Rosh Hashana, we read the double portions of Nitzavim-Vayelech. These are some of the shortest, yet most profound sections in the Five Books. One (Nitzavim) means standing, and the other – (Vayelech) going.

Of course, nitzavim is not simply standing. In Modern Hebrew, it means standing straight and tall, 90 degrees to the ground, sort of  like in “attention”. It expresses perfect, stationary balance. Vayelech, on the other hand, asks for forward movement. The picture we get with this is of Moses who spends his last day of his 120 years alive, going to the people. He could have stayed in his tent, waiting to receive the audience. He could have mediated with God. But he opts to get up and go out, to see everybody, to share his words, wisdom, care, to say his personal goodbyes like one loving friend to another. And yet, it is not a social scene. Moses, our rabbi, the greatest human being in our history, the man of God and the leader of the people, on his last day – walks alone. Alone ascending the mountain, alone approaching his death, disappearing into the horizon, and alone he will be buried in an unknown location, unapproachable to anyone.

Nitzavim tells about a covenant which is contracted with all those standing ready to enter the Promised Land, and even with those not yet there, not yet born, like us. It’s about peoplehood with a great big capital P, and for a moment, we go, ha? How can anyone sign a contract with someone who isn’t present? And yet, so it goes. And at the very same time we’re offered a “brit” (a covenant), the Torah already knows that like kids who are told no, we will mess up, and therefore goes on to tell us about tshuva, about the path back, about finding an answer when things seem down or lost. It is then that it tells us that this answer “is not greater than you, nor far away. It’s not in the heavens, lest you say: who will go to us to the heavens and bring it to us and let us hear it so we may do it. And not beyond the seas, lest you say: who will cross the sea and bring it. For it is very near to you, in your mouth and in your heart to do” (Deuteronomy 30).

Here it is, all of it: The inner voice and the outer clatter; The Heaven, far from our reach above and the Earth, accepting us below; The individual, all alone, and the community, numerous, loud, demanding, sharing, leaning; Those far from us, and those so near; The evil without and the one within, we dare not speak of; The force of revenge and the begging of mercy. And us in between it all, every day anew, asking to tread safely on the balance beam.

Shabbat Shalom & Shana Tova. May it be a good one, and may the journey ahead bring peace.

Posted in life and some, shabbat shalom, פרשת השבוע לחילוני האדוק | Leave a comment

שבת שלום: פרשת כי תבוא – ברכות, קללות, והחובה להיות שמח

קבלנו שבת לא קלה, בין חודש אלול לתחילת השנה החדשה (ערב ראש השנה כבר מגיע, ב-4 בספטמבר!) ועשרת הימים הנוראים, עשרת ימי תשובה. סופה (הארוך) של הפרשה כולל את הסט השני של ה”ברכות והקללות” או כפי שעוד קוראים לה “התוכחה”. את הסט הראשון קבלנו בסוף ספר ויקרא, ושתי הואריציות כוללות סדרה של מה יהיה אם נעשה טוב, ומה יהיה אם לא. הברכות – קצרות, רק 14 פסוקים, ואילו הקללות נמשכות על פני 54 פסוקים. חלק מה”מה יהיה אם לא…” – מצמרר, במיוחד לאור (לחושך) ההסטוריה שעברנו אחכ. האם כותב ספר דברים ידע את מה שהעתיד יביא? רק נגיד שהרבה דיו נשפך על הנושא.

הנה למשל, דוגמא שווה ציטוט וכמעט שלא מצריכה פרשנות:

“… יולך ה’ אותך… אל גוי אשר לא ידעת… ועבדת שם אלוהים אחרים עץ ואבן, והיית שם למשל ולשנינה בכל העמים אשר ינהגך ה’ שמה… ישא ה’ עליך גוי מרחוק מקצה הארץ כאשר ידאה הנשר, גוי אשר לא תשמע לשונו, גוי עז פנים אשר לא ישא פנים לזקן ולנער לא יחון… ונשארתם במתי מעט תחת אשר הייתם ככוכבי השמים לרוב… והפיצך ה’ בכל העמים מקצה הארץ ועד קצה הארץ  … ובגויים ההם לא תרגיע ולא תהיה מנוח לכף רגלך ונתן ה’ לך שם לב רגז וכליון עיניים ודאבון נפש, והיו חייך תלואים לך מנגד  ופחדת לילה ויומם ולא תאמין בחייך. בבקר תאמר מי יתן ערב ובערב תאמר מי יתן בבקר…”

יש אומרים שבמילים “עץ ואבן” הכוונה לצלב, סמל הנצרות, ולקעבה, סמל האיסלאם. כך או כך, גם העץ וגם האבן מתיחסים לדברים חומרניים אליהם נמשך בעתיד ואותם נעבוד במקומות רחוקים מהבית. ושם, ברחוק הזה, על אף שכל כך נתאמץ, נהיה ללעג בעיני בעלי המקום, ועל כך יש לנו הסטוריה רצופה של קנאה, בוז, השפלות ועינויים ליהודים, שהגיעו במוקדם או במאוחר  אל כל מקום בו חיינו. הנשר המוזכר כאן – יש אומרים שאלו הם הרומאים שדברו בשפה לא שמית, “שפה זרה”, ושניגוד לערכים היהודים, היו שולחים את הזקנים למות בהרים ולא היה להם כבוד ל”גיל הזהב”, בניגוד ליהודים שראו בזקנים את חכמי הדור המקורבים למעמד הר סיני ולכן כדאי לשמור על קשר קרוב איתם. כל זה מחלחל כמובן גם לימינו אנו, ואנו רואים את זה בתרבות סביבנו, תרבות בה מעריצים אנשים לפי כמה “טוב” הם נראים (כלומר, צעירים, אי-שם בין גיל 20 ו-40, אפשר בפלסטיק קפוא רק לא להזדקן מצד אחד, אבל מצד שני, אין תרבות של “ילדים זו שמחה”. בכל מקום, בנק, משרד רשמי וכו, יש תמיד קופסת צעצועים בשביל הילדים אבל אלו אינם מתוך כבוד ואהבה, אלא מתוך רצון שיהיה שקט. אני מכלילה אבל מעטים הם האמריקאים שלוקחים את הילדים שלהם לקניון במוצ”ש לבילוי משפחתי, וחבל.

ההמשך – מתאר את הקורות לנו: מספרי היהודים בעולם יורדים ויורדים, ואנו נשארים “במתי מעט”. מפוזרים מקצה הארץ עד קצה. במאה ה-11 כתב בספרד רבי יהודה הלוי באחד משיריו הנודעים, “ליבי במזרח ואנוכי בסוף מערב”, אבל אפילו הוא לא ידע עד לאיזה סוף מערב עוד נגיע. ועל אף המסעות והנדודים והחיפושים, לא נמצא שם מנוחה, ונשאר בהרגשה של ספק וחוסר שקט.

וואו.

למזלנו, יש גם חלקים יותר מעודדים בפרשה הזו.

הפרשה נפתחת בקטע יפיפה, שנשמע בערך כך: כשתבוא אל הארץ, קח את הפירות הראשונים שלך ותביא אותם לכהן שיכהן אז ותספר לו את סיפור חייך, סיפור העם שלך. הסיפור יתחיל ב”ארמי אובד אבי וירד מצרימה”… וממשיך בסיפור יציאת מצרים, חס וחלילה שלא נשכח, אותה פסקה שאנחנו קוראים עד היום כל שנה בהגדה של פסח. ולמרות  שיש אינספור פירושים לפסוק הבתי מובן “ארמי אובד אבי” – האם הכוונה לאברהם שבא מארץ ארם? או אולי ליעקב שאבד בשביל לבן הארמי שניסה “לאבד” אותו? לא משנה. זה הסיפור שלנו. מאז ועד היום. עוד נקודה מכאן: “ובאת אל הכהן אשר יהיה בימים ההם” – כל דור יצטרך להתעסק עם המנהיגים שלו, עם בני אדם עכשוויים, אמיתיים.

ואז מגיעה מצווה הכי מדהימה בתורה, המצווה הכי קשה והכי מוזרה: “ושמחת בכל הטוב אשר נתן לך ה’ אלוהיך…”. אחד הספרים שהכי אהבתי, מסע אחרי נמרי השלג, וחוכמת החיים של השארפה הנפאלי. הנפאלי הזקן אומר לסופר: כמובן שאני מאושר, בעיקר משום אין לי ברירה. והסופר המערבי, לא מבין. איך אפשר להיות מאושר דוקא כשאין ברירה, אף על פי כן ולמרות הכל… כל פעם זה מעלה לי שאלות מחדש. אפשר לצוות לא לרצוח, לשמור שבת, לתת מעשר, לא לגנוב. אפשר לצוות על מעשים, אבל איך אפשר לצוות על רגשות? איך אפשר לצוות עלינו להיות שמחים? התגובה האוטומטית שלנו היא שזה משהו שלא תלוי בנו. “מעצבנים אותנו”. אין לנו מספיק כסף”. “השוק קורס”. “החיים קשים”. “הילדים תובענים ובני הזוג…” ובכל זאת, התורה לא מוותרת לנו. וכתוב: “ושמחת”. יש פירושים שניסו להתמקד וטענו שזה שייך במיוחד לתקופת הבאת ביכורים, אבל השאר, התעקשו שאם זה שייך לתקופת הביכורים, שזו יכולה להיות תקופה לחוצה עם דאגות, מה יגדל, מה יהיה, מה נביא למי, אז בוודאי (“קל וחומר”) ששייך לכל המצבים האחרים גם בשאר ימות השנה, ובשאר ימות העולם.

תמיד קוראים את פרשת “כי תבוא” בשבוע לפני “סליחות”. במוצ”ש לפני ראש השנה, לפני חצות מתאספים בבתי הכנסת להגיד תפילות שנקראות “סליחות” (בכותל מתאספים גם לפנות בקר). אולי באופן סמלי לכן אומרים – תכלה שנה וקללותיה – אנחנו אמורים להשאיר את הפרשה עם הקללות מאחורינו, לסגור פרק, לנקות את הלוח ולפתוח דף חדש. הלואי שנלמד איך.

ושתהיה – שבת שלום.

 

 

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

על קצה המזלג: פרשת “כי תצא” – Shabbat Shalom: The Torah portion fo Ki Tetze (hebrew & english)

פרשת “כי תצא”

ידיד יקר נתן בי מבט אחד ואיבחן בדייקנות, “את מאוהבת”. הוא התכוון לשבועות האחרונים שלי ב”מכון פרדס” וללימוד האינטנסיבי שם, וכמו שכולם יודעים, כשמאוהבים, אי אפשר להפסיק לדבר על מה הוא אמר, ומה הוא עשה, ואיפה הוא היה ומה הוא לבש…  אם כך, בלב “מאוהב” זה, הרי כמה פרטים קצרים על פרשת השבוע הזה.

פרשת “כי תצא” עמוסה מאד בחוקים ומצוות. האמת, שיש בה מספר שיא: 74 מצוות! אבחר רק כמה שיספיק המקום כדי לא לטבוע בחומר, אבל שיהיה ברור שיש עשרות, ולכולן, גם אם בקריאה ראשונה הן נשמעות מוזרות, סיפורים ופירושים מעניינים.

נתחיל בדברים כ”ב 1-4: “לא תראה את שור אחיך או שיו (השה שלו) נידחים והתעלמת מהם, השב תשיבם לאחיך. ואם לא קרוב אחיך אליך ולא ידעתו, ואספתו אל תוך ביתך והיה עמך עד דרוש אחיך אותו והשבותו לו, וכן תעשה לחמורו וכן תעשה לשמלתו וכן תעשהלכל אבדת אחיך אשר תאבד ממנו ומצאתה…” (ותיכף נשלים את סוף הפסוק).

עד כמה צריך ללכת בשביל לקיים “השבת אבידה”? המדרש מספר על מישהו ששכח שתי תרנגולות ליד ביתו של רבי חנינא. רבי חנינא היה ידוע כעני מרוד – מדרשים אחרים מתארים את אשתו אופה זרדים בתנור המטבח רק כדי שהשכנים לא ידעו שאין להם כסף ללחם – לכן אפשר היה לחשוב שיהיו לו את כל ההצדקות בעולם לקחת את התרנגולות לעצמו. אבל הוא ידע מה כתוב כאן, ולפי המדרש, רבי חנינא לקח את התרנגולות הביתה וחיכה שהבעלים יחזרו. בנתיים, התרנגולות הטילו ביצים, יצאו אפרוחים, ועוד תרנגולות ותרנגולים… רבי חנינא לא ידע מה לעשות. כמו החכמים האמיתיים, הוא התיעץ עם אשתו (כל רב שמתיעץ עם אשתו ישר מקבל אצלי פלוס 10 נקודות, וגם, נכון, להיפך…) והיא אמרה לו, אין מה לעשות, זה לא שלנו ולנו אסור השימוש בתרנגולות, ביצים, אפרוחים, אבל גם אי אפשר להשתלט על הבלגן. מה נעשה? ניקח את כל התרנגולות לשוק ונקנה במקומם עיזים. עשו כן. אבל כעבור זמן מה, גם העיזים ילדו גדיים וכו וכו… אחרי שנתיים, חזר בעל התרנגולות ושאל את רבי חנינא אם אולי במקרה הוא זוכר ויודע מה עלה בגורלן של שתי תרנגולות שנשכחו כאן על אם הדרך. רבי חנינא לקח אותו לרפת. הוא הראה לו שתי פרות דשנות ואמר: בבקשה, קח לך את התרנגולות שלך סופסוף…

סוף הפסוק מוזר. כתוב “לא תוכל להתעלם”. מה פירוש? בשביל מה התוספת? המפרשים תוהים אם זו מצוה? אולי פשוט נאמר אסור לנו להתעלם כשאנחנו מוצאים משהו ששייך למישהו אחר? אם כך, צריך להחזיר את האבידה. זה פשוט. אך יש אלו שאומרים שזו כלל לא מצווה אלא עובדה, פועל רגיל בזמן עתיד שאומר שכך יהיה: “לא תוכל להתעלם”. זו לא הוראה מה לעשות, אלא – תוצאה: אם יהיה לנו כל כך אכפת מאדם אחר שכל כך נדאג לקיים את המצווה הזו של השבת אבידה, למרות הפיתוי וכו, אנחנו בעצמנו נהפוך יותר רגישים לזולת ו”לא נוכל להתעלם” מכאבם של אנשים אחרים.

מצוה נוספת שזוכה לבקורות נרחבות: “לא יהיה כלי גבר על אשה, ולא ילבש גבר שמלת אשה…” שוב, כל ענין יהודי יש לו דעות לכאן ולכאן. מה זה “כלי גבר”? חרב או מכנסיים? ואולי רק מכנסיים שמייצרים במיוחד לגברים? ומה עושים בסקוטלנד שם הגברים לובשים “חצאיות” או במקומות בהם הגברים לובשים גלביות? החשוב הוא שהתורה מבדילה בין גברים ונשים ורואה כל אחד כעולם אחר. לא שאחד שווה יותר ואחד שווה פחות – זה שטויות שיצקו לתוך הטקסט מחוסר הבנה. כך יכלו לבטל ולא להתמודד עם החוכמה שבו. אלא כמו במגן דוד: שני משולשים שווים שמונחים אחד על השני בצורה כזו שיש חלק משותף באמצע אבל מה שעושה את הכוכב לנוצץ זה הקטעים השונים בפינות. את הקטעים האלה צריך לשמור ולא לערבב, כמו חלקים בפאזל – אם כל חלקי הפאזל היו נראים אותו הדבר, לא היתה לנו תמונה. אם אין להם זויות – הם לא יוכלו להתחבר. השוני הוא מה שעושה את התמונה השלמה.  באופן אבסורדי, זה שהחלקים לא מהוקצעים, אלא עם פיתולים ופינות וכו – זה מה שעושה את החיבור לאפשרי, אם גם אתגרי. אפשר כמובן להתווכח על אופנת נשים וגברים ואיך להשליך את הפסוק למאה ה-21, אבל הנקודה היא שגברים ונשים הם לא זהים ושההבדל הוא לא רק “פנימי” אלא שפנימיות משליכה על החיצוני ולכן מתבטאת גם בה.

עוד מצווה קטנה שסבלה מפירושים מוזרים: “לא תלבש שעטנז, צמר ופשתים יחדיו”. אני זוכרת שאמרו לי, שזו אכן מצווה חכמה כי צמר מתכווץ בכביסה אחרת מפשתים!!! יתכן. אבל התורה לא התעניינה כל כך  בלאנדרומטים. דרך אחרת להסתכל על הטקסט מראה שצמר בא מחיות, ואילו פשתים – עשויים מצמח. ההפרדה הזו בין עולם החי והצומח, בין גבר ואשה, בין כהן ללוי, בין ארץ ישראל ושאר העולם, אינה באה להגיד “מי יותר טוב”, אלא לעזור לכל אחד למלא את תפקידו ומקומו בעולם בצורה הכי טובה. על דרך המשל, יש מנות שהן חמין ושם הכל מעורבב ומתבשל ביחד. כך, יש חוקים שהם לכולם: לא תרצח. לא תגנוב. שמור את יום השבת. אבל יש מנות במגישים בנפרד: תפוחי-אדמה, דג, עוף, לפתן, כי רק ככה יוצא להם הטעם הכי טוב, וכך יש גם לנו דברים שעלינו לעשות שהם שונים מהדברים שמחויב להם מישהו אחר לידנו.

את שאר 71 המצוות האחרות אפשר לקרוא בפרשה, כי בנימה זו, עלי לעזוב את המחשב ולקחת את עצמי לקניות ולמטבח. שתהיה שבת שלום.

 A dear friend took one look at me recently and diagnosed the situation correctly: “you’re in love”, he said, talking about my recent weeks at Pardes Institute in Jerusalem, studying intensively. As you must know too, people who are in love can’t help but talk about their beloved, what he looks like, what she wore, where he’s been, what she said… so perhaps it is in this spirit, that I share a few quick thoughts about this week’s parasha.

Parashat Ki Tetze, towards the end of the Book of Deuteronomy (thelast of the five) has a record number of commandments: 74! Lucky, we’re going to look at only 3 for now.

Deuteronomy 22, 1-4 says: “You shall not see your brother’s ox or his sheep driven away, and hide yourself from them; you shall surely bring them back unto your brother; And if your brother is not near you, and you know him not, then you shall bring it home to your house, and it shall be with you until your brother require it, and you shall restore it to him; And so shall you do with his ass; and so shall you do with his garment; and so shall you do with every lost thing of your brother’s, which he has lost, and you have found…” (and in a minute, we’ll complete the verse).

How far should one go when being trying to fulfill the mitzvah of “hashavat aveda”, returning a lost object? It’s told about someone who forget two chickens near Rabbi Chanina’s home. rabbi Chanina was known as a very poor and destitute person – other midrashim tell about his wife burning dry branches in their over so the neighbors wouldn’t know they don’t even have bread – so we might think he had all the justifications in the world to keep those chickens for himself. But, he must have known what it says here, and he took the chicken home. Meanwhile, the chicken laid eggs; chicks hatched; they grew and more chicken clucked around, and Rabbi Chanina wasn’t sure what to do. So, like other great sages, he consulted his wife (immediately getting an extra 10 point in Michal’s rabbis’ scale and vice versa…). She knew what it says here too. Still in order to gain some control of the mess, she suggested they take them to the market, and trade all those chickens for goats, until the true owner comes back. Some time has passed, and once again, those goats had kids etc etc. Rabbi Chanina and his wife went to the market again. By the time the original owner came back, Rabbi Chanina took him to the sty and showed him two cows, and said, “Please, take your chickens already…”

The end of the verse is peculiar: “You will not be able to turn away”. Why the addition? Commentators wonder if this is a mitzvah and we’re simply told not to turn away when we see a lost object. Then again, it might be a straight statement of a simple sentence in the future: this is what will happen. You will not be able to turn away. The result of paying such close attention to others’ pain is that we will be so sensitive that we will not be able to turn away.

Another commandment that receives much criticism is (22:5): “A woman must not wear men’s vessel, nor a man wear women’s vessel…” I’m purposely keeping “kli”, vessel, rather than be tempted to translate it into clothing, although usually that is how it’s understood. The question is asked, is “kli” just pants? What about in Scotland where men wear a kilt? What about places when men wear a jalabia? We can get lost in the details but the point of the Torah is that a man and a woman – that’s two different world. Neither is better or worse, but rather like in the Star of David: two triangles that overlap each other so that there is a common area, but what makes the star sparkling, is davka the differences. It’s like a puzzle picture. If all the pieces looked identical, we won’t have a picture. If the pieces didn’t have angles and corners, we wouldn’t be able to hook them together. Because the pieces are incomplete, it’s possible, though challenging, to put them together. We can argue how all this looks when we’re discussing 21st century fashion. Regardless, the point is that men and women are not the same, and that the difference is not “just internal”, but that internal things have to have an outward representation too.

Another mitzvah that received misunderstood commentaries is “sha’atnez”: “Do not mix wool and linen in the same garment…” I remember being told that we need to separate wool and linen since they shrink differently in the laundry. Perhaps. Though I doubt the Torah cared much about Laundromats and their strange outcomes (which resulted in my daughter’s old sweater now suitable for a doll…). Alternatively, wool comes from animals, and linen- from plant. Separating between animals and plants, men and women, the Land of Israel and the rest of the world, isn’t a matter of classifying who’s better but to help each one of us fulfill our role in the world in the best possible way. As  parable, some things are “chulent” – mix it all. We’re all commanded not to murder, not to steal, to keep Shabbat. But some dishes we serve separate: Potatoes. Fish. Vegies. Dessert. Because by giving them their unique place, we allow them to have their unique flavor. Likewise, we get to do things that are different from someone else next to us, for each of us has a different calling.

The rest of the 71 commandments, we can read over Shabbat, and with that, I’d better get back to the kitchen… Shabbat Shalom to us all.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Pardes: a new family summer adventure

There are a lot of things kids can do that drive their parents crazy. We all know it, as parents – and as the kids we all are (even if we opt to forget what we’ve done ourselves!). But then, there are also grand and wonderful things children do that warm a parent‘s heart so much, that your throat swells to a big balloon, and even if you had the words, they wouldn’t come out.

In our family, sometime as spring rolls around, I start with: “Guys, what do you want to do this summer”?

And as my children grow up (six of them, ages almost 16 to 26), they take longer to hmm and homm considering their options. There is work. And a chance to make some money. There is school. And friends. And tons of amazing programs. And lots more parties and other fun to have. And there is mom, with her ‘what do you want to do’ song and dance.

So while I can’t help nagging (trying to do it quietly and in moderation, though not always successful), I also remind myself that it’s time for me to get used to the fact that we probably won’t continue to spend all our summer days together, frolicking in a water park somewhere, driving around squished into a van searching for a bathroom in a rest area, freezing our tooshies off in a campsite huddled around a small fire, attending BBQ’s with long lost re-found friends, or flying overseas together. I realize, I need to grow up too, make my own plans, and let them make theirs.

So I did. I told them that I’m going to use all my vacation days on a dream: Like Tevya, I too want to sit in the Beit Midrash and study. I can’t think of anything better to do with my time then wake up to a shiur in Talmud, followed by another one in Midrash, Chasidut, and other Jewish text sprinkled with davening in between. I know, I know. People asked me, ‘and you do this for fun?!’ but yes, I do.

What I didn’t know was that 2 of my kids were going to sign up to do just that.

I searched and found Pardes summer course and quickly signed up. With great pride and excitement, I sent them the link to see. ‘Can I come too?’ they asked. ‘Well, if you insist’… I responded jokingly, amazed myself at what transpired.

For three weeks this past July, we shared a small Bak’a apartment from which we walked daily to Pardes; Each of us picked the classes that most spoke to him – or her, then we exchanged ideas and insights, discussing commentaries over falafel at lunch. For three weeks we lived Jerusalem. We visited family and friends. We checked out some of the tourists sites. We signed up for all the trips. We walked. We talked. We “pardessed”.

Lessons learned? Maybe it’s that the best thing we can do with someone we love is to share something we love with them. That is good to do no matter what age anyone is. If you can come to Pardes with your parents, or children, of any age, the sweetness of the Torah you’ll learn will multiply endlessly.

pardes

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

The Torah Portion of Re’e: seeing is (not) believing

Summer days in Jerusalem: There are just not enough senses to take it all in. The unique scenery stretches ever which way — the pinkish hills, stone houses, people of every color, clothing of every material and shape imaginable. Then you close your eyes, and the sounds engulf you — honks, shouts, laughs, music, conversations, prayers in every language and the wind in the trees, just before dawn.

It’s been told that Helen Keller was asked which of her senses she would rather have if she could choose, hearing or seeing. If chas vechalila (God forbid) we had to choose, which would we opt for?

The Torah, especially in the Book of Deuteronomy, constantly juggles between hearing and seeing. “Hear, oh Israel!” is our famous mantra. The Mishnah, likewise, opens its sections with ta shema, come and listen. On the other hand, the Zohar, the book of mysticism, calls on us to pook chazi, go out and observe, and this week’s Torah portion is Re’eh, or “see”: “See, I set before you today the blessing and the curse” (Deuteronomy 11:26). As we will learn, each word in this opening sentence is critical.

Like the other portions in Deuter­onomy, this one is packed with many topics, including a repetition and expansion on kosher laws; the obligation to give tzedakah and not forget how we treat those less fortunate; special laws regarding the land of Israel, the pilgrimage festivals and much more. Throughout it all, we’re told to use our senses so we can choose the correct path.

Re’eh, as noted, begins with the Hebrew word for “see,” conjugated in second person singular and the command form: You — look! But immediately after, the pronoun “you” appears in the word lifnechem, “before you,” this time in second person plural. Rashi, the 11th-century commentator, says this interchange comes to teach us that many are like one, and one is like many. What does that mean?

All of the Jewish people are likened to the body of one human being. Each organ in this body has its own importance and uniqueness, but it still can’t function properly without the others. Similarly, each one of us needs another, and all of us need the community to live a full Jewish life. Lifelong seclusion and detachment is not our ideal. Who would we talk, complain, argue, laugh and share with? While taking time off in various ways is welcome, the purpose should be to return to society as a better person rather than staying away forever in a remote cave.

There is one other significant word that hides in the first verse of this week’s portion: “See, I set before you today” (11:26). Lest we say, “I can’t do this,” or “This was given so long ago, it’s outdated and irrelevant,” or “Me, choose? I’ve already done so many transgressions, there is no hope for me.” Therefore the verse says, today. Each day should be new in our eyes to start on the journey, one day at a time.

The back and forth in this one verse among present, past and future, between the one and many, between hearing and seeing, runs throughout Judaism. We have a way of life that is thousands of years old and deeply rooted in its history. Daily prayers mention our forefathers and the Temple of old; we spend time studying our past.

One might think we’re all about ancient history. And yet, in the words of Mark Twain in his essay “Concerning the Jews”: “The Jew … is now what he always was, exhibiting no decadence, no infirmities of age, no weakening of his parts, no slowing of his energies, no dulling of his alert and aggressive mind.” We are a forward-looking people. We sing about hatikvah, the hope. We have our feet in the past and the future at the same time!

Helen Keller said she would prefer to hear, because seeing is connected to outward, superficial, materialistic things, while listening is internal, lasting and much less subject to influences.

I’ve always liked this distinction, but despite its validity, the Torah rejects the temptation to “take sides.” Indeed, while our Torah portion begins with a call to see, the next verse immediately states: “The blessing that you may listen … and the curse, if you do not listen…”

Indeed, nothing is either/or. More than anything, the Torah prescribes a way of life that advocates balance and well-being.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Ekev Pardes…

In Pirkei Avot (5:25) we find, “turn her, turn her, everything is in her” – הפוך בה, הפוך בה, הכל בה. We knew this theory before coming to Pardes, but feeling it on an almost daily basis for the last three weeks has been a whole different story. Perhaps there is no better place to see this in action, than in this week’s Torah.

This Parasha includes the words “ve’achalta vesavata uverachta” – “and you’ll eat, and you’ll be satisfied and you’ll bless” (Deuteronomy 8:10), which provides the foundation for Birkat Hamazon, and for many of us in Talmud with Zvi this often overly familiar blessing will never be the same. The immediate practical implications came in handy when some us went for falafel at lunch and were joined by a stranger just because he wanted to be part of zimun. If we doubted the messages and cross-class connections until the last minute, Tova-Leah last class about relationship used Birkat Hamazon as prime proof text for being present.

The parasha is part of Moshe’s farewell speech, and we examined his leadership with new eyes in Alex’s class. The opening words are, vehaya ekev, a difficult phrase to translate, but regardless of midrashim and Rashi, ekev – shares its root with Ya’akov, and in Chasidut we learned that Ya’akov, Jacob, is the story of every person; our need to journey away in order to grow and be able to return with greater understanding to the home base. And, because he is each one of us, his other name – Yisra’el doesn’t quite stick, unlike others who went through a name change: for example, once Abram is called Abraham, and Sarai – Sarah – their name never changes back, but Jacob, like us, constantly travels the stretch between earthly existence and the Divine aspirations. In the parasha our chavruta noticed it when, though we begin with ekev, later we read, “shma Yisra’el” and also “va’ata Yisra’el ma hashem elokeicha doresh me’imach”. By the way, as fitting to the Chasidut class, we opted not to punctuate this verse. After all, is it really “ve’ata Yisrael! Ma hashem…?” OR – “ve’ata Yisrael ma? Hashem…”

It turns out that Ekev holds another recent hero. Said Noam, said Lotem per Yafa’s Talmud class: Akiva is Jacob’s Aramaic name- with the alef at the end. In hachi nami (yes, this too), Akiva also was a shepherd and married a Rachel, who waited for him for a long time.

Akiva is also the one who enters the Pardes is peace and comes out in peace. I was wondering if one of the reasons for the tragic outcome of their journey is the fact that we read about “arab’a who entered a Pardes” – four, as in four separate individuals, rather than “one group”, or “chavruta”. In our own Pardes, we saw over these three weeks that chavruta may enter where no individual wants to find him/herself – alone, and emerge not only safely but supportive, and therefore stronger and smiling. Indeed, more than anything we were reminded over these weeks about the power of relationship: internally, with ourselves; horizontally, with others around us; vertically, with our past and future; and with G-d whom we sometimes called “Bigness” because at the end of all the words, we learned that we don’t know what we’re talking about… Like in the parasha, we too were introduced to a new Land, which God inquires (doresh) of always, demonstrating a relationship not only with people but with the location and space around us. Personally I was especially honored to learn Torah with two of my children, which is kind of like being in Sinai. Then again, Sinai is in the parahsa too.

May we all have a Shabbat Shalom and may we meet again somewhere on the derech J

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Tish’a Be’av in Jerusalem

This gallery contains 6 photos.

“Tonight, We Don’t Study Torah”!, calls one poster of many, offering contemplative learning opportunities. “Full Belly – about Solidarity” (or maybe in English is would be, pour your heart out), calls another, “Siege From Within, An Evening of Mourning and … Continue reading

More Galleries | Leave a comment

Five daughters (Parashat Pinchas)

Shul is a wonderful thing. When you’re done fighting the ‘why am I supposed to be here’ and the ‘but I don’t believe in all this stuff…’, you realize that on many days, it’s not about any of this; it’s just a place to take a break and sit quietly for a few moments soaked in the hum around, letting things happen.

So this Shabbat, once again, I read about the daughters of Tzlofchad. We know the story: five, we assume young women, daughters of a man from the tribe of Menashe, pose a question to Moses: Their father died during the journey from Egypt and left no sons. They are about to enter the Land, where each male head of family will receive an inheritance, but they will not inherit, and their father’s name will be lost.

Moses doesn’t answer but rather, approaches God to get a clarification, and God agrees with the girls: ken bnot tzlofchad dovrot, naton titen lahem achuzat nachala… and sets a specific law going forward: if there is no son, then the daughters will inherit the father. If there are no daughters, then the land goes to the man’s brothers, uncles, or the nearest keen. (Numbers 27:1-11).

I read it again, and again, and then noticed an obvious detail I didn’t pay much attention to before. The daughter “stood before Moses, and before El’azar the priest (Aaron’s son) and before the leaders and the whole congregation at the entrance to the Tent of Meeting”, and it puzzled me, why did they go to Moses? I mean, they were orphans, which means their status wasn’t high, as there was no one to stand up for them, and they dependent on the community for food, and possibly shelter. They were women, asking for rights women until then never had. Ok, so they had an idea about what’s right. They should have gone to an uncle, or their grandfather – the lineage is all spelled out; and if one of them can’t help – maybe, maybe dare and go to the tribe’s leader.

But to Moses?! Even the Hebrew verb “vatikravna” – and they approached. I can see them coming, with their long dresses, heads wrapped in scarves, slowly they walk, hesitating, maybe giggling with each other: to ask or not ask? you ask! no, you ask! or maybe one of them, ignoring it all, marching straight forward to the tent of meeting, demanding an answer as the other huddle around.

I have to think that they didn’t wake up one morning and walked up to the Tent of Meeting, the place of the korbanot, the shchina, where God speaks to Moses, just because. I imagine that they listened to the speeches about the upcoming entry to the land and the division of the inheritance, and hoped that someone will notice them and their unique situation. But no one did. Maybe they raised the issue, whispering to each other at night, confiding in a relative – who shrugged, who said, ‘so sorry, that’s the way it is’, and didn’t take their case further.

And maybe they didn’t give up and brewed on it a little longer. And they hoped the tribe’s leaders will hear them. After all, Moses set up a hierarchical system, per Jethro’s advice, exactly for cases like this! Everyone should have had someone to talk to about legal matters, about disputes, about law; and if that person didn’t know the answer, he should have consulted his mentor, until finally, we would have heard about this because Joshua – or an elder – brought it before Moses. How did the girls get in the middle of this? That must have been so against procedures and protocol!!

But Moses turns around and – with the same verb used just a few verses earlier for the daughters, vayakrev – brings their case in front of God. He realizes they have a point, and without changing it or its energy – take up the case to Someone who can decide what needs to be done about it.

To the people he brings God’s words, mitzvoth, chukim, mishpatim; to God – he brings the people’s complaints, ideas, hopes and wishes. Even more than the brave daughters, this story highlights Moses, and this week I especially miss him.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment