Your Choice

Living in the past.  Reflection over words not spoken; things not done; moments not seized, occupy how much of our lives?  It is not possible to accurately gauge how much lost time we have accumulated throughout the years of longing.  In fact, I reckon that many of the times when we could have taken advantage of another moment -that might well be savored in the future- we miss because we are living in the past.

            Reflection is helpful where we analyze history in order to affect a change in our future action, reaction or inaction but where the past becomes a fixed image to be replayed and relived, it carries us away from life.  We miss the movie because we are still watching the commercial.

            Eeyore, the ever-pained donkey of Milne fame, is “stuck again” because he really never got “unstuck.”  Once upon a time Eeyore found himself in a place where he felt helpless.  Now, every new situation produces the same response.  He is stuck in the past.

            So much of Judaism is consumed with meeting the present.  When we eat we are supposed to bensch (bless) the food.  We wake to utter words of appreciation at our own rebirth.  In each of these ways and countless more, the mitzvot seek to wake us from a reverie and project us into the present.

            Eliezer Silver was an American chaplain who was at the infamous death camps at liberation.  He went from prisoner to prisoner consoling the desperate, lonely and emaciated souls.  Rabbi Silver tried to infuse them with hope, renewal.  Surprisingly, most were grateful and deeply thankful.  Few were embittered from their hellish experiences.  One man Rabbi Silver attempted to comfort was too angry to accept any consolation.

“I have no use for you!  I have no use for religion,” he exclaimed.

“Tell me why,” asked Silver.

“I will tell you.  In the camp there was death and continual torture.  But I tell you there was one religious Jew that had a siddur.  Do you know what he did with it?  If someone wanted to pray they had to pay him with bread to use it!  You should have seen all the bread he took for that siddur!  That is why I have no use for religious Jews.”

            Rabbi Silver looked at this man and said, “Why do you focus on this one man?  And not the many other religious yidden who paid such a high price just to hold and use a holy prayer book?”

            We may have no choice over our circumstances but we always control the way we interpret them.  In the same way, we have the ability to listen to the many voices of the present and abandon the vapid sirens summoning us to emptiness.

New Moon

I like to call us “lunar-tics” because we gauge time by the moon.

Once per month we witness and bless the new moon (called Rosh Hodesh).  This is when a tiny sliver of the moon becomes visible in the sky.  It is a big deal.  Here’s the background:

Observers would watch and anticipate when the new moon would come by gazing meticulously at the nighttime sky.  When they spied the familiar shape in the heavens they ran to the great body of seventy scholars sitting in Jerusalem – the Sanhedrin - and would testify about what they had witnessed.  The Sanhedrin would interrogate them to be sure they were accurate.  Even then, their testimony would not be accepted until another witness came to corroborate their word.  Even then, both witnesses had to have an unimpeachable reputation.  If untrustworthy, their description would be discarded.

To this day we announce the approach of Rosh Hodesh in synagogues by embracing the Torah, standing as a congregation, and declaring the date of its arrival.

Why such a big deal over the sighting of the new moon?  If they were wrong the whole calendar would be askew.  Holy days would be celebrated at the wrong time.  Yahrzeits would be remembered on the wrong date. 

Only when the Sanhedrin determined that it was a new month would it be declared.  The month we are in now is called Tevet.  On January 21 the new moon will appear.  This one is called Shvat.

Problems arise however when certain holidays are supposed to be celebrated seasonally.  For example, Sukkot must come in the fall and Pesach in the spring.  Since each Rosh Hodesh comes 29 1/2 days apart there is a difference between the solar and lunar years (A solar year – the time it takes the earth to go around the sun – is 365 1/4 days - long while a lunar year is 355 days long).  What this means is that eventually Sukkot would come in the summer and Hanukka would be observed in the spring!  That is why we have a leap year to keep the lunar year in sync with the seasons.  Seven times every twenty-one years we add an extra month to keep us seasonally adjusted.

Tradition states that Rosh Hodesh is a time for blessing.  When we announce the arrival of the new month in synagogue we ask G-d’s blessings for health, a good life, and prosperity. 

If you take the Hebrew words and make them into an anagram Rosh Hodesh becomes like rechem, womb.  The new moon is supposed to be a time of new beginning, or rebirth.  Some actually celebrate Rosh Hodesh each month by refraining from work and devoting themselves to sacred tasks, such as study.

The ancient mystic rabbis were also aware that the moon sheds no light of its own; it only reflects the sun on the other side of the earth.  In much the same way the Jewish people reflect the light of G-d.  When we act is accord with the Holy One’s wishes we become beacons of light, mirroring the Divine.

Making Every Day Brighter

The eye only takes in and records.   There are no emotions in it, just facts such as dimension, color and events.  The eye is impassive, non-judgmental. As it records data there is no joy.  No triumphantalism.  No squeals of delight or jaw-dropping moments.  Therefore, the awesome does not exist in any empirical manner.  Sensations come from a deeper place. 

As Abraham Joshua Heschel wrote “there are no sublime facts; there are only sublime acts.”  That is, we endow time, places and events with sanctity.  If we do not see it, it is not there.  We may stand at the foothills of the Himalayas and be wondering about lunch.  We might find ourselves in a bear-hug embrace and be wishing we had more time to make phone calls.  We could, in short, be in the Garden of Eden and never realize the verdant beauty pulsating all around.  As Psalms says, “they have eyes but do not see.”

What makes the Jew unique is his proclivity to draw out the intrinsic holiness in all things.  That is why we have so many blessings to recite; to awaken our sense of wonder.  The purpose of our many prayers and blessings is to make our eyes aware of the great gifts of the universe.  From food to clothing to bodily functions all things can be holy.  Moments can be sated with meaning.  Love can grow stronger and life can be more meaningful and fulfilling when we perceive the depth and potential that is inherent in them.

People have trouble finding God.  The truth is God is in all places and events.  We need to be able to see.

People have difficulty with love.  We inhabit a world of love.  But for some the universe is a war to be waged and won.

Make your day brighter.  Utter a prayer of thanks-  a bracha.  Life can be better.

During Hannukka, for example there are tiny flames dispelling gloom- light incrementally growing with each passing night until the Hannukkiah is bathed in the play of flickering shadows and light- thick air from crusty fried latkes- water droplets traveling a jagged path down the window- dreidels- gelt- and warmth.

Solo Act or Partnership?

One of the oddest questions posed by the Talmud asks, “What is Hanukkah?” 

Why does it ask such a question?  Is it not self-evident what Hanukkah means?  Doesn’t every six-year old know the reason for Hanukkah?

The Talmud provides an answer to its own question by describing the miracle of oil.  While kosher oil, unearthed by the Maccabees, was enough to last one day it burned for eight days.  Some say it burned brighter with each passing hour, yet another miracle.

Yet the initial question remains, why does the Talmud not assume we know why Hanukkah is observed?

Here are four possibilities:

1.     One of the underlying messages of Hanukah is that righteousness can triumph over numerics.  Despite the overwhelming odds against them posed by the militant Greek power, the Maccabees through sheer determination won a long and hard battle.  This message certainly resonates with modern Israel, the beleaguered Jewish state founded in ashes, forged in fire, and continually assaulted on all sides for all the years of its brief life.

2.     Hanukkah is meant as a symbol of hope, when, in the darkest hours of the long winter nights, we kindle flames a s a bulwark against the encroaching darkness around, we learn a powerful message about keeping hope alive even when everything else in life would seem to indicate the despair.

3.     Hanukkah is a metaphor for the internal and ongoing struggle each human engages in day-to-day.  It is the battle for goodness that is continually waged against the internal dark forces (yotzrot) urging us to embrace our worst impulses.  Hanukkah comes with the message that we can triumph over our most implacable foe, the internal enemy.

4.     Perhaps Hanukkah is nothing more than a childhood dream of safety; good warm tasty food, laughter and love?  If that is its message it too is worthy.

Maybe the Talmud poses the question about Hanukkah’s meaning because it has so many overlays, so many variant meanings.  Why then did they opt for the simple miracle of oil outlasting its normal life?  To show that God is the apex of all life.  It is too easy to dismiss God from Hanukkah, or Purim, or any other human event.  In fact if you read the tale of Hanukkah it is not unusual to miss the God part altogether.  The war was won though perseverance and strategy by the wily Maccabees.  Just like the rest of our lives.  Who wrested the big sale from the client?  Me or God?  Who won the court case?  Who raised our children?  Who is the breadwinner? 

It is simple to exclude God from the realities of daily living.  Maybe this is the real genius of the rabbis: it is not so much about writing our story but recognizing the glorious nature of even the tiniest event.

In Control

Life is simple.  We are complex.

After all, everything that happens to us is predictable.  The sun rises each day.  The winter is cold.  There will be another bout of flu in December.  We will grow old and eventually die.  

What then makes life knotty is our inability to control the randomness of that order.  The sun may rise at 5 am but we have structured our environment so that it will not interfere with our preset schedule.  Blinds on the windows allow us to sleep late creating our own artificial order.  Winter may be cold but it is infinitely more problematic if the heating system breaks down barring our ability to control our climate.  We will probably get the flu and still become angry when it arrives.  Even the time of dying is rarely chosen and convenient.

We are complex in our inability to accept what life brings to our doorstep.  The exasperation and pain that we invariably feel is nothing more than our powerless.  We can’t control life.

Harold Kushner has written that “Our awareness of God starts where self-sufficiency ends.”  That is we reach for God when we feel helpless.  Certainly last year, when the myth of the invulnerable American soil was shattered our nation turned to religion for an understanding of such a great evil.  It was hoped that at least faith would make sense of three planes hijacked and thousands of deaths.

The question most often asked of me (and I suspect of all religious leaders) is why bad things happen.  Bad things are uncontrollable, unforeseen events.  Essentially, bad things are when we lose control over our local world.

Life is what happens when we are busy managing our schedule and suddenly an unplanned, unpredictable incident occurs.  We then become upset.  Our control has been violated.

Happiness comes either when everything goes our way or we accept the inevitable and unforeseeable as natural parts of life.  Since the first will never happen, the only clear alternative is the realization we have limited control over our world.

The most famous of all Psalms has the line “Though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil because Thou art with me.”  This poignant line expresses a great depth of awareness.  When we understand how vulnerable we are we know two things:

1. We have little control over life and

2. We are never truly alone.  God is here.

Real Prayer

Prayer is not easy.  Real prayer can only come from a deep wellspring of feeling within.   Words are the vehicle of prayer but like any speech between people it can be sated with meaning or vapid. 

When we stand in synagogue or at our kitchen table and review the words in the siddur they are empty, black splotches on white paper.  It is only our yearning that breathes life into the letters.  Sometimes a certain prayer will bring us to an expansive awareness while other times that same prayer will have little meaning.  It all starts with the pray-er, us.

“Startle us, O God

Startle us with the wild improbability of what we say we believe.

Startle us with the incredible beauty and goodness of the affirmations of this place,

And our being in it this morning.” – John M Buchanan

Simply feeling wonder is a great impetus in relating to God.  Expressing awe is the kernel that births a sense of godliness.  That is why the ancient ones used to say, “You are the prayer.”  It is not in the book, not in the words; it is you.  The intentional words of praise that we utter become powerful utterances that rival the prayers of greatest tzaddikim of time.  We do not have to seek out inspirational women and men of renown to experience the sublime.

The Baal Shem Tov once said, Imagine a man whose business propels him through a maze of streets and across the marketplace through the long day.  He almost forgets that there is a Maker of the world.

Only when he realizes that it is time for Minha, the afternoon prayer, does he stop to remember that he must daven.

Then, from the depths of his heart, he sighs.  In that moment he is full of regret that he has spent the full day on vain, idle matters.  He moves into a side street, stands still and prays.  God holds him very dear and his prayer pierces the firmament.

Prayer is many things but the highest prayer is simple awe.