Justice, Justice

People are obsessed with justice. We demand that murderers be locked up. Rapists deserve no second chance. The death penalty is not used nearly enough. Why do the good continually have to suffer instead of those who really deserve it (and we all know who they are!).

The Torah too is suffused with ideals of justice. Did you know, to choose just one example, that a child can be put to death for disabusing the fifth commandment? Or that an idolater must be executed? Or that murderers are to find no place of refuge from the fury of justice?

And we ask, “Why me? Why do I have to bear the wounds of terror? Just look at all the people speeding by! Why did that cop have to pick on me??”

Dorothy Sayers wrote, “When we demand justice, it is always justice on our behalf against other people. Nobody, I imagine, whatever ask for justice to be done upon him for everything he ever did wrong.”

It does not take a quantum leap of imagination to use this notion about people who cheat on their taxes. “Let them get what's coming to them.” Now, when they ever say this about themselves? I would like to meet the person who states, “Boy, am I glad they caught me breaking the law and pressed charges!”

A paradox: no one wishes to be found guilty of crimes while we fervently hope for others to be punished for the same or similar transgressions.

And, if there is an order to the universe; if God dispenses rewards and punishments, why does it seem that we never get what we really deserve?  I have yet to meet a single soul who asks, “Rabbi, why not me?  I was a “no good” person.”  It is, I believe, that thee word “justice” has a double meaning. Justice applies to the discovery of our innocence while also meaning punishing others.

Sayers continues, “We want justice - we want revenge; and that is why, when justice is done upon us, we cry out that god is vindictive.”

What do we deserve?  Do we merit grace or pain?  I have often thought that the best determination of what we deserve is to approach the most honest person we know (or our fiercest antagonist) and ask them to tell us what hey really think of us.  Few would dare take up that challenge.  This speaks volumes.

A great truth from the Talmud.  A human being should always carry two pieces of paper in opposite pockets.  On one should be written, I am created from the dust and earth.”  On the other, “I am created in the image of God.”  That is us.

Summer's End

The conductor rises to the slightly elevated platform. Invested with great energy, the conductor slowly lift the baton: the orchestra tenses ready to perform their well rehearsed, perhaps over over-rehearsed, rendition of the symphony. Everything must happen at once. If he oboe begins one second after the trombone the evening will turn to disaster.

So it is with the last golden moments of summer.  The Master calls all nature to its predestined assigned role.  Days grow shorter.  Apples begin to turn a brilliant red, tugging heavily on branches.  The young rabbits, which emerged in late spring, are now graced with strength and agility and will soon be envelope din a thicker coat of fur.   Once the playground of squirrels, our backyards have become a frenzied supermarket of last minute collecting of nuts for the long, cold days ahead.

In dank basements wine takes on rich warm hues. Bees will soon disappear having made their last batch of honey.  All of nature colludes, as the nights grow cooler and longer. From the pesky flies to the stately hawk, South Carolina is transformed.  

Lo yisobu b’lekhtan, nature does not comprehend itself; it simply does what it is ordered to do.  Nature does not have a mind that thinks, “It is fall and time to begin the shut down”. Rather, the Master poised at the lectern, raises His baton and nature responds uniformly.

Obedience is a sine qua non for the universe; it obeys the Master’s wishes.  Even the earthworm takes its cue from the same motion of God, as does the lion. We feel the subtle changes in the earth and, at the same time deep within the soul. We know that the curtain of summer has fallen and it is time to gather the family, send cards to relatives, and connect with those with whom we yearn to be. It is a time of ingathering - Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.  We begin to think about rearranging our clothes for winter and other small shifts as we enter a new year for the Universe.

There are many names for God. The one that we use now is Melekh, King. The whole universe is summoned to stand before the King. All that exists falls before the Infinite One.  Of course, we are the only creation that can choose to not respond to the summons. The ability to do a “pesha” a considered sin lies within our purview.  This is the truest difference between nature and us; our will be defiant for no obvious cause, just ego.

I will be there, perhaps for the last time.  Soon you and I shall meet again at the appointed time and place.  We have been called.  L’Shanah Tovah Tikateyvu v’Takhatemu.  May the Master inscribe you for goodness.

God's Voice

Gifts are something received, usually from another person.  Yet, there are times when gifts are received from Above or from within, not from a person. The origin of the gift does not diminish or change its value. In fact, it will often enhance it.

In conversations throughout my career with people going through turmoil I will often ask whether someone believes that God has a plan for them. After they briefly reflect, the answer I usually get back is “no,” they do not believe in destiny.  God does not steer them through life.  They choose their own path and choices.

“What if,” I urge them on, “What if God whispers into your mind options that exceed your present mindset?  What if ideas come randomly that tell you that there is more to life than what you know now?  It is then becomes your choice to follow the voice or take the path that is most familiar.” In other words, I suggest, God has a plan for us but we can turn aside from it or remain indifferent to the directional.

Pain and the fear of pain is one of the strongest impediments to change and growth.  Those who can reinvent themselves or change life’s direction may find deep reservoirs of creativity and strengths they never knew existed.

Renoir uttered as he struggled with painful arthritic fingers, “The pain passes, the beauty remains.”

The artist would not be deterred from his passion despite the pain.  For Renoir, the gift needed to be released.  Nothing would stand in his way of making artistic masterpieces.

That is our challenge.  Can we muster the internal fortitude to live up to God’s expectation of us and our potential?

The Talmud declares, “Growth or death.”  Of course they do not mean to say that if we do not grow we actually die physically; but we do kill our potential.

Once, when we were young, we were fearless. Challenges were taken to be opportunities.  Then with age, we learned to take fewer challenges to avoid failure.  This decision limited our ability to learn and transcend what we are.  Of course that does not mean that we should immediately take up skydiving.  Or does it?  In any event, the risk of failure is worth the price paid as it results in a more meaningful life.

In “Living with Loss,” the authors declare, “Ultimately whether grief destroys you or strengthens you is something only you can decide.”  I suspect that throughout our lives, God gently encourages us to move out of our comfort zone – to learn new skills, take a Hebrew class, become an adult Bar Mitzvah, travel to Israel, stand up and speak out for our beliefs, sing more loudly, take up dance lessons, enroll in an on-line course in Jewish thought, take the class in creative art that you’ve always dreamed of…   Listen to the whisper of the Voice.

The Jewish Home

I have often heard it said that Jewish homes have a “Jewish” appearance. While the statement may invite the comment, “Funny you don't look Jewish,” it is true that Jewish dwellings invariably contain a host of signs, all of which read, “Jews live here.” You have them posted around you.

One of the more pronounced objects in the home is the mezzuzah. The word “mezzuzah” literally means doorpost. A common misunderstanding of this word is the belief that a mezzuzah can be slung around the neck or kept on a shelf. Frequently, I have been proudly shown mezzuzahs that have been drawn out from beneath a shirt. This is, however, is a misconception. A mezzuzah is only a mezuzah when it is attached to the port of entry of one’s domain.

There is the story of a Jewish family that moved into a predominately non-Jewish area. What was affixing the oblong box to the lintel of the front door curious neighbors inquired, “What is that thing?” The man replied, “It is a mezzuzah. A box nailed to the doorpost.”

“Is there anything in it?” asked the visitor.

“There is a piece of parchment inside with some words written on it.”

When the family went out, the neighbors, driven by curiosity, went over and pried the mezzuzah off the door and hurriedly emptied it to see what was inside. Unrolling the tiny paper they read these words, “Help! I am imprisoned in a mezzuzah factory.”

That little box does carry a message, a very strong one. As Jews, we do not worship objects. To God alone do we bow and offer our prayers. The mezzuzah, like other religious symbols, is ever-present to evoke an inner spiritual response. In this vein, the strength and power of the mezzuzah cannot be overstated. There are many pious who will only enter a room after kissing the mezzuzah as they pass through the doorway. The mezuzah brings to mind the concept of holiness and few Jewish homes are without this continual reminder attached to their houses.

There are some who believe that the mezuzah is an amulet against evil.  Rabbi Eliezar ben Yaacov proclaimed, “Whosoever has tefillin on his head, tefillin on his arm, tzitzit on his garment and the mezuzah on his doorpost is fortified against sin.”  The Jewish objects around our home infuse our lives with sanctity.

These various symbols are fortifications against and often hostile or indifferent world.  Just as a king would protect his castle to assure his safety, we too need to create an environment protecting us from harm.

The next time you meander through your castle look at the sign on the right as you enter.  Besides being a call to holiness sit is a beacon that declares, “This is a Jewish home.”

The Last Word is Never the Last

Death overcomes us in the winter.

The buds shiver inside the enfolded arms of its mother. The grass turns a ghastly brown blossom stubborn decaying leaves yet clean to the branches of trees. Long ago all hope was lost.

It is hard to see life beyond the pallid grey of winter. This is why so many of our friends and neighbors move south during the short days. Unable to bear the harshness of the cold months they seek light and warmth and growth another climes.

To wait for the renewal of growth takes patience. It is the same lesson that parents of teenagers learn as they wait for maturation to take hold of the child. Waiting is no easy task.

There is a beautiful story told of Honi HaMaagel in the Talmud.  Honi saw a man planting a carob tree. Honi then asked the man, “How long will it be before this tree bears fruit?” The man replied, “Seventy years.” Honi was incredulous. “Why are you planting it then? You certainly do not expect to live another 70 years!” The man replied, “Just as my forefathers planted for me so I plant for the next generation.”

Honi  pondered this thought and she sat down behind the rock to eat. Drowsiness overcame him and soon he fell asleep. Upon awakening, Honi saw a man picking fruit from the carob tree. He asked him, “Are you the man who planted this tree?” The stranger responded, “No I am his grandson.”

The story is magnificent and it’s profound simplicity. It speaks of the ability to wait patiently for the future, and plant for it. Most of us, like Honi would rather concern ourselves with the present. And the present consumes us. We become depressed by the long rainy days and are saddened by the winter and loss of life. But life does return and with it comes with a renewed joy. Pain subsides and new goals and plans are charted.

In the Jewish tradition it is customary to plant a tree when a child is born. Not simply out of joy do we pack plant the sapling but for a real practical purpose. The branches from the tree will one day be pruned to form the cover of the huppah, the bridal canopy, of that child.

Yes, Judaism some speaks about the present but it also speaks to the future. Beyond death there is life. After upheaval comes stability. We are obligated to anticipate it and plan for it.  Just the doldrums of winter, life springs outward. Every day that we live and function is another day in the ever-turning wheel of our lives. Just as the cycle of years rotates, so does our life rotate. It turns around and around and sooner than we think, we no longer stand where we once stood. Our task is to anticipate change and to allow ourselves to grow with life, not against it.

A Little Shul

Rabbi Akiva was asked, “Since your God loves the needy, why doesn’t 

He care for them Himself?”

The sage responded that, “God, Father of rich and poor alike wants His children to help each other. The Lord desires a world of love.”

Thousands of people have passed through our humble little shul.    They have come through these doors seeking the touchstone of existence.  We too come to this place to reclaim our sense of being and renewed purpose.

In the annals of every Jewish community we participate in the drama of a congregation that moves from an idea into a fully functional community.  Making a real community is a bit like a marriage; people touching people.

Our purpose is never to merely survive. Survival itself is not noteworthy.  We celebrate marriages where we have sweated under the chairs of the bride and the groom. We honor the bereft whose shoulders we have supported.  We celebrate warm friendship on Shabbat morning. The evening minyans where we gathered at a house of death. We sing and dance countless baby namings and brit milahs.  We remember our little ones who spilled wine on the carpet and those stains still remind us of that day, even now. They now have children of their own. We recall Friday evening dinners. High Holy Days. Relationships cemented. In those walls we celebrated wars and peace, love and forgiveness.

The Puritans called marriage “the little church within the church.” Every day, without letup, for untold years every Synagogue has functioned as the sacred place where love and forgiveness have been recycled endlessly. That is what a marriage is; that is what a community does.

George Halas, owner of the Chicago Bears, worked well into his 80s. He was once asked, “George, at your age, what are you doing here working?”  Halas replied, “It’s only work if there’s someplace you’d rather be.”

Rabbi Akiva was right.  “God, Father of rich and poor alike wants His children to help each other. The Lord desires a world of love.”  This is our charter; to be there for one another as we have throughout all the past millennia.

On Integrity

Two men once approached their rabbi to seek his advice.

“We want to form a partnership,” the first said.

“We believe that we can be successful in our venture.  Do you have any advice fore us?”

The rabbi thought.  He pulled out a paper and pen and wrote the first four letters of the Hebrew alphabet.  “This will be your contract,” he said.  “The alef stands for emunah (faith).  The bet is for beracha (blessing).  Gimel is for genivah (theft).  The final letter, dalet, stands for dalut (poverty).

“If you have faith in one another and carry out your business with integrity, the outcome will be for a blessing.  But should you treat each other dishonestly and steal from the company or each other, the venture will end in poverty and disaster.”

Morality in business is a topic that has been in vogue in Judaism for millennia.   It is alternately in and out of fashion, depending upon the zeitgeist.  Yet, how we conduct ourselves is of utmost concern to our faith.  It is not what we say but what we do that counts. To have lust in one’s heart, (remember Jimmy Carter?) it is not a sin unless it becomes actualized.

Recently, I heard the story of a man who came to complain to his rabbi about her friend who had ceased to believe in God.  The man had no faith whatsoever. 

“It is terrible, Rabbi! The man is an atheist!”

“Well replied the sage, “atheist, shmatheist! As long as he davens Mincha.”

Here lies on the great emphases of Judaism as distinct from other religions.  It is wonderful when a person’s intentions coincide with his actions. But really, who cares about verbal obeisance? First, let him do good. I want to meet good people not people who think they are good.

The ancient texts lay heavy emphasis on honesty when dealing with other people.  It is said that one of the questions that we will be asked by the Heavenly Tribunal in the next world is yashrut b’masa uv’matan (Have you been honest in your business dealings)?  Our integrity in dealing with our fellow man is of paramount importance.

Leading others to make wrong decisions is part of the moral rectitude referred to by the Talmud. Misrepresentation is just bad as outright thievery, sometimes worse.  I’m making misleading statements we can introduce unsuspecting people to drugs, obscenity, gambling, and dubious places of entertainment. It is equally wrong to offer non-kosher food to an observant Jew. Such misdirection can grossly affect the lives of those with whom we interact.

Rabbi Aaron HaLevi so far as to say that there are “three pillars in which the world is established -truth, mutual confidence and trust. “The breach of any one of these is enough cause someone else to transgress.

The only thing worse than being dishonest with ourselves is to lead others astray.

Love and Marriage

Sex is talked about extensively with couples about to be married.  So is Jewish living, compatibility and a host of other issues.  For most about-to-be-wed couples the marriage ceremony is the most nerve-racking experience they will ever endure. Invariably, the conversation will drift to caterers and food dishes, lighting and photographers, wines to be served and whines from those determinately dissatisfied relations and young children. While I try to be as helpful as possible regarding the more mundane facets of their wedding day they do not touch me. What concerns me are other things.

If your wedding day is going to be the happiest day of your life, don’t get married.

People do not like my advice but there it is.   The day of one's marriage is neither a paradigm for what will follow nor will it be the most joyous moment they will experience in their days together. An example. We all like birthdays with cakes and presents and cards. However, the only reason their birthdays are so popular and fun is because they happen only once per year.  The day after the party we do not expect to continue to be the center of attention.  Likewise, the day of marriage is the exception to the couple’s life together. One does not wed for the sake of the nuptials, although many do.

If the day under the Huppah is the most momentous occasion in a family's history there cannot be too much joy in the present and a little look forward to in the future. The best is always yet to come. Romantic moments on vacation or after work, bearing and rearing children, becoming grandparents even growing old together should be a source of immeasurable joy.

Part of the difficulty in breaking down the expectation that the wedding must be the happiest day of one’s life is exacerbated by the deterioration of the Jewish focus. With a central hub, drawing the partners into a mutual relationship -- which cannot be egocentric for it is God-centric -- wife and husband are brought closer.

Take for example, hospitality.  What we call hachnassat orchim, is simply inviting people to our home and making them comfortable.  Hachnassat orchim may mean inviting a guest for Passover for Shabbat or someone who needs a place to stay or eat. Hospitality is quickly disappearing from Jewish life and that bodes ill.  Hachnassat orchim even intimates befriending those who have no friends. In most instances that I am aware of even relatives are not really welcome in our homes. We seem to be lost a talent for being mensch to the people who need most.

How then do I persuade couples to get married with the day of their marriage will not be all that they expect it to be? There are several secrets. Allow me to share the most basic and most important. 

Be home on Friday night.

On that special Shabbat evening make no exceptions. It is the family night. Perhaps the children will fight and be aggravating. But notice how in the lives of those who practice the small ritual, the generation gap closes. Over candles and Kiddush and the mentions of the Holy One, blessed be He, family becomes whole, and less intent on securing their own agenda.

The more expedient option of sending the kids off to the movies and hockey practice does not improve the quality of experience and the family. Do you want your children to remember good family events?  Something they want to remember and cherish as they age? Something constant? Try Shabbat.

…And may your marriage could happier and happier as you feel the joy of being together, Jewishly.