Forget About It

We are taught to remember facts and formulas.  From early childhood this is how we were gridded and judged; by how well we memorized and used what we were supposed to learn.  They gave us tests, examinations and papers to write to prove that we could ably handle all that the teachers wanted us to know.  And our teachers were many: they were our employees, employers, parents, siblings, friends, cashiers, the mechanic....  We are constantly judged by how well we recall what we were told to remember.

Learning to forget is also a useful tool.  I do not mean to suggest forgetting what we should remember, but forgetting what we should not recall.

Universally we want to live with peace of mind.  Yet when we constantly relive painful experiences, when we replay hurtful conversations, and sneer that those who have offended us we can never live in peace.  We torment ourselves and those around us.  Those who bemoan the fact that they have few friends should consider practicing the art of forgetfulness.

Rebbe Nachman taught, "Most people think of 
forgetfulness as a defect. 
I consider it a great benefit. 
Being able to forget, frees you 
from the burdens of the past." 

A word about davvenning, prayer.  It is impossible to open your heart to prayer when you are bitter.  Thinking about how you have been harmed, abused or ignored serves to soil the prayer.  How can you communicate with the God who forgives when you are angry?  Forgetting past harms allows us to reach out from  the depths of our soul to the Holy One, Blessed He.  Real davenning begins with gratitude and it is hard to be grateful when we are filled with anger.

Pesach is coming soon.  No one would fault us for hating the Egyptians for enslaving our people for hundreds of years.  Yet, our tradition teaches us to let go of the anger, precisely because we know what it means to be filled with it.  Further, it demands that we be kind to the stranger so that we do not end up resembling our tormentors.  

Such remembrances lessen our lives.  It degrades our joy and aspirations.  It makes us mean, competitive (in order to make those who have offended us suffer).  I have learned this same lesson from many survivors of the Shoah.  How they learned to survive after their suffering is to forget their victimizers while remembering the lessons of tolerance.

Pain, our sages taught, is a great teacher.  It tells us how not to hold on to grudges and be filled with hatred.  It teaches us the opposite, how to be empathic and fight against bigotry and intolerance which are the first stops of the road to genocide.

Charles Handy wrote, "In the end, all societies are remembered for the way they spend their wealth, than for how they made it.” 

The same will be said of us, we will be remembered for how well we learned to forget and turn what could have been hatred into hope.  I hope that when we come to Pesach this year, we will turn our minds to the afflictions of the past (and reference the ongoing ones), forget the harm, remember the marvelous deliverance and work to become the model of what God knows we can be: givers of life and forgiveness.

Changed

Mother Theresa said, “We can do no great things, only small things with great love.”

It has been that way since the beginning.  Alexander the Great would have been nothing without an army behind him.  He, like every other memorable figure throughout history, was only one person.  Like you.  Like me.  It is the same with every leader.  They lead only because we give them permission.

Alone we often feel powerless, as if we do not matter.  Yet the people who hold the reins of power only do so with our imprimatur.  We empower or disempower them.

Israel Zangwill remarked that in the Middle Ages kings rewarded anyone who discovered a new pleasure while the Jews continually looked for new mitzvahs.

Why would we have such a different attitude until this day?  Because we know that everything we say and do matters.  Life is not about pursuing pleasures it is about making good choices and changing the world, even if it is only a tiny piece.

Example.  It does not take much to destroy a community. All you need are a few ill-tempered and negatively disposed people to poison the environment.  Many congregations, communities and even countries have imploded because of a few.

Example. To restore a sense of balance in a family or larger group all it takes is one right-minded person to do the correct thing.

How many times have our days been dramatically changed because someone did us an unexpected kindness?  How many lives have been changed because we did the same by calling someone we have not seen in while?  Sending a note to say that we miss them?  Or simply telling a friend how much they mean to us?

Bernard Baruch wrote in his autobiography that when he made his first million he told his father who was unimpressed.  Baruch said, “I am not even thirty and already I made my first million.  Are you not even happy?”
“What I want to know,” said his father, “is how you will spend the money you earned.”

Every day presents a new chance, a new opportunity.  The three dialogues we offer this month are one example to make new friends in a wider community.  Our Havurot program is an opportunity to get involved and make little change for your self and others.   Opportunities like Tuesdays with Friends abound.  The synagogue, your synagogue, is a great place to make s a start as a volunteer.

Here’s an idea if you are pressed to find out what you can contribute: smile at people randomly.  It will change their day and they will carry the joy you gave them back home and share it with their family.  

Find a place where you can make a difference.  Start today and make it a habit to make your world a little shinier every day.

Derek Eretz

Derekh eretz translates as “the way of the earth.”  But what the phrase really means is that we think before we act and speak.  Always.  

God’s eyes see all; nothing is secret or unknown.  Even if that were not that case, when we sin, it tarnishes our soul. We become more brazen and less intimidated by the wrongdoing that it becomes much easier to sin the next time.  Pirkay Avot says explicitly, “a sin gives birth to another sin” (4:2)  Derekh eretz implies that we treat everything and each moment with respect.

Derekh eretz is an also an attitude that insists demands that people be given “the benefit of doubt” for their perceived flaws.  We are pretty good at forgiving ourselves while being not so adept at forgiving others their shortcomings.

Derekh eretz means considering the food of life that we are about to consume is a gift from God.  It means understanding our breath as a blessing not to be taken for granted.  It means allowing others to get accolades instead of seeking them for our selves.  In fact, the rabbis of old were so insistent on this positive command that they said, Derekh eretz kadmah l’Torah, “Acting with dignity [even] precedes the Torah,” (Vayikra Rabbah 9). You cannot fully observe the Torah without first living the life of derekh eretz. This is a radical thought.  Respect for life is a prerequisite to Torah.

After all, what is the good in observing mitzvot if we do not treat one another and the world with derekh eretz?  We all know for personal experience that even holy things can be misused for profane purposes.

Talmud is vast and takes into account virtually every aspect of life imaginable. One little known tractate of the Talmud is called Derekh Eretz Zuta.  Here is how it begins:

This is the way of the righteous: “To be humble and not full of oneself.  To attempt to be filled with love, especially with the members of one’s household.”  It goes on to tell us to “be like Joseph who forgave his brothers, or even Job who accepted his pain uncomplaining.”

Derekh Ertez Zuta acknowledges that we are selfish.  It is an effort to fight against that internal yearning for self-aggrandizement especially when we are asked to compare our selves, our accomplishments, our possessions, and our wealth against others.  

The messiah who will appear not as God’s messenger but as a beggar, invalid or someone whom we would rather not associate.  When he is no longer banished to the fringes of society he will be free to reveal himself.  When each person is treated with derekh eretz the messiah will have arrived.

Remember that you are made in the image of God.  So is the person next to you. Love yourself.  Turn that love outward toward others.  That love should be equivalent (remember the Torah adage, “Love your neighbor [just as you] love yourself.”

Bless each breath, every morsel of food you eat, each moment when you greet your fellow, the words that come out of your mouth and even the thoughts that enter your mind.

MarHeshvan

November morphing into December is called by its Hebrew name, Heshvan.  Some call it MarHeshvan (the bitter Heshvan) because this is the only month in the Jewish calendar that does not contain a holy day.  Up in the northern climes the month is as dry and brittle as the earth with its dull brown grass now covered with curled leaves.

Heshvan is almost other-worldly:  it is in-between time.  Summer has passed.  Winter has yet to arrive.  The earth’s verdant hues have disappeared.

As the days pass it is easy to long for the warm sand that flowed though our toes at the warm beach.  Memories of cold nights in front of a warm fireplace are also somehow very distant.  It is Marheshvan, after all.

There is an old tale of a fisherman in his small boat out on an endless sea. Overlooking the ocean stands a high castle. The prince, daily comes out onto his balcony and sees the boat in the distance. 

“I envy him,” the prince thinks. “He has no problems or responsibilities. I wish I could go out in a small boat and just relax with my fishing pole in hand. 

At the same moment, the fisherman contemplates, “Wow! Look at that palace! The prince has servants to bring him all the food he could ever want, whenever he wants.  I wish I were a prince, not a fisherman.”

“More” and “less” is specific to the individual. That is why the Talmud tells us that richness is satisfaction.  If you are happy with what you have you are rich.  If you are unhappy with your lot you are poor, even if you have billions.

Most of us live perpetually wedged between two worlds. One world is the external one where we register our emotional quotient by what others have or say.  The other is independent of anyone except our self-value.  The internal world knows its place, accepts its lot, and does not begrudge others what they have or become envious or self-pitying.  Too often the internal voice passes unheeded.  The two worlds often vie to see which will gain control.

Sometimes worth is correlated to the value others place on it.  Usually we end up losing when we ask: Do we have a nice lawn (while looking across the street)? Do we own an expensive car (eyeing the neighbor’s)? Do our children get the best grades?  Do they have a good education  “I simply have to get my child into that program!)? Does our family radiate find grooming (“I was so embarrassed by your behavior today!”)? 

These are all questions where we are comparing ourselves to others and imagining what they think of us. 

As winter advances it is a comforting thought that we can curl up and listen to some fine music, dink mulled cider, dance in the living room, talk intimately to our God.  It is good to slow down like a bear getting ready to slumber.  Find that place.  Find that peace.

Boo-Boos

We are prone to making boo-boos.  Not the kind where you scrape your knee or hit your head getting out the car too fast but the other kind.  Boo-boos are good.  They mean we are experimenting, taking a chance, stepping beyond our usual habits.  

Take jokes, for example.  Some people seem to naturally funny and others, well, not so much.  Yet we all like to laugh and make other experience the joy of a good chuckle. When they fall flat, do not give up, try telling the joke again until you get it right.

There are many wondrous and difficult aspects to being a child.  One the other former is that we are game for about anything, jumping off a high limb, rolling in the mud, tasting dog biscuits and eating asparagus (that does no usually end up so good).

It is a sad day when we grow up and admit, “We can’t do it.”  And worse, we do not even try.

Y. Peretz, crafter of Hebrew stories wrote, “Nobody trips over a mountain; you trip over a pebble.”  When we fail it is hardly ever disastrous.  Failure is a signal that we need to modify what we did, not stop trying.

On June 2, 2010, Armando Galarraga, 28 pitched what seemed to be a perfect game, a feat only achieved twenty times in Major League Baseball's 130 year history. However, on the very last play of the game, umpire Jim Joyce, 65, mistakenly called the runner safe at first base, ruining the perfect game. After the game, understanding the mistake he had made and the implications to Galarraga, with tears in his eyes, Joyce went over to Galarraga and apologized, admitting his mistake. Galarraga graciously accepted his apology saying, "nobody's perfect. Everybody's human. " They then wrote a book together titled "Nobody's Perfect."

The thing is the pitcher did not retire or give up.  He continued on, having learned an unintended lesson of life.

Mistakes should always be purposeful, never meaningless.  Yogi Berra once commented, “I don’t want to make the wrong mistake.”  He was right, in his inimitable way.  There are some mistakes that are bad choices but even then we learn and grow.

Talmud, which is the judicial and philosophical backbone of our people, is full of trial, error and then more trial.  “Arguments for the sake of truth,” Rabbi Jonathan Sacks labeled it.

The Mei Shiloach, Rabbi Mordechai Yosef of Ishbitz, wrote, “A person can only uphold the teachings of the Torah when he has stumbled in them.”  The sage is telling us, “Go ahead, take a chance, a risk, make mistakes, learn from them, change, and grow.

It’s a New Year.  We are  year older and G-d willing, a year wiser.  Even Torah has Moss and David doing some real bloopers.  Yet their greatness is that they become great through their errors.

Give it your best shot.  Then give it your better shot.

Kippur

It’s all about healing, becoming whole.

We are all pulled and pushed in countless directions. No one is immune from the internal and external demands.  Good people give us sage advice, some of it is contradictory.  What do we do then?  We misstep. We misspeak.  We allow anger to become our voice.  It is hard to make good decisions and to do so with consistency. That is why we need one day to fix the broken parts of our self.

Yom Kippur, the Day of Atoning, is not about being perfect but coming to terms with who we are and making it possible for us to like ourselves more than we do.  Much sadness exists n the world because people are unhappy with themselves. There is an old Talmudic saying that when we misstep (sin, in their words) we feel bad.  What happens next?  We sin again because we know that is what we have become, a sinful, bad person.

  

“He’s the best physician that knows the worthlessness of most medicines,” wrote Benjamin Franklin.   A painkiller will not relive guilt.  That which heals is attending to and mending our broken inner parts.  That does not necessarily mean becoming impeccable in behavior and speech (although we should always strive toward that end) but accepting the brokenness of ourselves and of others. Forgiveness is antidote to most pain. 

Holding on to grudges degrades our lives.  It invades our sleep with nightmares that leave us panting for breath when we wake.   The same is true of holding grudges against ourselves.  We can be most unforgiving with our sins, perhaps even thinking we deserve the bad things that happen to us.

Yom Kippur is the day of reckoning, honesty, facing who we are and letting go of the dross that weighs us down and makes our lives less meaningful.

If you peer at the prayers closely and personally you will feel that the day is punishing.  It is hard to to fast.  It is difficult to remind ourselves that we are xenophobic.  Or that we have hate in our hearts towards certain people.  Or that we are sitting next to people that are at least as guilty as we are!  But God wants us to break our hearts open one day in the hope that we can find healing in the forgiveness that comes in its wake.  

Can you forgive someone who hurt you?  Can you forgive yourself for being unkind? Untruthful?  Abusive? 

What comes after we have beat our breast? Acknowledge our pain and tell God, “Yes I am sinful but I cannot carry this burden any longer.  Heal me.   Lift the load form my back.” 

Hasidic master, Israel of Kozhenitz, prayed, “Master of the Universe I know that the Children of Israel are suffering too much;

They deserve redemption, they need it.

But if, for reasons unknown to me,

You are not willing, no yet, then redeem the other nations, but do it soon!”

I want you to pray for your own healing this Yom Kippur. Pray for the Jewish people here.  In Europe.  Israel.  Stretch out your heart to the bleeding souls that have no one to comfort them.

I want you to pray for those around you who are afflicted with disease.  They are in the next row.  And the one after that.  Then open your heart to your soul in need of healing.  Pray for yourself.  You know what you need.  Ask for it. Then real healing starts to happen. And, then push the boundary further; let go of the bitterness that keeps you awake at night.   Release the anger that visits you every day, each time you see their face, every moment when you miss their presence.

Then the meaning and depth of Yom Kippur carries its transformative power: we are renewed.

Real Wealth

Malcolm Forbes, past editor of Forbes magazine, said that, “anybody who thinks money is everything has never been sick, or is.”   We understand the relative importance of all things when we are frightened, in danger of losing our life.   All extraneous things like prestige, money, upgrading the system diminish in importance compared to what is happening now.  

A wise man once commented, “The two most important days of our lives of the day we were born and the day we discover why we were born.” We spend most of our time conjugating three verbs: to want, to have and to do.  They have no real significance for us, except as they are transcended from the verb to be. The essence of life is tied up in being, not wanting having or doing.

The holy days of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur attempt to bring us back to the original challenge of life, being. Most times we are so occupied with making up for the pain of our past or eking out a vision of the perfect future that we forget to live in the moment.

On these days in the month of Ellul the mind invariably gravitates toward self-doubt (as it should).  Am I who I should be? Are the things that I value real values? Or did they come a close second after “things”?(The Talmud, by the way, says that one of the questions we shall have to answer in the Next World is, were you honest in all your business dealings?)  Have I treated others with kindness and consideration?The answers to these questions inform us about the distance yet to be traveled to become whole.

Living in the moment means, by definition, saying a beracha,a prayer before we eat and taste the food; it means understanding how “they” feel; it means relishing our child’s moral and spiritually religious progress and giving meaning to that learning; it means feeling the full raw power of the shofar and allowing the ancient words to resonate in our bodies and souls; it means filling the hunger with the relational and sacred which have meaning and that are significantly larger than ourselves.

Our wise and ancient tradition holds some remarkable truths for living.  And after all these thousands of years they still say it best. The rabbis once asked the question, “Who is wealthy?” They answered, “The one who is satisfied with what he has.”

A story.  Three people were brought to Olam Haba, the Next Universe.  Greeting at the door was the Malakhay HaSharayt, the Angelic Guardian, who said, “Before you enter I must ask each of you a question.” 

He turned to the first and asked, “Can you please wait?”

”Sure,”  came the reply. “I have lots of time.”

”Well then,” said the angel. “How do you spell “God”?

“G-O-D,” he replied.

“Very well, you may enter.”

The holy messenger then turned to the second one and asked, “Can you please wait?”

”No problem,” said the second.  As the Talmud says, “All this world is but a corridor to the reality that awaits us on the other side.  I can certainly wait.”

”Very well. Can you spell “God”?”

G-O-D,” he replied.

“Very well, you may enter.”

The Malakhay HaSharaytto the final one and asked, “Can you please wait?”

”Wait? Do you want me to wait? I’ve been waiting my whole life. Waiting at the market, waiting at the school, waiting in line at the movies…. When in heaven I need to wait too??? Yes, as a matter fact I do mind waiting!”

”OK. Can you spell Czechoslovakia?”

The essence of life is in being. You had to be there. You have to be here. Be here.  Bring your whole self to the table of life.  God will be waiting.  Three days each year we are summoned by the King to stand with our past actions and ourselves.  It is a time for judgment and real reflection.  He sees and knows our light and shadow.  Question: If you were God judging you, would you like what you see?

He has patiently waited for you to come home these long years.