Talking to God

I grew up in a medium-sized Conservative congregation in Massachusetts.  I listened intently to my rabbi when he spoke.  He was always articulate and thoughtfully considered when he rose to the lectern.  I admired him so much that I modeled myself after him after I was ordained.  I kept his modulation and speaking style inside of me all those years until the time I began to speak as a newly minted rabbi.  I was delivering words but the thoughts and ideations were not mine; they belonged to my teacher and mentor, my rabbi.

 

Yet one thing I began to note as I took my first post - also in Massachusetts – was that I cannot remember a single time when my rabbi referred to God from the bima.   Of course he spoke on tzedaka, kindness, Jewish history and philosophy, current news that affected the congregation and Jewry as a whole, coping with life’s pain and the ever-present theme of the threat of assimilation.   God was left outside the Sanctuary doors as the congregation was led in familiar tunes, but not understood, by the cantor.

 

Not surprisingly, I followed the example of the man I admired.  It was not until I started frequenting hospitals, nursing facilities and homes where my congregants asked me to pray for them that I began to realize that I had grown to be a community-minded, historic proud Jew but one who had yet to establish a relationship with God.  Now, my members taught me the need to reach deep within myself in order to bring to them the healing they desperately wanted.

 

I spent the next years learning how to speak to God, pray with people in distress, and listen to the Voice that was seeking me but the one I had not yet acknowledged. 

 

So what have I learned?

 I have learned that each person develops his or her own relationship to God.  No two are alike.

I learned that many people, maybe even most, have had personal experiences when they felt touched by God, what is called a personal revelation.

 I learned how to feel the prayers instead of saying them, sometimes lingering over a word or phrase for long stretches of time.

 I learned that kavannah means meaning what you say, not saying words.  An example is Atah, an almost ubiquitous word meaning, “You.”  When I consider that I am opening my heart to the Master of the Universe directly I can become filled with awe.  Or the word “Olam” which means “world,” “universe,” “cosmos” and that which is “hidden.”  This word “Olam” is sated with power.

 I have learned that praying while holding someone’s hand for much needed healing can bring welcome tears of joy and want.

 I have learned that children understand God intimately when they are introduced to the Holy One and that when we draw close to death we come to that same place of understanding once again.

 I learned that talking about God is one of the most intimate things two people can do.

 I learned that meaningful prayer for me is less about asking and more about my appreciation of what I have (clothes, food, a home, freedom from slavery…) and what is not missing (I have arms, stomach, breath, a functioning heart…).

 I learned that God answers prayers in the form that we need, not want.

 I learned that God may appreciate my Hebrew but He understands my English just as well, if not better.

 I learned that sometimes just calling God’s name is enough (Ribbono shel Olam is my preference).

 I learned that God also weeps for us.

 I learned that I am never alone.

Relearning Life

The Fifth Commandment “Honor your father and mother” is universally well-known.  But a question that needs to be asked, “Are there obligations of a parent to the child?”  According to Torah, are there things that a parent must do for their offspring?  The sacred Writ is silent on this issue.

The Talmud however fills the gap when it lists items that a parent must do for a child – brit milah (bring them into the covenant with G-d), food and shelter, education (so that they can learn a trade to be self-sufficient), ensure that they have the opportunity to have a mate with whom they can traverse life, and swimming (survival skills).

Note how few items are in the list of parental obligations.  In our times we tend to overreach.   In previous generations children were given ample opportunities to explore life as it presents itself; a bug on a leaf, watching the patience of a spider spin its web and tossing a small object into the web to see how the spider reacts,  sitting quietly while contemplating the multiple layers of colors that emerge out of a burning candle, running and playing in the street with friends (unplanned playdates that just spontaneously occur), boredom (which has its own unique gifts) and creating magical places that emerge out of one’s imagination.  Modernity has stripped us of these unique opportunities to experience life as it is meant to be, full at times, empty at others.  Joy and pain are part of growth and learning.  Perhaps that is why the Talmud does not fill its pages with suggestions of how children are to be raised.

At the end of this past month, I was forced to slow down and do a lot of self-care as I had surgery and was required to rest and be still.  This uninvited opportunity gave me the opening to relive sitting quietly and contemplating the stars at night, the gathering of storm clouds and the quiet solitude of healing.  It brought back many childhood memories of exploring the deep woods for hours on end, mowing the lawn in summer, shoveling snow in wintertime, and rolling in the soft mosses of the forest.

At every funeral the twenty-third psalm is recited.  In it are the well-worn words, “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…”  These are powerful and intentional words.  When death snatches away someone we love we meander in a blank darkness.  We feel lost, perhaps hopeless.  Yet the psalm reminds us that we are “walking through” the valley.  The pain will not last forever.  Eventually we emerge on the other side, and we will find ourselves bathed in new light, with renewed hope having grown from the experience of loss.  The reference to “shadow” also serves to remind us that a shadow can only exist where there is light. When darkness seems to extinguish all light, look for your shadow and you will be reminded that there is still hope.

Death is also a gift, not one that we invite or desire but one that comes with opportunities to reflect quietly on the pathway of our life and the impermanence of things and people.  It provides a fresh perspective that even tears cannot deny.  Each breath is a gift, even the ones that leave us gasping for more air.

There is a story told about a large naval vessel plowing through turbulent seas.  When the captain of the ship sees a light looming ahead, he radios ahead and tells them to change course.  He adamantly demands,” I am the captain of a naval vessel: change your course immediately!”  A response comes back, “No, you must change course.”  This infuriates the captain who yells at the obstinate person at the other end to immediately adjust his course.  “No,” again comes the reply.  “It is you who needs to change direction. I am a lighthouse.”

Forever we are in the process of learning which means taking into consideration that we might be wrong, that there is light beyond the darkness and leaving time to “simply be” may be the healing that we have desperately needed.  Give yourself and your children that gift.

November and December Surpises

It all comes down in a torrent this year.  

 

Order now.  If you buy gifts for Hanukkah, do not wait.  There are stockyards full of goodies (throw a couple of Jewish books in there – you never know it may have more of a lasting impact than the Nintendo set).  Don’t forget the candles!! They sell out quickly.  And remember little tschakakes (Yiddish for tschkakes) are often cast aside and thrown out after the novelty is worn out.  But a gift that means something and related to the holiday of lights will last for years, maybe even a lifetime.

 

November 21: Come to shul, eat a corned beef sandwich at Bubbie’s Bat Mitzvah bonanza.  You won’t regret it.  But come early, or order early because you know how the really tasty edibles fly out the door!  Don’t be left standing at the door salivating at what you wish you had ordered.

 

Now that you have eaten your fill, Beth Shalom is hosting our annual Thanksgiving Service! This year it is in our home at 4 PM.  Let’s face it: after downing all those plates of brisket, stuffed cabbage and cakes, you will want to sit for a good while and digest it.  No grepsing allowed (you will have to use your Yiddish dictionary for that).  Best place to be?  BSS at 4 PM with all the other ministers, rabbis and congregants up and down Trenholm Road.  It’ll help with digestion.  And it never hurts to make new friends with our neighbors.

 

Then light ‘em up and bless them on November 28, the first night of Hanukkah.   Why not invite God to join you in bensching licht (Yiddish for blessing the lights)? Heat some latkes, tell the story of light overcoming darkness and bask in the freedom you have to practice your faith.  Watch them flicker and remember what it means to be young and mesmerized by the tiny lights that grow with each passing day, just like the fire in your soul.

 

Take this tour.  There are lots of things to do in Columbia but we have a recent newcomer to our community, the Anne Frank Center - the only one in North America!!!  It’s for kids, families and adults.  Truly, this building on the premises of the University of South Carolina will change your internal and external worldview.  It is remarkable and an experience that is worth traveling a continent to see….and it is in our backyard.

 

Escorted through the timetable leading up to their being ensconced in the tiny garrett in Amsterdam, you will hear and feel the full impact of feeling like you were actually there.  The only other related Anne Frank connection in America is  in Georgia at the Bill Clinton Museum where they grafted a piece of the tree that Anne describes in her journal and planted it there.  But here, in Columbia, you get the full experience of her life.

Make a date of it this month.  Email them at AFCUOFSC@sc.edu.  Here’s what Harris Pastides had to say about it, “When my children were young, my wife and I took them to the Anne Frank House in Amsterdam, and I can remember the feeling of hallowed ground when we entered.”  And you do not need a plane ticket.  This is the biggest thing to happen in our state since the Confederate flag came down.  Do not miss it.

Truths

“Dialectic generally means “of the nature of dialogue,” which is a conversation between two persons.  Nowadays it means logical argumentation.  It involves a technique of cross-examination, by which truth is arrived at.  It’s the mode of discourse of Socrates in the Dialogues of Plato.  Plato believed that the dialectic was the sole method by which the truth was arrived at.  The only one.”  So wrote Robert Persig.

 

Truth is the goal of life. It is also the goal of Torah.  

 

Truth is not ephemeral; it is not true for one generation and untrue for another.  It is eternal.  The aim of Judaism is to arrive at truth through the art of dialectic.  For those who have studied case law or Talmud it is the precise application of argumentation to make sure that the “truth” we seek does not sink to the level of dogma.

 

A question I ask often of students is, “What truths do you know?”  The easiest, most accessible response is to name the physical – a chair, a shoelace, or yogurt.  Truth does not shift or change with the times.  It is eternal.  But what about the harder truths, the ones that are supposed to undergird society?  The ones that make us function as a caring society?   The ones we frequently ignore at the expense of our life’s meaning?  Truths are different than beliefs.  

 

In this brief article I’d like to list some truths. 

> Helping someone to overcome their personal obstacle(s) to realize their potential is good.

> “Anyone who destroys a human life is considered as if he had destroyed and entire world.

Anyone who preserves a human life is considered to have preserved and entire world.” Talmud

>The ultimate purpose of mitzvot is to enter into a relationship with the Almighty.  It is responding “heneeni” to the question, “Where are you?”

> It is not about who is “right” but who is righteous (Heb. tzedek or tzedaka).

> You are unique (as are the people you love and those whom you ignore).

> If you treat people with kindness they will surprise you, and perhaps themselves.

> If you treat people with kindness and forgive them you elevate your soul.

> You have qualities that can enable building or razing, creating or eradicating.   

> Evil exists.

> Evolution of the mind and character are not givens; they are earned.

> Growth or death.  We are either learning/growing or unlearning/diminishing.  We are never still.

> Lashon ha-ra, gossip, is destructive and evil.

> Listen.  That is why you have two ears and only one mouth.

> If your life were to end now, would the world be a better place because you have lived?  Or not yet?

> Morality does not evolve.  Human instincts remain as they have always been.  If you want change, become it.

> What you do, how you behave is who you are.

>What you say, the words you utter, you become.

> You are the determinant of your happiness.  No one else.

> Shabbat is a gift God gave but you must accept.

> Sharing elevates both the giver and receiver.

> What you have owns you, not the other way around.

> Believing in God is less important than believing that God.

> The universe is awesome - from the tiny amoeba to the tallest mountain peaks.  See it.  Feel it.

> Bless the clerk, the homeless woman, the banker, gas station attendant, bless every person you pass whether known or unknown and then you will ultimately become a blessing.

Truth

“The truth knocks on the door and you say, "Go away, I'm looking for the truth," and so it goes away. Puzzling.” 
― Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

Be unafraid to seek the truth for it is Torah.

Legacy

Few of us are willing to take big risks in life.  Some of the sure things like little league baseball, work (and overtime!), cleaning, falling in love, giving tzedaka, watching tv, eating out feel secure because they are usual and dependable.

But none of these activities are “good.”  Most of them are warming, many are needful and some are wonderful.  But one aspect that they all have in common is that they do not contribute to making the world – in a macro or micro version – a better place.

As one wit put it, “It is easier to be empathic and caring about starving Ethiopians than their own family.”  Often we run into the arms of ephemeral gratification.  They are distractions that take us away from the fields of human interaction and change.

Here is a truth: The place where the most important decisions of life are made are around the kitchen table, not at the fancy schmanzy restaurant or the vacation in the Bahamas.  They happen where the most angry confrontations also occur, the kitchen.

When in rabbinical school a teacher, a famous scholar and author lamented, “Most people do not go to shul because they are afraid of meeting God.  They are frightened that, just maybe, during their prayers God will actually answer them. Worse yet, they will have to respond to what He demands!  They will be hopelessly trapped!”

I laughed.

I have since learned that what I took for a joke may actually have been more true than I was willing to admit or know.  People are genuinely afraid to commitments, which will lead to a deep emotional involvement.  That is why falling in love is so easy as there is little commitment with lots of palpitations, but being in love and staying in love is so trying. 

So it is with a three-day a year religion, dance classes, and horticulture.

The biggest risks in life are inevitable the most rewarding.  Great pride comes after graduation, a process of commitment.  The knowledge that your children will carry on your heritage after you is even greater.  Or a lasting love, one that involves forgiveness takes effort.  In life the best risks we take have the greatest yield.

Part of risk-taking means drawing lines.  It means saying yes or no to looting, allowing our children to rise or fail and to learn from their experiences, living a Jewish life of values and practice and certain absolutes of right and wrong.

What are you leaving as a legacy?

 

Time to Change

The Holy Days come upon us slowly but once they arrive they pounce with incredible intensity.  We begin with Selichot, segue to Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Sukkot with the etrog and lulav, Simchat Torah, Shmini Atzeret, all within three short weeks!  We sing and weep, we hope and pray, we dance and reflect upon what once was.  Just writing all that is exhausting!

 

Why do we have this maelstrom of dynamic sacred days in quick succession?  Because we are urged to think, reflect deeply and insistently on the meaning of our lives.  The Holy Days with their variant emphases move us to think differently about our priorities, the places we visit, our friends and relatives, the self-improvements and the ways (the positive or negative) in which we influence others and impact the world.  

 

Then comes Heshvan, the next Hebrew month.  It is often called mar-Heshvan, or the bitter Heshvan because after the onslaught of all the holidays we now have none.  Not a one.  So why is it called mar, bitter?  Because it is life as usual - up early, off to work, time to eat, make dinner, sleep and repeat.

 

Now that life returns to its familiar rhythms, what has changed?  Have we moved from where we stood last year?  Of course, we are older but are there things that we can point to that have made us better people?  Have we been truer friends?  Engaged in less gossip?  Done more tzedaka work?  Learned more Torah?  Stopped “using”?  Observed more mitzvot?  Davenned more frequently to become a more humble and thankful person?

 

When Abraham passed from this world he was eulogized, “Woe to the ship that has lost its captain.”  (Baba Batra 91b)

 

The loss of the holidays can easily move us back into old habits.  That is the essence of this Talmudic statement.  Once the opportunity to be change has passed, do we revert to old patterns of behavior or learn new ones?  Does the ship revert back to its old familiar course?  The easiest, simplest path is regression.  Change is hard.  The harder path is the one that involves personal evolution and development.  The lessons learned from our parents are still with us, if we mindfully and willingly take them into our selves.  Or, as the Talmud articulates, Abraham has died but his teachings are immortal if we follow his direction.

 

A certain bishop was scheduled to speak at a Town Hall in Philadelphia. He set out to walk but quickly became disoriented and lost.  So he asked a little boy how to find the Town Hall.  The boy asked, “What are you going to do there?  “I am going to give a lecture,” he answered.  “About what?”  “About how to get to Heaven.  Do you want to come?’  “Are you kidding?” said the boy.  “You don’t even know how to get to the Town Hall!”

 

This is the meaning of Heshvan.  We received directions and were asked to consider the consequences of our present life’s course; the object being to become a better person.  What happens now?  Will this New Year, this new beginning be bitter because we fall back into old ways because the directionals have ended?  Or have we accepted the truths of the fragility of life, the infinite value of time and our unique place in the universe to bring about real change?  

 

Surprise yourself by charting the course plotted by your forbearers.  They believed in it.  Why not you?