Torah Blog of the week: The Righteous Jewish Mothers

Shalom everyone! Things have been great here in Israel. It's been relatively quiet; the major holidays have come and gone and now it's time for the long stretch of learning. Now is the time to buckle down and be persistent in the pursuit of goals, to constantly take a little baby step every day until you've covered good ground. I have a sizable amount of material to learn as my goal and a fairly good amount of time to accomplish it. Along with the extended period of time, however, comes feelings such as monotony, frustration, and, yes, even a bit of homesickness. It is because of this that I'd like to dedicate this weeks Torah blog to my Mother who's back in the States and who I miss tremendously; I find this to be a fairly fitting parsha since it deals with righteous Jewish mothers (Funny thing that it doesn't mention Jewish guilt! :-P)

This week's parsha is parshas Chaya Sarah, also known as "the life of Sarah". Sarah , as you might recall, is the wife of Abraham and mother of Isaac. She was always a constant support for her husband in all of his endeavours, as well as an incredibly caring mother to her son. We begin the parsha, however, with her death, an interesting way to start a parsha that seems, based on the title, to be all about her life! While this may seem like one big mix-up, if we take a closer, we will see how it couldn't a more fitting title. The bulk of the parsha deals with the search for a wife for Isaac; Sarah has just passed away and Abraham realizes that he too will not be around forever. It is because of this, coupled with the fact that Isaac is to be the next torchbearer of G-d's message, that Abraham feels it proper to send his servant, Eliezer, on a journey to find a woman for Isaac to marry. This is the meaning of this story on the simple level, yet on a deeper level, they were looking for the next Sarah, someone to continue on with her life's work, a woman holy and pure enough to be on the same level that the first matriarch was on.

If we take a closer look at different points in the story, we will be able to see the affects that Sarah's life had on the search for the next matriarch. Firstly, the way in which Eliezer found Isaac's future wife, Rebecca, tells a bit about Rebecca's pure character. In his journey, Eliezer finds a well where prays to G-d; he prays that if a maiden approaches the well and offers water for his camels, then she is the right wife for Isaac, a prayer that sees fulfillment. Her compassion for animals is telling of her status as a "rose among thorns"; Rebecca's family was coarse and still had some idolatrous practices, while Rebecca was a kind person and dedicated monotheist. A deeper interpretation of this shows how holy Rebecca truly was. Water is often a metaphor for Torah so that fact that she is portrayed as drawing water from a well, from the earth, indicates that she was able to find and draw Torah from the physicality of this world. This parallels one of the major traits of Sarah.

A second event that directly indicates a connection between Sarah and Rebecca is the marriage of Isaac to her. The verse says "Isaac brought her (Rebecca) into the tent of his mother, Sarah. He married Rebecca, and she became his wife, and he loved her. Isaac was then consoled for the loss of his mother." (Ber. 24:67) Rashi brings a commentary on the verse indicating that when Rebecca entered into the tent, she became the image of Sarah, his mother. Whether this is to be taken metaphorically or literally is besides the point. What matters most is what Rashi says next; there were certain miraculous that happened in/around the tent when Sarah was alive: a candle burned in the tent from Friday to Friday, a blessing was constantly in the dough for bread, and a cloud hung over the tent, a sign of Divine protection. When Sarah died, these miracles ceased and when Rebecca entered into the tent, they returned. This shows that Rebecca was indeed to right choice to carry on the role of Sarah, matriarch of the Jewish people. But what exactly made Sarah so righteous?

The first verse of the parsha reads as follows: "The lifetime of Sarah consisted of one hundred years, twenty years, and seven years. [These were] the years of Sarah's life." (Ber. 23:1) Here's the question: why not just say 127 years? Why spell it out with first the hundreds then the twenty and then the seven? Also, why repeat that these were the years of Sarah's life? Rashi brings a commentary on the verse to say that by ordering the numbers from highest to lowest, it shows that even when she was an old woman, Sarah appeared to have the beauty of youth both in the physical and the spiritual sense. He also says that by repeating "the years of Sarah's life", it indicates that all of her years were equally good. The Lubavitcher Rebbe comes with a wonderful chassidic interpretation on this Rashi. In Chassidic philosophy, hundred refers to the supra-rational (pleasure & will), twenty refers to intellect(there are two tens; ten corresponds to the intellect and there are two major faculties of intellect i.e. wisdom and understanding), and seven refers to the intellect (one corresponds to emotion and there are, all together, seven faculties of emotion i.e. kindness, severity, etc.) By spelling all of this out, the Rebbe comes to say that she had equally lived up to her supra-rational, intellectual, and emotional capabilities. To drive this point even further, "the years of Sarah's life" allegorically means that all of her soul-powers were permeated with what is called yechida, a certain level of the soul that connects to the transcendent consciousness of G-d.

That all being said, what is there to learn from this interpretation? Finite beings, like Sarah, can only affect their emotions, intellect, and will. When we give over our selfhood and ego to a loftier and transcendent self, then we step outside of ourselves and are in fact no longer limited by our boundaries and restrictions. However, before we can live on such a high level, we must first perfect our conscious soul-powers, practicing self-restraint, compassion, intelligence, understanding, and constantly striving to better ourselves. We may not be selfless by nature, yet by keeping the ultimate goal of selflessness in mind, everything we do has a great purpose, thrust, and affect on ourselves and on those around us. This, and much more, have we learned from our matriarchs past, a tradition of righteous Jewish mothers, a tradition that still goes on to the present. Have an inspired day.
With all my love,
Zach

Torah blog of the week: the ultimate test

Shalom everyone! I hope that last week's parsha post found you well and provided you with as much inspiration as the parsha itself provided me with. This week's parsha is parshas Vayeira, the second half of Avraham's journey, a journey that culminates with what is considered in the Jewish tradition to be the ultimate test: the akeidah, the binding of Isaac.

The way the narrative goes, G-d appeared to Avraham and told him to take Isaac, his son, to the land of Moriah where he was to offer him up as a sacrifice on one of the mountains that G-d would show him. In a literary sense, we can now see what G-d meant at the beginning of parshas Lech Lecha when He told Avraham to leave everything behind and go to a land that He would show him; this was the end of Avraham's journey, the pinnacle of all he had worked for. What G-d was essentially telling Avraham to do was to take everything that he had stood and worked for, bind it upon the alter, and give it all up. It was the ultimate form of self-sacrifice. We see that Avraham was ready to follow through on G-d's request; he brought Isaac up to the top of Mount Moriah where he prepared him for the sacrifice. Avraham, however, never did physically sacrifice his son. An angel of G-d came and prevented him from carrying the act out. An interesting question arises from this statement: if Avraham didn't actually sacrifice Isaac in the end, then why did the angel say that he did not withhold his son? One could say that he was prepared to give it all up, yet then the verse could have easily said "since you would not have withheld your son from Me." In order to answer this question, we must first look at the examples of Avraham's previous sacrifices.

The first sacrifice that Avraham made to G-d was in the Plain of Moreh. G-d appeared to Avraham and told him that He would give the land to his (Avraham's) offspring. The second sacrifice was given in Bethel. Avraham built an alter and made a sacrifice there without G-d's appearing to him; he invoked G-d and was able to prophetically see a future sin that his descendents would commit there. A third alter was then built in Hebron, the city in which the Patriarchs and Matriarchs (with the except of Rachel) would be buried. It was a sacrifice that was purely out of love for G-d. These three alters parallel the three basic forms of Temple sacrifice: the peace offering to "inspire" G-d to provide us with sustenance (G-d telling Avraham that He will give Avraham the land), the sin offering to atone for transgressions (the future transgression of Avraham's descendents), and an ascent offering to express love for G-d (Hebron). Indeed, we see another sacrifice after these three that both alludes to and supports the idea of future Temple sacrifice. Let's see how they all finally culminate in the binding of Isaac.

I said before that Avraham never did physically sacrifice Isaac, but this does not mean that he did not spiritually. The moment that Avraham raised the knife to slaughter his son, he had killed him in his heart. He was merely moments away from actualizing this sacrifice, yet was prevented from doing so. What took Isaac's place? There was a ram that Avraham found caught in the thicket by its horns. Symbolically, Avraham took the sacrifice of Isaac and enclothed it within an animal. From then on, sacrifice took on a completely new meaning, as a stand-in offering where we should really be. The type of sacrifice that is required of us, though, is not physical; G-d showed this to us through the akeidah. Rather, G-d suddenly asked of humanity to push itself beyond its limits in order to do what was right, to give up the blindness of idolatry and embrace the brilliant all-embracing light of G-d. This new recontextualization of sacrifice was realized in its full potential with the building of the Temple in Jerusalem. (It's interesting to note that the Temple was built at the very location that Avraham bound Isaac).

The Temple, however, with all of its glory and daily sacrifices, is gone, a recollection of the past. So then the million dollar question is "how does this all apply to me today?" We pray. After the destruction of the Second Temple, prayer became a replacement for sacrifice. When we pray, we are supposed to offer up the animal inside of us; our pride, envy, anger, hate, arrogance, all of the things that characterize a symbolic idolatry. When a person has these negative feelings, they are consumed within themselves, so much so that they could forget about G-d and think that they are the only thing that matters in this world. Prayer forces us to step outside of and to recognize something greater than ourselves. It keeps us in check with whats real, that we're all connected, that G-d cares about what happens in our lives, and that true change is possible.

Although this view of prayer is incredibly beautiful, it isn't the end result of sacrifice. For two thousand years, the Jewish people have yearned to return to the land of Israel. I can tell you from the personal experience of living here for several months the truth of that statement. Reality is more tangible here. You're aware of more things in life. I'm a half hour walk from the Western Wall, the site where the Temples stood and where the akeidah took place. You can experience G-d's presence here a bit more than anywhere else. The main reason why so many Jewish people throughout history have had this yearning is for the day when the daily sacrifice will resume, when the Third Temple, a house of prayer for all the nations, will be built, when the world will come together to praise, to labor, and to love together. Today, we may be seperate and scattered physically and spiritually, yet tomorrow, all of humanity will be truly united. Until that time, let's try to emulate tomorrow today in our thought, speech, and action; in our interactions with people and the way that we decide to live our lives. Once we start doing that, then we'll truly be able to finish the work that Avraham started thousands of years ago. May we see it speedily in our days.
With all my love,
Zach

Torah Blog of the Week: Abraham's Journey

Shalom everyone! This week's parsha is parshas Lech Lecha a.k.a. my bar mitzvah parsha! That's right, nine years ago this this coming Saturday, Yours Truly became a Jewish man! There's a ton of great memories that I have of that day: reading the musaf and haftarah, getting soft candies thrown at me by about fifty people, partying it up like a fool, and counting all of my presents! There is, however, one thing that I wish I had done a little better and that is my dvar Torah. I guess you could say that this week's Torah blog is my second chance, so put yourself back in time nine years at Temple Sinai and let's go!

Have you ever known something to be so true or have seen the truth while others around you were oblivious? Was this truth so antithetical to those in the society around you that the weight of it seemed almost too much to bare? Was one of the responsibilties of this truth the nearly impossible task of showing and teaching those around you of the universality of it's philosophy? This was the challenge of Abram (his name was later changed to 'Abraham' by Hashem). Abram lived in a time when idolatrous practices were the norm, when the concept of a One G-d was absurd, and even more absurd was the fact that this G-d had no shape or form. Many righteous people before Abram's time had known about this G-d, yet none of them had the courage or creativity necessary to resist and oppose the corruption of the surrounding culture, the heal to rift that had formed between Heaven and Earth. What set Abram apart from all of them and what eventually merited him to be known as the patriarch of Judaism was the fact that he was not fazed by society's depravity; in fact, he was inspired by it. He became an activist for G-d, going from place to place, pointing out the illogical views of idolators and teaching them about the universal message that G-d had to offer them. There was only one flaw in Abram's approach: it was still based on his own personal convictions and reasonings as opposed to Divine ones. In order for Abram to merit such an approach, he would have to embark on a journey, one filled with hardship, struggles, failures, and tests that would push him beyond all psychological and spiritual boundaries. It is in this parsha that we see the beginning of this journey with the first verse: "Hashem said to Abram, 'Go for yourself from your land, from your birthplace and from your father's house to the land that I will show you.'" (Ber. 12:1)

Now, there seems to be a contradiction in this story: In last week's parsha, we read that Terach (Abram's father) had already began the journey with his family, so why does the Torah need to repeat this to Abram? If one looks a little closer at the verse from last week's parsha where this is mentioned, they will notice a slight difference in the wording: "Terach took his son Abram,...and they departed with them from Ur-kasdim to go to the land of Cana'an; they arrived at Charan and they settled there." (Ber. 11:31) Notice that the central character is Terach and not Abram. This implies that the journey from Ur-kasdim to Cana'an was begun by Abram's father, Terach, and in this week's verse, Abram is the central character, implying an entirely seperate journey from Terach's. What could this mean? Perhaps what we're witnessing in the text is a "passing of the mantle", that the Terach had done all he could have done as Abram's father and now it was time for Abram to become to father of the future Jewish people. Indeed, we see in the last verse of last week's parsha that Terach dies in Charan, leaving Abram alone to decide where to go; this is when Hashem came into the picture as the new father figure and guiding force in Abram's life.

What exactly was Hashem asking Abram to do by going on this journey? He was, in a sense, asking him to leave everything. The Ramban (Rabbi Moses ben Nachman, 12th-13th century rabbi, philosopher, physicist, Kabbalist, and Biblical commentator) gives a great expounding on this verse: "...it is difficult for a man to leave his land, in which he dwells, where his loved ones and friends are. All the more so when it is the land of his birthplace, where he was born. And (even) all the more so when his father's entire household is there. Therefore, it was necessary to tell him that he should leave everything for the love of the Holy One, Blessed is He." (Art Scroll Ramban Ber. pg. 289) What we learn here is really quite remarkable; this journey that Abram was making was not only a physical journey, but a spiritual one as well. In order for Abram to become the "vessel" for monotheism, he had to leave his entire life behind him; the corruptive culture which he had grown up in, a trend of idolatry that he knew all too well since we learn from a Midrash that Abram's father, Terach, was an idol maker. Abram had to become a blank slate with which he could rewrite a new story.

To elaborate on the spiritual aspect of this journey, there is a remarkable chasidic interpretation taken from the Lubavitcher Rebbe (Likutei Sichot, vol. 2, pg. 659). In hebrew, the first words "lech lecha" are commonly translated as "go for you". However, the "l" in "lecha" can mean either "for" or "to". If we switch out the "for", then it would be translated as "go to you." This implies a sense of looking inward, discovering yourself, returning to your inner core. The Rebbe goes on to further explain that "from your land" means to transcend your earthly desires, desires such as materialism, vanity, hedonism, etc. "from your birthplace" means that one can accomplish this by overcoming their natural habits and inclinations i.e. questioning one's motivation for indulging in physical pleasures, for self-centeredness, anger, and jealousy. "from your father's house" means that one can accomplish this by transcending their intellectual limitations i.e. recognizing that we are limited, finite beings and that there is something much greater than us (G-d). Once we've recognized the fleetingness and flaws of our intellect, then we can attach ourselves to the greater intellect of Hashem, His Torah, in which he placed His perfect will and universal message for the World.

There is one final issue to address in the verse and that is the ending "to the land that I will show you." Abram not only had to physically and spiritually leave everything that he once knew behind, but he also had to do it with a perfect and simple faith that Hashem would show him the way. Abram's simple and unquestioning faith in Hashem is brought out in qualitatively and quantitatively greater amounts with each test Hashem gives him; it is one of the main weapons of defense against failure in his mission and journey. So to wrap up this week's blog, what can we learn from the plight of Abram and from this verse specifically? Change is never easy; we often get caught up in our "surroundings", where we've come from in life, where we are at in our journey. If one doesn't realize that they have legs as opposed to roots holding them down to the land, then they will never grow and move onto the life that they are meant to live. Petty problems such as anxiety, worries, and fears carried over from the past and into the future are like the different layers in the verse: not only was it Abram's land, but his birthplace, and also his father's house. All it took was for Hashem to tell Abram to take that first step and Abram embarked on the most important journey in the history of the world. Same thing is true with us; if we follow our calling and "go into ourselves", look deep within to the core of our essence, we can draw out the strength needed to break through our artifical boundaried, to take that first step from point A to point B. At point A, we can never imagine leaving, yet once we've reached point B, we can look back and laugh at all of the worries that we ourselves set up! Not only that, when you turn around from looking back at point A and look forward to where point C is, then you will know that you can continue on in your journey since you've already broken through the boundary of the first step. I wish you all an inspiring Shabbos and a fantastic journey.
With all my love,
Zach

Torah blog of the week: Noah's Ark

Shalom everyone! With the Jewish holidays ending, it seems that all of our inspiration is ending with it as well and that we are going back to the "normal and mundane" matters of life; however, as with many other things in life, the true test of dedication is to be able to preserve inspiration during the times and in the places that are seemingly void of it. AND SO with that, I'd like to start dedicating a blog for the weekly Torah portion, also refered to as a parshah, that we read in synagogues every week. Last week was Parshas Bereshis (the story of creation all the way up until the birth of Noah), which would make this week's parsah Parshas Noach, the story of the great Biblical flood and Noah's ark. While my knowledge of the Torah is limited, I'd like to share a little insight on the subject of the ark according to a lecture that I recently heard. Before we begin, I'd like to give a disclaimer to set aside any preconcieved ideas of nature, science, the laws of physics, history, etc. The reason for this is that in order to learn something properly, one needs to start with a clean slate. Much, if not all of what I'm about to say doesn't make sense and is seemingly impossible according to our established understandings, so in order to really get at what's being said, we need to be able to see past biases and to the core of the matter.

So most of us probably know the story of the flood: G-d saw that the world had become degenerate and immoral, that humanity had sunk to an incredibly low level and as a result, He (G-d) decided to destroy the world and start a new. There was, however, one person (Noah) who was considered righteous in that generation. G-d assigned him with the task of building an ark with which to preserve all life (animals two by two) during the flood so as to rebuild the post-flood world. Now if we understand the flood in the simple understanding, then the entire world was covered with water. However, with an interpretation through the lens of chassidus (a Jewish mystical philosophy) we can uncover much more about the flood, the nature of the ark, and ther ark's purpose during this turbulent time.

First the flood: It says in the Talmud (collection of Jewish rabbinic literature, law, philosophy, etc.) that "The Holy One, Blessed be He, said to Noah: 'fix precious stones and pearls so they will light up the Ark like noon!'" (Sanhedrin 208b). To compliment this, it is said somewhere else (sorry that I forgot) that during the flood, there was such utter chaos that the sun, moon, and stars stopped doing their job. So where did they go? Why, into the precious stones and pearls that illuminated the ark of course! (Side note: like I said at the beginning, try to suspend what you know and try to understand both a conceptual, as well as physical component to what was just said) Not only did the sun, moon, and stars stop working, but time stopped working as a result of this since there was no way to measure time. Infact, outside of the ark, all that really existed was water and fish (why the fish is a completely different story, I'd like to focus on the water). It says right towards the beginning of the Torah in Bereshis 1:2 "The earth was unformed and desolate, and darkness covered the surface of the abyss. The breath of G-d hovered above the surface of the water." What we can learn from these two ideas, that outside of the ark during the majority of the flood there was only water (no land) and that there was formless land and water at the beginning of creation, is that G-d had literally undone all of creation: there was no time, space, life, mass, etc.

Everything existed only within the ark much like a womb sustaining life. The Lubavitcher Rebbe (R'Menachem Mendel Schneerson) gave an analogy of a teacher and a student to help us understand the idea of the pre-flood world and the post-flood world. Before the flood, the relationship between G-d and the world was like a teacher who teaches and the student that has no ability to function on his own outside of the relationship. After the flood, the relationship changed because now the student could attain knowledge, could learn and absorb new things, with the ability to function on his own. What does this mean? Before the flood, the laws of nature were eratic; it was completely unstable. After the flood, G-d placed permanent laws of nature into place, the world could seemingly work on its own, as it says in the verse "All the days of the Earth, the planting and the harvest, the cold and the heat, the summer and the winter, day and night, they shall not cease." (Bereshis 8:21) What was the sign for this: the rainbow. What is a rainbow? When the sun's rays shine through the atmosphere and rain droplets to reveal the beautiful colors hidden within the light. Seemingly, before the flood there was no rainbow; the colors hidden in the light weren't revealed. But now because of covenant between G-d and Noah, there was the ability to reveal what was hidden before. On a physical level, since there were laws of nature, there could be science; we can test the laws of nature to reveal just exactly what the laws are, their parameters, what they entail, etc. To understand the more spiritual level, we must look at one final analysis of what life was like iniside the ark.

One of the most famous messianic prophecies is the one about the wolf lying down with the lamb, the idea of there being such peace that the predator and prey will get along. According to the Talmud it says "There are those who explain that in Moshiach's (Messianic) era, the nature of the wild animals and beast will change and will return to what was...in Noach's ark." What can we learn from this? That not only did all of the animals (herbivores, carnivores, and omnivores alike) get along, but that within the Ark, it was like a taste of Moshiach, a time when "the Earth will be full of knowledge of G-d, like water covers the sea." (Isaiah 11:9) Since we can understand the ark to be like a womb, an incredible parallel can be drawn between this section of Talmud and another section of Talmud. It says that when a baby is in the womb, "he is taught the entire Torah. However, as soon as he enters the air of this world, an angel comes and strikes him on his mouth, causing him to forget the entire Torah." (Niddah 20b) With a direct comparison, we can now understand that within the ark we were fully experiencing the reality of what Moshiach was, but as soon as we left the ark we completely forgot it!

How does this tie into the idea of the rainbow and revealing the hidden? We know that Noah and company were in the ark for a full year. We also know that the ark is likened to a womb and that, from a comparison to Niddah 20b, the time spent in the ark could be likened to a 12 month pregnancy. We also know (or at least you will know) that Elijah the prophet is the only character in the entire Bible to have had a 12 month pregnancy, meaning that his physicality had been extraordinarly refined, which allowed him to refine physicality during his life and to accend the Heaven in a physical body. With all of this information, we can now understand the connection: that in the post-flood world, the very nature of our existence is to reveal what is hidden in the world, to reveal what we knew and then forgot, the reality of Moshiach. How do we go about doing this? By refining the physical, by utilizing this world to reveal the G-dliness inherent within. It is only once we've accomplished this fully that we will truly be able to say that "the Earth will be full of knowledge of G-d, like water covers the sea." May we see it speedily in our days.
With all of my love,
Zach

Just traveling through...

Shalom everyone! These past several days has been the holiday of Sukkot, the Jewish harvest festival, a time when Jewish people around the world celebrate with festive meals and parties, extra prayers and songs, and the construction of huts called sukkahs. A sukkah is usually made with temporary materials (i.e. plywood and cornstalk roofs) and is a place where people eat, study, sleep, and just hang out in general. What exactly is the point of this seemingly random structure? In order to clarify this, I have a chasidic story that I heard on the first night of Sukkot to share with you all.
There was once a rich Russian merchant who heard of the Magid of Mezeritch, a very prominant rabbi and the second Chassidic rebbe, and decided to go on a trip to visit him in the next town over. When he knocked on the Magid's door and the Magid answered, the merchant saw that the inside of the house was bare of fancy furniture, aesthetic beauty, or luxuries. There was a chair, a desk, a bed, a table; incredible simple and humble. The merchant asked "Rabbi, I don't mean to be rude, but for such an illustrious man as yourself, where is all of your furniture?" The Magid smiled and answered "In your house, is there a lot of fancy furniture and luxuries?" The merchant nodded. "And now that you are in Mezeritch, do you have all of your furniture with you?" The merchant laughed and replied, "Not at all Rabbi, but I'm only just traveling through!" At the merchant's words, the Magid gave an "aha!" and replied "You see, I too am just traveling through. One day, I will finally come home and on that day, I hope that you will be able to come visit me and see how amazing it is."
What is this story supposed to mean? The Magid had a house, so why did he say that he was only traveling through? How is this story connected to Sukkot? As I said before, we build our sukkahs with temporary materials: flimsy plywood for the walls and brittle cornstalk for the roof. This is meant to remind us that everything we have, our house, car, fancy furniture, job, education, family, friends, even our very lives, they all come from G-d. Although we may work incredibly hard for the money with which to pay for all our material possesions, it really all comes from G-d and if G-d were to will it, He could take it all away. Now, this doesn't mean that we should cower in fear our entire lives, worried sick that G-d will just one day decided to play a sick joke and take everything back, leaving us homeless without a friend, fated to walk the streets for food. But what it does mean is that we should be able to look beyond the material and to see what's really important. Nothing is permanent and yet we constantly decide to base our lives around the illusion of stability. By recognizing that all we have is makeshift and temporary just as with someone who is on the road, we are able to attach ourselves to what's really important and to truly live.
This sense of a makeshift life can be seen in the history of the Jewish people: Abraham's journey from his hometown to go to Cana'an, the Jewish people's mass exodus out of Egypt, the first and present exile of the Jewish people from the Land of Israel, all the times that we were kicked out of different countries (England, Spain, etc.), the boat fulls of Jewish immigrants that set off for a new life in America, the countless that were forced out of their homes and into small cramped ghettos and concentration camps, the many who decided to take a stand against religious opression in Communist Russia and were sent off to die in Siberian labor camps. We are a people that have constantly been on the road, forced to live out of a suitcase, to nourish our souls with tireless tradition, a patchwork quilt of memories, and a faith in G-d and His Torah . One story of Jewish traveling particularly stands out in my mind as an excellent example of the role of not just the Jewish people, but all of humanity as migrants in this world.
When the Jewish people were traveling through the Sinai desert for 40 years on their way to Cana'an, G-d provided them with the clouds of glory, a protecting force that provided them with manah from heaven, made sure that their clothes didn't tatter, and shielded them from the sun. The way in which this is connected to Sukkot is that the cornstalk roof is considered not just to be a symbol of thoses original clouds of glory, but to be the physical manifestation of them! What does this come to teach us? We're on a journey, whether you recognize it or it remains unspoken in the back of your mind. It's not so much a physical journey as it is a spiritual one. It's a journey away from materialism, depression, sorrow, and suffering and towards a time of peace and prosperity, brotherhood, love, happiness, a higher consciousness. This time is refered to as the age of Moshiach, the Messianic period, a time when "the lion will lay down with the lamb" and "the nations will beat their swords into ploughshares." As I've mentioned before in previous posts, we are all broken, all finite, all flawed. We make mistakes, hurt the ones we love, take things for granted, obssess over things that are petty and meaningless instead of using our energy for things that are positive and productive. All our lives we have been on this journey towards a meaningful life, this road towards the promised land. We're really only just traveling through. While we are on this journey, G-d is constantly providing for us with His clouds of glory, fixing all the cracks in our soul until we can finally become whole again and in doing so, finally come home. Have an amazingly meaningful rest of Sukkot.
All of my love,
Zach

A new year, a fresh start

Shalom from Jerusalem! Things have been pretty intense over here; Rosh Hashanah was incredible and was then followed by an incredible week of teshuvah (look at my previous posts for an explanation of teshuvah). As many of you know, tonight (Jewish days start at night) is Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the year. Much like Tisha b'Av, for 26 hours Jews will abstain from marital relations, applying lotions, wearing leather shoes, bathing, and most importantly, they will be fasting. Now, the main difference between the two fasts (Tisha b'Av and Yom Kippur) is that on Tisha b'Av we're remembering the major calamities in Jewish history (blech, at a time like this, who could eat?) and on Yom Kippur, we're privy to the highest revelation of G-dliness ever (at a time like this, who WANTS to eat?!?!) By refraining from very physical acts and pleasures on Yom Kippur, we're transcending the finite and taking on the status of angels, setting ourselves up for what could be, if utilized properly, an incredibly holy day. But what exactly does it mean to utilize it properly? Does it mean going to synagogue all day, moaning and groaning about not being able to eat, standing up and sitting down constantly, rubbing your sore and aching back or throbbing headache, and half-heartedly giving "lip service"? Or is it something deeper, something that calls for concentration, requires not only the body, but soul; something more essential? It seems that in order to fully realize and appreciate Yom Kippur, we must first know a little something about what the day is really about. As I stated in my previous post, although the ones required to observe the mitzvot and go to syangogue are Jews, you don't need to be Jewish in order to take advantage of what this day has to offer.

It says in the Talmud (Jewish rabbinic text) that there are ten days of teshuvah between Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, but any person who knows a little bit about dates would realize that there are actually seven days between the two holidays. What gives? Is it ten or seven? Well, the truth is that it's both. Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are three of the ten days, making them days of teshuvah, but they each have something special that sets them apart from the other ten days, which means that they are both within and outside of the chronological ten days. What makes them so special? On Rosh Hashanah, we declare Hashem as King; we see ourselves as just a little piece in a vast portrait of reality. On Yom Kippur, we transcend normal reality, entering into a realm outside of space and time where it's just us and Hashem. On this level, no good deed or sin could have any affect and it is because of this, the fact that everything is perfect, unchanging, and untouched, that we are atoned for all of our sins. This past week has been part of the ten days of teshuvah, days in which we are encouraged to do more mitzvot, connect to what Hashem really wants of us, take stock of all the things that we may have done that weren't so nice, and make resolutions to change for the future. In order to illustrate this concept, there is a wonderful story that I recently heard that I'd like to share with you.

There was once a chasid who approached is rebbe and asked him "Rebbe, why is it that on eruv Yom Kippur (the hours before the holiday) chasidim have a big seudah (festive meal)?" His understanding was that Yom Kippur is a very serious holiday and that any pre-holiday eating shouldn't go much beyond eating bread and water in a corner of a room, trembling in fear. His Rebbe told him "Go to the next town over and observe the first house that you find. There, you will see why chasidim eat a seudah before the holiday." So the chasid traveled to the house in the town. When he got there, he observed through the window a man sitting at a table near the fire place. "Hashem," the man said. "it's almost Yom Kippur. I know that I haven't always done right by You, but You should know that I really do love You. I would never intentionally hurt You and if I ever did during the year, I'm so sorry for all the pain that it caused. I just wanted to tell You..." The man then reached into the desk drawer and produced a big, thick book. Opening the book, he pointed to the first line and said "On this day, I didn't prayer with proper kavanah (intention). And then on this day, I spoke gossip. There was also this day when my kashrut observance was a bit questionable. And on this day..." The man had taken stock of EVERY single transgression or sin that he had commited the entire year!
After reading through the entire book, the man closed the book and reached into the desk drawer again. "But You know Hashem," he said as he produced another book (this one was a bit smaller). "There have been times during the year that I really haven't understood what You were trying to tell me. There was this one time when my wife broke her leg; what did she deserve that for? She's an incredibly righteous woman! And also during the winter, by son became incredibly ill and almost died. What did he do to deserve that, he's only an innocent child! There was also this large business investment that I made earlier that seemed to be reliable, but in the end, caused me to lose more money that I could have made!"
The man paused and closed the book before getting to carried away. "Listen, there's been things in my life that I haven't quite understood." He glanced at the book of his sins. "But then again, I haven't even come close to doing what is expected of me. I have an idea," The mean gathered both of the books together. "how about we forget these books, just start with a clean slate, a fresh start. What do You say?" The man then turned to the fireplace and threw both of the books into the fire, watching them burn along with all of the sins and misunderstandings of his past year. The man got up and, with a big smile on his face, said "NOW I'm ready for a seudah!"

What's the whole point of this INCREDIBLY lengthy story? We're not so great; maybe we spoke too much gossip or didn't speak up when people were being spoken ill of, maybe we were to quick to judge others without any consideration to our own finitude, maybe we didn't give the extra change back when the cashier made a mistake. Sure we've made mistakes, but no one's perfect. But then again, this year wasn't so great either; maybe our wallet was stolen or we missed out on an opportunity to make a profit, maybe we came down with a bad case of mono, which took us out of commission for a month; maybe our friend was in a near-fatal car accident. In the end, it all belongs to the past; there's always more money to be made, opportunities to make up missed work, time to heal seemingly unhealable wounds. We have a choice: do we decide to arrogantly clutch on the past, attaching ourselves to it out of some misplaced need for stability or do we decide to let go, let the past remain the past and do the only healthy thing, move on? This is what Hashem offers us on Yom Kippur. We've all sinned, we've all fell regret, we've all made ammends to those who we've hurt, and we've all resolved to change; on Yom Kippur, Hashem wipes away all of our blemishes and helps us progress by giving us another chance. By revealing our perfect and unchanging essence for 26 hours, Hashem burns away all of our impurities and makes us into the pure, flawless gold that we were before and have always been. So whether you're Jewish or non-Jewish, fasting or trying as best as you can, going to synagogue for all of the services or just popping in and out, try keeping Yom Kippur and what it's all about in your head and guarantee that you will have a more meaningful day than you've had in a while. Wishing you all a sweet new year and may you be sealed in the book for life, prosperity, health, and happiness. Have a meaningful Yom Kippur observance.
All of my love,
Zach

Reflections on the year past and on the year to come

Shalom everyone! Sorry for the large gap of time between my last blog post and now. For those of you who might not know, these past 29 days, we have been observing the Jewish month of Elul, the last month on the Hebrew calendar. Elul is a month of spiritual stock taking, contemplation & meditation, introspection, and big life questions, resolutions, and goals. Elul, in hebrew, is actually an anagram for "Ani l'dodi v'dodi li" roughly translated, "I am to my beloved and my beloved is to me." Other than being a verse that is recited at weddings, it is meant to express the inherent relationship between Hashem (G-d) and Yisrael (us). "I am to my beloved" indicates that we take a step towards Hashem, going out to meet Him, initiating the relationship, while "and my beloved is to me" indicates a reciprocal aspect of the relationship, Hashem extending his hand towards us, embracing us with a shining and gracious face. The symbolism of relationships isn't a mistake; the holidays coming up are all meant to symbolize Hashem's marriage to the Jewish people (Rosh Hashanah is the engagement, Yom Kippur is the wedding, etc.) Now, while Elul, Rosh Hashanah, and Yom Kippur are all Jewish observances/holidays, this does not mean that only Jews can partake of the amazing energy of this time.
Reflect on this past year; is there anyone that you deeply hurt? Can you think of something that you regret doing? Is there anything that you wish you had done, yet didn't do? Missed opportunities? This is the time to recognize those regrets and to resolve to change. This is called teshuvah, commonly translated as "repentance" yet literally meaning "return". This begs a very good question: return to what? How did I ever get lost? How do I return? What does all of this mean? Every creature on this Earth has a connection to G-d. He created us, gave us life, gives us everything that we have, and continuously keeps us in existence. If you've read any of my past blogs, you can get a clearer picture of my views on Hashem, but if you're pressed for time, then just know that Hashem is not some seperate entity pelting down Divine punishment for our actions. Hashem is deeply integrated into reality, in fact, Hashem IS reality. All of everything within the finite, infinite, and beyond the infinite is Hashem; there is nothing else but Him LITERALLY.
So if that's the case, then why don't I see G-d? Why don't I think about G-d? How can I live my life without ever even thinking about G-d or recognizing His existence? Because that's the nature of this world. Hashem created us in His image; from Hashem's point of view, there is nothing else but Him, ergo, we are the central focus of our lives. This world was created to be a finite expression of a beyond infinite reality; Hashem's essence is concealed within the illusion of our percieved reality, thus making it possible for us to never recognize His existence. Also, since Hashem gave us free will, His revealed existence in this world would defeat the whole purpose of our ability to choose. So with all of this complex information shoved into our brains, we are now able to truly understand what it means to return: to return to Hashem and to return to ourselves. Since our "selves" are part of the larger "Self" that is Hashem, then returning to ourselves i.e. living a more G-dly life and G-d conscious life is both returning to our true selves, as well as returning to Hashem. *PHEW*
What I hope everyone can take from this is as follows: This is the time to partake of that act of returning. We all have deficiencies, we all are lacking something, we all are broken. There is no person on Earth that does not make a mistake or is free of any blemish or flaw. Hashem- timeless, boundless, perfect reality- is the only consistent thing in this world. By returning to Hashem, by connecting to Him on a deeply personal level, we connect to our true selves, which is to be vessels for G-dliness in a world seemingly devoid of it. What does that mean in practicality? It means being the best person you can be. It means living up to your full potential as a human being. It means looking at another person, seeing that same G-dliness present in them, and learning from it that we are not here to struggle, despair, fight, or hate, but we are here to embrace, unite, labor, and love (throw back to Rabbi Schwab). It's not about turning over a new leaf and becoming a new person, it's about returning to who you've really been all along. All it takes is one step towards Hashem and He'll take care of the rest for you. Wishing you all an amazingly sweet and happy New Year full of health, happiness, success, friendship, and love.
All of my best,
Zach