Shalom everyone! I'm sorry for not posting last week, things have been quite busy over here at the yeshiva. This week, instead of posting a blog on the weekly Torah parsha, I'd like to talk about Chanukah, specifically the miracle that took place over two thousand years ago and how it is still relevant in our lives.
Most people know the basic story: during the time of the Second Temple, the Greeks began their campaign of conquest in Israel through assimilation. Their mission was simple: deconstruct any sort of religious Jewish identity, forcing the Greek customs and society upon the local Jews. Although many brave Jews who stood by their convictions were forced to become martyrs, the battle being fought was essentially a spiritual one; it was to wipe out the Jewish nation off of the spiritual map. They did this by prohibiting certain practices such as a bris (ritual circumcision), the study of Torah as a religious text, and even forced the sacrifice of pigs on the ritual alter. Hope seemed to be completely gone, when a militia of soldiers called the Hashmoneans led by Matisyahu (later on to be led by Judah Maccabee), challenged the Greeks head on. Although the odds were completely against them winning, it was their spirit of fearless self-sacrifice that led to their victory.
Now this would seem like a good enough reason for a commemorative celebration, yet the event most spoken of in connection to Chanukah is the miracle of the oil. After reclaiming and purifying the Temple, the Hashmoneans, wanting to light the menorah in dedication, were sadly disappointed to find that all of the oil had been made impure except for one jug, a jug that still had the unbroken seal of the high priest protecting it. They decided to light it anyway and, to their shock, the oil that should have lasted for only one night lasted for eight nights. These two accounts- the victory over the Greeks and the oil- form the collective narrative of the miracle of Chanukah. Something that seems a bit puzzling though is why they're connected. Let's "shed some light" on the subject.
In chasidic philosophy, oil is symbolic of kodesh (holy). According to Judaism, kodesh doesn't just mean "holy", but it also signifies "separateness". By having something separate from everything else, it keeps it special, pure, and untouched. However, there's another aspect of kodesh that seems to be the complete opposite, the idea that it permeates everything, adding infinite depth to seemingly finite things. This idea of kodesh is paralleled perfectly with oil: oil, when mixed with most other liquids such as water, will separate and float on top (remember those 3rd grade science projects?). Oil can also saturate, the exact opposite of separateness. What is it that the Greeks were fighting against? It was the kodesh found in Judaism, the holiness that pervaded the study of Torah, the practice of rituals, and the loftiness of G-dly things i.e. the sacrificial alter. This is why the jugs of oil were made impure, because the Greeks had done all that they could to spiritually eradicate the soul of Judaism (the G-dly element of Torah), leaving only an empty body (a dry and lifeless academic approach). Their best wasn't good enough since there was that one jug of pure oil that had the unbroken seal.
The importance of this jug cannot be expressed enough, yet before going into it, it's important to understand what it was that the Greeks in this story stood for. The Greeks were considered to be the pinnacle of logic and philosophy; open up any philosophy text book and you have the Greeks to thank for their foundations. While they provided us with an absolutely amazing body of knowledge, it was this hyper-rational approach, of the supremacy of the human intellect, that could not understand the supra-rational beliefs of Judaism, the idea that there is something outside of the four corners of our heads that we will never be able to grasp or understand. This is why they were so against the Jewish practices and beliefs: because, just like the oil comes to permeate everything, the supra-rational kodesh permeated Judaism. The main idea of supra-rationality in Torah is this: although G-d made Torah so that we can understand certain concepts and commandments, our finite understanding of them will never be able the reach the infinite understanding of G-d; the two understandings are completely different orders. With this understanding, any human-given reason for the commandments pales in comparison to that of G-d's and it is because of this that the driving force behind observance of commandments is that they are G-d given. In simple terms, where reason ends, faith begins and not only that, but the faith encompasses the reason as well. This was a concept that the Greeks could neither appreciate or understand, which led to such a fierce conflict between the two opposing sides of Greeks and the Jews.
This brings us to the last jug of oil. What is the significance of its finding? The oil represented a level of holiness untouched, a level of the soul that can never be destroyed, a level that will always remain kodesh and pure even in the face of the fiercest adversity, the level where the soul is most connected to G-d. This is the level with which the Hashmoneans fought the Greeks. We now see why it was possible for there to be such an underdog victory: the Hashmoneans were few and their weaponry not nearly as advanced as the Greeks, yet their secret weapon was a spiritual one, a supra-rational faith in G-d's Will and a spirit of self-sacrifice that washed over the Hellenistic rationality. This is the why the fire burned for as long as it did, because it was a fire connected to the infinite light of G-d. The Greek campaign of assimilation and spiritual destruction was a darkness so black that it threatened to swallow up the spark of the Jewish soul. However, when that tiny spark touch the surface of an endless supply of "oil", a vast infinite sea of G-dliness and truth, that the spark transformed into an all-consuming fire, fighting off the darkness and even turning that very darkness into light.
This concept, the victory of light over the darkness, is especially important in our lives. This world is filled with a darkness that we know all too well. Our lives can often feel empty without a meaning or purpose for existence. Depression often creeps upon us, smothering us and snuffing out our spark. We've tried materialism and its proven to only increase the depth of the darkness. We've tried hedonistic indulgence, and yet deeper still. Stumbling around this world like someone in a room deprived of all light, we sometimes have the fortune to come into contact with a random, lone candle. It is up to us what happens next: either we let it pass us by and we continue on in our blind journey, or we do something, taking the initiative; we grasp the candle in our hand and kindle more candles, slowly increasing the small collection of candles into a steadily building flame. Once we do that, it won't be long until the room becomes illuminated, clearly showing us it's true nature. A world once thought to be completely lost in darkness will suddenly be revealed to have merely been hiding the beauty that was there all along.
Happy holidays and with all my love,
Zach
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Torah blog of week: wrestling with our past
Shalom everyone! This week's parsha is especially moving and dramatic. In it, we see a development of the complex character of Jacob as well as the unfolding of many important events in his life. One event in particular that stands out is one that, with a little bit of delving deep, can apply to all of our lives and that is his wrestling match with the angel.
We find Jacob at the beginning of the parsha preparing to meet his brother, Esau, whom he hasn't seen in many years. The last time he and Esau were together was when they were much younger and it wasn't necessarily the most pleasant experience; Jacob had bought Esau's first born birthright for a bowl of lentil soup and then later took Isaac's blessing for Esau through deceit. At this point in his life, Jacob was much older, having gone through much growth, learning, and hardship. It was years since the events of the past that tore the sibling relationship apart and now, after much time and change, he was going to meet with him again face to face. It was the night before his meeting with Esau; Jacob sent his family ahead of him while he stayed behind to collect up a few things. It is then that without warning, a stranger came and attacked him.
The stranger, according to Jewish tradition, was Esau's guardian angel. The two wrestled all night, tirelessly persisting in the struggle. The angel struck Jacob in the hip, yet Jacob still continued to fight. Once the sun began to rise, the angel told Jacob to let him go, yet Jacob refused to stop fighting unless the angel blessed him. The angel finally granted Jacob his wish saying "No longer shall your name be called Jacob; rather, Israel shall be your name. For you have struggled with G-d and with men, and you have prevailed" (Gen. 32:29) When asked his own name by Jacob, the angel doesn't tell him and then, after this seemingly random conflict, leaves.
It's interesting to note that the angel was Esau's guardian angel. Jacob was incredibly worried for the reunion with Esau; he had prayed to G-d, begging him to have mercy on him and on his family that Esau would not cause them any harm. The fight with the angel was merely an outward manifestation of the larger battle going on within himself. Not only was Jacob struggling with his past, but he was also struggling with himself. We see this reflected in his change of name. A name can have a tremendous amount of meaning in one's identity. Jacob's name in hebrew, Ya'akov, is related to the word eikev, meaning "heel". For all of Jacob's life, he had to deal with the lowest aspects of himself and his surroundings. A heel, which supports the body on top of it, also deals with the mud and the dirt. When Jacob had the name Jacob, he had a tremendous internal support system to get him through some of the lowest, most difficult times of his life. Israel, on the other hand, is a name given to Jacob after he has struggled with G-d and men; he was able to overcome all of his struggles and come out victorious.
How does this apply to our life? When looking back on our lives, it's every easy to see blemishes in our past and to get bogged down by them. We can often get depressed, pushing negative memories further and further back in the recesses of our mind. We turn on ourselves, treating ourselves lower and with more malice than we would our worst enemies. We're hit where it hurts the most, in our foundation. We tell ourselves that we are empty, worthless, nothing. There comes a time, however, when you have to deal with your past, whether it was something bad that you did and now regret, a traumatic experience, or negative character traits. Sometimes we have to go to the lowest points in ourselves, yet it is in these moments that we may also find the most strength to move on. Once we've overcome the struggle and gotten past our weaknesses, it is then that we will have become a new person, one who struggled with G-d (asking as many "hows" and whys" as we can) and with men (our internal demons) and won (at peace with G-d and living a life free of worries and anxieties). We can all fight this fight; if we don't start it now, then sooner or later, it will start up with us. Take the initiative, dig your wells deep, draw up your strength when you need it, and fight your battles wisely. Have a victorious day.
With all my love,
Zach
We find Jacob at the beginning of the parsha preparing to meet his brother, Esau, whom he hasn't seen in many years. The last time he and Esau were together was when they were much younger and it wasn't necessarily the most pleasant experience; Jacob had bought Esau's first born birthright for a bowl of lentil soup and then later took Isaac's blessing for Esau through deceit. At this point in his life, Jacob was much older, having gone through much growth, learning, and hardship. It was years since the events of the past that tore the sibling relationship apart and now, after much time and change, he was going to meet with him again face to face. It was the night before his meeting with Esau; Jacob sent his family ahead of him while he stayed behind to collect up a few things. It is then that without warning, a stranger came and attacked him.
The stranger, according to Jewish tradition, was Esau's guardian angel. The two wrestled all night, tirelessly persisting in the struggle. The angel struck Jacob in the hip, yet Jacob still continued to fight. Once the sun began to rise, the angel told Jacob to let him go, yet Jacob refused to stop fighting unless the angel blessed him. The angel finally granted Jacob his wish saying "No longer shall your name be called Jacob; rather, Israel shall be your name. For you have struggled with G-d and with men, and you have prevailed" (Gen. 32:29) When asked his own name by Jacob, the angel doesn't tell him and then, after this seemingly random conflict, leaves.
It's interesting to note that the angel was Esau's guardian angel. Jacob was incredibly worried for the reunion with Esau; he had prayed to G-d, begging him to have mercy on him and on his family that Esau would not cause them any harm. The fight with the angel was merely an outward manifestation of the larger battle going on within himself. Not only was Jacob struggling with his past, but he was also struggling with himself. We see this reflected in his change of name. A name can have a tremendous amount of meaning in one's identity. Jacob's name in hebrew, Ya'akov, is related to the word eikev, meaning "heel". For all of Jacob's life, he had to deal with the lowest aspects of himself and his surroundings. A heel, which supports the body on top of it, also deals with the mud and the dirt. When Jacob had the name Jacob, he had a tremendous internal support system to get him through some of the lowest, most difficult times of his life. Israel, on the other hand, is a name given to Jacob after he has struggled with G-d and men; he was able to overcome all of his struggles and come out victorious.
How does this apply to our life? When looking back on our lives, it's every easy to see blemishes in our past and to get bogged down by them. We can often get depressed, pushing negative memories further and further back in the recesses of our mind. We turn on ourselves, treating ourselves lower and with more malice than we would our worst enemies. We're hit where it hurts the most, in our foundation. We tell ourselves that we are empty, worthless, nothing. There comes a time, however, when you have to deal with your past, whether it was something bad that you did and now regret, a traumatic experience, or negative character traits. Sometimes we have to go to the lowest points in ourselves, yet it is in these moments that we may also find the most strength to move on. Once we've overcome the struggle and gotten past our weaknesses, it is then that we will have become a new person, one who struggled with G-d (asking as many "hows" and whys" as we can) and with men (our internal demons) and won (at peace with G-d and living a life free of worries and anxieties). We can all fight this fight; if we don't start it now, then sooner or later, it will start up with us. Take the initiative, dig your wells deep, draw up your strength when you need it, and fight your battles wisely. Have a victorious day.
With all my love,
Zach
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Torah blog of the week: Rocking out with G-d
Shalom everyone! In this week's parsha, parshas Vayeitzei we finally shift focus to one of the central figures in the entire Torah, Jacob. Jacob is known for many things: wrestling with the angel, producing the twelve tribes, and holding the title of what is considered to be the father of Am Yisrael, the Jewish people. Jacob is also an incredibly deep and complex character, full of inner struggle and turmoil, and yet champion of many victories as well. In the beginning of the parsha, we are provided with a rather fitting introduction that sets the character for the third a final patriarch of the Jewish people.
Jacob had just left his family in Beersheba to head for his Uncle's hometown of Charan. On his way there, Jacob found a place where he prayed to G-d and decided to spend the night. He gathered some rocks together, placed them around his head and one under his head for a pillow, and then fell asleep. It was during the course of his sleep that Jacob experienced a dream that would change the course of his life from that point on. In the dream there was a ladder standing firmly on the ground with its top reaching up toward heaven and angels ascending and descending on it. G-d appeared to him, telling him of the covenant between him and G-d, promising him offspring as numerous as the dust of the earth, and telling him not to fear the future. When Jacob awoke, he realized the awesome power of the place where he slept and to honor G-d, he placed the stone upon which he slept as a monument, poured oil on it, and took a vow declaring "If G-d will be with me; and will protect me on the journey that I am undertaking, and will give me bread to eat and clothing to wear; and I return to my father's house untainted; and G-d will be my G-d, then this stone that I have set up as a monument will become a house of G-d." (Gen. 28:20-22)
What is there to learn from this incredibly symbolic encounter? The stones set up around Jacob's head were there to protect him from wild animals. What is a stone? It is inanimate and unconscious matter, the concept of being humble, with no sense of self. What are the animals that Jacob was trying to protect himself from? His base, animalistic drives for physicality and self-seeking motivations. This indicates the strength of humility, a state of being which essentially downplays the importance of selfhood and brings perspective to your place in the world; we realize that we aren't as great as we make ourselves out to be some (*cough* most *cough*) of the time. These are lessons that help and protect us at any time on our journey through life.
The stones also symbolize the supra-rational approach to G-d. If you base your belief of G-d upon your emotions, then you are subjectively assessing something which is inherently objective. If you base your belief upon your intellect, then you are only allowing G-d to be as big as your head can contain. If we want G-d to be the constant in our life, the "rock" upon which we can rely, then we must approach G-d, at least fundamentally, with a supra-rational approach, something that is far beyond our finite limitations and understandings (I don't mean to say that emotions and intellect aren't important. In fact, Jewish tradition has always encouraged striving to understand G-d through intellect and emotions, it must however have the foundation of supra-rationality).
Another idea connected to the rock is the idea of the monument. We see that the rock played more of an important than just protecting Jacob, it actually came to symbolize his covenant with G-d and the promise of the Jewish people being the land of Israel, in the House of G-d in particular. We learn from this that where Jacob slept for the night was on Mount Moriah, the very location that his father had almost been sacrificed and where the future Temple was to be built. There is another lesson to be learned from Jacob's monument that is telling of Jacob's character as a whole. Why did Jacob choose a simple rock to express his immense and intense spiritual connection to Hashem? By using a rock, Jacob was vowing to take even the lowliest and most materialistic aspects of his life and transform them into G-d's home. That rock would become the foundation of the Beit haMikdash, the dwelling place or House of G-d, in the future. It was no coincidence that Jacob dreamt of angels accending and descending on the ladder. This ladder was Jacob's connection to G-d, a connection consisting of elevating the physical to the spiritual and drawing down G-dliness into this world.
One final important lesson comes from when Jacob poured oil onto the top of the rock, consecrating it as an alter (Rashi 31:13). The spirit of the Jewish people have always been likened to olive oil. When extracting olive oil, the more a person crushes the olive, the more oil comes out. There is a reason why the Jewish people have made it through generations upon generations of hate, hardship, and opression; the more you try to break us, the more "Jewish spirit" is released, a spiritual energy that fuels our passions and drives us to not only survive, but to thrive. When Jacob stopped to sleep for the night, he was on his way to his uncle, Lavan, a wicked man who cheated Jacob and made things very hard on him. This hardship directly corresponds to this very concept for we see that even though life was hard for Jacob, he spiritually and materially prospered, siring twelve sons who would eventually go on to become the twelve tribes of Israel. This prospering is like the oil squeezed from the crushed olive. By pouring oil on the rock, Jacob was making a fundamental statement about the connection between the Jewish people and Hashem: that even when we're in the hardest and darkest times we will never be detered from our relationship with Hashem or abandoned by Him.
What we learn from this is a simple, yet powerful message: we must have the humility to see ourselves within the bigger picture. If we protect ourselves from our animalistic drives that try to tell us we are all that matters and that this world is a "what we see is what we get" sort of place, then we will be able to understand our purpose: to elevate the seemingly mundane into holiness. It's never easy, in fact it's a constant battle, but when we're under pressure, that is when our true essence will shine. If we can find within ourselves, within others, and within the world around us that unmoving rock of strength and faith, then we will be able to ascend higher and higher on Jacob's ladder, a ladder that will elevate our lives and ultimately bring Heaven down to Earth. Have an elevated day.
With all my love,
Zach
Jacob had just left his family in Beersheba to head for his Uncle's hometown of Charan. On his way there, Jacob found a place where he prayed to G-d and decided to spend the night. He gathered some rocks together, placed them around his head and one under his head for a pillow, and then fell asleep. It was during the course of his sleep that Jacob experienced a dream that would change the course of his life from that point on. In the dream there was a ladder standing firmly on the ground with its top reaching up toward heaven and angels ascending and descending on it. G-d appeared to him, telling him of the covenant between him and G-d, promising him offspring as numerous as the dust of the earth, and telling him not to fear the future. When Jacob awoke, he realized the awesome power of the place where he slept and to honor G-d, he placed the stone upon which he slept as a monument, poured oil on it, and took a vow declaring "If G-d will be with me; and will protect me on the journey that I am undertaking, and will give me bread to eat and clothing to wear; and I return to my father's house untainted; and G-d will be my G-d, then this stone that I have set up as a monument will become a house of G-d." (Gen. 28:20-22)
What is there to learn from this incredibly symbolic encounter? The stones set up around Jacob's head were there to protect him from wild animals. What is a stone? It is inanimate and unconscious matter, the concept of being humble, with no sense of self. What are the animals that Jacob was trying to protect himself from? His base, animalistic drives for physicality and self-seeking motivations. This indicates the strength of humility, a state of being which essentially downplays the importance of selfhood and brings perspective to your place in the world; we realize that we aren't as great as we make ourselves out to be some (*cough* most *cough*) of the time. These are lessons that help and protect us at any time on our journey through life.
The stones also symbolize the supra-rational approach to G-d. If you base your belief of G-d upon your emotions, then you are subjectively assessing something which is inherently objective. If you base your belief upon your intellect, then you are only allowing G-d to be as big as your head can contain. If we want G-d to be the constant in our life, the "rock" upon which we can rely, then we must approach G-d, at least fundamentally, with a supra-rational approach, something that is far beyond our finite limitations and understandings (I don't mean to say that emotions and intellect aren't important. In fact, Jewish tradition has always encouraged striving to understand G-d through intellect and emotions, it must however have the foundation of supra-rationality).
Another idea connected to the rock is the idea of the monument. We see that the rock played more of an important than just protecting Jacob, it actually came to symbolize his covenant with G-d and the promise of the Jewish people being the land of Israel, in the House of G-d in particular. We learn from this that where Jacob slept for the night was on Mount Moriah, the very location that his father had almost been sacrificed and where the future Temple was to be built. There is another lesson to be learned from Jacob's monument that is telling of Jacob's character as a whole. Why did Jacob choose a simple rock to express his immense and intense spiritual connection to Hashem? By using a rock, Jacob was vowing to take even the lowliest and most materialistic aspects of his life and transform them into G-d's home. That rock would become the foundation of the Beit haMikdash, the dwelling place or House of G-d, in the future. It was no coincidence that Jacob dreamt of angels accending and descending on the ladder. This ladder was Jacob's connection to G-d, a connection consisting of elevating the physical to the spiritual and drawing down G-dliness into this world.
One final important lesson comes from when Jacob poured oil onto the top of the rock, consecrating it as an alter (Rashi 31:13). The spirit of the Jewish people have always been likened to olive oil. When extracting olive oil, the more a person crushes the olive, the more oil comes out. There is a reason why the Jewish people have made it through generations upon generations of hate, hardship, and opression; the more you try to break us, the more "Jewish spirit" is released, a spiritual energy that fuels our passions and drives us to not only survive, but to thrive. When Jacob stopped to sleep for the night, he was on his way to his uncle, Lavan, a wicked man who cheated Jacob and made things very hard on him. This hardship directly corresponds to this very concept for we see that even though life was hard for Jacob, he spiritually and materially prospered, siring twelve sons who would eventually go on to become the twelve tribes of Israel. This prospering is like the oil squeezed from the crushed olive. By pouring oil on the rock, Jacob was making a fundamental statement about the connection between the Jewish people and Hashem: that even when we're in the hardest and darkest times we will never be detered from our relationship with Hashem or abandoned by Him.
What we learn from this is a simple, yet powerful message: we must have the humility to see ourselves within the bigger picture. If we protect ourselves from our animalistic drives that try to tell us we are all that matters and that this world is a "what we see is what we get" sort of place, then we will be able to understand our purpose: to elevate the seemingly mundane into holiness. It's never easy, in fact it's a constant battle, but when we're under pressure, that is when our true essence will shine. If we can find within ourselves, within others, and within the world around us that unmoving rock of strength and faith, then we will be able to ascend higher and higher on Jacob's ladder, a ladder that will elevate our lives and ultimately bring Heaven down to Earth. Have an elevated day.
With all my love,
Zach
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Torah blog of the week: Drawing from the well of inner strength
There's a challenge that we're constantly faced with everyday. This challenge, whether we recognize it or not, it plays an incredibly powerful role in our lives. It's the challenge of finding inner meaning and strength. When a person takes a step back and takes a good honest look at themselves and the lives which they have played out, it doesn't take long for them to realize how incredibly complex this thing we call "existence" is. This "existence", in fact, can get so complex that we can often consciously and subconsciously decide to ignore it, to shy away from the challenge of seeking meaning, an ultimate purpose, a task which binds us all together. We are capable of living out our lives and never once having a true taste of existence merely based on the fact that such a concept scares us senseless. So instead, we set up a "puppet life", a scenario with which to play out our time, to shield us from what's really going on around us; a candle-lit cave of shadow puppets distracting us from the sun-lit meadow outside. The Torah, on the other hand, rejects such ideas. It seeks for humanity to take a good look at world around them, to question all that they perceive and know. It offers parables and analogies with which to understand Divine knowledge, consciousness, and mission. It also provides the tools with which to generate changes and maintain sources of strength we never thought possible. This week's parsha is an example of such resources.
This week's parsha, parshas Toldos (generations) shows us the life of Isaac in the wake of his parent's passing and in his marriage to his wife, Rebecca. It also shows us the birth of his two sons, Jacob and Esau, and the beginning of the conflict that ensues between the brothers. We see Isaac maintaining a covenant with G-d and continuing his father's work, a fundamental foundation in the family life of the patriarchs and matriarchs. All of these events of the help explain it's title, Toldos (generations); these are the records of history, strength, and tradition being passed down through the mantle of generations. It's interesting, then, to see that the majority of Isaac's work was going back and redoing everything that his father had done, all the while carrying on his father's mission.
What's interesting about Isaac, however, is that while he carries on what his father started, he is in many ways the exact opposite of Abraham: his father went out and sought followers while Isaac never made any attempts to, his father traveled across many different lands while Isaac remained in the land of Israel. In kabbalistic and chassidic traditions, Abraham is often likened to the Divine attribute of kindness while Isaac to severity; Abraham was all about going out into the world and spread Divine consciousness while Isaac remained in isolation, taking the time to mediate in the fields of his land and work on himself. In this comparison we see the two fundamental paths of avodah (spiritual service) that a person can have: a person can be inspired and spread that inspiration, going out to help people, seeking the welfare of others and constantly making sacrifices (Abraham) or they can focus on self-refinement, laying the ground work of discipline, constantly seeking to go further and further into their core from which they can pull out essential strength. This is reflected in a task that Abraham and Isaac both undertook: digging wells.
What is a well? A well is a deeply dug hole in the ground that allows those using it to pull up water that was once concealed. This is the idea of self refinement, of digging down into ourselves past the mud and rock (spiritual dirt) and finding a wellspring of strength from which to draw. When Abraham dug his wells, they were filled up with soil by the Philistines. The hebrew root for Philistine is "pey-lamed-shin" (these are the sounds of the hebrew letters), meaning "to penetrate" or "to break through borders". This is likened to the boundless, ungoverned hedonism, the ultimate act of break boundaries and rules set up to maintain conscientious and thoughtful existence. It is this obsession with the tangible, felt existence of imagined, puppet reality. By the Philistines filling up Abraham's wells it shows that while Abraham was great at inspiring others, his method of spreading Divine consciousness didn't seek to draw the goodness and inspiration from within others. Isaac's, on the other hand, re dug his father's wells and the Philisitines were unable to fill them in. This was Isaac's method: to force people to confront their psychological stumbling blocks, dig deep down through the layers of history, of emotional scars and hang-ups. Where Abraham's message to a person would be "come and quench your thirst from the holy waters of G-d" Isaac's would be "let those waters strengthen you for the task ahead. Get down into the dirt, start digging, and, with much diligence and determination, you will find the holy waters within yourself and never be thirsty again."
These are the two forces that govern our lives. Sometimes we feel inspired. This is good; we use it to motivate ourselves to keep going and to reach out to help others. This is a very necessary path of avodah in our lives, otherwise we would only care about ourselves. However, we must be able to help ourselves before we can help others, to constantly keep seeking to refine ourselves until we discover the wellspring of our inner essence. In this weeks parsha it refers to the well as "mayim chaim", living waters. May we all have the tools and strength necessary to be able to dig deep into ourselves, draw out the living water, and quench the thirst of others. Have a focused day.
with all my love,
Zach
This week's parsha, parshas Toldos (generations) shows us the life of Isaac in the wake of his parent's passing and in his marriage to his wife, Rebecca. It also shows us the birth of his two sons, Jacob and Esau, and the beginning of the conflict that ensues between the brothers. We see Isaac maintaining a covenant with G-d and continuing his father's work, a fundamental foundation in the family life of the patriarchs and matriarchs. All of these events of the help explain it's title, Toldos (generations); these are the records of history, strength, and tradition being passed down through the mantle of generations. It's interesting, then, to see that the majority of Isaac's work was going back and redoing everything that his father had done, all the while carrying on his father's mission.
What's interesting about Isaac, however, is that while he carries on what his father started, he is in many ways the exact opposite of Abraham: his father went out and sought followers while Isaac never made any attempts to, his father traveled across many different lands while Isaac remained in the land of Israel. In kabbalistic and chassidic traditions, Abraham is often likened to the Divine attribute of kindness while Isaac to severity; Abraham was all about going out into the world and spread Divine consciousness while Isaac remained in isolation, taking the time to mediate in the fields of his land and work on himself. In this comparison we see the two fundamental paths of avodah (spiritual service) that a person can have: a person can be inspired and spread that inspiration, going out to help people, seeking the welfare of others and constantly making sacrifices (Abraham) or they can focus on self-refinement, laying the ground work of discipline, constantly seeking to go further and further into their core from which they can pull out essential strength. This is reflected in a task that Abraham and Isaac both undertook: digging wells.
What is a well? A well is a deeply dug hole in the ground that allows those using it to pull up water that was once concealed. This is the idea of self refinement, of digging down into ourselves past the mud and rock (spiritual dirt) and finding a wellspring of strength from which to draw. When Abraham dug his wells, they were filled up with soil by the Philistines. The hebrew root for Philistine is "pey-lamed-shin" (these are the sounds of the hebrew letters), meaning "to penetrate" or "to break through borders". This is likened to the boundless, ungoverned hedonism, the ultimate act of break boundaries and rules set up to maintain conscientious and thoughtful existence. It is this obsession with the tangible, felt existence of imagined, puppet reality. By the Philistines filling up Abraham's wells it shows that while Abraham was great at inspiring others, his method of spreading Divine consciousness didn't seek to draw the goodness and inspiration from within others. Isaac's, on the other hand, re dug his father's wells and the Philisitines were unable to fill them in. This was Isaac's method: to force people to confront their psychological stumbling blocks, dig deep down through the layers of history, of emotional scars and hang-ups. Where Abraham's message to a person would be "come and quench your thirst from the holy waters of G-d" Isaac's would be "let those waters strengthen you for the task ahead. Get down into the dirt, start digging, and, with much diligence and determination, you will find the holy waters within yourself and never be thirsty again."
These are the two forces that govern our lives. Sometimes we feel inspired. This is good; we use it to motivate ourselves to keep going and to reach out to help others. This is a very necessary path of avodah in our lives, otherwise we would only care about ourselves. However, we must be able to help ourselves before we can help others, to constantly keep seeking to refine ourselves until we discover the wellspring of our inner essence. In this weeks parsha it refers to the well as "mayim chaim", living waters. May we all have the tools and strength necessary to be able to dig deep into ourselves, draw out the living water, and quench the thirst of others. Have a focused day.
with all my love,
Zach
Thursday, October 28, 2010
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
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
Thursday, October 21, 2010
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
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
Thursday, October 14, 2010
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
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
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