Meira is in the East and We Remain in the West

What is it like to see one’s daughter off as she makes aliya?  Yesterday, I found out.

 

Our oldest, Meira, flew to Israel yesterday.  After the mandatory 14-day quarantine, she will join Garin Tzabar, a kibbutz-based program that supports lone soldiers.  She will be adopted by Kibbutz Yavneh, which will become her home away from home before and throughout her IDF service.

We are very proud as we get used to this new reality. 

Just think: We teach our children about Israel and encourage them to be Zionists.  And they listen!  Does it get any better than that?

Fifty-five years ago, Rabbi Norman Lamm gave a sermon devoted to Yom Ha’atzmaut.  He said aliya could not be just an ideal; it must be a principle that governs our behavior and conduct.  If we cannot move there, we can encourage and assist those who can.  Rabbi Lamm warned, though, that this was not enough.  “Such an approach may lead to the position of the two Zionists who express their Zionism by deciding that a third Zionist must go on aliya.”  

Rabbi Lamm suggested a more proactive approach.  Our children, he says, must be encouraged to go.  If not all of our children, then pick one and prepare them for the move.  Ensure that their Hebrew is excellent, help them choose a career that will be useful in Israel.

Well, Meira did go to Moshava for years and loved it…

As we observe Tisha B’Av, we will recount destruction.  I can’t help but incorporate the miracle of the State of Israel into the sadness of the day.  Tisha B’av post-1948 is a significantly different day even if the rituals remain the same.  This Tisha B’Av, I will be thinking about what it’s like to have a daughter who will, please God, be defending Israel and actively participating in its future.  Rabbi Yehuda Ha-Levi wrote,“Libi ba-mizrach va'anochi b'sof ma'arav - My heart is in the East, but I am in the far edges of the West.”   My heart – and our daughter – is in the east, and it’s the beginning of a whole new relationship with Israel.

I often describe myself as a “Wanna wanna.”  This means I want to want to be living in Israel.  I have strong desire to live in Israel, but I am just not ready.  At the same time, I like being reminded that Israel is where Jews belong.

Rabbi Doron Perez (Leading the Way, p. 48) records a story of a person who was visiting Israel and who came to Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Auerbach to discuss the mitzvah of living in Israel.  He noted to Rabbi Auerbach that the topic seems to be quite complex.  Rabbi Auerbach responded to the man, “In truth, it does not really matter what kind of mitzvah it is, because one thing is clear; this is definitely the place that Hashem wants the Jewish people to live.”

Why aren’t we all there?  It’s a question with various and personal answers.

Maybe we can’t be there, but it’s not so bad to be made to feel a little guilty about it.

Or maybe just follow Meira...

A Vision of What?

 

What do you see?

This Shabbat, we read the Chazon Yishayahu, the vision of Isaiah.  What did he see?  What do we see?

The text is not very encouraging.  That is why we read it before Tisha B’Av, to make sure we get a taste of pur’anut, tragedy, in time for the fast day.  Even our religious activities are rejected if we lack the basic compassion for those in need.

Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berditchev has a different take on the vision.  He explains that this Shabbat is called Shabbat Chazon because on this day every Jew is granted a vision of the future Beit HaMikdash.

He illustrates this teaching with a parable.  A father once prepared a beautiful suit of clothes for his son.  But the child neglected his father’s gift, and soon the suit was in tatters.  The father gave the child a second suit of clothes; this one, too, was ruined by the child’s carelessness.  So, the father made a third suit.  This time, however, he withholds it from his son.  Every once in a while, on special occasions, he shows the suit to the child, explaining that when the child learns to appreciate and properly care for the gift, it will be given to him.  This encourages the child to improve his behavior, until it gradually becomes second nature to him - at which time he will be worthy of his father’s gift.

Rabbi Levi Yitzchak’s vision is very different than Isaiah’s.  How are we to understand Rabbi Levi Yitzchak’s positive and redemptive “vision” of Shabbat Chazon which stands in marked contrast to the vision of destruction found in the haftorah?  Which vision are we supposed to see?  

Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the late Lubavitcher Rebbe, explains this “vision thing” in a most creative way.  (See The Chasidic Dimension, volume 4 based on Likkutei Sichos, Vol. XXIX, pp. 11-17.)  He weaves together Jewish law, Midrash, and mysticism to provide a glimpse into what we should see.

Jewish law states (Rambam Hilchot Beit HaBechirah 1:17) that it is forbidden to demolish even a small section of the Beit HaMikdash in a destructive manner.  It is certainly forbidden to destroy the entire Beit HaMikdash. (See Rambam – Sefer Ha-Mitzvot - Negative Commandment #65.)

According to the Midrash (Shemot Rabbah 30:9), God is bound, as it were, by the same commandments that He gave the Jewish people.

לפי שאין מדותיו של הקב"ה כמדת בשר ודם,מדת ב"ו מורה לאחרים לעשו' והוא אינו עושה כלום והקב"ה אינו כן אלא מה שהוא עושה הוא אומר לישראל לעשות ולשמור

God’s ways are different than those of flesh and blood.  Human beings instruct others to do something but don’t do it themselves. God is not like this. Rather, God does what He tells the Jews they must do.

Accordingly, how could God violate Jewish law and permit the destruction of the Beit HaMikdash?

Halakhah (Kesef Mishna, Beit Habechira 1:17) provides only one exception that permits destroying the Mikdash – or a shul for that matter.  One may only damage and destroy when the purpose is to rectify and repair the structure and to rebuild it in the same place.  Accordingly, the only justification for the destruction of the Beit HaMikdash is in order to replace it with an even more splendid structure.  Thus we find the Midrash states (Yalkut Shimoni, Yirmiyahu #259) that the destruction of the Beit HaMikdash was conditional on God rebuilding it.  In fact, the Mordechai, a leading 13^th century rabbinic scholar, writes (beginning of the 4^th chapter of Masechet Megillah):

דההיא נתיצה בנין מיקרי

When damaging or destroying the Mikdash in a permissible fashion, the very act of destruction is, in fact, classified as building.

This leads to an astounding conclusion regarding the destruction of the Temples and the difficulties and tragedies in Jewish history which followed.  According to Rabbi Schneerson’s approach, the destruction of the second Temple is part of the construction of the third Temple.  When we pray for the rebuilding of the Beit HaMikdash at the end of the amida prayer three times a day, we are not praying for a process to begin at some point in the future.  We are praying for the completion of a process that has already begun.  The destruction is part of the rebuilding process.  The exile is part of the redemption. 

This idea can help us understand Rabbi Levi Yitzchak’s enigmatic description of the vision of Shabbat Chazon.  Glimpsing Isaiah’s vision of destruction is not contradictory to a vision of the third Temple.  Just as the Talmud teaches that Moshiach was born on Tisha B’Av, we can glimpse redemption even as we encounter pain, hatred, and exile before our eyes.  Shabbat Chazon is the time to catch a glimpse of the Third Temple – of the geulah even as we are very much anchored in the galut.  It is a time to realize that the destruction and hardships throughout history and today are paving the way for a glorious future.

Each of us has had a fair share of difficulty these past few months.  This year, in particular, gives us a new way to look at the Three Weeks, Nine Days, Shabbat Chazon, and Tisha B’Av.  We are immersed in the narrow straits of a terrible plague.  Nevertheless, we must still strive for a glimpse of the healing and a return to normal.  

What do we see?  It is not enough to only look at the here and now.

           

What should we also see?  In the spirit of Rabbi Levi Yitzchak and the Lubavitcher Rebbe, we should take notice of the possibilities.  Think of the positive things we see – the heroes fighting the pandemic, the chesed that is being performed, our ability to manage and thrive.

Rabbi Kalonymous Kalman Shapira, the Piasetzner Rebbe, was Rebbe of the Warsaw Ghetto.  His sermons and teachings from that period were collected in the book Aish Kodesh.  The last entry in that book is from Shabbat Chazon 1944. In that drasha, Rav Shapira explains that Isaiah received a chazon, a vision, because the Jewish people had lost their vision.  He wrote: “We lost the vision of our true goals in life, and we lost our sight of the truth.”

 בְּאֵין חָזוֹן יִפָּרַע עָם           

             

King Solomon stated, “Without vision, the people will perish.” (Mishlei 29:18)

We cannot ignore the Temple’s destruction as we persevere through the difficulties and pain that are right in front of us.  At the same time, we have a chance to seek a glimpse of the Third Temple and for those sparks of light and redemption that exist all around us.

On Shabbat Chazon, through the vision of destruction, we can actually create a vision of the redemption. We hope it arrives soon and commit ourselves to act in ways that will make it a reality.

Life, the Universe and Everything

It is not really as complicated as it seems.  The answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe, and Everything is, in fact, quite simple. 

It is 42.

This is familiar to fans of The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy created by Douglas Adams.  Originally a radio comedy broadcast on BBC in 1978, it gradually became an international multi-media phenomenon.  It was later adapted to other formats including a "trilogy" of five books, a  TV series, a computer game, a feature film, and two series of towels.

42 is also the same number of masa’ot, journeys, the Jews traversed during their 40 years in the desert.  While I do not know whether Douglas Adams knew of this connection or not, the 42 stops along the Israelite journey do prompt a search for meaning.  What exactly is the travelogue needed for?

The classic mefarshim, commentators, suggest various approaches.  Rabbi Moshe Ha-Darshan explains that recounting the travels in the desert is meant to evoke gratitude towards God for His many kindnesses throughout the journey.  The Rambam sees the masa’ot as an opportunity to reinforce faith.  The miracles of the desert can be verified and evaluated since we know the locations in which they happened.  Ramban views the enumerations of the locations more mystically.  They represent various elements of the human spiritual condition and religious development.

While the masa’ot may not actually answer the ultimate question to our full satisfaction, they do represent three meaningful insights as we travel down the road of life.

1.  It is important to remember where we have been.  

To this day, I have strong memories from visiting my grandparents’ home.  To this day, I remember the smell: the slight odor of cigarette smoke (my grandmother smoked for 40 years before quitting cold turkey) combined with bath soaps and laundry detergent.  I can also vividly picture the furniture: the three piece coffee table, the dining room chairs with a floral design on the seats, a large TV that she has had for at least 25 years, and an ancient top-loading VCR.  I recall Shabbat meals that featured chocolate mousse for dessert and my grandmother would clean up using a crumb sweeper; the annual screening of Annie and Superman II; and looking for my father’s “missing” Mickey Mantle rookie card that he swore would be found in the basement unless it had been thrown out.

Most of us can recall some past event that makes us happy.  Researchers at Loyola University have confirmed what many of us have found to be true for ourselves: A stroll down memory lane can give our spirits a significant lift.  According to psychologist Fred Bryant, most people spontaneously reminisce when they're alone or feeling down - or both - which suggests that we reach for pleasant memories as an antidote to feeling blue.  Thinking of good memories for just 20 minutes a day can make people more cheerful than they were the week before, and happier than if they think of their current lives. Since memories often star important people in our lives, they may give us a comforting sense of belonging.

Vayis’u…va’yachanu – The Torah provides a stroll down memory lane.  

2.  It is important to appreciate the specifics of the journey as much as the destination.

The Torah is not succinct in its presentation of the travelogue even thought i could very well have condensed the masa’ot narrative.  Each location is mentioned twice.  “Vayis’u mi’yam suf, va-yachanu b’midbar tzin.  Vayis’u mi’midbar tzin, va’yachanu b’dafkah.”  It is crucially important to know each step of the journey in addition to just the destination. Nowadays, people are much less connected with where they are and much more focused on where they are going.  Canadian psychologist Colin Ellard has written a book entitled You are Here: Why We Can Find Our Way to the Moon but Get Lost in the Mall.  It describes how people today sacrifice their deep connection with physical space in exchange for a more diffused existence.  In a way, destinations have become much more important than the journey to get there.

A telling example of this attitude is how we rely so extensively on devices for directions.  From Google Maps to GPS devices, we worry so much about getting there that we ignore how we get there.  Sometimes at our own peril.  Several years ago, a British driver was found guilty of what they call in the U.K. “driving without due care and attention.”  The driver followed the orders of the soothing voice of his GPS…as he drove down a narrow, unpaved, cliff-side lane and became stuck at the edge of a 100 foot drop.  As the prosecutor noted, “[The driver] slavishly continued to follow the satnav system…to such a degree he was not exercising proper control of the vehicle.”

This is a real-life example of the dangers of overly focusing on the destination.  The Torah’s response to such an approach is 42, the detailed delineation of each start and stop of the journey. Each one of them is significant, and each stage in our lives is important in helping us reach our destination, our goal and purpose.

3.   It is important to create experiences and not just let them happen.

The Torah states that Moshe recorded the Jewish journey as, “motza’eihem l’ maseihem.”  Literally, this translates as “their experiences according to their journeys.”  The Torah then delineates the stops along the journey, “maseihem l’motza’eihem, their journeys according to their experiences.”  What is going on here? Are the journeys listed according to their experiences or were the experiences listed according to the journeys?

The Toldos Aharon Rebbe explains that Moshe wrote their experiences according to their journeys.  He wrote the various events, traumatic and otherwise, that occurred as a result of the journeys. After all, as a result of their journeys certain events occurred.  To our human eye that is what happens in life.  We go places.  We do things.  Events occur.  But the Torah itself announces these journeys with a twist.  It does not precede the events saying this is what happened as a result of the journeys.  Just the opposite!  It tells us “These are the journeys according to the experiences.”  The journeys were secondary to the experiences; the journeys were listed according to the experiences.

The Rebbe gives an analogy to reinforce the lesson.  It is one thing to graciously thank God by making a fervent blessing over an apple.  If we are to have a more robust religious outlook, however, we should go out and search for the apple to then make a blessing on.  Similarly, in life, we need to seek out experiences and create opportunities that will make our lives more fulfilling. Do we bless to eat or do we eat to bless?  Do we mark our experiences according to where we travel, or do we mark our travels according to where we have had our experiences?  The lesson of the masa’ot is, in effect, to create and seek out meaningful opportunities that will form the travelogue of our life’s experience.

The 42 stages of the journey delineated in great detail afford us an opportunity to reminisce about the past, to focus on where exactly we are in the present, and to seek out the opportunities that will have a formative impact on our lives in the future.  It is no coincidence that we read of these journeys during the Three Weeks, a period that reopens old wounds and painful memories.  It is the collective journey of the Jewish people that shapes who we are and how we will ensure our survival.

While 42 may not satisfactorily provide the meaning to life, the universe, and everything throughout the galaxy, it does give us a framework and perspective in our own individual, national, and communal voyages.

Travel safe!

What a Country!

 

“I absolutely and entirely renounce my US nationality together with all rights and privileges and all duties and allegiances and fidelity thereunto pertaining…”

This is the declaration one makes when renouncing one’s US citizenship.

Why would anyone do such a thing?  (No matter how bad the news gets.)

One is not allowed to be a US citizen if they serve as an official representative of a foreign country – like ambassador or consular officer.  I learned this from the opening chapter of Michael Oren’s Ally as he described the emotional process of giving up his citizenship to become Israel’s ambassador to the United States.

When do we feel most patriotic?  At which moments do we feel a special connection to America?

I always got a little lump in my throat when watching the changing of the guard ceremony at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Arlington National Cemetery.  What are your patriotic moments?

As we celebrate July 4, it is appropriate to reflect on the greatness, the glory, and even the religious significance of America and the Jewish experience in this country.  Especially with all that seems to be going wrong around us, we can use a nice dose of mom and apple pie.

Not all Jews have seen America so positively.

When Jonathan Sarna first became interested in American Jewish History more than 30 years ago, he mentioned his interest to a Torah scholar at a distinguished rabbinical seminary, who was appalled and responded:

“I’ll tell you what you need to know about American Jewish History: the Jews came to America, they abandoned their faith, they began to live like goyim, and after a generation or two they intermarried and disappeared.  That is American Jewish history; all the rest is commentary.  Don’t waste your time.  Study Talmud.”

Thankfully, Sarna did not take the advice, and we are all the wiser for it.

The rabbi did have a point, though.  American has not always been an ideal place for Jews or Judaism.  From the very first Jews to arrive in this land, we have faced ups and downs,

Simon Pietersen was a merchant from Amsterdam, who reached these shores in 1654, even before the first group of Jewish refugees came from Recife.  In 1656, he became the first known Jew on American soil to marry a Christian.

At the same time, there were some early proud, observant Jews who rose to prominence.

Asser Levy, originally from Vilna, arrived in New Amsterdam in 1654.  At the time, Jews were not allowed to serve on guard duty in which all able-bodied males participated.  Instead, Jews had to pay a tax.  Levy protested and won.  He later fought for Jewish citizenship rights.  Levy was a traditional and proud Jew, and, based on the inventory of his estate, historians say he resolutely observed Shabbat and kashrut.

America provided two very different paths for Jews to follow and facilitated two very different Jewish identities.  On the one hand, America was referred to as the goldene medina.  It was the land of opportunity for Jews living in oppressive lands with limited freedom.  On the other hand, American earned the reputation of being the treife medina, the impure country.  It was a place where tradition and observance were easily discarded in pursuit of the American dream.

In reality, America is both.  The freedom of America enables assimilation, but it also allows for a strong Jewish community and religion to flourish for those who choose.  America is both the treife medina and the goldene medina.

Is this good for the Jews?  Is it a blessing or a curse?  There is an old Buddhist parable that can shed light on the question.

A man once lost his horse, and all his friends said, “That’s bad.”  To which the man replied, “Maybe.”

The very next day, his horse rode back into the village together with a wild horse it had befriended while away.  Now, the man had two horses.  All his friends said, “That’s good.”  The man replied, “Maybe.”

The man’s son tried to ride the wild horse, but the horse was not used to being ridden and threw off the rider, breaking the son’s leg.  All his friends said, “That’s bad.”  The man only replied, “Maybe.”

The next day, an army recruiter came to town and took away all the able-bodied young men to fight in the war far away from home.  But when he saw the boy with the broken leg, he let him be.  “That’s good,” said the friends.  The man had the same answer: “Maybe.”

Is America a blessing or a curse?

Maybe.

It depends on the perspective we take and the choices we make.  Will we take advantage of America’s freedom, prosperity, and opportunity to cultivate a golden Judaism and be a beacon of light and hope for all?  Or will America be more of a treife medina of squandered opportunity?

During times of pandemic, economic and racial turmoil, partisanship, polarization, and uncertainty (am I leaving anything out?), it is easy to focus on the negative.  We can settle back into our set opinions about the direction of the world and who is right and who is wrong.  Or we can try and recapture the potential and promise of July 4, 1776.  That date (like Israel’s Independence Day) did not solve all the problems.  It was a beginning.  It was the first tenuous step towards the establishment of the greatest country on earth.  Fulfilling our promise only comes from the ability to persevere and remain positive about the future.

What was 14 year-old Moshe Sofer, later known as the Chatam Sofer, doing on July 4, 1776?  How did the Vilna Gaon, then 56, react to the “dawn’s early light” on that first 4^th of July?

They were fasting.  It was the 17^th of Tammuz.

On the 17^th of Tammuz and during the Three Weeks culminating with Tisha B’Av, we commemorate the tragedies of the Jewish people.  Throughout the liturgy of this period, we invoke the hope and prayer that tragedy and challenge should turn into joy and blessing.

Challenges are challenging.  They need not defeat us.  America in 2020 is still a glorious place.  We need to see through the coronavirus, the injustice, the protests, the violence, and the illegal fireworks to see that.

Rabbi Avigdor Miller, the late revered Brooklyn rabbi and yeshiva head, once described his feelings about America.  He said:

“We Jews came from countries where we were persecuted, and this country gave us all these rights…[W]e should kiss the ground of America.  It’s a gift from Hashem.”

It really is.

We live in complex and challenging times.  (When don’t we?)  While we try and make sense of the craziness around us and find a way to remain optimistic and make things better – even in small ways.  Let’s always remember the gift that is America.

God bless the USA!