Living with Lavan

 

עִם־לָבָן גַּרְתִּי – I lived with Lavan (Bereishit 32:5) 

Yaakov, looking to settle down after 22 years away, sends emissaries out to find out what is going on with Esav. Among the messages and gestures, he instructs the envoys to deliver a message of “I was living with Lavan.” What does this tell Esav? What does this teach us?

One explanation quoted by Rashi put the emphasis on the word “garti,” which has the root of stranger or temporary resident. Yaakov wants Esav to know that, despite all his wealth and success, he has not achieved a sense of permanence and stability. “Don’t be mad that I received blessings. I still have plenty to worry about. I am on the move, a resident of nowhere, and still seeking my final destination.” For us, Yaakov’s declaration is a reminder that nothing is ever “permanent.” As the Mishnah teaches in Pirkei Avot, “This world is a gateway to the next, which is the main event.”

Another explanation (see the Tur Ha-Aroch) understands the declaration as an expression of accomplishment. Yaakov is saying, “Don’t think that my working for Lavan has kept me down. I overcame everything he threw at me, and nothing – not even you, Esav – can stop me!” For us, Yaakov expresses the importance of being proud of what we accomplish. There may always be more to do but stop and smell the roses and appreciate each and every victory no matter how small or large. 

A third view breaks down the word ”garti” into its component letters – ג, ר, י, ת – and notes the gematriya (numerical values) is 613. Yaakov is telling Esav, “I spent years living among the wicked, but I still observed all 613 mitzvot. I have not been spiritually diminished by my time with Lavan. You cannot harm me because God will protect me.” Now, this interpretation opens up a whole can of worms. What mitzvot did Yaakov keep? Was Yaakov even Jewish? Even without fully exploring these issues, this approach conveys to us the value of observance. As Jews, we have responsibilities, and we should never let anything, anyone, or anywhere stop us from doing the best we possibly can.

Each of these explanations is an example of trying to make sure Esav understands that Yaakov is not to be trifled with. No matter how angry Esav is, watch out as Yaakov is ready, fortified by his experience with Lavan.

I think there is another way to look at Yaakov’s declaration. “Im Lavan garti,” I spent time with Lavan. After 22 years living in a strange place, different that what I was used to – and even hostile to my ideals and values, I can live with anyone – even you, Esav. Yaakov is the patriarch of confrontation and synthesis. In Kabbalah, Yaakov is described as Tiferet (splendor) because he represents the ability to take the best from all sides and shine brightly. It’s not “and” or “or;” it’s “with.” Yaakov confronts Lavan, Esav, a complicated family dynamic, exile, and more. He is hobbled by these confrontations, and, at the same time, transformed and elevated to new heights by them. This ability all started by his being able to “live with Lavan.”

We may not live with Lavan, but we all live with other people, ideas, situations, and so much more. Like Yaakov, it is our ability to live with that will strengthen us, persevere, succeed, and shine.

The Voice vs. the Hands

“Hakol kol Yaakov v’hayadaim yedei Esav – The voice is the voice of Jacob but the hands are the hands of Esau.” (Bereishit 27:22)

We all know the story. Yaakov dresses like Esav to receive Yitzchak’s blessing. Yitzchak, however, remains skeptical and feels to confirm that the one before him is Esav. In the end, sounds like Yaakov and feels like Esav, so Yitzchak gives Yaakov the blessing.

But why? If the person sounded like Yaakov, why shouldn’t Yitzchak assume it was Yaakov. Think about that old expression of “quacks like a duck.” Why dismiss the voice and follow the hands?

A number of answers are given. The Beit Halevi writes that sounding like Yaakov was a necessary part of the ruse. Esav suspected all along that Yaakov might take his blessing. He, therefore, told Yitzchak that he should only give the blessing to someone who spoke like Yaakov. Esav figured Yaakov would try to appear and sound like Esav to get the blessing, so he warned Yitzchak NOT to bless anyone who sounded like Esav and to only bless someone who sounded like Yaakov. Accordingly, it was a GOOD thing for Yaakov to sound like Yaakov to accurately present himself as Esav. If he didn’t (and pretended to sound like Esav), he WOULDN’T have received the blessing.

Talk about a conspiracy theory…

The Vilna Gaon highlights another aspect of the voice which Yaakov used, which led Yitzchak to bless based on the feeling of the hands instead of the voice. The verse reads: 

הַקֹּל קוֹל יַעֲקֹב וְהַיָּדַיִם יְדֵי עֵשָׂו׃

Notice how the first “kol” is spelled without the letter vav, while the second “kol” is spelled with a vav. The first one is called a chaseir, it is missing a letter or incomplete, and the second one is maleh, in its full, complete form. The Vilna Gaon explains that the first kol is missing a letter since Yitzchak heard a voice that sounded a lot LIKE Yaakov, but it wasn’t FULLY Yaakov’s voice. Something was missing.

Yitzchak decided the person in front of him must be Esav because he felt EXACTLY like Esav. He didn’t follow the voice because, while it sounded LIKE Yaakov, there was something missing. Rabbi Ephraim Mirvis, Chief Rabbi of Britain, says what was missing was Yaakov’s authentic voice. Had Yaakov spoken wholeheartedly and full-throatedly like himself, Yitzchak would have heeded the voice. Instead, absent the clear and resounding voice of Yaakov, Yitzchak went with the hand.

What is our authentic voice? We should strive to always speak from the heart and mean what we say. We should also try to take our words more seriously. Today, people throw around words without fully considering the repercussions. Whether it be in politics or religion, words like “enemy” or “dog” are used to describe those who hold opposing views. Some of it is the rough and tumble nature of fighting for our opinions, but it can go too far. If we want to speak with an authentic voice, we need to be more careful, honest, and genuine in what we say.

Yesterday, Israeli President Isaac Herzog condemned the incendiary language that has recently dominated politics and said the word “traitor” should be erased from the political discourse. Speaking on the anniversary of the assassination of Yitzchak Rabin, he said:

“I am shocked by the thought that today, November 4 — a date on which we learned where words can lead — I need to stand here and say again: the word ‘traitor’ must be struck out of the political discourse, and everywhere…Coalition and opposition, left and right. Accusations of treason imperil our democracy.”

Sure, there are traitors out there. But is everyone on the opposing side automatically a traitor? I think we live in a world in which, too quickly or flippantly, the answer is yes. It shouldn’t be that way. What Herzog proposed for the word “traitor” has parallels in other realms as well.

If we want to be heard, if we want to be known for our voices, then we need to try and ensure our voices – our kol – be full and authentic.

Turning Shlepping into Holiness

“You bring one chair, you’re a shlepper. Bring two chairs, it’s a holy act of kindness.”

This quote is attributed to Rabbi Shraga Feivel Mendlowitz, a trailblazing educator in the first half of the 20^th century and founder of Torah U'Mesorah. It captures the important lesson that each person needs to do some “heavy lifting” (literally and figuratively) when it comes to things that matter.

Avraham modeled this for us. Avraham saw people approach, and he ran to greet the guests. He ran to his flock and selected the sheep to prepare. Avraham served the food himself. Carrying, running, lifting, or serving is not shlepping if it is for the sake of others.

I grew up in a small shul in which it was expected that everyone had to do something for the shul to function. My experiences included leading Adon Olam, rolling Torahs and changing Torah covers, setting up Kiddush and bringing leftovers back to the kitchen to salvage what could be used again later, putting out the Machzorim, and checking and cleaning the pews. Maybe it was good practice for my chosen career!

Through these actions, I learned the important lesson to appreciate the unique and irreplaceable contributions that one can make and then do it for your shul, your community, and your world. If you don’t do it, it just won’t get done. Now, times and expectations have changed. Some activities have been turned over to professionals, and people have new and different ways to contribute and volunteer. At the same time, there is something holy in physically doing what needs to be done.

“Ma’aseh avot siman la’banim – The actions of the parents guide the children.” Avraham – like all of our patriarchs and matriarchs – teaches us many lessons. He was willing to get his hands dirty and do what needed to be done to serve others. What can each of us physically do that may be out of our comfort zones for the benefit of our families, shul, community, or others? Don’t look at it as a burden. It’s not shlepping’ it’s holy.

The Weekly Phronesis: It’s Not Good to be Alone

Are you familiar with the word “phronesis?” It’s an ancient Greek term that translates into English as practical value or practical wisdom. It’s a type of knowledge relevant to practical action. We look to the Torah for wisdom and inspiration. We are also on the lookout for action. In the coming year, I hope to share some weekly phronesis. Each week, we’ll look at one phrase from the parsha, analyze its relevance, and find ways for it to be a catalyst for action. 

 

“It is not good for humans to be alone.” (Bereishit 2:18) 

We all know what comes next. Adam needs a partner, Chava is created, and, while they don’t live happily ever after, we learn about the essential need for companionship, family, and continuity. Human beings are meant to forge relationships. 

 

This verse teaches us two important lessons:

 

1. Loneliness is part of the human condition.
2. There are important steps to be taken to combat loneliness.

 

Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik put it best in Lonely Man of Faith (pp. 4-5):

“I am lonely because, in my humble, inadequate way, I am a man of faith for whom to be means to believe…Apparently, in this role as a man of faith, I must experience a sense of loneliness which is of a compound nature.”

 

The Rav describes having friends and family, yet still feeling lonely. It is an existential loneliness, a realization that we need to strive to move beyond our current condition. There is always a deeper level of faith or knowledge to explore. There is always a role we can play in relation to others. We are lonely. That is a fact, yet it is one that can be mitigated or even transcended. 

 

Loneliness may be our default setting, but there are things we can do with out loneliness. The Torah describes a relationship and family as one model of the solution. Companionship, family, progeny, and continuity all add layers onto a person’s solitary existence. There is, however, no one size fits all formula out of loneliness. Each person will need to navigate their own path out of loneliness.

 

Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the late Lubavitcher Rebbe, wrote a letter to a young person who complained of feeling lonely while studying away from home. The Rebbe encouraged the student to take the bull by the horns and to proactively seek out friends. He invoked the teaching of Yehoshua ben Perachiah (Avot 1:6) to “acquire a friend.” One might find companionship without effort, but, when one feels lonely, get out there and connect with someone else. 

It is not good to be alone. At the same time, our loneliness may be the characteristic that motivates us to be more than we currently are. If we don’t have someone to connect to, create the opportunity to connect with others. Call a friend you haven’t spoken to in a while. Reach out to a shul member you don’t know. Volunteer with an organization that matches people with those who can use a call or visit. Our awareness that loneliness exists coupled with the commitment to ease it for ourselves and others is exactly how we fulfill our role in creation. 

Reruns, Syndication & Psalm 27

 

Who remembers television reruns? Once upon a time, there would be a season finale episode, and then you’d have to wait till the fall for new episodes. Now? There are spring premieres, summer series, and numerous streaming choices. How about syndication? These days, you can find almost anything and everything if you look hard enough. They may not have been good originally, but you can still watch them endlessly.

What good comes out of repetition?

In a recent article, author Elliott Holt describes a practice he learned from a friend in which he reads to same poem each day for a month. He writes:

“As a writer, I’m always trying to rekindle that feeling, of connecting to words through their sounds, not just their meanings. So I read poetry every day, and my reading takes a particular form: On the first day of every month, I pick a poem, and then I read that poem every day that month…Repetition led to revelation: Every day, I noticed new things in the text. By the end of the month, I knew the poem by heart…Revisiting the same poem every day is the antithesis of the attention economy; instead of scrolling along the surface, I’m diving deep beneath it.”

Judaism believes in the power and value of chazarah, repetition. The Talmud (Chagigah 9b) states: “Hillel taught: one who reviews one’s study 100 times is not comparable to one who reviews one’s study 101 times.” I always thought this sounds extreme. Reviewing something 100 times and 101 is somehow better?!?

Holt writes: “Repetition led to revelation…When you reread the same poem over and over again, you stop scrolling along the surface and dive deep beneath it.” Repetition is about more than quantity. Repetition helps elevate the quality.

Here, we come to Psalm 27 – “L’David Hashem Ori – A Psalm of David: God is my light.” (See the full text HERE.) We will recite this Psalm over 100 times during the High Holiday season, from Elul through Sukkot. That’s a lot of repetition. It’s also a lot of articulation of how God provides light and salvation so why should we fear? We state over 100 times of how desperately we want to experience God’s embrace. We invoke the beauty and protection of the sukkah, the role of song, and the power of hope. Reciting Psalm 27 is more than a repetitive liturgical insertion; it is a spiritual elevation.

In KJ, Rabbi Lookstein would present the “Psalm 27 Challenge.” On Hoshana Rabba, he invited all the young people to come forward and recite L’David Hashem Ori by heart. Those who could, would receive $5. Now, it wasn’t all that popular in my time at KJ. (Today’s young people may need more of an incentive.) Maybe the reward is in the repetition. Maybe the more real “Psalm 27 Challenge” is in how we respond to 100 reruns of the liturgy this season. What can we find when dig beneath the surface?

לוּלֵא הֶאֱמַנְתִּי לִרְאוֹת בְּטוּב ה' בְּאֶרֶץ חַיִּים׃ קַוֵּה אֶל ה' חֲזַק וְיַאֲמֵץ לִבֶּךָ וְקַוֵּה אֶל ה'׃

Had I not believed in seeing the good of the Lord in the land of the living! Hope for the Lord, be strong and He will give your heart courage, and hope for the Lord.

Avraham Carmi as Our Guide Through the Yom's

It is very hard to fully internalize the power and significance of the 7 days that include Yom HaShoah, Yom HaZikaron, and Yom HaAtzmaut.

I feel such a whirlwind of emotion as we remember the greatest evil and hatred we have known, and commit to carry forward the legacy of those murdered during the Holocaust. It is a day of sadness, resolve, and even anger. Then, a few days later we are celebrating the greatest miracle in our time – Medinat Yisrael. In just three years, the Jewish people rose from the ashes! Celebrating Israel’s independence combines two very different elements – memory and celebration. First is Yom HaZikaron, on which we remember those who were killed making the State of Israel policy. Then, we rejoice in the existence of Israel. The two days, contradictory in tone, are marked side by side to remind us of the price of the freedom that they celebrate each year.

As amazing as it is for us to celebrate this week on the Jewish calendar, I can only imagine what it was like to live through this period in history and, even more so, to live through both the Shoah and the establishment of the State of Israel.

Avraham Carmi did.

Carmi was born in Poland in 1929. When World War Two broke out, he and his mother fled their hometown for Warsaw. They stayed with his uncle, the manager of a Warsaw Jewish cemetery. They remained in his flat at the cemetery for three years, and then spent a month hiding inside a dug grave.

Avraham and his mother subsequently spent seven months hiding in basements and underground bunkers in the ghetto, until in April 1943, at the height of the Warsaw Ghetto Uprising, soldiers discovered them and took them to Treblinka and shortly thereafter to the Budzyn labor camp in Eastern Poland. There, they were separated – never to see each other again.

In Budzyn, Avraham worked as a slave laborer in an airplane factory. The factory was managed by Poles, and one day - out of the blue - a foreman approached him and said he wanted to "do something" for Carmi. With a boldness that still bemused him years later, he asked the foreman to go to the Jewish cemetery in Warsaw and retrieve his mother's jewelry, which she had buried there. The foreman did it. Avraham used the jewelry as currency to keep himself alive until the end of the war. (It turns out that the Polish foreman was actually a Jew, who looked Aryan enough to pass as a non-Jew to survive the war. The two reunited in Israel in the 1960s.)

After the war, Avraham took the circuitous journey through Europe and then a British detention camp for illegal immigrants to Palestine. He arrived in time to fight in Israel’s War of Independence. He was captured and spent 11 months in a Jordanian prison camp. Following the war, Avraham became a teacher and then an inspector for Israel’s teacher training colleges. (See HERE for more about this special individual.)

Avraham Carmi’s story is an inspiration and a challenge. In his lifetime, he and so many others have experienced mei’avdut l’cheirut, from slavery to freedom. They went from the lowest depths of horror, in which they had no control whatsoever, to rise from the ashes to seize the day and literally bring about redemption with their own hands.

What about us? Obviously, we need to learn, know, and tell the stories of those who traversed the road from Holocaust to a Jewish State. For me, the lives of those like Avraham Carmi help me appreciate where we have been as a people these last 100 years and to resolve to rise to the challenge to do what it takes to ensure we thrive as a Jewish nation far into the future.

P.S. See HERE for my class on “How Should We Celebrate Yom Ha’Atzmaut?” with sources HERE.

 

One Year Later; Our Vayakhel Moment

 

 

What were you doing one year ago?

There is no way to briefly sum up the events of the last year, so I won’t even try.  Dayeinu.  It is enough to say that the past year has been full of change, pain, and frustration along with incredible displays of heroism, commitment, resilience, and Zoom.

When looking back, I remember exactly the steps I was taking in adjusting to a closed shul, cancelled programs, and wondering where I would buy food for Pesach.  Naama and I bought whatever Kosher meat Fairway was selling – including a whole turkey and a couple of huge briskets.

Fast forward to today, and we are moving forward.  More people are being vaccinated, and there is a sense that, please God, our next major task will be to plan how to reopen and bring people back together again.

It is a vayakhel moment.

“Vayakhel Moshe – Moses convened…” (Shemot 35:1)  As the Mishkan project is completed, Moshe summons all the people together.  This is an usual activity for Moshe.  Usually, Moshe speaks or he teaches.  What’s with the bringing together the entire people at this time?  Some suggest that the completion of the Mishkan warrants such an audience.  Another approach is that this assembly will also introduce some of the major laws of Shabbat.  That, too, is worth bringing everyone together.

Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein explains that Moshe and the Jews needed a moment to come together at this time.  For Moshe, he has just witnessed people worshipping the Golden Calf.  Were these God’s chosen people?  He must have been disappointed and disillusioned.  For the people, they felt as if they had almost lost Moshe, who was “late” coming down from the mountain.  Imagine their state of mind, having gone from slaves to Sinai in the blink of an eye.  Moshe was their support, and he seemed to be abandoning them. 

This was a critical time for “Vayakhel Moshe,” for Moshe to bring everyone together.  There is still plenty of pain, mistrust, and uncertainty, but let’s come together, see each other, hug it out.

We stand at a “vayakhel” moment.

Over the past year, we have been through a lot.  We’ve, thank God, also accomplished a lot.  Now is the time to announce that we will be coming back together.  It will still take time.  It won’t be the same.  We’ve been through so much - individually and collectively - that it shouldn’t be the same. For now, just making the announcement, just our willingness and readiness to come back together, is a terrific step in the right direction.

Thoughts on the Inauguration

Did you watch the inauguration?

There are certain “American moments” which impress me and engender a certain patriotic reverence. One is the changing of the guard at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Arlington National Cemetery. The precise solemnity accompanied by the haunting sound of Taps sends chills up my spine.

Inauguration Day is another inspiring American moment. I love those opening bars of “Hail the Chief.” It is a great day for America. Even as we still digest the horrifying events of the January 6 invasion of the Capitol, the inauguration of President Biden and Vice President Harris is a celebratory moment in our nation’s history and a testament to our democracy. Regardless of who you voted for, each of us should thank God for America and her many blessings for our people, all Americans, and all humanity.

What lays ahead?

I am not going to try and predict the next four years in a brief message. It would be nice to try and move forward with less acrimony more interaction. This, by no means, means we should all agree. It does mean, though, that we need to talk.

In his inaugural address, President Biden said, “Politics doesn’t have to be a raging fire, destroying everything in its path. Every disagreement doesn’t have to be a cause for total war.”

I think Republicans and Democrats can both agree with this sentiment.

At the same time, as Rich Lowry noted, unity is a loft yet highly unlikely goal. When Biden was walking the final leg of the inaugural parade route, a couple of CNN journalists shouted out, “President Biden, can you unite the country?” He didn’t answer. Lowry suggests that Biden should have replied, “Actually, probably not.” Unity is a great aspiration, but it is not reality.

This week, I inaugurated a series on The Literary Legacy of Rabbi Jonathan Sacks. (You can watch the session HERE.) I discussed The Dignity of Difference, in which Rabbi Sacks addresses the issue of how religion, which divides people of different faiths, must still play a critical role in bettering society and bringing people closer together. How can this work?
 

How do we live with moral difference and yet sustain an overarching community? The answer, I have already suggested, is conversation – not mere debate but the disciplined act of communication (making my views intelligible to someone who does not share them) and listening (entering into the inner world of someone whose views are opposed to my own)…That is how public morality is constructed in a plural society – not by a single dominant voice, nor by the relegation of moral issues to the private domain of home and local congregation, but by a sustained act of understanding and seeking to be understood across the boundaries of difference. (Page 83)

If we cannot achieve unity, let’s, at least, have a conversation.

Speaking with one another is not about winning the argument. As my friend Tal Becker wrote:
 

And we should engage in argument, not mainly in order to persuade, but in order to refine and broaden our understanding. This does not mean the argument should be any less rigorous, or that poorly reasoned positions should not be weeded out. It means that the objective of an argument is to learn and not to win. It is a pedagogical exercise, not a competitive one.

As we begin a new chapter in our American story, I know there will continue to be heated disagreements. Instead of trying to convince each other who is correct, let’s commit to a conversation as a vehicle to try and keep us closer together.