Listen to Your Heart

How much did the Mishkan (Tabernacle) cost to build? Gold, silver, copper, all sorts of colorful tapestries, craftsmanship.

While we cannot calculate it exactly, we do know the amount of each material used. That’s a start. Based on today’s prices, their current value is a little more than $42.2 million. The construction of the Mishkan was the first Jewish capital campaign in history. It was extraordinary successful. In the end, the nation raised too much money! (Halevai!)

Such a large campaign requires givers. A special type of giver. Not only givers of the of the head or hand but also of the heart.

”V’yikchu li terumah mei’et kol ish asher yidvenu libo tikechu et terumati – Take gifts for me. You shall take gifts for Me from everyone whose heart is moved.” (Shemot 25:2)

There was a mitzvah for all to give to the Mishkan project. It was, however, not an ordinary gift. Participating in the project was not meant to be a chore; it was a privilege. The Hebrew word “terumah” has the root of “rom,” which means elevated. Giving to the holy purpose was not lessening one’s net worth. Giving for a holy purpose is a net positive. In addition, the ideal is for people to want to give. “Yidvenu libo,” people’s hearts were to be generous. Don’t give begrudgingly while thinking how much it’s costing the bottom line. Be inspired to give because, at the heart of the matter, we gain by giving.

There is the act of giving and there is the heart of giving.

Why do people give?

Researchers have studied why people donate. The reasons for charitable giving fall into three broad categories. There is the “purely altruistic” – I donate because I value the social good done by the charity. The “impurely altruistic” – I donate because I extract value from knowing I contribute to the social good for the charity. And the “not-at-all altruistic,” I donate because I want to show off how rich I am.

We can understand giving. It makes sense. It is a response to a need. This is the giving of the hand, the act of giving. Then, there is terumah and nediv lev, generosity stemming from a heartful and soulful motivation to help others and elevate the world around us.

Researchers found that many people are aware that they should donate to the causes that have the highest impact, but facts and figures are less attractive than narratives. In a series of experiments, people were much more responsive to charitable pleas featuring a single, identifiable beneficiary than they were to statistical information about the scale of the problem being faced. Further analysis showed that advertising which emphasized the proven effectiveness of the charity does not increase giving.

In short, when it comes to charitable giving, we are often ruled by our hearts and not our heads.

The Mishkan, the first national Jewish project was a lesson in giving with the heart. We each give what we can. At the same time, we should try to give with empathy, sensitivity, passion, and heart. Such an approach turns our giving into much more than a donation. It’s an elevation.

Sometimes, people give almost exclusively with the heart. Rav Sholom Schwadron, the Maggid of Jerusalem, would tell the story (printed in The Maggid Speaks) of a Yerushalmi Jew by the name of Rav Yudel Holtzman.

He was a very poor man and had no children, but his heart would break for another man's troubles. He insisted the charity collectors always some his home. No matter how desperate his own plight might have been, he always found a way to help others in need.

One time, the neighborhood tailor, a very poor man himself, needed an operation. The considerable cost of sixty pounds was well beyond his means. The charity collector made his rounds on the tailor’s behalf and came to the home of Rav Yudel. As he explained the plight of the tailor, Rav Yudel sat dejected, constantly interjecting "how terrible, how awful. I wish so much that I could help but I really can't. You know how little money I have. All that I give comes from ma'aser (giving one tenth of one's earnings to charity).

“How then am I usually able to contribute? Being that there are so many people in need, I borrow against my future ma'aser account. Against money that I hope to earn. But now, what can I do? My policy is that I don't borrow against my ma'aser when I'm already a full year overdrawn against that account. I've already reached that point. I'm sorry. I feel so bad for him. All I can do is wish him a refuah sheleimah."

The charity collector understood fully and left Rav Yudel's home. He had walked only half a block when Rav Yudel came running after him. "Wait a minute! Wait a minute! Come back! Hashem has inspired me with a great idea!" Puzzled, he returned to Rav Yudel's home.

Rav Yudel began to speak excitedly. "I have a plan to enable me to help him. You go to one of the larger gemachs (interest free loan funds) in Yerushalayim and tell them to lend you twenty pounds in my name. I'll pay it back. You see, I realized that I spend half a shilling on wine for Kiddush every week. Jewish law permits Kiddush to be recited over challah on Friday night. If I make Kiddush on challah every Friday night, I'll have the extra money to repay the loan!"

For the next fifteen years, Rav Yudel made Kiddush over challah until the loan had been repaid.

One times, after telling the story, Rav Sholom was approached by a young man. "I'm Rav Yudel's nephew. I was at my uncle's house many times and it always seemed strange to me that he recited the Kiddush over challah. Now I know why.”

That is terumah and nediv lev, listening to and giving from the heart.

The Torah teaches a subtle yet substantial lesson when it comes to giving. We need to give from the heart. We don’t just give to fill a technical need. We don’t just give because it is a mitzvah. Ideally, we give because we feel the need ourselves and respond to it.

We are living in times when more listening to the heart is needed. With short attention spans and tempers, it is easy to see others in very utilitarian terms. “What do they want? What do they need? What does that have to do with me?” We need more lev, more generosity of spirit, more patience, and more listening to our hearts when engaging with others and seeking ways to elevate them and, by extension, ourselves.

We can pray for those who are ill or are suffering from difficult times.
We can give tzedakah.
We can learn Torah in someone’s memory or in the merit of better things to come.
We can increase our performance of mitzvot and acts of kindness.

May we find ways to give with our hands while always listening and responding with our hearts.

Standing Judaism & Sitting Judaism

To sit or to stand for the reading of the Ten Commandments?

The story is told of a congregation in which – surprise, surprise – there was a difference of opinion. When they read the Ten Commandments, half the congregants stood up while the other half remained seated. The half that was seated started yelling at those standing to sit down, and the ones standing yelled at the ones sitting to stand up.

The new rabbi was at a loss. Both views are found in the traditional sources, but a shul should have one minhag, practice. What to do? In consultation with representatives of both camps, he decided to consult with the oldest living congregant, 103 years young and a member for 80 years. While homebound for the last few years, he was still quite “with it” and received visitors at home. So the rabbi, a “stander,” and a “sitter” made their way to Mr. Gross, agreeing they would abide by his recollection of the synagogue custom.

When they arrived, one of those who stood during the Ten Commandments immediately declared, "Isn’t the minhag in shul to stand for the Commandments?” Mr. Gross answered, “No.”

The representative of the sitting camp jumped in, “See! I old you the custom is to sit!” Mr. Gross countered, “No, that’s not the custom.”

The rabbi, whose head is now spinning, tried to get a word in edgewise. “Mr. Gross, what is the custom of the shul: to stand or sit during the reading of the Ten Commandments? The shul is being torn apart arguing about this issue.”

Mr. Gross excitedly rose in his chair, "THAT is the tradition! We argue about it!"

We Jews are good at arguing, but the question is a good one: Should we stand or sit when the Ten Commandments are read from the Torah? I think the answer is really both.

The standard Ashkenazi practice is to stand for the Ten Commandments, while Sephardim sit. Rambam felt it in appropriate to stand for just one part of the Torah. Rabbi Moshe Feinstein defended the practice of standing as trying to recreate the drama of the Sinai experience. So, at the end of the day, some stand, some sit, and we all argue.

There is a deeper way to understand the difference between standing or sitting for the Ten Commandments.

The Talmud (Megillah 21a) discusses the topic of standing or sitting for Torah reading. In addressing the fact that Moshe sometimes stood and sometimes sat, Rava explains that Moshe studied easy material while standing and difficult material while sitting. What does one’s position have to do with the level of the material? Easy material can be internalized on the fly; difficult material needs more concentration.

We can apply this reasoning to the discussion of sitting or standing for the Ten Commandments. Are they easy or hard? Both. There are two aspects of Judasim.

In the aftermath of God presenting us with the commandments, the Jews are frightened and overwhelmed. Moshe tries to allay their fears. It will be alright because “God has come only in order l’nasot you.” (Shemot 20:17) What does l’nasot mean?

While the simple meaning is “to test,” Rashi translates the word as implying a sense of greatness. The root “neis” is used elsewhere in the Bible to mean a sign or banner. Moshe reassures the Jews that the Sinai experience is a credit the nation. The Ten Commandments represent success and a path to greatness. “The whole world will admire you for your newfound mission. Nothing can stop you now!”

Ramban says Rashi is “einenu nachon not correct.” Nasot is not a badge of honor. Sinai is, in fact, a test. It is where faith was forged and commandments were issued. How should they act the day after the divine revelation? What happens when God’s presence is not so clear? Moshe told them not to be afraid of these questions which have no answers. The Sinai experience is not replicable, the same level of revelation is not accessible, and the emotion of the moment is not sustainable. The Ten Commandments foreshadow a Jewish life of complexity.

According to Rashi, the Ten Commandments are “easy.” The fact that we have Torah and Mitzvot is a point of pride and inspiration. According to Ramban, the Ten Commandments are “hard.” Judaism is complicated. That’s the way it is intended to be.

In the Jewish community today, there are those who faithfully accept the Torah as is, and “just do it” no questions asked. This Rashi approach may appear simplistic, but it can be very satisfying to accept one’s Jewish mission with pride, like the banner of a champion. This type of Judaism can be accepted standing up as there is no need to exert energy to grapple with anything.

There are Jews who are more prone to ask questions and focus on a Judaism that seems to challenge the word they wish to live in. This path is fraught with risk as it may lead people to question past the point of observance without ready answers. We need to sit down to fully absorb the complexity of Judaism, seek answers, or just learn to live with questions.

The interplay between acceptance versus seeking meaning is a critical issue facing modern Jews.

Sometimes, I long for the simplicity and innocence of a Judaism I can stand for without any difficulty. At the same time, a Judaism which can force me to stop, sit, and grapple with unresolvable questions resonates as more authentic. Some “stand” and double down on observance and barrel forward without questioning or examining their faith. Others let the questions overwhelm to the point of remaking Judaism in their own image. What we need more of is the ability to “sit” with our Judaism and embrace faith while grappling with complexity. Asking the tough questions makes Judaism vibrant and attractive – even when the answers are hard to find or do not satisfy.

Do we stand or sit for the Ten Commandments? The real answer is both.

Today, we need to foster both the acceptance of the Torah as our Divinely commanded mission while wrestling with a meaningful Judaism that remains both true to tradition and relevant for the times. If it doesn’t sound easy, whoever said it would be?

What's the Deal with Bokser?

Monday is Tu B’Shvat, the 15^th of Shvat, and the New Year for Trees. Technically, the date is significant for determining the tithes of fruit trees. At the same time, the day is also imbued with deep spiritual and mystical meaning relating to trees, fruits, and the land of Israel. Nowadays, Tu B’Shvat is celebrated by partaking in the fruits of Israel, planting trees in Israel, appreciating and protecting nature, praying for a nice etrog, or doing nothing at all.

According to the Talmud, Tu B’Shvat marks the beginning of the transition from winter to spring. Considering that we’re looking at single-digit temperatures this weekend followed by a Monday high approaching 50, that sounds about right…

Who’s familiar with bokser (dried carob)?

My teenage daughters stared back at me glassy-eyed when I asked them the question, but I have vivid memories of bokser from my Day School days. Until recently, I think many students partook of this classic Ashkenazic Jewish “delicacy” to connect with the fruits of Israel on Tu B’Shvat. Capturing my experience exactly, one writer describes her Tu B’Shvat treats as “a baggie with a small box of Sun-Maid raisins, some almonds in their shells, and a piece of what looked like petrified wood, the mysterious-but-not-in-a-good-way bokser.” She tried to make the most of it and “pretended to think the bokser was a special treat. At first, I thought I was just missing something - that I didn’t understand how good it was, and I kept gnawing at it like a rodent, hoping to be enlightened to its appeal.” I think you get the idea.

Bokser joins the list of Jewish delicacies that, these days, we seem to be able to live without. Longtime staples like p’tcha, lungs, sweetbreads, and, for the younger generation, even gefilte fish! I think it would help us to understand the meaning and, yes, maybe even the continued relevance of bokser.

Back in the day, bokser was available to Jews living far from Israel. As anyone who’s tried it knows, it is indestructible! This meant that a Jew anywhere in the world could taste a food item with a tangible connection to Israel. Rabbi Berel Wein recalls:

“The bokser was hard as a rock and tasteless as wood. Yet I noticed that my parents, Jews of an earlier generation who were born before there was a State of Israel or a time when free and open worship was really allowed at the Western wall without Arab or government interference, ate their pieces of bokser slowly and with great affection. Only later in my life did I realize that eating that piece of bokser validated their hope and belief that the land of Israel would yet flourish and grow under Jewish sovereignty and that the vineyards and orchards of the land promised to us by our prophets would become abundant reality.”

Over the last 50 years, we have, thank God, witnessed Israel flourish. There are many fresher and tastier fruits we can enjoy year-round. Thanks to technology, we can connect to Israel on a daily basis, and we can travel there whenever we wish. It makes sense that bokser has fallen out of favor, and we enjoy other Tu B’Shvat fruits. At the same time, we shouldn’t give up on bokser. It connects us to the mindset and behavior of our ancestors, who could not connect to Israel as easily. It is helpful to remember there was a time when the closest we could come to Israel was bokser. Familiarity with bokser means appreciating the spiritual and emotional story of our connection to Israel. Our spiritual identities are built upon the awareness that Israel is a work in progress. Whatever issues we have today, at least, we have more than bokser!

Bokser is actually the perfect food for conveying such a complex message.

According to the Sages, carob is a soul super-food. The Talmud (Ta’anit 23a) tells us that the carob takes 70 years to mature and bear fruit. From bokser, we learn the importance of patiently investing in the future and being in it for the long haul. In an age when everyone wants immediate gratification, bokser reminds us that the fruits of our efforts will only be enjoyed by generations yet to come. In addition, carob appears in the Talmud (Ta’anit 24a, Shabbat 33b) as the miraculous food of Sages. Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson explains that bokser reminds us to recognize that God can and does perform miracles. (Maybe even bokser can taste good!)

I am not going to eat bokser this Tu B'Shvat. (Although if someone brings me some, I’ll partake for old times’ sake.) All of us, however, should appreciate the message of bokser: of maintaining that special love and spiritual connection for Israel, of patience and confidence that our efforts will ultimately pay off, and of God’s role in miraculously sustaining us in a beautiful world.

I guess we can say bokser can inspire and uplift even if it tastes terrible.