Love is in the Air

Love is in the air.

I am referring to Tu B’Av, which will be celebrated on Wendesday. It’s a lot like Sadie Hawkins Day (November 9), the fictional holiday from the Lil’ Abner comic strip when the unmarried women of Dogpatch pursued the single men. If a woman caught a man and dragged him back to the starting line by sundown, he had to marry her. It’s not exactly the Talmudic description of Tu B’Av, but it is pretty close.

The Mishna describes how the young women would select their men and say, “Bachur, young man – look up and see what kind of woman you can choose.” Tu B’Av, for most of its history, began and ended with the omission of Tachanun. Starting in the 1960s, it turned into the season of Singles Shabbatonim, and, even with the demise of the Kosher Catskills hotels, it remains associated with matchmaking and singles events. Israeli civil culture promotes festivals of singing and dancing on the night of Tu B'Av. The entertainment and beauty industries work overtime on this date.

Love is also in the parsha. “V’ahavta et Hashem elokecha – You shall love the Lord, your God.” The mitzvah of Ahavat Hashem, loving God, occupies a major place in our spiritual service. But what exactly does it mean? We say the words every day. How exactly, though, does one love God?

1. Contemplate the glory, beauty and majesty of the world.

Rambam writes (Yesodei HaTorah 2:2):

“How does one come to love God? When a person contemplates God’s great, wondrous actions and creations, and through them beholds God’s inestimable and boundless wisdom, they immediately love, praise, glorify, and experience a great longing to know the Great Name, as King David said: ‘My soul thirsts for God’ (Tehillim 42:3).”

Clearly, we can only love and feel a connection if we have our eyes open. We need to keep our eyes open for all that is beautiful in the world. Sometimes, a sunset is just a sunset, but, sometimes, it offers a moment of sublime contemplation and appreciation for being alive and awareness of the One who made us.

2.  Love being Jewish.

RRashi comments (Devarim 5:6), “Aseh devarav mei’ahava – Perform God’s commandments out of love and with passion.” Our observance of mitzvot and dedication to Jewish practice prove our love for God. This may be further understood from a Kabbalistic interpretation of the word “mitzvah,” connecting it to the concept of “tzavta,” which means connection. Our actions demonstrate our love. But is this always true? There are times I act without thinking of my love for God. We don’t often think about the motivation for our religious service. Sometimes charity is charity, and a Shabbat meal is a Shabbat meal – and not an expression of Divine love. Does this mean Ahavat Hashem is out of reach?

3. We love God by loving others.

In Isaiah 41:8, Avraham is described as: “Avraham ohavi,” which can be translated as, “Avraham my friend.”  I think a better translation is “Avraham, who loved me.”

Avraham loved God. He was so full of love that it spilled over to others. He loved God, so he loved people. Avraham was full of love. He loved Sarah and Hagar. He loved Yitzchak and Yishmael. He loved Lot and Eliezer. Sometimes, his love blinded him to the flaws of others, but it didn’t matter.  There is no such thing as too much love.

Rabbi Rafi Feuerstein, a noted Israeli rabbi and educator, captured it well: “One who really loves God is able to see the light, the good, in everything.”

Avraham loved God so much that he wanted others to experience what he experienced. He shared this love with humanity. What was the secret of his love? Avraham possessed an ayin tovah, a good eye. (Avot 5:9) Avraham had the right perspective and a positive outlook. He channeled his love for God through an ayin tovah, to see the best in others and to seek out and connect with others.

We can try to love God through contemplating the glory of his creation, and we can also try to love God by imbuing every action with religious purpose and devotion. We can accomplish love of God by acting in ways that are decent and just, that strengthen the bonds between people.

We live in very crazy times where words divide people into camps without any room for compromise. Decency seems to be on the defensive. The Torah’s idea of love provides an antidote. Every single day in the Shema, we invoke our responsibility to love God. More often than not, for me at least, it is a religious ideal, something spiritual or even mystical. Loving God, though, is also something very practical. It means keeping our eyes open and having passion. It means doing small actions that might be characterized as unnecessary. It means modeling the type of behavior that inspires people be better. It means loving God by loving others and restoring bonds between people.

If that is love, then, just maybe, all we need is love, and love is all we need.

Atlantic Beach is NOT The Hamptons

Many people are commenting on an article in the New York Post entitled “Wall Street is eyeing this Long Island area as the ‘new Hamptons.’”

For those who live in Atlantic Beach, some are proud of the attention. Others would rather the secret remain a secret. Those of us who call AB home know how great it is here.

There is a major difference between the two locales which defies any comparison. As my colleague, Rabbi Simcha Willig, put it well in a recent Seudah Shlishit talk: The difference is neighbors.

In Atlantic Beach, we have neighbors. The houses are closer together, people bump into each other walking around, and people are just physically more proximate to one another. In the Hamptons, one doesn’t have neighbors. Houses are further apart, there is less interaction, and people are more secluded and inward focused.

As the Talmud teaches, “Eilu v’eilu divrei Elokim chaim ­– These are both valid ways to live.” God bless the Hamptons, the Catskills, and everywhere else people live and vacation. At the same time, having neighbors gives us an opportunity to put our interpersonal values to work.

A number of years ago, Trulia, an American online real estate marketplace and subsidiary of Zillow, did research into Americans’ attitudes about their neighbors. While two-thirds of Americans like their neighbors, only 53% know their neighbors’ names. Additionally, many Americans want neighbors who are like them, and even friendly neighbors can be judgmental, nosy, or passive-aggressive. What would the results be of a survey of the Modern Orthodox community?

Now is a god time to improve our neighborliness.

As we approach Tisha B’Av, we remember the destruction of the Temples in Jerusalem along with many of the tragedies we have faced throughout history. The Talmud (Yoma 9b) teaches:

“Why was the First Temple destroyed? Because of three things which prevailed there: idolatry, immorality, bloodshed... But why was the Second Temple destroyed, seeing that in its time they occupied themselves with Torah, mitzvot and acts of kindness? Because sinat chinam, baseless hatred, prevailed. This teaches you that baseless hatred is equal to the three sins of idolatry, illicit relations and murder.”

Jews didn’t get along with each other. The Talmud and Josephus recount the internecine strife that wracked the nation in the war against Rome. There were legitimate disagreements such as the best way to resist or accommodate the Romans. There were also many illegitimate personal disagreements that tore the nation apart. The Talmud famously relates the story of Kamtza and Bar Kamtza and how the uninvited guest was kicked out of a party and embarrassed publicly. This is an example of the sinat chinam which tore the nation apart.

To correct this historical mistake of sinat chinam, many invoke Rav Kook’s oft-quoted teaching:

“If we were destroyed, and the world with us, due to baseless hatred, then we shall rebuild ourselves, and the world with us, with baseless love, ahavat chinam.” (Orot HaKodesh vol. III, p. 324)

I don’t think it’s enough to aspire to ahavat chinam. We need to find a concrete way of expressing our desire to be close with others for no reason.

Living in Atlantic Beach – and not the Hamptons – provides the perfect opportunity.

Quite literally, we have neighbors. We can show love for our neighbors. We can get to know our neighbors. All we need to do is look to the left and look to the right. Do we know our neighbors’ names? Have we said hello? Invited them in for a drink or a Shabbat meal? Brought in their trash can (for those without those in-ground receptacles)? These are examples of ahavat chinam, practical ways to show unconditional love for others.

For the past two years, I have tried to reach out to all of our neighbors. We sent postcards to everyone in the area, have dropped off Purim gifts to Jews who aren’t members of the Shul, and tried to spread the light and joy of Chanukah with neighbors. In a small village like Atlantic Beach, it is so easy to demonstrate ahavat chinam in how we reach out to our neighbors.

Last Shabbat, Rabbi Mark Wildes of the Manhattan Jewish Experience noted that sharing Shabbat is the most efficient and effective way to engage Jews. It can introduce and inspire those who don’t yet appreciate the beauty of Shabbat, and, at the same time, deepen and enhance the experience of family and friends when we share our Shabbat with others. Engaging and sharing with our neighbors – wherever one lives - is a win-win proposition for all involved.

The New York Post was right about how great it is to live in Atlantic Beach. It just left out that the best part is having neighbors and the opportunity to show ahavat chinam and bring a little redemption to the world.

Should the Tree of Life Shooter Get the Death Penalty?

On Thursday morning, the jury unanimously found that Robert Bowers, who attacked the Tree of Life building on October 27, 2018, met all the thresholds for intent necessary for capital punishment. After being found guilty last month of 63 crimes, including 22 capital crimes, the final phase of the trial will decide whether to deliver a sentence of death or life imprisonment without possibility of release.

For some of us, it is a “no brainer.” Someone who murdered multiple people in cold blood with a hateful motivation doesn’t deserve to live. And, yet, Judaism has a complicated relationship with the death penalty.

The Torah explicitly mentions death as the penalty for violating some 30 sins. At the same time, the threshold for imposing a death is quite high and requires a Sanhedrin and a Beit Hamikdash. The Mishnah in Makkot (7a) famously teaches:

A Sanhedrin which executes once in seven years is considered murderous. Rabbi Elazar ben Azarya says: Once in seventy years. Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Tarfon say: If we had been on the Sanhedrin, no one would have ever been executed. Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel says: In adopting that approach, they would increase the number of murderers among the Jewish people. The death penalty would lose its deterrent value, as all potential murderers would know that no one is ever executed.

Throughout most of history, the question of the death penalty was a theoretical one. Jews had no courts or jurisdiction. This all changed with the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948. Chief Rabbis Yitzhak Herzog and Ben-Zion Uziel, along with Rabbi Yechiel Michel Tukachinsky, contended that given the halakhic hesitation over this practice, there was no need to introduce the death penalty. Let a life sentence in jail, which was becoming more widespread, serve as an alternative deterrent. In 1954, the Knesset voted to abolish the death penalty for the crime of murder. It was retained only for war crimes, crimes against humanity, crimes against the Jewish people, treason, and certain crimes under military law during wartime.

Then came the capture and trial of Adolf Eichmann, who was sentenced to hang for his crimes against the Jewish people. This decision was not without controversy. A group of Israeli intellectuals, including Martin Buber and Gershom Scholem, opposed Eichmann’s execution due to their fundamental opposition to the death penalty without exception. Rabbinic voices supported the punishment and believed that, based on Jewish law, the Israeli government has the right and obligation to bring murderers of the Jewish people to justice and, if need be, to put them to death.

What does Jewish law say about capital punishment being utilized by other governments? It’s complicated.

Rabbi Ahron Soloveichik, in the 1970s, wrote against capital punishment.

“[I]t is irresponsible and unfair to submit a statement in favor of capital punishment in the name of Orthodox Jewry. In my humble opinion, from a Halachik point of view, every Jew should be opposed to capital punishment. It is true…that the Torah recognizes capital punishment. However, the Torah delegates the authority to mete out capital punishment only to Sanhedrin, not to anyone else. Even Sanhedrin are [sic] not able to mete out capital punishment if there is no Beis Hamikdash.”

In a 1981 letter to a Governor (likely Hugh Carey), Rabbi Moshe Feinstein argued that Jewish law would support capital punishment if it could effectively deter the rising homicide rates that indicated a cheapening of human life. He didn’t wholeheartedly endorse the death penalty, rather, he recognized it as a tool in maintaining law and order.

What do Jews think about capital punishment? According to a 2014 poll, American Jews are less supportive of capital punishment (33%) compared to all Americans who were surveyed (44%). This makes sense. It is complicated.

Should we execute the Tree of Life murderer? On the one hand, evil murderers should be punished. On the other hand, the death penalty is not perfect in its implementation. On the third hand, the Talmud rejects capital punishment without a Temple. On the fourth hand, Rabbi Soloveichik is opposed to capital punishment while Rabbi Feinstein supports it to maintain law and order. On the fifth hand, we aren’t the ones making the laws; we’re protecting ourselves and fighting evil.

That’s a lot of hands.

It seems that those impacted most directly by the Pittsburgh murderer see the death penalty as appropriate for his heinous actions. Those less directly impacted fall back to their respective worldviews on capital punishment in general.

What do we take away from all this?

This week, we read in the Torah (Bamidbar 35) about executing the murderer and providing the unintentional killer with a city of refuge. Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch finds a moral lesson from within these violent crimes and punishments. Our right to life is contingent on respecting the rights of others.

Nathan Diament of the OU discusses the Jewish approach to capital punishment in a 2004 article entitled, “Judaism and the Death Penalty; Of Two Minds but One Heart.” He concludes:

“As is often the case, the Torah does not offer a onesided view of an issue, but reflects the Divine nature of God’s creation in incorporating and balancing the competing values that are inherent to any human challenge. While recognizing there might be multiple means to fulfill a single goal, in its heart, Judaism seeks to achieve the single goal — fostering a world in which each human life is protected as unique and sacred.”

The question is less often death penalty yes or no. The challenge is what do we do practically to protect and support the people around us so that we live together in a better world.

Owner of a Broken Vav

“Briti shalom – My covenant of peace” (Bamidbar 25:12)

Pinchas is a complicated character. He stands up in the face of a public violation and, literally, sticks it to the perpetrators, executing them for their violation. While the Sages and commentators struggle to unpack and explain his actions, the Torah explicitly mentions Pinchas’ reward as being shalom.

How might we understand shalom (peace) as the reward for such a violent act? The Talmud (Kiddushin 66b) notes that the reward come with a catch:

“Rav Naḥman says: The letter vav in the word shalom is severed.”

While usually a broken letter in the Torah disqualifies it from being used, in this case, the letter vav MUST be broken. The Torah must be the owner of a broken vav.

Why?

On one level, the broken letter of Pinchas’ reward of peace is fitting. It reflects the natural tension we feel that a violent act is rewarded with peace. In the words of one rabbi, “Peace occasionally must be broken for a higher purpose, and peace achieved through violence will always be incomplete.” This reflects the sentiment expressed by many Sages in the Talmud that the behavior of Pinchas does not serve as an example for anyone trying to respond to Jewish bad behavior. The actions of Pinchas took place in a very specific time, place, and situation. Pinchas was rewarded by God, it is only God who determines when similar actions need to be taken. The broken vav serves as a kind of asterisk to Pinchas’ reward so that we draw the appropriate lessons from Pinchas and not see his behavior as proscriptive in how we might react.

Rabbi Moshe of Coucy (13^th century) notes that Pinchas’ actions take place in one parsha (Balak), while the word is in the next (Pinchas). The broken vav explains the break in the story. A thin line separates impulsive intolerance from righteous zeal. Time clarifies motivation. The pause between Pinchas’ action and his reward represents a period of observation. Only with the passage of time and gauging the aftermath of Pinchas’ actions was Pinchas worthy of a reward.

Rabbi Dr. Abraham Twerski sees this explanation as relevant to each of us. Many things that we do or experience in life are unclear until after time goes by. Our children may sometimes act in ways we wish they didn’t. Sometimes, it’s a phase, and, sometimes, it’s not. Activists and protesters sometimes have their own personal motivations, and, sometimes, they are genuinely acting in defense of their values. The strength of one’s conviction can only be measured with the passage of time, after a break, with a broken vav.

Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehudah Berlin of Volozhin, the Netziv, has a different take on the broken vav. He speculates that the broken “shalom - peace” in the verse is a negative reflection on Pinchas. In our text Pinchas comes off as a hero, willing to risk life and limb to defend God’s honor. However, later (Shoftim 17), when Michah builds an idol, Pinchas, as the then-leader of the nation, could have been expected to protest but did not act with the same zeal. The broken vav is a reminder that consistency counts. Even the hero of one story needs to be encouraged to remain consistent. We can’t pick and choose when to be zealous and when not.

The Ba’al Haturim connects the broken vav of shalom with the vav that is often missing from the name Eliyahu. There is a rabbinic tradition (or connection made) that Pinchas was Eliyahu. They were the same person. The broken vav and the missing vav remind us that complete shalom, peace and completion, is illusive and will only be achieved at the End of Days. Until then, we try to do our best.

The broken vav is no mistake. It comes as a symbol of complexity and that the ends don’t always justify the means, as a reminder that it sometimes takes time to fully appreciate the full impact of actions, as a warning against inconsistency, and as a sober truth that brokenness exists. Our job is to live the brokenness and strive to repair it.