Wise Hearts

Rabbi Shlomo Riskin relates an encounter with a congregant who was not observant. The man would reassure the rabbi of his commitment to Judaism by saying, “Rabbi, I don’t keep the rules, but I have a Jewish heart.” Rabbi Riskin replied, “I am worried about the strain on your heart. Perhaps, let other parts of your body take on some Jewish responsibility. Use your mouth to pray and keep kosher. Put tefillin on your arm and head. Use your legs to walk to Shul…”

A Jewish heart. A Yiddishe kop – A Jewish head or mind. A pintele Yid – the Jewish soul. The parsha introduces us to another kind of Jewish organ: the wise heart.

"V'ata tedabeir el kol chachmei leiv...v'asu et bigdei Aharon - And you (Moses) shall speak to all of the wise hearted people...and they shall make the garments for Aaron..." (Shemot 28:3)

Hashem specifically instructed Moses to command the wise of heart to make these special garments for Aharon and his sons. We are accustomed to associating wisdom with the brain. Why does the Torah emphasize a wise heart?

Rabbi Riskin is on to something. We need to find a way to channel our intelligence into our emotions and infuse emotion into our intelligence.

1)  Smarts are not enough

Rabbi Leib Chasman, a Yeshiva head in prewar Europe, explained that our understanding of wisdom represents a fundamental flaw in human thinking. From the Torah's perspective, a wise person is not merely a Harvard professor who is able to intelligently discuss esoteric topics and difficult academic subjects. If their actions don't reflect their sophisticated intellectual knowledge, the facts and theorems stored in their head are essentially meaningless.

Rabbi Norman Lamm put it this way: Wisdom without conscience yields to misuse of knowledge. The atom bomb was an ingenious invention, but it led to horrific destruction. Man was able to decipher the “nature of the atom but neglected the nature of the sons of Adam.”

The Torah recognizes that the primary criterion for determining wisdom lies in the ability to connect one's mind, and the information stored therein, with the heart, which guides and determines actions. It is for this reason that Hashem stressed the importance of selecting the truly wise - the wise of heart.

2)  We must think outside the box

 

We sometimes get stuck in our thinking. For example, we expect things to look a certain way. Think about how we picture a tzaddik, Jewish sage. With a beard? Holding a book? Davening? A wise heart looks deeper.

 

Alan Watts, a popular writer on Eastern religion, offered a keen insight: “The most spiritual people are the most human. They are natural and easy in manner; they give themselves no airs: they interest themselves in ordinary everyday matters, and are not forever talking and thinking about religion. For them, there is no difference between spirituality and usual life…” (“The Supreme Identity”, p. 128).

 

The Jewish tradition references the idea of 36 nistarim, hidden righteous individuals who allow the word to exist. Rabbi Marc Angel explains they are hidden because the truly righteous are too modest to imagine that they are among this group of tzaddikim. It might be the person sitting next to you…

3) Wisdom is only genuine when accompanied by caring

Teddy Roosevelt said, “Nobody cares how much you know until they know how much you care.”

Knowledge is something for which we have passion and wish to use to share with others or benefit them.

We value information, the mind, and wisdom. At the same time, as the Talmud teaches, “rachmana liba ba’ee – God wants the heart.” Our mission is to fuse both to create wise hearts.

These days, we are bombarded with information as we follow events in Israel. At the same time, our hearts are broken by the stories of heroism, widows and orphans left behind, and tremendous need. I don’t worry as much about our minds. We absorb plenty of information, news articles, and opinion pieces – probably more than enough. I think we need to lead with the heart.

In connection with this week’s parsha and the project of the bigdei kehuna, priestly garments, I came across an expression which resonates deeply: “Wear your heart on your sleeve and your people on your heart.” Wise hearts are needed more than ever as we daven, care, donate and show our love for Israel and the Jewish people.

The Power of Shul

What's the most powerful memory you have of your hometown shul?

While the synagogue experience centers around davening and, of course, Kiddush, shuls have a way of powerfully instilling a sense of pride, history, and tradition. 

 

Like the Ballarat Synagogue in Australia, an hour’s drive from Melbourne.

The town rose to prominence during the mid-19th century after gold was found there in 1851, igniting a gold rush. The city attracted Jews from England and elsewhere in Europe who were seeking their fortunes or escaping antisemitism. In 1853, a minyan was established on the Ballarat goldfields for the High Holidays, and the synagogue was consecrated in 1861. The community has dwindled, but the shul's history is chock full of memories that formed the Jewish consciousness of all who passed through. And, after 162 years, the Ballarat Synagogue continues to host a monthly Orthodox Shabbat service and a Shabbaton for locals, natives, and the curious alike.

 

I have many memories of the Young Israel of New Haven, CT (pictured above), my hometown Shul. 

I led Anim Zemirot and Adon Olam on Shabbat morning, served as "Junior Gabbai," helped set up and clean up Kiddush, and even scraped tiles to help replace the basement floor. Some might say it was perfect training for my chosen vocation!

I learned from rabbis, Holocaust survivors, Siberian exiles, and third-generation Americans. They formed an interesting cast of characters I still remember fondly today. Like Harvey Schwartz, of blessed memory. Here are a few lines from his obituary written by his family:

"A Veteran of the US Navy, and a long-term employee of the US Postal Service until his retirement. He enjoyed travel...He was an avid professional sports fan with a special fondness for horse racing…However much he traveled and sought entertainment through sports, the priorities in his life were always fellowship with the members of his synagogue, and the fulfillment in his daily practice of Orthodox Judaism."

Harvey was a “Shul Jew." He did not have a Jewish education nor was he learned in Jewish texts. Instead, Harvey's Judaism was an extension of the Shul. He could always be counted on to be at minyan and, for as long as I can remember, it was Harvey who led Pesukei D’Zimra on Shabbat and Yom Tov mornings. His Judaism seemed to be wrapped up in shul.

We build Shuls, but Shuls also build us. 

"V’asu li mikdash v’shachanti b’tocham - They will make for Me a sanctuary, and I will dwell within you." (Shemot 25:8)

The commentators note the shift in pronouns from third person to second person. The verse should read "They will make for Me a Sanctuary, and I will dwell within it." Why does it say instead "I will dwell within you?"

The classic answer is that building the mishkan or synagogue is a way for us to bring God's presence into our worlds and into our hearts. As Rabbi Elazar Azikri beautifully put it, "Bi'levavi mishkan evneh - In my heart, I will build a sanctuary." The mishkan is a way for us to bring heaven down to earth. Similarly, a shul and all its religious activities make us more Godly. If we build a shul, God will dwell within us.

I'd like to suggest that the verse as written makes a lot of sense. If they build a synagogue and create a meaningful, inspiring, uplifting, traditional, kind, and caring environment, that purposeful, delightful Judaism will be felt within you. If we build a shul and and experience its Jewish dynamism to the fullest, that's how God will dwell within us. A powerful shul experience will help us feel God more in our lives.

Shul shapes us as Jews. It's more than the davening or the Kiddush. It's more than the Torah reading or fulfillment of rituals or the social connections. These are all great. At the same time, a shul radiating Torah, tradition, kindness, prayer, and connection will provide us with memories that will last a lifetime and make us better people and better Jews.

So come to shul! Experience shul. Help build that sanctuary that will remain with you and enhance your life, the lives of your children, and the whole Jewish people. 

To Be a Jewish Doctor

A story is told of the mother of the first Jewish President who receives a call inviting her to fly on Air Force One. She hangs up the phone, and her friend asks, “Who was that?” She replies, “You know my son the doctor? That was his brother.”

This joke is just one variation of the humor created around the reality of a deep Jewish connection with medicine and a long history of Jewish doctors. (I’m sure many of you immediately thought of Maimonides.)

Sherwin Nuland, an American surgeon and author, recounts in his book, Maimonides:

“Imprisoned in a tower in Madrid, disabled by syphilis and further weakened by an abscess in his scalp, the French King Francis I asked of his captor, the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V, that he send his finest Jewish physician to attempt a cure. At some point soon after the doctor arrived, Francis, in an attempt at light conversation, asked him if he was not yet tired of waiting for the Messiah to come. To his chagrin, he was told that his healer was not actually Jewish but a converso who had long been a baptized Christian. Irate, Francis dismissed him and arranged to be treated by a genuine Jew, brought all the way from Constantinople.” (p.3)

The story may be apocryphal, but it certainly fits with our long tradition of Jews being doctors. Nuland notes that during the Arabic period, approximately half of the Jewish doctors were also rabbis. He also found that, in the first half of the fourteenth century, only 5% of the population of Marseilles was Jewish, but they accounted for 43% of the city’s physicians. (p. 12, 14)

The trend continued into the modern era. In America, Jewish medical school candidates reportedly made up 60 percent of the applicant pool in 1934. Even as the numbers have been dropping precipitously (only 9% in 1988), Jews are still disproportionately represented in medicine. While Jews are 2% of the population, they make up over 14% of doctors. (For some comparisons, Protestants are 55% of the population and make up 49% of doctors. Hindus are 0.2% of the population, yet 5.3% of doctors.)  

What’s so Jewish about being a doctor?

Two words. “V’rapo yerapei – One must definitely heal.” (Shemot 21:19)

The Talmud (Berachot 60b) comments that this verse gives permission for the doctor to heal. Why is permission needed? Rashi (Bava Kamma 85a) writes that one might have thought that if God caused a person to be ill, we should not attempt to undermine the divine decree. The verse therefore states that one is permitted to heal an ill patient. Other Sages (unsurprisingly many of those rabbis who were also doctors) offer a different view. There is a mitzvah to heal.

There is a religious tension in medicine. On the one hand God is in charge. If a person is sick, then maybe that’s the way it should be. On the other hand, we value life and do whatever we can to preserve it.

A decade ago, the Yeshiva University Museum hosted an exhibit on Jews and modern episode. A review noted how Jewish doctors had differing religious reactions to the role of medicine. Waldermar Haffkine (1860-1930), inventor of the world’s first vaccine for cholera and the Bubonic plague, fought to maintain a strong Orthodox identity in the face of a rapidly changing world. On display was a reflection of his noting “the faith which binds together the Jews has not been harmed by the advance of research, but, on the contrary, has been vindicated in its profoundest tenets.” A very different view was held by Joseph Goldberger (1874-1929), a five-time Nobel Prize-nominee. The exhibit notes that while raised Orthodox, Goldberger found it impossible for his scientific endeavors and Jewish tradition to coexist. Goldberger even went on to marry Mary Farrar, the grandniece of Jefferson Davis.

Some doctors bring a strong Jewish perspective to their practice of medicine. Think of the late Rabbi Dr. Abraham Twerski, noted psychiatrist and scion of a Chasidic dynasty, who merged the two worlds of science and faith. At the same time, it seems that, for many Jewish doctors, their Judaism isn’t part of their profession. A study on Jewish doctors and the role of their faith found that Jewish physicians were more likely than other religiously affiliated physicians to rarely or never attend religious services. They were also less likely to believe in God. Compared to Protestants and Catholic doctors, the Jewish doctors did not see religion influencing health very much nor do they discuss their faith and spirituality with their patients.

Jews and medicine are a typical expression of Judaism. It may be a spiritual calling, a necessary activity, a cultural expression of the past, or part of our history. (I heard the comedian Jackie Mason explain that Jews becoming doctors was a means of self-preservation and protection. Nobody would dare insult or harm the person who might save your life.)

Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik, in Out of the Whirlwind (pp. 102-104), adds another dimension to “v’rapo yerapei.” It is not specific to medicine. It is the mandate to heal. Illness is one form of “evil” that people face. “V’rapo yerapei” teaches us not to make peace with evil. We cannot presume that we are helpless when facing illness – or any form of evil. Rather, we “should actively interfere with evil. Man is summoned by God to combat evil, to fight evil, and to try to eliminate it as much as possible.”

For the Rav, “v’rapo yerapei” is not just speaking to medical professionals. It is a call to humanity not to sit back and do nothing when confronted by evil or illness or loneliness or any other need. We’re all called to be doctors!

I find that, often, doctors’ sons become rabbis, and rabbis’ sons become doctors. (I am sure there’s a whole psychology behind it.) Earlier this week, a doctor who’s the son of a rabbi shared a great point with this rabbi who’s the son of a doctor. The etymology of “doctor” is from the Latin word for teacher. Well, rabbis are also teachers. Ipso facto, then I’m a doctor!

There may be so many Jewish doctors because the healing imperative is essential to our lives. We can each share health, wealth, knowledge, and kindness. There’s a reason God says, “Ani Hashem rof’echa – I am the Lord, your healer.” (Shemot 15:26) God is the ultimate Doctor. God is the source of all, Who shares with us. In our efforts of Imitatio Dei, to follow God’s example, we all need to be doctors, to share and benefit others in every way we can.

Good Shabbos! Good Shabbos! Am Yisrael Chai!

Groundhog Day Judaism

This is Yossi Hershkowitz.

They’re both Yossi Hershkowitz.

 

The one on the right was born in 1924 in Romania and immigrated to Israel in 1944. He was a member of the Haganah and was killed in action fighting in July 1948 in the War of Independence, leaving behind a wife.

 

The Yossi Hershkowitz on the left was killed in action in Gaza in November, leaving behind a wife and five children. He served as the beloved principal of ORT Pelech High School for boys in Jerusalem. “Today in Israel there is no right wing, no left wing, no Haredim. Just Jews,” he said in a video he sent his students, wearing his green fatigues. He offered words from Torah, and quoted the late chief rabbi of Great Britain, Jonathan Sacks, about holding onto one’s faith during times of crisis and the Jewish people’s power to bring light to the world.

 

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

 

These last months, each day brings similar headlines.

“Dozens of terrorists killed in clashes with IDF”

“Rocket alerts sound in Gaza border communities”

“IDF says fighter jets struck Hezbollah sites across southern Lebanon”

“Houthis target ships in Red Sea”

 

It can feel like the movie “Groundhog Day,” in which the main character experiences the same day over and over again. Like the movie, maybe our takeaway is to appreciate the ability to improve while moving forward and not get stuck without some elements of growth each day.

 

These days, we need a reminder more than ever of “the miracles we experience each day and the wonders and goodness present at all times – evening, morning, and afternoon” (Modim blessing of Amida prayer).

 

The truth is, like in the movie, no two days are ever the same. Each situation is different and experienced differently by those involved. There may be two heroes named Yossi Hershkowitz, but each is unique, their wars were unique, and the Jewish situation has changed over the 75 years of Israel’s existence between their sacrifices.

 

Judaism can sometimes feel like “Groundhog Day.” We wake up, daven three times a day, and celebrate Shabbat each week and the same holidays each year. Didn’t we read Parshat Yitro last year?

 

Judaism is a great big ball of similar, familiar, interconnected experiences that transcend time. They may repeat, but our mission is to find ways to make them relevant, new, and exciting. Each day we read in the Shema (Devarim 6:6), “Take to heart these instructions with which I charge you this day.” The Midrash teaches that “this day” means each day, Judaism should feel fresh and new.

 

And Judaism is not as powerful without the shared experience of everything that came before and will come after.

 

Rabbi Pini Dunner uses a terrific text that shows the entire Jewish experience as having been produced already. The Talmud (Menachot 29b) tells of Moshe being transported to the Beit Midrash of Rabbi Akiva.

“When Moses ascended on High, he found the Holy One sitting and tying crowns on the letters of the Torah. Moses said before God: Master of the Universe, who is preventing You from giving the Torah without these additions? God said to him: There is a man who is destined to be born after several generations, and Akiva ben Yosef is his name; he is destined to derive from each and every thorn of these crowns mounds upon mounds of halakhot. It is for his sake that the crowns must be added to the letters of the Torah.

Moses said before God: Master of the Universe, show him to me…Moses went and sat at the end of the eighth row in Rabbi Akiva’s study hall and did not understand what they were saying. Moses’ was distressed as he thought his Torah knowledge was deficient. When Rabbi Akiva arrived at the discussion of one matter, his students said to him: My teacher, from where do you derive this? Rabbi Akiva said to them: It is a halakha transmitted to Moses from Sinai. When Moses heard this, his mind was put at ease, as this too was part of the Torah that he was to receive.”

Like Moshe, we may be frustrated as to our role in the story. Maybe the story doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. We need to seek the connection. We need to find meaning and purpose and freshness and relevance in the repeating rituals, the recurring headlines, and in the death of the two Yossi Hershkowitzes. We are all connected across the Jewish world and Jewish history.

 

Let’s find a way to distinguish each day and contribute our mitzvah, our action, our small element to the glorious production of Judaism.