Relationships – Page 20 – Jewish Relationships Initiative

Living a Meaningful Life, we begin Elul with Parsha Re’eh

In the Torah, Moses sets out a choice for us this past week. Blessings and curses. It is a deceptively easy binary choice. Given good stuff or bad stuff as alternatives, it seems like a no-brainer. I opt for the good stuff!

But it’s really not so simple. For what does that mean for us to choose the Blessings, especially to us in the modern world? That is the fundamental question to consider in the month of Elul, leading up to the Yamim Noraim, these special High Holidays. Perhaps we, like our ancestors, are metaphorically also on the verge of entering into our own Promised Land. It is more complicated than: Choose Blessings and you go in; Choose Curses and you stay out. Because it is about more than entering The Land; it is about living fully while there, possessing it and becoming one with it.

During Elul, as we prepare for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, we ponder the choices we make in our lives. As we reflect on the year past, we see successes and failures. And as we look ahead, we use this understanding to chart our course. Are we on the path we want to be on, the one we should be on, the one we need to be on? And presuming we have been blown off course by the winds and currents of life, how do we right our ship and get back on our path?

Elul is our time to consider these questions. Before we can ask for forgiveness we need to know where we went astray and maybe understand why. Before we can ask to be written in the book of life, we need to know what it means to choose a life of blessings so that this coming year brings us meaning and connection. Then we are able to approach the Divine to make things right and set a course forward for a year where we deliberately choose blessings, knowing what they are and how we might pursue them.

L’Shanah Tova!

Take Comfort

The Prophet Isaiah Predicts the Return
Maerten van Heemskerck

“Nachamu, Nachamu Ami”- Take comfort, my people. So begins Isaiah 40, the readings we use for the Shabbat after Tisha B’Av.

Tisha B’Av is a day of deep sorrow, for so many of the catastrophes that have befallen the Jewish people are linked to this day. We fast and read the book of Lamentations recalling the destruction of the First Temple.

The prophet’s urging to take comfort seems more than for us to be consoled in our time of grief. It urges us to look beyond our grief. For we will rise up, continuing life continuing the ongoing work as partners in God’s creation in spite of, or perhaps because of the loss that we encounter. We will remember, but we are exhorted to move forward both as individuals and as a people. The world will go on and we must take our place to continue to build.

History has shown that out of the ashes, like a phoenix, we will rise up. Carrying our memories of what was lost, we will create new memories. As we commemorate the losses marked on Tisha B’Av, we also take tentative but deliberate steps forward out of our grief towards our tradition’s aspirations of a better world that we work to create and we find our comfort through this renewed purpose.

When we rise from Shiva, we are instructed to go outside and walk around the block. This is symbolic of our reentering the world. Changed because of our loss, but compelled to move forward honoring the memory of the loved one lost, or in this case, the loss befallen upon our people. The values we hold dear; caring for the widow and stranger, clothing the naked and feeding the hungry are the cornerstones for the ongoing work of Tikkun Olam and creation that is ever-present. We must also vote; for voting is our most precious special franchise granted to all who are blessed to live in the United States. We can leverage our work through elected representatives fighting for us to achieve our vision of a better world.

We rise not only with our voices but with our actions. For ours is to pray with our feet, as Rabbi Heschel once said. We can make our country and our world a better and more compassionate place through our actions. Nachamu, Nachamu Ami.

How will you look back on your life?

As we begin the last book of the Torah, Moses confronts this question in Parshat Devarim.

Even the title begs the question. Devarim, what are the words and things? What is the story we will tell to those we hope will carry it in their hearts after we are gone?

For most of us, this requires us to project forward in order to look back. But it cannot be make-believe; our legacy will be based on the life we live. The things we do will be the basis for the memories our loved ones will recall. How we touch their lives will define whether they can celebrate having had us in their lives. Our legacy will not have the great accomplishments of Moses, of course as our tradition tells us, there has never been another like Moses. Our legacy will be the impact and influence we have had on our loved ones. But will we be the best version of ourselves?

The story is told of Reb Zusya, the Chasidic Master, who struggled at the end of his life. He awoke panicked from a dream about the prospect of entering Heaven. His students tried to support their beloved teacher claiming he was indeed great like Moses and Abraham. Zusya replied that he knew that God would not compare him to Moses and Abraham but instead, God would ask why Zusya wasn’t more like Zusya?

If we do not live up to all that we can be, we do not realize our full potential. And importantly, we let ourselves and our loved ones down. Only we can write our story by living our lives as best and as fully as we can. Then we will truly leave a worthy inheritance, a life of merit and honor, of love and accomplishment that will touch the hearts of those we care about.

Your Legacy and Your Loved Ones

Your loved ones are your legacy. That is an important message I learned from last week’s Torah Portion Pinchas. We must consciously remember those closest to us, especially even when our work, our mission, or our very essence might have us focus on everyone else.

Pinchas’ legacy is established in the aftermath of his zealotry. The legacy of Zelophehad is also set; his daughters ensuring their father’s name is not lost and they can be rightful inheritors of his property. Moses passes the mantle of leadership to Joshua as part of his legacy. However, two people are glaringly missing: Gershom and Eliezer, the two children of Moses. What happened to them?

We can only imagine the ambivalence of these two sons watching their father in all his greatness. They see him lead with the most profound wisdom and love for both his people and God, yet he loses sight of his own children. It is a sad state of affairs for these two children to be ignored. The text screams out in its complete silence; for there is no mention of them at all. It is a modern-day message to all of us.

How often do we neglect our own? For many of us in the “caring” professions, the demanding hours prioritize others over family. For those of us in the clergy, the RKs (Rabbi’s Kids) often complain they are neglected because their parent is so busy actively involved in the lives of the congregants they serve. And those of us dedicated to building a career, we find long hours away from our children the price we pay for success.

For us to leave a truly worthy legacy, even the greatest among us need to make time for those closest to us. We all have shortcomings and with the benefit of hindsight, we all know where we could have done better. But more importantly, we need to know in our hearts that we do the very best we can and what we do is for the benefit of our family. For if we do that, then our children will know that they were loved. And that is the most beautiful blessing and legacy of all.

I/Thou and a parking ticket

I saw the meter maid stepping towards the back of my car to get license plate info. The meter had expired a few minutes before and like clockwork, she was there at the ready to write the ticket. I called out “Excuse me Ma’am!” and started to cross the street hopefully catching her in time. As I stepped off the curb, I felt a snap in my knee and down I went. The pain was excruciating. She looked up and saw me. I knew I had to get to her so I limped over as best I could, needing to catch my breath before I could say anything. She reached out to me to help me and asked if I was okay. We started to talk and she made it clear that she would not leave me until I was safely in my car.

She went from “meter maid” or “traffic enforcement officer” to caring human being. Actually, she was a lovely caring human being all along. It took me a while to realize that.

I do not know who she is. I never got her name. I reached out to the Parking Authority to try to find her and say thank you. They likely do not get too many of those kinds of letters.

And as I was sitting in my car, gaining my composure, I could not help but notice the person a couple of cars behind me frantically waving a ticket in his hand as he ran towards a confrontation with my good Samaritan.

So thank you my nameless good Samaritan. Thank you for sharing your humanity when I needed it.

What Now?

So many of us have expressed outrage at the separation of children from parents at the border. Now the real work begins; for now that we are aware of the situation, the responsibility to change it is ours.

Write your Congressional representative and Senators and demand this policy stop immediately. This is not a negotiation, this is wrong. Anyone unwilling to unconditionally terminate this policy now will be held accountable at the ballot box.

In case you do not know your representative, find out here:

https://whoismyrepresentative.com/

Make your voice heard.

On the Ramparts

The appalling misuse of the Bible to defend stripping children from their parents at the border adds insult to injury, something I would have thought all but impossible given the heinous underlying act. It makes the indefensible downright obscene.

Whatever our personal position on strong border controls may be, this inhumane action undermines our most fundamental values. We are a nation of laws, but very importantly we are also a nation of hope. Our laws can be applied humanely with mercy and compassion. This egregious violation of our values is a symptom of a growing cancer in our society.

In an age of increasing division and antipathy, this moment needs to serve as a tipping point. Can we aspire to be the light unto the other nations, leading by example or must we retreat building walls that separate us in the name of protecting us? History shows us time and again that the latter approach ultimately fails. And by the time the walls are ultimately breached, what found inside is a hollow shell of the greatness that once lived.

Our greatness comes not from the domination of a ruler, or even the majority. Our greatness springs from America’s ability to protect and defend the minority when the majority prevails, exercising its will civilly and compassionately.

To those who find the actions on our borders justifiable, shame on you for your heartlessness. To those who find these actions unjustifiable, our thoughts must be backed by action that will cause change. Otherwise, we too will be responsible for the horrors wrought upon the children.

You are My Lifeline

In my early training as a lifeguard, I was taught that you can only do so much to save another. You swim out to the distressed and offer a life ring, once they grab on to it, you can swim into shore rescuing him/her. But they had to grab hold of the flotation device otherwise you would risk both of your lives. You could go most of the way, but you needed the participation of the other. Later on, I learned a more aggressive approach to lifesaving using grips and evasive maneuvers to assert control over the victim. Finally, I learned that sometimes to save a life required knocking the other person out with a swift cross to the jaw. You saved two lives in that precarious moment, yours and the victim’s.

How actively and strongly do we intercede when it comes to saving another? How do we determine the appropriate course of action? Sadly, it often devolves into a matter of personal convenience. Whether it is suicide, drug abuse, or so many of our civic/social problems, we often find it easier to ignore them. How often do we step over the person sitting in the street begging rather than at least engage their humanity?

People need to be seen and heard. The silent scream of despair of one soul should ring as loudly in our ears as the giant thunderclap from the heavens. Wringing hands and feeling another’ pain consoles our own ego, but it does nothing to help another in need. If there is something we all need more of, it is human connection. Every one of us is nurtured by interactions with others. It makes us feel cared for, it makes us feel human. The loss of this most basic need dehumanizes us and only bad things can ensue.

We have reached a tipping point. It is time for each of us to reenergize human connection. Social media is a place to share, but it is does not replace the interpersonal one-on-one experiences with another. Government programs can provide safety nets but cannot create the human warmth and validation each of us so desperately needs. Communities of caring such as synagogues and churches can bring us together in important ways. But it all begins with me and my ability to see you, as an individual in your humanity; every one of us realizing that we need each other to truly be complete. And in that critical precarious moment, I am the person who can rescue you and you are the person who has the power to rescue me.

It’s a matter of Trust

Parashah Shelach helps me understand a fundamental part of the human condition giving perspective into the fickle nature of the Israelite people’s relationship to their God as the Almighty leads them from bondage to the Promised Land. Put simply, the people lack trust. Not just in God, but more fundamentally in themselves. The text asks if I am unable to trust in myself, how can I be in a relationship with anyone else including even God?

The Almighty has been steadfast as a protector and provider, out of Egypt, across the Red Sea and to Sinai. Yet, at every turn, the people complain, unable to place their trust in God. In Parashah Shelach, God asks the people to send a reconnaissance team into the land that God has promised. The scouts return with more than information about the people and the land; the scouts conclude that they are like giants and we are like grasshoppers. They are of greater Middot[1] than we. Any attempt to conquer the land is doomed, even though this was the Land that God had promised. I was perplexed baffled by this lack of trust in God until I realized that in actuality, this was fundamentally a lack of trust in themselves, making it impossible to trust in God.

This insight remains as true today as it was then. Only when we are able to trust in ourselves can we then trust in another. Trust is the capacity to open ourselves to a deeper sharing, creating a more profound relationship. But this also requires becoming vulnerable to someone else. Our lack of trust, or fear of what bad might happen, is overcome by the hope of what good could be by establishing bonds of trust.

We so often build emotional walls around us. We believe the walls are meant to protect us. But in fact, these walls shut us off, creating a spiritual and emotional prison that keeps us from others as surely as they shut others out. But our greatest joy comes when we are in a relationship with others, when we can trust in ourselves enough to entrust others with the most intimate parts of who we are. Although it is scary to admit our fears, it is also empowering; for it opens us up to the possibilities of the heart.

This trust and openness is not a place of weakness; it takes a strong person who is able to show vulnerability. To show someone else, a spouse or a child, that you need them and their help requires inner strength and courage. It reinforces and deepens the relationship bringing you closer than before. Together you can face what certainly would have been a lonely battle by yourself. This becomes a message of hope.

The meaning of Shelach is ultimately this message of hope, which might seem counterintuitive. The older people are consigned to die in the desert so that the next generation is properly prepared to enter the Land. But it is this older generation who are the teachers of the generation that will enter the Promised Land. Even though they suffer the consequences of mistrust, the rest of the Torah shows them grapple with this important lesson and strive to teach their children well.

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[1] The term Middot, in Numbers 13:32, has been translated to mean size or stature. However, in the context of Mussar, Middot also means measure, character, or values. The Torah might have this broader understanding of this word, strengthening the argument posited in this essay.

Shabbat Shalom

Idan Raichel brings us Beresheet – a new song which he wrote during his travels, inspired by several unexpected encounters with people from Africa and India.

The song is accompanied by a beautiful video created by the sand artist Ilana Yahav, who brings her visual interpretation of the song in a sensitive and heartwarming way.

My thanks to Adam Wishkovsky for sharing this piece with me.

Shabbat Shalom!