Ki Tavo: This Too Shall Pass… And This Too.

In the Biblical book of Ecclesiastes, we find the following insightful verse: “Be pleased when things go well; but in a time of misfortune, reflect.” (7:14) One of the central lessons of the entire Tanach, the complete Jewish Bible, is the value of mindfulness. Be present to your current experience - right here, right now, TODAY! - regardless of what’s happening. If it’s a time of celebration, peace, relaxation, and joy; fabulous! Good for you, enjoy it, and may more of these be in your future. Above all, be grateful and appreciative. And if it’s a time of uncertainty, pain, frustration, apathy, or grief, you should *still* be present to it. Don’t hide from such moments or try to numb them with distractions, willful ignorance, or - at the more extreme end - substance abuse. Instead, ask yourself what you can learn from this experience, and how it can make you stronger and a better person. Our Torah portion this week not only echoes this sentiment, but offers a formula to recite at precisely such moments.

We are approaching the end of the Five Books of Moses, and thus the moment when the Israelites will enter the Promised Land. Even though Moses himself won’t get to join them, he still has his gaze firmly set on what will happen to them when they cross over. And, as articulated above, he implores them to remain mindful and present to their experiences, be they good or bad. Moses prophetically looks ahead to a time beyond just their entrance, to when the people will eventually be settled, at peace, and comfortably in possession of this land of milk and honey. He instructs them: “When you enter the land that Adonai, your God, is giving you as a heritage, and you possess it and settle in it, you shall take some of every first fruit of the soil, which you harvest from the land Adonai, your God, is giving you, put it in a basket and go to the place where Adonai, your God, will choose to establish God’s Name… you shall then recite as follows before Adonai, your God…” (Deut. 26:1-2, 5) The formula/prayer/declaration that follows is one that later gets included - verbatim - in the Passover Haggadah. It begins, “My father was a wandering Aramean. He went down to Egypt with meager numbers and stayed there, and became a great and populous nation.” (6)

Several rabbinic commentators focus on the beginning of this phrase, and the sentiment that our ancestor, Jacob, was once alone in the desert, impoverished and afraid. Even when the family moved to Egypt to escape famine, it was a small clan; a single family of outsiders in this mighty, foreign empire. The purpose of starting the declaration this way is so that the Israelite reciting it, now with land of his/her own, surrounded by allies and countrymen, may say: “And now look at us! Look how far we’ve come!!” Remembering how our ancestors had nothing is meant to evoke humility, appreciation, and most importantly gratitude to God. One medieval rabbinic commentator, Rabbeinu Bachya, writes on this verse: “The moral lesson implied in this whole recitation is that precisely at a time when one is prosperous and free from worry one has to look back upon what preceded this success and acknowledge Who it is that enabled one to achieve this well-being.” The “Who,” of course, is God.

Even then, part of the point that these rabbis are making (and that this rabbi writing right now is echoing..) is to be mindful regardless of what is happening in the present moment. We sometimes mainly think to offer prayers when we’re upset, concerned, or in need of something… but isn’t it also crucial to say a prayer in good times as well? One of my favorite phrases that expresses this perfectly is “This too shall pass.” When times are bad - whether because we’re wandering in the desert, enslaved somewhere, or enduring a pandemic - we can feel comforted in knowing This Too Shall Pass. But in times of joy, remember also that This TOO Shall Pass, and just savor it as long as you can. Change is inevitable, and time marches on regardless. So don’t waste a single second of it. Every moment is a chance to learn something, to grow, and to improve. We may no longer be wandering Arameans, or even Israelites offering the first fruits of our harvest at the Temple, but the message remains the same: Be mindful and grateful, and then our lives will be filled with meaning and purpose. Shabbat Shalom!

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Sheila Craan on Flickr
2. Nandhinikandhasamy on Wikimedia Commons
3. pxfuel
4. caramoulds on Flickr

Shoftim: Royally Accountable!

I guess we should have seen this coming; the number of Covid cases has risen sharply again in the US. One of the most infuriating things about this latest surge is how preventable it was. Our country was never able to bring the vaccination rate above ~50% - nowhere near the 70-80% needed to possibly achieve herd immunity - and so this awful pandemic wears on. I think a major hurdle that we cannot seem to overcome is a pervasive mistrust of government. It isn’t *every* American, or all the time, but it’s probably been grafted onto the American psyche since we broke away from British rule. It hasn't improved much over the centuries; take, for example, Ronald Reagan's famous quote about the nine scariest words in the English language being, "I'm from the government, and I'm here to help." I don't know that I have any great solutions to this problem in my back pocket, but I definitely appreciate how the Torah proposes at least ONE way that our authority figures can try to earn our trust. Lord knows, they (and we) need all the help they can get...

This week's parashah, Shoftim, includes some best practices for selecting a monarch. Interestingly, choosing an earthly leader is not a mitzvah, a commandment, or even something the Torah encourages. It is more like an acquiescence to the human desire to have a regent: "If, after you have entered the land that Adonai, your God, has assigned to you..., you decide, 'I will set a king over me, as do all the nations about me,' you shall be free to set a king over yourself, one chosen by Adonai, your God." (Deut. 17:1-15). The Torah goes on to say, if you *must* have a royal ruler, then here are the rules s/he must follow: They can't amass too much wealth, keep too large a harem of wives, or stockpile tons of weapons (foreshadowing postscript: "try as they might..."). So there are several restrictions and boundaries for said regent, but interestingly, the text only commands *one* obligation, something our new ruler MUST do. We read: "When he is seated on his royal throne, he shall write a copy of this Teaching (the Torah) for himself... Let it remain with him and let him read from it every day of his life, so that he may learn to fear Adonai, his God, to observe faithfully every word of this Torah, as well as these laws." (v. 18-19)

I find it fascinating that it isn't enough to keep a copy of the Torah, but *each* new leader must physically write (though pretty quickly they added a loophole that it could be commissioned instead) her/his own copy... and then lug it around everywhere they go! Talk about a physical reminder of the 'burden' of leadership... The Torah also greatly values humility, suggesting that the higher your office, the more humility you'll need... and maybe the increase should be exponential! The emphasis is also squarely placed on service, on the idea that our leaders must never forget that they serve the people, and their first priority has to be the good of the broader population. If nothing else, our regents - then and now - desperately need to learn, repeat, and commit to memory the Golden Rule: "Love your neighbor as yourself." (Lev. 19:18)

Sadly, the Biblical kings and queens more often proved how right the Torah text was to be concerned. They mainly served their own interests, and went out of their way to hoard wealth, power, and weaponry. Sounds painfully familiar, doesn't it? Yet to this day, leaders remain essential, especially when we need a centralized authority to help *everyone* survive and rebuild after a catastrophe or a pandemic. Millennia ago, it was hard to impress upon someone that they would be given tons of power... yet would remain beholden to their constituents. Finding that complicated balance hasn't gotten any easier. But perhaps encouraging our leaders to carry around constant reminders of their obligations could be a good start? And not just a small booklet to keep stashed at the bottom of a bag, but something more like a massive scroll, impossible to ignore. It wouldn't solve the whole problem of people not trusting their own governments, but maybe it would be a start? Next time there's a major gathering of world leaders, remind me to send them a few quills and a TON of parchment paper...

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Marco Verch Professional Photographer on Flickr
2. Alan Schapire (scribe visit to Ohev Shalom, January, 2020)
3. Adam Cohn on Flickr
4. Mushki Brichta on Wikimedia Commons

R'eih: Maintaining a Delicate, but Crucial, Balance

Sometimes I like to pose the question - to myself and to members of my congregation: Is the Torah focused on situations as they *are* or as they should be? Is it existing in the real or the ideal? And, in true rabbinic (and possibly infuriating...) fashion, my answer is: Both. Because one of the central messages of the Torah is that we should be grounded in our current reality, with our eyes wide open to the pains and challenges of the world, while always mindful of all the blessings and opportunities we have, right here, right now, in our lives. Simultaneously, we can never give up hope of things improving, evolving, and growing continuously towards a better future for ourselves and for the next generation. We must hold these two in balance; fully present to today, yet also ready to work with our hearts, minds, and bodies for an improved tomorrow. How do I know it's both? Well, let's look at two contradictory verses in this week's Torah portion and see what you think.

In Deuteronomy, 15:4, the Torah (through Moses) clearly states: "There shall be no needy among you." The text goes on to say that IF you obey all of God's mitzvot and stay loyal and faithful to Adonai, there will be no poor, no hungry, no oppressed people in Israel. Yet just seven verses later, the Torah also declares: "For there will never cease to be needy ones in your land..." (v. 11) Sooo, which one is it? If we do everything right (big "if," I know...), isn't the Torah saying there will be no more poverty? So how can the text also proclaim that there will ALWAYS be need and hunger?? No matter what you do! Do you see how it's a question of balance, of holding two seemingly contradictory messages and truths in mind at all times? We are not allowed to forget what we know to be a REAL truth about our world; that there will "never cease to be needy ones in your land." It is simply the reality of life on earth, basically as far back as the origins of our species! Nevertheless, we are not allowed to despair or give up hope. We STILL have to work constantly to alleviate the suffering of those in need. The real *must* be balanced with the ideal.

By the end of this weekend, we will have begun the Jewish month of Elul. It is the final month leading up to Rosh Hashanah and the start of a new Jewish year. Yup, it's panic-time for rabbis... (!!!) To remind us that we should be preparing ourselves, spiritually, for the High Holidays throughout this month, we add a special psalm (#27) to every daily prayer service, and we also blow one set of shofar blasts each morning as well. Furthermore, the ancient rabbis look at the name of the month, Elul, and see a hidden acronym. The four letters of "Elul" in Hebrew are Alef-Lamed-Vav-Lamed, and they see it as standing for "Ani l'Dodi, v'Dodi Li." "I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine," from Song of Songs (6:3). In their mind, "beloved" isn't just a love interest or a spouse; it refers to the importance of interpersonal relationships throughout our lives. We do not live in a vacuum, and as we prepare ourselves for the High Holidays, we must not only focus on improving ourselves or our own lives. We must commit to these visions of social betterment, clearly outlined in the Torah, to perform the sacred work of Tikkun Olam, repairing the world.

Again, we need to hold up these two challenging concepts at all times; the real and the ideal. It can be unbelievably frustrating and discouraging to look around and acknowledge the amount of pain, oppression, poverty, and unfairness that exists in our world. I alone cannot change all of it. I can't even affect a fraction of it! But I still have to try. Certainly in today's reality - as we continue to battle a deadly, global pandemic - we realize perhaps more than ever how interconnected we are with all other people on earth. And with the planet itself. It is inescapable. We cannot shut out the ills of the world... but we can't let ourselves be crushed by their weight either. So as we prepare to enter Elul, and we remind ourselves how intertwined we are with all the "beloveds" who inhabit this earth beside us - including animals that walk, swim, or fly around us AND the vegetation growing under and above us - let us each examine ourselves. How do you balance the ideal with the real in your own life, and in the world you see around you? And as we prepare to begin a new Jewish year with a fresh start, how will you do your part in Tikkun Olam, in repairing our collective home and making this a better place to live for everyone? Welcome to the start of the High Holiday season, everyone!

CC images in this blog post, courtesy of:
1. Solo Shutter on Stocksnap
2. pxhere.com
3. Folio Creations on Etsy
4. elycefeliz on Flickr