One of the radical teachings of Hassidism, once regarded by some Rabbinic authorities as heretical, is that we all have equal and immediate access to the Divine, regardless of book learning and even regardless of purity in thought and action. That’s because the Hassidic understanding is that the Divine is not something separate from anything, but is rather the basic Reality of Everything – similar to the relationship between the waves and the ocean. The waves have form and duration; they have individual “identity” in a sense, yet they are never separate from the vast and formless ocean.
Similarly, all things are like waves in the great Ocean of Being, and all we need do to connect with the Divine is shift our attention from the “waves” – the world of time and thinking – to the Ocean – the realm of the Timeless Present, the open space of awareness within which all experience comes and goes. Cottages of the Prince One of the disciples of Rabbi Pinhas of Koretz wasn’t convinced: “I am not really a holy person; I don’t see how I could possibly ever know Hashem with all the wicked things I’ve done.” Rabbi Pinhas responded with a parable: “Once there was a prince who liked to go on journeys, so he had many little cottages scattered throughout the land. When he would travel, he would stay in those cottages, among the common folk. Those cottages were very different and far more modest than his palace, but they were in no way inferior, because they served a different function; what the palace could not do, the cottages could, and vice versa. “It is the same with people: when a supposedly ‘wicked’ person turns their heart to the Divine and connects in prayer or in good deed, the Divine rejoices in a way that is not possible with the tzaddikim; that’s why it’s important for everyone to understand that they can connect to Hashem, regardless of how unscholarly or unsaintly they may regard themselves.” In this parable of Rabbi Pinhas, the “palace” and the “cottages” are different, but they are both dwelling places of the “prince.” The message is, no matter who we are and what we do, we all can potentially become “homes” for the Divine. “Home” is a wonderful metaphor for connection with the Divine, because the Divine is literally “at home” everywhere – just as the ocean is “at home” within every wave. Home should be a place of restfulness and security; just like the state of inner connectedness that comes from Presence. But also, the home is a place we leave frequently, only to return again. If we were trapped in our home, the home would be like a prison; we would be “under house arrest.” Appreciation for being at home is partially dependent on regularly visiting other places! Similarly, we can leave our “home” in the present moment to travel through landscapes of thought and feeling. If thought and feeling function as temporary abodes for serving the betterment of life, they are like the “cottages of the prince” so to speak… as long as we don’t get trapped! We don’t want to get “taken hostage” by the mind and lose sight of our true home, the Palace of Presence. Parshat Korakh וַיִּֽקָּהֲל֞וּ עַל־מֹשֶׁ֣ה וְעַֽל־אַהֲרֹ֗ן וַיֹּאמְר֣וּ אֲלֵהֶם֮ רַב־לָכֶם֒ כִּ֤י כָל־הָֽעֵדָה֙ כֻּלָּ֣ם קְדֹשִׁ֔ים וּבְתוֹכָ֖ם יְי וּמַדּ֥וּעַ תִּֽתְנַשְּׂא֖וּ עַל־קְהַ֥ל יְיְ׃ And they gathered against Moses and Aaron and said to them. “You make much of yourselves! For all the community – all of them are holy, and the Divine is among them all! Why do you exalt yourselves above the community of Hashem?” -BaMidbar (Numbers) 16:3, Parshat Korakh Parshat Korakh describes a rebellion against Moses and Aaron. The protestors have a good point – yes, everyone is holy. This is what the mind whispers to us: “These thoughts are important and holy too!” – which is true! But, visit them and dwell in them as if you were royalty, traveling and visiting your country house; don’t get lost in them! Remember the Palace of Presence, remember your true home. But how do you do that? In the haftorah, the prophet Samuel rebukes the people for rejecting Hashem as their King and requesting a human king, king Saul. The people feel remorse and beg for mercy. But Samuel reassures them: וַיֹּ֨אמֶר שְׁמוּאֵ֤ל אֶל־הָעָם֙ אַל־תִּירָ֔אוּ אַתֶּ֣ם עֲשִׂיתֶ֔ם אֵ֥ת כָּל־הָרָעָ֖ה הַזֹּ֑את אַ֗ךְ אַל־תָּס֙וּרוּ֙ מֵאַחֲרֵ֣י יְהוָ֔ה וַעֲבַדְתֶּ֥ם אֶת־יְהוָ֖ה בְּכָל־לְבַבְכֶֽם׃ But Samuel said to the people, “Have no fear. You have, indeed, done all those wicked things. Do not, however, turn away, but serve the Divine with all your heart… - I Samuel 12:21 The point is, it’s okay to have a human king. It’s okay – it’s necessary and good in fact – to engage in the world, to enjoy the world. It’s okay to travel in the paths of thought and feeling. The key is to remember, in whatever you are doing, that this moment is a kind of training; this moment is for learning how to be in the waves while staying connected to the ocean. Let this moment teach you how to not get lost – al tasuru – don’t turn away! Learn to turn your attention back again and again toward the Divine as the Ever-Present Reality of this moment; this is the Path of ל Lamed. Black Fire on White Fire Rabbi Yisrael, the Maggid of Koznitz, used to visit the city of Apt every year on his father’s yartzeitto visit his grave. For years, he would teach the community on those visits. One year, on such a visit, they asked him when he would come and preach in the synagogue. “I don’t think I will preach this year,” he replied. “I don’t see any evidence that my preaching has done any good.” The people were dumbfounded, and didn’t know what to say. Later, a crowd gathered around the inn where the Maggid was staying. They wanted to convince him to come and speak, but weren’t sure how. Then, a young craftsman went into the inn and knocked on the Maggid’s door. The Maggid answered. “You say that your preaching hasn’t had any effect,” said the craftsman. “But that’s not true. Last year you spoke about the practice ofSh’viti Hashem L’negdi Tamid – I place the Divine before me constantly. Ever since then, I always see the Divine before me in whatever I am doing, and in whatever is happening; It appears to me like black fire on white fire.” “Hmm,” replied the Maggid, “Okay then, I’ll come and preach.” The Three Strategies of Ego And they gathered against Moses and Aaron… Moses and Aaron represent our capacity to be in alignment with the Divine – meaning, living from the realization that all things are part of One Reality, One unfolding. From this point of view, there is no tension between oneself and the situation within which one finds oneself, because both “self” and “situation” are arising within (and not separate from) the space of consciousness that we are; there is unity with the moment. Ego, on the other hand, is living from the sense of oneself as separate from one’s situation; ego is the sense of “me” and “other.” This is Korakh – the incarnation of ego. Ego thrives on conflict, because conflict reinforces the sense of oneself as separate; conflict is food and water for the ego. We can see this in the opening words: וַיִּקַּ֣ח קֹ֔רַח – Vayikakh Korakh – And Korakh took… This is usually translated as “Korakh separated himself,” but literally it means “Korakh took.” Took what? He “took” his feeling of existence by creating conflict, by rebelling against Moses and Aaron and trying to seize power for himself. The passage then goes on to illustrate the three primary strategies that the ego employs to accomplish its craving for the illusion of existence: The first strategy of ego is co-opting the truth for its own purpose – Korakh makes an argument against Moses and Aaron that is essentially true: כֻּלָּ֣ם קְדֹשִׁ֔ים – Kulam kedoshim – all of them are holy! Instead of trying to say that Moses and Aaron are bad leaders and that he would be a better leader, which would be more straightforward but debatable, Korakh instead says something that can’t really be argued: Everyone is holy! Moses’ approach is wise – he doesn’t argue back, but simply points out that the truth will eventually reveal itself: …בֹּקֶר וְיֹדַע יי אֶת־אֲשֶׁר־ל֛וֹ וְאֶת־הַקָּד֖וֹשׁ וְהִקְר֣יב אֵל֑יו In the morning, The Divine will make known who is in alignment with the Divine, who is holy and close to the Divine… In other words, Reality ultimately reveals the truth of things. We may not know where a person’s heart is – whether a person is really concerned with the truth of what they are saying, or whether they are really concerned only with the enhancement of their ego; we may have to simply “wait and see.” But, while we can’t necessarily know the motivation of another person, we can know our own motivation: וַיִּשְׁמַ֣ע מֹשֶׁ֔ה וַיִּפֹּ֖ל עַל־פָּנָֽיו׃ – Vayish’ma Mosheh vayipol al panav – And Moses heard and fell on his face… The word for “his face,” panav, can also mean presence, or awareness. So, “fell upon his face” can mean letting our awareness “fall” into our bodies, being quiet and alert to notice whatever feelings are present within, so as not to get caught by our own egos. The second strategy of ego is projection: יי וּמַדּ֥וּעַ תִּֽתְנַשְּׂא֖וּ עַל־קְהַ֥ל – Umadu’a titnas’u al k’hal? Why do you exalt yourselves over the community of Hashem? Korakh’s accusation against Moses and Aaron is actually a projection of himself; his own ego feels disempowered and craves enhancement, but that can only happen if his true motivation is hidden. So, he throws the spotlight on the ones he is attacking. The third strategy of ego is securing validation from others – Korakh does not attack Moses and Aaron by himself, but first gets the backing of men who are respected leaders: נְשִׂיאֵ֥י עֵדָ֛ה קְרִאֵ֥י מוֹעֵ֖ד אַנְשֵׁי־שֵֽׁם – N’si’ei eidah, kriy’ei mo’ed, anshei shem – leaders of the community who are called to assembly, men of renown… Validation from others hides the profound insecurity of ego and stuffs it full with self-confidence. But Moses does the opposite. After examining himself by “listening” and “falling on his face,” he stays with the uncertainty, confident that the truth will be revealed in time. Similarly, we too can give the benefit of the doubt to those who seem to oppose us. We can look within and discover where ego may be secretly operating, and in that awareness, transcend the ego’s clutches and connect with the life that matters most – the deepest dimension of who we are, beyond ego, beyond all argument. Because, ultimately, the ego’s self “propping up” is bound to collapse: וַתִּפְתַּ֤ח הָאָ֙רֶץ֙ אֶת־פִּ֔יהָ וַתִּבְלַ֥ע אֹתָ֖ם And the earth opened her mouth and swallowed them… Meaning, all of the illusions of ego are eventually revealed for what they are. The question is, can we debunk the illusory pull of ego within ourselves first? We can – but only if we are genuinely curious about our own motivations, about how we are operating. We need to turn the ל lamed inward and really learn what is going on with ourselves, instead of merely focusing on the “outside” world. When I was about three years old, I was at a swimming pool. I had just seen a kid running, and I thought that wasn’t allowed, so I called up to the lifeguard, “Are we allowed to run around the pool?” “No, no running allowed around the pool.” “Okay!” I said, feeling confident now in my judgment of that other kid. Then, without realizing what I was doing, I immediately proceeded to run off myself. In a split second, the lifeguard’s whistle was in his mouth and he let off a short blast that pierced my soul: “Don’t you run!” he said. Who Do We Think We Are? An opponent of the Hassidic movement once came to the Alter Rebbi – Reb Sheur Zalman of Liadi, the founder of Chabad Lubavitch – to attack him with accusations of pride: “You claim to be a holy man, but look how you sit alone in your study, separate from the people – and with an attendant at your door, shielding you from those who come to see you, and only admitting them one by one according to your command – how fancy of you! Isn’t that arrogance? Who do you think you are?” The tzaddik put down his head, resting it in his arms, as one does during the penitential Takhanun prayer. After a few minutes, he lifted his head and spoke: “The expression the Torah uses for ‘leaders of the people’ is ‘roshei alfei Yisrael – heads of the thousands of Israel,’ from which we learn that our leaders are known as ‘heads’. “Now it is true, the head and the body are joined together, and neither can exist without the other. Nevertheless, they are clothed separately and differently. Why is this? Because the head must be distinct from the body, just as the ‘heads’ of any generation must be distinct from the people.” The questioner was impressed with the answer and went on his way. But the Rebbe’s little son (who would eventually be known as Reb Dov Bear of Lubavich), had a different question for his father: “Abba, in order to give that answer, there was no need to rest your head in your arms. Why didn’t you give him the answer immediately?” The Alter Rebbe replied, “In Parshat Korakh, when Korakh and his followers incited mutiny against Moses and Aaron and accused them of abusing their power as leaders, we read that Korakh accused Moses with these words- ‘Umadua titnasu – why do you raise yourself up above the people of God?’ “Then we read, ‘Vayishma Moshe, vayipol al panav- Moses heard, and fell on his face.’ “Only afterward did Moses give his answer to Korakh – that in the morning, Hashem would make clear who were the chosen leaders. The same question could be asked there: Why did Moses have to fall on his face first, before giving his answer? “But Moses suspected that perhaps there was some truth to the accusation – perhaps there was a bit of ego involved in his leadership, so he had to go inside himself and search inwardly to learn if there was some truth there. “After searching within and finding that the accusation was false, (for as the Torah says, ‘V’ha’ish Moshe anav me’od – Moses was exceedingly humble’) he was able to respond with clarity. A similar thing happened with me here today.” The Alter Rebbe’s description of the head in relation to the body – intimately connected, yet separate, transcendent – is not just a metaphor for a leader in relation to the people, but also for consciousness in relation to the mind. Just as the attendant shields the rebbe from his clamoring hassidim, admitting them one by one according to the wishes of the rebbe, so too we need to be the “attendants” of our own minds, admitting our thoughts one by one, as they need to be dealt with. This “attending to our own minds” allows our consciousness to remain free and not be besieged by our thoughts. When you practice this, it sometimes happens that your mind rebels against you, like Korakh: “What makes you so great that you get to call all the shots? All of us thoughts are holy too!” Thoughts will come with incredible urgency, accusing you of being negligent, of being disconnected, of being arrogant, whatever. And even though Moses and the Alter Rebbe may find no trace of ego within themselves, most people will find at least a little. For most, cleansing oneself inwardly from ego is a daily task. That’s why it’s so important to spend some time each day turning the ל lamed inward, looking inside ourselves to learn the truth about whatever feelings and motivations are present. In seeing and acknowledging the truth of our own egos, we can free ourselves from it, and enjoy the inner aliveness that comes with that freedom. Because that aliveness is actually who you are – not who you think you are! Learning and Teaching – the Mitzvah of ל Lamed וְהָי֞וּ הַדְּבָרִ֣ים הָאֵ֗לֶּה אֲשֶׁ֨ר אָנֹכִ֧י מְצַוְּךָ֛ הַיּ֖וֹם עַל־לְבָבֶֽךָ׃ These words that I command you today shall be upon your heart. וְשִׁנַּנְתָּ֣ם לְבָנֶ֔יךָ וְדִבַּרְתָּ֖ בָּ֑ם בְּשִׁבְתְּךָ֤ בְּבֵיתֶ֙ךָ֙ וּבְלֶכְתְּךָ֣ בַדֶּ֔רֶךְ וּֽבְשׇׁכְבְּךָ֖ וּבְקוּמֶֽךָ׃ Teach them to your children and speak them when you sit at home and when you walk on the way, when you lie down and when you rise up… -Devarim (Deuteronomy) 6:6-7 These well-known verses from the Ve’ahavtah are understood to be the mitzvah of Torah study, the learning of Jewish texts. But on a deeper level, they hint at an attitude, an approach to the moment – When you sit at home and when you walk on the way, when you lie down and when you rise up… In other words, whatever we are doing, wherever we find ourselves – there is Torah to be learned, if we make the moment into our teacher. This is the deeper dimension of the mitzvah of Torah learning – to be constantly receptive to what is being taught, to become a student of the Present…
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Reb Menachem Mendel, known as the Kotzker Rebbe, once overheard someone comparing some person to another person: “So-and-so is a much greater scholar than so-and-so!”
To this, the Kotzker replied: “If I am I because I am I, and you are you because you are you, then I am I, and you are you. But if I am I because you are you, and you are you because I am I, then I am not I, and you are not you!” In other words, don’t base your identity on how you see others – or put more simply, don’t compare yourself to others. This bit of wisdom, albeit said in a riddle-like way, is simple and obvious. And yet, comparing ourselves with others and feeling inferior or superior as a result is an all-pervasive psychological reality for most humans. At its root, this tendency to compare ourselves with others comes from a feeling of insecurity that stems from uncertainty. We may feel uncertain about whether we are really worthy of what we have, or whether our abilities are good enough to maintain what we have or acquire what we lack, or we may worry about losing our abilities as we age. And it’s understandable – we really don’t know the answer to what will be. Uncertainty is the truth. But rather than confront this truth, some deal with uncertainty by trying to pretend it’s not there. We may try to convince ourselves that we are great, that we’re better than others, creating a kind of insecurity-based arrogance. Or, we may put ourselves down, affirming the worst in ourselves so that we don’t get disappointed. The problem with both these approaches is they’re not based on truth; they’re based on our reaction to our discomfort with truth – that is, the truth of uncertainty. עֲשֵׂה לְךָ רַב, וְהִסְתַּלֵּק מִן הַסָּפֵק רַבָּן גַּמְלִיאֵל הָיָה אוֹמֵר Rabban Gamaliel used to say: “Make for yourself a teacher, and remove yourself from uncertainty…” - Pirkei Avot 1:16 On the plain level, this mishna is reminding us of the importance of having teachers. Learning from teachers accomplishes three important things – first, it helps us to grow. Second, it puts us in a relationship of humility toward another, helping us to accept our own uncertainty rather than fight against it with arrogance or self-deprecation, so that we can be open to learning something new. Third, it is actually a path to transforming some of our uncertainty into knowledge. But on a deeper level, this mishna can me read, “Make for/to yourself a teacher” – in other words, make that which is to yourself – whatever is arising in this moment – into your teacher. אֵיזֶהוּ חָכָם, הַלּוֹמֵד מִכָּל אָדָם Eizeihu hakham? Halomed mikol Adam. Who is wise? One who learns from every person. - Pirkei Avot 4:1 This is the Path of Lamed ל, which means both “learn” and “teach,” pointing to the attitude of curiosity – alert openness to learn whatever the moment has to teach us. On the deepest level, this is not the learning of specific content, but rather it is the ongoing learning of how to be; that is, how to move through life as an embodiment of Presence, knowing yourself as the open space of awareness within which this moment unfolds, not separate from the One Reality we call the Divine. Again, this deepest level of the Path of Lamed ל is not merely the learning of ideas or concepts; it is a way of approaching the moment. There is a story that once, when Rabbi Yisrael of Apt was giving a public teaching, great throngs of people were pushing and shoving to try to get closer so they could hear his words. “That won’t help you!” cried the rabbi, “Those who are able to hear will hear, even at a distance. Those who are not able to hear will not hear, no matter how near they come.” In other words, the root of “hearing the teaching” is in our relationship with the moment, not in our hearing of specific words. Peaceful Unity יַחְדָּו אֶשְׁכְּבָ֪ה וְאִ֫ישָׁ֥ן כִּֽי־אַתָּ֣ה יְי לְבָדָ֑ד לָ֝בֶ֗טַח תּוֹשִׁיבֵֽנִי׃ בְּשָׁל֣וֹם In peaceful unity I lie down and sleep, for You, Hashem, cause me to dwell in solitude and security. - Tehilim (Psalms) 4:9 There is a sense of peace and unity that is found when we learn to simply be in the fulness of this moment. In this unity, there is no other, no sense of “me” and “not me.” To dwell in this unity, then, is to be truly alone, because there is nothing that arises in our field of awareness that is separate from awareness; this is the supreme security in which we can constantly trust. …l’vadad lavetakh toshivieni – to dwell in solitude and security. In fact, the word for security, vetakh, is the same root as “trust” – בטח. As is says in Tehilim: וַאֲנִי בְּחַסְדְּ֒ךָ בָטַֽחְתִּי – As for me, in Your kindness I trust (vatakhti)… - Tehilim (Psalms) 13:6 But this inner peace, this “dwelling” in “solitude and security” is not something solid, not an experience that persists permanently in time. It is, in fact, nothing but the open space within which everything is constantly changing; therefore, if we want this ultimate peace and security, we must stop resisting the fact that there is no permanent peace and security in time. So then why strive for it if it can never be permanently established? Parshat Shelakh L’kha On an inner level, this was the argument of the spies who were sent by Moses to go investigate the land and bring back reports. שְׁלַח לְךָ֣ אֲנָשִׁ֗ים וְיָתֻ֨רוּ֙ אֶת־אֶ֣רֶץ כְּנַ֔עַן Shelakh l’kha – Send for yourselves people who will spy out the land of Canaan... - Bamidbar (Numbers) 13:2 Most of the spies come back and say that the land is wonderful, but that there are “giants,” thus discouraging the Israelites from attempting to “conquer the land.” But on a deeper level, “conquering the land” represents the aim of “dwelling with the Divine in solitude and security.” The spies are saying that yes, peace and security are real, but we won’t be able to have them as a permanent state; the “giants” of thoughts and feelings are too powerful. So, why even bother? וְהַ֨יָּמִ֔ים יְמֵ֖י בִּכּוּרֵ֥י עֲנָבִֽים וְהִ֨תְחַזַּקְתֶּ֔ם וּלְקַחְתֶּ֖ם מִפְּרִ֣י הָאָ֑רֶץ “…strengthen yourselves to take from the fruit of the land.” And those days were the days of the first grapes… - Bamidbar (Numbers) 13:20 “Fruit” is a metaphor for the experience we seek. Here the fruit is the grape, and the word for grape is ענב anav. These three letters, ayin, nun and bet, have meanings: Ayin ע means “eye,” and so represents “seeing.” Nun נ is associated with the word נָפוּל naful which means “fallen,” and refers to the fact that Israel would eventually “fall” to her enemies. Nun נ, then, represents impermanence. Bet ב means “house,” the archetype of which is the ancient Temple in Jerusalem which would eventually “fall” to the Babylonians. Together, then, we can read ענב anav as meaning, “seeing the impermanence of sacred structure” – that is, the impermanence of spiritual experiences. The “grapes” that the spies bring back are plump and good – meaning, the “fruit” of experiencing unity and peace is possible, but there are “giants.” States of consciousness are not permanent. So, on this level, the spies are embodying a self-defeating attitude that can thwart our practice: “I can’t seem to hold on to the states I experience in meditation, so maybe I shouldn’t even bother.” But, there is another word which shares letters and sounds with ענב anav (grape): ענוה – anavah – “humility.” In this word, theב bet is replaced with aו vav (which has the same “v” sound). When the ו vav comes as a prefix to a word, it means “and,” implying movement into the future, the embrace of change, opening to something new, saying “yes and.” This is the key: The true בֶטַח vetakh, the true security, comes not from holding on to a particular state or moment; it comes not from trying to preserve the “fruits” of our practice, the עֲנָבִֽים anavim which are destined to die and decay. It comes instead fromענוה anavah, humility, which is openness and surrender to the impermanence of all forms and experiences. Because in this openness, there is the ever-renewing ו vav, the ever-saying “yes” to the newness that the moment brings. And this is the paradox: when we say “yes and” to the moment as it is becoming, when we embody the openness of ענוה anavah and let go of the עֲנָבִֽים anavim, the “fruits,” we discover the שָׁלוֹם יַחְדָּו, shalom yakhdav, the true peace and unity of all being, beyond yet including all experiences, the space of Reality Itself, supremely Alone in all Its resplendence. The Bread of Affliction Furthermore, as we learn to embrace whatever disturbing thoughts, feelings and sense perceptions arise, our awareness is actually strengthened by them: …אַל־תִּֽירְאוּ֙ אֶת־עַ֣ם הָאָ֔רֶץ כִּ֥י לַחְמֵ֖נוּ הֵ֑ם ... וַֽיהוָ֥ה אִתָּ֖נוּ Do not fear the people of the land, for they are our bread… the Divine is with us! - Bamidbar (Numbers) 14:9 “Bread” means nourishment. When we fully confront our difficult emotions and open to the fear or anger or whatever, it literally becomes “food” for consciousness. Whatever we resist can actually help us become more awake – if we decide not to be fearful of our fear, and instead open to the fullness of whatever arises in the field of awareness, without getting seduced by it. Because, actually, all emotions are literally made out of awareness – and furthermore, it’s not our awareness, but the awareness of Reality Itself, of the Divine, incarnating as us…and that is infinite power, infinite freedom, if we are willing to recognize It and stand firmly in the Presence of Its Truth… אַל תִּירָא מִפַּחַד...כִּי עִמָּנוּ אֵל Al Tira MiPakhad – Ki Imanu El! Don't be Afraid of Fear… for the Divine is with us! - Mishlei (Proverbs) 3:25, Yeshayahu (Isaiah) 8:10 Self-Doubt בְעֵינֵ֙ינוּ֙ כַּֽחֲגָבִ֔ים וְכֵ֥ן הָיִ֖ינוּ בְּעֵינֵיהֶֽם׃ In our eyes we are like grasshoppers, and so we were in their eyes… - Bamidbar (Numbers) 13:33 So too, we might think: “I’m not super human – how can I possibly accept everything that arises in the moment? How can I actually transcend my thoughts and feelings and become truly present in the face of the many challenges that arise in life?” From that fear, there’s the tendency to turn spirituality into just another idea, into something to talk about, but not something you can really live. When that happens, the spies with the bad reports have won. Like the Israelites who were condemned to wander another forty years in the desert, the intellectualizing of spirituality keeps the searching and wandering going on and on, and puts off the Arriving for another time. But you don’t have to be superhuman; you don’t have to be anything in particular, because openness is not a special thing; it is Nothing. It is just a willingness to allow this moment to be as it is. It is told about Rabbi Leib, one of the disciples of the Baal Shem Tov, that when he heard rabbis expound on the Torah, he would remark: “What does all this intellectual expounding amount to? A person should totally be a Torah, so that you can learn from their smallest movements as well as their motionless cleaving to the One. They must become empty and spacious like heaven itself, of which it is said: אֵֽין־אֹ֭מֶר וְאֵ֣ין דְּבָרִ֑ים בְּ֝לִ֗י נִשְׁמָ֥ע קוֹלָֽם “Ayn omer v’ayn devarim, b’li nishma kolam – There is no speech and there are no words; their sound is not heard…” - Tehilim (Psalms) 19:4 This is the spaciousness of Presence – the “heaven” that is born within when resistance and ego die, but you do not. Go to Hell Once, Reb Zushia commented on the saying of the sages, “The bold-faced will go to hell, and the shame-faced to paradise.” “The bold-faced will go to hell,” said Reb Zushia, “This means that if you are bold in holiness, you don't have to fear descending into hell. You can engage in all kinds of worldly things, and you will receive the light hidden within them. But if you're shame-faced in your holiness, you'd better stick to the paradise of prayer and meditation and stay away from the world...” There are times for withdrawing from the world and from people, in order to heal or gain perspective. But when it's time to move back into the world, it is good to be “bold-faced with your holiness.” Meaning, have confidence that whatever difficulties you encounter are food for your consciousness, and all experiences are part of your “schooling” for learning to be awake. To be “bold” doesn't mean you have to have confidence in yourself. The spies in the story lacked self-confidence, but the remedy would not have been to bolster their self-confidence. Rather, the remedy would be for them to have had Divine-confidence. Hashem told them not to be afraid; if they had Divine-confidence, their lack of self-confidence wouldn't have been a problem. Similarly, if you don't have self-confidence, don't worry! You don't need it. It's often better not to have self-confidence. As Hillel says, “Don't believe in yourself until the day you die.” (Pirkei Avot 2:5) But trust: here you are, in such-and-such situation, and this is your training; this is the exact situation you need to practice and to learn; This is the Path of Lamed ל. Learning to Lie Down … מִזְמ֥וֹר לְדָוִ֑ד יי רֹ֝עִ֗י לֹ֣א אֶחְסָֽר׃ בִּנְא֣וֹת דֶּ֭שֶׁא יַרְבִּיצֵ֑נִי עַל־מֵ֖י מְנֻח֣וֹת יְנַהֲלֵֽנִי׃ נַפְשִׁ֥י יְשׁוֹבֵ֑ב A song of David – the Divine is my shepherd, I shall not lack. In lush meadows the Divine lays me down, beside tranquil waters the Divine leads me – my soul is revived ! These opening words from Psalm 23 reflect a common attitude about spirituality, that realization of the Divine leads to pure bliss and freedom from all suffering – from anger, fear, judgment, and so on. But if we go a little further down, it says: תַּעֲרֹ֬ךְ לְפָנַ֨י שֻׁלְחָ֗ן נֶ֥גֶד צֹרְרָ֑י You prepare before me a table in front of my tormentors… In front of my tormentors? I thought we were just lounging in the grass beside the tranquil waters – how did my tormentors get into the picture? But that is the point. The point is not to get rid of the “tormentors,” but to shift the context within which the “torment” arises. This distinction can be confusing, because meditation will, after all, decrease negativity and suffering. It decreases stress, it decreases repetitive and unhelpful thinking, and it increases joy and bliss. And, at some point, you’re likely to experience all negativity dropping away completely. Beside tranquil waters the Divine leads me… However, this does not mean that negativity has been eliminated. That’s where you can get into trouble, because once you’ve had some deep success with your practice, once you “lie down by the tranquil waters,” so to speak, there can be a tendency to think that negativity shouldn’t bother you at all anymore, that your feelings should never get hurt, that you should never feel insulted, that nothing should make you angry and so on. Then, when some challenge does arise, you can mistakenly conclude that you’ve somehow lost it, that spirituality isn’t working for you anymore, when really you’ve just been given a tremendous gift, and you just need to shift the way you’re looking at it to see the gift. Even though I walk in the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me! The real power of Presence is not that it destroys the possibility of negativity arising. After all, we’re all in the gei tzalmavet- the valley of the shadow of death. But rather, the power of Presence is that it changes the context in which everything arises, including negativity. But, you can’t know this and prove it to yourself unless you have a chance to practice it, which is why the arising of negativity is a gift. So, when negativity arises, use it as an opportunity to realize that you are not trapped by it – know that the Divine is with you, because the Divine is literally not separate from the space of your own awareness, within which the negativity as well as everything else comes and goes. How do we do that? Be a student of the moment – this moment, just as it is, is teaching you right now. This is the Path of ל Lamed.
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Can’t You Do Anything Right?
As important as it is to be conscious in our words and actions, it is also crucial to admit when we haven’t been conscious. This takes a different kind of courage – the courage to confess our imperfection, the courage to tell the truth. Reb Elimelekh of Lyzhansk, a disciple of the Maggid and brother of Reb Zushia, used to say how he knew that he was assured a place in Olam Haba – the “World to Come.” He explained that when he leaves his body and ascends to the upper realms, they will ask him: “Did you study Torah to the best of your ability?” “No,” he would answer. “Did you pray with full kavanah, with all your heart and all your soul?” “No.” “Have you done all the Mitzvot and good deeds that you should have done?” “No.” “Well then come right on in, because we can see you are telling the truth!” We may be conditioned to think that spiritual reward is earned through perfecting ourselves, but actually, it is free. The “World to Come” is not in the future at all, but is present now – it the condition of Wholeness that is inherent in Reality Itself, ever-present and always available. And yet, as we know, it is easy to get blocked from feeling and knowing this Truth for ourselves. One of the main ways we can get blocked is by craving validation. Reb Elimelekh was considered to be a tzaddik, a spiritual master, yet he had no need to claim anything. He admits: “I could have done better.” He is not defending himself to the heavenly court, and therefore, in the absence of a defensive posture, he is open to receive the spiritual Gift that is ever being given. Why does defensiveness cut us off from this Gift? Because defensiveness actually creates the sense of self as something separate, as something incomplete. That’s the paradox – if you cling to a self-image of being be somehow superior, valid, righteous or whatever, you create a sense of self that is inherently inferior, invalid, incomplete and separate. But if you admit – “I could have done better… and whatever good I’ve done is by the grace of God” – then that tense, contractive self-concern can relax, and you can more easily return to the Wholeness that you already are (but that you can’t claim or own). Then, simply to be is a tremendous Gift, not a burden. In fact, it’s the impulse to defend ourselves that is the burden! Let go of that, and the Wholeness of simply being naturally follows. Parshat Beha’alotkha וְהָאִ֥ישׁ מֹשֶׁ֖ה עָנָ֣ו מְאֹ֑ד מִכֹּל֙ הָֽאָדָ֔ם אֲשֶׁ֖ר עַל־פְּנֵ֥י הָאֲדָמָֽה׃ And the man Moses was very humble – more so than any other man on the face of the earth.
Moses was humble? He was the tireless and sometimes ruthless leader of the Children of Israel. How could he have been humble? But humility doesn’t mean meekness or weakness. It means not grasping after greatness for yourself. It means understanding that the greatness you are comes from beyond “you” – in fact, there is no separate “you” at all, there is just the Mystery of Being in all Its different forms. That's just what Moses did – he was not concerned with his own greatness. He was serving the Greatness that called to him. When your attention is on That, rather than your own image or desire to be validated or seen in a positive light, it is humbling… and liberating. Which brings us to a second paradox: In order to keep our attention on the Divine, rather than on our identity, we have to keep our awareness rooted in the body. That’s right – our fragile, material, temporary, flawed, physical bodies are actually the gateways to Eternity, when our attention is rooted there. There is a hint of this in the opening of the parshah, where Aaron is instructed to kindle the menorah: בְּהַעֲלֹֽתְךָ֙ אֶת־הַנֵּרֹ֔ת אֶל־מוּל֙ פְּנֵ֣י הַמְּנוֹרָ֔ה יָאִ֖ירוּ שִׁבְעַ֥ת הַנֵּרֽוֹת When you kindle the lamps, the seven lamps should shine toward the face of the menorah…
The light is your awareness; the menorah is your body. “Kindling the lamps” is becoming present with the body. But why seven lamps? Seven in a symbol of completeness, of the whole person, hinting that we must bring consciousness to all areas of our lives. This is a challenge because there is a tendency to pay attention only to some areas of our lives, while ignoring others; we tend to pay attention to either the inner or the outer, either to the mind or to the heart, either to the physical or to the conceptual, either to the political or to the personal. The key is to bring awareness to all levels, to all dimensions… Integral View Once, one of our community members sent me an article criticizing the “mindfulness industry” and asked for my thoughts on the topic. The article claimed that the marketing of mindfulness totally misleads people into thinking that all they need to get rid of stress and be happy is to practice mindfulness, while ignoring the real problems in our society that actually create stress and unhappiness. While this may be true about mindfulness as an industry, it actually points to a much deeper problem that exists not just in spirituality but in every human endeavor, and that’s the problem of reductionism. When we get excited about something – whether it’s an art, a philosophy, a spiritual practice, a political movement, anything – we tend to reduce everything to that, and ignore other things of vital importance. The mindfulness industry may be exploiting this tendency toward reductionism for its own marketing ends, but the root of the problem is deeper. And, it’s worth noting that there are both “spiritual” people and “political” people who do this: “If only we would change society,” or “If only we would meditate enough” – then our problems would be solved. In the realm of spirituality, this is sometimes called spiritual bypass, but there is also political bypass, economic bypass, and many other bypasses. How can we be truly integral in our view and not unconsciously bypass? First, it is helpful is to understand why we might bypass. Why would we believe in something so strongly that we ignore other things that are also important? If you work in a kitchen, you have to wash both of your hands. No matter how clean you get your left hand, you still have to wash your right hand; there is no point at which your left hand gets SO clean that you no longer have to wash your right hand. Why would we think otherwise when it comes to other facets of life? There are two basic reasons this might happen: The first is that we may recognize some core truth, and that truth gets exaggerated into a bypass. In the case of spirituality, this isn’t hard to see, because the more present we become, the more we are able to be of genuine service to those around us. While our spiritual practice may not seem to have any discernible effect on our political/economic system, it can have a profound effect on the real people we interact with every day. This is no small thing – as we know, our daily interactions with others affect not only the tone of our own lives, but have an incalculable effect beyond our immediate experience on countless beings whom we may never meet. And, while some of us may sometimes have a discernible and occasionally profound effect at the political level, nearly all of us are constantly affecting and are being affected by others that we encounter daily. The quality of our interactions, especially with family and others we are close with, can sometimes make the difference between life and death, or between a healthy life and a life of alienation and misery. It is understandable, then, that in knowing the profoundly transformative and life-changing power of waking up in one’s life, that one might “overstep” and assume that if we awaken, everything else will simply take care of itself. For this reason, it is helpful to remember: meditation can have a profoundly positive effect, but that doesn’t mean it will necessarily and automatically “trickle down” to solve all the world’s problems, or even other personal problems such as health or money issues. For those, we may certainly have to do something else. But still, whatever we may have to do, Presence can help to open the inner space so that we can clearly see the choices before us, rather than be mired in conditioning and reactivity. The second reason is the plain fact that we are not in control of what happens. Nowadays, many of us are experiencing such distress in relation to our larger political, social and natural world realities, that it can be overwhelming. Combine that with the fact that no matter what we do, we are never guaranteed any positive outcome, we can be tempted to give up on trying to exert any influence, and focus instead solely on the immediate personal realm, where we may be more likely to have some positive effect. We know that we can’t control the world – so why should we drive ourselves crazy trying? Resignation is seductive, and to avoid the pain of despair, we might adopt the belief that we really are doing our best simply by meditating. There is a wonderful rabbinic aphorism to help us avoid these pitfalls: Rabbi Tarfon says: לֹא עָלֶיךָ הַמְּלָאכָה לִגְמֹר, וְלֹא אַתָּה בֶן חוֹרִין לִבָּטֵל מִמֶּנָּה. It is not upon you to finish the work, but neither are you free to withdraw from it.
Simple, clean, and radiating with truth: yes, we have no certainty, we have no control. It is not upon us to figure it all out; we can’t figure it all out. But we can act, from where we are and from what we see and with what is available to us, to participate in tikkun, in improving the situation. And that means, don’t reduce – the Divine needs to be realized bashamayim uva’aretz – in the heavens and on the earth, both. Let’s look again at the opening of the parshah: בְּהַעֲלֹֽתְךָ֙ אֶת־הַנֵּרֹ֔ת אֶל־מוּל֙ פְּנֵ֣י הַמְּנוֹרָ֔ה יָאִ֖ירוּ שִׁבְעַ֥ת הַנֵּרֽוֹת When you kindle the lamps, the seven lamps should shine toward the face of the menorah… It is a strange sentence – how can the light of the seven lamps be made to shine back toward the menorah? Light would simply shine out in all directions. But on a metaphorical level, the “seven lamps” are the many facets of human endeavor, such as politics, sciences, arts, relationships, and so on, and the menorah as a whole is a glyph that represents an integral vision, including all aspects of the whole person. Each branch expresses its own unique “light” – its own expression of consciousness – and the key is to get them all to illuminate their “root” – the unified human being, the one consciousness that we are beneath all our complexity, beneath all our multifaceted experience. Change Takes Time Many years ago, my wife Lisa joined a group of egalitarian rabbinical students who had gathered at the Western Wall in the Old City, in Jerusalem, to pray and chant Torah. This was a bit risky, as women and men praying together is considered to be illegal by the hareidim (ultra-Orthodox Jews) who dominated (and still dominate) the religious norms of Israel. At some point, while a woman was reading Torah, a few young hareidi boys gathered around the group, snickering, pointing and making fun. The woman just continued, ignoring the taunts. But soon, the older brothers and cousins started showing up, and the taunting intensified. Soon, young men dressed in black and white had surrounded the colorful group and started throwing rocks and other things. The commotion aroused the attention of the police, who quickly came between the hareidim and the students, protecting and allowing them to continue their service despite the increasingly dangerous threat that was forming all around them. As Lisa describes, the whole scene was a fantastic display of color: the rainbow shades of the egalitarian rabbinical students’ dress in the center, a ring blue police uniforms surrounding the rainbow colors, and a growing throng of black and white surrounding the blue. Finally, they finished, many of them shaking and weeping, and the police began escorting them from the plaza. The hareidi men followed and continued hurling insults. One old man with a long beard and long payos (side locks) approached one of the women and shouted: “I have to tell you!” “Don’t talk to me!” the women yelled back. “I have to tell you!” the old man persisted. “I don’t want to hear what you have to tell me!” yelled the woman. “I have to tell you!” retorted the old man, “You are right! And change takes a long, long time.” Here we have the meeting point between the different “branches of the menorah” – the inner and outer life. That old man was reminding the women: it is good to have the courage to come out and stand up for positive change in the outer world. But, it is also important to allow things to unfold as they unfold, to recognize that we are not controlling anything, and to let go. This requires Presence in one’s inner world, so as not to be caught by reactivity and fear. This can be so challenging when confronting the aggression of others. It can be helpful to remember that the hareidim in the story were merely acting out an impulse we all have probably experienced – the sense of being threatened by ideas that we don’t agree with. Why do we feel threatened by ideas? Because our sense of self is derived from our structure of thoughts and feelings; thoughts and feelings are the substance of ego. Ego, like any creature, fights to defend itself and stay alive. Just as an animal will be aggressive toward a perceived threat, so too does ego tend to be aggressive toward ideas that contradict its own deeply held assumptions and conditioning. So, if we are to recognize intolerant, aggressive impulses within ourselves, there has to be this basic shift into objectivity and willingness to question one’s own thoughts. There is a wonderful mishna that expresses this idea: הִלֵּל אוֹמֵר ... וְאַל תַּאֲמִין בְּעַצְמְךָ עַד יוֹם מוֹתְךָ Hillel said, “Don’t believe in yourself until the day of your death…” – Pirkei Avot 2:5 Hillel is saying, don’t believe everything you think! Recognize: “Here is a thought of judgment, here is a feeling of fear is arising in my body...” Once you have successfully broken your unconscious attachment to the impulses that arise from the ego by being aware of them, then another challenge may arise – the tendency to identify with those impulses, and therefore with the shame, guilt, and self-judgment that comes from seeing this part of yourself. In the short run, this is a good thing; we must fully acknowledge our unconscious impulses. If we acted on them, we should apologize and make restitution when possible to create a space for healing. But then we must also recognize: we are not our thoughts, we are not defined by our conditioning. For example, today there is a great increase of awareness about racism. In this cultural environment, I have often heard white people say, “I always thought I wasn’t racist, but now I realize that I too am a racist.” אַל תְּהִי רָשָׁע בִּפְנֵי עַצְמְךָ…רַבִּי שִׁמְעוֹן אוֹמֵר Rabbi Shimon said… “Don’t judge yourself to be a wicked person.” – Pirkei Avot 2:18 Yes, we may become aware of our racist conditioning – racist thoughts arise in the mind, racist feelings arise in the body. But all these are arising within the field of awareness that we are beyond the body, beyond thoughts, beyond feelings. We are that field, that vast spaciousness, beyond all form; we are not the thoughts and feelings that arise within. But to really know this for ourselves in the challenging moments, we must be the witness not only to our undesirable thoughts in those moments, but of all thoughts, at every moment. בְּהַעֲלֹֽתְךָ֙ אֶת־הַנֵּרֹ֔ת אֶל־מוּל֙ פְּנֵ֣י הַמְּנוֹרָ֔ה יָאִ֖ירוּ שִׁבְעַ֥ת הַנֵּרֽוֹת When you kindle the lamps, the seven lamps should shine toward the face of the menorah… Awareness, like physical light, “shines” outward in all directions, open to perceiving whatever is going on externally. But, if we want to awaken, if we want to know ourselves as the light of awareness, we have to deliberately shine that light back into ourselves. We have to look objectively at our own thoughts and feelings and recognize, “I am not limited by that. I am not limited by any identity; I am this Light of Presence, free and inherently benevolent.” And from that self-knowing, we can bring forth the courage we need to both press for positive change in the outer world, as well as overcome and transcend the source of all violence and aggression that lies within – the human ego – for this is the work only we can do for ourselves… הוּא הָיָה אוֹמֵר, אִם אֵין אֲנִי לִי, מִי לִי He (Hillel) used to say, “If I am not for myself, who will be for me?”
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Loneliness One night, when our daughter was two years old, we were woken up around 1:00 in the morning when she wandered into our bedroom and cried, “Why did I wake up lonely?” I think she meant to ask why she woke up alone, not lonely. But her words reminded me of a real fear that can arise on the path of spiritual awakening – the fear of being alone: “If I awaken, will I still be able to relate to other people? Will I feel all alone if I let go of the games and dramas that I used to engage in?” It’s true, there can be some awkwardness at first in relating to others as you transform, but this is only an adjustment period. However, there is an aspect of waking up that does require a certain aloneness, though not necessarily loneliness. On the most basic level, there has to be a willingness to let go of one’s addiction to thinking. As long as the mind is constantly generating a stream of thought, the world will appear to be a projection of that thought. Let go of your stream of thinking, and you begin to awaken – meaning, you begin to feel who you are beneath and beyond your thoughts – a vast, radiant field of consciousness, utterly alone with yourself, because you are no longer keeping company with the endless narrations of your mind. Stepping into this aloneness can be challenging because it triggers the fears of the ego. After all, the ego is literally made out of thoughts and feelings; step into aloneness, and the ego dissolves. The ego doesn’t want to dissolve, it wants to survive – so it generates fear. Awakening, then, requires transcending that fear; it requires a special kind of courage. This spiritual courage necessary to awaken from the dream of ego is represented by the letter כ kaf. The meaning of כ kaf is “palm of the hand,” which both represents the place of action, as well as the transmission of blessing, as when a person is blessed by one placing their palms on the head of the one being blessed. The letter כ kaf also begins the word keter, “crown” – representing the royal quality of courage that “crowns” a true leader. Bringing these different images together, כ kaf is our inner royalty, courageously “building” our inner “sanctuary of blessing” within which our essence can dwell, alone and sovereign. The courage of כ kaf isn’t something we have to acquire or create. It is inherent in our being; we only need remember it and bring it forth. But to do that we have to want to do it. This can be the biggest challenge, because when we are possessed by other concerns, our power of intention can become focused elsewhere; it takes a special effort to refocus ourselves on our deepest desire – the desire to awaken. So, if we wish to bring forth the courage we need to truly stand alone from our thoughts, we need to not be so seduced by our other concerns; we need to somehow put them aside... Parshat Nasso צַ֚ו אֶת־בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל וִֽישַׁלְּחוּ֙ מִן־הַֽמַּחֲנֶ֔ה כׇּל־צָר֖וּעַ וְכׇל־זָ֑ב וְכֹ֖ל טָמֵ֥א לָנָֽפֶשׁ׃ Command the Israelites to send out from camp anyone with a skin affliction, anyone with a bodily discharge and anyone who has been defiled by a corpse.
This verse describes the final preparations for completing the Mishkan, the Holy Sanctuary in the middle of the Israelite camp. In order for it to become activated, they are instructed to separate anyone who is a tzaru’a, a zav, or who is tamei lanafesh. All three of these terms have to do with bodily phenomena, but metaphorically, they are related to ways that our thoughts, speech and actions can block us from the courage we need to awaken. The first is צָרוּעַ tzaru’a, which means someone with a particular skin affliction, and is associated with the sin of lashon hara – gossip and slander. Since the skin is the boundary of a person but also the place of intimate connection with others, this mythic disease is an expression of relationships getting tarnished through destructive speech. The second is זָב zav, which means some kind of bodily emission and is associated with sexuality. Metaphorically, this outward emission represents the way thoughts of sexuality can be a kind of “reaching” or “grasping” for gratification, and a loss of vital energy and Presence. These two represent the basic polarity of unconsciousness – the tzaru’a is negativity, and the zav is wanting, grasping, neediness. Both of these lead to an absence of Presence in the body, which brings us to the third one: טָמֵ֥א לָנָֽפֶשׁ tamei lanefesh, which is someone who has become “spiritually contaminated” by a corpse. To the degree that we become seduced by the energies of “I hate” and “I want,” our bodies become temporarily “dead” to our deeper desire for awakening. We must “separate them from the camp” in a sense, so that we can access that deepest desire. But how do we do that? Burning Down the House If you look back in time through your family photos, you will eventually find pictures of people not smiling. It’s an interesting thing – why didn’t people smile back then when posing for pictures? And why and when did people start smiling as we do today? It’s funny – a person could be grumpy, then someone comes along to take a photo and they instantly manifest an expression of deep happiness. In a sense, the old paradigm is more honest; if we want to take a snapshot of life, the practice of always smiling probably gives a false impression, that life is constantly fun and joyful, when we know that is not. Happiness is a wonderful thing, but what about honesty? וְדֹבֵ֥ר אֱ֝מֶ֗ת בִּלְבָבֽוֹ׃ …מִי־יָג֣וּר בְּאׇהֳלֶ֑ךָ מִֽי־יִ֝שְׁכֹּ֗ן בְּהַ֣ר קׇדְשֶֽׁךָ׃ Who may sojourn in Your tent, Who can dwell on Your holy mountain? …one who speaks Truth from their heart…
And yet, in Pirkei Avot, the sage Shamai says: וֶהֱוֵי מְקַבֵּל אֶת כָּל הָאָדָם בְּסֵבֶר פָּנִים יָפוֹת – Receive every person with a cheerful face. And later in the text, Rabbi Yishmael takes it even further: וֶהֱוֵי מְקַבֵּל אֶת כָּל הָאָדָם בְּשִׂמְחָה – Receive every person with joy! So, which is it? Is it best to be honest about our feelings, or should we “put on a happy face?” A disciple once asked the Hassidic master, Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev, which is the true path – the path of sorrow or the path of joy? He answered that there are two kinds of sorrow, and two kinds of joy. The wrong kind of sorrow is when you become negative, think of yourself as a victim and complain about your life. The right kind of sorrow is when you simply feel your suffering and the suffering of others in an honest way, without embellishment. The wrong kind of joy is when you only become happy about things you like, when things are going your way, when you get what you want. The right kind of joy, on the other hand, is like when a person’s house burns down, and as they rebuild what was destroyed, they rejoice over each and every brick. It’s a remarkable image – the right kind of joy is like when your house burns down! The genius of this teaching is that the right kind of joy and the right kind of sorrow are really the same thing; they are merged in the truth of our experience, that everything we love and enjoy will eventually burn down; it takes a special courage, the energy of כ kaf, to face this and “rejoice over each and every brick.” We can do this because that deeper joy arises from the depths of who we are, beneath our temporary experience, beneath the “house” of our thoughts and feelings. This is the simple joy of being, the joy of existence, which becomes available when we let the “house” of ego “burn down” and fully open to the truth of our experience without resistance – even, paradoxically, the experience of pain and suffering. And in that openness, we begin this moment anew, rejoicing over every “brick” – over every action offered in service of “building the sanctuary” – making a home for the Divine out of this brief life we are given. This, then, is the secret of freeing ourselves from our wants and hates – it is not a matter of literally “expelling them from the camp,” but rather feeling them fully and going to their root, because behind our ordinary wants and hates is that deeper desire for awakening itself. The Nazarite This deep openness to the truth of whatever feelings are present is very simple, but it can be challenging in the flow of ordinary life. That’s why daily practice is so important – to take time away from the ordinary distractions to cultivate the awareness necessary. דַּבֵּר֙ אֶל־בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל וְאָמַרְתָּ֖ אֲלֵהֶ֑ם אִ֣ישׁ אֽוֹ־אִשָּׁ֗ה כִּ֤י יַפְלִא֙ לִנְדֹּר֙ נֶ֣דֶר נָזִ֔יר לְהַזִּ֖יר לַֽיהוָֽה׃ …מִיַּ֤יִן וְשֵׁכָר֙ יַזִּ֔יר Speak to the Israelites and say to them: If anyone, man or woman, explicitly swears the vow of the Nazir, to abstain for the sake of the Divine, he shall abstain from wine and intoxicants… The Nazir mentioned in the parshah is someone who has become disconnected from the Divine and wishes to come back. How do they do it? They take a period of abstinence from alcohol and haircuts. Why? Alcohol is a way of altering our inner state, while grooming our hair is a way of altering our outer state. In other words, they are examples of manipulating our experience toward our liking. Consciously abstaining from manipulating our experience for a period can help us get in touch with our deepest level of awareness that simply receives the moment as it is, that “lets the house burn down,” so to speak. This level of awareness already knows the Oneness of the Divine as the basic condition of Reality, prior to the impulse to do something about it. Through this practice, the Nazir could find their way back to the Divine, back to their deepest nature, and then return to ordinary life from this higher place. For us, a periodic withdrawal from acting on the world is actualized through daily meditation, as well as the traditional practices of Shabbat and the festivals. The weekly reading of Parshat Naso usually happens around the festival of Shavuot, during which the Book of Ruth is traditionally chanted. This book begins with Naomi’s house “burning down” as great tragedy befalls her: first, her husband dies, and then both of her sons die. She tells her daughters-in-law to go back to their families, but her daughter-in-law Ruth swears allegiance to Naomi, and they return to Naomi’s hometown of Bethlehem, penniless. Someone says, “Could this be Naomi?” but Naomi tells her that is no longer her name: וַתֹּ֣אמֶר אֲלֵיהֶ֔ן אַל־תִּקְרֶ֥אנָה לִ֖י נָעֳמִ֑י קְרֶ֤אןָ לִי֙ מָרָ֔א כִּי־הֵמַ֥ר שַׁדַּ֛י לִ֖י מְאֹֽד׃ “Do not call me Naomi (pleasantness),” she replied. “Call me Mara (bitterness), for Shaddai has made my lot very bitter.” After that, their luck begins to change. Ruth serendipitously meets the wealthy Boaz, a relative of Naomi, ends up marrying him. They have a son, and through his line comes King David, who is himself believed to be the ancestor of the future Moshiakh, the salvation of all humanity. The hint is: their salvation begins to sprout when Naomi expresses her bitterness: “Call me Mara (bitterness), for Shaddai has made my lot very bitter.” She is not complaining about her lot; she is receiving it from the hands of the Divine. She is speaking Truth from her heart – her experience isn’t pleasant, it is bitter – but from that honesty, her fortune begins to change and will lead ultimately to world salvation. In other words, it is from the openness to the bitter that a deeper, transcendent joy arises. This is the blessing behind the curse; it is the discovery of the transcendent blessing that comes through embracing the moment as it is… The Blessing יְבָרֶכְךָ֥ יְהוָ֖ה וְיִשְׁמְרֶֽךָ׃ כֹּ֥ה תְבָרְכ֖וּ אֶת־בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֑ל אָמ֖וֹר לָהֶֽם׃ Thus shall you bless the people of Israel – say to them: May the Divine bless you and guard you!
In this verse, the Divine tells the kohanim (priests) to bless the people by praying that the Divine should bless the people. It is strange – why does the Divine need the priests for this? If Hashem wants to give blessing, why doesn’t the Hashem just do it without the priests having to say it first? But this is the point: The Divine blessing is always already inherent in simply being; our very essence is blessing. But, because our being-ness is constant, our tendency is to not notice it; we have to consciously receive the blessing of this moment in order to experience it and appreciate it. Just as the priests had to say the blessing, so too must we become aware of the blessing that we are by bringing our minds and hearts to the blessedness of this moment. The verse hints at this by combining being “blessed” with being “guarded” –yivarekhekha, v’yishm’rekha. Meaning, if we want to receive the blessing that is constantly given, we have to “guard” our hearts and minds so as not to be swept away by thoughts and feelings that obscure the blessedness. These two realities, blessing and guarding, are represented by the two letters bet and shin: ב – Bet, Brakha, “Blessing” ש – Shin, Shomer, “Guard” בּכָל יום אֲבָרְכֶךָּ וַאֲהַלְלָה שִׁמְךָ לְעולָם וָעֶד Every Day/all day (constantly) I will bless You, and I will praise Your Name unto Eternity! שׁומֵר ה' אֶת כָּל אהֲבָיו וְאֵת כָּל הָרְשָׁעִים יַשְׁמִיד Guarded will be all who love the Divine, but all the wicked will perish…
Together, these two letters form שב shev, “sit” – hinting, sit and meditate! Furthermore, the letter ו vav means “and.” If we add the ו vav to say: ש shin AND ב bet, we get שובshuv, “return.” The ups and downs, the beauty and ugliness, the love and hate, the bitterness and sweetness of our time-bound lives tend to obscure the blessedness that is ever-present, but we always have the power to שוב shuv, to return; even a person who is thoroughly wicked and emmeshed in creating suffering and destruction has this power to do teshuvah. This is hinted by the word רשע, “wicked person.” וְאֵת כָּל הָרְשָׁעִים יַשְׁמִיד… …but all the wicked will perish That is, the wickedness itself perishes when the wicked person changes. But in order to change in a positive way, a person must “see” the reality of their situation: Rasha, a “wicked person,” is:רשעA ר Reish, which means “beginning,” ש Shin, as in shanah, which means “change,” and ע Ayin – which means “eye,” as in “seeing.” In other words, true change begins with seeing. This is why, if we wish to awaken the Divine Blessedness within, we must simply see this moment as it appears to us. Seeing, meaning not visual seeing but rather perceiving the truth of this moment, is the key to transformation. But also, if we wish to bring about positive change in others, we must embody the change ourselves. We cannot force anyone else to change, but if we embody love and not hate, the רשע who sees this in us is offered a doorway to teshuvah, to return to the Divine essence of their own being. This is why it is so important for us to be watchful, to “guard” ourselves constantly, for any moment the blessedness that we reveal in our words and actions could potentially transform the whole world. And that is our charge and our mission – not to succumb to the momentum of the ordinary and the expected, but to bring forth the כ kaf, the inner courage that we need to return and awaken to the Mystery of our Essence, again and again…
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The Garbage Truck
One morning, as I lay in bed around 6:30 am, I heard a rumbling sound from deep within whatever dream I was having. “That sound… it means something… something important… what is that sound?” The garbage truck! I had forgotten to put out the garbage the night before, and the can was pretty full. I leapt out of bed, slid into some pants, darted downstairs and out the front door. I looked and saw that the garbage truck had already passed my house and was halfway down the street! I grabbed the can and ran after him, rolling it behind me. When I caught up, I started to politely ask him if he would take it, but before even one word came from my lips he grabbed it from me violently, almost knocking me over and barked something like “GIMMEE IT!” …I think. Wow – he had certainly had his coffee already. Maybe a little too much, but I was grateful that he had taken it at all. That was maybe my first experience of getting out of bed according to how traditional Jewish teaching says we should get out bed… The Urgency of the Eternal The codes of Jewish law are somewhat paradoxical about getting up in the morning. On one hand, they say that one should leap out of bed – no laziness! Not a moment should be wasted – there is much to do! Get up with the “strength of a lion” and jump into the day. It is imperative for a person to be strong as a lion. Immediately upon awakening, you should rise with alacrity for the service of the Blessed Creator, before you are over-whelmed by your yetzer hara with various excuses not to rise, and be outsmarted and seduced in the winter: “How can you rise now so early in the morning when the weather is so cold?” Or, in the summer it will argue: “How can you rise from your bed while you are still not satisfied with enough sleep?” or other similar claims…
On the other hand, before you get up, you should take a moment to receive the gift of your life, chanting: “Modeh/Modah ani lifanekha- I give thanks before you…” Then should you leap into your day? No, you should ritually wash your hands, with the kavanah (intention) to purify your heart so that you can serve with love in all your actions. Okay now should you leap your day? No. First there are many blessings to be chanted, many prayers to pray. So which is it? Should you leap out of bed and get to work, or take your time to connect with your inner depths? But that’s the point – If you spend all your time in meditation, the bliss of Being reveals Itself within your own awareness, but the world remains untouched. On the other hand, if your life is focused solely on the external, then you become lost in its dramas, disconnected from you inner Source, and the world suffers for it. But connect with the Eternal in order to bring it into the temporal – that’s the alchemy! Parshat BaMidbar מִבֶּ֨ן עֶשְׂרִ֤ים שָׁנָה֙ וָמַ֔עְלָה כָּל־יֹצֵ֥א צָבָ֖א בְּיִשְׂרָאֵ֑ל תִּפְקְד֥וּ אֹתָ֛ם לְצִבְאֹתָ֖ם אַתָּ֥ה וְאַהֲרֹֽן׃ From the age of twenty years up, all who go out into the army in Israel, you shall count them by their legions, you and Aaron.
In its plain meaning, this is an instruction to take a census of those qualitied to fight in battle. But “counting soldiers” is also a metaphor for our external lives. Each day we should arouse ourselves like soldiers to do battle with our inner inertia and make every moment “count” – It is imperative for a person to be strong as a lion. But then, a bit later, it gives the other half of the equation: וְהַלְוִיִּ֖ם לְמַטֵּ֣ה אֲבֹתָ֑ם לֹ֥א הָתְפָּקְד֖וּ בְּתוֹכָֽם׃ The Levites, however, by their tribe of their ancestors, were not counted...
The Levites weren’t soldiers, they were priests and musicians – caretakers of the Mishkan – the Sacred Space at the center of the camp. The soldiers went out to conquer the many, but the Levites connected to the One. And in the One, there’s nothing to count! There is only One! The trick is for these two sides – the internal and the external – to be in balance, to express our inwardness through the external wilderness of life. But this takes practice – it’s no small thing staying connected to the holiness of this moment while running after the garbage truck! This is the path of י yod, the “hand” that represents the world of action, but also the “tiny point” which represents the ultimate simplicity of pure awareness, simply perceiving what is. Think More, Think Less The message of י yod is, “Don’t think so much. Think less, perceive more.” And yet, we often hear the message that we should think more, that mistakes can be avoided if we thoroughly think things through. So, which is it? Should we think more, or think less? שְׂא֗וּ אֶת־רֹאשׁ֙ כָּל־עֲדַ֣ת בְּנֵֽי־יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל לְמִשְׁפְּחֹתָ֖ם לְבֵ֣ית אֲבֹתָ֑ם בְּמִסְפַּ֣ר שֵׁמ֔וֹת כָּל־זָכָ֖ר לְגֻלְגְּלֹתָֽם׃ Lift the head (take a head count) of the whole community of the Children of Israel, by the families of the houses of their fathers, counting the names of every male, head by head.
Hidden within this narrative about taking a census of the soldiers, there is a wisdom for harmonizing the contradictory advice to think more and yet to think less: שְׂא֗וּ אֶת־רֹאשׁ֙ – S’u et rosh – lift the head… This phrase is an idiom for taking a census. But the deeper implication is that before going out to “do battle” with the challenges of life, we must “lift our head” – that is, elevate our perspective to see our situation as clearly as we can, which means transcending and getting free from whatever thoughts and feelings in which we might be entangled. This is thinking less – the path of י yod, of simple Presence and trust. But from this elevated place of not-thinking, we can then enter into a process of conscious thinking, so that we may discern the right path of action to take. How? כָּל־עֲדַ֣ת בְּנֵֽי־יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל – kol adat b’nei Yisrael – all the assembly of the Children of Israel… Yisrael means sarita El, “striving” or “wrestling with the Divine.” It describes the spiritual path of acting with conscious intention: “What is my purpose in doing such-and-such? What am I trying to accomplish?” Through questioning ourselves, we can avoid that unconscious tendency to act automatically, without really considering what we are trying to do. Self-inquiry cuts through that unconsciousness and brings forth our power of decision. It doesn’t guarantee that we will succeed, but if we don’t question ourselves, we are almost certain to fail. Once we get clear on our kavanah, our intention, then we can choose to act in alignment with our intention, and move on to the next step: לְמִשְׁפְּחֹתָ֖ם – l’mishp’khotam – by their families… “Family” consists of those close to us, those we for whom we are responsible, and those who are responsible for us. At this point, we can ask: “How will this action affect people?” “People” doesn’t necessarily mean other people; we also need to consider how things will affect ourselves. For example, we might consider looking at the news or social media. We might determine that our intention is good, that we are trying to be informed and connected to the world. But then we ask, “How will this affect people?” To a certain point, there may be no ill affect. But beyond that point, if exposing ourselves to news and social media creates negativity and anxiety, that would be a consideration. Plus, in that state of negativity, we might express or even project that negativity onto others. This brings us to the final question: בְּמִסְפַּ֣ר שֵׁמ֔וֹת כָּל־זָכָ֖ר לְגֻלְגְּלֹתָֽם – b’mispar shemot, kol zakhar l’gulg’lotam – by the number of names, every male, head by head… Once we “name” both what our purpose is and what the effects will be with regard to a particular decision, we have to “number” it – we have to ask, “Is it really worth it?” In other words, if our intention is good but some of the consequences may not be so good, we need to ask which “counts” more; we need to evaluate and decide. Again, this is no guarantee that we will make the right choice, but if we don’t evaluate and decide, it is likely we will make the wrong choice. And if, after careful thinking the situation through, we do end up making the wrong choice, this too has goodness to it, because we will learn from it. This two-part process of “lifting the head,” that is, the stripping away of thought, followed by the “numbering of names,” that is, careful evaluation of purpose and learning from experience, is represented by the path of י yod, which is simplicity and trust, and the path of לlamed, which has to do with thought and learning. Both letters are the active expressions of the dual sefirot of the mind, Hokhmah (wisdom, awareness) and Binah (understanding, focused thought). Seen in this way, there is no contradiction in the advice to “think more” and “think less” – they are two parts of one process. The ability to engage in this process of י yod andל lamed in real time, however, takes training and practice; we need to engage in meditation and contemplation in the space of regular avodah, daily practice, if we want the paths to be available to us in the flow of life. Yankel the Lazy Yankel wasn’t inclined to do physical exercise. But as he got older, he realized that he had better take care of his body, or he would be in trouble. So, he hired a personal trainer to motivate him out of his sloth and get him work out. The personal trainer began by coming to his house every day. First, she taught him the exercises that would be best for him. But when it came to actually doing them, Yankel was so lazy, that the trainer would have to yell cheers to get him to exert himself. “Come on you can do it!” she would shout. “That’s seven, just three more to go! Do it!” Over time, Yankel’s resistance seemed to drop away, and it became easier and easier for the trainer to motivate him. After several weeks, the trainer didn’t have to do anything except come over and make sure Yankel was working out, simply by witnessing him. Yankel even shouted out his own motivational cheers: “I can do it! One! Two! Just seven more to go! Getting stronger! Three!” Eventually, the trainer didn’t even come inside, but just listened at the door. She would hear Yankel yelling to himself: “Getting stronger and stronger! I can do it! Five! Six! Four more to go!” When she would hear him yelling through the door, she would leave, satisfied that he had established his workout habit. But, when they had a meeting after several months to evaluate and adjust his routine, she noticed that he didn’t look like he was exercising at all; he was just as unfit looking as he had been before they began. “How strange! I hear you working out every day, but it seems to not be working!” “Oh, I haven’t been working out,” said Yankel. “But I come by every day and hear you!” said the trainer. “Oh, that’s just me yelling, not actually working out. I figured if you heard me yelling, you would think I was working out and leave me alone!” Overcoming the difficulties of establishing a daily habit of avodah, (spiritual practice) is crucial, but it is not enough. Many are able to break through the initial inertia of establishing a habit, but their practice is just like Yankel’s – perhaps going through the motions, saying the words and so on, but nothing is really happening. It’s not that the forms are irrelevant – the “cheers” and “counting of reps” can be a good accompaniment to practice, and even an expression of practice, but they’re not the practice itself. As long as the forms are helping you do the real inner activity of the practice, they are doing their job. But if they become a substitute for the inner reality, then you miss the mark. It is understandable that the forms of practice – how many times per day, what texts to chant, and so on, could easily eclipse the inner reality of practice, because form is quantifiable. You can easily define how to fulfill a practice in form; it is not as easy to define connection with the Timeless, with the Un-Countable. But again, this doesn’t mean that form is irrelevant; the form is vital, as long as we are relating to it properly, as long as we are using the quantifiable form as a portal into the Eternal. In fact, there are even some forms that we can take with us when the safety of our avodah is over, to help us stay connected even as we run after the garbage trucks of the world… The Mitzvah of Tzitzit “When I am meditating or chanting, I feel so deeply connected and I have no problem being my highest self. But, when stressful things in life push my buttons, all of that is out the window. How do I maintain my spiritual connection in those moments?” This is a question that often comes up after you have had some success with your practice. Before that success, you might be still looking for some experiential connection. But after you discover what you’re searching for, the problem is even deeper: How do you keep the connection? The simple answer, of course, is practice. You have to practice keeping that connection in different life situations, and you will get better and better at it. But that doesn’t help much, because when you are in stressful or triggering situations, two things happen: First, you don’t care anymore about your spiritual connection, because you are triggered! You go into in a fight-or-flight mode. Second, even if you would care about practicing in that moment, you probably can’t remember to practice, because you are triggered! Your emotions have taken over. So, if you are going to actually practice in those triggering situations, you need a strategy for those two problems. You need to first of all remember to practice (זָכוּר zakhor), and second of all, you need to be motivated to practice (שָמור shamor). There are many mitzvot which function as a solution to this problem. Let’s look at one: דַּבֵּ֞ר אֶל־בְּנֵ֤י יִשְׂרָאֵל֙ וְאָמַרְתָּ֣ אֲלֵהֶ֔ם וְעָשׂ֨וּ לָהֶ֥ם צִיצִ֛ת עַל־כַּנְפֵ֥י בִגְדֵיהֶ֖ם לְדֹרֹתָ֑ם וְנָֽתְנ֛וּ עַל־צִיצִ֥ת הַכָּנָ֖ף פְּתִ֥יל תְּכֵֽלֶת׃ Speak to the Children of Israel and instruct them to make for themselves fringes on the corners of their garments throughout the ages; let them attach a cord of blue to the fringe at each corner. וְהָיָ֣ה לָכֶם֮ לְצִיצִת֒ וּרְאִיתֶ֣ם אֹת֗וֹ וּזְכַרְתֶּם֙ אֶת־כָּל־מִצְוֺ֣ת יְהוָ֔ה וַעֲשִׂיתֶ֖ם אֹתָ֑ם וְלֹֽא־תָתֻ֜רוּ אַחֲרֵ֤י לְבַבְכֶם֙ וְאַחֲרֵ֣י עֵֽינֵיכֶ֔ם אֲשֶׁר־אַתֶּ֥ם זֹנִ֖ים אַחֲרֵיהֶֽם׃ It shall be for you tzitzit – look at it and recall all the mitzvot of the Divine and do them, so that you do not wander after your heart and your eyes that become distracted. לְמַ֣עַן תִּזְכְּר֔וּ וַעֲשִׂיתֶ֖ם אֶת־כָּל־מִצְוֺתָ֑י וִהְיִיתֶ֥ם קְדֹשִׁ֖ים לֵֽאלֹהֵיכֶֽם׃ So that you shall remember to do all My mitzvot and to be holy to your Divinity. אֲנִ֞י יְהוָ֣ה אֱלֹֽהֵיכֶ֗ם אֲשֶׁ֨ר הוֹצֵ֤אתִי אֶתְכֶם֙ מֵאֶ֣רֶץ מִצְרַ֔יִם לִהְי֥וֹת לָכֶ֖ם לֵאלֹהִ֑ים אֲנִ֖י יְהוָ֥ה אֱלֹהֵיכֶֽם׃ I am Existence, your Divinity, who brought you out of the land of Egypt to be your God: I am Being, your Divinity.
The purpose of the tzitzit, the ritual fringes traditionally worn on the corners of one’s garment, is exactly what we are talking about – they are a physical reminder on your body to dedicate your actions to the Divine and avoid getting caught in distractions that take you away from that intention. Another purpose of the tzitzit is to remind you to do the other mitzvot, the particular spiritual practices of Judaism, both ritual and ethical, throughout your day. This brings us to the second problem – how do you keep yourself motivated? Let’s take a particular mitzvah and see how this can work. There is a daily mitzvah to chant these words as part of the Sh’ma: וְאָ֣הַבְתָּ֔ אֵ֖ת יְהוָ֣ה אֱלֹהֶ֑יךָ בְּכָל־לְבָבְךָ֥ וּבְכָל־נַפְשְׁךָ֖ וּבְכָל־מְאֹדֶֽךָ׃ Ve’ahavtah Et Adonai Elohekha, b’khol l’vav’kha, uv’khol nafsh’kha, uv’khol me’odekha. You shall love Existence, your Divinity, with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might.
If you say this commitment every day (or use the traditional words, but understand them and mean them as a commitment), then you are adding tremendous power to your intention to practice in difficult moments. Why? Because even when you don’t care about spirituality in a moment of being triggered, you have made a commitment and you can rely on that commitment. You don’t have to care; you just have to honor your commitment. The actual saying out loud of a commitment will give tremendous power to your intention, even in the most difficult moments. But now you still have to remember your commitment. That’s where the tzitzit come in. You need to have some kind of reminder that works for you all day long, so that your chances of remembering in those difficult moments are increased thousand-fold. Of course, just wearing tzitzit is not enough; you have to train yourself to be reminded of your intention by them. For example, make it a practice to say your commitment over and over again, every time you look down and see them. Of course, any reminder could work, though there is a power in using the traditional forms, in that they connect you to the support of the lineage. But whatever form you use, the key is to verbally say your intention out loud every day, and then have something to remind you throughout the day. This is the inner function of chanting Sh’ma and ve’ahavtah and wearing the tzitzit. There are two other physical mitzvot mentioned in the Ve’ahavtah which have a similar function: וּקְשַׁרְתָּ֥ם לְא֖וֹת עַל־יָדֶ֑ךָ וְהָי֥וּ לְטֹטָפֹ֖ת בֵּ֥ין עֵינֶֽיךָ׃ Bind them as a sign on your hand and let them serve as a symbol between your eyes. וּכְתַבְתָּ֛ם עַל־מְזוּזֹ֥ת בֵּיתֶ֖ךָ וּבִשְׁעָרֶֽיךָ׃ Inscribe them on the doorposts of your house and on your gates… This is the practice of tefillin and mezuzah – binding tiny scrolls of Torah passages on the body during avodah so that you physically feel your intention on your body, and affixing a scroll on the doorposts in the home, so that you see and touch your intention as you move through different spaces. The Idol of Form The key with these ritual practices is, as always, is to use the outer forms to point to the inner reality; otherwise, there is the danger that the practices become a kind of idolatry, a means for the ego to prop up its self-image as being a “religious” person. Rather than the form pointing to the Eternal, beyond the world of the mind and counting, it simply points us back into the world of counting of status, of self-image. There is a hint of this in the haftorah of our parshah. This portion from Hosea talks about how the Children of Israel have strayed from the Divine and run after idols, the ba’alim. Israel is compared to a harlot, an unfaithful wife, running after other lovers. Why does she do this? “I will go after my lovers, for they will give me my bread and water, my wool and linin, my oil and my drink.” In other words, the children of Israel aren’t satisfied; they want to count more. Rather than appreciate what is present, they run after that which is not present; they imagine they can achieve more gratification. Pursue her lovers as she will, she shall not overtake them; and seek them as she may, she shall never find them. Then she will say, “I will go and return to my First Husband, for then I fared better than now.” Eventually, Israel realizes that the obsession with counting, with more, also called idolatry, only causes her suffering, and so she comes to appreciate the gifts she had and thereby returns to true connection with the Divine. Then the number of the children of Israel shall be like the sands of the sea, which cannot be measured or counted; they shall be called “Children of the Living Presence…
The hint here is that, on a deep and yet practical level, “idolatry” really means to fixate on that which is not present; it means to elevate the images we “engrave” in our minds above the actual Reality right in front of us. The “idol” is that which is not present; the true Divine is Presence. Return Of course, there is nothing wrong with imagining what we need or want in the future; that’s the job of the mind. We have to count and quantify; we have to make maps of the world in order to navigate life. The point is not to elevate the map over the territory; the point is not to live in your mind, but to live in the Living Present. And fortunately, no matter how lost in our minds we become, and no matter how caught up in the external urgencies and “garbage trucks” of the world we become, the present moment has not gone anywhere. It’s always here, open to our return, to our t’shuvah. There’s a story of the Chofetz Chayim, that he once had a student who was sunk in crushingly oppressive poverty. The student would often implore his master to pray on his behalf, and promised that if his prayers were answered and he were to become wealthy, he would give abundant tzeddaka – abundant charity to those in need. The Chofetz Chayim would just listen compassionately and nod. Years later, after the student had moved away to the city, he had indeed become exceedingly wealthy. The Chofetz Chayim went to visit him and asked: “So, how are things?” “Very well thank God,” said the former student, “I’ve been blessed with many riches.” “And how has your tzeddaka been going?” The rich former student turned red, embarrassed that he had forgotten his promise. In fact, as his riches grew more and more, his stinginess had grown as well. “You know,” said the Chofetz Chayim, “The more successful you are in your external battles, the stronger your yetzer hara – your lust for the external – also becomes.” In that moment, his delusion was broken, and he returned fully to the inner path that his heart had abandoned. He dedicated his wealth to service and became a fountain of relief for many who suffered in poverty. The Ecstatic and the Still Rabbi Yisrael of Rizhyn said that when he was learning with the great Maggid, Rabbi Dov Bear of Mezrich, all the disciples learned the master’s teachings except one: Reb Zushia. This is because when the Maggid would begin to expound a verse of Torah, so many of the verses began like this: Vay’daber Hashem – and the Divine spoke… Whenever Reb Zushia would hear these words, he would go into a fit of seizures: “Hashem spoke!!! Hashem spoke!!!” he would scream, and they would have to take him out into the shed until the teaching was over. “But,” rabbi Yisrael would add, “that’s okay, because even one word spoken in truth and received in truth is enough…” Right now, and always, the Divine is speaking. The words aren’t necessarily conveying a conceptual message – even one word spoken in truth and received in truth is enough – meaning, when we take the path of י yod – when we become simple and receive the fulness of this moment in simplicity and trust, then Reality Itself can be received as the Divine Speech. When we receive the present moment in this way, it is deeply liberating, shaking us from the dead maps of the mind into the Living Present. For some, realizing this may cause convulsions of ecstasy, but not for everyone. A disciple asked Reb Pinhas of Koretz, “Why is it that you are so calm and still when you daven(pray), unlike so many other tzadikim who thrash about in ecstatic convulsions?” Reb Pinhas replied, “You know, the essence of prayer is deveikut, attachment to the Divine, and this involves the death of the separate self. There are two kinds of death: one kind is as difficult as pulling a rope through a mast, and the other is easy as removing an eyelash from a glass of milk. It is the second kind that I was granted…” As we come to the end of the annual ritual of counting the 49 days of the Omer, may we use the quantifying mind wisely to express our praise, gratitude and ultimate unity with the Eternal within the world of time… Good Shabbos
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The Shoelaces
Rabbi Leib, son of Sarah, was one of the disciples of Rabbi Dov Ber, the Maggid of Mezritch. Rabbi Leib would wander the countryside teaching, following the flow of the rivers to guide him on in his journeys. When asked what he learned from his teacher, he would reply, “I didn’t go the Maggid to hear Torah from him, but to see how he unlaced his shoes and laced them up again.” The teaching of simplicity, of Presence-in-Action, is the Twentieth Path of the letter י yod. Spelled out,יד yod means “hand,” and thus represents action. Yod is also the smallest of letters, as well as the starting point of all letters; when a sofer (scribe) begins to draw a letter, the letter always begins as a yod, a simple point without dimension – representing the un-manifest, simple potential, Nothingness. At the same time, י yod is also the number ten, hinting at the ten sefirot, which represent all of Reality, or Everything-ness. Yod therefore has the paradoxical meaning of being Nothing and Everything at the same time. Together, these two opposite meanings point to simple awareness as it interacts with the complexity of life; in other words, Presence-in-Action. And, since Presence-in-Action involves a letting go of past and future, simply and fully engaging in whatever one is doing, it also implies an attitude of trust. Parshat Behar דַּבֵּ֞ר אֶל־בְּנֵ֤י יִשְׂרָאֵל֙ וְאָמַרְתָּ֣ אֲלֵהֶ֔ם כִּ֤י תָבֹ֙אוּ֙ אֶל־הָאָ֔רֶץ אֲשֶׁ֥ר אֲנִ֖י נֹתֵ֣ן לָכֶ֑ם וְשָׁבְתָ֣ה הָאָ֔רֶץ שַׁבָּ֖ת שֵׁ֤שׁ שָׁנִים֙ תִּזְרַ֣ע שָׂדֶ֔ךָ וְשֵׁ֥שׁ שָׁנִ֖ים תִּזְמֹ֣ר כַּרְמֶ֑ךָ וְאָסַפְתָּ֖ אֶת־תְּבוּאָתָֽהּ׃ לַיהוָֽה׃ וּבַשָּׁנָ֣ה הַשְּׁבִיעִ֗ת שַׁבַּ֤ת שַׁבָּתוֹן֙ יִהְיֶ֣ה לָאָ֔רֶץ שַׁבָּ֖ת לַיהוָ֑ה שָֽׂדְךָ֙ לֹ֣א תִזְרָ֔ע וְכַרְמְךָ֖ לֹ֥א תִזְמֹֽר׃ …וְ֠הָיְתָה שַׁבַּ֨ת הָאָ֤רֶץ לָכֶם֙ לְאָכְלָ֔ה “Speak to the children of Israel and say to them, ‘When you come into the land that I give you, the land shall rest – a Shabbat for the Divine. Six years you shall sow your fields and six years you shall prune your vineyards and gather in your yields. But in the seventh year, the land shall have a Shabbat of Shabbats, a Shabbat to the Divine; do not sow your field and do not prune your vineyard. And it will be a Shabbat of the land for you to eat…’”
The practice of Shabbat, of refraining from work for one day in the week, takes a certain leap of faith, a willingness to trust and let go of doing for twenty-four hours and simply be. The above passage, however, describes the practice of sh’mita – a Shabbat not for people to rest from working the land one day in the week, but a Shabbat for the land itself that lasts an entire year. The amount of trust required for this would be far greater, as farmers would have to refrain from working the land and simply eat whatever happened to come up – not only for the year of sh’mita itself, but for the following year as well, since nothing would be planted during the sh’mita year. Lag B’Omer This parshah is read near the festival of Lag b’Omer. Lag b’Omer comes during the “Omer” period between Pesakh and Shavuot, when it is traditional to ritually count each of the forty-nine days between the two holidays. Each of these days represent a particular permutation of the seven lower sefirot of the Tree of Life. Lag b’Omer literally means the “thirty-third day of the Omer.” Lag is composed of the letters ל lamed – ג gimel, which together have the numerical value of thirty-three. These two letters, ל lamed – ג gimel, also have special meanings: Lamed ל means “learn.” To learn means to go from a state of less knowledge to more knowledge; it is forward moving in time, filling a lack, going from incomplete to more complete without end, never reaching completion (since there is always more to learn). Gimel ג has the opposite connotation, as we have learned. Gamal means to “pay back,” in the sense of being complete and overflowing. A gamal is also a camel, which carries its water in its hump as it traverses the desert; again, a symbol of being already complete-within-oneself. These two opposite meanings – the never-complete of lamed ל and the already-complete of gimel ג – point to two dimensions of our experience, right now. On the level of form, we are ever-incomplete. Our bodies need constant nourishment and exercise, and our minds must actively learn new things to stay sharp. In terms of spirituality, this is the ongoing practice of studying texts and contemplating meaning with the mind. As the parshah says: שֵׁ֤שׁ שָׁנִים֙ תִּזְרַ֣ע שָׂדֶ֔ךָ – Six years you shall sow (tizra) your fields… Tizra תִּזְרַ֣ע, “sowing” or “seeding,” is the work we must do on the “fields” of our minds. This is lamed ל, “learning.” But on the level of consciousness, the open space of awareness within which all forms come and go, there is a completeness to this moment; there is a wholeness when we “arrive” into the present. This is gimel ג. But to experience this fullness, we paradoxically need more emptiness; we need to “prune” away excess thought, so that we can sense the underlying Presence beneath our thoughts: וְשֵׁ֥שׁ שָׁנִ֖ים תִּזְמֹ֣ר כַּרְמֶ֑ךָ – and six years you shall prune (tizmor) your vinyards… Tizmor תִּזְמֹ֣ר, “pruning,” is the work we must do on “grapevine tendrils” of thought; this is meditation. “Sowing” and “pruning,” learning and meditation, thinking and not-thinking, are the substance of daily spiritual practice aimed at bringing about inner transformation. Six years you shall sow your fields and six years you shall prune your vinyards… “Six Years” is sheish shanim שֵׁשׁ שָׁנִים. Shanim, “years,” also can mean “change.” “Six” also means time and change, as in the “six days of creation.” The Hebrew letter that represents the number six is vav ו which, as a prefix, means “and” – again, implying adding, transforming, doing the dual spiritual work of “sowing” and “pruning.” But there is also a level at which all work stops. It stops not because the “sowing” and “pruning” are no longer happening, but because at this deep level, there is the recognition that it is not “me” who does the work; there is the recognition that everything comes from and returns to the same Reality; we can’t “take credit” for any of it. This level is represented by Lag B’Omer. In terms of the sefirot, Lag B’Omer is Hod Sheb’Hod, or “Humility/Gratitude of Humility/Gratitude.” The essence of humility is not some kind of self-deprecation or belittlement; it is the recognition that the “me” comes from beyond the “me.” Existence is a gift; everything I have and am is a gift. This is also freedom: we have nothing to lose or gain, because ultimately there is only Reality, there is only the Divine. וְשָׁבְתָ֣ה הָאָ֔רֶץ שַׁבָּ֖ת לַיהוָֽה – The land will rest a Shabbat for the Divine… This is not something so abstract or difficult; we can “let the land rest a Shabbat for the Divine” right now – try it – simply recognize that this is Reality, right here and now; let the “me” dissolve and let this moment be as it is. This is the path of י yod. The Bird and the Lizard And yet, when the moment is difficult, challenging, or torturous, of course simply trusting can be difficult. In such moments we need to go back to א alef with its two yods – the upper and lower yods – representing the “waters of joy” and the “waters of sorrow,” as we have learned. A friend of mine once went to let out his dog, when he noticed a cute little baby dove huddled on the ground. Above was the nest that it must have fallen from. He kept his dog in the house while he went out and lifted the baby bird back into its nest. He wasn’t sure if this was the right thing to do, but it seemed the right thing in the moment, and it was a warm and gratifying feeling to save that baby bird. Not long after, he was moving some furniture in his workplace. As he lifted a desk, be was taken aback by a huge, dead, rotting lizard with maggots crawling in it! It was a disgusting sight, and he winced and cringed as he proceeded to deal with it and clean it up. He told me this story because it seemed to him almost like a symbolic dream, and he was wondering what it meant. Why such a gratifying, life-affirming, cuddly experience followed by such a disgusting horrific, death centered experience? What was the meaning of it? Sometimes we are given situations that require immediate action. These are the real-time “commandments” – the mitzvot we don’t learn from books, but that appear to us and demand a response without hesitation. Sometimes the action required is to save a cute little bird, sometimes to clean up a rotting lizard corpse. Sometimes it is to feed a hungry baby, sometimes it is to yank a child out of the street when a car is coming, and sometimes it is to bury a loved one. In other words, when it comes to being present to what is needed in the moment, it may be bitter or it may be sweet. There is a full spectrum of human experience, and if we want to be available to the “commandment” of the moment, we have to be open to both – we can’t avoid any of it. Of course, most of the time, there isn’t some unexpected urgent thing to deal with, barukh Hashem. Still, when it comes to the path of simplicity, of connecting with the Divine as the Reality of this moment, there is an ever-present urgency. There is only one place and one time to recognize the Oneness of the Divine, and that is here, right now. As Hillel says, אִם לֹא עַכְשָׁיו, אֵימָתָי – If not now, when? And yet, paradoxically, to simply be present is to fully accept and trust; it is to embrace the Reality of this moment, not resist it. This has almost the opposite quality of urgency. It is more like patience; it is more like planting a seed and simply watching it grow, rather than jumping in and taking some action. לֹא הַבַּיְשָׁן לָמֵד, וְלֹא הַקַּפְּדָן מְלַמֵּד …a timid person can’t learn, and an impatient person can’t teach…
Full Presence means the unity of these two seemingly opposite qualities of urgency and patience, or, as we have learned, Netzakh and Hod. On one hand, don’t be timid – jump fully into the present, Now. On the other hand, jumping fully into the Now means allowing it to be as it is, not to be impatient about how you think it should be or how you want it to be. אֵ֣ת סְפִ֤יחַ קְצִֽירְךָ֙ לֹ֣א תִקְצ֔וֹר וְאֶת־עִנְּבֵ֥י נְזִירֶ֖ךָ לֹ֣א תִבְצֹ֑ר שְׁנַ֥ת שַׁבָּת֖וֹן יִהְיֶ֥ה לָאָֽרֶץ׃ וְ֠הָיְתָה שַׁבַּ֨ת הָאָ֤רֶץ לָכֶם֙ לְאָכְלָ֔ה You shall not reap the aftergrowth of your harvest or gather the grapes of your untrimmed vines; it shall be a year of complete rest for the land. But you may eat whatever the land during its Sabbath will produce…
This description of the shmita is a perfect metaphor for Presence: accept fully what this moment gives you, both the nourishing food and the thistles and thorns. Even as we work externally to bring about certain results, as we must do, on an inner level there can be a Sabbath of the land; we can accept both the “bird” and the “lizard” with that quality of trust, allowing the moment to unfold as it will. Rabbi Levi Yitzhak once saw a man running. “Why are you in such a hurry?” “I am running after my livelihood!” replied the man. “You think your livelihood is in front of you and you must catch up to it, but how do you know it’s not behind you, and all you have to do is stop and let it catch up to you?” The Rules of Checkers There is a story of Rabbi Nahum of Stepinesht, the son of Rabbi Yisrael of Ryzhyn, that once he entered the Beit Midrash, the House of Study, when his students did not expect. When they realized their master had entered they were mortified, because rather than learning, they were sitting around playing checkers. They immediately stopped sand began putting the game away. “Don’t stop!” said the rabbi. “You know, you can learn a lot from a game like checkers. Do you know the rules of the game?” Out of shyness and embarrassment his students didn’t answer, but he continued: “I shall tell you the rules. First, you must not make two moves at once. Second, you may move only forward, and not backward. And the third is that when you reach the last row, you may move any way you like.” Rabbi Nahum’s teaching on the rules of checkers are a wonderful way to walk the path of י yod, the path of simple Presence-in-Action. You must not make two moves at once. It is an obvious and simple truth that we can only do what we can do in the moment; we cannot also do something else, no matter how important the something else may be. And yet, there can be a tendency of the mind toward restlessness, toward not accepting the moment as it is and being occupied with some imaginary moment, rather than being fully attentive to the one we are in. So, this is the first rule of י yod – to simply be where you are, to simply do what you are doing. You may move only forward, and not backward. Action is, by its nature, aimed at the future, at bringing about a certain result. The power of an act is only weakened and corrupted if we are “living in the past” – that is, wishing things had been different, regretting how things have been. Of course, we must be aware of the past, learn from the past, build on the foundation of the past – but not be stuck in the past. When you reach the last row, you may move any way you like. The “last row” is the end of any process of action; everything we do eventually comes to an end. When you finish doing something, recognize that you are free to decide what action to take next. Again, this is obvious – but so often we can lose consciousness of our own freedom and imprison ourselves in our own minds. These three rules help us to be free from all of that, and live with simplicity in the moment. When we do that, when we simply be where we are, let go of the past and claim our own freedom, there is a kind of magic – a miraculous quality of Being that becomes visible, even in things that might seem most mundane and tedious. A Spoon Full of Sugar “In every job that must be done, there is an element of fun. You find that fun and… snap! The job’s a game!” With that, Reb Mary Poppins formulated her famous aphorism- “Just a spoon full of sugar helps the medicine go down!” Meaning – when you’re doing something mundane or tedious, find a way to sweeten it – to change its context so that it becomes a vehicle for delight rather than torturous boredom. But how do you do that? In the movie, the children don’t want to clean up the nursery, until Mary Poppins adds some magic and singing animatronic birds to spice things up. When they finish and Poppins tells the children it’s time for their outing, Michael Banks says, “But I want to clean the nursery again!” What she added is the miraculous. Something the children expected to be dull and routine became brilliant and delightful. But what is it that makes things dull and routine in the first place? Nowadays, I see people walking around with water bottles everywhere. At some point, the importance of drinking a lot of water spread throughout our culture, and now hardly anyone is caught without their water bottle. For many, drinking water has become a routine habit, like checking your phone. But have you ever taken a sip of water after going thirsty for hours, like after Yom Kippur perhaps? The glass of water might as well be the splitting of the sea. And yet, the miracle of the splitting of the sea is nothing compared to the miracle of Existence Itself. After all, splitting the sea only involved taking something that existed already – water – and making it behave in an unusual manner. But the real miracle is that water exists in the first place. How is it that there is anything at all? And yet, this greatest of all miracles seems completely ordinary, even tedious and boring, because we are used to it. Being “used to it” means that we approach this moment through the lens of what has come before – through the monotony of conditioned memory. But step fully onto the path of yod – step fully into the present, and the miracle reveals itself: there is nothing ordinary at all about this moment. Step out of your conditioned mind, and it’s as if you step into a different universe. In fact, you do – you step out of the universe of your head, into the universe of the Real. Parshat Bekhukotai אִם־בְּחֻקֹּתַ֖י תֵּלֵ֑כוּ וְאֶת־מִצְוֺתַ֣י תִּשְׁמְר֔וּ וַעֲשִׂיתֶ֖ם אֹתָֽם׃ וּבָצִ֖יר יַשִּׂ֣יג אֶת־זָ֑רַע…וְנָתַתִּ֥י גִשְׁמֵיכֶ֖ם בְּעִתָּ֑ם “If you walk with My decrees and guard My commandments and do them, I will provide your rains in their time… your vintage will last until the last sowing…”
The word that’s translated “with my decrees” is the name of this reading- Bekhukotai. A khok is a type of commandment that doesn’t necessarily have an obvious rationale. For example, it’s easy to understand laws like “don’t murder” and “don’t steal.” Those laws that “make sense” are called mishpatim. But “rest on the seventh day” and “only eat mammals that chew their cud and have cloven hooves” is not so clear. Those are a khukim. And yet, the truth is that everything is a khok. Does it “make sense” that anything exists at all? Existence is a mystery, a miracle, an enigma! וְאֶת־מִצְוֺתַ֣י תִּשְׁמְר֔וּ v’et mitzvotai tishm’ru – and My commandments you guard… The word for “commandment,” מִצוָה mitzvah, is related to the Aramaic צו tzav, which actually means “connection.” So, if we retranslate the sentence with these underlying meanings, we can understand: “If you walk with My Mysteries and guard My Connection…” In other words, step into the mystery of the present, where Existence is no longer routine, no longer ordinary. Guard your connection with this Mystery, and then- “Your vintage will last until the last sowing…” Meaning, your drunkenness on the miracle of this moment will sweeten all your labors – a spoon full of sugar! In the late 19th century, there was a hassid by the name of Reb Aharon who lived in the town of Dokshetz. Every Saturday night in the Beit Midrash, the House of Study, Reb Aharon would make a batch of panes – a hot drink made from boiling water, vodka and sugar. There he would serve the drink to crowds of spiritually thirsty folks before teaching hassidus – spiritual teachings. People would come from all over to warm their bones and make merry with the panes as they also drank in his holy teachings. Once a year, Reb Aharon would travel to see his rebbe in Lubavitch- Reb Shmuel. On the Saturday night following his return from Lubavitch, he would concoct an extra large batch of panes for the crowd and then share the luminescent teachings he had heard from the mouth of his master. Those nights were on fire! Once, when Reb Aharon was in Lubavitch, his rebbe said to him: “I hear that in Dokshetz, they learn hassidus with panes. Tell me, what connection is there between Torah and getting drunk?” Embarrassed, Reb Aharon returned home and put an end to his ritual. From then on, he continued his teaching on Saturday nights, but without the panes. People still came to learn, but each week there were fewer and fewer people than the last week. Before long, the vibrant crowd was reduced to a few devoted die-hards. The next time Reb Aharon was in Lubavitch, his rebbe asked him- “What’s doing in Dokshetz?” Reb Aharon reluctantly reported that his class now attracted only a fraction of the folks that used to come for the “drink-and-learn” format. “Nu,” said the rebbe, “So bring back the drink – Abi men zol lernen hassidus- so long as they study hassidus!” Alcohol, as well as many other intoxicants, are powerful because they can bring a person into the miracle of the moment, often by impairing the thinking mind and artificially making a person “simple.” But we don’t need special substances to open to this simplicity; it is our essence and birthright, if we but engage the practice. And, since Presence is not only something we cultivate but something we are at the deepest level, it is ever available, in every moment, to the degree that we decide to step onto the Path of י Yud.
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High and Low
Stories about the masters can either inspire or discourage, depending on how we hear them. Similarly, when we experience the opposite extreme of a person being completely taken over by unconscious reactivity, we can also be inspired by the negative example. I once had the opportunity to witness both extremes at the same time: I was on a plane that was about to take off. Just before the doors were shut, a frazzled woman blundered onto the plane. She made her way past the many occupied seats up to where I was sitting and motioned that she wanted to sit next to me, so I stood up to let her in. As she proceeded to squeeze herself and her three big bulky bags into the seat, I told her I would be happy to put some of her stuff in the overhead bin. She said, “no thanks” and that she preferred to hold them all. She then proceeded to furiously text on her phone. Soon, a flight attendant came by and told her that she had to put her bags either all the way under the seat in front of her, or put them up in the overhead bin. The woman said, “No, I prefer to keep them here.” “I’m sorry,” said the flight attendant, “it’s for your safety.” “Well my cousin is a pilot and I know this is safe, so I’m just going to keep them here, thank you!” she responded angrily, not looking up from her ferocious texting. “I’m sorry ma’am, it’s the rules. I’m just doing my job.” “Well if you want to put them up, go ahead. I’m not moving.” The flight attendant politely asked me to turn my legs to the side as she pulled up my armrest, reached in, pulled out her bags and put them up in the overhead. I was very impressed with that flight attendant. Not only did she remain polite, but I think she was genuinely not angry at all; just a little amused. When we landed, the woman said to me that she wasn’t paying attention to where the flight attendant had put her bags, and asked if I knew where they were. I said that I didn’t. She said, “I should make that lady get them down for me.” Then, a nice woman in front of us reached up and retrieved the bags for her. I thought that was interesting… just moments before, I was wondering if I should look for her bags and get them down for her or not. On one hand, I thought I shouldn’t, because she would take that as a validation of her absurd behavior, and she would see me as being “on her side.” On the other hand, I know that indiscriminate gemilut hasadim – acts of kindness – can be transformative, and might spontaneously increase her self-awareness. But the decision was no longer mine to make, as the kind woman in front of us reached up and pulled down the bags for her. We’ve all probably witnessed extreme unconsciousness in others from time to time, and it can be baffling. How can a person be so clueless? And yet, each at our own level, the powers of unconscious reactivity can temporarily take hold of us if we’re not careful to regularly “replenish” our awareness. When the woman had first sat down next to me, before the bag incident, she had muttered, “What a messed up day.” She also smelled somewhat of alcohol. It’s true – a few things going wrong can greatly diminish our self- awareness, and we might even seek solace in alcohol or something else that diminishes awareness even more. We are prone to spiral, one negative thing leading to another. Anyone who takes care of a swimming pool knows that you have to regularly put more water into it, because the water evaporates over time, especially when it’s hot. That’s what happens to our awareness, especially when our experience “heats up” with emotion-triggering mishaps. But even without anything overtly disturbing, our consciousness tends to “sink down” unless we are deliberate in “refilling our pool” so to speak. That, of course, is the whole point of meditation and prayer – to “fill up” with consciousness and awaken our spiritual potential. But sometimes, having a daily practice is not enough, because if our consciousness has sunk to a low enough level, our practice will be from that low level, and then we will only be mechanically going through the motions. In those cases, we have to somehow wake ourselves up first to even begin; we have to practice before we practice. Parshat Emor דַּבֵּ֨ר אֶֽל־אַהֲרֹ֜ן וְאֶל־בָּנָ֗יו וְיִנָּֽזְרוּ֙ מִקָּדְשֵׁ֣י בְנֵֽי־יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל וְלֹ֥א יְחַלְּל֖וּ אֶת־שֵׁ֣ם קָדְשִׁ֑י אֲשֶׁ֨ר הֵ֧ם מַקְדִּשִׁ֛ים לִ֖י אֲנִ֥י יְהוָֽה Tell Aaron and his sons that they should withdraw from the sacred offerings that the children of Israel sanctify to Me and not desecrate My Holy Name – I am Hashem.
The word for “withdraw” – וְיִנָּֽזְרוּ vayinazru – comes from a root which means to “abstain” or “renounce” on one hand, but also to “sanctify” or “consecrate,” on the other. (An example of this in Torah is the Nazir who both renounces wine and also becomes consecrated to the Divine.) The traditional understanding of this verse is that it speaks of priests who become ritually impure – tamei – and so must excuse themselves from dealing with the offerings that people bring, until they become pure – tahor – again. The word for “desecrate” – y’khal’lu – comes from the root which means “to empty.” The Shem Kodshi – “My Holy Name” is the four-letter name which the kabbalists associate with the human body, based on the notion that we are b’tzelem Elokim – the “image of the Divine.” Thus, to “desecrate the Holy Name” means to become “empty” of Presence, and particularly to lose the rootedness of awareness in our bodies. When that happens, when we sink to such a low level of awareness, disconnected from our bodies and the present moment, holy prayers and Divine Names become temporarily useless; the “Name” becomes “empty,” and formal prayer and meditation are not enough to pull ourselves up. Rabbi Shimon gives advice for this: רַבִּי שִׁמְעוֹן אוֹמֵר, הֱוֵי זָהִיר בִּקְרִיאַת שְׁמַע וּבַתְּפִלָּה. וּכְשֶׁאַתָּה מִתְפַּלֵּל, אַל תַּעַשׂ תְּפִלָּתְךָ קֶבַע, אֶלָּא רַחֲמִים וְתַחֲנוּנִים לִפְנֵי הַמָּקוֹם Rabbi Shimon said, “Be meticulous in the chanting of the Sh’ma and in prayer. And when you pray, don’t make your prayer rigid and fixed; rather, compassion and supplication before The Place…”
On one hand, he acknowledges the importance of having a regular, formal practice: Be meticulous in the chanting of the Sh’ma and in prayer. On the other hand, if all you have is a formal practice, that won’t work: Don’t make your prayer rigid and fixed; rather, compassion and supplication before The Place… In other words, when we have sunk to a low level, we can’t mechanically elevate ourselves; we need humility. We need to acknowledge how low we’ve sunk, and acknowledge that we may have acted from that low level. We have to admit: I’ve been that rude woman on the airplane, but I want to be the flight attendant – I want to “attend” to “elevating” this moment! That’s the rakhamim v’takhanunim – “compassion and supplication before The Place.” It’s interesting that the Divine is here called HaMakom – The Place, one of the Divine Names that is completely impersonal. The point here is not relating to God as a deity, but is rather how we affect those with whom we share space. The point is not what we believe about God, but about keeping our inner space Godly; it is about revealing the “hidden good” that is our essence. We are the “priests” of our own Inner Sanctuary. Sometimes this Sanctuary becomes contaminated, so then it’s time to call out to the Divine, and to call out to our own “inner priest” – as the beginning of the parshah says: אֱמֹ֥ר אֶל־הַכֹּהֲנִ֖ים – Emor el hakohanim – Speak to the priests!
The Zombies When your Inner Sanctuary is clear, it is a place of peace and stillness, a place of vitality, of creativity, of light and benevolence. That Place, HaMakom, is your own deepest essence – the space of awareness itself. When you dwell in that space, you dwell in the temple of your own being, which is also Divine Being. That space is always here, always open and always holy – the space of consciousness within which this moment unfolds. And yet, this space is easily desecrated as well; that pure quality of tahor can easily become tamei. I have wondered why zombies are so compelling in our culture; there are so many books, movies and TV shows about the undead. I think it is because zombies parallel our experience in a metaphorical way. One of the most common horror scenes with zombies involves someone cowering in their home, hiding from the zombies outside, and at some point they start breaking in, crashing through the windows, breaking through the doors. The horror is that it is such a primal violation of space; the home is a kind of sanctuary – a place to be safe, to relax, to sip a cup of tea on the couch. And nothing messes with our nice, safe, home-sanctuary like a bunch of zombies smashing through your window! Similarly, with our Inner Sanctuary, there can be something like zombies. Sometimes there are only a few pathetic zombies, wandering around on your lawn. Sometimes they are fast, tricky and vicious, fooling and distracting you into letting them in. Sometimes, they are disguised as something you lust for – they are seductive – more like vampires – making your eyes glaze over as you lurch unconsciously toward the door and turn the knob... These zombies and vampires are your own thoughts. There was once a hassid who went to his rebbe for advice on how to empty his mind. He knocked on the door of his rebbe’s house, but no answer. He peered through the window- the rebbe was sitting at a table, reading. The hassid knocked again, a little louder – still no answer. Growing more and more frustrated, his polite greetings and knocks turned into screams and bangs, pounding on the doors and windows. This went on for hours! Eventually, the rebbe opened the door- “Just as I can ignore you, no matter how much fuss you make, so you can ignore your own thoughts and not admit them into your mind.” It’s true, your zombie/vampiric thoughts can trick you, distract you, lure you, entice you. But unless you believe in them, they have absolutely no power. It is your own mind that is creating them; if you let them be and don’t get drawn in, they fade away. The power is completely with you. This can be learned and practiced, but it is not merely a technique. It is a way of being that reveals your own inner freedom, your own hidden goodness. Free from thought, you dwell in the sanctuary of presence – a space of freedom, of felt sense of goodness within your own being. Get seduced by the storm – get absorbed into the drama of time and people, get dragged around and eaten by those flesh-rotten zombies, and you become tamei – spiritually contaminated. Let go of the drama, let the thoughts dissolve and you return to Presence; this is your potential, if you actualize it – to be the priest or priestess of your own Inner Sanctuary. וַיֹּ֤אמֶר יְי אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֔ה אֱמֹ֥ר אֶל־הַכֹּהֲנִ֖ים בְּנֵ֣י אַהֲרֹ֑ן וְאָמַרְתָּ֣ אֲלֵהֶ֔ם לְנֶ֥פֶשׁ … כִּ֚י אִם־לִשְׁאֵר֔וֹ הַקָּרֹ֖ב אֵלָ֑יו לֹֽא־יִטַּמָּ֖א בְּעַמָּֽיו׃ The Divine said to Moses, ‘Speak to the priests, the sons of Aaron, and tell them that they should not make themselves spiritually impure for a (dead) person among their people, except for close relatives…’
In its plain meaning, it’s talking about the priests not becoming tamei from touching a corpse. But metaphorically, it is the inner tuma we can incur from allowing our inner “undead” – that is, our thoughts about others – to contaminate our minds. When was the last time you allowed your mind to become tamei because of what some person did or said that you didn’t like, some argument you had, or anything else involving another person? It’s one of the great traps. And yet, the power is with you – remember that the suffering you experience is mostly generated by your own mind. You can stop empowering it and come into the Inner Sanctuary once again. And yet, the next verse qualifies the first: כִּ֚י אִם־לִשְׁאֵר֔וֹ הַקָּרֹ֖ב אֵלָ֑יו ki im lish’eiru hakarov elav – except for a close relative… Here we move from the metaphorical to the actual – from people as thoughts in your mind, to actual living and breathing people. There are people who are our “close relatives” – not necessarily blood, but those in our tribe, in our community, in our web of interdependence. For them we must become tamei at times, meaning that the relationship sometimes requires the sacrifice of our own needs in order to serve. Sometimes that sacrifice takes a few minutes, as with a screaming child, and sometimes it can go on for years, as in someone who needs on-going care. Sometimes we must sacrifice our connection with the inner goodness for the sake of outer goodness, for the sake of love, for the love that binds us together. But then there are those who are not “close relatives,” who seek to insert themselves into our lives for whatever reason. They have their dramas, their pathologies, their fixations, and they are truly zombies and vampires, seeking to drag us down to their level. As all famous people learn, you can’t let every person into your life who tries to get in. It’s impossible. But, this truth is not just for famous people. The rhythm of reality dictates we work with both sides of the Tree of Life – the Hesed and the Gevurah – the loving-kindness and the setting of boundaries and limits. And life/Hashem tests us on this again and again – we must learn both sides of the Tree. Karov In this way, we on the spiritual path must learn to take responsibility for what experiences we take in, just as those on a path of physical health must take responsibility for what food they take in. This is לֹֽא־יִטַּמָּ֖א lo yitama – don’t defile yourself. And, as we have seen above, we also need to sometimes do the opposite, as in the case of a “close relative” – that is, to take care of those we are in relationship with and responsible toward. But, there is another meaning to the exception of the “close relative” – because even if there are no “close relatives,” nothing compelling us out of our inner space, there is another reason for not always trying to avoid tumah, spiritual disturbance, and this is that avoidance itself can become a kind of disturbance. Guarding ourselves from disturbances is necessary, but it also can become a neurotic attempt to control our experience. Life happens, and we must meet it – not avoid it. This is a different way of seeing כִּ֚י אִם־לִשְׁאֵר֔וֹ הַקָּרֹ֖ב אֵלָ֑יו ki im lish’eiru hakarov elav – except for a close relative. The key is the word קרב karov, “close.” In general, we should do what we can to live in a spiritually conducive environment. But when disturbance comes along, we need to know how to be karov – how to come close, meaning be present – with whatever has arisen. In that state of Presence, the disturbance merely comes and goes; we deal with whatever we need to deal with, and through the practice, we actually strengthen our connection with the “hidden goodness.” Some of the masters of the past were particularly good at this. There’s a story that Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev was visiting Rabbi Shmelke of Nikolsburg. They had both been students of the great Maggid of Mezritch, but Rabbi Shmelke was older, and Levi Yitzhak considered him to be his teacher as well. On the first morning, Levi Yitzhak came down from the guest room with his tefillin and tallis on, ready to go to daven, when he stopped in the kitchen and started conversing with the cooks. (Rabbi Shmelke was apparently quite well off and had his own cooks.) He asked them what they were making, and questioned them about their methods as if he were concerned that food wouldn’t be good enough. When some disciples came by on their way to shul and overheard all this, they frowned in disapproval. At the synagogue, Levi Yitzhak didn’t pray, but spent all his time talking loudly in the back of the sanctuary to a man who was considered to be annoying and unlearned. Eventually, one of the hassidim couldn’t take it anymore. “You must be quiet in here!” Levi Yitzhak simply went on talking loudly and disturbing everyone. Later, when all the hassidim gathered for lunch, Rabbi Shmelke treated Levi Yitzhak with the utmost honors, giving him food to eat from his own bowl. Later, the hassidim asked their rebbe about this strange man who talked so obnoxiously about such mundane things. Why did the rebbe honor him so? Rabbi Shmelke replied, “In the Talmud, the rabbi known as Rab (Abba Areka) is praised for never engaging in worldly speech. How could it be that this is what he was praised for? Does this mean that the other rabbis did engage in worldly speech? Rather, it means that when he engaged in worldly speech, he did so with such kavanah that Divine Goodness flowed into this world with every word. Other rabbis could accomplish this for a short time, but eventually their worldly speech would drag them down. “It’s the same with Levi Yitzhak and myself. What I can do for a short time, he can do all day long; with his seemingly mundane conversations, he is bringing heaven down to earth.” Generally speaking, it is better not to blabber on loudly in synagogue; that is obviously the right and good way to behave. But we also need to know how to leave the box of the obvious good in order to access the hidden good. The word for spiritual impurity, tamei, hints at this hidden good. Tamei begins with the letter ט tet, and as we have seen, ט tet also begins the word טוב tov, “good.” ט Tet is shaped in such a way that it points into itself, thus symbolizing the “good” that is hidden within. We access this hidden goodness within things we may ordinarily think are not good by becoming karov, bringing our awareness into close connection with whatever messiness we are dealing with: Don’t become tamei, except with close relatives… This is our paradoxical task: to guard ourselves against things that drag us down spiritually, but also to sometimes engage with those things, and in doing so, to reveal the hidden good…
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The Hidden Good – Parshat Emor
5/5/2020 0 Comments וַיֹּ֤אמֶר יְי אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֔ה אֱמֹ֥ר אֶל־הַכֹּהֲנִ֖ים בְּנֵ֣י אַהֲרֹ֑ן וְאָמַרְתָּ֣ אֲלֵהֶ֔ם לְנֶ֥פֶשׁ לֹֽא־יִטַּמָּ֖א בְּעַמָּֽיו׃ כִּ֚י אִם־לִשְׁאֵר֔וֹ הַקָּרֹ֖ב אֵלָ֑יו The Divine said to Moses, ‘speak to the priests, the sons of Aaron, and tell them that they should not make themselves spiritually impure for a (dead) person among their people, except for close relatives…’ (Leviticus 21:1-2) In the plain meaning, this is talking about the purity laws for the kohanim (priests), that they shouldn’t touch a corpse and become ritually defiled, except for when close relatives die. On a deeper level, there is a practical and universal message: on one hand, it is beneficial to be know what makes us tamei, that is, spiritually “dead” inside, and avoid those things. Is it too much news and social media? Is it dealing with particularly difficult people? Is it your job, or certain kinds of entertainment, or some addictive substance? To be on the spiritual path means we have to take responsibility for what experiences we take in, just as those on a path of physical health must take responsibility for what food they take in. This is lo yitama – don’t defile yourself! At the same time, we also need to sometimes do the opposite, because if we try to avoid tumah completely, we can never grow spiritually in our ability to stay free and at peace in the midst of disturbance. Furthermore, on a deeper level, the avoidance itself can become a kind of tumah. Guarding ourselves from disturbances is necessary, but it also can become a neurotic attempt to control our experience; life happens and we must meet it, not avoid it. This is ki im lish’eiro karov eilav – except for a close relative. The key is the word karov, close. In general, we should do what we can to live in a spiritually conducive environment. But when disturbance comes along, we need to know how to be karov – how to come close, meaning be present – with whatever has arisen. In the state of Presence, the disturbance merely comes and goes, we deal with whatever we need to deal with, and we strengthen our connection with inner spaciousness and peace through the practice. Some of the masters of the past were particularly good at this. There’s a story that Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev was visiting Rabbi Shmelke of Nikolsburg. They had both been students of the great Maggid of Mezritch, but Rabbi Shmelke was older, and Levi Yitzhak considered him to be his teacher as well. On the first morning, Levi Yitzhak came down from the guest room with his tefillin and tallis on, ready to go to daven, when he stopped in the kitchen and starting conversing with the cooks. (Rabbi Shmelke was apparently quite well off and had his own cooks.) He asked them what they were making, and questioned them about their methods as if he were concerned that food wouldn’t be good enough. When some disciples came by on their way to shul and overheard all this, they frowned in disapproval. At the synagogue, Levi Yitzhak didn’t pray, but spent all his time talking loudly in the back of the sanctuary to a man who was considered to be annoying and unlearned. Eventually, one of the hasidim couldn’t take it anymore. “You must be quiet in here!” Levi Yitzhak simply went on talking loudly and disturbing everyone. Later, when all the hasidim gathered for lunch, Rabbi Shmelke treated Levi Yitzhak with the utmost honors, giving him food to eat from his own bowl. Later, the hasidim asked their rebbe about this strange man who talked so obnoxiously about such mundane things. Why did the rebbe honor him so? Rabbi Shmelke replied, “In the Talmud, the rabbi known as Rab (Abba Areka) is praised for never engaging in worldly speech. How could it be that this is what he was praised for? Does this mean that the other rabbis did engage in worldly speech? Rather, it means that when he engaged in worldly speech, he did so with such kavanah that Divine blessings flowed into this world with every word. Other rabbis could accomplish this for a short time, but eventually their worldly speech would drag them down. “It’s the same with Levi Yitzhak and myself. What I can do for a short time, he can do all day long; with his seemingly mundane conversations, he is bringing heaven down to earth.” Generally speaking, it is better not to blabber on loudly in synagogue; that is obviously the right and good way to behave. But we also need to know how to leave the box of the obvious good in order to access the hidden good. The word for spiritual impurity, tamei, hints at this hidden good. Tamei begins with the letter tet, which also begins the word tov, “good.” The letter tet is shaped in such a way that it points into itself: ט – thus symbolizing the “good” that is hidden within. We access this hidden goodness within things we ordinarily think are not good by becoming karov, bringing our awareness into close connection with whatever messiness we are dealing with: Don’t become tamei, except for with close relatives… This is our paradoxical task: to guard ourselves against things that drag us down spiritually, but also to transform those things into vehicles for the spirit. How do you know when to take which approach? The key is Presence; life itself conveys to us which path to take if we are listening… The Passenger – Parshat Emor 5/14/2019 0 Comments Just before the plane was about to shut its doors and prepare for takeoff, a frazzled woman boarded my flight back to Tucson from the Bay. She made her way past the many occupied seats and indicated she wanted to sit next to me, so I stood up to let her in. As she proceeded to squeeze herself and her three big bulky bags into the seat, I told her I would be happy to put some of her stuff in the overhead bin. She said no thanks, she preferred to hold them all. She then proceeded to furiously text on her phone. Soon, a flight attendant came by and told her she had to put her bags either all the way under the seat in front of her, or put them up in the overhead bin. The woman said, “No, I prefer to keep them here.” “I’m sorry,” said the flight attendant, “it’s for your safety.” “Well my cousin is a pilot and I know this is safe, so I’m just going to keep them here, thank you!” she responded angrily, not looking up from her ferocious texting. “I’m sorry ma’am, it’s the rules. I’m just doing my job.” “Well if you want to put them up, go ahead. I’m not moving.” The flight attendant politely asked me to turn my legs to the side as she pulled up my armrest, reached in, pulled out her bags and put them up in the overhead. I was very impressed with that flight attendant. Not only did she remain polite, but I think she was genuinely not angry at all; just a little amused. When we landed in Tucson, the woman said to me that she wasn’t paying attention when the flight attendent put her bags up, and asked if I knew where they were. I said that I didn’t. She said, “I should make that lady get them down for me.” Then, a nice woman in front of us reached up and retrieved the bags for her. I thought that was interesting… just moments before, I was wondering if I should look for her bags and get them down for her or not. On one hand, I thought I shouldn’t, because she would take that as a validation of her absurd behavior, and she would see me as being “on her side.” On the other hand, I know that indiscriminate gemilut hasadim – acts of kindness – can be transformative, and might spontaneously increase her self awareness. But the decision was no longer mine to make, as the kind woman in front of us reached up and pulled down the bags for her. We’ve all probably witnessed extreme unconsciousness in others from time to time, and it can be baffling. How can a person be so clueless? And yet, each at our own level, the powers of unconscious reactivity can take temporarily take hold of us if we’re not careful to regularly “replenish our awareness,” in a sense. When the woman had first sat down next to me, before the bag incident, she had muttered, “What f%&ed up day.” She also smelled somewhat of alcohol. It’s true – a few things going wrong can greatly diminish our self- awareness, and we might even seek solace in alcohol or something else that diminishes awareness even more. We are prone to spiral, one negative thing leading to another. Here in Arizona, there are many swimming pools, and anyone who takes care of a pool knows that you have to regularly put more water into it, because the water evaporates over time, especially when it’s hot. That’s what happens to our awareness, especially when our experience “heats up” with emotion-triggering mishaps. But even without anything overtly disturbing, our consciousness tends to sink down unless we are deliberate in “refilling our pool” so to speak. That, of course, is the whole point of meditation and prayer – to “fill up” with consciousness and awaken our spiritual potential. But sometimes, having a daily practice is not enough, because if our consciousness has sunk to a low enough level, our practice will be from that low level, and then we will only be mechanically going through the motions. In those cases, we have to somehow wake ourselves up first to even begin. There’s a hint of this in the parshah: דַּבֵּ֨ר אֶֽל־אַהֲרֹ֜ן וְאֶל־בָּנָ֗יו וְיִנָּֽזְרוּ֙ מִקָּדְשֵׁ֣י בְנֵֽי־יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל וְלֹ֥א יְחַלְּל֖וּ אֶת־שֵׁ֣ם קָדְשִׁ֑י אֲשֶׁ֨ר הֵ֧ם מַקְדִּשִׁ֛ים לִ֖י אֲנִ֥י יְהוָֽה Tell Aaron and his sons that they should withdraw from the sacred offerings that the children of Israel sanctify to Me and not desecrate My Holy Name – I am Hashem. The word for “withdraw” – vayinazru – comes from a root which means to “abstain” or “renounce” on one hand, but also to “sanctify” or “consecrate,” on the other. (An example of this is the Nazir who both renounces wine and also becomes consecrated to the Divine.) The traditional understanding of this verse is that it speaks of priests who become ritually impure – tamei – and so must excuse themselves from dealing with the offerings that people bring, until they become pure – tahor – again. The word for “desecrate” – y’khal’lu – comes from the root which means “to empty.” The shem kodshi – the “My Holy Name” is the four-letter name which the kabbalists associate with the human body, based on the notion that we are b’tzelem Elohim – the “image of the Divine.” Thus, to “desecrate the Holy Name” means to “empty” our Presence from our bodies, and become disconnected from the wisdom and benevolence that arises from that body-Presence. When that happens, when we sink to such a low level of awareness. disconnected from our bodies and the present moment, holy prayers and Divine Names become temporarily useless; the “Name” becomes “empty,” and formal prayer and meditation are not enough to pull ourselves up. רַבִּי שִׁמְעוֹן אוֹמֵר, הֱוֵי זָהִיר בִּקְרִיאַת שְׁמַע וּבַתְּפִלָּה. וּכְשֶׁאַתָּה מִתְפַּלֵּל, אַל תַּעַשׂ תְּפִלָּתְךָ קֶבַע, אֶלָּא רַחֲמִים וְתַחֲנוּנִים לִפְנֵי הַמָּקוֹם Rabbi Shimon said, “Be meticulous in the chanting of the Sh’ma and in prayer. And when you pray, don’t make your prayer rigid and fixed; rather, compassion and supplication before The Place…” Rabbi Shimon gives advice for this. On one hand, he acknowledges the importance of having a regular, formal practice: Be meticulous in the chanting of the Sh’ma and in prayer. On the other hand, if all you have is a formal practice, that won’t work: Don’t make your prayer rigid and fixed; rather, compassion and supplication before The Place… In other words, when we have sunk to a low level, we can’t mechanically elevate ourselves; we need humility. We need to acknowledge how low we’ve sunk, and acknowledge that we may have acted from that low level. We have to admit: I’ve been that rude woman on the airplane, but I want to be the flight attendant – I want to “attend” to the elevation of myself and others. Oh Ribono Shel Olam, help me out of this low place. Help me fulfill potential and my purpose! That’s the rakhamim v’takhanunim – “compassion and supplication before HaMakom.” It’s interesting that the Divine is here called HaMakom – The Place, hinting that the point is not theology, it’s how you affect those with whom you share space. The point is not what you believe about God, it’s about keeping your inner space Godly; it’s about openness and humility. You are the “priest” of your own inner space. Sometimes your space becomes contaminated, so then it’s time to call out to the Divine, even call out to your own “inner priest” – as the parshah says: אֱמֹ֥ר אֶל־הַכֹּהֲנִ֖ים – Speak to the priests! The person who can reach this openness and humility, the person who accepts what happens and finds peace within their own being, and who also takes responsibility for what they’ve done and for acting to fulfill their reason for being – that person truly serves God, even if they say they are an atheist. On the other hand, the person who complains about what happens, who harbors grudges and anger, who judges others while refusing to take responsibility for what only they can and must do – that person is the true atheist, even as they profess to “believe.” Beliefs about “God” are not the same as actual God. People have believed in various gods for a long time; we seem to have an innate capacity for bowing to something greater than ourselves. Much, if not all extraordinary human achievements and crimes come from that capacity, whether it’s bowing to the God of the Bible or the cause of science; whether it’s Democracy or Nazism. Bowing to something greater is empowering, but it’s not necessarily good. That’s the essence of the Jewish prohibition against idolatry – don’t bow to some parasitic ideology, something that is not good. Rather, the inner message of Judaism is: Hashem Hu HaElohim. Meaning: Existence, Being, Reality, That is the true Divinity. In other words, take your innate devotionality and aim it at Reality Itself. Reality always Is what it Is, it always Will Be what it Will Be, and yet you can and must bring forth what Could Be – Ehyeh Asher Ehyeh. Bow to That – don’t resist what is, find the peace within your own being that is the blissful openness of that acceptance. At the same time, acknowledge – you are here, aren’t you? Take it seriously. There are things only you can bring into being, and there is something only you can do. Do it. All those religious beliefs about God are secondary. They change over time, because at any moment they are either helpful or not. And sometimes they even interfere. But within your own being is the potential: וְלֹ֥א יְחַלְּל֖וּ אֶת־שֵׁ֣ם קָדְשִׁ֑י – Don’t empty the Holy Name – Rather, cry out to HaMakom, the transcendent field of Beingness that is not separate from your own awareness, and bring forth your sacred destiny… What Do You Say? Parshat Emor 5/3/2018 0 Comments Once, when Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev had finished leading the davening, he went out into the congregation and greeted everyone: "Shalom aleikhem! Shalom aleikhem!" – as if he they had just arrived after a journey. "Rabbi, why do you greet us as if we just got here? We've been praying with you all morning!" "Have you?" replied the rebbe, "but in your mind, you were just in the marketplace, you were just wondering what's for lunch, you were just arguing with someone, and when the prayers ended, you all returned, so I greeted you!" The essence of spiritual work is Presence, and the goal of Presence is freedom. Freedom means: no resistance to whatever happens to arise within your experience. It means: no resentment, no blame, no persisting anger – no resistance at all! One of the biggest obstacles in our quest for freedom can be the way we talk to ourselves. How do you narrate your experience? How are you framing this moment right now? The way we speak to ourselves has the power to either lead us to more inner clutter, or lead us into the spaciousness of the Present; the power is in our mouths, so to "speak"... There's a hint in this week's reading, Parshat Emor: אֱמֹ֥ר אֶל־הַכֹּֽהֲנִ֖ים בְּנֵ֣י אַֽהֲרֹ֑ן וְאָֽמַרְתָּ֣ אֲלֵהֶ֔ם לְנֶ֥פֶשׁ לֹֽא־יִטַּמָּ֖א בְּעַמָּֽיו Speak – Emor – to the priests, the children of Aaron, and say to them, "don't become polluted for a person among your people..." If you wish to keep yourself open, spacious, uncluttered, then "speak to the priests" – that is, know that you are literally a "priest" – you're not merely a separate entity navigating through life, you are a connecting point between heaven and earth – between the vast space of consciousness, and everything that you perceive – thoughts, feelings, sense perceptions – the whole world around and within. Speak to yourself, remind yourself in this way: "Here is this feeling, here is this thought..." And even more, transform it into a prayer: "O Hashem, help me to know myself as the vast space of awareness, help me to accept everything that arises and live in simplicity, with love, serving Your highest potential and uplifting the world..." Good Shabbos! love and all blessing, reb brian yosef "Say"- Parshat Emor 5/12/2017 "Mo’adei Hashem asher tikr’u otam mikra’ei kodesh, eleh hem mo’adai- "Special Divine times you are to define as holy gatherings- these are My festivals." (Inspired by a teaching from Rabbi Menachem Mendel Shneerson- The Rebbe) The Torah reading Parshat Emor emphasizes the mitzvot of making sacred times- in this case, of setting aside special days in which you put aside all your time-bound agendas so that you can more deeply connect with Eternal dimension of Being. It says, "Mo’adei Hashem asher tikr’u otam mikra’ei kodesh, eleh hem mo’adai- Special Divine times you are to define as holy gatherings- these are My festivals." It then goes on to talk about the various festivals, beginning with Shabbat: "Uvayom hash’vi’i Shabbat Shabbaton- and on the seventh day shall be a Sabbath of Sabbaths." Why does it call Shabbat a Sabbath of Sabbaths? Because ultimately, the purpose of Shabbat- the purpose of the festivals, as well as any other times you set aside for spiritual practice- is not merely to have a special holy experience during those times alone. Rather, the purpose is to immerse in the Eternal dimension of Being so that you can continue to practice Presence even as you operate in the mundane world of time. In that way, all times become like a Sabbath, and the actual Sabbath is then a Sabbath of Sabbaths. Because as we all know, there are many forces of distraction on many levels that block the sense of life being a Sabbath. But when you regularly put those distractions aside in order to do your spiritual practice, you give yourself that space you need and allow the Eternal dimension of Being to blossom more and more into all your life. So what does it mean to put aside the things of ordinary time? As it says, "...mikra kodesh- a sacred time- kol melakha lo ta’asu- all melakha, that is all work, don’t do." Meaning, anything that has goals in time such as earning a livelihood, traveling, planning, working on projects- all those things that define your life in time, as opposed to your actual life- that sense of simply Being, as you are, right now, don’t do that stuff. Make sure you have some special times that are sacred. So on this Shabbat Emor, the Sabbath of saying, may we say out loud to ourselves our commitment to set aside time to go beyond time, whether in the traditional practices of Shabbat and the mo’adim, the Sabbath and festivals, or even for just a few seconds throughout the day to stop, breath and be present, perhaps even putting away phones and computers. May the whole world be nourished by our commitment to practice, that we might be greater channels of love and healing in the world. Good Shabbos! The Zombies- Parshat Emor 5/19/2016 2 Comments Once I saw my son looking at You Tube, ravenously drinking in the old 1980’s Michael Jackson Thrillervideo. Oh man, that brought me back! The way Michael morphs into some kind of wer-cat and then leads a band of zombies in that funky dance of the dead- And then the really scary part- his girlfriend cowering in the corner of her house while zombies crash through windows, breaking through the walls and floor- it’s the classic zombie scene that both draws and repels. Why is the “zombies-invading-the-house” thing so compelling? To me, the home is a sanctuary- a place to be safe, to relax, to sip a cup of tea on the couch- wouldn’t you agree? And let’s face it- nothing messes with our nice, safe, home-sanctuary like a bunch of zombies clawing at your window! But there is also an inner sanctuary- a place of peace and stillness, a place of vitality, of creativity, of light and benevolence. That place is your own deepest layer of being- the space of awareness itself. When you dwell in that space, you dwell in the temple of your own being, which is also Divine Being. That space is always here, always open and sacred- the space of consciousness that is eternally this moment. But, there are zombies!! Sometimes there are only a few pathetic zombies, wandering around on your lawn. Sometimes they are fast, tricky and vicious, fooling and distracting you into letting them in. Sometimes, they are disguised as something you lust for- they are seductive- more like vampires- making your eyes glaze over as you lurch unconsciously toward the door and turn the knob... These zombies and vampires are your own thoughts. There was once a hassid who went to his rebbe for advice on how to empty his mind. He knocked on the door of his rebbe’s house, but no answer. He peered through the window- the rebbe was sitting at a table, reading. The hassid knocked again, a little louder- no answer. Growing more and more frustrated, his polite greetings and knocks turned into screams and bangs, pounding on the doors and windows. This went on for hours! Eventually, the rebbe opened the door- “Just as I can ignore you, no matter now much fuss you make, so you can ignore your own thoughts and not admit them into your mind.” It’s true, your zombie/vampiric thoughts can trick you, distract you, lure you, entice you. But unless you believe in them, they have absolutely no power. It is your own mind that is creating them; if you let them be and don’t get drawn in, they fade away. The power is completely with you. This can be learned and practiced, but it is not merely a technique. It is a way of being that reveals your own inner freedom, your own inner divinity. Free from thought, you dwell in the sanctuary of presence- a space of freedom, of blissful goodness within your own being. This is the space of kadosh- holiness, or sacredness. Kadosh means “separate”, because in it you are separate from the tornados of life. However, it’s not a separateness of alienation, but of the closest intimacy- not far off at a distance from the storm, but at the eye of the storm. Get seduced by the storm- get absorbed into the drama of time and people, get dragged around and eaten by those flesh-rotten zombies, and you become tamei- spiritually contaminated. Let go of the drama, let the thoughts dissolve and you return to the Presence- to the Kadosh. This is your role, if you choose to accept it, as priest or priestess of your own inner sanctuary. On that subject, this week’s reading begins with Moses telling the priests, “L’nefesh lo yitama b’amav- "You shall not become tamei (spiritually contaminated) to a person among your people.” In its plain meaning, it’s talking about a priest not becoming tamei from touching a corpse (a regular corps, not the undead!). But metaphorically, it also can refer to the inner tuma we can incur from allowing our thoughts about others to contaminate our minds. When was the last time you allowed your mind to become tamei because of what some person did or said that you didn’t like, some argument you had, or anything else involving another person? It’s one of the great traps. And yet, the power is with YOU! Remember- the tzures (suffering) you experience is mostly generated by your own mind. You can stop empowering it NOW and come into the sanctuary. And yet, the next verse qualifies the first- “Ki im lish’eiru hakarov- "EXCEPT for a close relative…” Here we move from the metaphorical to the actual- from people as thoughts in your mind, to actual living and breathing people. There are people who are our “close relatives”- not necessarily blood, but those in our tribe, in our community, in our web of interdependence. For them we must become tamei at times, meaning that the relationship sometimes requires the sacrifice of our own needs in order to serve. Sometimes that sacrifice takes a few minutes, as with a screaming child, and sometimes it can go on for years, as in someone who needs on-going care. Sometimes we must sacrifice the plush-ness of kadosh for love, for the love that binds us together. But then there are those who are not “close relatives”, who seek to insert themselves into your life for whatever reason. They have their dramas, their pathologies, their fixations, and they are truly zombies and vampires, seeking to drag you down to their level. As all famous people learn, you can’t let every person into your life who tries to get in. It’s impossible. But, this truth is not just for famous people. The rhythm of reality dictates we work with both sides of the Tree of Life- the Hesed and the Gevurah- the loving-kindness and the setting of boundaries and limits. And life/Hashem will test you on this- you must learn both sides of the Tree! Of course, there is also gray area- folks who lie somewhere in between close and not-so-close. Then what do you do? Make a decision, and don’t worry. Each moment is new. The enemy is not the not-knowing, it is the not-deciding. On this Shabbat Emor, The Sabbath of Saying, may we speak our intentions with decisiveness, balancing openness with boundaries. And, once our decisions are made, may our minds let go and drink in the Divine Words that are being said in this moment, as this moment.
A friend once told me this story about when he lived in Israel back in the eighties. He rented a room in a small apartment with only one bathroom and a tiny kitchen from a very poor family. So, he would use the bathroom at the men’s mikveh down the street and eat most of his meals out in order to not be in their way. When he would sometimes come home late at night, he entered from the fire escape so as not to wake them up.
He worked for the newly formed Israeli Ministry of the Environment, and day after day he would catch the same bus to work, at the same time every morning. On his way to the bus, he would always stop at the same Arab bakery and get the same breakfast, which was essentially a big flat sesame bagel with an egg baked into the center of it. One day he stopped in for his usual breakfast, but the Arab baker (who was usually incredibly warm and friendly to him) behaved coldly and completely ignored him. My friend tried to get his attention several times to let him know he was there was ready to order his usual breakfast… but the baker didn’t even look at him. Frustrated and confused, he left the bakery and headed to the bus. As he waited for the bus to arrive, he realized that he was really hungry, and that he wouldn’t make it through to lunch time if he didn’t eat something. So, he made a dash for a little food cart to buy a sack of pumpkin seeds. When he got to the food cart, another person rudely cut the line in front of him. He was now doubtful if he could make it back to the bus in time, but he was really hungry, so he waited for the line-cutter to get served, and then ordered his snack as fast as he could. He paid for the food and made a dash back to the bus stop, but to his dismay, the bus had just left without him. His heart sank as he watched the bus drive away, up and over the hill. Suddenly, he was startled by an ear shattering boom. The bus had exploded just after going over the crest – many of those on the front of the bus, where he would have been, were killed. Days later, when the initial shock had faded a bit, my friend went back to the Arab baker, who was completely friendly again. My friend asked him if he had been upset with him for some reason, looking to find out why he had acted with such rudeness that day – a rudeness that had literally saved his life. The baker said he didn’t know what he was talking about: “You’re my friend! Why would I do that to you?” This is a true story. When we hear miraculous stories like this, or if something like this happens to us, there can be an impulse to try to make sense of it. How is it that a string of coincidences can come together to save a person’s life? What power could arrange such a feat? It is a Mystery, but there is one thing we can learn, one lesson we can draw and begin applying right away: When someone is rude to us, when people behave in a way that triggers our annoyance, anger, or judgment, know: this rude person could be saving your life. This or that inconvenience could be saving your loved ones. In other words, whatever we experience is a tiny piece of the story; we can’t see the Whole, but there is a Whole. We can’t understand the Whole in a given moment, but we can know It’s there… The Hidden Goodness The ninth letter, ט tet, represents this principle – that for whatever we may judge or experience as “bad,” there is always a hidden good. The letter ט tet begins the word טוֹב tov, which means “good,” and in fact the letter tet is itself an abbreviation for טוֹב tov – `ט. The form of ט tet is like a vessel pointing into itself, hinting at the hiddenness within. It is both the ninth letter and also represents the number nine, symbolizing nine months of pregnancy – the hidden life in the womb that gradually becomes revealed. While there are many ways we can see this principle operate in our experience, there are three general and distinct ways that ט tet can manifest. The first is the goodness that comes from things which we ordinarily judge as not good; this is the “silver lining” that we often appreciate only in retrospect. The above story is like this, though the term “silver lining,” in this case, is a drastic understatement. This kind of goodness is not the result of anything we do intentionally; it simply happens. Nevertheless, remembering this principle in the midst of suffering is something we can do to access the power of ט tet to transform our relationship with difficult moments. The second kind of hidden good is the potential for good that we can actualize. For example, when someone is suffering, this creates the potential for us to help support that person; this is a goodness that would not have been brought into being had there not been the suffering which created the need. Actually, much of what human beings create for the good comes about as a result of some problem, some challenge that needs to be addressed. The third kind of hidden good is fundamentally different from the other two, in that it is a goodness that is hidden in plain sight; it is not really hidden at all, but because it is constantly ever-present, it is difficult to appreciate without practice. This is the inherent goodness of being, the goodness that is not something separate from us, but is the basic quality of awareness itself. It is not a quality that we perceive, but is inherent in perception; it is not something we have, but something we are. הוּא הָיָה אוֹמֵר, אִם אֵין אֲנִי לִי, מִי לִי. וּכְשֶׁאֲנִי לְעַצְמִי, מָה אֲנִי. וְאִם לֹא עַכְשָׁיו, אֵימָתָי He used to say, “If I am not for myself, who will be for me? And if I am for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?”
This little aphorism of the famous sage Hillel, which is often understood only on an ethical level, actually contains a formula for discovering our deepest identity: If I am not for myself, who will be for me? It is up to us to realize who we really are; no one can do it for us. We do it by noticing that there is, in a sense, two of “me” – the “me” that is made out of my body and mind and feelings, and the “I” that perceives all that. Which “me” am “I”? And if I am for myself, what am I? “I” am not the self that I perceive – the body, the thoughts, the feelings – rather, “I” am the awareness that perceives all of that. And if not Now, when? There is a way to know this for yourself, but it is not a process that happens over time; rather, it is something that happens when we come into connection with this moment, when we let go of our inner “holding on” to the burden of time… The Flower Once, I was holding a bunch of Jewish books in my hands. My three-year-old daughter came up to me and said, “Here Abba, for you!” She was trying to give me a little flower. “One moment,” I said, “let me put these books down first.” What a wonderful metaphor! Let go of what you are holding and the heart is open to receive. There’s a little girl offering you a flower – that “flower” is this moment. Put down your “books” and receive the gift. A friend once said to me, “I always here that I should ‘just let go.’ But what does that mean? How do I do that?” To really know how to “let go,” we have to look at why we “hold on.” There are two main reasons the mind tends to hold on to things. First, there’s holding on to the fear about what might happen. It’s true – the future is mostly uncertain, and knowing this can create an unpleasant feeling of being out of control. Holding onto time – meaning, constant thinking about the future – can sometimes give a sense of control, but it is an illusion. It comes from an unconscious belief that if we worry about something enough, we’ll be able to control it. Of course, that’s absurd, but the mind thinks this because of a deeper fear: the fear of uncertainty itself. If we really want let go of worry about what might happen, we must first confront the experience of really not knowing, of being uncertain. That can be painful, and there’s naturally resistance to pain. But, if you allow yourself to experience the pain of uncertainty, it will burn away. Don’t block the pain with a “pile of books” – that is, a pile of stories about what might be. On the other side of this pain is a simple goodness with no opposite. Second, there can be some negativity about what might have happened in the past. If we want to let go of our preoccupation with time, if we want to let go of whatever “happened,” we must confront the fact that the past is truly over. The deeper level of this is confronting our own mortality. Everything, eventually, will be “over.” But, if you let go of the past, if you feel the insecurity of knowing that everything is passing without blocking the feelings of insecurity with a “pile of books” – with narratives about days past – then, It appears! There’s a gift being offered right now; it is precious, it is fragile, like a flower – this precious moment. Akharei Mot The parshah begins with a warning to Aaron concerning the rites he is to perform on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement: וְאַל־יָבֹ֤א בְכָל־עֵת֙ אֶל־הַקֹּ֔דֶשׁ – He shall not come at all times into the holy (sanctuary)…
We may try to reach holiness by working out the past in our minds, or by working toward a particular future, but as it says – v’al yavo b’khol eit… he shall not come at all times…” In other words, you cannot enter holiness through time! To enter the holy, you must leave time behind, and enter the Now. Let your grasping after the future burn, let your clinging to the past be released. As it says, continuing the description of the Yom Kippur rite- וְלָקַ֖ח אֶת־שְׁנֵ֣י הַשְּׂעִירִ֑ם V’lakakh et sh’nei hasirim – He shall take two goats… It then goes on to describe that one goat is “for the Divine”– in other words, the future is in the hands of the Divine. This goat is slaughtered and burned – in other words, we must experience the burning of uncertainty and slaughter our grasping after control of the future. The other goat is “for Azazel.” The word Azazel is composed of two words – az means “strong,” and “azel” means “exhausted, used up.” In other words, the “strength” of the past is “used up” – the past is gone, over, done. Let it go, or it will use you up! This goat is released to roam free into the wilderness. The past is gone, the future is in the hands of the Divine. But those Divine hands are not separate from your hands. Set your hands free – put down the narratives – and receive the flower of this moment, as it is, and with all its creative potential for what could be… There’s a story that once Reb Yehezkel of Kozmir strolled with his young son in the Zaksi Gardens in Warsaw. His son turned to him with a question: “Abba, whenever we come here, I feel such a peace and holiness, unlike I feel anywhere else. I would expect to find it when I’m studying Torah, but instead I feel it here.” Reb Yehezkel answered- “As you know, it says in the Prophets- ‘M’lo khol ha’aretz k’vodo- the whole world is filled with the Divine Glory.’ God’s goodness is everywhere, but sometimes we are blocked from recognizing it.” “But Abba,” pressed his son, “Why would I be blocked from feeling the Divine goodness when I’m learning Torah? And why would I feel it so strongly in this non-religious place?” “Let me tell you a story,” answered the rebbe. “In the days before Reb Simhah Bunem of Pshischah became a great tzaddik, he would commute to the city of Danzig and minister to the community there, even though he lived in Lublin. “When he returned to Lublin, he would always spend the first Shabbos with his rebbe, the “Seer” – Reb Yaakov Yitzhak of Lublin. “One time when he arrived back at Lublin, he felt disconnected from the holiness he had felt while he was in Danzig. To make matters worse, the Seer wouldn’t give him the usual greeting of “Shalom,” and in fact behaved rather coldly to Reb Simha. “Figuring this was just a mistake, he returned to the Seer some hours later, hoping to get some of the rebbe’s transmission, but again the Seer just ignored him. He left feeling dry and sad that his rebbe had rejected him. “Then, a certain Talmudic teaching came to his mind: that a person beset with unexpected tribulations should scrutinize their actions. “So, he mentally scrutinized every detail of his conduct in Danzig, but he couldn’t recall anything he had done wrong. If anything, he noted with satisfaction that this visit was definitely of the kind that he liked to nickname ‘a good Danzig,’ for he had brought down such holy teachings and davened with such ecstasy during his visit there. “But then he remembered the rest of the teaching. It goes on to say- Pishpeish v’lo matza, yitleh b’vitul Torah – If he sought and did not find, let him ascribe it to the diminishing (bitul) of Torah. “Meaning, that his suffering must be caused by having not studied enough. “Taking this advice to heart, Reb Simhah decided to start studying right then and there. Opening his Talmud, he sat down and studied earnestly all that day and night. “Suddenly, a novel light on the Talmudic teaching dawned on him. He turned the words over in his mind once more: ‘Pishpeish v’lo matza, yitleh b’vitul Torah.’ “He began to think that perhaps what the sages really meant by their advice was not that he didn’t study enough, but that he wasn’t ‘diminished’ by his studying (bitul). Rather than humbling himself with Torah, all that book knowledge was simply building up his own ego, and blocking his connection. As soon as he realized this, he ‘let go’ of the books – he let go of his self image as a great scholar, and that sense of the Divine Presence that he so longed for returned to him. “Later that evening, the Seer greeted warmly: ‘Danzig, as you know, is not such a religious place, yet the Divine Presence is everywhere, as it says- the whole world is filled with Its Glory. If, while you were there, the Divine Presence rested upon you, this was no great feat accomplished by your extensive learning – it was because you simply opened to That which is always already here!’” Parshat Kedoshim A story was told by Rabbi Rafael of Bershad about his master, Rabbi Pinhas of Kortetz: On the first day of Hanukkah, I complained to my teacher that when bad things happen to me, I can’t seem to believe in God’s goodness. It seems like God’s goodness is hiding from me! What should I do?” Rabbi Pinhas replied, “If you know that It is hiding, It is not really hiding.” As we have seen, there is often a hidden goodness in our experience of adversity, both in that which happens to us, and in that which we may choose to bring forth by our words and actions. But the deepest goodness is not hidden in the same manner that other things are hidden; it is hidden in plain sight. Or, more accurately, it is hidden within our own sight – the goodness is actually That which is doing the “seeing.” קְדֹשִׁ֣ים תִּהְי֑וּ כִּ֣י קָד֔וֹשׁ אֲנִ֖י יְהוָ֥ה אֱלֹהֵיכֶֽם Be Holy, for I, the Divine, your God, am Holy…
קָדוֹשׁ Kadosh – “Holy” means “separate” or “transcendent” – not separate in the sense of detached or alien, but rather the most intimate, the most central. This is the inner meaning of the sacred – it is not merely a quality, it is who we are on the deepest level – the ani, the true “I.” אֲנִ֖י יְהוָ֥ה אֱלֹהֵיכֶֽם Ani Hashem Eloheikhem – I am the Divine, your own Divinity! The true “I,” the awareness that transcends all particular experience, is not merely your “I,” but is the “I” of the Divine; it is the “I” of Reality Itself, knowing Itself through you. This is our deepest potential – that through us, God wakes up to Itself; Reality comes to know Its own goodness through us. A disciple of Rabbi Dov Baer, the Maggid of Mezritch, started home after studying with the Maggid for many years. On his way he stopped in Karlin to see his old friend Rabbi Aaron, who had once been his learning companion in the Maggid’s House of Study. It was already midnight by the time he arrived in the city, but he was so excited to see his old friend, he made his way to Rabbi Aaron’s house anyway. When he arrived, he could see light coming from the window, so he looked in and saw his friend learning from books at the table by candlelight. Excited to see his old friend, he knocked on the window enthusiastically. Rabbi Aaron looked up from his books: “Who is there?” “It is I!” exclaimed the disciple. Rabbi Aaron looked back down at his books and continued studying. The student waited a bit, then knocked again, and again, but no reply. “Aaron, why don’t you open the door for me?” Rabbi Aaron looked up and spoke with grave seriousness: “Who is it that dares to call himself ‘I’ without even knowing Who this “I” is?” When the disciple heard this, he realized that he had not learned nearly enough, so he immediately turned around and headed back toward Mezritch. Love Your Neighbor And yet, knowing the Divine goodness of our innermost being is not the end. One Mother’s Day, I looked for a nice picture and found one from my birthday a many years ago with me and my mother. I was eating some birthday pie she had made for me. As I looked at the picture, I noticed something funny about the expression on my face. Then, it struck me – the particular way I was smiling and looking into the camera looked just like my father. There’s so much that’s passed on from parent to child – not just genetics, knowledge and language, but also mannerisms and patterns of behavior. And some of these patterns, alas, are ones we perhaps could do without. Have you ever been critical of some behavior in your parents, and then caught yourself unconsciously acting exactly the same way? And, it’s not our faults! Patterns of thought, speech and behavior have been passed down through the generations. But when you become aware of this, there’s a tremendous opportunity for transforming not just your own patterns, but the patterns of those who came before you. As we awaken to our deeper potential, there’s redemption for our ancestors as well. אִ֣ישׁ אִמּ֤וֹ וְאָבִיו֙ תִּירָ֔אוּ Ish imo v’aviv tira’u… You shall revere your mother and your father… The word here for “revere” – tira’u – has the double meaning of both “revere” or “respect” as well as “fear.” In other words, you should “fear” your potential to perpetuate the negative qualities of your parents, and “revere” them by emulating their positive qualities and transforming the negative ones within yourself! And this is the call of the Ani, the goodness that is our deepest being – to awaken not only our realization of the Divine within, but to bring it into expression, to transform the world through It. קְדֹשִׁ֣ים תִּהְי֑וּ כִּ֣י קָד֔וֹשׁ אֲנִ֖י יְהוָ֥ה אֱלֹהֵיכֶֽם Be Holy, for I, the Divine, your God, am Holy… The holiness that is our ani, our deepest self, calls upon us to craft our garments of expression – our thoughts, words and actions – into expressions of the Truth of who we are. How do we do that? “You shall not steal… you shall not lie… You shall not curse the deaf, nor place a stumbling block before the blind… You shall not favor the poor, nor honor the great... You shall not go around gossiping… you shall not hate others in your heart…you shall not take revenge and you shall not bear a grudge… You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” According to the Talmudic sage Rabbi Akiva, this last mitzvah – Love your neighbor as you love yourself – ve’ahavta l’reiakha kamokha – is the essence of the whole Torah. But to really become aware of our unconscious negative patterns, to really get free from them and choose to embody the truth of our essential goodness, there needs to be space to recognize It. The suffering of life is too great for one to remain present and aware without a break from its momentum. Perhaps that’s why the verse about revering one’s parents concludes with the words: וְאֶת־שַׁבְּתֹתַ֖י תִּשְׁמֹ֑רוּ V’et Shab’totai tishmoru – My Sabbaths you shall guard… In the stillness, you can recover from the patterns of suffering and reconnect with your inner wellspring of holiness. From that place, you can remain open to whatever suffering arises without losing yourself in it – meaning, without losing connection with the hidden goodness that is your deepest Self. There’s a story about Reb Mordechai Dov of Hornisteipl, that once he visited a doctor for a painful sore on his back. The doctor decided the best thing to do would be to cauterize it. In those days, this would involve heating up three metal rods, each one hotter than the last. If the patient didn’t cry out with the first hot rod, they would apply the second. And in the rare occasion the patient didn’t respond to the second, a third extremely hot rod was ready. The only problem was, this tzaddik was accustomed to accepting pain in silence, not losing his inner connection regardless of how much he suffered. So, when the doctor applied the first hot rod and got no reaction from Reb Mordechai Dov, he went on to the second rod. Still no reaction. When he applied the third white hot rod and the tzaddik still didn’t respond, the doctor exclaimed – “I don’t know whether this is an angel or a demon!” Reb Mordechai Dov didn’t understand Russian, so he asked the translator to tell him what the doctor said. When he was told, he answered: “Please tell him that when someone comes to me and asks that I pray on their behalf, and I see that I won’t be able to relieve their suffering with my prayers, it hurts much much more than these hot rods… and even then, I must not lose mySelf…”
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Sacred Space – Akharei/Kedoshim
4/29/2020 0 Comments This week’s reading is the double parshah of Akharei Mot and Kedoshim. Both portions begin with instructions that relate to “holiness” or “sacredness,” which in Hebrew is the 3-letter root, KDSh, קדש : וַיֹּ֨אמֶר יְהוָ֜ה אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֗ה דַּבֵּר֮ אֶל־אַהֲרֹ֣ן אָחִיךָ֒ וְאַל־יָבֹ֤א בְכָל־עֵת֙ אֶל־הַקֹּ֔דֶשׁ מִבֵּ֖ית לַפָּרֹ֑כֶת אֶל־פְּנֵ֨י הַכַּפֹּ֜רֶת אֲשֶׁ֤ר עַל־הָאָרֹן֙ וְלֹ֣א יָמ֔וּת כִּ֚י בֶּֽעָנָ֔ן אֵרָאֶ֖ה עַל־הַכַּפֹּֽרֶת׃ The Divine said to Moses: Speak to Aaron your brother that he is not to come at any time into the Holy (Kodesh, shrine) behind the curtain, in front of the cover that is upon the ark, so that he not die; for in the cloud I appear upon the cover. (Leviticus 16:2) קְדֹשִׁ֣ים תִּהְי֑וּ כִּ֣י קָד֔וֹשׁ אֲנִ֖י יְהוָ֥ה אֱלֹהֵיכֶֽם Holy (Kadosh) you shall be, for holy am I, Hashem, your own Divinity. (Leviticus 19:2) In the first passage, the Kodesh is a particular sacred space; it is the innermost sanctum of the Tabernacle in the wilderness, and later the Temple in Jerusalem. This verse is a warning that the act of entering into this most holy space must be done by a particular person, at a particular time, in a particular way, in order to avoid accidental death. The second passage is more of a general instruction – not to merely enter a holy place (kodesh), but to actually be holy (kadosh). The first verse is talking about something external; the second is talking about an inner reality: Holy you shall be, for holy am I… In other words, the Divine “I” is the sacred. Furthermore: Ani Hashem Eloheinu – “I” am your (own inner) Divinity. The deepest level of our being is not something separate from what we call the Divine; the sacred is already our own deepest nature. On this level, the verse is reminding us of who we really are – Kedoshim tihyu – be what you already are! But why do we need to be told to be what we already are? Because our tendency is to become lost in the particulars of our experience – our thoughts, feelings, opinions and so on, and to forget our own deepest reality. That brings us back to the first verse: Al yavo b’khol eit el hakodesh– Don’t come into the holy space at any time… The kodesh is not just the ancient Tabernacle; it is the space we take for daily meditation. Meditation doesn’t happen b’khol eit – at any time; it happens at particular times. But through entering the “space” of the sacred by practicing at particular times, we forge a connection with our own being at the deepest level, so that we can be holy all of the time; that’s the point. But on a deeper level, al yavo b’khol eit – Don’t come in any time – means: there is only one time that you can enter the space of the sacred, and that is Now. This is the trickiest and yet the most simple part: if we want to awaken at the deepest level, if we want to experience and express the truth of our own being, we need to reel ourselves in from the time-creating mind and rest in the spaciousness of the present moment… The Bakery – Parshat Kedoshim 5/8/2019 1 Comment The other day a friend told me a story about when he lived in Israel back in the eighties. He rented a room in a small apartment with only one bathroom and a tiny kitchen from a very poor family. So, he would use the bathroom at the men’s mikveh down the street and eat most of his meals out in order to not be in their way. When he would sometimes come home late at night, he entered from the fire escape so as not to wake them up. He worked for the newly formed Israeli Ministry of the Environment and day after day he would catch the same bus to work, at the same time every morning. On his way to the bus, he would always stop at the same Arab bakery, and get the same breakfast which was essentially a big flat sesame bagel with an egg baked into the center of it. One day he stopped in for his usual breakfast, but the Arab baker (who was usually incredibly warm and friendly to him) behaved coldly and completely ignored him. My friend tried to get his attention several times to let him know he was there was ready to order his usual breakfast… but the baker completely ignored him. Frustrated and confused, he left the bakery and headed to the bus. As he waited for the bus to arrive, he realized that he was really hungry, and that he wouldn’t make it through to lunch time if he didn’t eat something. So, he made a dash for a little food cart to buy a sack of pumpkin seeds. When he got to the food cart, another person rudely cut the line in front of him. He was now doubtful if he could make it back to the bus in time, but he was really hungry, so he waited for the line-cutter to get served, and then ordered his snack as fast as he could. He paid for the food and made a dash back to the bus stop, but to his dismay, the bus had just left without him. His heart sank as he watched the bus drive away up and over the hill. Suddenly, he was startled by an ear shattering boom. The bus had exploded just after going over the crest – many of those on the front of the bus, where he would have been, were killed. Days later, when the initial shock had faded a bit, my friend went back to the Arab baker, who was completely friendly again. My friend asked him if he had been upset with him for some reason, looking to find out why he had acted with such rudeness that day... a rudeness that had literally saved his life. The baker said he didn’t know what he was talking about – “You’re my friend! Why would I do that to you?” This is a true story. When we hear miraculous stories like this, there can be an impulse to try to make sense of it, to fit it into some belief system, to draw conclusions from it… but if there is something to learn from this kind of experience, it should be: don’t draw conclusions; don’t try to fit things into your belief system. When someone is rude to us, when people behave in a way that triggers our judgment, that draws us into some mental/emotional drama, don’t judge. Don’t interpret. The rude man in the bakery could be saving your life. The guy who cut in front of you in line could be saving your loved ones. The point is not to make up some story like this, the point is to really know that you don’t know. The thinking mind wants to know, it wants to understand, and that’s understandable! Of course, we must do our best to understand to make the best decisions we can. But all of our understanding is incomplete and even dangerous unless we also understand that we don’t really know for sure; we are inherently uncertain, and there is always much, much, much more going on that we can ever really know. This deep knowing of not-knowing brings us into connection with the one thing we really do know – the only thing we actually know – which is that there is consciousness; there is an experience happening, right now. This experience, right now, is unfolding within this mystery that we call awareness, and the awareness is ultimately what we are, beneath the thoughts, beneath the feelings, beneath whatever situation we find ourselves in. It is our true identity; we are not merely bodies, or personalities, or memories, conditioning, opinions, merits and faults, or personal stories – we are the open space of knowing, the vast field of awareness within which all these things are now living. הוּא הָיָה אוֹמֵר, אִם אֵין אֲנִי לִי, מִי לִי. וּכְשֶׁאֲנִי לְעַצְמִי, מָה אֲנִי. וְאִם לֹא עַכְשָׁיו, אֵימָתָי He used to say, “If I am not for myself, who will be for me? And if I am for myself, what am I? And if not now, when?” This little aphorism of the famous sage Hillel, which is often understood only on an ethical level, actually contains a formula for discovering our deepest identity: If I am not for myself, who will be for me? – It is up to us to realize who we really are; no one can do it for us. We do it by noticing that there is, in a sense, two of “me” – the “me” that is made out of my body and mind and feelings, and the “I” that perceives all that. Which “me” am “I”? And if I am for myself, what am I? – “I” am not the self that I perceive – the body, the thoughts, the feelings – rather, “I” am the awareness that perceives all of that. And if not Now, when? – The way to know this for yourself is to simply come into connection with the Now; to be the awareness that simply receives whatever is present. Then, you will come to know yourself as that awareness, as that Presence. And, paradoxically, everything you perceive is also Presence. There is a hint at the very beginning of the parshah: קְדֹשִׁ֣ים תִּהְי֑וּ כִּ֣י קָד֔וֹשׁ אֲנִ֖י יְהוָ֥ה אֱלֹהֵיכֶֽם Be holy, for I, the Divine, am holy. Holy, kadosh, means “separate,” or better, “transcendent.” The true “I” is the awareness that transcends what it perceives, and this “I” is not your “I” but is the “I” of the Divine; it is the “I” of Reality Itself, knowing Itself through you – that’s our spiritual potential! It’s not only that we become free when we realize that we are not the ordinary “I” we thought we were, but rather, God wakes up to Itself; we play our part in Existence awakening to Itself. A disciple of Rabbi Dov Baer, the Maggid of Mezritch, started home after studying with the Maggid for many years. On his way he stopped in Karlin to see his old friend Rabbi Aaron, who had once been his learning companion in the Maggid’s House of Study. It was already midnight by the time he arrived in the city, but he was so excited to see his old friend, he made his way to Rabbi Aaron’s house anyway. When he arrived, he could see light coming from the window, so he looked in and saw his friend learning from books at the table by candlelight. Excited to see his old friend, he knocked on the window enthusiastically. Rabbi Aaron looked up from his books: “Who is there?” “It is I!” exclaimed the disciple. Rabbi Aaron looked back down at his books and continued studying. The student waited a bit, then knocked again, and again, but no reply. “Aaron, why don’t you open the door for me?” Rabbi Aaron looked up and spoke with grave seriousness: “Who is it that dares to call himself “I” as befits only the Divine?” When the disciple heard this, he realized that he had not learned nearly enough, so he immediately turned around and headed back toward Mezrich… Separate- Parshat Akharei Mot, Kedoshim 5/3/2017 1 Comment "Kedoshim tihyu ki kadosh ani Hashem Eloheikhem- "Holy you shall be, because holy am I, Hashem your God.” There’s something strange about this passage. God is telling the children of Israel that they should be holy without really explaining what that means, and then it says that the reason they should be holy because God is holy- ki kadosh ani Hashem Eloheikhem. So the question is, why does one follow from the other? Why should we be holy just because God is holy, and what does holy mean anyway? The word for holy, Kadosh, actually means “separate,” but not in the ordinary sense. Normally, the word “separate” connotes distance, disconnectedness, or alienation, such as when a relationship goes sour and you lose that connection with another person. But the word kadosh actually means the opposite. In a Jewish wedding ceremony, for example, we hear these words spoken between the beloveds- “At mekudeshet li- “You are holy to me…” Meaning, your beloved becomes kadosh or “separate” not because they’re separate from you, but because they’re exclusive to you. They’re your most intimate, and therefore separate from all other relationships. So, the separateness of kadosh points not to something that’s distant, but to something that’s most central. It points not to alienation, but to the deepest connection. And just as your beloved is separate from all other relationships, so too when you become present, this moment becomes separate from all other moments, and you’re able to get some distance from the world of time- from your memories about the past and your anticipations of the future. This allows you to experience yourself not as a bundle of thoughts and feelings inhabiting a body, but as the open, radiant space of awareness within which your thoughts and feelings come and go. That’s why your presence, your awareness is by its nature kadosh- separate from the world of thought and feeling within which we tend to get trapped, yet fully and intimately connected with everything that arises in this moment. So when God says kedoshim tihyu- you should be holy- it’s telling you to do the practice of holiness by becoming present- by separating your mind from the entanglements of thought and time. How is it possible for us to get free from time? Ki kadosh ani Hashem Eloheikhem- because the holiness of Being- Hashem- is already your own inner Divinity- Eloheikhem. In other words, by practicing presence, you bring forth your own deepest nature, which is holiness. This is also hinted at in the name of Parshat Akharei Mot, which means “after the death.” In order to know your own deepest nature as shamayim mima’al, the vastness of space, you have to let go of your mind-based identity- all your stories and judgments about yourself, and that can actually feel like a kind of death. But this death has an Akhar- an afterward in which your true life, the awareness that you are, becomes liberated. So on this Shabbat Akharei Mot and Kedoshim may we come to know more deeply the holiness that is felt after the death of the false self, and may we express that holiness as love and blessing to everyone we encounter. Good Shabbos! The Pie- Parshat Kedoshim 5/11/2016 2 Comments It was Mother’s Day this past week. I looked for a nice picture to post on Facebook. I found one from my birthday a couple years ago with me and my mother. I was eating some chocolate pecan pie she had made for me. (And always makes for me on my birthday- thanks Mom!) After I posted it, I was looking at the picture. There was something funny about the expression on my face. Then, it struck me- the particular way I was smiling and looking into the camera looked just like my father. There’s so much that’s passed on from parent to child- not just genetics, knowledge and language, but also mannerisms and patterns of behavior. And some of these patterns, alas, are ones we perhaps could do without. Have you ever been critical of some behavior in your parents, and then caught yourself unconsciously acting exactly the same way? And, its not their fault! Patterns of thought, speech and behavior have been passed down through the generations for ages. When you become aware of this, there’s a tremendous opportunity for transforming not just your own patterns, but the patterns of those who came before you. As you awaken to your deeper potential, there’s redemption for your ancestors as well. As it says in this week’s reading: “Ish imo v’aviv tira’u… “You shall revere your mother and your father…” The word here for “revere”- tira’u- has the double meaning of both “revere” or “respect” as well as “fear.” In other words, you should “fear” your potential to perpetuate the negative qualities of your parents, and “revere” them by emulating their positive qualities and transforming the negative ones within yourself! And this is the call of this week’s parsha- to awaken your potential for holiness- your potential for the expression of integrity, truth, compassion, gratitude, and all the other middot (spiritual qualities): “Kedoshim tihyu ki kadosh ani Hashem Elohekhem…” “You shall be holy, for I- Divine Being, your own Divinity- am holy…” Holiness is intrinsic to who you are- it’s your own inner Divinity. It calls upon you to craft your garments of expression- your thoughts, words and actions- into expressions of the Truth of who you are. How do you do that? This parsha contains many beautiful prescriptions for expressing holiness: “You shall not steal… you shall not lie… You shall not curse the deaf, nor place a stumbling block before the blind… You shall not favor the poor, nor honor the great... You shall not go around gossiping… you shall not hate others in your heart…you shall not take revenge and you shall not bear a grudge… You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” According to the Talmudic sage Rabbi Akiva, this last mitzvah- “Love your neighbor as you love yourself- ve’ahavta l’reiakha kamokha”- is the essence of the whole Torah. But to really become aware of your unconscious negative patterns, to really get free from them and choose to embody the middot of love and integrity, there needs to be space. The suffering of life is too great for one to remain present and aware without a break from its momentum. Perhaps that’s why the verse about revering one’s parents concludes with the words: “V’et Shab’totai tishmoru- “My Sabbaths you shall guard…” In the stillness, you can recover from the patterns of suffering and reconnect with your inner wellspring of holiness. From that place, you can remain open to whatever suffering arises without losing yourself in it. There’s a story about Reb Mordechai Dov of Hornisteipl, that once he visited a doctor for a painful sore on his back. The doctor decided the best thing to do would be to cauterize it. In those days, this would involve heating up three metal rods, each one hotter than the last. If the patient didn’t cry out with the first hot rod, they would apply the second. And in the rare occasion the patient didn’t respond to the second one, a third super hot rod was ready. The only problem was, this tzaddik was accustomed to accepting pain in silence, not losing his inner connection regardless of how much he suffered. So, when the doctor applied the first hot rod and got no reaction from Reb Mordechai Dov, he went on to the second rod. Still no reaction. When he applied the third white hot rod and the tzaddik still didn’t respond, the doctor exclaimed- “I don’t know whether this is an angel or a demon!” Reb Mordechai Dov didn’t understand Russian, so he asked the translator to tell him what the doctor said. When he was told, he answered: “Please tell the doctor that when someone comes to me and asks that I pray on their behalf, and I see that I won’t be able to relieve their suffering with my prayers, it hurts much much more than these hot rods… and even then, I must not lose myself.” On this Shabbat Kedoshim, the Sabbath of Holiness, may we become aware of our true potential and practice it in real time. May we reconnect with the Source of that potential, the infinite wellspring of holiness within- the holy awareness that looks though your eyes and hears through your ears, in this moment. The Flower- Parshat Akharei Mot 5/3/2016 6 Comments What does it take to set your heart free? Put another way, what is it that imprisons your heart? Once I was holding a bunch of Jewish books in my hands. My three-year-old daughter came up to me and said, “Here Abba, for you!” She was trying to give me a little flower. “One moment,” I said, “let me put these books down first.” It’s like that. The heart is imprisoned by the burden of whatever is being held. Let go of what you’re holding and the heart is open to receive. There’s a little girl offering you a flower- that flower is this moment. Put down your books and receive the gift. A friend once said to me, “I always hear that I should ‘just let go.’ But what does that mean? How do I do that?” To really know how to “let go,” we have to look at why we “hold on.” There are two main reasons the mind tends to hold on to things. First, there’s holding on to the fear about what might happen. It’s true- the future is mostly uncertain, and knowing this can create an unpleasant feeling of being out of control. Holding onto time- meaning, thinking about the future- can give you a false sense of control. There’s often the unconscious belief that if you worry about something enough, you’ll be able to control it. Of course, that’s absurd, but the mind thinks that because of its deeper fear: fear of experiencing the uncertainty itself. If you really let go of your worry about what might happen, you must confront the experience of really not knowing, of being uncertain. That can be painful, and there’s naturally resistance to pain. But, if you allow yourself to experience the pain of uncertainty, it will burn away. Don’t block the pain with a “pile of books”- that is, a pile of stories about what might be. On the other side of this pain is liberation- the expansive and simple dwelling with Being in the present. Second, there can be some negativity about what might have happened in the past. If you let go of your preoccupation with time, if you let go of whatever “happened,” you must confront the fact that the past is truly over. The deeper level of this is confronting your own mortality. Everything, eventually, will be “over.” But, let go of the past, and feel the insecurity of knowing that everything is passing. Don’t block that feeling of insecurity with a “pile of books”- with narratives about days past. Then you will see- there’s a gift being offered right now. It is precious; it is fragile- a flower offered by a little child, this precious moment. This week’s reading, Parshat Akharei Mot, begins with a warning to Aaron the Priest concerning the rites he is to perform on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement: “V’al yavo b’khol eit el hakodesh- “He shall not come at all times into the holy (sanctuary)…” We may try to reach holiness by working out the past in our minds, or by insisting on a certain future, but as it says- “V’al yavo b’khol eit… he shall not come at all times…” In other words, you cannot enter holiness through time! To enter the holy, you must leave time behind, and enter it Now. Let your grasping after the future burn, let your clinging to the past be released. As it says, continuing the description of the Yom Kippur rite- “V’lakakh et sh’nei hasirim- “He shall take two goats…” Letting go of time means letting go of past and future- one goat for the past, one for the future. The first goat, it goes on top describe, is “for Hashem”- meaning, the future is in the hands of Hashem. This goat is slaughtered and burned. Meaning: experience the burning of uncertainty and slaughter your grasping after control. The other goat is “for Azazel.” The word Azazel is composed of two words- “az” means “strength”, and “azel” means “exhausted, used up”. In other words, the “strength” of the past is “used up.” The past is gone, over, done. Let it go, or it will use you up! This goat is let go to roam free into the wilderness. The past is gone, the future is in the hands of the Divine. But those Divine hands are not separate from your hands. Set your hands free- put down the narratives- and receive the flower of this moment, as it is, and with all its creative potential for what could be… There’s a story that once Reb Yehezkel of Kozmir strolled with his young son in the Zaksi Gardens in Warsaw. His son turned to him with a question- “Abba, whenever we come here, I feel such a peace and holiness, unlike I feel anywhere else. I would expect to find it when I’m studying Torah, but instead I feel it here.” Reb Yehezkel answered- “As you know, it says in the Prophets- ‘M’lo khol ha’aretz k’vodo- the whole world is filled with the Divine Glory.’ But, sometimes we’re blocked from recognizing it.” “But Abba,” pressed his son, “Why would I be blocked from feeling the Divine Glory when I’m learning Torah? And why would I feel it so strongly in this non-religious place?” “Let me tell you a story,” answered the rebbe. “In the days before Reb Simhah Bunem of Pshischah evolved into great tzaddik, he would commute to the city of Danzig and minister to the community there, even though he lived in Lublin. “When he returned to Lublin, he would always spend the first Shabbos with his rebbe, the “Seer”- Reb Yaakov Yitzhak of Lublin. “One time when he arrived back at Lublin, he felt disconnected from the holiness he had felt while he was in Danzig. To make matters worse, the Seer wouldn’t give him the usual greeting of “Shalom,” and in fact behaved rather coldly to Reb Simha. “Figuring this was just a mistake, he returned to the Seer some hours later, hoping to get a blast of the rebbe’s spiritual juice, but again the Seer just ignored him. He left feeling dry and sad that his rebbe had rejected him. “Then, a certain Talmudic teaching came to his mind: that a person beset with unexpected tribulations should scrutinize their actions. “So, he mentally scrutinized every detail of his conduct in Danzig, but he couldn’t recall anything he had done wrong. If anything, he noted with satisfaction that this visit was definitely of the kind that he liked to nickname ‘a good Danzig,’ for he had brought down such holy ecstasy in the prayers and chanting. “But then he remembered the rest of the teaching. It goes on to say- ‘Pishpeish v’lo matza, yitleh b’vitul Torah- ‘If he sought and did not find, let him ascribe it to the diminishing (bitul) of Torah.’ “Meaning, that his suffering must be caused by having not studied enough. “Taking this advice to heart, Reb Simhah decided to start studying right then and there. Opening his Talmud, he sat down and studied earnestly all that day and night. “Suddenly, a novel light on the Talmudic teaching dawned on him. He turned the words over in his mind once more: ‘Pishpeish v’lo matza, yitleh b’vitul Torah.’ “He began to think that perhaps what the sages really meant by their advice was not that he didn’t study enough, but that he wasn’t ‘diminished’ (bitul) by his studying. Rather than humbling himself with Torah, all that book knowledge was simply building up his own ego, and blocking his connection with the Presence. As soon as he realized this, he ‘let go’ of the books- he let go of being a great scholar, and the Presence that he longed for returned. “Later that evening, the Seer greeted him warmly: ‘Danzig, as you know, is not such a religious place, yet the Divine Presence is everywhere, as it says- the whole world is filled with Its Glory. If, while you were there, the Divine Presence rested upon you, this was no great feat accomplished by your extensive learning- it was because in your ecstasy, you opened to what is always already here.’” On this Shabbos Akharei Mot, the “Sabbath After the Death,” may all that we hold out of pride drop away. May all that we hold out of fear drop away. May all that we hold in an attempt to control drop away… and may we live in this holiness that is always already here.
Manifestation
Aside from bringing forth our capacity for וַאֲהַבְתֶּ֖ם אֶת־הַגֵּ֑ר ahavtem et ha’ger, for loving the stranger, (see last week's post) the het quality of patience with others is also helpful in a totally different way – for bringing forth ideas into manifestation, for getting things done. A friend of mine once tried to help make a shiddukh – a “match” – for a woman who was looking to get married. He had a man in mind whom he thought was a good match, and was excited to have them meet. But when he told her about him, she asked to see a picture. He showed her the picture and she quickly snapped, “He’s not my type.” My friend was instantly filled with anger, and he immediately wanted to do two things at once. First, he wanted to shake her and say, “Just talk to him! You are sabatoging yourself! You can’t tell anything from a picture!” Second, he wanted to say “the hell with it,” and give up. These two impulses – the urge to force someone to change, on one hand, and to abandon the person, on the other, perfectly describe that which het comes to remedy. These two impulses, which we might call “fight or flight,” can be incredibly strong, but we are stronger. We are stronger because we are always bigger than any impulse; we are the space of consciousness within which every impulse comes and goes. Knowing ourselves as this inner vastness can help us be like the eagle hovering over her eaglets, poised and balanced between extremes, “hovering” in the in-between. Parshat Tazria There is a hint in the parshah: אִשָּׁה֙ כִּ֣י תַזְרִ֔יעַ וְיָלְדָ֖ה זָכָ֑ר וְטָֽמְאָה֙ שִׁבְעַ֣ת יָמִ֔ים כִּימֵ֛י נִדַּ֥ת דְּוֺתָ֖הּ תִּטְמָֽא׃ When a woman conceives and gives birth to a male, she shall be tamei – separate from the sacred – for seven days; she shall be tamei as in the days of niddah – separate from sexual intimacy.
The אִשָּׁה ishah, the “woman” is symbolic of Binah, the thinking mind, which “gives birth” to new thoughts and ideas. But in order for a thought to move from the level of mind into the physical world and come into manifestation, it often has to go through a process that takes time, often encountering various forms of resistance that must be navigated: וְטָֽמְאָה֙ שִׁבְעַ֣ת יָמִ֔ים V’tam’ah shivat yamim – she shall be tamei – separate from the sacred for seven days… The “seven days” means the world of time – the process of manifestation that can sometimes be tedious or even infuriating, creating a sense of separateness that arises from our resistance. But then: וּבַיּ֖וֹם הַשְּׁמִינִ֑י יִמּ֖וֹל בְּשַׂ֥ר עָרְלָתֽוֹ On the eighth day, the flesh of his skin shall be circumcised. The orlah, the “skin” that is “circumcised,” is the sense of separateness that can arise from the process “birthing” a thought into the world. But after experiencing the separateness inherent in thought and time, we can remove the barrier and enter the “eighth day” – that is, the sense of the Eternal inherent in the present moment. How do we do that? The key is het: בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְהֹוָה אֱלֹהֵֽינוּ מֶֽלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם זוֹקֵף כְּפוּפִים Blessed are You, Divine Source, who Straightens the Bent! On the surface, this Morning Blessing is giving thanks for getting out of bed. But on the inner level, it is hinting at the power to “straighten up” our mind and heart. To accomplish this, we don’t need to make an overt effort; in simply bringing ourselves into awareness of whatever is present, letting go of excess thinking and staying with the moment, the mind and heart “straighten up” on their own. This is the meaning of the blessing – that power to cease the urge to manipulate and cease the urge to run away, the power to neither lean in nor lean out, but simply sit in the presence of, comes to us as a gift when we offer the gift of our attention. Flourish צַדִּיק כַּתָּמָר יִפְרָח כְּאֶרֶז בַּלְּבָנון יִשגֶּה – Tzaddik ka’tamar yifrakh, k’erez bal’vanon yisgeh – The righteous will flourish like a date palm; like a cedar in Lebanon they will grow…
Rabbi Dov Ber, the Maggid of Metzritch, taught on this verse that there are two kinds of tzaddikim, two kinds of spiritual people. The better kind is like a tamar, a date palm, which is yifrakh, flourishing. They flourish because they go out and interact with people, they are concerned with people, and and they bring things about in the world of time; they bring “heaven down to earth.” The lesser kind is only concerened with “heaven,” spending all their time with Torah and prayer. They are like an erez, a cedar – lofty, but ultimately unfruitful. The Maggid’s words speak to a reality about “spiritual” people – we tend to be introverts; we tend toward solitude. There is nothing wrong with this, as long as it is balanced with life in the world with people. But people can sometimes be annoying and tedius to the introvert; how can an introvert practice the path of het? Parshat Metzora וְלָקַ֣ח הַכֹּהֵן֮ מִדַּ֣ם הָאָשָׁם֒ וְנָתַן֙ הַכֹּהֵ֔ן עַל־תְּנ֛וּךְ אֹ֥זֶן הַמִּטַּהֵ֖ר הַיְמָנִ֑ית וְעַל־בֹּ֤הֶן יָדוֹ֙ הַיְמָנִ֔ית וְעַל־בֹּ֥הֶן רַגְל֖וֹ הַיְמָנִֽית׃ The priest shall take some of the blood of the guilt offering, and the priest shall put it on the ridge of the right ear of the one who is being cleansed, and on the thumb of his right hand, and on the big toe of his right foot…
This passage, which on the surface is talking about a purification ritual for one who has become tamei, “ritually unfit” to bring sacrificial offerings, contains a formula for purifying ourselves on the inner level so that we may practice the het quality of “presence with,” even if it goes totally against our personality, as in the case of the introvert. The אֹזֶן ozen (ear) represents our seeking to understand others. When we feel annoyed by a person and resistance arises, our thinking can be easily taken over by narratives of judgment and blame. But we can counter this by adopting “beginner’s mind,” by staying open to new information, not crystalizing into a fixed point of view. This attitude of actively seeking more understanding is represented by the letter ע ayin which means “eye” – that is, not the eye that simply sees, but the eye that actively “seeks.” This “seeking eye,” the ע ayin, requires the “ear,” the אֹזֶן ozen! Ozen is א alef – ז zayin – ן nun. The א alef is the quality of openness, of knowing yourself as the one consciousness within which the multiplicity of experience arises. The ז zayin, on the other hand, is the sword; it represents cutting through the irrelevant and the useless. This is the opposite of alef, but alef and zayin need each other. You can’t discern what is relevant and what is not unless you are first open to whatever presents itself without predjudice; first we must be the alef, and only then can we weild the zayin. First we must be with a person or situation as they are in full acceptance, and only then can we continue through with our intentions, cutting through whatever barriers present themselves. But of course, as we go through this process, there is ever the possibility of missteps, of failure, of getting taken over by reactivity anyway. That is why we need the נ nun. Nun is acknowledgement of our imperfection and of the impermanence of our successes; it is the recognition of our capacity to “return” – to do teshuvah. We may fall off the horse again and again; get up, get back on. This is נ nun, the “fish,” swimming in the waters of the formless, of the impermanent. Don’t drown, swim – just as the fish uses the water to propel itself, use whatever obsticles arise and continue on your path. The בֹּהֶן bohen (thumb) represents our actions, since the thumb is our uniquely human tool for manipulating the world. This is about staying awake to the reality of choice, our freedom to choose and act. On the other side of “fight or flight” is an opposite force, the fear of being successful, the fear of completing things. To remedy this, we need to call forth the courage to choose and act, which is represented by the letter כ kaf, meaning “palm of hand,” the place of action. The “palm” of action, the kaf, requires the “thumb,” the בֹּהֶן bohen! Bohen is ב bet – ה hei – ן nun. The ב bet is embodiment, as bet means “house.” This is the attitude of welcoming our intention into a new form, not being afraid of “finishing” projects; it is the willingness to come to the end of something, to come to completion, to become. The letter ה hei is honoring the expression of our individual uniqueness. There is no end to what needs to be done in the world. As individuals, we are limited, but we also have something unique to contribute. Finally, the רַגְלוֹ בֹּהֶן bohen raglav, the “thumb of the foot” (big toe) represents our sensory awareness, since our feet connect with the earth, “grounding” us in the world of the senses. This is present moment awareness plain and simple, represented by י yod, which means “hand” – the place of both the “palm” and the “thumb,” the place of action. Yod is also the smallest of letters, a simple point, representing simple awareness connecting with the senses – presence in action. The simple awareness of י yod requires the רֶגֶל regel, the foot! Regel is ר reish – ג gimel – ל lamed. The ר reish is awe. Rosh means “head,” and the shape of reish is the bowed head, recognizing That which transcends the mind, which is Reality Itself; it is the recognition that this moment is a miracle. The ג gimel is completeness – like the gamal, the “camel” that carries all it needs within its hump as it traverses the desert, so too we have all we need on the deepest level of our being, the silent field of awareness that is always already Whole. But this completeness on the level of consciousness does not mean we are complete on the level of form. Rather, we are ever incomplete, and so we have the ל lamed, which means “learn.” Lamed represents the willingness to ever be a student, to open ourselves to receiving whatever the moment is coming to teach. Through all of these qualities – א Openness, ז Discernment, נ Return,ב Embodiment, ה Unique Expression, ר Awe, ג Wholeness and ל Learning – we can overcome boredom, tedium, restlessness, and any other barriers to the path of ח het, to being rooted in patience and staying with whatever process is just now unfolding…
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The Fullness of the Earth – Parshat Tazria
4/21/2020 0 Comments A Psalm of David: The earth and all her fullness is of the Divine – the world and all who dwell within her…Who may ascend the mountain of the Divine? Who may stand in the holy place? One who has clean hands and a pure heart… This is the generation of those who turn to the Divine, who seek Your presence… Be uplifted, openings to the Eternal, so that the King of Presence may enter! Who is the King of Presence? The Divine, mighty and strong, strong in battle! (Psalm 24 excerpt) לַֽ֭יי הָאָ֣רֶץ וּמְלוֹאָ֑הּ – The earth and all her fullness is of the Divine… The fullness that we seek, that sense of Peace and Wholeness, is already within the fullness of this moment; ha’aretz um’lo’ah – all the “earth” partakes of this fullness. מִֽי־יַעֲלֶ֥ה בְהַר־יְהוָ֑ה וּמִי־יָ֝קוּם בִּמְק֥וֹם קָדְשֽׁוֹ – Who may ascend the mountain of the Divine? Who may stand in the holy place? Here is the hint: we can transcend the experience of limitedness or constriction by asking the question, Who? נְקִ֥י כַפַּ֗יִם וּֽבַר־לֵ֫בָ֥ב – One who has clean hands and a pure heart… We are “purified” – meaning, we can clear our inner space through the practice of inquiring, “Who is this Presence that fills this moment?” מְבַקְשֵׁ֨י פָנֶ֖יךָ – those who seek Your Presence… This simple question is a path to finding the Wholeness. But then, the psalm seems to offer a contradictory image: Be uplifted, you Openings into the Eternal, so the King of Presence may enter! Who is the King of Presence? The Divine, mighty and strong, strong in battle! How can the Presence “enter” if It already fills all Existence? Why does there need to be a “battle?” Because the unconscious tendency is for the mind to be filled with thoughts, and this is what creates the barrier that hides the Presence. We don’t need to battle against the thoughts, but we do need to battle against our unconscious tendency to get drawn into our thoughts. We do that by simply turning our attention to the underlying Presence; we ask, Who? – and in the asking, a space is cleared; we actually are that space: וְֽ֭הִנָּשְׂאוּ פִּתְחֵ֣י עוֹלָ֑ם – Be uplifted, you Openings into the Eternal… That is, be the open space within which thought arises by being aware of Presence behind your thoughts, and you open to the Eternal dimension of your own being, the Presence that you are. This dimension is your own Divine nature; it is an inner strength available to us when we recognize that it comes from beyond the “me”; it is the Melekh HaKavod, the “King of Presence.” There is a hint in the parshah: אִשָּׁה֙ כִּ֣י תַזְרִ֔יעַ וְיָלְדָ֖ה זָכָ֑ר וְטָֽמְאָה֙ שִׁבְעַ֣ת יָמִ֔ים כִּימֵ֛י נִדַּ֥ת דְּותָ֖הּ תִּטְמָֽא When a woman gives birth to a male, she shall be tamei – separate from the sacred – for seven days; she shall be tamei as in the days of niddah – separate from sexual intimacy. (Leviticus 12:2) V’tam’ah shivat yamim – separate from the sacred for seven days… That is, when Binah, the thinking mind, gives birth to thought, this causes a feeling of separation from the sacred dimension. This is because thought takes us into the world of time, and out of the present; this is “seven days.” But then, וּבַיּ֖וֹם הַשְּׁמִינִ֑י יִמּ֖וֹל בְּשַׂ֥ר עָרְלָתֽוֹ On the eighth day, the flesh of his skin shall be circumcised. The orlah, the “skin” that is “circumcised,” is the sense of separateness that arises with the “birth” of thought. After experiencing the separateness inherent in thought and time (the “seven days”) we can remove the barrier and enter the “eighth day” – that is, the Eternal dimension. How do we do that? Be like מְבַקְשֵׁ֨י פָנֶ֖יךָ m’vakshei fanekha – those who seek Your Presence. After you engage in a thought process in order to accomplish some purpose, ask: Who? Who is the Presence behind these thoughts? Who is the Presence behind all being? מִ֥י זֶה֮ מֶ֤לֶךְ הַכָּ֫ב֥וֹד – Who is the King of Presence? Exactly! The question Who? brings forth our potential to become masters of our own minds, masters of being present… The Waiting Room – Parshat Tazria 4/3/2019 0 Comments רַבִּי יַעֲקֹב אוֹמֵר, הָעוֹלָם הַזֶּה דּוֹמֶה לִפְרוֹזְדוֹר בִּפְנֵי הָעוֹלָם הַבָּא. הַתְקֵן עַצְמְךָ בַפְּרוֹזְדוֹר כְּדֵי שֶׁתִּכָּנֵס לַטְּרַקְלִי Rabbi Yaakov says: This world is like a waiting room before the World to Come. Fix yourself in the waiting room so you may enter the banquet hall! (Pirkei Avot 4:24) One of the most basic dualities on the spiritual path is the “before” and “after” of waking up. Both the “banquet hall” and “the World to Come” are metaphors for this aim of the path: the complete “fixing” of our sense of incompleteness and arriving into wholeness. Before that, we may get glimpses of the Wholeness – the door cracks open and for a moment we can see… Once, a disciple complained to his rebbe that when in the rebbe’s presence, Divine Reality is palpable and he has peace. But as soon as he leaves the rebbe’s presence, it all vanishes and his suffering returns. “This is like a person who gropes about in the dark forest,” answered the rebbe, “and someone comes along with a lantern and walks with him for a while. For a time, he can see where he is going. But eventually, the guy with the lantern goes his own way, and the person is left alone again in the dark. This is why it’s so important to carry your own lantern!” When we get that glimpse – either through a rebbe or any other means – it should remind us to work on igniting our own flame. Hat’kein atzm’kha – we have to “fix” ourselves in the “waiting room.” How do we do that? Take the time to simply “wait” – be aware of the inner darkness – that is meditation. The awareness is itself the Light – it is your own inner Light. But if you spend all your time in thought and activity, you may not notice… וְאִם־בַּהֶרֶת֩ לְבָנָ֨ה הִ֜וא בְּע֣וֹר בְּשָׂר֗וֹ ... וְהִסְגִּ֧יר הַכֹּהֵ֛ן אֶת־הַנֶּ֖גַע שִׁבְעַ֥ת יָמִֽים׃ And if it is a white discoloration on the skin of his body ... the priest shall isolate the affected person for seven days… (Leviticus 13:4) This week’s parsha talks about tzara’at – an affliction of the skin that renders a person tamei – ritually unfit to enter the Sanctuary. The affected person has to be quarantined for a period to become purified. The skin is a metaphor – it is the physical boundary of self, representing that inner sense of oneself as separate, called ego. The “affliction” hints at the ego’s feeling of incompleteness, of being disconnected, of having “not yet arrived.” The remedy: withdraw from the world of time, into solitude with the feeling. Be the Light, illuminating the darkness in solitude for “seven days” – meaning, until you reach Shabbat! Shabbat is that arriving into the spaciousness that is your deepest essence – the field of awareness itself, within which this moment arises. So next time you find yourself in a waiting room, or waiting in line, remember the opportunity for illumination that comes as a hidden gift in those moments... Good Shabbos! Cage Free – Omer and Tazria – Metzorah 4/18/2018 0 Comments In the supermarket, you may see eggs and chicken that are labeled “cage free.” This is supposed to make you think that these chickens aren’t confined to tiny little cages as are most commercial chickens, but are instead running around the farm, happy and free. I used to buy “cage free” eggs, until I was told that actually, “cage-free” doesn’t really mean cage-free at all. It means that for a certain portion of the day, the doors on the cages are opened so that the chickens can escape the cages if they want to. But, they don’t. The chickens always choose to stay in their cages. If you want chickens that actually walk around the farm, you have to buy “pastured” eggs and chickens. But why don’t the chickens leave their little cages when the doors are opened? Because they’re conditioned to be in their cages; they don’t realize they can leave, even when the door is opened. Perhaps, if they had more time, their instinct for freedom would eventually lead them to discover the opening. But, the doors aren’t open long enough for that; they’re only opened long enough for the company to be able to legally label the product as “cage-free.” And, it’s the same with us. At the Pesakh seder, we label ourselves as free: Avadim hayinu, v’ata b’nai khorin – we were slaves, but now we are free. The cage door is actually always already open, ready for us to step through. But do we step through? Like the chickens, we only step through if we have the time to discover that open door, if we have the time for that impulse for freedom to grow within. And, after we walk through the door, we need time to discover how to roam the farm, to explore the wild terrain of the uncharted midbar, rather than return to the security of the cage. Like the Israelites, the tendency is to revert, to backslide: “Hamib’li ayn k’varim b’mitzrayim l’kakhtanu lamut bamidbar? Weren’t there enough graves in Egypt that you took us to die in the wilderness?” So, there is an aspect of awakening that is unbound by time, that takes only an instant to realize: the cage door is open. The cage is made from the patterns of your thoughts and feelings; it’s your identity. But the open space is your own awareness right now. It is the field of consciousness, within which your experience in this moment is now appearing. Everything within your experience arises from and falls back into this open space, including the cage of identity. In truth, it’s not that you must go through the open space, you are the open space. And you can realize this, right now; it takes no time at all to simply recognize – you are already free. Perhaps a moment ago, Avadim hayinu, we were slaves, but now, ata b’nai khorin – now we are free. So, in a sense, freedom is the easy part. We are already free – free to be you and me. All we have to do is remember – l’ma’an tizkor et yom tzeitkha me’eretz mitzrayim, kol y’mai hayeikha – so that you may remember the day you went out from Egypt all the days of your life. But, to then go and live that freedom, to not only see the open door, to not only see the unboundedness in the midst of the cage, but to step out and live your freedom, that’s the hard part. That part takes time, it takes constant practice. It’s not instantaneous. It’s not about: get out of Egypt really fast and don’t let the dough rise. The matzah is instant realization. No more separation of dough caused by yeast bubbles that take time to ferment! But this second, time-bound aspect requires living into this question: how may we translate the freedom that we are into words and deeds, into a way of living? The Sefirat HaOmer is a prompt to that question. The practice is, count each of the 49 days between Pesakh and Shavuot, count the path from liberation to revelation – from the instantaneous realization of freedom to the long-term project of living that freedom. The Sefirat HaOmer gives us a map of seven times seven Divine qualities: Hesed –Lovingkindness – are you motivated by love? That sounds really good, but what about when something that doesn’t feel loving happens to you. Can you be warrior of the love motivation, or do you become a victim? Life has plenty of the opposite of love in it. But living freedom means expressing your freedom to choose to live from love, even when external and even internal forces are pushing you in other directions. Which brings us to Gevurah – Strength. In Pirkei Avot, Ben Zoma says, Ezehu gibor? Who is strong? Who has Gevurah? Hakoveish yitzro – one who masters their own motivation. Because then you’re not tossed around by circumstances – then you can radiate gracefulness, equanimity. And that’s the third quality – Tiferet, Grace, Beauty. And through this equanimity, you can be victorious over the powers of time and change, knowing HaMakom, the Eternal Space within which everything is happening, and knowing yourself as that Space. That’s Netzakh, which means Victory, but also Eternity. And from that rootedness in the Eternal, arises a gratitude for the ever-present simple blessings, a humble gratitude for the simple privilege just to be. That’s Hod, which means Gratitude and Humility. And out of the positive vibration of this simple humility and gratitude arises the pleasure of connection – the Eros, the joy, of living, of communing with the Presence as it manifests in this moment. That’s Yesod, which means Foundation, because the enjoyment of life is the foundation of life. If you can’t enjoy, then all the richness of meaning and value will slowly drain away. But with that joy, there can also arise a deep sense of trust, a trust that transcends all the tragedy and sorrow, and impels us to trust the process, to trust that Reality has its own endgame, in a sense. That’s Malkhut, which means Kingdom, pointing to the idea that all Reality is really a Divine Kingdom/Queendom, but that union of King and Queen, of Kudsha Brikh Hu Ushekhintei, the Holy Transcendent Space with the Imminent Presence, happens through us, through our Pesakh realization and our Shavuot application, through our counting of the qualities and bringing them into being in our own lives, day after day, each day anew, amein. There’s a story that a disciple of Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev came to the master and asked: “In the Talmud it says that a tzaddik, a perfect person, can’t stand in the place of the Ba’al T’shuvah, one who was wicked but who has turned to the Divine and transformed. According to this, one who has been blameless from youth is at a lower level than one who has done many misdeeds. How can this be?” Rabbi Levi Yitzhak replied, “A person who perceives a new light every day, light that wasn’t perceived the day before, must leave behind the way they lived in the past, and start afresh to embody the new light. The blameless ones who believe they are already perfect, don’t perceive the new light, and so there is no transformation.” May the counting of the Omer remind us to constantly open ourselves to a new light every day, to find a fresh path for embodying the freedom that we are. Birth – Tazria 4/27/2017 “… ishah ki tazria v’yaldah zakhar- when a woman conceives and gives birth to a son, she’ll be ritually unfit for seven days just as in the days of her menstrual separation, and into the sacred space she may not enter...” On the plain level, this is talking an ancient ritual purity law. But on the metaphorical level, what does it mean to give birth? It means to create something new. And whether or not you have children, all of us are constantly creating. On the deepest level, our creation begins with the spontaneous arising of thought that happens almost constantly for most people. Then, as our thoughts become externalized in our decisions and actions, we literally co-create our life situations along with all of our fellow beings. And whenever something new appears on the horizon of our consciousness, whether it’s a blossoming of thought, or sensation, or feeling, or something happens around us like- someone knocks at the door, or you go and knock on someone else’s door, or the kitchen sink breaks, or it starts to rain, or you decide on a new career- whatever new is arising, it doesn’t matter- there’s the tendency to lose your connection with eternal dimension of Being- that open space of the Present which is not separate from your own consciousness- and instead get tangled up in whatever particular experience you are having. And that’s how we lose our freedom- we forget all about the space of this moment and get stuck in whatever is going on. Then, once you’re in that state of being stuck, even if you bring yourself back to a state of presence at that point, you may still feel stuck. That’s because before you can transform, you first need to simply be present with whatever mind state you’re already in. The trick is not to become disheartened and give up- just be wherever you’re at. That’s v’tamah shivat yamim- being tamei- or ritually unfit to enter the mikdash- the sacred space- for seven days. “Seven days” means the world of time which is created by the mind that imagines past and future. This is hinted at in the story of the seven days of creation. “…kimei nidat dotah tima”- like the time of niddah, which means “separation.” Because when you get caught by your experience, you lose connection with your inherent wholeness, and you feel separate from how you imagine you’d like to feel. But if you stay with it, being conscious of any feelings of constriction as they arise in your body and continuously bring your attention back again and again to your sensations and your breathing, the barrier to wholeness will drop away at some point. As it says: “Uvayom hashmini yimol b’sar orlato- On the eighth day, the male baby’s foreskin will be circumcised.” The foreskin- the orlah- is a metaphor- a strange metaphor perhaps, but as a barrier, it hints at the feeling of separation that the ego feels. The number eight represents Eternity, as it’s one step beyond seven, plus the number eight on its side is the infinity symbol. So the idea is that when your consciousness gives birth to a new experience, there’s an inherent orlah- a feeling of separation that arises when you get absorbed into the drama of whatever is going on, and that’s okay and natural. When you’re in the “seven days” of disconnection from the mikdash- from the sacredness of Presence- just be there. It’s only temporary. Stick with the practice and draw your awareness into your body with Gevurah- with strength and persistence. If you do, you will come to yom hashmini- this moment of Eternity where all barriers drop away and you return ever more deeply to the openness of Presence. So on this Shabbat Tazria- The Sabbath of Birth, let’s remember to fully accept and be with whatever states we find ourselves in, and in the freedom of Presence, seek to birth a more kind, loving and conscious world. Good Shabbos! The Great Mother- Parshat Tazria 4/6/2016 1 Comment This past Shabbat, my wife Lisa went off to Punta Mona in the jungles of Costa Rica to take some much needed rest from the constant demands of motherhood. While it was certainly a tiny drop in the bucket of what she really deserves (may she receive it fully and swiftly), I was happy she took the time to drink a little of the nectar of renewal. I am so grateful for her unending motherly devotion, and look forward to supporting more of that! And, I was happy to have some more devoted time with our children for a few days before my trip back to the Bay Area, during which she’ll be left alone with the kids for the next ten days. I’m reminded of a conversation I once had with my sister-in-law, in which she said she understood the traditional Jewish idea that mothers are exempt from time-bound mitzvot- Jewish practices that happen at particular times, such as morning prayers, for example. “Why is that?” I asked. “Because mothering can be all consuming,” she replied. “Being a mother is not necessarily good for you. It’s a fire of suffering- the lack of sleep, the constant neediness of the child. But, it’s a suffering of love, a fire of love.” Her words made me think of the two kinds love as explained in the classic work of Kabbalah and Hassidic philosophy, the Tanya. According to the Tanya, the first kind of love happens when you experience the Divine as your very own life force. Since people naturally love their own life, seeing God as your own life force means that you love God just as you love your own life. In fact, the two are not separate; you love God as your own beingness. The second kind of love happens when you experience God as your parent. The Tanya talks about the example of certain children who love their parents so much, they’re willing to sacrifice their lives for their parents. The first type of love is non-dual; God is not something separate from your own being. The second type is dualistic; God is separate from me, even possibly negating me if I sacrifice my life. Which one is higher? You might think the non-dual one is higher, that it’s more authentic to see yourself as not separate from the Divine. However, the Tanya says otherwise. It goes on to explain that when you know the Godliness within, there is a pleasure, a spiritual bliss that comes with being in touch with your own inner Divinity. But, if you see God as separate, and you’re willing to give up your very life for God, that’s far more transcendent and selfless. When my sister-in-law was talking about the all-consuming love of mothering, she was basically talking about the Tanya’s self-sacrificing love, except it was inverted- rather than the rare child that would sacrifice its life for the parent, this was the very common example of the parent who’s constantly sacrificing her life for the child! Which brings us to this week’s reading, Parshat Tazria: “Ki tazria v’yalda zakhar- “When a woman conceives and gives birth to a son, she is ritually un-fit for seven days- like the days of her menstrual separation, she is ritually un-fit…she shouldn’t touch any holy thing, and into the holy she shall not come…” It’s talking about how a woman who gives birth shouldn’t touch sacred things or come into the temple for a certain period of time. Let’s look more deeply at what this is talking about: The word for “holy” is kodesh, which means separate. However, it means a special kind of separate. It doesn’t mean separate as distant or removed, but rather as central and exclusive. For example, where is the holiest place? It’s not some distant site outside the camp. It’s the very center of the camp, in the very center of the Sanctuary, in a special room where the priest goes once per year to be in special intimacy with God. Similarly, the intimacy of marriage is also a “holy of holies”. It is holy in its unique togetherness, holy because of the closeness that happens there. So kodesh doesn’t exactly mean separation, but really means “separation from all separation.” It means separateness in that it’s the closest, and therefore separate from all other things that are less close. The menstrual period is considered a time of nidah, which also means “separation”. During this time there is traditionally no sexual intimacy, no kodesh, no “separation-from-all-separation”. Nidah, therefore, really means “separation-from-the-separation-from all-separation”. These two states, Kodesh and Nidah, really parallel the two kinds of love- love of the Divine as your own self (Kodesh) and love of the Divine as your own parent- or, as many of us have experienced, as your own child (Nidah). Seen in this way, the opening of the parsha is really describing these two kinds of love and service. The new mother is in a state of Nidah because she’s not concerned with the experience of Divinity in her own being; she’s completely at the service of the newborn. This is itself a swing of the pendulum because she just gave birth- and what could be more Godly than giving birth? Her own body just created another living being. She is a Goddess- a Creator. And now she swings from Goddess to servant, burning in the painful love of motherhood. But this does not- and cannot- go on forever. She’s in a Nidah-like state only for a short time. Then she returns to connection with the Kodesh. She must do that, because to be only in the selfless service of another would be self-destructive, and therefore destructive to the baby as well. In one way or another, life brings us between these poles- sometimes being an Eved Hashem- a servant of God, devotedly (or sometimes drudgingly) giving of ourselves, not “getting” anything out of it. Other times, we are B’tzelem Elohim, manifestations of the Divine, enjoying the renewal and bliss of the Divine energy that is our essential nature. Even in our Avodah, our daily spiritual practice, these two poles exist. Sometimes there’s a palpable flow of blissful connection with the One- and the One is not other than our own being. But sometimes, that connection is not felt, and your commitment to your Avodah must come from a deeper motivation- one of service. That’s why the prayer that happen in synagogue is called a “service.” You may not feel like you’re getting much out of it, but you do it because you’re devoted, because you’re committed. These two poles even manifest in the two main forms of Avodah- meditation and prayer. In the stillness of meditation, the Completeness of the present moment is not something other than your own being. But in the fire of prayer, the self’s longing for Completeness reaches out for help from That which is infinitely greater than the self. Yet there comes another point- perhaps that point is now- when these two poles meet, when they’re not separate at all, when the fire of love and service is the very thing that opens the door to your own inner Divinity. It’s said that once the Baal Shem Tov heard a Bat Kol- a Heavenly Voice- tell him that for some little sin he had committed, he would be denied life in the World to Come. When he heard this news, he began dancing for joy. The Voice then asked, “Why are you so happy? I just said you will have no life in the World to Come!” The Baal Shem replied, “I dance because now I am free to serve God for it’s own sake, without ulterior motive.” On this Shabbat Tazria, the Sabbath of Conception, may we deeply realize this paradox of Being God and being a servant of God, and may we fall into this Shabbos as a child falls into her mother’s arms. And, may all mothers find the time and support to renew in the bliss if the Kodesh, and may we give that support when it is needed! Amein, Selah! The Higher Separation- Parshat Tazria 4/24/2015 6 Comments When it comes to the spiritual practices of meditation and prayer, you might practice for a while without getting any compelling result. But if you continue to practice, you will find something that you can only get through putting in that daily effort. Some say that what you find comes into you from the outside. It is pictured as a transcendent Light that flows into your being from the Ain Sof- the Infinite. Others say that the Light is your own nature; that it comes from within you. But these explanations are simply maps which come from the practices themselves: when you pray, it makes sense to think of the Light as given from the outside. When you meditate, it makes sense to think of It as coming from within. The Hassidic text called the Tanya talks of these two ways of seeing in terms of two kinds of love. The first kind of love happens when you experience the Divine as your very own life force. Since people naturally love their own life, seeing God as your own life force means that you love God just as you love your own life. The second kind of love happens when you experience God as your parent. The Tanya talks about the example of certain children who love their parents so much, they are willing to sacrifice their lives for their parents. The first type of love is non-dual; God is not something separate from your own being. The second type is dualistic; God is separate from me, even possibly negating me if I sacrifice my life. Which one is higher? You might think the non-dual one is higher, that it is more authentic to see yourself as not separate from the Divine. However, the Tanya says otherwise: When you see the God within, there is a pleasure, a spiritual bliss that comes with being in touch with your own inner Divinity. But if you see God as separate, and you are willing to give up your very life for God, that is far more transcendent and selfless. Last night I was having a conversation with my sister-in-law, and she was saying that she understood the traditional Jewish idea that mothers are exempt from time-bound mitzvot, because mothering can be all consuming. Being a mother is not necessarily good for you. It is in fact a fire of suffering- the lack of sleep, the constant neediness of the child. But, she said, it is a suffering of love, a fire of love. Her example made me think of the Tanya’s idea of the dualistic, self sacrificing love, except it was inverted- rather than the rare child that would sacrifice its life for the parent, this was the very common example of the parent who is constantly sacrificing her life for the child. Which brings us to this week’s reading, Parshat Tazria. It opens, “…ki tazria v’yalda zakhar- when a woman conceives and gives birth to a son- v’tamah shivat yamim- she is ritually un-fit for seven days- kimei nidah dotah titma- like the days of her menstrual separation, she is ritually un-fit… b’khol kodesh, lo tiga- she shouldn’t touch any holy thing- v’el hamikdash lo tavo- and into the holy she shall not come…” It is talking about how a woman who gives birth should not touch sacred things or come into the temple for a certain period of time. Let’s look more deeply at what this is talking about: The word for “holy” is kodesh, which means separate. However, it means a special kind of separate. It doesn’t mean separate as distant or removed, but rather central and exclusive. For example, where is the holiest place? It is the very center of the temple, in a special room where the priest goes once per year to be in a special intimacy with God. Similarly, the intimacy of marriage is also a “holy of holies”. It is holy in its unique togetherness, holy because of the closeness that happens there. So kodesh doesn’t exactly mean separation, but really means “separation from all separation”. It means the separateness of being the most close. The menstrual period is considered a time of nidah, which also means “separation”. During this time there is traditionally no sexual intimacy, no kodesh, no “separation-from-all-separation”. Nidah, therefore, really means “separation-from-the-separation-from all-separation”. These two states, kodesh and nidah, really parallel the two kinds of love- love of the Divine as your own self (kodesh) and love of the Divine as your own parent- or, as many of us have experienced, as your own child (nidah). Seen in this way, the opening of the parsha is really describing these two kinds of love and service. The new mother is in a state of nidah because she is not concerned with the experience of Divinity in her own being; she is completely at the service of the newborn. This is itself a swing of the pendulum because she just gave birth- and what could be more Godly than giving birth? Her own body just created another living being. She is a Goddess- a Creator. And now she swings from Goddess to servant, burning in the painful love of motherhood. But this does not- and cannot- go on forever. She is in the higher and selfless nidah-like state only for a short time. Then she must return to connection with the kodesh. She must do that, because to be only in the selfless service of another would be self-destructive, and therefore destructive to the baby as well. In one way or another, life brings us between these poles- sometimes being an eved Hashem- a servant of God, humbly giving of ourselves, not “getting” anything from it. Other times, we are b’tzelem Elohim, manifestations of the Divine, enjoying the renewal and bliss of the Divine energy that is our essence. May the dual practice of meditation and prayer help us all to more deeply realize this paradox of Being God and being servants of God; may we fall into this Shabbos as a child falls into her mother’s arms. And, may all mothers find the time and support to renew in the bliss if the kodesh, and may we all give that support when it is needed! Amein, Selah! 
Manifestation
Aside from bringing forth our capacity for וַאֲהַבְתֶּ֖ם אֶת־הַגֵּ֑ר ahavtem et ha’ger, for loving the stranger, (see last week's post) the het quality of patience with others is also helpful in a totally different way – for bringing forth ideas into manifestation, for getting things done. A friend of mine once tried to help make a shiddukh – a “match” – for a woman who was looking to get married. He had a man in mind whom he thought was a good match, and was excited to have them meet. But when he told her about him, she asked to see a picture. He showed her the picture and she quickly snapped, “He’s not my type.” My friend was instantly filled with anger, and he immediately wanted to do two things at once. First, he wanted to shake her and say, “Just talk to him! You are sabatoging yourself! You can’t tell anything from a picture!” Second, he wanted to say “the hell with it,” and give up. These two impulses – the urge to force someone to change, on one hand, and to abandon the person, on the other, perfectly describe that which het comes to remedy. These two impulses, which we might call “fight or flight,” can be incredibly strong, but we are stronger. We are stronger because we are always bigger than any impulse; we are the space of consciousness within which every impulse comes and goes. Knowing ourselves as this inner vastness can help us be like the eagle hovering over her eaglets, poised and balanced between extremes, “hovering” in the in-between. Parshat Tazria There is a hint in the parshah: אִשָּׁה֙ כִּ֣י תַזְרִ֔יעַ וְיָלְדָ֖ה זָכָ֑ר וְטָֽמְאָה֙ שִׁבְעַ֣ת יָמִ֔ים כִּימֵ֛י נִדַּ֥ת דְּוֺתָ֖הּ תִּטְמָֽא׃ When a woman conceives and gives birth to a male, she shall be tamei – separate from the sacred – for seven days; she shall be tamei as in the days of niddah – separate from sexual intimacy.
The אִשָּׁה ishah, the “woman” is symbolic of Binah, the thinking mind, which “gives birth” to new thoughts and ideas. But in order for a thought to move from the level of mind into the physical world and come into manifestation, it often has to go through a process that takes time, often encountering various forms of resistance that must be navigated: וְטָֽמְאָה֙ שִׁבְעַ֣ת יָמִ֔ים V’tam’ah shivat yamim – she shall be tamei – separate from the sacred for seven days… The “seven days” means the world of time – the process of manifestation that can sometimes be tedious or even infuriating, creating a sense of separateness that arises from our resistance. But then: וּבַיּ֖וֹם הַשְּׁמִינִ֑י יִמּ֖וֹל בְּשַׂ֥ר עָרְלָתֽוֹ On the eighth day, the flesh of his skin shall be circumcised. The orlah, the “skin” that is “circumcised,” is the sense of separateness that can arise from the process “birthing” a thought into the world. But after experiencing the separateness inherent in thought and time, we can remove the barrier and enter the “eighth day” – that is, the sense of the Eternal inherent in the present moment. How do we do that? The key is het: בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְהֹוָה אֱלֹהֵֽינוּ מֶֽלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם זוֹקֵף כְּפוּפִים Blessed are You, Divine Source, who Straightens the Bent! On the surface, this Morning Blessing is giving thanks for getting out of bed. But on the inner level, it is hinting at the power to “straighten up” our mind and heart. To accomplish this, we don’t need to make an overt effort; in simply bringing ourselves into awareness of whatever is present, letting go of excess thinking and staying with the moment, the mind and heart “straighten up” on their own. This is the meaning of the blessing – that power to cease the urge to manipulate and cease the urge to run away, the power to neither lean in nor lean out, but simply sit in the presence of, comes to us as a gift when we offer the gift of our attention. Flourish צַדִּיק כַּתָּמָר יִפְרָח כְּאֶרֶז בַּלְּבָנון יִשגֶּה – Tzaddik ka’tamar yifrakh, k’erez bal’vanon yisgeh – The righteous will flourish like a date palm; like a cedar in Lebanon they will grow…
Rabbi Dov Ber, the Maggid of Metzritch, taught on this verse that there are two kinds of tzaddikim, two kinds of spiritual people. The better kind is like a tamar, a date palm, which is yifrakh, flourishing. They flourish because they go out and interact with people, they are concerned with people, and and they bring things about in the world of time; they bring “heaven down to earth.” The lesser kind is only concerened with “heaven,” spending all their time with Torah and prayer. They are like an erez, a cedar – lofty, but ultimately unfruitful. The Maggid’s words speak to a reality about “spiritual” people – we tend to be introverts; we tend toward solitude. There is nothing wrong with this, as long as it is balanced with life in the world with people. But people can sometimes be annoying and tedius to the introvert; how can an introvert practice the path of het? Parshat Metzora וְלָקַ֣ח הַכֹּהֵן֮ מִדַּ֣ם הָאָשָׁם֒ וְנָתַן֙ הַכֹּהֵ֔ן עַל־תְּנ֛וּךְ אֹ֥זֶן הַמִּטַּהֵ֖ר הַיְמָנִ֑ית וְעַל־בֹּ֤הֶן יָדוֹ֙ הַיְמָנִ֔ית וְעַל־בֹּ֥הֶן רַגְל֖וֹ הַיְמָנִֽית׃ The priest shall take some of the blood of the guilt offering, and the priest shall put it on the ridge of the right ear of the one who is being cleansed, and on the thumb of his right hand, and on the big toe of his right foot…
This passage, which on the surface is talking about a purification ritual for one who has become tamei, “ritually unfit” to bring sacrificial offerings, contains a formula for purifying ourselves on the inner level so that we may practice the het quality of “presence with,” even if it goes totally against our personality, as in the case of the introvert. The אֹזֶן ozen (ear) represents our seeking to understand others. When we feel annoyed by a person and resistance arises, our thinking can be easily taken over by narratives of judgment and blame. But we can counter this by adopting “beginner’s mind,” by staying open to new information, not crystalizing into a fixed point of view. This attitude of actively seeking more understanding is represented by the letter ע ayin which means “eye” – that is, not the eye that simply sees, but the eye that actively “seeks.” This “seeking eye,” the ע ayin, requires the “ear,” the אֹזֶן ozen! Ozen is א alef – ז zayin – ן nun. The א alef is the quality of openness, of knowing yourself as the one consciousness within which the multiplicity of experience arises. The ז zayin, on the other hand, is the sword; it represents cutting through the irrelevant and the useless. This is the opposite of alef, but alef and zayin need each other. You can’t discern what is relevant and what is not unless you are first open to whatever presents itself without predjudice; first we must be the alef, and only then can we weild the zayin. First we must be with a person or situation as they are in full acceptance, and only then can we continue through with our intentions, cutting through whatever barriers present themselves. But of course, as we go through this process, there is ever the possibility of missteps, of failure, of getting taken over by reactivity anyway. That is why we need the נ nun. Nun is acknowledgement of our imperfection and of the impermanence of our successes; it is the recognition of our capacity to “return” – to do teshuvah. We may fall off the horse again and again; get up, get back on. This is נ nun, the “fish,” swimming in the waters of the formless, of the impermanent. Don’t drown, swim – just as the fish uses the water to propel itself, use whatever obsticles arise and continue on your path. The בֹּהֶן bohen (thumb) represents our actions, since the thumb is our uniquely human tool for manipulating the world. This is about staying awake to the reality of choice, our freedom to choose and act. On the other side of “fight or flight” is an opposite force, the fear of being successful, the fear of completing things. To remedy this, we need to call forth the courage to choose and act, which is represented by the letter כ kaf, meaning “palm of hand,” the place of action. The “palm” of action, the kaf, requires the “thumb,” the בֹּהֶן bohen! Bohen is ב bet – ה hei – ן nun. The ב bet is embodiment, as bet means “house.” This is the attitude of welcoming our intention into a new form, not being afraid of “finishing” projects; it is the willingness to come to the end of something, to come to completion, to become. The letter ה hei is honoring the expression of our individual uniqueness. There is no end to what needs to be done in the world. As individuals, we are limited, but we also have something unique to contribute. Finally, the רַגְלוֹ בֹּהֶן bohen raglav, the “thumb of the foot” (big toe) represents our sensory awareness, since our feet connect with the earth, “grounding” us in the world of the senses. This is present moment awareness plain and simple, represented by י yod, which means “hand” – the place of both the “palm” and the “thumb,” the place of action. Yod is also the smallest of letters, a simple point, representing simple awareness connecting with the senses – presence in action. The simple awareness of י yod requires the רֶגֶל regel, the foot! Regel is ר reish – ג gimel – ל lamed. The ר reish is awe. Rosh means “head,” and the shape of reish is the bowed head, recognizing That which transcends the mind, which is Reality Itself; it is the recognition that this moment is a miracle. The ג gimel is completeness – like the gamal, the “camel” that carries all it needs within its hump as it traverses the desert, so too we have all we need on the deepest level of our being, the silent field of awareness that is always already Whole. But this completeness on the level of consciousness does not mean we are complete on the level of form. Rather, we are ever incomplete, and so we have the ל lamed, which means “learn.” Lamed represents the willingness to ever be a student, to open ourselves to receiving whatever the moment is coming to teach. Through all of these qualities – א Openness, ז Discernment, נ Return,ב Embodiment, ה Unique Expression, ר Awe, ג Wholeness and ל Learning – we can overcome boredom, tedium, restlessness, and any other barriers to the path of ח het, to being rooted in patience and staying with whatever process is just now unfolding…
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Truth of the Heart – Parshat Metzorah 4/8/2019 0 Comments מִֽי־יִ֝שְׁכֹּ֗ן בְּהַ֣ר קָדְשֶֽׁךָ׃ Who can dwell on Your holy mountain? This verse from Psalm 16 is one form of the ultimate spiritual question: The root for “dwell” is the same as Sh’khinah – Divine Presence. The “holy mountain” hints at transcendence – like when you stand on top of a mountain and see civilization down below. Or, when you see the earth from outer space – there’s a sense of freedom from the chaos and turmoil you might sense in the middle of traffic, for example. But the paradox is that even in the midst of the chaos, there can be an experience of transcendence, of “looking down from the mountaintop,” when you learn how to “dwell” – that is, to be present with the fulness of whatever is arising in your field of experience. But how do you do that? The psalm answers: הוֹלֵ֣ךְ תָּ֭מִים וּפֹעֵ֥ל צֶ֑דֶק וְדֹבֵ֥ר אֱ֝מֶ֗ת בִּלְבָבֽוֹ׃ One who walks with simplicity, who does what is right, and speaks Truth in one’s heart… Holekh tamim – walks with simplicity – meaning, let your awareness rest in your movements. Rather than the ordinary way, which is to do one thing while thinking about all sorts of other things, be simple – connect with the simplicity of your movement in the present – the flow of your breathing, and whatever you happen to be doing. Then, in that deep Presence with the fullness of the moment, it’s not so difficult to see how to be fo’el tzedek – to do what is right. Why? Because, paradoxically, there’s humility in being present. You feel elevated, like being on the mountaintop, but you surrender the idea of “knowing” things, of “being right.” That’s the simplicity – simply knowing what you really know, not what you think you know. That’s dover emet bilvavo – speaking Truth in your heart. It’s the opposite of judging other people, of making up stories in your head. Like Hillel says in Pirkei Avot: וְאַל תָּדִין אֶת חֲבֵרְךָ עַד שֶׁתַּגִּיעַ לִמְקוֹמוֹ Do not judge a person until you reach their place… (2:5) There’s a story that Reb Zushia was once with his master, Rabbi Dov Baer, the Maggid of Mezritch, when a man came into the room and started aggressively nagging the Maggid for a blessing on his business. Now Reb Zushia had special powers, and could perceive all the past deeds of a person simply by looking at them. When he looked at this man begging for a blessing, he could see this guy had done many awful things. In an instant, Reb Zushia lost his temper and snapped at the man: “How dare you ask the great Maggid to help you with your business? You should be asking him how you can atone for the things you’ve done!” The man turned red with embarrassment and left in a hurry. Reb Zushia suddenly realized what he had done, that he had shamed this man, and he didn’t know what to do. The Maggid placed his hands upon Reb Zushia and gave him a blessing that from that point onward, he should only see the good in other people. But, since the Maggid didn’t have the power to take away Zushia’s ability to perceive one’s past deeds, from that point onward Zushia perceived the sins of others within himself. When we feel deeply triggered by another person’s perceived faults, it is usually because the same fault exists or used to exist within ourselves. I know that’s true with my children – oy I wish they wouldn’t do what I used to do! But that is dover emet bilvavo – speaking Truth in your heart. It is recognizing the Whole Truth – that what we perceive “out there” is always also “in here.” There is one Reality, unfolding now. In Parshat Metzorah, there’s a hint on how to connect with the Whole Truth – that is, the truth of the wholeness of this moment – in the description of how a person becomes whole again (tahor) after being infected with the skin disease tzara’at: (Lev. 14:14) וְלָקַ֣ח הַכֹּהֵן֮ מִדַּ֣ם הָאָשָׁם֒ וְנָתַן֙ הַכֹּהֵ֔ן עַל־תְּנ֛וּךְ אֹ֥זֶן הַמִּטַּהֵ֖ר הַיְמָנִ֑ית וְעַל־בֹּ֤הֶן יָדוֹ֙ הַיְמָנִ֔ית וְעַל־בֹּ֥הֶן רַגְל֖וֹ הַיְמָנִֽית׃ The priest shall take some of the blood of the guilt offering, and the priest shall put it on the ridge of the right ear of him who is being cleansed, and on the thumb of his right hand, and on the big toe of his right foot. (Lev. 14:14) The ozen (ear) represents our mental understanding of what’s going on, since it is through the ear that we hear language. Our thinking is easily taken over by ego, which unconsciously creates narratives of judgment and blame. But when we become conscious of our thoughts, we can recognize: “this is only a thought – it may or may not be true” – then we can stay free from the seductive power of ego. The bohen (thumb) represents our actions, since the thumb is the tool for manipulating the world that’s unique to humans. Once we become free from the unconscious motivations of ego by observing our own thoughts, we can consciously choose our actions so as to embody this awareness. The bohen of the foot, the “big toe” represents our sensory awareness, since our feet connect with the earth, “grounding” us in the world of the senses. By putting our attention into our sensory awareness – into our breathing, our sensations, sounds and sights – we can greatly reduce the seductive power of thought and emotion, and thereby stay rooted in dover emet bilvavo – speaking Truth in the heart...
Something is in the House- Parshat Metzorah 4/13/2016 0 Comments A couple sits anxiously in the therapist’s office, unsure how to begin talking about their problems at home. “Why don’t you start,” says the therapist to the woman. “My husband is a jerk!” she blurts. “Please’” says the therapist, “Only ‘I’ statements. Don’t tell me about him, tell me what’s going on with you. You can start by saying, ‘I feel…’” “Okay,” says the wife, “I feel like he is a jerk!” Differentiating between your actual feelings in the present moment and your impulse to accuse, judge, or blame, is no easy matter when your emotions are inflamed. But making this differentiation is crucial. There’s a world of difference between “I feel like he is a jerk,” on one hand, and “When he comes home late, I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach...” on the other. The first one is an attack- it’s accusatory. The second one is truthful… and vulnerable, exposing the actual experience of what happens when he comes home late. And of course, if you’re feeling punched in the stomach, the last thing you want is to be vulnerable. You want to attack back, accuse, blame. But ultimately, it’s a self-defeating impulse. Your negative words create an effect, and the ripples of that effect continue on in time. There’s a Jewish proverb of unknown origin- “A bird that you set free may be caught again, but a word that escapes your lips will never return.” This week’s reading also involves setting a bird free. It begins describing the ceremonial purification of a person afflicted with tzara’at- a skin disease that afflicted those who had committed negative speech. “Zot tiyhyeh torat ham’tzora b’yom taharato- “This is the law of the afflicted one on the day of purification…” The ceremony uses two birds, a piece of cedar wood, a crimson thread, and some hyssop. One bird is slaughtered into an earthenware vessel filled with “living waters.” The live bird is then held together with the cedar wood, the crimson thread and hyssop, and dipped into the bloody water. The bloody water is then sprinkled on the afflicted person seven times, and the live bird is set free into an open field. What does this mean? Medieval commentator Rabbeinu Ephraim explains the symbolism of this ritual in transformational terms: The first bird represents negative speech- gossip, slander and so on. This “bird” must be “slaughtered” into an “earthenware vessel.” The vessel represents the “home” of our bodies- fragile, temporary, of the earth. By contemplating the temporary nature your bodily home, you free yourself from arrogance and allow the impulse toward negative speech to be “slaughtered.” The “living waters” represent Truth, which fills the humble “earthen vessel,” once the arrogance is gone. The bird that’s set free represents the disease- just as the bird flies away, so should the disease depart. But, just as the bird might return, so too can the affliction return if you allow yourself to fall back into your patterns of negative speech. Why is it so easy to fall back into negative speech? Why is it so hard to stay present with what you’re actually experiencing, and be nourished by the “living waters” of the vulnerable truth? Because the truth can be painful and ego crushing. And yet, if you constantly project blame and judgment, without fully being with the truth of what you’re experiencing, healing cannot happen. You become the disease- a disease of living on the surface, holding back from your own inner depths, out of fear that your depths are too painful. That’s why tza’arat is a skin disease. It reminds me of the times my family would return to our house after a few weeks of being away. All the windows and doors would have been shut, and there would be a kind of unpleasant smell from the stagnant air, until we opened the windows and doors and let the air flow. That’s what it’s like- your inner world is like a shut up house, festering. But open the doors and windows- speak the truth, and healing begins! As it says in Psalm 30: “Shivati elekha vatirpa’eini- “I cried out to You and you healed me…” This is the true potential of prayer and meditation- to give yourself the space to go into your depths every day, feel whatever needs to be felt there in meditation, express what needs to be expressed in prayer, and tap the renewing and healing power of the Presence that is ever-present. The "living waters" will fill the “home” of your body and renew your spirit. There’s a story of Reb Mordechai of Pintchov, that his poverty was so extreme, he could barely support his household at all. His wife would nag him incessantly to tell their woeful situation to his rebbe, the Seer of Lublin. Time after time he would travel to Lublin, but never once did he mention his troubles to the rebbe, because on arriving there he would forget them completely. Being a practical woman, his wife decided to say nothing more, but to make the journey there by a separate wagon immediately after he had left home. When Reb Mordechai arrived at Lublin, he was confronted by the fact of his wife’s presence. There was no way out- and he told the rebbe all about their state of affairs at home. “Why did you never mention this until now?” asked the Seer. “Rebbe,” answered the hasid, “I assumed that my situation would be known to you through Ruakh Hakodesh (Divine inspiration), through the holy spirit that rests upon you.” “Not so,” answered the rebbe. “It’s true, the Torah says- ‘A person whose skin has the plague of tza’arat shall be brought to Aaron the priest, and the priest shall see the plague.’ “That is to say: As soon the ailing person is brought before the priest, the priest will be able to see the the malady for himself, without being told. “But, in the case of plagues that affect houses, the Torah teaches otherwise: ‘And the house owner shall come and tell the priest, saying: ‘Something like a plague seems to be in the house!’ “From this we see that for plagues affecting houses, one should come before the ‘priest’ and tellhim about it!” On this Shabbat Metzorah- the Sabbath of Affliction- may we fully feel and truthfully express our inner afflictions- not with judgment and blame, but as prayers of healing; may we not shrink from the "bitter herbs!" And just as our ancestors tasted the bitterness of slavery before their liberation from narrowness into the Presence, so may it be for us. Good Shabbos!! |
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