Parshah Summary – P’shat
The parshah opens with Abraham sitting by his tent on a hot day, when suddenly Hashem appears to him. He looks up and sees three mysterious guests (later described as angels), so he rushes off to prepare a meal for them. One of the guests announces that the old and barren Sarah will give birth to a son! Sarah laughs, hinting at the name of their future son, Yitzhak, Isaac, which means “will laugh.” It is revealed to Abraham that the wicked city of Sodom is to be destroyed, but he pleads with Hashem to relent and not punish the innocent along with the guilty. Hashem agrees not to destroy the city if ten innocent people are found, but they are not.
Two of the three angels arrive in the doomed city, and Abraham’s nephew Lot invites them in and attempts to protect them from a violent mob. The angels reveal their destructive mission, instructing Lot and his family to flee and not look back. But, as they flee, Lot’s wife does look back and turns into a pillar of salt. While taking shelter in a cave, Lot’s two daughters (believing that they and their father are the only ones left alive in the world) get their father drunk and become impregnated by him. The two sons born from this incestuous incident become the progenitors of the nations of Moab and Ammon. Avraham moves to Gerar, where the Philistine king Abimelech takes Sarah—who is once again presented as Abraham’s sister—to his palace. In a dream, God warns Abimelech that he will die unless he returns the woman to her husband. Abimelech confronts Avraham, who once again explains that he feared he would be killed over the beautiful Sarah. Sarah miraculously becomes pregnant and gives birth to Yitzhak, Isaac. Avraham is one hundred years old and Sarah is ninety when Yitzhak is born and circumcised at the age of eight days. Yishmael torments Sarah, so Sarah banishes Hagar and Yishmael from their home to wander in the desert, and Yishmael nearly dies of dehydration. Hashem hears the cry of the dying lad, shows his mother a well and they are saved. Meanwhile, Abimelech makes a treaty with Avraham at B’er Shava, and Avraham gives him seven sheep as a sign of their truce. Hashem tests Avraham’s devotion by commanding him to sacrifice Yitzhak, Isaac, on Mount Moriah (traditionally believed to be the site of the Temple Mount). Yitzhak is bound and placed on the altar, and Avraham raises the knife to slaughter his son. A voice from heaven calls to stop him; a ram, caught in the undergrowth by its horns, is offered in Yitzhak’s place.
Torah of Awakening | Jewish Meditation Teaching
וַיֵּרָ֤א אֵלָיו֙ יְהֹ–וָ֔ה בְּאֵלֹנֵ֖י מַמְרֵ֑א וְה֛וּא יֹשֵׁ֥ב פֶּֽתַח־הָאֹ֖הֶל כְּחֹ֥ם הַיּֽוֹם׃ The Divine appeared to him in the plains of Mamre; he was sitting at the entrance of the tent in the heat of the day… - Bereisheet (Genesis) 18:1
What is a tent? It’s a barrier that defines your personal space. There’s a vast world just outside, but you put this flimsy material around you, call it a tent, and you have some sense of separateness from the rest of the world. Just like the ego: there’s a vast Reality, and we are in no way separate from that Reality, but we tend to identify with our bodies, our personalities, our personal stories and so on, and call all of that “me.” That’s the ego; that’s the tent.
יֹשֵׁ֥ב פֶּֽתַח־הָאֹ֖הֶל – he sits in the opening of his tent… But Avraham, rather than shutting himself up inside the tent, sits in the opening. In other words, there’s still a tent, there’s still a sense of “me,” but he sits in the petakh, in the opening, so there’s also a sense that the space within the tent and the space outside the tent are one thing, one space. We can practice this by being aware that everything arising in our experience in this moment, both our perception of things outside the “tent,” meaning outside our bodies, and things inside the “tent,” such as our emotions and our thoughts, are all arising in the one space that is our awareness. You can still think of this tiny corner of your awareness that encompasses your body and heart and mind as “me,” but the entirety of your experience, even your perception of the stars millions of light years away, are all arising in the one space that is your field of awareness, and that’s actually the deepest you – that formless, borderless, field of awareness; this realization is the fruit of meditation. וַיַּ֗רְא וַיָּ֤רׇץ לִקְרָאתָם֙ מִפֶּ֣תַח הָאֹ֔הֶל – When he saw them, he ran from the opening in the tent to greet them… Meaning, if you want to know this deepest you, then you have to consciously invite everything within your experience to exist, even if it’s unpleasant. That’s the key. Because when you resist certain aspects of your experience, that’s the equivalent of shutting the flap on your tent and hiding inside, so there’s no more petakh, no more opening. That’s why Avraham is seen as the embodiment of hospitality – he runs from the opening to greet his guests and offers them food. He sits in the opening of his tent, and whatever happens to come by, he invites in; this is the moment to moment practice of meditation. וַיֵּרָ֤א אֵלָיו֙ יְהֹ–וָ֔ה – The Divine appeared to him… These opening words of the parshah are really a description of how to relate to Whatever appears in the moment – because when you consciously invite everything to be as it is, you “sit” in the open space between separateness and Oneness, and you receive EveryThing as a manifestation of the One Thing; whether It appears as three men, or as two angels, it doesn’t matter, because everything are forms of the One Thing. וַיִּגַּ֥שׁ אַבְרָהָ֖ם וַיֹּאמַ֑ר הַאַ֣ף תִּסְפֶּ֔ה צַדִּ֖יק עִם־רָשָֽׁע׃ Abraham came forward and said, “Will You sweep away the innocent along with the guilty? This brings us to a kind of paradox, because when it is revealed to Avraham that God is going to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah, he argues with God; he tries to change the course of what’s happening. So, on one hand, he invites everything to be as it is, but on the other, he’s arguing and trying to change it for the sake of compassion. And this is really the supreme spiritual teaching. When we talk about acceptance, about inviting everything to be as it is, our minds tend to go in the direction of passivity. But this creates a false duality. If we really invite everything to be as it is, that includes our own desire for things to be different. So, on one hand, we accept Reality as it is, but on the other, Reality includes our own desire to change things; Reality is dynamic, alive, and always in motion. The distinction is that when we are hospitable to Reality as it arises, inviting things to be as they are rather than resisting how things are, we can work for change from a spirit of love and openness, rather than from judgment and anger. There is a hint in the opening words: וְה֛וּא יֹשֵׁ֥ב פֶּֽתַח־הָאֹ֖הֶל כְּחֹ֥ם הַיּֽוֹם׃ – …and he was sitting in the opening of his tent in the heat of the day. The word for “the day” is hayom, which can also mean, “today” – in other words, the right now. The word for heat, khom, can also mean “warmth.” So, in this sense, khom hayom could mean “the warmth of Presence.” If you want to pierce through the separateness of things to the underlying Divine unity, open your heart to this moment. Warmly invite Reality to be as it is, and then when you act to change things, do it from a place of inviting change, rather than forcing. Even in those rare times when you do have to force something, you can still do it from a place of love rather than resistance and anger. Just like when you abruptly grab a child away from the danger of a precipice or an oncoming car – externally there might be a violent forcing quality, but of course you’re not angry at the child, you just have to act swiftly and effectively. If you have the right kavanah, the right attitude that arises from Presence rather than resistance, then your action toward change will flow from the Oneness, and will be an expression of the Oneness, even when there’s conflict. That’s why Avraham can argue with God, and yet the argument itself is an expression of God, because Avraham is arguing that God’s compassion become manifest; in a sense, it is God’s prayer to Himself, just as our practice is a kind of prayer to ourselves: May we welcome this moment as it is. This is the meditation Path of ב Bet, the middah of hospitality, of welcome.
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Parshah Summary – P’shat
The parshah opens with God telling Avram to leave his birthplace and travel to a land where his descendants will become a great nation. So, Avram and his wife, Sarai, accompanied by their nephew Lot, journey to the land of Canaan. Avram builds an altar there, but a famine forces them to flee to Egypt, where Avram and Sarai present themselves as brother and sister, out of fear that Avram would be killed on account of Sarai’s great beauty. Sarai is taken to Pharaoh’s palace, but a plague prevents the Egyptian king from approaching her. Pharaoh then somehow understands that Sarai is Avram’s wife, and he reunites her with Avram, giving them gold, silver and cattle.
When they return to the land of Canaan, Lot separates from Avram and settles in the evil city of Sodom, where he falls captive when the mighty armies of King Kedarla-omer and his three allies conquer the five cities of the Sodom Valley. Avram sets out with a small band to rescue his nephew, defeats the four kings, and is blessed by Malkitzedek, the king of Salem (Jerusalem). Avram seals a strange covenant with God involving a vision of fire descending and moving between severed animal pieces, in which the exile and persecution (galut) of Avram’s descendants is foretold, and their eventual return to the Holy Land is affirmed. Still childless ten years after their arrival in the Land, Sarai tells Avram to marry her maidservant Hagar. Hagar conceives, but becomes insolent toward her mistress, and then flees when Sarai treats her harshly. An angel convinces her to return, and tells her that her son will also become a great nation. Ishmael is born in Avram’s eighty-sixth year. Thirteen years later, God changes Avram’s name to Avraham (Abraham, meaning “father of multitudes”), and Sarai’s name to Sarah (“princess”). A child is promised to them whom they should call Yitzhak (Isaac, “will laugh”). Abraham is instructed to circumcise himself and his descendants as a sign of the covenant. Abraham does so for himself and all the males of his household.
Torah of Awakening | Jewish Meditation Teaching
One time, when Rabbi Yisrael of Rizhyn was traveling through the city of Sanok, several opponents of the Hassidic movement, the mitnagdim, came to him and complained: “In our congregation we pray at dawn, and after that we sit wrapped in tallis and tefilin (prayer shawl and phylacteries) and learn a chapter of the Mishnah. Not so with you hasidim! You pray way after the set time has passed, and when you're finished praying, you sit drink schnapps. And you are called ‘devout’ and we are called the ‘adversaries!’”
Rabbi Yisrael’s assistant laughed when he heard their complaint and retorted: “The prayers of you mitnagdim are cold and lifeless, like a corpse. And when you sit and guard a corpse, you must study some Mishnah as is the custim. But when we Hasidim have done our prayers, our hearts glow and are warm like one who is alive, and whoever is alive must drink some schnapps!” The rabbi was silent for a moment and then added, “Jesting aside, the truth of the matter is this: ever since the Temple was destroyed, we offer prayers instead of sacrifices. And just as the sacrifices in ancient times were disqualified if one’s heart was not pure, so it is with prayer. That is why the yetzer hara (evil urge) tries to confuse one who prays with all kinds of distracting thoughts. But, the hasidim outsmart the yetzer hara with a counter-strategy: after praying, they sit and drink and wish one another l'hayim! To life! Each tells the other what is burdening their hearts, and then they say to one another, ‘May Hashem grant your desire!” And since our sages teach that prayers can be said in any language whatsoever, this toasting and speaking to one another while drinking is itself a kind of prayer. But all the yetzer hara sees is friends drinking together, so it stops bothering them!” There is something magical about friends holding up a glass of some fermented beverage, looking at one another, saying some formula of affirmation, then drinking. L’hayim! Nearly every culture has its version of this practice. In Judaism, it has become deeply ritualized as the act of sanctification – Kiddush – for Shabbat and Festivals. But even without any overtly spiritual intention, the act of raising a glass has an elevating effect that even the most materialistic person is unlikely to escape. Something about the receptivity and openness of the vessel, filled with intoxicating, joy producing substance, raised up in well-wishing affirmation with friends… it is indeed a kind of kiddush regardless of the context. Another nearly universal practice with a similar effect is the giving of flowers. Like the glass filled with wine, the flower too conveys a sense of openness, grace, and beauty that expresses the same well-wishing affirmation when offered to another. The Zohar links together the images of the flower and the cup of wine: רִבִּי חִזְקִיָּה פָּתַח, כְּתִיב, כְּשׁוֹשַׁנָּה בֵּין הַחוֹחִים מָאן שׁוֹשַׁנָּה, דָּא כְּנֶסֶת יִשְׂרָאֵל Rabbi Hizkiyah opened, “It is written, (in Shir Hashirim) Like a rose among thorns’. What is a rose? It is the Assembly of Israel. - Zohar, Haqdamat Sefer HaZohar [Introduction] It goes on to say that the rose is the cup of blessing which should rest on five fingers, just as the rose rests on five sturdy leaves that represent what are called the five gates… meaning, the five senses. So according to the Zohar, the flower and the cup are the community of Israel, but on a more immediate level, they are actually representations of our own bodies. Just as the rose is filled with nectar and the cup is filled with wine, there is a sweet blessedness when we fill our bodies with the light of consciousness. How do we do that? By bringing our consciousness more intensely into the “five gates” – that is, present moment awareness through the five senses – this is meditation. כְּשׁוֹשַׁנָּה בֵּין הַחוֹחִים – Like a rose among thorns… In other words, there are challenges – “thorns” – which can block the “wine” of consciousness from flowing into the “cup” of the body. The three main “thorns” are: fear, desire and excessive thinking. There is a hint of this in Avram’s plea with Hashem that he should have some assurance that his offspring will come to possess the land: וַיֹּאמַ֑ר אֲדֹנָ֣י יֱהוִ֔ה בַּמָּ֥ה אֵדַ֖ע כִּ֥י אִֽירָשֶֽׁנָּה׃ וַיֹּ֣אמֶר אֵלָ֗יו קְחָ֥ה לִי֙ עֶגְלָ֣ה מְשֻׁלֶּ֔שֶׁת וְעֵ֥ז מְשֻׁלֶּ֖שֶׁת וְאַ֣יִל מְשֻׁלָּ֑שׁ וְתֹ֖ר וְגוֹזָֽל׃ And he said, “O Divine Lord, how shall I know that I am to possess it?” The Divine answered him, “Bring Me a three-year-old heifer, a three-year-old she-goat, a three-year-old ram, a turtledove, and a young bird.” - Bereisheet (Genesis) 15:8, 9 So each of these animals represent a “thorn” so to speak. The “heifer” is fear, as hinted in this verse describing Avram’s vision: וְהִנֵּ֥ה אֵימָ֛ה חֲשֵׁכָ֥ה גְדֹלָ֖ה נֹפֶ֥לֶת עָלָֽיו׃ And behold, a great dark dread descended upon him… -15:12 The “goat” is excess thinking, expressed as Avram’s demand for assurance: בַּמָּ֥ה אֵדַ֖ע... By what can I know… The “ram” is desire, his preoccupation with a future goal: כִּ֥י אִֽירָשֶֽׁנָּה – that I am to possess it? The animals are then each cut in half, hinting that we need to free ourselves from these thorns, these inner tyrannies of the mind and heart. But… וְאֶת־הַצִפֹּ֖ר לֹ֥א בָתָֽר…– He didn’t cut the bird… The two wings of the bird represent the positive counterparts to desire and fear, which are love and discipline. Both are necessary – discipline provides the regular structure to engage our practice, while love is the actual content of the practice. The fluttering of both wings together represents the harnessing of the movement of the mind, directing intention – kavanah – toward the Divine goal. In other words, while the animals represent the tyranny of the heart and mind, the birds represent the redirection of the heart and mind into prayer. The idea is of course not to destroy the heart and mind, but only to destroy their tyranny by realizing our mastery over them. Then, you can use their energy to discover and reveal your Divine essence, so that the “wine” of consciousness fills the “cup” of your body. When that happens, the awareness becomes like a fire, illuminating the five senses and burning up attachments to the “thorns” of fear and desire, revealing their Divine root: וַיְהִ֤י הַשֶּׁ֙מֶשׁ֙ בָּ֔אָה וַעֲלָטָ֖ה הָיָ֑ה וְהִנֵּ֨ה וְלַפִּ֣יד אֵ֔שׁ אֲשֶׁ֣ר עָבַ֔ר בֵּ֖ין הַגְּזָרִ֥ים הָאֵֽלֶּה The sun had set; it was dark and, behold! A flaming torch passed between the parts… - 15:17 This is the illumination that descends and frees us from the tyranny of the inner thorns. How do we invite that illumination? They key is bringing the fire of our attentive presence to the truth of our experience in this moment, and in this attentiveness, the flower of blessing blossoms on its own – this is the miracle of Presence, accessed through meditation.
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Parshah Summary – P’shat
The parshah opens with the description of Noah as an ish tzaddik tamim, a righteous and pure person in his generation, and God expresses displeasure to Noah with the world which has become consumed by violence and corruption. God tells Noah that a flood is coming, and that he should build an ark to float upon the water, saving Noah and his family, along with members of each animal species. Rain falls for 40 days and nights, and the waters churn for 150 days more before calming and beginning to recede. When the ark settles on Mount Ararat, Noah dispatches a raven, and then a series of doves, “to see if the waters have subsided from the face of the earth.” When the ground dries completely—exactly one year after the onset of the Flood—God tells Noah to exit the ark and begin repopulating the earth.
Noah builds an altar and offers sacrifices. God swears never again to destroy humanity because of their deeds, and sets the rainbow in the sky as a testimony of the new covenant with human beings. God also instructs Noah regarding the sacredness of life: murder is explicitly forbidden, and while humans are permitted to eat the meat of animals, they are forbidden to eat flesh or blood taken from a living animal. Noah plants a vineyard, makes wine, and becomes drunk. Two of Noah’s sons, Shem and Yaphet, are blessed for covering up their father, while his third son, Ham, is punished for behaving inappropriately in the presence of his drunk and naked father, though his precise offense is not explicitly described. The descendants of Noah remain a single people, with a single language and culture, for ten generations. Then they try to build a great tower to symbolize their own invincibility; God confuses their language so that “one does not comprehend the tongue of the other,” causing them to abandon their project and disperse across the face of the earth, splitting into seventy nations. The parshah concludes with a chronology of the ten generations from Noah to Abram (who becomes Abraham), and the latter’s journey from his birthplace of Ur Casdim to Haran, on the way to the land of Canaan.
Torah of Awakening | Jewish Meditation Teaching
אֵ֚לֶּה תּוֹלְדֹ֣ת נֹ֔חַ נֹ֗חַ אִ֥ישׁ צַדִּ֛יק תָּמִ֥ים הָיָ֖ה בְּדֹֽרֹתָ֑יו אֶת־הָֽאֱלֹ–הִ֖ים הִֽתְהַלֶּךְ־נֹֽחַ: These are the offspring of Noah; Noah was a righteous person, perfect in his generation; Noah walked with God.- Bereisheet (Genesis) 6:9
What does it mean that “Noah walked with God?” There are two kinds of Action – what we might call “Creative/Responsive/Relational” and what we might call “Functional/Mechanical.” Functional/Mechanical is not for its own sake; it is a means to an end. Creative/Responsive/Relational is for its own sake; it is living life in the moment. Life in the moment is a kaleidoscope of qualities, of fleeting experiences. Naturally, when a particularly delicious or interesting moment arises, we may want to hold on to its qualities, to capture them in some way. But how? Is it possible to preserve the experiences that come to us in the fleeting moment?
To this question comes an ingenious answer: art. It is through art that the ineffable qualities of experience can be put into some kind of form, to be saved from the flood-waters of time and visited again and again. In this sense, “Noah’s ark,” which saves all life from the flood, can actually be seen as a metaphor for art. In reference to Noah’s building of the ark, it says: וַיַּ֖עַשׂ נֹ֑חַ כְּכֹ֥ל אֲשֶׁר־צִוָּ֖הוּ יְהֹ–וָֽה׃– Noah did just as Hashem instructed him… (Bereisheet 7:5) So in the metaphorical sense, Noah is an artist, but not one of mere personal expression. Rather, his salvific artistry emerges from a Divine instruction; it is a mitzvah. But the mitzvah of art is not that of music or painting or sculpture; it is the art of living. Our canvas is this moment—our words, our actions, even our thoughts. The Baal Shem Tov taught that the word for ark--tevah—also means “word,” giving a deeper meaning to God’s instruction to Noah: בֹּֽא־אַתָּ֥ה... אֶל־הַתֵּבָ֑ה – “Enter the ark…” This hints at this practice of fully entering the words we speak, entering the deeds we do, so that our words and deeds become temples of Presence—expressions of No-am—that is, Divine beauty, sweetness, pleasantness, grace. This is why, as Shabbat ends, we pray: וִיהִי נֹֽעַם אֲדֹנָי אֱלֹהֵֽינוּ עָלֵֽינוּ וּמַעֲשֵׂה יָדֵֽינוּ כּוֹנְנָה עָלֵֽינוּ – May the Divine sweetness be (V’hi No-am) upon us; may the work of our hands be established… As we move from rest into work, we ask that our actions themselves become art; we ask that the No-am, the “Divine sweetness,” infuses the work of our hands. How can this happen? Part of the key is the practice of Shabbat. On Shabbat we cease creating; we rest. And in that sacred rest, our artfulness of doing is renewed. But there is a deeper level—not only resting from action, but resting within action. And this is the meaning of the verse: אֶת־הָֽאֱלֹהִ֖ים הִֽתְהַלֶּךְ־נֹֽחַ׃ – Noah walked with God… The “work of our hands,” maaseh yadeinu, is Creative/ Responsive/ Relational, but the “work of our feet” is repetitive—walking, cleaning, moving, lying down, standing up: ordinary, Functional/Mechanical activity. Usually, we wander through these motions unconsciously, lost in thought, dull and habitual. But the secret of “walking with God” is to bring our awareness into the simple and repetitive, to sense the Divine Presence in each step, in each breath, in this body that acts. This is the deeper Shabbat—available at any time, in our simple movements. And here lies the key in Noah’s name--Noakh—which means “rest.” To embody Noakh is to let the thinking mind rest in the living awareness of the senses—in the sounds, the scents, the textures of this moment; this is meditation. And from Noakh—rest—emerges Noam—Divine Sweetness. When we rest our awareness in our simple, Functional/Mechanical movements, rather than wandering in the alleyways of thought, then we can make our Creative/ Responsive/Relational actions into more beautiful manifestations of No-am, b’ezrat Hashem. In this time of Parshat Noakh, may that Divine Sweetness be upon us— V’hi No-am aleinu—the work of our hands, the walking of our feet, the Art of Living Awake…
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Torah of Awakening:
Parshat Ki Tavo
Parshah Summary – P’shat
The parshah begins by instructing a ritual of gratitude to be performed by Israelite farmers who when they enter the Land, settle it and cultivate it: the celebrant should put the first-ripened fruits (bikkurim) of their orchard into a basket and bring it to the place where the Divine “chooses” to “make the Holy Name rest.” The celebrant then offers these first fruits, making a declaration of having come out of slavery in Egypt and into the “land flowing with milk and honey.” The celebrant then “rejoices” with one’s family as well as the “stranger.” The parshah continues with the laws of tithes given to the Levites and to the poor, and detailed instructions on how to proclaim the blessings and the curses on Mount Gerizim and Mount Eival—as discussed in the beginning of Parshat Re’eh. The latter part of Ki Tavo consists of a long, harsh account of the curses—illness, famine, poverty and exile—that shall befall them if they abandon the Torah. It concludes with Moses’ words that “only today,” forty years after their birth as a people, have they attained “a heart to know, eyes to see and ears to hear.
Torah of Awakening | Jewish Meditation Teaching
Two disciples came to Rabbi Dov Ber, the Maggid of Mezritch, with a question: “We are troubled by the teaching of our sages, that one must bless for the evil one experiences as well as the good (Mishna, Berachot, 9:5). How are we to understand this?”
The Maggid replied, “Go to the beit midrash (house of study). There you will find Reb Zusha smoking his pipe. He will give you the answer.” So they went and found Reb Zusha and put the question to him. Zusha just laughed and said, “I think you’ve come to the wrong man. I have never experienced suffering in my life.” But the two knew that Zusha’s life had been a web of need and anguish! Then they understood – Reb Zusha received all that happened to him with a spirit of gratitude. When we hear a teaching like this, we might think it’s telling us to play act. Suffering happens, but we should pretend that it’s “all good” – we should just put on a happy face. But the teaching is much deeper than that, as hinted in the opening words of the parshah: וְהָיָה֙ כִּֽי־תָב֣וֹא אֶל־הָאָ֔רֶץ אֲשֶׁר֙ יְהֹ–וָ֣ה אֱלֹ–הֶ֔יךָ נֹתֵ֥ן לְךָ֖ נַחֲלָ֑ה וִֽירִשְׁתָּ֖הּ וְיָשַׁ֥בְתָּ בָּֽהּ׃ וְלָקַחְתָּ֞ מֵרֵאשִׁ֣ית כׇּל־פְּרִ֣י הָאֲדָמָ֗ה... When you come into the land that Hashem your God is giving you as a heritage, and you possess it and settle in it, you shall take some of every first fruit of the soil... - Devarim (Deuteronomy) 26:1-2 Parshat Ki Tavo It goes on to describe the farmer’s ritual of gratitude for the goodness of the land, in which the fruit is brought in a basket to the place which will eventually become the Beit HaMikdash, the Holy Temple in Jerusalem. But on a deeper level, “coming into the land” is a hint – it means coming into the place you already are, coming into the full Presence of whatever is present. We can see this in the first three words: וְהָיָה כִּֽי־תָבוֹא... – It will BE when you come in... Meaning, coming in to the mode of Being. And notice וְהָיָה֙ v’hayah is the Divine Name with the letters in a slightly different order, hinting that we connect with the Divine Presence, יה/וה Hashem, through וְהָיָה v’hayah – through coming into the mode of Being – this is meditation. 4 Our lives consist of both Doing and Being, but we tend to identify with the Doing mode. Doing means “going out” – like last week’s parshah, Ki Tetzei, which means “when you go out.” It’s about reaching toward a goal we imagine in the future. This is how we create and accomplish things, which is wonderful and necessary. But if it is not balanced by the mode of Being, if there is total identification with thought and with Doing, then there is no arrival, no appreciation, no “coming in” – like this week’s parshah, Ki Tavo, which means “when you come in.” וְלָקַחְתָּ֞ מֵרֵאשִׁ֣ית כׇּל־פְּרִ֣י הָאֲדָמָ֗ה... You shall take from the first fruits of the earth… There is a “fruit” that we are reaping right now. That “fruit” is the fullness of this moment; it is the “fruit” of all that has come before. But what is our first fruit? It is, first of all, our relationship with this moment. The moment is complex; it often contains both goodness and suffering. We may have many stories and judgments about it. But before stories and judgments of the mind, there is simply this consciousness, meeting this moment as it is. When we “come into” ourselves, when we return from the journeys of thought into the reality of the present, there is the possibility of realizing: we have the choice to hold this moment in the “basket” of gratitude. This is not a denial of suffering. In fact, it is often thanks to our suffering that we are awakened to those things that truly matter, to the blessings we are constantly receiving but usually taking for granted. How do we do it? וְהָיָה֙ כִּֽי־תָב֣וֹא אֶל־הָאָ֔רֶץ... – When you come into the land… In other words, come into this place that you already are, by connecting your awareness with the אָ֔רֶץ aretz – this earth upon which we live, this body through which we live, and with whatever else happens to be present – this is meditation. In this way we can connect with the Divine Presence that infuses all things: וְשַׂמְתָּ֣ בַטֶּ֑נֶא וְהָֽלַכְתָּ֙ אֶל־הַמָּק֔וֹם אֲשֶׁ֤ר יִבְחַר֙ יְהֹוָ֣ה אֱלֹהֶ֔יךָ לְשַׁכֵּ֥ן שְׁמ֖וֹ שָֽׁם׃… …put it in a basket and go to The Place (HaMakom) where Hashem, your own Divinity, chooses to rest the Divine Name of “Being”... We connect with the Divine Presence by coming to הַמָּקוֹם HaMakom, “The Place,” which is itself one of the Divine Names. Let go of imagined “fruits” in the future; bring your focus to the “fruits” that are present, conscious of HaMakom, the Divine Presence we access through this Place. Then, the choice appears: we too can receive this moment into the “basket” of gratitude; this is the sefirah of Hod. Then, you will be able to say as the ancient farmer said: וַיּוֹצִאֵ֤נוּ יְהֹ–וָה֙ מִמִּצְרַ֔יִם וְשָׂמַחְתָּ֣ בְכׇל־הַטּ֗וֹב... Hashem brought us out of Egypt – rejoice with all the goodness... Hashem brought us out of Egypt – meaning, we are brought out of the contracted bundle of mind-identified ego through Presence and Gratitude. And then you will rejoice with all the goodness – in other words, the fundamental condition for happiness is not “getting” in the future, but appreciating what is already here; when we allow ourselves the space to arrive into this moment and appreciate this gift of Being, we truly can know that this moment is good, and rejoice in That. In this month of return, may we re-turn evermore into the space of Gratitude; may we trust enough to let go and connect with HaMakom the eternal Presence of Being that infuses every moment. This is the sefirah of Hod – the eighth sefirah on the Tree of Life. Hod, which means “splendor” or “magnificence,” shares its root with Hodayah, meaning “gratitude,” and also humility. This is also the root of Yehud, Jew, hinting that the essence of Judaism is relating to this moment as a Divine gift. In the midst of our lives which tend to be focused on pushing toward the future in a momentum of relentless Becoming, Hod comes to remind us of Being, of patience, of recognizing this miracle, and saying “thank you.”
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Torah of Awakening:
Parshat Ki Tetzei
Parshah Summary – P’shat
Parshat Ki Tetzei contains seventy-four of the Torah’s 613 mitzvot. Included among them are the inheritance rights of the firstborn, the law of the rebellious son, burial and dignity of the dead, returning a lost object, sending away the mother bird before taking her eggs, the duty to erect a safety fence around the roof of one’s home, and the various forms of kilayim (forbidden plant and animal hybrids). Also recounted are the laws of having a special place outside the camp for going to the bathroom and covering up one’s waste with earth, the prohibition against turning in an escaped slave, the duty to pay a worker on time and to allow anyone working for you—human or animal— time to eat, the prohibition against charging interest on a loan, the laws of adultery and divorce, and the procedures for yibum (levirate marriage), which is the practice of a man marrying the wife of his deceased childless brother in order to give her children on his brother’s behalf, and halitzah – the ritual of “removing of the shoe” – in the case that the brother-in-law does not wish to marry her. The parshah concludes with the obligation to remember “what Amalek did to you on the road, on your way out of Egypt.”
Torah of Awakening | Jewish Meditation Teaching
כִּ֤י תִבְנֶה֙ בַּ֣יִת חָדָ֔שׁ וְעָשִׂ֥יתָ מַעֲקֶ֖ה לְגַגֶּ֑ךָ וְלֹֽא־תָשִׂ֤ים דָּמִים֙ בְּבֵיתֶ֔ךָ כִּֽי־יִפֹּ֥ל הַנֹּפֵ֖ל מִמֶּֽנּוּ... When you build a new house, make a parapet (ma-akeh) for your roof, and you won’t bring blood upon your house when one falls from it… - Devarim (Deuteronomy) 22:8, Parshat Ki Tetzei
Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev once came upon a wealthy man in the street who was known to be abusive with his money and power. “Oh, I envy you sir!” said Levi Yitzhak. The rasha (evil person) looked proudly at Levi Yitzhak, thinking that the rabbi wished he too could have all that money and power. But then Levi Yitzhak continued, “I envy you, because when you finally return, when you finally do t’shuvah, all your sins will be transformed into magnificent lights, and what a brilliant spectacle that will be! Oh sir, I envy you that brilliance!” This story brings with it a remarkable insight: that there are times when bad can actually become good, when failure becomes success. There is a hint is the parshah:
The fact that the Torah talks about preventing a person from falling off the roof by building a protective barrier implies that, indeed, people must have fallen off rooves; it was probably the failure to anticipate this danger that led to the law of making a מַעֲקֶ֖ה ma-akeh, or parapet. Similarly, when we become aware of our own misdeeds in the past, we too can build some kind of מַעֲקֶ֖ה ma-akeh, some kind of protective fence to prevent the same thing from happening again. There are two main types of misdeeds: mistakes and temporary insanity. A mistake would be: you’re up on the roof and you’re goofing around, not paying attention, or maybe you just miscalculated your footsteps and you fall of the roof, God forbid. Temporary insanity would be: you’re up on the roof with someone, you get into a fight and push them off the roof, God forbid. You didn’t intend to hurt them; you just got angry and lost control. The מַעֲקֶ֖ה ma-akeh prevents both types of scenarios. Whether accidental or by temporary insanity, the parapet prevents a person from falling. There’s a hint in the wording of the פָּסוּק pasuk: “one who falls” is יִפֹּ֥ל הַנֹּפֵ֖ל yipol hanofel –literally, “will fall, the falling.” The repeating of the verb “fall” is an idiom of emphasis, but also hints that the מַעֲקֶ֖ה ma-akeh can prevent both the accidental and the impulsive falling crisis. Similarly, we too can take measures to prevent ourselves from repeating our misdeeds, whether they be accidental or impulsive. To do that, we need to see our lives clearly, to contemplate, and then to create our own “parapets.” This is the transformative part of t’shuvah, the main practice in this month of Elul, leading to the Days of Awe. There is yet a third kind of misdeed, one that is far more difficult to prevent. This is the misdeed of habit, the misdeed that has become part of one’s personality and lifestyle – such as addiction, relationship dysfunction, abuse, and so on. The more emmeshed we become in the negative behavior, the less likely we are to change it. And yet, we absolutely can change it. This is the deepest and most transformative kind of t’shuvah. These three types of misdeeds – accidental, impulsive and intentional, are three main types of “sins” mentioned in the liturgy: חֵטְא het means “missing the mark,” as in shooting an arrow and missing the target. This is the accident. An עֲבֵרָה aveira is crossing over a boundary impulsively; you accept that there is a boundary, but you become possessed by strong feelings and you violate it. Lastly, an עָווֹן avon is a misdeed that is not a mistake and is not impulsive; it has become part of how you operate. The עָווֹן avon cannot be prevented by any kind of מַעֲקֶ֖ה ma-akeh; you can’t “trick yourself” out of this kind of misdeed. For the עָווֹן avon, you actually have to choose differently; you have to fully transform. These three kinds of “sin” are different from each other, but for a person who wants to become free from them, a single ingredient is needed. Whether we are merely setting a boundary to prevent mistakes and impulsivity, or we are seeking to overcome a deeply ingrained behavior, the root of all transformation on any level is the application of intentional awareness, so that we may return ourselves, that is, do תְשׁוּבָה t’shuvah, back into alignment with our highest intentions; this is meditation. Our highest intentions have their root in the one, single intention of simply being aware, right now. This root intention is represented by the sefirah of Keter. Keter means “crown,” hinting that the intention of Presence is above the rest of our experience. Just as a crown rests above the head, the intention to be aware is all-encompassing, beyond different points of view and opinion, because it is simply the awareness of what is and therefore includes everything in our experience, moment to moment. For this reason, Keter also represents Oneness, because from the perspective of pure awareness, there is always only one experience happening now, within the One Reality that we call God. In this sense, returning to Presence is really a return to God, and constitutes the inner dimension of t’shuvah. So, there are really two levels of תְשׁוּבָה t’shuvah: inner and outer. Outer תְשׁוּבָה t’shuvah, which is returning to intentional action is rooted in the inner תְשׁוּבָה t’shuvah of bringing our awareness out from its compulsive preoccupation with thought (which ordinarily reinforces our habitual patterns), and into our actual present moment experience, into our senses, into our bodies. In doing so, acceptance and forgiveness of the past is natural and spontaneous, as the pain we cause ourselves by holding on to the past becomes obvious to ourselves. And not only that, but the more we bring our attention to this moment, the more we can see that we are the awareness of this moment. We are openness, we are free, and we are in no way trapped by the past or by habit. In Presence, the power to choose reveals itself. Whenever I prepare to travel, I am always amazed that I can draw together the clothing, toiletries, books, computer equipment and so on, and pack them all into a single suitcase. It actually seems miraculous to me, that all these disparate items can come together into a single whole. But miraculous as that is, it is nothing compared to the miracle of Presence: that through the simple shift of opening to the immediacy of actual experience, all the disparate chaos comes together in the “suitcase” of the present moment; in Presence, there is no longer “me” and “that” – there is only the fullness of the what is, in all its richness, arising and falling away in the one field of awareness that we are. As it says in the haftara: בְּרֶ֥גַע קָטֹ֖ן עֲזַבְתִּ֑יךְ וּבְרַחֲמִ֥ים גְּדֹלִ֖ים אֲקַבְּצֵֽךְ... For a tiny moment I forsook you, but with a vast compassion I will gather you together… - Isaiah 54:7 When we “gather together” our awareness into the fullness of the present, there is a vastness and a benevolence – a רַחֲמִ֥ים גְּדֹלִ֖ים rakhamim g’dolim – that is our own nature, revealing all past misdeeds for what they really are: tiny moments of forgetfulness arising and disappearing into the vastness of Being…
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Parshah Summary – P’shat
The parshah opens with the instruction to appoint judges and law enforcement officers in every city. “Justice, justice shall you pursue,” Moses tells them. Crimes must be thoroughly investigated and a minimum of two credible witnesses is required for conviction. Furthermore, the Torah must be alive: in every generation, the law must be interpreted and applied in new ways. Moses then reviews laws governing the appointment and behavior of a king, along with the laws of the “cities of refuge” for the inadvertent murderer. Also set forth are the rules of war: the exemption from battle for one who has just built a home, planted a vineyard, married, or is “afraid and soft-hearted;” the requirement to offer terms of peace before attacking a city; and the prohibition against needlessly destroying something of value, such as the law that forbids cutting down fruit trees when laying siege – “For a human being is a tree of the field.” The parshah concludes with the law of the eglah arufah—the special procedure to be followed when a person is killed by an unknown murderer and the body is found in a field—which underscores the responsibility of the community and its leaders not only for what they do, but also for what they might have prevented from being done.
Torah of Awakening | Jewish Meditation Teaching
שְׁמַ֣ע יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל אַתֶּ֨ם קְרֵבִ֥ים הַיּ֛וֹם לַמִּלְחָמָ֖ה עַל־אֹיְבֵיכֶ֑ם אַל־יֵרַ֣ךְ לְבַבְכֶ֗ם אַל־תִּֽירְא֧וּ וְאַֽל־תַּחְפְּז֛וּ וְאַל־תַּֽעַרְצ֖וּ מִפְּנֵיהֶֽם׃ Hear, O Israel! You are near, today, to the battle against your enemies. Don’t let your heart be distant; don’t be afraid, don’t panic, and don’t be broken before them. - Devarim (Deuteronomy) 20:3, Parshat Shoftim
Rabbi Yitzhak of Vorki once happened to visit Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Kotzk on Shabbat, who at that time had just begun to live in great seclusion and received only close friends, like the rabbi of Vorki. “Why,” asked Rabbi Yitzhak, “have you gone to such extremes in withdrawing from people?”
Rabbi Mendel replied: “The answer is in Parshat T’rumah: וְיִקְחוּ־לִ֖י תְּרוּמָ֑ה – ‘They shall take for Me an offering.’ Meaning: when one wishes to “take” the Godly Path, one must make an ‘offering.’ That is, they must offer up all companionship, not only that of evil people, but also that of good people; for a little further on we read: ‘Of every person whose heart is willing to give.’” “But there is a deeper meaning to verse,” replied the rabbi of Vorki, “When one wishes to “take” the Godly Path, they must take what every person offers them. They should accept the companionship of everyone, and by associating with everyone, receive from them whatever is given as the Godly Path. But there is one qualification: you cannot receive the Path if your heart is locked. Only the person ‘whose heart is willing’ can find the Path.” What does it mean for the “heart to be willing”? אַל־יֵרַךְ לְבַבְכֶ֗ם – Don’t let your heart be distant… The “Godly Path” appears when we bring our “hearts” close to what is actually being “given” in the moment – meaning, when we bring our awareness into connection with the truth of our actual experience, now. This is because That which we call “God” is, in fact, not something separate from our awareness; not something separate from whatever it is we encounter. How do we know this? שְׁמַ֣ע יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל – Listen/become aware, Israel! This verse begins just like the other, better known verse which proclaims the Divine Oneness. But in case we’re in denial about what Oneness actually means, the next words tell us: אַתֶּ֨ם קְרֵבִ֥ים הַיּ֛וֹם לַמִּלְחָמָ֖ה עַל־אֹיְבֵיכֶ֑ם... – You are close, today, to the battle against your enemies… This word for “close,” קְרֵבִים k’reivim, can mean not just close in space, but close in intimate connection. הַיּ֛וֹם Hayom – “today” – of course means Now. So it is saying: Open yourself; come close to this moment. We need this instruction because when we experience emotional pain, the tendency is to recoil, to contract, to project blame upon something we imagine to be the source of our pain. The imagined source – a person, a situation, whatever – seems to be our “enemy.” But here it reminds us: Come close to that urge toward “battle.” Notice this unconscious impulse; be the awareness of the impulse. אַל־יֵרַךְ לְבַבְכֶם – Don’t let your heart falter… The word for “falter” – יֵרַךְ yeirakh – is a different form of the word for “hip” – יָרֵך yareikh – the place where Jacob was struck when he wrestled the “angel,” after which he limped – hence the connection with falter. But the hip is also a euphemism for the reproductive organs, the part of the body that is usually hidden. So, we might retranslate אַל־יֵרַ֣ךְ לְבַבְכֶם al yeirakh l’vavkhem to mean, “don’t hide your heart.” Together, we can understand the two meanings of “falter” and “hiddenness” to mean: Don’t cripple your heart by hiding it away! Don’t split yourself in two – whatever pain arises is literally made out of your own awareness – be present with it and don’t be ruled by it. As it says: אַל־תִּֽירְא֧וּ וְאַֽל־תַּחְפְּז֛וּ – Don’t be afraid, and don’t panic! Don’t fear your own fear – bring your awareness into the fear. Relax; don’t panic – don’t buy into the drama, simply feel whatever is there to be felt. וְאַל־תַּֽעַרְצ֖וּ מִפְּנֵיהֶֽם – And don’t be broken before them! This sums up the entire teaching: don’t divide yourself by imagining there is something in your experience that is separate from you; everything you perceive right now is arising as a form within your own awareness. Furthermore, this awareness that you are is actually far beyond you – it is the Awareness of Reality Itself, incarnating as you; it is the Divine, seeing through your eyes. This is hinted at by the construction of each of these phrases: אַל־יֵרַךְ לְבַבְכֶם אַל־תִּֽירְאוּ וְאַֽל־תַּחְפְּזוּ וְאַל־תַּֽעַרְצוּ מִפְּנֵיהֶֽם Al yeirakh… al tir-u, v’al takh-p’zu, v’al ta-artzu – don’t don’t don’t don’t! The word for “don’t” – אַל al – with a slight vowel change, can also means both “to” (אֶל el) and “God” (אֵל El). The hint is that when we dissolve our fear by bringing our awareness to (אֶל el) the fear, that awareness is actually God’s awareness (אֵל El); the duality of bringing “my awareness” אֶל el (to) the feeling, dissolves into the Oneness of אֵל El, the Oneness of God. The Divine Oneness is ever-present as the own “light” of our own awareness. When strong emotions threaten to pull us into contractedness, into “hiding” from ourselves, our deliberate Presence With the the truth of our experience is the ever-available remedy. This practice of Presence With is represented by the letter ח het, which is also the letter for this month of Elul. As it says in the psalm for this month, Psalm 27: אוֹרִ֣י וְ֭יִשְׁעִי מִמִּ֣י אִירָ֑א יְהֹוָ֥ה מָעוֹז־חַ֝יַּ֗י מִמִּ֥י אֶפְחָֽד׃ יְהֹוָ֤ה The Divine is my Light and my Salvation, whom shall I fear? The Divine is my living essence; whom shall I dread? מְרֵעִים֮ לֶאֱכֹ֢ל אֶת־בְּשָׂ֫רִ֥י צָרַ֣י וְאֹיְבַ֣י לִ֑י הֵ֖מָּה כָשְׁל֣וּ וְנָפָֽלוּ׃ בִּקְרֹ֤ב עָלַ֨י When aggressiveness approaches to devour my flesh, tormentors and foes against me, it is they who stumble and fall… - Psalm 27:1, 2 That is, through our recognition of the Divine power of awareness, they “fall” back into the Oneness from which they arise. The shape of the letter Het חis כְּנֶ֙שֶׁר֙ יָעִ֣יר קִנֹּ֔ו עַל־גֹּוזָלָ֖יו – “…like an eagle rousing its nest, hovering over its eaglets” (Devarim [Deuteronomy] 32:11), suggesting the practice of Presence With, of “hovering” over whatever we are feeling, neither trying to escape nor trying to change it; this is meditation. Meditation is the practice of radical acceptance, of Being With What Is. It leads to the recognition of ourselves as awareness, which is our essential life, hinted by the word for Life that begins with ח Het: חַיִים Hayim.
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Torah of Awakening: Parshat Re'eh
Parshah Summary – P’shat
Parshat Re’eh, which means “see,” opens with Moses’ admonishment: “Blessing and curse are before you; choose blessing!” He then reminds them of a ceremony in which the litany of blessings promised to them if they follow the Torah should be proclaimed publicly on Mount Gerizim, and the curses for not doing so on Mount Ebal. Instructions are then given for establishing a Temple, the only place that offerings are to be brought. And while it is permitted to slaughter animals anywhere for meat, the blood may not be eaten. The people are then warned against false prophets, and the identifying signs for kosher animals and fish, along with the list of non-kosher birds (first given in Leviticus 11), are repeated. Moses then reviews tithing of a tenth of the produce, which must be eaten in Jerusalem. In certain years this tithe is instead given to the poor. (This is one of the origins of today’s Jewish practice of self-tithing a tenth of our livelihood for the poor.) Moses then reviews the mitzvah of tzedakah (charity), the obligation to lift up anyone in the community who becomes needy with a gift or a loan. Furthermore, on the Sabbatical year (occurring seven years), all loans are forgiven, and all indentured servants are set free after six years of service. The parshah concludes with the laws of the three pilgrimage festivals – Pesakh (Passover), Shavuot and Sukkot.
Torah of Awakening | Jewish Meditation Teaching
רְאֵ֗ה אָנֹכִ֛י נֹתֵ֥ן לִפְנֵיכֶ֖ם הַיּ֑וֹם בְּרָכָ֖ה וּקְלָלָֽה׃ “See – I place before you today blessing and curse!” - Devarim (Deuteronomy) 11:26, Parshat Re’eh
There was once a farmer named Moishe, who owned many horses. But, after a series of unfortunate incidents, he lost all of his animals except for one old horse. Then, one day, even his last horse escaped, leaving Moishe with nothing. The villagers came to console him: “Oy Moishe, we are so sorry. What great sin could you have committed to bring this curse upon yourself?” Moishe replied, “Maybe curse, maybe blessing. We don’t know.”
Later that week, just before Shabbos, the horse returned – with an entire herd of wild horses! Moishe’s son was able to move all the wild horses into their fenced field. Instantly, Moishe was a rich man. The villagers returned: “Oy Moishe! What a blessing! Surely you have done some great mitzvah to deserve such a reward!” Moishe just said, “Maybe a blessing, maybe a curse! Who knows?” After Shabbos, Moishe’s son began the task of breaking in the wild horses. While he was working a particularly feisty one, he was thrown and broke his leg. Again, the villagers came: “Oy Moishe, I guess those horses were not such a blessing after all! Now your only son is worthless! How will you get any work done? How could you have brought such a curse upon yourself?” Moishe simply replied, “Well, we really don’t know… maybe it’s a curse, maybe it’s a blessing.” The next day, some Russian soldiers came through the village, drafting all the young Jewish men into the army. But, Moishe’s son was spared on account of his broken leg. Again, the villagers came – “Oy Moishe! Hashem has surely blessed you by causing your son to break his leg!” Where does it end? Of course, we must judge things when necessary. But the humor of the story is the unconscious impulse of the villagers to constantly judge everything that happens, rather than accepting life as it comes. If we are compulsively dragged around by the shifting judgements of our minds, automatically proclaiming everything as either a blessing or a curse, isn’t that itself a curse? הַיּ֑וֹם בְּרָכָ֖ה וּקְלָלָֽה – Today, blessing and curse! In other words, “today” – meaning now – there is the potential for either blessing or curse. How to choose the blessing? אֶֽת־הַבְּרָכָ֑ה אֲשֶׁ֣ר תִּשְׁמְע֗וּ אֶל־מִצְוֺת֙ – The blessing, that you listen to the commandments… On the plain, p’shat level, Moses is simply telling them to follow the commandments so that they can choose blessing. But we can discover a deeper level if we look at the different meanings of the word מִצְוֺת֙ mitzvot, “commandments.” First, this moment in which we find ourselves is itself a “commandment.” Meaning, it is what it is. It has authority. We surrender to this moment or we struggle in vain; this moment has already become what it is. How do we surrender? This brings us to the second meaning of mitzvah, that of “connection” rather than commandment: בֶּן עַזַּאי אוֹמֵר, הֱוֵי רָץ לְמִצְוָה קַלָּה כְבַחֲמוּרָה, וּבוֹרֵחַ מִן הָעֲבֵרָה. שֶׁמִּצְוָה גּוֹרֶרֶת מִצְוָה, וַעֲבֵרָה גוֹרֶרֶת עֲבֵרָה. שֶׁשְּׂכַר מִצְוָה, מִצְוָה. וּשְׂכַר עֲבֵרָה, עֲבֵרָה: Ben Azzai said: Be quick in performing a minor commandment just as a major one, and flee from transgression; for a commandment leads to another commandment, and transgression leads to another transgression; For the reward for performing a commandment is another commandment and the “reward” for committing a transgression is a transgression. - Pirkei Avot 4:2 And the Hasidic master, Rabbi Menachem Nachum of Chernobyl wrote in his Me-or Einayim (“Light of the Eyes,” mid-18th century): אמרו רז״ל: שׂכר מצוה – מצוה. רצונם לומר, שהשם יתברך נתן לנו המצות כדי להידבק על ידיהם בהשם יתברך. וזהו “שכר מצוה – מצוה”, לשון צוותא, דהיינו שנדבק על ידי המצות בהשם יתברך, ואין לך שׂכר גדול מזה: Our Rabbis said: ‘The reward for a mitzvah is a mitzvah.’ This means that the God gave us the commandments so that we might cleave to the Holy Blessed One through them. Thus, the reward for a mitzvah is the mitzvah itself—in the sense of (the similar Aramaic word) tzavta, which means “connection,” hinting that through the mitzvot, one “connects” to the Divine, and there is no greater reward than that… Rabbi Menachem Nachum points out that mitzvah is related to the Aramaic word tzavta which means not “to command,” but “to connect.” And what is the basic means through which we connect with another being? אֲשֶׁ֣ר תִּשְׁמְע֗וּ – that you listen… We connect by listening – as when someone is speaking, we affirm our connection by telling them, “I hear you.” In this way, the verse is telling us: if we want to connect (tzavta) with the “command” of this moment, we must listen – that is, we must be present; this is meditation. הַבְּרָכָ֑ה אֲשֶׁ֣ר תִּשְׁמְע֗וּ – The blessing, that you listen… In other words, if we want blessing and not curse, we must connect with command of this moment – be present with what is, regardless of whether it seems like a blessing or a curse on the surface. Accept the blessing and the curse; that’s the blessing. Prefer the blessing and not the curse – that’s the curse! רְאֵ֗ה...בְּרָכָ֖ה וּקְלָלָֽה – See…blessing and curse!” But in order to do that, we first have to be aware of our situation; we have to see. So while the sense of “hearing” is a metaphor for connecting, the sense of “seeing” is a metaphor for understanding, as in when we “see” that something is the case: “Oh, I see.” Our tendency, however, is to be like the villagers, stuck in the curse of the automatic, unconscious impulse to judge things as either blessings or curses. To go beyond that, we need to see that impulse within, and choose instead to simply listen to the fullness of how it is, without judging, like the wise farmer. And this is the one judgement we should make – the judging of the judge. When we do that, we free ourselves from the mitzrayim (Egypt, narrowness) of the compulsively judging mind. Then, we can respond to each moment as it is, without the excess drama. And this brings us to the third meaning of mitzvot – the plain meaning as God’s “commandments” to us. When we see our own impulses, get free from them, and listen attentively to the fullness of what is now, then we can recognize that we are not something separate from that Fullness; there is One Reality, and we can choose to align our actions can with that Oneness. We can choose to live, imperfectly yet ever-returning, in service of the Whole, through the two core mitzvot: וְאָהַבְתָּ לְרֵעֲךָ כָּמוֹךָ V’ahavtah l’rei-akha kamokha ~ “Love your neighbor as yourself.” This is not merely a mitzvah to have a certain feeling, but to live in communal responsibility toward others: giving of tzedakah (charity), hospitality, visiting the sick, and the many other mitzvot of service. וְאָהַבְתָּ אֵת יְה–וָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ V’ahavtah et Adonai Elokekhah ~ “Love Hashem, your (own, inner) Divinity.” This is not merely a mitzvah to have a certain feeling, but to express love of the Divine through the concrete forms of avodah: prayers and blessings, Shabbat and festivals, Torah study, and the many other mitzvot of Jewish practice. Then, our actions can truly be, however imperfectly yet ever-returning, expressions of God in the world; that is both our true nature and infinitely unfolding potential: to accept how Reality unfolds, and respond with wisdom and love, bringing forth Its potential beauty and harmony, moment by moment.
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Parshah Summary – P’shat
The third parshah of Sefer Devarim continues with Moses’ closing address to the Children of Israel, promising them that if (Eikev) they will fulfill the mitzvot, they will prosper in the Land – a “good land, a land with streams and springs and fountains issuing from plain and hill; a land of wheat and barley, of vines, figs, and pomegranates, a land of olive trees and honey…”
Moses also rebukes them for their failings in their first generation as a people, recalling their worship of the Golden Calf, the rebellion of Korakh and the sin of the spies. But he also speaks of forgiveness and the Second Tablets, instructing them in the core principles of “circumcising the heart,” and the mitzvah to “love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt.” Moses explains that their forty years in the desert, during which they were sustained with daily “manna” from heaven, was to teach them “that a human being does not live by bread alone, but by all that emanates from God’s mouth does a person live!” Moses describes the land they are about to enter as “flowing with milk and honey,” blessed with the “seven species” – wheat, barley, grapevines, figs, pomegranates, olive oil and dates. He warns them to be aware, lest they become arrogant and begin to believe of themselves that “my power and the might of my hand have gotten me this wealth…”
Torah of Awakening
וְהָיָ֣ה עֵ֣קֶב תִּשְׁמְע֗וּן אֵ֤ת הַמִּשְׁפָּטִים֙ הָאֵ֔לֶּה וּשְׁמַרְתֶּ֥ם וַעֲשִׂיתֶ֖ם אֹתָ֑ם וְשָׁמַר֩ יְהֹ-וָ֨ה אֱלֹ-הֶ֜יךָ לְךָ֗ אֶֽת־הַבְּרִית֙ וְאֶת־הַחֶ֔סֶד אֲשֶׁ֥ר נִשְׁבַּ֖ע לַאֲבֹתֶֽיךָ׃ And it will be if you listen to these discernments and guard them and do them, then Hashem your God will guard for you the covenant and the kindness which was sworn to your ancestors… - Devarim (Deuteronomy) 7:12 Parshat Eikev
Part of the purpose of meditation is to get free from negative thinking. But, there are times when our view of Reality is distorted by positive thinking; for example, when you hear the word, “Nature” – what comes to mind? Most likely, a beautiful forest, a beach, a sunset over the mountains. Probably not the smell of rotting food…but this is too is nature! And yet, we don’t think of stinky, rotting food because, for most of us, it doesn’t invoke that sense of awe and spaciousness that we associate with nature.
And yet, if we bring to mind the inner intelligence of the natural cycles and the roles that microorganisms play as we encounter the stinky rotten food, something shifts. The unpleasant smell is still there, but it lives in a greater context; we can still have that element of awe and reverence, if we remember to evoke it. The same is true of the sacred. When we think of the sacred, an image of burning candles or holy texts may come to mind, because those things help evoke a sense of the sacred. But the sacred is simply the dimension of Being-ness that everything participates in; the sacred is ever-present. Just as in the nature example, we can know this for ourselves, if we remember to become present, to bring ourselves into connection with present Reality, and hence with the Presence that infuses all things. There was once a king who decided to test his subjects, so he had all the riches of his palace brought out into a huge field, while he sat on a raised throne in the center. He invited everyone in the kingdom to come and pick one thing to take for themselves. Droves of people came and wandered around anxiously, trying to decide what to choose. Then, a little old woman made her way through the field and up to the king. “Is it true that we can take anything in the field?” she asked the king. “Yes,” he replied, “everything in this field is available. You just have to decide which one to choose.” “In that case,” said the old woman, “I choose you!” This is our task – to not be distracted by all the seductive things, experiences, or thoughts and feelings that are constantly coming and going, but to see through them all to the underlying Reality – to “choose the King,” so to speak. The message is: all the forms we perceive, all objects, all beings, all perceptions, all feelings, all thoughts – all of it – all are forms of the same One Reality that we call the Divine. The Divine is not remote; it is not somewhere other than Here. All we need do is remember and choose It. וְהָיָ֣ה עֵ֣קֶב תִּשְׁמְע֗וּן אֵ֤ת הַמִּשְׁפָּטִים֙ הָאֵ֔לֶּה... And it will be if you listen to these Mishpatim, ethical principles… At first glance, this verse, with its use of the word mishpatim, seems to be saying the opposite. Mishpatim are ethical laws, grounded in the perspective that there is good and bad, right and wrong – which is in contrast to seeing the Divine in all things, transcending good and bad, going beyond right and wrong. And yet, on a deeper level, there is a hint in this verse of the non-dual, of the realization of the Divine that permeates everything, beyond good and bad: וְהָיָ֣ה עֵ֣קֶב תִּשְׁמְע֗וּן – It will be if you listen… The word עֵקֶב Eikev literally means “heel.” In this context it is understood to mean the word “if,” in the sense of one thing “following on the heels” of another thing, if. The word וְהָיָ֣ה v’hayah means “it will be,” but it is also the same letters as the Divine Name, in a different order: יה – וה yod hei and vav hei. The idea here is that in order for us to realize the underlying Divinity of everything, then even our heels, the bottom and most insensitive parts of the body, must become sensitive to the Divinity that permeates all things. There is a hint in the word Eikev itself: ayin, koof, bet. Ayin means “eye” and indicates seeing, meaning perception. Koof represents kedushah, meaning “the sacred.” Bet is bayit, meaning “house,” indicating form. Thus, within the word Eikev itself is encoded the practice of “seeing” through to the “sacred” dimension which is “housed” in all things. How do we do that? וְהָיָ֣ה עֵ֣קֶב תִּשְׁמְע֗וּן “The Divine is realized by the heel that listens…” In other words, bring awareness into the senses. The s’firah of Presence in form, the Divinity that infuses all things, is called Malkhut, which means “Kingdom” – the tenth s’firah of the Tree of Life. “Kingdom” may have a masculine sound to it, but it’s meaning is actually Sh’khinah, a feminine word which means the Divine Presence, and has been pictured over the centuries as a queen, as a bride, and as a maiden. In this spirit, Malkhut also represents receptivity, as it receives the influx of Divine energy from the other nine sefirot. The message is: all the forms we perceive, all objects, all beings, all perceptions, all feelings, all thoughts – all of it – all are forms of the same One Reality that we call the Divine. The Divine is not remote; it is not “somewhere” other than Here. All we need do is remember and receive It.
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Parshah Summary – P’shat
This second parshah of Sefer Devarim continues with Moses’ monologue to the Children of Israel on the banks of the Jordan. He opens with how he prayed to enter the Promised Land along with them, but instead he was told he must climb a mountain and view the Land from afar before he dies. He then continues telling the story of the Exodus from Egypt and their receiving of the Torah at Sinai, followed by the prophesy that future generations will abandon the Path for “false gods,” leading to the exile and their being scattered among the nations. But, from their exile they will once again seek the Divine and return.
Torah of Awakening | Jewish Meditation Teaching
וָאֶתְחַנַּ֖ן אֶל־יְהֹ–וָ֑ה בָּעֵ֥ת הַהִ֖וא לֵאמֹֽר׃ ...אֲדֹנָ֣י יֱהֹ–וִ֗ה אַתָּ֤ה הַֽחִלּ֙וֹתָ֙ לְהַרְא֣וֹת אֶֽת־עַבְדְּךָ֔ אֶ֨ת־גׇּדְלְךָ֔ “I pleaded with Hashem at that time, saying, ‘My Lord, Hashem, You have begun to show Your servant Your Greatness…’” - Devarim (Deuteronomy) 3:23, 24 Parshat Va’Etkhanan
A disciple of Rabbi Yitzhak Meir of Ger came to the rebbe with a complaint: “I’ve been trying for twenty years, and still I don’t feel like I’m getting anywhere! If a craftsman practiced their craft for twenty years, they would either be much better at their craft, or at the very least they would be able to do it much more quickly. But with me, I’ve been praying and praying, and I don’t feel any closer than when I began.”
“It is taught in Elijah’s name,” replied the rebbe, “that a person should take Torah upon themselves as an ox takes the yoke. You see, the ox leaves its stall in the morning, goes to the field, plows, and his led back home. This happens day after day. Nothing changes with regard to the ox, but the ploughed field bears the harvest.” What does this story mean? Obviously, the ox is a metaphor for the disciple – and therefore for us. But, the field is also a metaphor for the disciple, otherwise it would be irrelevant. What is this “field” aspect of our being that “bears the harvest” in response to our practice, and yet we may not necessarily be aware of it? There is a hint in the parshah: וָאֶתְחַנַּ֖ן אֶל־יְה–וָ֑ה בָּעֵ֥ת הַהִ֖וא לֵאמֹֽר׃ – I pleaded with the Divine at that time, speaking… Moses is pleading with Hashem to let him enter the “land.” Like the hasid who complained to his rebbe, Moses is saying, “I’ve been leading this people toward the land for forty years – please let me at least enter along with them!” The “land” is a metaphor – in relation to our spiritual path, it represents the fruit of the practice – that sense of coming home to Oneness, of finally “arriving.” This verse, then, is actually an instruction – when we feel the angst of life, when we feel like an ox that goes on day after day with the same old routine, we too must not hold back and cry out in prayer. But then, listen for the Divine response: רַב־לָ֔ךְ אַל־תּ֗וֹסֶף דַּבֵּ֥ר אֵלַ֛י ע֖וֹד בַּדָּבָ֥ר הַזֶּֽה׃ “Too much of you! Do not increase your words to me about this thing!” That separate self-sense, the “me” that thinks and speaks and acts, is the “ox.” The truth is, the ox will always be an ox. At some point, we need to give up on all this “me” – רַב־לָךְ Rav lakh! Too much of you! – and discover the aspect of our being that is silence – אַל־תּוֹסֶף דַּבֵּר Al tosef daber! Do not increase your words! In that silence we can discover the other aspect of our being – the deep, vast, boundless “field.” This is not to deny or devalue the “ox” in any way; we need the ox. We need to do things, to organize our lives. We even need the ox just to set aside the time for meditation. But just as the ox cannot become the field, just as Moses cannot enter the land but must die outside the land, so too we must let go of this self-ness and recognize the aspect of ourselves that is beyond the ox. The truth is, on the deepest level, we already are the field… ...עֲלֵ֣ה רֹ֣אשׁ הַפִּסְגָּ֗ה וְשָׂ֥א עֵינֶ֛יךָ “Ascend to the top of the cliff and raise up your eyes…” Moses climbs up the cliff and sees the “land” from afar, and there he dies. Similarly, we can understand the spiritual goal with our minds, we can understand the concept of enlightenment, but that is only a “seeing from afar.” To truly enter the “land,” we must discover what is beyond the ox-self. Alei rosh – “elevate the head” – recognize that beneath all the content, you are simple awareness, totally transcendent of your thoughts, feelings, and experiences. How do you do that? V’sa einekha – “raise up your eyes” – see whatever is arising in your awareness, right now; be the transcendent space within which this moment unfolds. In this way, prayer leads to silence, and you can make that shift from being the “ox” to being the “field” – the vast field of silent Presence, beneath the thoughts, beneath the words. A rabbi once asked Menachem Mendel of Vorki, “Where did you learn the art of silence?” Menachem Mendel was about to respond, but then he changed his mind and said nothing. This practice of silent seeing is represented by the letter ע ayin. The word “ayin” means “eye”—like the physical eye that sees the world, but on a deeper level, it is awareness itself – the awareness that sees, that hears, that feels; the space of consciousness within which all experience arises. The Zohar teaches that, while God is hidden, God longs to be sought. Just as a child plays hide-and-seek for the sake of being found, the Sacred waits patiently for our seeking. The tricky part is that we don’t find God by seeking outwardly, but by our awareness becoming aware of itself – aware of its own Divinity…
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Parshah Summary – P’shat
The fifth and final book of the Torah opens with Moses beginning his final address of the Torah to the Children of Israel, who are all assembled on the bank of the Jordan river. He begins by recounting the events and teachings that were given in the course of their forty-year journey from Egypt, to Sinai, to the Promised Land, both rebuking them for their failings and encouraging them to remain faithful to the path set before them. In the course of the parshah, Moses recalls his appointment of judges and leaders to decide cases of justice and teach them Torah; the journey from Sinai through the desert; the sending of the spies and the people’s recoiling from entering the Land, leading to that entire generation dying out in the desert.
Also recounted are more recent events: the refusal of the nations of Mo-av and Ammon to allow the Israelites to pass through their countries; the wars against the Emorite kings Sikhon and Og, and the settlement of their lands by the tribes of Reuven and Gad and part of the tribe of Manasheh; and Moses’ message to his successor, Joshua, who will take over Moses’ leadership after his death.
Torah of Awakening | Jewish Meditation Teaching
...אֵ֣לֶּה הַדְּבָרִ֗ים אֲשֶׁ֨ר דִּבֶּ֤ר מֹשֶׁה֙ אֶל־כל־יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל These are the words that Moses spoke to all Israel… -D’varim (Deuteronomy) 1:1, Parshat D’varim
Once there was a scorpion who was looking for a way to get to the other side of a river. As he searched up and down the banks, he came upon a fox who was about to swim across. “Please let me swim on your back!” implored the scorpion. “No way!” replied the fox, “You’ll sting me!” “Why would I do that?” argued the scorpion, “If I stung you, we would both drown.” After thinking about it, the fox agreed. The scorpion climbed up on his back, and the fox began to swim across. But, when they were about half way across the river, the scorpion stung the fox. As the poison began its work, the fox started to sink. “Why did you do it?” said the fox, “Now we’ll both drown!” “I couldn’t help myself,” said the scorpion, “It’s my nature.”
אֵ֣לֶּה הַדְּבָרִ֗ים... – These are the words… Moses speaks his final words to the Children of Israel before he dies. They too stand by a river, preparing to cross, and he reminds them of their journeys up to that point. He begins by recounting the highest moment, when they stood at Mt. Sinai and received the revelation. And yet, as sublime as Sinai was, Moses reminds them of God’s command not to stay there: רַב־לָכֶ֥ם שֶׁ֖בֶת בָּהָ֥ר הַזֶּֽה׃ – “It is too much already for you to still be dwelling by this mountain!” In other words, don’t be the scorpion – life is change – don’t resist. The words of God are urging you to move on, to free yourself from the comfortable. The world is turning; you must turn with it. פְּנ֣וּ וּסְע֣וּ לָכֶ֗ם – Turn and journey for yourselves! The journey is actually “for yourselves” – meaning, it is for your own well-being that you must not cling to comfort and the avoidance of pain. וּבֹ֨אוּ הַ֥ר הָֽאֱמֹרִי֮ – Come to the mountain of the Amorites… The tribe of the Amorites – Emori אֱמֹרִי – has the same letters as the verb “to speak” – אמר aleph-mem-reish. The hint here is that you must leave the “mountain” where you hear the word of God, so that you can come to a new mountain, where there will be new words; don’t cling to the old words… בָּעֲרָבָה – in the plain… But, sometimes the new “words” will not be the ecstasy of a “mountain” experience; there will also the עֲרָבָה aravah, the “plain” – the daily work of life, a mixture (עֵרֶב erev) of many ordinary experiences. וּבַשְּׁפֵלָה – in the lowland… Then there is the שְּׁפֵלָה sh’felah – the “lowland” – times of sadness, of tragedy, of failure, of loss – all part of God’s “speech” to us. These times are medicine for the distortions of ego… וּבַנֶּ֖גֶב – in the desert… Then there is the נֶּגֶב negev – the “desert” – times when your life and work don’t seem to be yielding anything good, but we must persevere through these stretches. These times train us to stay focused and true to our path… וּבְח֣וֹף הַיָּ֑ם – and on the seacoast… Then there is the חוֹף הַיָּם hof hayam – the “seacoast” – like when the Children of Israel stood at the Sea of Reeds, with the Egyptian army behind them. These are times when our path involves risk, when we are tempted to fear and despair. This is training for the supreme quality of Trust, to take the leap into the unknown… עַד־הַנָּהָ֥ר הַגָּדֹ֖ל – as far as the Great River… The Great River is at the end of the journey, because if you can learn to work with life in all of its manifestations, you will see: Life itself is the Great River. God incarnates as your mind and your body, for just a brief time, to take a journey on this Great River. If we wish to flow with it, we need to be attentive to what life is telling us, to the words God is speaking to us. This is the Path of the letter ש Shin, the letter of Sh’ma, of deep listening. It is also the letter of fire: the fire of meditation, the fire of Presence.
Read past teachings on Devarim HERE
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