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.
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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!!
Rabbi Moshe Leib of Sasov was known for his extreme empathy. He said that he had learned this from a conversation he overheard between two peasants, while staying at an inn. They were drinking in silence, when one turned to the other and said, “Do you love me?”
“Of course I love you!” his companion replied. “You say that you love me,” said the first peasant, “but you don’t know what I need. If you truly loved me, you would know.” The second peasant was silent, not knowing what to say, but Rabbi Moshe knew. From that time onward he would say, “To truly love someone is to bear the burden of their sorrow.” This teaching is not about a supernatural ability to read minds, but the power of sustained presence in relation to others; it is a teaching about relationship. This practice of sustained Presence, of staying present with other beings over time, is what allows the gradual blossoming of knowledge of the other, and from that knowledge, empathy. The process requires both patience and attention, a willingness to be with others as they are, not imposing judgement or angling for them to change, but also not fleeing from them in fear or discust or disinterest; it is a balance between these extremes, a state which we could call “hovering.” This act of “hovering” is represented by the Eighteenth Path, the letter ח het. The Eagle In Hebrew calligraphy, het ח is constructed from aו vav and aז zayin making up its two sides, connected by a thin, upside down V on top, pointing upward. This connecting ark represents the act of “hovering,” like an eagle who hovers over its young, neither landing on them – which would crush and kill them – nor fleeing from them – which would leave them helpless and starving, and would also kill them. Rather, the eagle feeds the eaglets from above, connected but not imposing, giving space but not abandoning. The vav ו and theז zayin represent the two extremes between which the act of “hovering” is balanced. Vav ו acts as a prefix, meaning “and,” connecting one concept to another. It thus represents inclusion, saying “yes and” to whomever appears before us. It is a coming close, an affirming of the other, a building of relationship. The ז zayin, on the other hand, is the “sword of liberation,” severing attachment to wanting to control or manipulate our experience by controlling and manipulating others. Between these two exptremes, between affirming and letting go, is the path of het ח. Loving the Strange Thus, het is a transformative path. In staying present with others, a connection is forged. We begin by beholding someone that may seem alien and strange, but over time, we can come to understand them from the inside; we can come to feel what they feel. This is the cultivation of a love that is not a given, not something we are born into; it is a going beyond our boundaries of comfort and opening a wider space in the heart. The Torah says, וְאָֽהַבְתָּ֥ לְרֵעֲךָ֖ כָּמ֑וֹךָ – Ve’ahavtah l’reiakha komakha – Love your neighbor as yourself. That is, regarding those who are close to you, those in your community, don’t become overly focused on your love for yourself, but rather include your family and community in that same love and concern you would have for yourself. But the Torah also says, וַאֲהַבְתֶּ֖ם אֶת־הַגֵּ֑ר – Ahavtem et ha’ger – Love the stranger! That is, the ones who are not part of your circle, the ones who seem alien, different, those you don’t yet understand – come to understand them, come to empathize with them, yes, come to love them. Why? Because this is the bringing forth of our Divine nature; it is living in the realization of our essential identity in which we all partake: וּמַלְתֶּ֕ם אֵ֖ת עָרְלַ֣ת לְבַבְכֶ֑ם וְעָ֨רְפְּכֶ֔ם לֹ֥א תַקְשׁ֖וּ עֽוֹד׃ Cut away the covering from your hearts and stiffen your necks no more. כִּ֚י יְהוָ֣ה אֱלֹֽהֵיכֶ֔ם ה֚וּא אֱלֹהֵ֣י הָֽאֱלֹהִ֔ים וַאֲדֹנֵ֖י הָאֲדֹנִ֑ים הָאֵ֨ל הַגָּדֹ֤ל הַגִּבֹּר֙ וְהַנּוֹרָ֔א אֲשֶׁר֙ לֹא־יִשָּׂ֣א פָנִ֔ים וְלֹ֥א יִקַּ֖ח שֹֽׁחַד׃ For Reality Itself, your own Divinity, is God of gods and Lord of lords, the Great, the Mighty, and the Awesome, who shows no favor and takes no bribe. עֹשֶׂ֛ה מִשְׁפַּ֥ט יָת֖וֹם וְאַלְמָנָ֑ה וְאֹהֵ֣ב גֵּ֔ר לָ֥תֶת ל֖וֹ לֶ֥חֶם וְשִׂמְלָֽה׃ Doer of justice for the orphan and the widow, who loves the stranger, bestowing food and clothing. וַאֲהַבְתֶּ֖ם אֶת־הַגֵּ֑ר כִּֽי־גֵרִ֥ים הֱיִיתֶ֖ם בְּאֶ֥רֶץ מִצְרָֽיִם׃ And you shall love the stranger, for you were strangers in the land of Egypt...
It is because we were “strangers in the land of Egypt” – meaning, it is through remembering how we have felt alienated, through remembering our own pain, that we can access the power of patience and empathy. This is the redemption of pain, the way that our own suffering becomes useful toward greater consciousness and connection with others. All of this is hinted by the ו vav of the ח het, which means closeness, connection, the growing of knowledge of empathy. But there is also a danger in this closeness, the potential for a kind of “codependency,” for our conception of the other becoming trapped in a narrative of distress, of neediness, and victimhood. That’s why we also need the ז zayin. The Toes Once, when I was driving, I saw a man asking for money with a sign that read, “I have three toes – please help.” My heart twinged with compassion, as I retrieved some tzedakah from my wallet and handed it to him through the window. But as I continued driving, I began to reconsider his sign. He needs money because he has three toes? An article I had recently read came to mind about an athelete named Aimee Mullins. She had both legs amputated when she was one year old. But rather than adopt the identity of a less-abled person, she became a star athlete, a model and an inspirational speaker who empowers her listeners to transcend limited thinking and limited identity. This is not to imply in any way that it’s no big deal to lose a part of your body. And of course, I don’t really know whether the man did or didn’t actually have three toes. It is only to bring attention to our tendency to make our pain into a kind of identity, and for that identity to create its own unnecessary limitations. Aimee Mullins may be an extreme example of human potential, but she (and countless others) are showing us a truth: our power lies not in how many toes or legs or anything else we have, but in how free we are in our thoughts. If we narrate our lives in negative terms, seeing ourselves as victims, then that will be the lens through which we live, and that is what will seem to manifest. On the other hand, if we refuse to accept limiting labels, if we refuse to identify with negative stories, is there any fixed limit to what we can accomplish? Again, this is not to belittle anyone’s suffering or belittle the need for justice when people abuse and victimize others – we need the ו vav. It is only to balance the ו vav with the ז zayin. Empathize, love, and support others – but beware of the unconscious need to see others as “hurt” or “weak” or “victims.” Don’t hold anyone – yourself or others – in that limited view; truly, our Divine potential is endless. Parshat Sh’mini This parshah narrates the climax of the inauguration ceremony for the priests. After instructing in the various offerings that are to be brought, Moses tells the Israelites: כִּ֣י הַיּ֔וֹם יְהוָ֖ה נִרְאָ֥ה אֲלֵיכֶֽם Hayom Hashem nir’ah aleikhem – Today the Divine will appear to you!
וַיִּשָּׂ֨א אַהֲרֹ֧ן אֶת־ידו [יָדָ֛יו] אֶל־הָעָ֖ם וַֽיְבָרְכֵ֑ם וַיֵּ֗רֶד מֵעֲשֹׂ֧ת הַֽחַטָּ֛את וְהָעֹלָ֖ה וְהַשְּׁלָמִֽים׃ Aaron lifted his hands toward the people and blessed them; and he descended from the Sin Offering, the Elevation Offering, and the Peace Offering.
How is this “descent” possible? The word for “descent” is יֵּרֶד yered, composed of the letters י yod, ר reish, and ד dalet. י Yod, the smallest of the letters, has almost no form. It is the beginning of writing any letter, a single dot from which the form of each letter proceeds. Thus, it represents simplicity, particularly the simplicity sensory awareness, of Presence in action, of sensing and feeling rather than the complex elaboration of thinking. ר Reish is reisheet hokhmah, the “beginning of wisdom” – meaning, recognizing that most of Reality is far beyond what the mind can understand. Particularly, in relation to Presence with others, it reminds us that the person standing before us is a mystery; we don’t understand them yet. ד Dalet is “door” – the recognition that, as we connect with another and engage in the transformational process of relationship, we are entering a doorway beyond the known, opening to the Grace that becomes available when we are willing to walk through that door together. All of this becomes possible through the three “offerings” that Aaron makes before “descending.” These offerings are the kavanot, the attitudes that allow the process of het to unfold and the Divine potential to manifest. The first is הַֽחַטָּאת Hahatat, the “Sin Offering,” hinting that coming into Presence with another may require more than letting go of thought; it may also entail a conscious attitude of forgiveness of the other, if there is residual negativity from the past. The second is הָעֹלָה HaOlah, the “Elevation Offering,” hinting that in order to forgive and fully “descend” out of our heads and open to another, we need to know that we are fully safe. This is not the kind of safety that comes from the belief that the other won’t do anything we don’t like; it is the knowledge that we are safe because we are not merely the person with this or that opinion, memory, preconception, or wound; we are, in fact, transcendent consciousness – within but infinitely beyond all those elements that make up the “me.” We are, in essence, like open space. Finally, there is הַשְּׁלָמִֽים HaShlamim, the “Peace” or “Wholeness Offering,” hinting that the aim of the entire process is the coming into Wholeness with the other. In our own essence, we are always already Whole; that is our deepest reality. But in the world of time, Wholeness must be forged; it comes about when we bring the Wholeness that we are on the deepest level into connection with the brokenness within and before us – which is what happens next in the story… Ecstacy and Agony וַיָּבֹ֨א מֹשֶׁ֤ה וְאַהֲרֹן֙ אֶל־אֹ֣הֶל מוֹעֵ֔ד וַיֵּ֣צְא֔וּ וַֽיְבָרֲכ֖וּ אֶת־הָעָ֑ם וַיֵּרָ֥א כְבוֹד־יְהוָ֖ה אֶל־כָּל־הָעָֽם׃ Moses and Aaron then came to the Tent of Meeting, and they went out and blessed the people; and the k’vod Hashem – the Presence of the Divine – appeared to all the people. (9:23) The rite is fulfilled – the Divine apprears – but then something tragic happens. In the ecstasy of the moment, the high priest Aaron’s two sons, Nadav and Avihu, break ranks and rush forward to offer their own incense. A fire streams forth from the Divine and kills them. Moses tells Aaron that the Divine is sanctified and honored by their death. It then says: וַיִּדֹּ֖ם אַהֲרֹֽן Vayidom Aharon- Aaron was silent. (10:3) What is the meaning here? There is a remarkable Hassidic teaching on this horrific story of the death of Aaron’s two sons: One day, the son-in-law of Reb Shlomo of Radomsk was visiting Reb Menachem Mendel, known as “the Kotsker Rebbe.” The Kotsker asked his guest to please tell some Torah from his saintly father-in-law, to which he replied with this teaching: “When Aaron lost his two sons, the Torah records his praise, saying, ‘Vayidom Aharon- Aaron was silent’ because he was able to accept his extreme loss with equanimity. But King David surpassed him and reached an even higher level, as he says in Psalm 30: לְמַ֤עַן יְזַמֶּרְךָ֣ כָ֭בוֹד וְלֹ֣א יִדֹּ֑ם – L’man y’zamerkha khavod v’lo yidom- ‘So that I may sing of Your glory and not be silent’ – for even in times of great distress, King David would still sing God’s praises!” This teaching, though somewhat extreme, points to the power of the mind to define the way we frame reality. It also hints at the two basic practices crucial for accomplishing this: meditation and prayer. The “silence” of Aaron hints at meditation – that is, transcending our thoughts and feelings and knowing ourselves as the open field of consciousness, the open and radiant space of awareness, beyond the personal sense of self. The “praise” of David indicates prayer – that is, the crying out from the depths of the personal self. These two basic practices together – meditation and prayer – are the also theז zayin and the vav ו, liberation and connection, the power of het to bring heaven down to earth through Presence with others as they are – the Wholeness of transcendence meeting the brokenness of the personal. Sh’mini means “Eighth,” refering to the eighth day of the ceremony described. The number eight also symbolizes infinity, both in its Arabic shape and in its Hebrew meaning as the number that is beyond seven, which is the number of the finite, represented by the “seven days of creation.” As infinity, sh’mini represents the Divine, which is called Ayn Sof – literally, “there is no limitation.” Thus, we can read that the Infinite appears to the Israelites on the “Day of Infinity.” And when is this “Day of Infinity,” as it applies to each of us? הַיּ֔וֹם יְהוָ֖ה נִרְאָ֥ה אֲלֵיכֶֽם – Hayom Hashem nir’ah aleikhem Today the Divine will appear to you! Today, of course, means now – this moment in which we meet whatever now appears to us. Sometimes the moment appears familiar, beautiful, peaceful – but other times, it appears as strange, alien, or even threatening. In such times, there can be a possibility that comes to us by Grace, a possibility for וַאֲהַבְתֶּ֖ם אֶת־הַגֵּ֑ר ahavtem et ha’ger, for loving the stranger – a possibility that can be fulfilled through the practice of sustained Presence with others; this is the path of het ח.
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Love of the Moment – Parshat Sh'mini
4/13/2020 0 Comments Before Rabbi Dov Baer, (the Maggid of Metzrich) was well known, he lived with his wife and baby in deep poverty. They tried their best to keep mom nourished enough so that there would be milk in her breasts for the baby, but the day came that the baby couldn’t get any milk at all. The baby was hungry, but she was so weak that she was even unable to cry. The Maggid could no longer take it, and for a moment he lost his equanimity and cried out in anguish. Instantly a voice came from heaven and proclaimed that because he had complained, he had now lost his share in the World to Come. The Maggid smiled and said to himself, “Oh good – now that reward has been done away with, I can finally serve Hashem for its own sake!” Religion often paints a picture of the spirituality as a place of arrival in time; if we are true to the path, we will eventually come to the spiritual fruit, whether we call that fruit Olam Haba – The World to Come, or Enlightenment, or Awakening, Peace, or anything else. But the true Peace, the true arrival into Divine consciousness, is actually the dropping away of projecting ourselves in time and arriving into the present. הוּא אֱלהֵינוּ אֵין עוד Hu Eloheinu Ayn Od! Existence is our own Divinity, there is nothing else! This verse from the Aleinu prayer is telling us: Hu – that is, Existence as it presents itself in this moment, is Eloheinu – it is the Divine we seek, is it the ever-present fruit and goal, wholly available when we arrive into the abundance and fullness of this moment. There is a hint in the parsha: כִּ֣י הַיּ֔וֹם יְהוָ֖ה נִרְאָ֥ה אֲלֵיכֶֽם Because today the Divine will appear to you! (Leviticus 9:4) That is, the Divine appears ki hayom – because we open to the today. How do we do that? Simply by letting go of the idea that what we seek is in time, and instead (re)turning attention to what is present, to hayom. Let go of the restless movement of the mind, ki hayom Hashem Nir’ah– because That which we seek is already appearing, if we would stop looking elsewhere for It. In this week of Hesed/Lovingkindness, the time of counting of the seven weeks between Pesakh and Shavuot, the holidays of Liberation and Revelation, may we receive this supreme gift that frees us and reveals the Divine Presence ever shining from the silent depths of awareness… Just a Spoonful of Honey – Parshat Sh'mini 3/26/2019 0 Comments We know that we must remember to take time for ourselves; if we go on and on serving others only, we will burn out. But when it comes to meditation, taking time for yourself is also an essential service to others. That’s because no matter what you do, the quality of presence that you bring to your actions will have a deep effect on others around you. There’s a story of that some of Reb Simcha Bunam’s disciples decided to feast together and engage in Torah learning and spiritual conversation. When Reb Simcha observed them in their feast, he noticed there was a slight air of tightness and over-seriousness among them. “Let me tell you a story” said the rabbi. “Once there was a businessman who wanted to find a new enterprise that would be lucrative. He researched and discovered that making and selling mead would be very profitable, so he set off to a neighboring city and found a master mead maker to train him. “The businessman spent months learning the craft, and when he was thoroughly trained, he headed back to his home, brewed up his first batch, and invited many people from the town to come to his mead-tasting party. But, when the guests tried it, they winced in disgust. ‘What, you don’t like it? How could that be?’ said the businessman. “So, he headed back to the city and demanded a refund from the mead maker. ‘Did you do exactly as I taught you?’ the mead maker asked. ‘Yes of course.’ They went over each step carefully, and confirmed that the businessman had done everything correctly. ‘And of course, you added the honey, right?’ asked the mead maker. “‘Honey? No – you didn’t tell me that.’ “‘You fool! You mean I have to tell you to add honey??’” No matter how detailed and precise our service in the world is, it will be bitter if we don’t do it with good heartedness – we have to “add the honey.” This is so obvious, and yet many people feel guilty taking the time they need for meditation, learning, prayer and so on. אָמַר לָהֶם, צְאוּ וּרְאוּ אֵיזוֹהִי דֶרֶךְ יְשָׁרָה שֶׁיִּדְבַּק בָּהּ הָאָדָם. רַבִּי אֱלִיעֶזֶר אוֹמֵר, עַיִן טוֹבָה. רַבִּי יְהוֹשֻׁעַ אוֹמֵר, חָבֵר טוֹב. רַבִּי יוֹסֵי אוֹמֵר, שָׁכֵן טוֹב. רַבִּי שִׁמְעוֹן אוֹמֵר, הָרוֹאֶה אֶת הַנּוֹלָד. רַבִּי אֶלְעָזָר אוֹמֵר, לֵב טוֹב. אָמַר לָהֶם, רוֹאֶה אֲנִי אֶת דִּבְרֵי אֶלְעָזָר בֶּן עֲרָךְ מִדִּבְרֵיכֶם, שֶׁבִּכְלָל דְּבָרָיו דִּבְרֵיכֶם. He said to them: Go out and see what is the straight path that a person should cling to. Rabbi Eliezer says: A good eye. Rabbi Yehoshua says: A good friend. Rabbi Yosi says: A good neighbor. Rabbi Shimon says: Seeing the consequences of one’s actions. Rabbi Elazar says: A good heart. He said to them: I see the words of Rabbi Elazar ben Arakh as better than all of yours, because your words are included in his. -Pirkei Avot 2:8 Cultivating a “good heart,” that is, a conscious heart, is foundational for being of service in the world. There is a hint in this week’s reading: וַיֹּ֨אמֶר מֹשֶׁ֜ה אֶֽל־אַהֲרֹ֗ן קְרַ֤ב אֶל־הַמִּזְבֵּ֙חַ֙ וַעֲשֵׂ֞ה אֶת־חַטָּֽאתְךָ֙ וְאֶת־עֹ֣לָתֶ֔ךָ וְכַפֵּ֥ר בַּֽעַדְךָ֖ וּבְעַ֣ד הָעָ֑ם וַעֲשֵׂ֞ה אֶת־קָרְבַּ֤ן הָעָם֙ וְכַפֵּ֣ר בַּֽעֲדָ֔ם כַּאֲשֶׁ֖ר צִוָּ֥ה יְהוָֽה׃ Moses said to Aaron: “Come to the altar and sacrifice your sin offering and your burnt offering, atoning for yourself and for the people; and then make the offering for the people and atone for them, as the Divine has commanded… Strange – it should have said, “atoning for yourself” and then “atone for them,” but instead it says, “atoning for yourself and the people,” and then “atone for them.” The people get “atoned” for twice – because when you work on yourself, you are also serving others by doing so. Then, only after you have worked on yourself, “atone for them” – meaning, go out and serve in the world with a purified heart… Drinking from the Well - Parshat Sh'mini 4/11/2018 1 Comment A disciple of the Seer of Lublin was fasting "from Sabbath to Sabbath." Late Friday afternoon, he came to a well, and became so overcome with thirst that he thought he might die. So, he broke down and was about to draw some water to drink. Suddenly he realized- "Wait! If I drink now, I will have nullified the whole week of fasting! I can wait one more hour until Shabbos!" So he left the well, despite his intense thirst. But then he noticed – he was feeling some arrogance for having withstood the test! Better that he drink the water than foster the arrogance, so he went back to the well to drink. But when he got there, he noticed his thirst had vanished. "Never mind!" he thought, and went on his way to the Master's house for Shabbos. As soon as he entered the house, the Seer looked right at him and said, "wishy washy!" It's a common practice in the Jewish tradition, as well as nearly all other traditions, to cultivate a sense of transcendence through various forms of asceticism – fasting, celibacy, and so on. The idea is that we tend to be identified with our impulses, cravings, feelings, and opinions, and this creates a sense of narrowness, of being trapped. So, in order to dis-identify from these seductive aspects of experience, one can take a break from engaging them and practice simply being in the presence of the feeling or craving or whatever, and not feed it. This is the basic idea behind any restriction-based practices, such as kashrut, not working on Shabbat, and so on: you are bigger than your impulses. They can be powerful, but they can never overpower you if you remember what you actually are: a vast field of awareness, within which your impulses come and go. But there's a potential trap in this and all practices, in that you can identify with the practice itself and get trapped in feelings of pride or inadequacy, depending on how "good" or "bad" you think you're doing. The remedy is, keep going with your renunciation right to the core of identification: your own thoughts. The guy in the story renounces food and water for six days (just the daytimes actually, these kinds of fasts permit eating at night), but he doesn't renounce his thoughts about food and water. "I've got to drink! No I can't that would ruin everything! Oh no but now I'm feeling pride, better to drink! Oh no but I don't have to because I'm not thirsty anymore!" It's all overthinking; he's just exchanged one schtick for another. Instead, don't just limit your food and drink, limit your mind. Think when necessary or productive, and otherwise accept things and let go. This is the message of this week's S'firat HaOmer, called Gevurah, meaning Strength, Limitation, Boundary. The paradox is that in order to be free and realize yourself as expansiveness, you have to be able to set limits. There's a hint of this in this week's reading, Parshat Sh'mini. Moses is giving Aaron and the Israelites instructions about certain offerings they must bring, in order that: כִּ֣י הַיּ֔וֹם יְהוָ֖ה נִרְאָ֥ה אֲלֵיכֶֽם׃ – Ki hayom Hashem nir'ah aleikhem Today the Divine will appear to you. The first offering is a Hatat – a "sin offering." In other words, if you want to behold the Presence of Being, you have to "let go of your sins" – meaning, stop berating yourself, stop worrying about the past. Come to the present. That's the offering – the limiting of your involvement with your past mistakes. The second offering is an Olah - an "elevation offering." In other words, after you let go of the past, you must "elevate" your impulses in the present. Whatever your motive, be it desire or negativity, transform it – up level it – into prayer. See the Divine impulse within every particular impulse, and reframe it through your prayer. Do you want something? Direct your want to the Divinity of Being as it is manifesting right now. Are you angry or fearful about something? Direct your feelings in prayer toward their transformation. It is so important to do some of this every day. That's what the Hassidic master Rebbe Nachman called, hitbodedut. In Pirkei Avot, 4:1, we read, "Ben Zoma said... who is strong? Koveish et yitzro – One who masters one's own yetzer, one's own motivation." This is the task in each day: to remember our own masterfulness, that we are infinitely more vast than any particular experience, that we can let go of the past and alchemically transform whatever arises in the present... Give it Up- Parshat Sh'mini 4/21/2017 "And it was on this day of Eternity..." Let’s look at what happens when you’re craving something, and then you get what you’re craving. Take food for example. You feel the pain of hunger, the desire to eat something, and then you eat it and feel satisfaction. But there’s something else going on of which you might not be aware unless you’re really paying attention, and that is the sense of incompleteness that’s caused not by the hunger, but by the mental and emotional fixation on the object of your desire. It’s not just that you’re hungry, it’s that there’s a basic dis-ease with the present moment, and a psychological “reaching” for a future moment when you imagine that you’ll be satisfied. Then, when you finally get what you were craving, not only is there a satisfaction with the experience of the food, there’s also hopefully a relaxing into present moment reality while you enjoy the food, and a dropping away of that dis-ease of wanting. And that simple connection and dropping away of dis-ease is itself very pleasurable, and naturally lovable, even more so perhaps than the food. Now everyone experiences this at least to some degree, but rarely to people realize that what’s going on. Instead, people just assume that all the pleasure comes from the food or whatever particular gratification they’re experiencing. But the truth is, the deeper pleasure comes not from the food, though food is certainly a wonderful thing, but from the letting go of wanting and instead connecting deeply with the present. That’s why we have practices like fasting, for example, or giving up bread on Pesakh. Normally when we feel a craving, the heart tends to run after what we want and we lose connection with the present. But if you let yourself feel the craving on purpose, returning your attention to your heart again and again so that it doesn’t carry you away, then you can learn to open your heart and drop into the wholeness and bliss of the Present without needing to satisfy whatever urge you’re feeling. In that way, you get to experience Ahavat Hashem- love of God- meaning love of Being or Existence or Reality Itself, because your connection to the Reality of the present is by its nature very pleasurable, healing and liberating. There’s a hint of this in the Torah reading Parshat Sh’mini. It opens, “Vay’hi bayom hashmini kara mosheh- It was on the eighth day that Moses called out." Moses then gives instructions to the Israelites for the offerings they should bring in order for them to have a vision of the Divine. It then goes on in great detail about the animals and grains and oils they burned as fire offerings. At the end of this litany it says, “… vayeyra kh’vod Hashem el kol ha’am- the Divine Glory appeared to all the people.” Why? When you experience satisfaction such as eating delicious food, you can elevate that experience through gratitude- through realizing that your food is literally a gift from God, emerging from the field of Being. But if you want to experience ahavat Hashem- the love of God that’s there even when you’re not feeling satisfied, you have to differentiate the pleasure that comes from Presence from the pleasure that comes from gratification, and you can do that through sacrifice- through purposely giving something up. Then, just as the Divine Glory appeared to the Israelites, so you too will perceive the deep satisfaction and bliss of connecting with Reality as it is, beyond all those temporary and finite pleasures, wonderful as they might be. And when you do that, a much deeper gratitude can emerge- gratitude not only for the particular blessings we experience, but for the constant opportunity we have to practice Presence and connect with the completeness and peace of this moment. This is also hinted at in the opening verse, “Vay’hi bayom hashmini- It was on the eighth day…” Y’hi is a form of the verb “to be.” Bayom means “on the day” but it can also mean “in today” meaning in the Present, and hashmini means, “the eighth.” The number eight on its side is a symbol for infinity. So the idea here is that you connect with the Eternal, hashmini, through Being, y’hi, in the Present, bayom. So on this Shabbat Shmini, the Sabbath of the Infinite, let’s absorb the lessons of Pesakh, learning to delay and sometimes surrender gratification, opening our hearts to that deeper connection with the Eternal Present. Good Shabbos! love brian yosef The Toes- Parshat Sh'mini 3/31/2016 Once when I was driving, I saw a man asking for money with a sign that read, “I have three toes- please help.” For an instant, my heart twinged with compassion. But that was immediately followed by a disorienting surprise as I reconsidered his sign. He needs money because he has three toes? I immediately thought of Aimee Mullins. Aimee Mullins had both legs amputated when she was one year old. Rather than adopt the identity of a disabled person, she became a star athlete, a model and an inspirational speaker who empowers her listeners to transcend limited thinking and limited identity. I don’t mean to be uncompassionate to the man with three toes who needed some money, or to imply that it’s no big deal to lose a part of your body. I want to bless that man that he should have relief from any suffering caused by his body or anything else. But the real disability, as Aimee Mullins and countless others have demonstrated, is not in how many toes or legs you have, but how imprisoned you are by your thoughts. If you narrate your life in negative terms, telling yourself sad stories of victimhood, then that will be the lens through which you live, and that is what will seem to manifest. On the other hand, if you refuse to accept limiting labels, if you refuse to identify with negative stories, is there any fixed limit to what you can accomplish? In this week’s reading, Parshat Sh’mini, the Torah narrates the climax of the inauguration ceremony for the priests. Moses tells the Israelites that after the various offerings are brought- “Hayom Hashem nir’ah aleikhem- “Today Hashem will appear to you!” The offerings are brought, the rites performed, and then it happens- “Vayeira kh’vod Hashem el ha’am- “The glory of the Divine appeared to the people!” Then something tragic happens: in the ecstasy of the moment, the high priest Aaron’s two sons, Nadav and Avihu, break ranks and rush forward to offer their own incense. A fire streams forth from the Divine and kills them. Moses tells Aaron that Hashem is sanctified and honored by their death. Of Aaron it says- “Vayidom Aharon- Aaron was silent.” There’s a story of the Hassidic master Reb Menachem Mendel of Kotsk, the Kotsker Rebbe. One day, the son-in-law of Reb Shlomo of Radomsk was visiting him. The Kotsker asked his guest to please tell some Torah from his saintly father-in-law, to which he replied with this teaching: “When Aaron lost his two sons, the Torah records his praise, saying- ‘Vayidom Aharon- Aaron was silent’ because he was able to accept his misfortune with equanimity and not become a victim. But King David surpassed him and reached an even higher level, as he says in the psalm- ‘L’man y’zamerkha khavod v’lo yidom- ‘So that I may sing of Your glory and not be silent’- -for even in times of great distress he would still sing God’s praises.” This teaching, though somewhat extreme, points to the power of your mind to define the way you frame reality. It also hints at the two basic practices for learning to use your mind. The silence of Aaron hints at meditation. Through meditation, you learn to free your mind from all the thought forms that tend to imprison most people to some degree. The praise of David indicates prayer. In prayer, the sacred dimension that’s revealed in meditation is given expression. These two basic practices together- meditation and prayer- tap into the sacred dimension and draw forth Its nourishment into expression. The name of this parshah is “Sh’mini” which means “Eighth.” This refers to the eighth day of the ceremony on which the action takes place. The number eight symbolizes infinity, both in its Arabic shape and in its Hebrew meaning as the number that transcends seven, which is the number of finite creation. One of the names of God in Kabbalah is Ayn Sof, which also means Infinite- literally “there is no limitation”. Thus, the Infinite appears to the Israelites on the day of infinity. And when is the “day of infinity” as it applies to each of us? “Hayom Hashem nir’ah aleikhem- today Hashem will appear to you!” Today, of course, means now. In the subsiding of thought, there’s the subsiding of time. In the subsiding of time, there’s the blossoming of the only Reality there is- the Reality of this moment, the one and only moment. This moment is not fixed. Ever changing, it is Ayn sof, without limit, unbound by past and future. On this Shabbat Sh’mini, this Sabbath of the Infinite, let us co-create this moment not as victims of the many mishaps and tragedies that unfold in time. But rather, from the silent depths of our being, let the voice of God emerge through our voices to praise Its own Mystery… |
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