Parshah Summary – P’shat
The parshah opens with Jacob returning home to the land of Canaan after a 20-year stay in Haran. He sends angels ahead of him to meet his brother Esau in hope of a reconciliation, but they report back that Esau is on the warpath with 400 armed men. Jacob prepares for war, but also sends Esau a large gift (consisting of hundreds of heads of livestock) to appease him, and then intensely prays for salvation. That night, Jacob sends his family and possessions across the Jabbok River, while he remains behind and encounters a mysterious being with whom he wrestles until daybreak. Jacob suffers a dislocated hip but vanquishes the supernal creature, who bestows upon him the name Yisrael, Israel. When Jacob and Esau finally meet, they break down, hugging and kissing, but then part ways.
Jacob purchases a plot of land near Shekhem, whose crown prince—also called Shekhem—abducts and violates Jacob’s daughter Dinah. Dinah’s brothers Shimon and Levi avenge the deed by killing all male inhabitants of the city, after rendering them vulnerable by convincing them to circumcise themselves in order to intermarry with them. Again fearing for his life after what his sons had done, Jacob and his family flee. Rachel dies while giving birth to her second son, Benjamin, and is buried in a roadside grave near Bethlehem. Jacob arrives in Hebron, to his father Isaac, who later dies at age 180.
Torah of Awakening
וַיִּשְׁלַ֨ח יַעֲקֹ֤ב מַלְאָכִים֙ לְפָנָ֔יו אֶל־עֵשָׂ֖ו אָחִ֑יו אַ֥רְצָה שֵׂעִ֖יר שְׂדֵ֥ה אֱדֽוֹם׃ Jacob sent angels ahead to his brother Esau in the land of Seir, the country of Edom. - Bereisheet (Genesis) 32:4, Parshat Vayikhlakh
One Friday afternoon, when Rabbi David of Lelov was on a journey in a horse-drawn carriage, the horse stopped and refused to go on. The driver began to beat the horse, but the rebbe objected. “Rabbi,” cried the driver, “the sun will soon be setting and Shabbos is almost here!”
“You are quite right,” answered Rabbi David, “but what you have to do is make the animal understand you. Otherwise it will someday summon you to court in Heaven, and that will not be to your honor.” The horse and driver are classic symbols of the body and mind. Beyond the plain teaching of being kind to animals, Rabbi David is teaching us not to force our bodies, but to be lovingly present with our physical nature. This duality of the mind and body are also expressed in the Jacob story: Jacob and Esau are twin brothers, representing opposite archetypes. Esau was a hunter, a man of the field. Jacob, on the other hand, “dwelled in tents” where, according to the tradition, he would study Torah. In other words, Esau represents the body, and Jacob the mind. Esau wants to kill Jacob because Jacob used his cunning intelligence first to convince Esau to sell him his birthright, and later to trick their father Isaac into giving Esau’s blessing of the first born to Jacob. And this what the mind often must do: The body has its needs – not very complicated or profound – it needs good food, fresh air, good rest, and so on. But our minds have other more sophisticated and ambitions and plans. And because of all the things we want to accomplish and experience, all the things we “think” are more important, we can end up polluting our bodies, not getting enough rest or exercise, and pushing ourselves in ways that can make us sick – not to mention the damage we cause to others in the process. Eventually, Esau will rebel; the body rebels, and that’s when life can fall apart. What is the solution? It is to realize, first of all, that there is a much more profound dimension to our minds than our thoughts, ideas and ambitions; and that is our sensitivity, our awareness, our Presence. Just as Jacob sends the malakhim – the angels – to Esau, so you can “send” your awareness into your own body. That is literally how our bodies feel loved, because awareness is the carrier wave for love; it is the whole basis for love. After all, before we do anything loving for anyone, we first have to be present with them, we have to pay attention to them. Sometimes, attentiveness is all that is needed; and it is the same for our own bodies. Some people like to pamper their bodies with spa days, putting on various lotions, makeup, and so on. To a “spiritual” person this may seem materialistic and vain, but actually it can be a way that one expresses Presence, and hence love, to the body. Loving Presence in the body activates our innate healing potential; that is why some people don’t feel good unless they “put on their face.” They may think it’s the makeup that makes them feel good, but it’s actually the attention itself which puts the body at ease and activates a feeling of wellbeing… וַיִּשְׁלַ֨ח יַעֲקֹ֤ב מַלְאָכִים֙ לְפָנָ֔יו – Jacob sent angels before him… But of course, once we understand this, we don’t really need the outer garments of attention; we can go right to the essence, sending our “angels” before us, into our bodies – this is meditation. וַיָּ֨רׇץ עֵשָׂ֤ו לִקְרָאתוֹ֙ וַֽיְחַבְּקֵ֔הוּ וַיִּפֹּ֥ל עַל־צַוָּארָ֖ו וַׄיִּׄשָּׁׄקֵ֑ׄהׄוּׄ וַיִּבְכּֽוּ׃ Esau ran to greet him. He embraced him and he fell on his neck, and he kissed him; and they wept. In the text, the word kissed, וַׄיִּׄשָּׁׄקֵׄהׄוּׄ has dots over all the letters, and there is a dispute about the meaning of the dots. Rashi explains that some say the dots are there to imply that the kisses were done not with the whole heart, while Rabbi Shimon bar Yohai said, “Is it not well-known that Esau hated Jacob? But at that moment his pity was really aroused and he kissed him with his whole heart. (Sifrei Bamidbar 69.2) Similarly, there is a paradox in our relationship with our bodies: when we bring the mind out of its imaginary worlds of ambition and projection and down into our physical bodies, then with practice, our bodies will reflect back to us that quality of love and attention as a feeling of blissful spaciousness, showing us the true nature of our own Being, of our consciousness. And this is the paradox: the body, with its constant needs and aches and pains, is ordinarily experienced as a kind of impediment to spiritual transcendence. But when we “kiss” our bodies with loving Presence, we can receive back that sense of blissful transcendence; our bodies “kiss” us in return. But to rest our loving attention in our bodies, we need patience; we need to be able to put aside the urgency of our thoughts in order to fully rest the mind and meditate in stillness; this is the quality of the letter ח het – patience, listening, Presence-with:
אֶלָּא שְׁתִיקָה. וְלֹא הַמִּדְרָשׁ הוּא הָעִקָּר, אֶלָּא הַמַּעֲשֶׂה.
וְכָל הַמַּרְבֶּה דְבָרִים, מֵבִיא חֵטְא. Shimon, his son, says: All my days I have grown up among the sages, and I have found nothing better for the body than silence. Study is not the main thing, but practice, and all who increase words bring error. - Pirkei Avot 1:16
Silence – that is, silent, loving Presence, is what the body needs; it is the foundation of healing. So in this week of Shabbat Vayishlakh, the Sabbath of Sending, may we practice “sending” our loving attention deeply into our own bodies. May our appreciation of the body nudge the world closer to the eradication of needless violence and violations of this precious human temple of consciousness within which we dwell. And as we approach the time of Hanukkah, may our loving attention toward others ever increase like the lights of the menorah; may peace come speedily.
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Parshah Summary – P’shat
Jacob leaves his hometown of Be’er Sheva and journeys to Haran. On the way, he stops to sleep and dreams of a ladder spanning earth to heaven, with angels ascending and descending upon it. In the morning, Jacob raises the stone upon which he laid his head as an altar and monument, pledging that it will one day become a house of God.
In Haran, Jacob lives and works for his uncle Laban, tending Laban’s sheep. Jacob loves Laban’s younger daughter, Rachel, and Laban allows them to get married, in return for seven years of work from Jacob. But on the wedding night, Laban switches Rachel with his elder daughter Leah—a deception Jacob only discovers in the morning. A week later, Jacob marries Rachel as well, after agreeing to work for another seven years. Leah gives birth to six sons: Reuben, Simeon, Levi, Judah, Issachar and Zebulun, as well as a daughter, Dinah, while Rachel remains barren. Rachel gives Jacob her handmaid Bilhah as a wife to bear children in her stead, and two more sons, Dan and Naphtali, are born. Leah does the same with her handmaid, Zilpah, who gives birth to Gad and Asher. Finally, Rachel’s prayers are answered and she gives birth to Joseph. Jacob has now been in Haran for 14 years, and wishes to return home. But Laban persuades him to remain, offering him sheep in return for his labor, and Jacob becomes wealthy by breeding the sheep in a seemingly magical way. After six years, Jacob flees Haran in stealth, fearing that Laban would prevent him from leaving with his family and property. Laban pursues Jacob, but is warned by God in a dream not to harm him. Laban and Jacob make a pact on Mount Gal-Ed with a pile of stones as a witness, and Jacob proceeds back to Canaan, where he is met by angels…
Torah of Awakening
אָכֵן֙ יֵ֣שׁ יי בַּמָּק֖וֹם הַזֶּ֑ה וְאָנֹכִ֖י לֹ֥א יָדָֽעְתִּי “Surely the Divine is present in this place and I didn’t even know it!” - Bereisheet (Genesis) 28:16
Once, when Rabbi Hanokh was eating with his hasidim on one of the nine days which precedes Tisha B’Av (the Ninth of Av, the day of lamenting the destruction of the Temple), he said to them: “Formerly when these days came around, everyone was shaken with anguish because, since the Temple was destroyed, we have had no sanctuary in which to make our offerings. But now the hasidim sit and eat their meals as if they were making an offering, and say: "Hashem was, is, and will be; the sanctuary was, is, and will be."
In this remarkable teaching of Rabbi Hanokh, he seems to be declaring a new phase of consciousness. In the past, the “Three Weeks” during which the destruction of the Temple is remembered was a commemoration of loss; the destroyed Beit Hamikdash was the nexus of Divine Presence on earth, and that nexus was now gone. What could be a greater tragedy than losing that structure, and hence losing the earthly connection with the Divine Presence? But in his time, the simple table upon which they ate had become their altar, because Hashem “is, was and will be” – in other words, God is not limited to a special time and place. God is Being Itself, the Ever-Present, and any place can become a sanctuary for those sensitive to this realization. This recognition of God as Being is expressed in our tradition as both a verb and a noun. As a verb, God’s four letter Name is based on the root “to be,” ,היה as in the hymn:
וְהוּא הָיָה וְהוּא הֹוֶה, וְהוּא יִהְיֶה בְּתִפְאָרָה
V’hu hayah, v’hu hoveh, v’hu yiyeh b’Tifarah It was, It is, It will be in Splendor!
This Name of God as the verb to be is not mere theology; it is a practical instruction: we find God by moving from our ordinary mode of doing, and particularly the action of thinking, to the mode of being, and particularly the state of wakefulness, of perceiving. But, God can also be expressed as a noun, “The Place.”
וַיִּפְגַּ֨ע בַּמָּק֜וֹם – He encountered The Place… Jacob does not merely encounter a place; that would be: וַיִּפְגַּע בְּמָּקוֹם – Vayifga bemakom. Rather, he encounters The Place: בַּמָּקוֹם BaMakom. This has a double meaning – on one hand, he is coming to a specific place on his journey, but on the other hand, it is an encounter with the Divine, Who is sometimes called, הַמָּקוֹם HaMakom, “The Place.” Why is God called The Place? לֹ֥א יָדָֽעְתִּי – “I didn’t even know it!” The word for knowing, דַעַת Da’at, isn’t the same as the English word for knowing, which implies an intellectual understanding. The Hebrew word is the same word used in the Garden of Eden story: וְהָ֣אָדָ֔ם יָדַ֖ע אֶת־חַוָּ֣ה – And Adam knew Eve… This is the knowing of intimacy and connection, not the mind and thinking. אָכֵן֙ יֵ֣שׁ יי בַּמָּק֖וֹם הַזֶּ֑ה וְאָנֹכִ֖י לֹ֥א יָדָֽעְתִּי – “Surely the Divine is present in this Place and I didn’t even know it!” The ordinary way of understanding the verse is that he realizes the Presence of God is there in the place he stopped for the night, but that he didn’t know It was present before. But when we understand דַעַת Da’at as intimate connection, we can also read it as saying, “The Divine is in this Place, but I wasn’t knowing the Place,” meaning, he couldn’t sense the Divine before, because he wasn’t present in the place where he was. After all, he was running away from his brother; the place he stopped was merely a step on his journey from one place to another. This is symbolic as well: “running away from his brother” means running from the past, resisting the truth of his life situation. But now that he has become intimate with the place in which he finds himself, he also finds God – God and the “place” are not two separate things. That is why God is called הַמָּקוֹם HaMakom – “The Place.” This Name of God as a noun is also a practical instruction on how to “find” God. What is the instruction? Know – דע da – that the ultimate unfolding of Reality is right here, right now in this place; taste this moment, do not distract yourself with the currents of mind that sweep you away from this moment, from God’s revelation of Itself as this moment. וַיֵּצֵ֥א יַעֲקֹ֖ב – Jacob went out… Like Jacob, we can “go out” from our ordinary, conditioned relationship with experience, into God – into the miracle of This Place in which we Now find ourselves. This recognition of the Divine as This Place is the meaning of the sefirah of Malkhut, also called Shekhinah, “The Presence” – the perception of the world as the “Kingdom” of God. In this week of Shabbat Vayeitzei, the Sabbath of Going Out, may we remember to frequently “go out” from our ordinary conditioned perception, and to meet the world as Malkhut, as Shekhinah. May we swiftly come to a time when all people recognize the sacred gift of Being; may this world be transformed into a Sanctuary of Presence for all people, so that violence and war evaporate permanently from our species.
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Parshah Summary – P’shat
The parshah opens with Isaac praying for a child after Rebecca had been unable to conceive, and immediately his prayer is answered. But, she experiences a difficult pregnancy as the “children struggle inside her.” She prays that the cause of her suffering be revealed, and Hashem responds that “two nations in your womb.” Esau emerges first, and Jacob is born clutching Esau’s heel. (Yaakov, Jacob, means “heal.”) As they grow up, Isaac favors Esau because Esau hunts and feeds his father game, but Rebecca loves Jacob more. One day, when Esau returns home exhausted and hungry from the hunt, he sells his birthright to Jacob for a pot of red lentil stew.
In Gerar, in the land of the Philistines, Isaac presents Rebecca as his sister, out of fear that he will be killed by someone coveting her beauty. He farms the land, reopens the wells dug by his father Abraham, and digs a series of his own wells. Esau marries two Hittite women. Isaac grows old and blind, and wants to bless his first born Esau before he dies. While Esau goes off to hunt for his father’s favorite food, Rebecca dresses Jacob in Esau’s clothing, covers his arms and neck with goatskins to simulate the feel of his hairier brother, prepares a similar dish, and sends Jacob to his father. Jacob receives his father’s blessings for “the dew of the heaven and the fat of the land,” as well as mastery over his brother. When Esau returns and the deception is revealed, Isaac blesses him as well with the “fat of the earth and dew of the heaven,” but also that he shall live by the sword and serve his brother, though there will come a time when he will “break the yoke” from his neck. Jacob leaves home for Haran to flee Esau’s wrath and to find a wife in the family of his mother’s brother, Laban. Esau marries a third wife—Makhalat, the daughter of Ishmael…
Torah of Awakening
וַיִּתְרֹֽצְצ֤וּ הַבָּנִים֙ בְּקִרְבָּ֔הּ וַתֹּ֣אמֶר אִם־כֵּ֔ן לָ֥מָּה זֶּ֖ה אָנֹ֑כִי וַתֵּ֖לֶךְ לִדְרֹ֥שׁ אֶת־יְהֹוָֽה׃ וַיֹּ֨אמֶר יְיְ לָ֗הּ שְׁנֵ֤י גוֹיִם֙ בְּבִטְנֵ֔ךְ וּשְׁנֵ֣י לְאֻמִּ֔ים מִמֵּעַ֖יִךְ יִפָּרֵדוּ וּלְאֹם֙ מִלְאֹ֣ם יֶֽאֱמָ֔ץ וְרַ֖ב יַעֲבֹ֥ד צָעִֽיר׃ The children struggled within her, and she said, “If so, why am I like this?” So she went to inquire of the Divine. Hashem said to her, “Two nations are in your womb; two peoples from within you shall be separated. The strength shall pass from one to the other, and the older shall serve the younger.” -Bereisheet (Genesis) 25:22-23
Here in Tucson, the Catalina mountains rise majestically in the north of the city. When we first moved here, I would look up and think, “I wonder if those mountains will ever seem normal and unimpressive?” You may have experienced: when you visit a new place where you have no history or baggage, there is a brightness to everything – even dirty things are bright, vivid, and rich. But after you’ve been somewhere a while, the nervous system tends to clump everything together. You look at the tree you’ve seen a million times, but instead of seeing the miracle of the tree, instead you see your laundry, the bills, the broken sink, maybe broken relationships. All your past experiences of a place seems to fuse together; you become conditioned.
Conditioning is not in itself a bad thing; it is how we build memories, and part of the richness of a place consists of the experiences we have had there – a place is not only a repository for the stresses of life, but also positive memories, treasures collected on our journey through time. But it is also important to know that there is an aspect of our experience that is unconditioned. You can see and feel that unconditioned aliveness in children – their wonder, their innocent excitement about things. And of course, along with that exquisitely innocent and unconditioned consciousness comes naivety. That is why we, the old and the conditioned, need to protect them from themselves. The older must serve the younger… וְרַ֖ב יַעֲבֹ֥ד צָעִֽיר – “And the older shall serve the younger...” And that is as it should be – the experience of the old and the conditioned must preserve and protect the fragile, the bright, the unconditioned quality youth. But this truth applies not only in the external realm of protecting children, but also in the inner realms of consciousness. For there is a level within our own being that is still completely unconditioned. Like the child, it is bright, alive, and curious. וַיִּתְרֹֽצְצ֤וּ הַבָּנִים֙ בְּקִרְבָּ֔הּ – But the children struggled within her… You may struggle against yourself: “But I am old – my conditioning is too heavy, my trauma is too great, my life has been too difficult – how can I get rid of all the oldness to discover my inner youthfulness? How can I reach the unconditioned?” The Good News is: You don’t have to “reach” it, and you don’t have to “get rid” of your conditioning. That which sees all your conditioning, is itself Unconditioned… וּלְאֹם֙ מִלְאֹ֣ם יֶֽאֱמָ֔ץ – The strength shall pass from one to the other… You can shift the “strength” from the conditioned to the Unconditioned: instead of saying, “I am old” – instead of saying, “my conditioning” – simply notice the feeling of oldness, or the feeling of whatever is present in your experience. Notice the impulse to think or judge things in a certain way. Notice the feeling that arises when you see the tree that you’ve seen a million times. The seeing itself – that is the Unconditioned; staying in the noticing is meditation. If you practice staying in the seeing, in the noticing, without getting absorbed into the reaction, you will also begin to notice: there is an inner vastness that is untouched by the old thoughts and old feelings. That vastness is your Presence, your Awareness. You don’t need to find it, you are it – but you need to be with all that conditioning instead of being the conditioning. Then, you will see: the mountain is new, every day – a wonder, a miracle. This simple awe at the miracle of the moment, called יִראָה yirah, is represented by the letter ר reish, which means both “head” and “beginning.” It has the shape of a bowed head, hinting reverence for That which is beyond the grasp of the mind, opening us to see as if for the first time – a new beginning. There is a story that the disciples of Rabbi Elimelekh came to him and asked: “In the Torah we read that Pharaoh said to Moses and Aaron, ‘Show a wonder to you.’ How are we to understand this? He should have said, ‘Show a wonder to me.’” Rabbi Elimelekh explained: “Magicians know what they want to accomplish and how to accomplish it. It is not a wonder for them – only for their beholders. But for those who are merely a vessel for the miracle that God accomplishes through them, their own wonder arises from their deeds and overwhelms them. And that’s what Pharaoh meant: ‘Don’t show me your conditioned expertise! Show me the wonder that arises out of your Unconditioned innocence…’ In this week of Shabbat Toldot, The Sabbath of Generations, may we open and see the miraculous eons of conditioning that are creating our experience right now. May we know that the seeing and the opening is Itself Unconditioned – Hadeish yameinu kikedem – may our days be fresh and new as they were at the beginning, before the story began. And as we enter the month of Kislev and Hanukah, the Holiday of Dedication, may we dedicate ourselves ever more deeply to a path of ever increasing healing and Light…
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Parshah Summary – P’shat
The parshah opens with Sarah’s death at the age of 127, after which Abraham buries her in the Cave of Makhpelah in Hebron, which he purchases from Ephron the Hittite for four hundred silver shekels.
Next, Abraham sends his servant Eliezer to find a wife for Isaac in Haran. At the village well, Eliezer asks God for a specific sign: that when the maidens come to the well, he will request water from them. If one of the women gives him water and offers to water his camels as well, then she should be the one destined for his master’s son. Rebecca, the daughter of Abraham’s nephew Bethuel, appears at the well and passes the test. Eliezer is invited to their home, where he tells her family everything that has happened. Rebecca returns with Eliezer to the land of Canaan, where they encounter Isaac meditating in the field. Isaac marries Rebecca and is comforted over the loss of his mother. Abraham marries another woman named Keturah, and they have six more sons. When the sons grow up, Abraham “sends them off to the east with gifts.” Abraham dies at age of 175 and is buried beside Sarah by his two eldest sons, Isaac and Ishmael.
Torah of Awakening
וְהָיָ֣ה הַֽנַּעֲרָ֗ אֲשֶׁ֨ר אֹמַ֤ר אֵלֶ֙יהָ֙ הַטִּי־נָ֤א כַדֵּךְ֙ וְאֶשְׁתֶּ֔ה וְאָמְרָ֣ה שְׁתֵ֔ה וְגַם־גְּמַלֶּ֖יךָ אַשְׁקֶ֑ה אֹתָ֤הּ הֹכַ֙חְתָּ֙ לְעַבְדְּךָ֣ לְיִצְחָ֔ק וּבָ֣הּ אֵדַ֔ע כִּי־עָשִׂ֥יתָ חֶ֖סֶד עִם־אֲדֹנִֽי׃ “Let the maiden to whom I say, ‘Please, lower your jar that I may drink,’ and who replies, ‘Drink, and I will also water your camels’—let her be the one whom You have decreed for Your servant Isaac. Thereby shall I know that You have done kindness with my master.” - Bereisheet (Genesis) 18:1
Back in the summer of 1988, I was home from music school after Freshman year. One night, I went out with some high school friends to a diner. One of them surprised us with the news that he had met the girl of his dreams and they were getting married. “Really? Are you sure it’s the right thing?” we asked. We were only nineteen. The idea of getting married was inconceivable to us.
“I know it’s the right thing,” he replied. He then went on to recount all the serendipitous events “proving” to him that she was his perfect life partner. “I’ve never been so sure about anything in my entire life,” he said. Having never experienced that kind of certainty myself about anything, I was suspicious, but I didn’t question it further. The next summer, in 1990, we all went out again, and he told us what horrors had transpired after they were married: She had stolen his car, emptied his bank account and disappeared. So much for serendipity! Sometimes, in our enthusiasm to “trust the universe,” we give away our power to make decisions. Rather than ask ourselves the crucial questions, we instead look for signs and coincidences to confirm that we’re on the right track, that things are beshert…
וְהָיָ֣ה הַֽנַּעֲרָ֗ אֲשֶׁ֨ר אֹמַ֤ר אֵלֶ֙יהָ֙ הַטִּי־נָ֤א כַדֵּךְ֙ וְאֶשְׁתֶּ֔ה
וְאָמְרָ֣ה שְׁתֵ֔ה וְגַם־גְּמַלֶּ֖יךָ אַשְׁקֶ֑ה “Let the maiden to whom I say, ‘Please, lower your jar that I may drink,’ and who replies, ‘Drink, and I will also water your camels…’’’
At first glance, it might seem that Eliezer is making this same kind of mistake, relying on an external sign to tell him what to do, rather than using his own intelligence to find the right wife for Isaac.
Or is he? If Eliezer had prayed that the girl should be wearing a purple dress, or have a really big hat, certainly that would have been arbitrary. But what does he say? He says that she should offer water to him and his camels. In other words, she should be a mentch – a kind and generous person. He’s not giving away his power in favor of superstition; he’s actually specifying the exact criteria by which to make his decision: she should be kind and generous; she should embody Hesed, loving-kindness. He doesn’t want Isaac to marry someone who will steal his money and his donkey! If she’s not a mentch, he’s not interested. If you want to live with clarity and purpose, if you want to truly say “yes” to your life, you’ve got to be able to say a clear “no” as well. The “yes” and the “no” go together. Saying “no” can be really difficult. So many things can get in the way: stories in your head telling you what you “should” do, feelings of guilt for letting others down, or lack of trust in yourself. But, there are decisions that only you can make. Take your power in your hand and meet your destiny! Don’t be blown around by the winds of fate! This quality of being able to set boundaries and define your intention is Gevurah – inner strength – and it is the counterpoint to Hesed, (loving-kindness). To be decisive doesn’t mean you shouldn’t trust. Trust your ability to make your decision. Then, after you’ve made your decision, trust whatever happens next. Surrender to what happens. Ultimately, we have no control over how things unfold, but we always have the power to choose. Surrender to what happens is part of Jewish meditation – as Rashi said, “Accept what happens with simplicity.” Are there decisions you are avoiding? Or, after you make decisions, are you easily derailed because you can’t say “no” to other things that come along? Do you ever blame others for your inability to follow through on your own decisions? Remember – your life is like a boat. The steering wheel is in front of you. Take it and steer; don’t wait for someone else, don’t blame anyone else. The ocean has its own currents, but you are the captain. And, if you’re not sure yet which decision to make, that’s fine too. Be uncertain. Sometimes it’s wonderful to just go with the currents. Sometimes life really can be a magical tapestry of serendipity, effortlessly bringing you to good things. But sooner or later, that kind of magic ends, and the currents leave you drifting aimlessly, or even worse, headed toward the rocks. When that happens, take the wheel and decide which way to go; then, a new kind of magic begins Each of us has a completely unique path with unique decisions to be made. But there is one decision that is completely universal. It’s the decision that each of us faces at all times: the decision to fully inhabit this moment. To fully inhabit this moment, the “yes” and the “no,” the Hesed and the Gevurah, must become one: “Yes” to what is, “No” to resisting what is. And yet, if a feeling of “resisting what is” arises, you must say “yes” to the presence of that feeling – because in that moment, “resistance to what is” – is what is! In this way, resistance is transformed into non-resistance; the “yes” and the “no” are completely one – Hesed and Gevurah are merged. What is this moment like? Is it peaceful? Is it tense? Is it gentle? Is it harsh? Are you willing to decide, right now, to say “yes” to this moment, as it is? This is actually the most important decision you will ever make, because it’s the foundation of all other decisions. Without this decision, there is unrest; there is struggle. But with this decision, your potential for real peace becomes manifest. With this decision, Moshiakh, the Messiah, is born within yourself, and we come a little closer to its birth in the world. Martin Buber, in his essay Judaism and the Jews, tells the story that when he was a child, he read a Talmudic tale: Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi met the Prophet Elijah. He said to him, “When will the Messiah come?” Elijah answered, “Go ask him! The Messiah sits at the gates of Rome, waiting among the poor, afflicted with disease.” - Sanhedrin 98 Buber says that he later came upon an old man whom he asked, “What does he wait for? The old man answered, “He waits for you.” In this week of Shabbat Hayei Sarah, the Sabbath of Life, may we remember our power to decide for this life, for this moment. May our efforts help move this world from its patters of violence to a new consciousness for humanity, and may a true and lasting peace be swiftly born in the world for love, wisdom and healing.
Read past teachings on Hayei Sarah HERE.
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Parshah Summary – P’shat
The parshah opens with Abraham sitting by his tent on a hot day, when suddenly Hashem appears to him, along with three mysterious guests (angels), so he rushes off to prepare a meal for them. One of the guests announces that Sarah will give birth to a son. Sarah laughs, hinting at the name of their future son, Yitzhak, which means “will laugh.” It is revealed to Abraham that the wicked city of Sodom is to be destroyed, but he pleads with Hashem to relent and not punish the innocent along with the guilty.
Two of the three angels arrive in the doomed city, and Abraham’s nephew Lot attempts to protect them from a violent mob. The angels reveal their destructive mission, instructing Lot and his family to flee and not look back. But, as they flee, Lot’s wife does look back and turns into a pillar of salt. While taking shelter in a cave, Lot’s two daughters get their father and become impregnated by him. The two sons born from this incident father the nations of Moab and Ammon. The Philistine king Abimelech takes Sarah—who is once again presented as Abraham’s sister—to his palace. In a dream, God warns Abimelech that he will die unless he returns the woman to her husband. Abimelech confronts Abraham, who once again explains that he feared he would be killed over the beautiful Sarah. Sarah miraculously becomes pregnant and gives birth to Isaac. Ishmael torments Sarah, so Sarah banishes Hagar and Ishmael from their home to wander in the desert, and Ishmael nearly dies of dehydration. Hashem hears the cry of the dying lad, shows his mother a well and they are saved. Meanwhile, Hashem tests Abraham’s devotion by commanding him to sacrifice Isaac on Mount Moriah. When Abraham raises the knife to slaughter his son, a voice from heaven calls to stop him; a ram, caught in the undergrowth by its horns, is offered in Isaac’s place.
Torah of Awakening
וַיֵּרָ֤א אֵלָיו֙ יי בְּאֵלֹנֵ֖י מַמְרֵ֑א וְה֛וּא יֹשֵׁ֥ב פֶּֽתַח־הָאֹ֖הֶל כְּחֹ֥ם הַיּֽוֹם׃ The Divine appeared to him in the plains of Mamre; he was sitting at the entrance of the tent in the heat of the day. - Bereisheet (Genesis) 18:1
Once, when Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev was traveling, he stopped to spend the night in the town of Lwow. He knocked on the door of a very wealthy man and asked for lodging. “I have no use for vagrants like you! Why don’t you stay at the inn?” said the man. “I am not able to afford the inn,” replied Levi Yitzhak. “Please, I won’t be any trouble, let me stay in one of your rooms just for the night.” “Well then, if you can’t afford the inn,” said the miserly rich man, “go around the corner to the schoolteacher. He likes to take in vagrants like you – he’ll give you a room and food.” So, Levi Yitzhak went around the corner to the schoolteacher. But, on his way there, someone in the town recognized him, and began to spread the word that the great Rabbi Levi Yitzhak was at the schoolteacher’s house. Before long, there were throngs of people crowding the house, trying to get a blessing from the master. Among the crowd was the miserly rich man, who pushed his way to the front. “Master! Master! Please forgive me! I didn’t know who you were! Please come and stay with me. All the great rabbis who come through town stay with me!”
“Do you know,” replied Levi Yitzhak, “why such a fuss is made over Avraham and Sarah for their hospitality of opening their home to the visiting angels and giving them food and drink? Didn’t Lot also invite them in and offer to feed them? But in the Torah’s description about Lot, it says: וַ֠יָּבֹ֠אוּ שְׁנֵ֨י הַמַּלְאָכִ֤ים סְדֹ֙מָה֙ – two angels came to Sodom. “But with Avraham it says: שְׁלֹשָׁ֣ה אֲנָשִׁ֔ים נִצָּבִ֖ים עָלָ֑יו – three men were standing over him. Lot saw majestic angels, whereas Avraham saw only dusty wayfarers…” There is an aphorism often heard in spiritual circles: “Be in the world, but not of the world.” What does this mean exactly? There are at least two questions: First, what does it mean to be in the world? Aren’t we always already in the world? Second, what does it mean to not of the world? Aren’t we all of this world? What other world would be of? To understand, consider how we spend our time: Usually we are acting upon things or being acted upon; we try to bring about certain results, and things happen to us; this is true for everyone. However, there can be enormous differences between people in the quality of their actions and responses. Are we demanding, aggressive and entitled, or are we sensitive, empathetic and wise? If we want to be the latter, our impulse to act upon the world needs to be balanced by the element of Presence With the world; there needs to be awareness and receptivity. This is being in the world; it doesn’t mean merely existing, it means doing the activity of Presence With – being receptive, aware, and open. But, this is not always easy, because sometimes the world is not as we would like it to be. How can we be receptive, aware, and open when we encounter a world that causes us suffering? The key is to remember: we need not be trapped by any experience. Remember: you are not the experience; you are the consciousness within which the experiences arises. You can remain fully open to whatever comes, but also remain free from it. Let things come and let things go. This is being not of the world in the sense that you don’t let any experience define who you are. וַיַּ֗רְא וַיָּ֤רׇץ לִקְרָאתָם֙ מִפֶּ֣תַח הָאֹ֔הֶל וַיִּשְׁתַּ֖חוּ אָֽרְצָה …he saw and ran from the entrance of the tent to greet them and he bowed toward the ground. Avraham is recovering from his circumcision described at the end of the last parshah. But rather than shut himself up in the shade of his tent, he goes and sits at the entrance. When the strangers appear, he runs and bows, inviting them to rest, wash, and eat…but also אַחַ֣ר תַּעֲבֹ֔רוּ – afterward, go! Not only does he invite them in; he also invites them to leave. The “tent” is our sense of self, which can either be closed or open to what is now emerging in this moment. The tent sits in the “plains” – that is, our sense of self sits in the vastness of the field of awareness that we are at the deepest level. So, even in the “heat,” meaning even in times of difficulty and suffering, we can know ourselves as that openness. Like Sarah and Avraham, we can welcome whatever comes, and afterward, let it pass on and return our attention back to the openness; we need not cling to the majestic angel, nor push away the dusty wayfarer. Why? וַיֵּרָ֤א אֵלָיו֙ יי – The Divine appeared to him… It says that God appeared, but then Avraham looks up and sees the three strangers. What happened to God? But that’s the point: when we are open to the fullness of this moment, there can be the recognition that every appearance is literally an appearance of God. Everything emerges from the vastness and eventually returns. So, welcome what is, right now. There is only one “God,” and This is It!
Read past teachings on Vayeira HERE.
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Parshah Summary – P’shat
The parshah opens with God telling Avram to leave his birthplace and travel to a land where his descendants will become a great nation. So, Avram and his wife Sarai, accompanied by their nephew Lot, journey to the land of Canaan. Avram builds an altar there, but a famine forces them to flee to Egypt, where Avram and Sarai present themselves as brother and sister, out of fear that Avram would be killed on account of Sarai’s great beauty. Sarai is taken to Pharaoh’s palace, but a plague prevents the Egyptian king from touching her. Pharaoh then understands that Sarai is Avram’s wife, and he reunites her with Avram, giving them gold, silver and cattle.
When they return to the land of Canaan, Lot separates from Avram and settles in the evil city of Sodom, where he falls captive when the mighty armies of King Kedarla’omer and his three allies conquer the five cities of the Sodom Valley. Avram sets out with a small band to rescue his nephew, defeats the four kings, and is blessed by Malkitzedek, the king of Salem (Jerusalem). Avram seals a strange covenant with God involving a vision of fire descending and moving between severed animal pieces, in which the exile and persecution (galut) of Avram’s descendants is foretold, and their eventual return to the Holy Land is affirmed. Still childless ten years after their arrival in the land of Canaan, Sarai tells Avram to marry her maidservant Hagar. Hagar conceives, but becomes insolent toward her mistress, and then flees when Sarai treats her harshly. An angel convinces her to return, and tells her that her son will also become a great nation. Ishmael is born in Avram’s eighty-sixth year. Thirteen years later, God changes Avram’s name to Avraham (Abraham, meaning “father of multitudes”), and Sarai’s name to Sarah (“princess”). A child is promised to them whom they should call Yitzhak (Isaac, “will laugh”). Abraham is instructed to circumcise himself and his descendants as a sign of the covenant. Abraham does so for himself and all the males of his household.
Torah of Awakening
וַיֹּ֤אמֶר יְהֹוָה֙ אֶל־אַבְרָ֔ם לֶךְ־לְךָ֛ מֵאַרְצְךָ֥ וּמִמּֽוֹלַדְתְּךָ֖ וּמִבֵּ֣ית אָבִ֑יךָ אֶל־הָאָ֖רֶץ אֲשֶׁ֥ר אַרְאֶֽךָּ׃ Hashem said to Avram, “Go for yourself from your land, from your relatives, and from your father’s house, to the land that I will show you…” - Bereisheet (Genesis) 12:1
There is a story that a dead man once appeared to Rabbi Yisakhar. The rabbi had known this man when he was alive; he was prominent in the community, but now his apparition came to the rabbi, begging him for help. He explained that his wife had passed away, and he needed money to arrange a marriage with someone else.
“Don’t you know,” the tzaddik asked him, “that you are no longer among the living, that you are in the World of Confusion?” When the man refused to believe him, he lifted the tails of the dead man’s coat and showed him that he was dressed in a shroud. Later, Rabbi Yisakhar’s son asked, “Well, if that is so, perhaps I too am in the World of Confusion!” His father answered, “Once you know that there is a World of Confusion, you are no longer in it.” When we examine our present-moment experience, we often find ourselves involved with thoughts and feelings that derive from the past, that are not directly related to what is immediately present. Like the dead man in the story, we tend to live through the issues and concerns of yesterday, “dead” to the living present; this too is a kind of “World of Confusion.” On the personal level, this can keep us oblivious to the brightness of the Living Present; on the cultural and societal level, it can keep us embroiled in prejudice and conflict, infused with false meaning. Why are we so resistant to the Living Present, so oblivious to the Living Presence? Ironically, it is because we want to feel alive; we want to feel that something is happening. But, because we are conditioned to live primarily through our minds, through our tasks and responsibilities in time, we forget where true life is. We become insensitive to the bright aliveness and wonder of the moment, and instead seek it in the dramas of time. This is also why many people become restless with routine, wanting to break the monotony of life with travel or doing new things. Other people are just the opposite, clinging to the familiar, and feeling insecure and even frightened by change, which is of course inevitable. The first is fear of the past; the second is fear of the future. But these two poles of experience – craving something new and novel, on one hand, and being afraid of change, on the other, are both symptoms of living through the conditioned mind. For example, if you’ve had a strong emotional experience with another person – either positive or negative, it doesn’t matter – then when you see that person again, some of those old emotions are bound to reemerge. And those old emotions will influence your experience of that person in the present. Sometimes we call that “having baggage” with somebody. It’s like if you’re traveling and seeing new places for the first time, but you can’t fully appreciate them because you’re lugging around too many suitcases. That’s how relationships and other parts of life can often become, so long as we’re stuck in time, in the “World of Confusion.” לֶךְ־לְךָ֛ ... אֶל־הָאָ֖רֶץ אֲשֶׁ֥ר אַרְאֶֽךָּ׃ – “Go for yourself … to the land that I will show you.” This is the Divine call to Avram: “Don’t be stuck in the past! Don’t be afraid of the future! Let go of the way you experienced things yesterday, and come to the land that I am now showing you.” This is not just a story, it’s an instruction: Reality as it is being revealed in this moment is completely unique. Even when things seem totally familiar, even monotonous perhaps, keep in mind that the familiarity comes from your conditioned mind – from memory, from the past. And that’s a good thing; we don’t want to get rid of our memories, but rather, simply recognize the truth that this is a new moment. Just like a river that seems to stay the same, but the actual flowing water is always new, so too this moment is also completely fresh and new, when we allow our conditioned mind to subside and simply come to this moment as it is, el ha’aretz asher arekha. In this way, we need not be tricked into the World of Confusion; we can awaken into the Living Present. But what if we become overwhelmed by our thoughts and feelings? How do we stay present when our conditioning can seem so powerful, even traumatic? Again, the main thing is recognizing our conditioning. And to do that, it is helpful to see that there are three main levels: לֶךְ־לְךָ֛ מֵאַרְצְךָ֥ וּמִמּֽוֹלַדְתְּךָ֖ וּמִבֵּ֣ית אָבִ֑יךָ – Go for yourself from your land, from your relatives, and from your father’s house…” מֵאַרְצְךָ֥ mei’artz’kha – “from your land” – refers to the situation-scape of your life; your responsibilities, your aspirations or lack thereof, your current challenges and so on. This is often the most common distraction; you try to meditate, and your mind starts going through your to do list, or starts trying to solve problems, and so on. But again, don’t try to get rid of those thoughts or judge yourself for having them. Take it as a good sign that your mind works, and that it is there when you need it, barukh Hashem. Then, simply recognize – there is my mind, doing what it does – and bring yourself back to the revelation of this moment: אֶל־הָאָ֖רֶץ אֲשֶׁ֥ר אַרְאֶֽךָּ – el ha’aretz asher arekha – to Reality as it is now being revealed. וּמִמּֽוֹלַדְתְּךָ֖ – from your relatives… These are our relationships; this level tends to be more emotionally charged than the first level. Once, someone who made a mistake at work told me that she was so distraught about how upset her coworkers would be, how much suffering she probably caused them, and so on. But the next day, when she told a coworker how she got no sleep with all her worrying, the coworker said, “Get a life!” We are social beings; we are wired to care about others and care what others think about us. And in the right dosage, this is also good and necessary. But again, we must recognize: “There is my mind, creating all this drama, hiding the brightness of the moment.” Just recognizing it loosens its tyranny, and we can begin our journey (again). Lekh lekha – go for yourself out from the past, and into this bright newness. Or, it can also be translated, go to yourself – meaning, go to your true self, beneath your conditioning, to the boundless and bright field which sees the conditioning. וּמִבֵּ֣ית אָבִ֑יךָ – from your father’s house… This is the deep-seated conditioning that comes from how we were programmed in childhood, and can be the most emotionally charged, because it tends to be what we are most identified with. What are you trying to get out of life? What are you most afraid of? What is most important to you? This is the deepest strata of ego identification. Again, there’s nothing wrong with having desires and fears and values, as long as you know that they not the whole you; they too are parts of our conditioning. Then, after we recognize all our conditioning for what it is, we can choose to shift from involvement with thoughts and feelings, powerful as they may be, into whatever is present now, including whatever feeling residue persists from our conditioning. Again, the conditioned mind will be there when you need it, but by shifting into Presence, all that conditioning becomes more like a lucid dream. You might still be in the dream, but you know that it’s a dream, rather than thinking it’s real, as Rabbi Yisakhar said: “Once you know that there is a World of Confusion, you are no longer in it.” Practice this, and you will begin to notice: behind the conditioning, beyond the World of Confusion, you are the fire of awareness that perceives the conditioning. Then you can meet ha’aretz asher arekha – the fullness of Reality as it is revealed in this moment, the ever-shifting content of experience. But That which is experiencing, that radiant fire of awareness within which all experience comes and goes, that is the deepest level of who we are; and through that fire of alertness, represented by the letter ש shin, we are “saved,” from all Worlds of Confusion and can enter (again) the Brightness of Being…
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Parshah Summary – P’shat
The parshah opens with the description of Noah as an ish tzaddik, a righteous and pure person, and God expresses displeasure to Noah with the world which has become consumed by violence and corruption. God tells Noah that a flood is coming, and that he should build an ark to float upon the water, saving Noah and his family, along with members of each animal species. Rain falls for 40 days and nights, and the waters churn for 150 days more before calming and beginning to recede. When the ark settles on Mount Ararat, Noah dispatches a raven, and then a series of doves, “to see if the waters have subsided from the face of the earth.” When the ground dries completely, exactly one year after the onset of the Flood, God tells Noah to exit the ark and begin repopulating the earth.
Noah builds an altar and offers sacrifices. God swears never again to destroy humanity because of their deeds, and sets the rainbow in the sky as a testimony of the new covenant with human beings. God also commands Noah regarding the sacredness of life: murder is explicitly forbidden, and while humans are permitted to eat the meat of animals, they are forbidden to eat flesh or blood taken from a living animal. Noah plants a vineyard, makes wine, and becomes drunk. Two of Noah’s sons, Shem and Yaphet, are blessed for covering up their father, while his third son, Ham, is punished for behaving inappropriately in the presence of his drunk and naked father, though his precise offense is not explicitly described. The descendants of Noah remain a single people, with a single language and culture, for ten generations. Then they try to build a great tower to symbolize their own invincibility; God confuses their language so that “one does not comprehend the tongue of the other,” causing them to abandon their project and disperse across the face of the earth, splitting into seventy nations. The parshah concludes with a chronology of the ten generations from Noah to Abram (who becomes Abraham), and the latter’s journey from his birthplace of Ur Casdim to Haran, on the way to the land of Canaan.
Torah of Awakening
וַיֵּ֥ט מֹשֶׁ֛ה אֶת־יָד֖וֹ עַל־הַשָּׁמָ֑יִם וַיְהִ֧י חֹֽשֶׁךְ־אֲפֵלָ֛ה בְּכׇל־אֶ֥רֶץ מִצְרַ֖יִם שְׁלֹ֥שֶׁת יָמִֽים׃ לֹֽא־רָא֞וּ אִ֣ישׁ אֶת־אָחִ֗יו וְלֹא־קָ֛מוּ אִ֥ישׁ מִתַּחְתָּ֖יו שְׁלֹ֣שֶׁת יָמִ֑ים וּֽלְכׇל־בְּנֵ֧י יִשְׂרָאֵ֛ל הָ֥יָה א֖וֹר בְּמוֹשְׁבֹתָֽם׃ Moses held out his hand toward the sky and thick darkness descended upon all the land of Egypt for three days. People could not see one another, and no one could rise from their place for three days; but for the Children of Israel, there was light in their dwellings... - Shemot (Exodus) 10:22, 23
לֹֽא־רָא֞וּ אִ֣ישׁ אֶת־אָחִ֗יו וְלֹא־קָ֛מוּ אִ֥ישׁ מִתַּחְתָּ֖יו – People could not see one another, and no one could rise from their place… On this verse, the rabbi of Ger said, “When a person refuses to see the other, they soon get to the point of cleaving to their place, unable to move.”
The aim of meditation is to relax the movement of the mind, to see from a place of stillness. This perspective of spacious repose is the opposite of refusing to see the other; Presence is a letting go of any fixed point of view, and simply meeting the moment as it arises. The immobility referred to in this teaching, however, is not stillness of mind, but deadness of heart; it is a crisis of connection. The shutting down of the heart is a natural, self-protective response to violence and trauma, but if it persists, it can be deadly. At such times, the stillness of meditation may not be enough to awaken the heart back to aliveness. This is reflected in the halakhah concerning the Amidah. As the center of Jewish prayer, the Amidah is a meditative practice which should be intoned quietly, while the body stands attentive and relatively still. Ideally, one should not interrupt the Amidah for almost anything, but rather stay focused for the duration of the prayer. However, there are certain circumstances under which one must interrupt one’s Amidah. In the Talmud (Berakhot 33a), there is a discussion about when it is permissible and even mandatory to interrupt one’s praying of the Amidah: אֲפִילּוּ נָחָשׁ כָּרוּךְ עַל עֲקֵבוֹ, לֹא יַפְסִיק. אָמַר רַב שֵׁשֶׁת: לֹא שָׁנוּ אֶלָּא נָחָשׁ אֲבָל עַקְרָב — פּוֹסֵק Even if a snake is wrapped around one’s heel, one may not stop one’s prayer. Rav Sheshet said: They only taught this with regard to a snake, but with a scorpion, one stops. There is a hassidic teaching that the “snake” and the “scorpion” are actually metaphors. The snake represents desire and passion, while the scorpion represents the opposite: lifeless apathy. So, when it says that the “snake is wrapped around one’s heel,” this alludes to one being disturbed by thoughts and feelings of desire. For example, you’re trying to focus on the sacred words of the prayer, and suddenly you get hungry and your mind is filled with thoughts of food. In this case, there’s no need to stop davening, because the desire you feel for the food isn’t a bad thing; all you have to do is redirect its energy into the prayer. In fact, the desire is actually a wonderful gift, because it is raw energy that you can use to bring the prayer to life. This is one of the core principles of hassidic teaching: the elevation of desire – a kind of inner alchemy. On the other hand, if a scorpion approaches you, this means the opposite of passion; you are simply saying meaningless words with no life in them. In that case, you should stop the prayer and do something to awaken your aliveness first. But how do we awaken our aliveness, when the traumas of the world cause us to shut down and lose our taste for life? אֵ֚לֶּה תּוֹלְדֹ֣ת נֹ֔חַ נֹ֗חַ אִ֥ישׁ צַדִּ֛יק תָּמִ֥ים הָיָ֖ה בְּדֹֽרֹתָ֑יו אֶת־הָֽאֱלֹהִ֖ים הִֽתְהַלֶּךְ־נֹֽחַ׃ This is the line of Noah; Noah was whole and good (ish tzaddik), embodying trust and simplicity (tamim) in his generation; Noah walked with Elohim… - Bereisheet (Genesis) 6:9 Noah is described as a צַדִּיק tzaddik – the opposite of one whose heart is shut down. To be a tzaddik is to live from your heart in service of the Whole. Further, he is described as תָּמִים הָיָה בְּדֹֽרֹתָיו tamim hayah b’dorotav. Tamim means simple, direct, whole-hearted, uncomplicated. B’dorotav, “in his generation,” clarifies that he was tamim toward other people, accepting them as they are, not seeding conflict. תָּמִ֥ים הָיָ֖ה tamim hayah – “Trusting and simple he was…” The key to all this is הָיָה hayah, the verb “to be,” which consists of letters from the Divine Name. Everything is part of Being, part of the Divine, so the tzaddik receives the moment from the hands of God; this is the practice of meditation. But the end of the verse offers the key for how to do this, even when our hearts have shut down: אֶת־הָֽאֱלֹהִ֖ים הִֽתְהַלֶּךְ־נֹֽחַ – Noah walked with Elohim… The key is “walking.” When we are overcome with darkness, physical movement is a Divine gift that will reawaken your heart. Walking, swimming, yoga, whatever. The body is the temple of consciousness; if we find ourselves stuck in depression, anxiety or any other negative mind state, stop your sitting meditation and get some exercise, then come back to meditation, to the stillness of tamim hayah – receiving the moment from the hands of God with an awakened heart. This week begins the new moon of Heshvan, the eighth month, and is associated with water and rain, since the traditional prayers for rain began on Shmini Atzeret. Heshvan is also the month in which the flood began, according to the parshah, and it comes as we are experiencing our own destructive “flood” in this time of war. Heshvan is also associated with the Zodiac sign of Scorpio – the sign of the scorpion, the symbol of spiritual deadness. The traditional idiom for Heshvan is Mar Heshvan, that is, “bitter” Heshvan, as it is the month with no holiday celebrations. But in Kabbalah, water is also associated with awakening passion and desire for life, since water causes seemingly dead things to sprout and grow. Further, when we reverse the letters of mar, we have ram – “elevated,” or “transcendent.” In this time of much death and destruction, may we find the balance of stillness and movement to awaken our hearts and bodies to this gift of life that transcends the bitterness; may that balance manifest as beauty, harmony and peace in the world, speedily, in our day.
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בְּרֵאשִׁ֖ית בָּרָ֣א אֱלֹהִ֑ים אֵ֥ת הַשָּׁמַ֖יִם וְאֵ֥ת הָאָֽרֶץ׃
In the Beginning of Elohim creating the heavens and the earth… - Bereisheet (Genesis) 1:1
What is the nature of this earth we inhabit?
הֲבֵ֤ל הֲבָלִים֙ אָמַ֣ר קֹהֶ֔לֶת הֲבֵ֥ל הֲבָלִ֖ים הַכֹּ֥ל הָֽבֶל׃ “Vanity of vanities,” said Kohelet, the Preacher, Vanity of vanities, all is vanity! Kohelet (Ecclestiases) 1:1 King Solomon sums up his assessment of life in one word: havel. Often translated as “vanity” or “futility,” these translations are incomplete until we combine them with another word: “impermanence.” עֵ֤ת לֶֽאֱהֹב֙ וְעֵ֣ת לִשְׂנֹ֔א עֵ֥ת מִלְחָמָ֖ה וְעֵ֥ת שָׁלֽוֹם׃ A time for love and a time for hate; A time for war and a time for peace… That which has happened before, will happen again. This world oscillates between extremes; there is no permanent state. “Impermanence” in itself is not always a negative thing; it is just the way it is. But, when it comes to war, we can often be in denial about its reality. We think, perhaps unconsciously, that the devastations of the past will never happen again; and so our illusions are shattered again and again. That is why impermanence is also “vanity” or “futility.” When I was about two or three years old, my parents took me on vacation. I have a memory of a boy playing by the pool, filling his plastic bucket with water and splashing it on people. As I walked by him, he made an angry growling noise and threw some water on me. Without a thought, I just pushed him into the pool and watched him sink slowly to the bottom. Immediately, a barrage of adults surged all around me. Men in suits threw off their jackets and dove into the water. In a moment he was safe, and I stood there watching in astonishment. He coughed a bit, looked at me and said, “Next time I’ll push you in the pool!” And so goes the history of peoples and nations. I wonder sometimes what my life would have been like if I had accidentally killed that boy; thank God he was saved from my innocent but deadly push. At that age, I had no idea what the consequence of pushing him into the water would be. It was just an impulse. But still, I know that one day I will be “pushed into the pool,” as will we all. How do we deal with this state of affairs, in which violence and death are constant possibilities? We can find it difficult to “breath” in the emotional sense, we can feel like we are “drowning” in this world of havel. The answer is not complicated: the world is only havel to the degree that we are in denial. We must practice opening to and accepting the reality-quality preached by King Solomon, the Buddha, and countless other sages: that all states of being are impermanent. Life is painful, but we need not drown it, if we know how to come up for air. How do we do that? Not by pushing away or distracting ourselves from the pain that we fear we might drown in. Unlike physical water, within which we must hold our breath, the key to surviving our emotions is feeling them completely – because it is only through acceptance and surrender to the truth of our experience that we can come to know the Timeless, the Source from which all comes and to which all must return. בְּרֵאשִׁ֖ית בָּרָ֣א אֱלֹהִ֑ים אֵ֥ת הַשָּׁמַ֖יִם וְאֵ֥ת הָאָֽרֶץ׃ – In the Beginning of Elohim creating the heavens and the earth… The 12th century Kabbalistic text known as “The Bahir” equates the word רֵאשִׁ֖ית reisheet, which means “beginning”, with the word חָכְמָה hokhmah, which means “Wisdom” or “Consciousness,” by means of a verse that connects the two: רֵ֘אשִׁ֤ית חׇכְמָ֨ה יִרְאַ֬ת יי –The beginning of consciousness is awe of the Divinity of Existence… - Psalm 111:10 When your own awareness (hokhmah) meets this moment as it is, there is a quality of brightness, of newness (reisheet), that heals all wounds; this quality of consciousness can never be extinguished, if we know how to open to it. We’ve all known this quality at the very beginning of our lives. As an infant, you didn’t know your name. The infant has no story. Just like a cat rolling in the sun, like a bird flying in the sky, like a worm tunneling through the earth – the newborn is fresh and alive in this moment. But then the story begins: A time for war and a time for peace… וְהָאָ֗רֶץ הָיְתָ֥ה תֹ֙הוּ֙ וָבֹ֔הוּ וְחֹ֖שֶׁךְ עַל־פְּנֵ֣י תְה֑וֹם – And the earth was confusion and chaos, with darkness on the face of the depths… No one escapes from the havel, and yet, there is a path out of this confusion: וְר֣וּחַ אֱלֹהִ֔ים מְרַחֶ֖פֶת עַל־פְּנֵ֥י הַמָּֽיִם׃ – And Elohim hovered over the face of the waters… Rather than drown in the waters of our pain, we can “hover” simply by being present with our experience in this moment. And in this Presence, there is tremendous power: וַיֹּ֥אמֶר אֱלֹהִ֖ים יְהִ֣י א֑וֹר – And God said, “Let there be light!” As we open to the grief, the devastation, the fullness and truth of this moment, our Presence commands “light” – וַֽיְהִי־אֽוֹר – And there was light! This “light” is the dawning of the brightness that was there when you were a newborn, before you were a “someone,” before we were hit with all the havel. It hasn’t changed – it is still who we are; it cannot be taken away, though we can easily miss it. This basic goodness of life is not about hope, though without it there is no hope. Rather, it is something for us to see directly: וַיַּ֧רְא אֱלֹהִ֛ים אֶת־הָא֖וֹר כִּי־ט֑וֹב – And God saw that the light was good… This Inner Light is easy to miss because our minds and hearts are often divided between many activities, thoughts, responsibilities, not to mention times of trauma and devastation – it is tragically easy to drown in the havel. That is why meditation is so important. But once we grasp this simple truth that becomes visible in the silence, we can practice applying it in whatever we are doing; we can be present-in-action, and in doing so, be a beacon of light in these moments of chaos…
כֹּ֠ל אֲשֶׁ֨ר תִּמְצָ֧א יָֽדְךָ֛ לַעֲשׂ֥וֹת בְּכֹחֲךָ֖ עֲשֵׂ֑ה
Whatever your hands find to do, do it with all your strength… - Kohelet (Ecclestiases) 9:10
King Solomon is not pessimistic; he acknowledges the tragedy of reality, but also provides a solution: Be Present. Or, as Reb Zushia said when asked to reveal his core teaching on what is most important, he replied, “To me, the most important thing is whatever I happen to be doing in the moment.”
In these times of tremendous darkness, may we remember to access the Light that can never be extinguished, the Light that we are at the root of it all, the Light of Presence. We begin (again) by feeling deeply what needs to be felt. Let there be Light.
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This year, you may have noticed that Rosh Hashanah fell on Shabbat. Traditionally speaking, shofar is not sounded on Shabbat, which is why Rosh Hashanah is a two-day festival even in Israel; with two days, the shofar will be sounded on at least one of the two. My inclination was to not have shofar in our service this year, but instead to gather the next day in the park and have a little shofar service then, which we did. However, as news of my decision spread throughout the Torah of Awakening service leader world, I heard that someone from our team was not happy. I called Estelle, and I made my case. I told her that I want this Rosh Hashanah falling on Shabbat to feel different, by adding special Shabbat songs and prayers, and making room for them by not having shofar. She expressed that shofar is the most important part of Rosh Hashanah, and that many won’t hear it at all if we don’t do it on the first day. Plus, she said, what’s the problem, since you have musical instruments anyway!
כָּל מַחֲלֹקֶת שֶׁהִיא לְשֵׁם שָׁמַיִם, סוֹפָהּ לְהִתְקַיֵּם. וְשֶׁאֵינָהּ לְשֵׁם שָׁמַיִם, אֵין סוֹפָהּ לְהִתְקַיֵּם Every dispute that is for the sake of Heaven, will in the end endure; But one that is not for the sake of Heaven, will not endure. This was a perfect example of a makhlokhet l’shem shamyim, an “argument for the sake of heaven.” But this makhlokhet was unlike many of the halakhic disputes of the rabbis, in which there are clear winners and losers. For example, the argument between Beit Hillel and Beit Shamai, in which Beit Shamai said we should light all eight candles on the first night of Hanukkah and then light one less for each of the eight days, and Beit Hillel said that we should light one candle the first night, two on the second and so on. Hillel’s view became the common practice, not Shamai’s. But in this case, we compromised. We left shofar out of Musaf so that the davening would feel different for Shabbat, but we brought it back at the end so that anyone who wanted to hear shofar could hear, and anyone who wanted to step out could do so. I felt good about our compromise, not just because it’s good in general to work out our disagreements, but because it points to a deeper level of the halakhic process – the process by which questions of Jewish practice are worked out. After all, what is the point of Jewish spiritual practice? The ordinary understanding is that God gave the Jewish people Torah and mitzvot. Teaching and commandments, and that those are the means through which we can connect with God and fulfill our purpose. The non-religious, secular scholar view, on the other hand, denies the idea of divinely given Torah and mitzvot, and sees Judaism and all religion as an essentially human creation. But this dualism of Divinely given vs. human creation is, in my view, born from an insensitivity to the miracle of the ordinary: Far more extraordinary than the idea of Divine revelation with miracles and pillars of fire, is the simple miracle of two beings having a conversation and resolving a conflict. And on a deeper level, more extraordinary than any holy book is the very fact of our own consciousness, of our own minds as outposts of the Divine mind, manifesting right now in these bodies we inhabit. The duality then is not human creation vs. Divine revelation; it is either being sensitive to the mystery of consciousness as a Divine miracle, or being insensitive, conditioned and unimpressed. In truth, Torah is happening constantly, as the arising of thought within this miraculous field of consciousness that we are. You might disagree, saying that much of what arises in consciousness is not wise or interesting. And it’s true. As I say these words that have arisen within this consciousness that I am, there is, perhaps, some sense of the miracle. But if Buggs Bunny appears in my mind, I dismiss it rather than saying it, even though I just said it. Buggs Bunny doesn’t necessarily point to something sacred or Divine. But, the process of Torah actually includes this process of discernment between Wisdom and Buggs Bunny: סְפוֹג, שֶׁהוּא סוֹפֵג אֶת הַכֹּל. מַשְׁפֵּךְ, שֶׁמַּכְנִיס בְּזוֹ וּמוֹצִיא בְזוֹ. מְשַׁמֶּרֶת, שֶׁמּוֹצִיאָה אֶת הַיַּיִן וְקוֹלֶטֶת אֶת הַשְּׁמָרִים. וְנָפָה, שֶׁמּוֹצִיאָה אֶת הַקֶּמַח וְקוֹלֶטֶת אֶת הַסֹּלֶת: There are four types among those who sit before the sages: a sponge, a funnel, a strainer and a sieve. A sponge, soaks up everything; a funnel, takes in at one end and lets out at the other; a strainer, which lets out the wine and retains the lees; a sieve, which lets out the coarse meal and retains the choice flour. - Pirkei Avot 5:15
This remarkable passage contradicts the traditional idea of the Torah as eternally perfect and whole, which we might see reflected in this Torah passage, in which God says:
אֵ֣ת כׇּל־הַדָּבָ֗ר אֲשֶׁ֤ר אָנֹכִי֙ מְצַוֶּ֣ה אֶתְכֶ֔ם אֹת֥וֹ תִשְׁמְר֖וּ לַעֲשׂ֑וֹת לֹא־תֹסֵ֣ף עָלָ֔יו וְלֹ֥א תִגְרַ֖ע מִמֶּֽנּוּ׃ All of this matter that I command you, you shall guard to do; do not add to it, nor take away from it. - Devarim (Deuteronomy) 13:1
Pirkei Avot seems to be saying that it is up to us to discern which parts of the teaching are good and which parts should be dismissed, while the Torah verse seems to be saying that the Torah is perfect as it was given, and we shouldn’t add or subtract from it. How do we resolve these two verses?
The answer, I believe, is hinted in אֲשֶׁ֤ר אָנֹכִי֙ מְצַוֶּ֣ה אֶתְכֶ֔ם – that I command you. The “you,” meaning we, are part of the process. In other words, our own discernment is the means by which we are “commanded” – we must discern what is truly important – first for ourselves, so that we know what our own values are, and then in dialogue with others, so that we can be in harmony with their values and find a path that serves all to the best of our ability. Once we’ve found that, THEN we must not add or subtract from it – meaning, we must not insist that our way is the only right way, that would be adding, nor must we deny our own values when we confront the strong opinions of others – that would be subtracting. Instead, תִשְׁמְר֖וּ לַעֲשׂ֑וֹת – you shall be attentive to do it. But, of course we can only do this if we purify ourselves to know our own depths and to be in clean relationship with others; this is the meaning of כפרה on this Day of Atonement. Kaparah means making up for something, correcting a wrong, making whole and unifying that which was broken and fragmented. In this sense, the English play on the word “atonement” is appropriate, in which we read “atonement” as “At-One-Ment.” And how do we make at-one-ment? We do it by giving something up, by compromising, by be willing to feel the slight sting of not getting our way completely, in order to avoid the far worse sting of broken relationship. That willingness to feel the slight sting is the kaparah – like the goat sacrifices of the ancient Yom Kippur rite, it substitutes for the brokenness, and heals. Interestingly, another way of saying “substitute” is מְמַלֵא מָקוֹם which literally means, “filling the space.” We avoid the filling of the vacuum created by our misdeeds with disaster by filling it with something else – filling it with dialogue, compromise, or other healers of relationship such as apologies. On the deepest level, our kaparah sacrifice is something we can practice any moment, when we recognize that our minds tend to “fill up the space” of our consciousness with thought. Sometimes that thought is just Buggs Bunny, sometimes it is the channeling of Torah, but if we are to be the student that “retains the choice flour,” we must practice being aware of our own minds, “filling the space” not with always thought, but with Presence, with awareness… Then we can experience מְמַלֵא מָקוֹם – that the whole world is filled with the radiant Mystery of Being that we call the Divine…
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The other day, our cantorial soloist and service leader Renée came to me to discuss a dilemma: she was having trouble with leading the High Holiday prayers, because on one hand, she wants to be authentic, but on the other hand, many of the prayer texts just don’t feel authentic to her. She said that she wants to have integrity as a prayer leader, and not just treat our services as a just another “singing gig.”
I appreciated this so much, and I shared with her that it took me many years for these prayers to feel authentic, and that my process with them involved putting them into my own words and making my own interpretive translations. The key for me has been to try to connect with the prayerful intentions beneath the words. Many of these texts are over a thousand years old, and some of them over three thousand years old. On top of that, reading English translations can sometimes bring up connotations of today’s America brand of fundamentalism, which only adds to their distance. But if we can connect the prayerful impulse beneath the words with our own prayerful impulse, then the ancient words can merge with our own prayerfulness, so that we pray not merely as individuals, but as voices in the chorus of our people and our history. But how do we do that? Ironically, when Renée came to me with her question about how to be authentic, in doing so she was being completely authentic! And what was that authentic impulse? It was to engage in a process of transformation – in this case, to find a way into integrity with leading the prayers. And in a sense, this is really the essence of these High Holy Days: to engage in a process of transformation – to become aware of how we want to change for the better in the coming year. That’s it – if each of us can bring that question into our lives and take steps to effect that transformation for ourselves, then we have done our job. But, in order to ask ourselves the question of how we might change in a true and deep way, we first have to do something even more fundamental: we have to become present with ourselves not as we’d like to be, but as we are. Life is busy and it’s easy to hide from ourselves and live only on the surface of the great Ocean of Being, amidst the movement of the waves of life. If we want to get below the waves into the depths of the Ocean Itself, we need to pause the momentum; we need to stop doing and take some time for just Being; we need to sing, we need to move, we need to contemplate, and on the deepest level, we need silence; we need meditation. This is why the most central practice of Rosh Hashanah does not consist of any of these problematic words; it is simply listening to the sound of the shofar. עָלָ֣ה אֱ֭לֹהִים בִּתְרוּעָ֑ה יי בְּק֣וֹל שׁוֹפָֽר׃ – Alah Elohim b’truah, Adonai b’kol shofar – “Elohim rises up in the blast, Adonai in the voice of the shofar.” These two Divine Names are so instructive: Elohim is plural – literally “gods” – hinting that all the forces of Existence are One Reality, and Adonai is really the four letter Name which means “Existence” or “Being” or “Reality.” Alah means “rises up,” hinting that our experiential sense of the sacred arises out of our connection with Reality – that is, with whatever is present in this moment, when we become present – that is the attentiveness called forth by the sound of the shofar. In this very real sense, “God” is not about believing in some deity. Rather, “God” is a relational word, like “friend” or “teacher.” If someone asked you, “Do you believe in friend?” – that would be absurd. “Friend” is not something to believe in; rather, it describes a certain type of relationship. In the same way, “God” describes a relationship of prayerfulness, awe and reverence that we can have with Reality; not a divine being, but Being Itself. Prayer then, in its truest sense, is a response to our recognition of the sacred. God has gifted us with this moment, with this life – what is our response? When our response includes the aspiration to be co-creators of ourselves, then we tap into the spirit of these holy days. וּלְחַנָּ֖ה אֵ֥ין יְלָדִֽים – and Hannah had no children… - I Samuel 1:2 This is why, in our haftara, Hannah is barren at first, but she longs for a child. When her longing reaches its peak, she expresses her aspiration in prayer. The description of how Hannah moves her lips quietly as she prays becomes the model in our tradition for the Amidah, the most core prayer in our tradition. Then, when her prayers are answered and she conceives and gives birth, she names her son Shmuel, which is Sh’ma – El; meaning, “listens to God” or “God listens.” Either way, it is the God within us, listening to the God all around us, waking up to that impulse of transformation, through us. May we all be inspired and encouraged in our grand pause and coming together (again) to listen…
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