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.
1 Comment
Ron Kafker
4/29/2022 06:51:42 pm
Thanks rabbi shabbat shalom
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