Listen to tonight's class, "Reading Secular Books or Newspapers on Shabbat," here.
Follow along with the sources here.
Saturday, February 29, 2020
Reading Secular Books or Newspapers on Shabbat
Listen to tonight's class, "Reading Secular Books or Newspapers on Shabbat," here.
Follow along with the sources here.
Monday, February 24, 2020
Sunday, February 23, 2020
Saturday, February 22, 2020
Parashat Mishpatim: Discovery
Discovery
Thoughts on Parashat Mishpatim 2020
Click here to view as PDF
Ma’amad Har Sinai was a once-in-existence experience of absolute
revelation. Parashat Yitro’s detailed description of the sounds and
lights of Sinai portrays the profound exposure to Am
Yisrael at that time. Parashat Mishpatim’s account of Moshe’s
ascension to receive the luhot, in contrast, depicts a scene of
vagueness and obscurity. The people’s vision at the time that he
departed was blurred by a “consuming fire” engulfed by an effacing cloud
(Shemot 23:15-18).
The Hakhamim hinted at the opposite natures which underlay these two events, as well, in their retelling of the stories. Describing the people’s supernatural
retention of every detail and particularity of the Torah at the time of its
reception at Sinai,[1] the Rabbis contrarily
described Moshe’s repeated “forgetting” of the Torah over the course of his
forty-day rendezvous atop the mountain en
route to receiving
the luhot.[2]
While the importance of God’s
revelation to an entire nation at Har Sinai is easily understood, His reason
for presenting the luhot in the hidden atmosphere of clouds and
forgetfulness requires an explanation.
Several years ago, one of my
sons returned home from school with an assignment. He needed to interview a
parent and record their memories of September 11th, 2001. I
volunteered to be interviewed. Midway through my retelling of what happened on
that day in my life, my wife passed by the room. She overheard my recollection
and just couldn’t hold back. “I was together with Abba on that day,” she told
my son, “and I need to correct a few details in his story.” I, in turn,
dismissed her “corrections,” causing my son to look up at the two of us and
confusedly ask, “So, which one of you is right?” Laughing at the absurdity of
this all-too-typical situation, I explained to him the difference between
“history” and “memory.” History must record the absolute and objective
facts of an earlier time. Memory, however, is the reflective state of
reliving that time as it was then experienced and subsequently understood.
“Your assignment is not to research the history of 9/11,” I explained to
my son, “but rather to record the memory of one of your parents.” And
for that both my wife and I were “right.”
Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi
relatedly noticed that the Rabbis of the Talmud were uninterested in recording
history. Neglecting an account of post-biblical history, they showed no effort
to preserve even that which had taken place in the ages immediately prior to
their own. He furthermore noted that the Hakahamim’s retelling of
biblical events demonstrates a certain indifference to history, as well, as
they “seem to play with Time as though with an accordion, expanding and
collapsing it at will.” In the Rabbis’ eyes, Adam instructed his son Shet in
the Torah, Shem and Ever established a bet midrash, and the forefathers
institute the three daily tefilot. “Classical rabbinic literature was
never intended as historiography,” Yerushalmi explained, “Instead they were
engrossed in an ongoing exploration of the meaning of the history bequeathed to
them, striving to interpret it in living terms for their own and later
generations.”[3] The Hakhamim thus
turned their focus from retelling the facts of history to articulating
its meaning in memory.
Stretching beyond the realm of
history and memory, however, blotting out certain
objective realities and past precedents from our thoughts may aide
our own perception and creativity. Israeli psychologists Daniel Kahaneman and
Amos Tversky realized that what people remember about the past is likely to
warp their judgment of the future. “We often decide that an outcome is
extremely unlikely or impossible because we are unable to imagine any chain of
events that would cause it to occur,” they wrote. Kahaneman likewise remarked, regarding the study of memory, “You
don’t study memory. You study forgetting.”[4]
The late neurologist Oliver
Sacks recalled once
rummaging through his old
notebooks and finding that many of the thoughts he had recorded in them were
forgotten for years, later revived by him and reworked as new. He realized a
positive aspect to those “forgettings,” suggesting that “creativity may require
such forgettings, in order that one’s memories and ideas can be born again and
seen in new contexts and perspectives.” [5] R.
Joseph B. Soloveitchik z”l would likewise instruct his students to
ignore their notes from past classes on the material they were then learning.
He was forcing them to creatively engage with the text from an unbiased vantage
point, free of any preconceived perspective or thought.[6]
“R. Yohanan said: Initially, Moshe would study Torah and forget it,
until it was given to him as a gift” (Nedarim 38a). R. Yehezkel Landau z”l, the
great 18th Century rabbi of Prague, explained the nature of that
“gift” of Torah which Moshe received by referencing another statement of the Hakhamim:
“Rava says: Initially the Torah is called by the name of the Holy One Blessed
be He, but ultimately it is called by the name [of the one who studies it]”
(Avodah Zarah 19a). R. Landau thus suggested that the “gift” of Torah
bestowed upon Moshe
was his ability to claim it “as his own.”[7] In light of
our above analysis we might further suggest that Moshe
could only acquire the Torah “as his own” by means of approaching it with the
wide eyes and open mind of an individual whose previous knowledge and
perspective were wiped clean through “forgetting.” It was his fresh and unprejudiced
engagement with the Torah that allowed for his heart’s creative capacity to
emerge from its dormancy, finding expression in the words of God.
By
contrasting Moshe’s mysterious reception of the luhot to the clarity of Ma’amad
Har Sinai, the Torah shined light on the ideal engagement with its texts.
It taught that its letters and words encompass a potential far greater than any
static book of stories and law. The cloudy scene of Matan HaLuhot presented
the Torah as an unimagined reality awaiting the creative discovery of all
future seekers. It beckoned us to move beyond a mere reading of the Torah,
encouraging us instead to dig deep and discover its depth.
[1] See Commentary of Rashi
to Vayikra 25:1, s.v. be-har Sinai, and HaRambam’s Introduction to
Commentary on Mishnah.
[2] Nedarim 38a.
[3] Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi, Zakhor: Jewish History
and Jewish Memory (Seattle, WA, 1996), pg. 16-20.
[4] Michael Lewis, The Undoing
Project: A Friendship that Changed Our Minds (New York, NY, 2017), pg.
194-195 and 129.
[5] Oliver Sacks, The River of Consciousness (New
York, NY, 2017), pg. 108.
[6] See, e.g., R. Herschel
Reichman’s recollection in Mentor of Generations: Reflections on Rabbi
Joseph B. Soloveitchik (Jersey City, NJ, 2008), pg. 206-207.
[7] R. Yehezkel Landau, Siyun
LeNefesh Hayah: Berakhot 64a. Note that R. Landau’s particular elaboration
differs from our above extension.
Saturday, February 15, 2020
Monday, February 10, 2020
Sunday, February 9, 2020
Saturday, February 8, 2020
Friday, February 7, 2020
Parashat BeShalah: Appreciating the Process
Appreciating the Process
Thoughts on Parashat BeShalah 2020
Click here to view as PDF
[1] Masekhet Shabbat 117b.
Shortly after Am
Yisrael began their trek through the wilderness, God informed them of a
miraculous source of sustenance – the man – which would accompany them
along the journey. “Look I am about to rain down bread for you from the
heavens,” He told Moshe, “And the people shall go out and gather each day’s
share on that day” (Shemot 16:4). God continued:
And
it will happen, on the sixth day, that they will prepare what they bring in,
and it will be double what they gather each day. (16:5)
By raining down a
double portion of man on Friday morning, God forced the people to
prepare for Shabbat. The Hakhamim interpreted this as a lasting
instruction: “A person should always arise early to attend to the expenditures
of Shabbat.”[1]
Shulhan Arukh underscored its importance by codifying it as law.[2]
And the medieval French commentator Hizkuni furthermore suggested that
the very missvah of “shemirat Shabbat – guarding Shabbat”
(Devarim 5:11) refers to an anticipatory preparation for its arrival.[3]
While it is clear that an appropriate preparation is necessary for all
significant endeavors, God seemed intent on teaching a particular lesson in the
context of Shabbat at this juncture. What is it?
R. Joseph B.
Soloveitchik z”l once digressed from a public lecture to share a
“private confession” with his listeners. “True, there are Jews in America who
observe the Shabbat,” he remarked, “But it is not for the Shabbat that my heart
aches, it is for the forgotten eve of the Shabbat.” While thankful for
the many shomrei Shabbat Jews in America, R. Soloveitchik bemoaned the
dearth of those “who go out to greet the Shabbat with beating hearts and
pulsating souls.” He explained that the vanishing “Erev Shabbat Jews”
spells the loss of the inner spirit and meaning of Shabbat – its “service of
the heart.”[4]
We extend the
essence of Shabbat in our lives by looking forward to and preparing for its
arrival. We thereby appreciate it as a day imbued with sanctity and meaning
that stretch beyond the confines of mere words spoken and actions performed. It
is by thinking about Shabbat during the “profane week” that we accept its
potential to affect each and every moment of our lives.
Ramban suggested
that Judaism’s traditional reference to the days of the week as “the first of
the Shabbat,” “the second of the Shabbat,” etc. is an expression of a
commandment which obligates us to “remember it always, every day.” Indeed, the
Talmud relates: “They said of Shamai the Elder: All his days he would eat in
honor of Shabbat. If he found a fine bit of meat, he would say: ‘This is for
Shabbat.’ If he found another that was still better, he would set aside the
second [for Shabbat] and eat the first.”[5]
Ramban explained that constant thought of Shabbat causes its essential message
to pervade our lives: “By always remembering it we will remember Creation at
all times and acknowledge at all times that the universe has a Creator.”[6]
The preparation for
Shabbat, then, touches on the fundamental concept of appreciating the
process. Rather than viewing the first six days of the week as disjointed
and separate from Shabbat, we are cautioned to “live Shabbat” on those days as
well.[7]
Shabbat exists as more than just a “destination day” to perform ritual acts of
sanctity. It represents the essence of a connectedness to God. And by living
the life of an “Erev Shabbat Jew,” its essence pervades all that we do during
the week.
Appreciating the significance
of the process naturally leads to enjoying it, as well. Rav Kook wrote: “All
the supportive actions that sustain any general worthwhile spiritual goal
should by right be experienced in the soul with the same feeling of elation and
delight as the goal itself is experienced when we envision it.”[8]
And best-selling author and psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi similarly
found that all creative people love what they do. “It is not the hope of
achieving fame or making money that drives them,” he wrote, “rather, it is the
opportunity to do the work that they enjoy doing.”[9]
Addressing the
nation as they began a journey through the desert to the Land of Israel, God
taught them the invaluable lesson of appreciating the process en route the
destination. By instructing Am Yisrael to prepare for Shabbat before its
arrival He furthermore expanded their general perspective. God corrected their
vision of a destination detached from the process to one that informs
it. And He perhaps hinted to them, as well, that just as the sanctity of
“destination Shabbat” might now pervade their lives, so too might the waters of
“destination Israel” moisten their seemingly dry travels through the midbar.
[1] Masekhet Shabbat 117b.
[2] R. Yosef Karo, Shulhan
Arukh: Orah Hayim 250:1.
[3] Commentary of Hizkuni to
Devarim 5:11, s.v. shamor (“davar aher”).
[4] R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, On
Repentance (New Milford, CT, 2017), pg. 32.
[5] Masekhet Beissah
16a.See, as well, Commentary of Rashi to Shemot 20:8, s.v. zakhor.
[6] Commentary of Ramban to
Shemot 20:8. See, as well, R. Jacob J. Schacter’s “To Be an Erev Shabbat Jew,” From
Within the Tent: The Shabbat Prayers (New Milford, CT, 2015), pg. 4-5.
[7] See, e.g., R. Moshe Shapiro, Afikei
Mayim: Sukkot (Monsey, NY, 2012), pg. 103.
[8] R. Avraham Yisshak HaCohen
Kook, Orot HaTeshuvah 6:7. Translated by Ben Zion Bokser in Abraham
Isaac Kook (Mahwah, NJ, 1978), pg. 59-60.
[9] Mihaly
Csikszentmihalyi, Creativity: Flow and the Psychology of Discovery and
Invention (New York, NY, 1997), pg. 107.
Monday, February 3, 2020
Sunday, February 2, 2020
Saturday, February 1, 2020
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