Follow along with the sources here.
Tuesday, March 31, 2020
Monday, March 30, 2020
Sunday, March 29, 2020
Friday, March 27, 2020
Quality Time Alone
Quality Time Alone
Thoughts on the Coronavirus
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As the people of Am
Yisrael prepared for the fateful night of the fourteenth of Nisan, God
instructed:
And
you shall take a bundle of hyssop and you shall dip it in the blood that is in
the basin and you shall touch the blood that is in the basin to the lintel and
to the two doorposts…
(Shemot 12:22)
The great medieval
commentator R. Avraham Ibn Ezra noticed the similarity between this command and
the purifying process of the messora (leper), which God would later
instruct:
The
Cohen shall charge that there be taken for him who is cleansing himself two
live pure birds and cedar wood and crimson stuff and hyssop…And dip them and
the living bird in the blood of the slaughtered bird over fresh water. (VaYikra 14:4)
Ibn Ezra suggested
that the similarity of dipping hyssop into blood in each of these cases hints
at a shared essence.[1]
How was the exalted night of “Pesah Missrayim” in any way similar to the
lowly state of the exiled messora?
The 18th
Century Hasidic leader R. Nahman of Bratzlav z”l spent much of his life
preaching about the basic importance of seeking a “conversation with God.” He
taught his followers to meditate in solitude – be-hitbodedut – as a way
of connecting with the Almighty. R. Nahman advised finding a physical place
apart from others and saying to yourself, “For the next twenty minutes, I will
be alone with God.” He explained that even if there is in fact nothing to say,
the very experience of spending time alone with God – aware of His presence –
is still valid.[2]
Indeed, Jewish
tradition has long stressed the importance of solitude to our approach of God.
R. Avraham, the son of HaRambam, distinguished between an external and internal
isolation. Whereas external isolation consists of physically distancing
oneself from others, the fundamental state of internal isolation separates the
mind from outward sensation and thought itself.[3]
And the great codifier R. Yaakov b. Asher wrote, as well, how “Saints and
people of deed…would meditate in solitude and concentrate in their prayers
until they reached a level where they would be divested of the physical.”[4]
R. Joseph B.
Soloveitchik z”l traced the significance of Har Sinai, God’s chosen
place for giving the Torah, to Moshe’s earlier experience with God at the
burning bush in that location.[5]
“When God wanted to select a mountain for the public revelation,” R.
Soloveitchik wrote, “He selected Mount Sinai, because the first confrontation,
the first rendezvous between God and man, had already taken place there.”[6]
R. Soloveitchik furthermore noticed that while we tend to focus on the
spectacular heroism “on the battlefield,” there is another type of heroism, set
out of the public. “Most mitzvot concern one’s private life,” he wrote,
“No one watches; there are no onlookers. It is just a relationship between
oneself and God.”[7]
The “acts of heroism” performed in solitude enjoy the unique aspect of
intimacy, absent from those in public.
Concluding His
instructions for touching the blood to the lintel and doorposts of Am
Yisrael, God said:
And
as for you, none of you shall go out from the entrance of his house till
morning.
(Shemot 12:22)
In a similar vein
to the leper’s isolation from nation in the wilderness – “outside
the camp shall his dwelling place be” (VaYikra 13:46), God instructed every
household to quarantine themselves. He commanded them to be mitboded –
isolated and apart from others – for just one night.
It
is a night of watch (shimurim)
for God, for His taking them out of the land of Egypt, this night is God’s a
watch (shimurim) for all Bnei Yisrael through their generations.
(Shemot 12:42)
R. Avraham Ibn Ezra
explained that Am Yisrael’s duty to “watch” on that night was similar to
the way a guard stays awake and “watches out” to protect his city overnight.[8]
But there was no city for the people to protect at that time. Am Yisrael
was, instead, watching over and experiencing the night itself.
“It is a night of
watch for God.” As God stood guard to protect and “watch” through the night,
the people of Am Yisrael distanced themselves from one another. They spent
the night standing guard and “watching” on their own –together with the
Almighty.
Two weeks of social
isolation have passed. Many more lie ahead. Instead of dreaming about our
ultimate return to “normalcy,” perhaps we should seize this time as an opportunity
to deepen our relationships with God. The solitude so suddenly placed upon us need
not be an obstacle. It may, instead, be a potential.
[1] Commentary of R. Avraham
Ibn Ezra to VaYikra 14:4, s.v. ve-ess.
[2] See R. Aryeh Kaplan, Jewish
Meditation (New York, NY, 1985), pg. 95. Cf. Arthur Green, Tormented
Master: The Life and Spiritual Quest of Rabbi Nahman of Bratzlav
(Woodstock, VT, 1992), pg. 145-148.
[3] R. Avraham b. HaRambam, Hamaspik
LeOvdei HaShem, Perek Hitbodedut. Cf. Jewish Mediation, pg. 52.
[4] R. Yaakov b. Asher, Arba’ah
Turim, Orah Hayim: 98.
[5] See Commentary of Rashi to
Shemot 3:1, s.v. el har.
[6] R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Vision
and Leadership: Reflections on Joseph and Moses (Jersey City, NJ, 2013),
pg. 77.
[7] R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Abraham’s
Journey: Reflections on the Life of the Founding Patriarch (Jersey City,
NJ, 2008), pg. 65.
[8] Commentary of R. Avraham
Ibn Ezra to Shemot 12:42, s.v. leil. See, as well, Commentary of
R. Shimon b. Semah to the Hagadah, s.v. ma’aseh.
Thursday, March 26, 2020
Wednesday, March 25, 2020
Tuesday, March 24, 2020
Monday, March 23, 2020
Sunday, March 22, 2020
Challenges
Challenges
Thoughts on the Coronavirus
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Dear Friends,
I am sharing with
you a thought that has shaped my perspective during these past few days.
Realizing the fast
approach of Pesah has been hard for me. Zeman herutenu, the holiday
which celebrates our national freedom, seems blatantly out of sync with our
current situation of helplessness. By paying closer attention to the halakhah’s
fundamental interplay between hamess and massah, however, we
might discover an inspiring vantage point for the days ahead.
While the concepts
of hamess and massah might appear as so distantly apart from one
another, the Torah dictates otherwise:
You
shall not eat hamess with it. Seven days you shall eat with it massot,
poverty’s bread
(Devarim 16:3).
Noticing to the
dual-mention of not eating hamess and eating massah in a single pasuk,
the Hakhamim taught that the massah must be baked from grains
that could lead to hamess. They thus excluded, for example, the
use of rice massot.[1]
Some authorities maintained, as well, that the rabbinic prohibition of eating massah
on the eve Pesah only begins at the time that consumption of hamess ends.[2]
The Rabbis likewise understood from this verse that women are obligated in
the obligation to eat massah on the first night of Pesah. Although
generally exempt from positive time-bound missvot, this pasuk hinted
at women’s inclusion, since “anyone who is a part of not eating hamess is
a part of eating massah.”[3]
It appears, then,
that hamess and massah are closely related to one another.
How strange! If hamess traditionally represents the yesser ha-ra, our
inclination to do wrong,[4]
it would make sense that the opposite – massah – should be kept at a
distance from it. Why does the halakhah draw such a close relation between
two concepts which should have seemingly been better situated afar from one
another?
Following the final
day of Creation, the Torah stated: “And God saw all that He had done, and,
look, it was very good” (Bereshit 1:31). The Hakhamim had a novel, yet
counterintuitive interpretation to the “very good” of Creation: “R. Shemuel b.
Nahman said…this is the yesser ha-ra.” The Rabbis were incredulous! How
could “very good” refer to the very basis of “bad” in this world – the evil
inclination? But the Midrash explained that if the world was bereft of all yesser
ha-ra, existing instead in a state of absolute piety and sainthood, it
would quickly fall into a state of disuse and deterioration. Ironically, it is
only by means of the evil inclination – when positively manipulated – that
human beings are productive by building homes, having children and making
money.[5]
Erasing the stark
division between “good” and “bad,” the Hakhamim forced us to realize the
delicate interplay between the two. They explained that the light of goodness
is actually dimmed when isolated from bad. It is, instead, the seemingly “evil”
challenges of life that bring forth its glow. Our potentials are manifested best
when forced to emerge from the straits of difficulty.
Estelle Frankel
noticed that the natural world, as well, tends to blur the distinct boundaries
between “good” and “bad.” Cholesterol, for example, comes in two forms – one
that is primarily good (HDL) and another that is primarily bad (LDL). Yet even
the so-called “bad” cholesterol is necessary for cell growth and without it you
would die. Frankel remarked: “In human physiology and in the natural world,
cutting-edge thought defines optimal health as the dynamic balance of good and
bad elements, not the eradication of something that is wholly ‘bad’.”[6]
Pointing to the
Torah’s paired-mention of hamess and massah, the Hakhamim
highlighted their codependence. They taught that “goodness” cannot exist in a
vacuous realm, apart from bad. A dough that avoids the challenge of
rising to hamess is not a kosher massah. Genuine goodness must
instead emerge from within a world of challenges. Massat missvah must conquer
the test of rising, coming into being through a courageous defeat of
difficulty.
Our world is
currently submerged in a sea of viral threats. It feels at this time as if we
can only see the evil side of Creation’s “very good.” We constantly behold the
rampant “risen dough” of hamess in our midst. Our mission, however, is
to begin searching for the positive which is latent in this challenge. The
difficulties will awaken a strength that lies dormant in each of us. It will
actualize our yesser ha-tov – our massah, and help us come out
stronger than we went in.
Shabbat
shalom!
Rabbi
Avi Harari
[1] Pesahim 35a.
[2] See Ba’al HaMaor to Pesahim 43a and
Perush HaRan ad loc.
[3] Pesahim 43b.
[4] Berakhot 17a and Commentary of Rashi ad
loc, s.v. se’or.
[5] Bereshit Rabah 9:7.
[6] Estelle Frankel, Sacred Therapy: Jewish
Spiritual Teachings on Emotional Healing and Inner Wholeness (Boston, MA,
2003), pg. 234.
Friday, March 20, 2020
Thursday, March 19, 2020
Wednesday, March 18, 2020
Tuesday, March 17, 2020
Monday, March 16, 2020
Vulnerability
Vulnerability
Thoughts on the Coronavirus
Click here to view as PDF
I have, as a result, more than once reflected upon the difference between vulnerability and weakness. Brené Brown explained that according to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, the word vulnerability is derived from the Latin word vulnerare, meaning “to wound.” The definition includes “capable of being wounded,” and “open to attack or damage.” Weakness, however, is “the inability to withstand attack or wounding.” Brown noted that weakness often stems from a lack of vulnerability, because when we don’t acknowledge how and where we’re tender, we’re more at risk of being hurt.[1]
Dear Friends,
I have experienced the past few days with the constant discomfort of thoughts
and feelings of vulnerability. Unknowingly thrust into this situation of
uncertainty has brought forth in me the difficult emotions of doubt and
confusion.
I have, as a result, more than once reflected upon the difference between vulnerability and weakness. Brené Brown explained that according to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, the word vulnerability is derived from the Latin word vulnerare, meaning “to wound.” The definition includes “capable of being wounded,” and “open to attack or damage.” Weakness, however, is “the inability to withstand attack or wounding.” Brown noted that weakness often stems from a lack of vulnerability, because when we don’t acknowledge how and where we’re tender, we’re more at risk of being hurt.[1]
Ironically,
I began to think about this topic in the days leading up to Purim. At a time
that now feels like “the distant past,” I pondered a concept that I did not
imagine would soon become real. Hearing from Mordekhai about the dangers
awaiting the Jews of Ahashverosh's kingdom, Esther sent back to him:
All the
king's servants and the people of the king's province know that every man and
woman who comes into the inner court without having been called, the single
rule is to put to death, unless the king reach out to him the golden scepter.
And as for me, I have not been called to come to the king thirty days now. (Esther 4:11-12)
Her message was clear: Stepping foot into the
king's inner court spelled a dangerous loss of control. Esther would not accept
such a circumstance. Mordekhai's response to her was legendary:
Do not
imagine to escape of all the Jews in the house of the king. For if you indeed
remain silent, relief and rescue will come to the Jews from elsewhere, and you
and your father's house will perish. And who knows whether for just a time like
this you have attained royalty? (4:14-15)
He taught Esther that although her position as
queen may have had the outward appearance and trappings of stability, her actual
standing was no different than anyone else’s. Mordekhai told her that we are always
vulnerable. While we may deceive ourselves into the belief that we do control
our fate, it is the times of crisis that force us to realize that we do not.
Reminding Esther of this fundamental truth, Mordekhai offered her the decision
of succumbing to the pressure and exposing her weakness in a continued
state of self-denial, or admitting to the vulnerability and bravely rising
above.
Madeleine L'Engle wrote: "When we were children, we used to think that when we were grown up we would no longer be vulnerable. But to grow up is to accept vulnerability. To be alive is to be vulnerable."[2] At a time like the present, when uncertainty is pervasive, it is easy to despair. Being true to ourselves, however, we must soberly realize that life was never predictable. Admitting this will inspire us to look at the days and weeks ahead with a refreshing sense of courage and strength.
We do not know what the future holds in store. But we never
did. We are vulnerable. But we are not weak.
Wishing you safety and strength,
Rabbi Avi Harari
_____________________
Saturday, March 7, 2020
Sunday, March 1, 2020
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