Blog Archives

Re'eh

8/25/2022

“See, today I have placed before you a blessing and a curse. The blessing: that you hearken to the commandments of the L-rd your G-d, that I command you today. And the curse, if you do not hearken to the commandments…and stray from the path that I command you this day…” (D’varim 11:26-28ish…).

Moshe’s injunction to the nation seems incredibly binary, doesn’t it? All or nothing. Follow or don’t. Believe or not. Does the Torah really mean to make our ritual and theological choices be so cut and dry?

The nuts and bolts (in Yiddish, “tachles”) of the varied commandments are open to interpretation. The Torah presents us with the opportunity for wiggle room. Multiple mitzvot (commandments) as presented in the Torah, will not become binding until Israel is able to cement their infrastructure in the Promised Land. Seriously, to start with: how can you observe the laws of agriculture if you don’t have fields to plant stuff in? How can you observe kashrut when your diet consists solely of heavenly manna and quail?

Easy. The bracha (blessing) and the klala (curse) are both dynamic quantities. Picture a see-saw with rolling marbles on each side. Maintaining the balance becomes more difficult, since the loads are constantly changing. Our job is to be constantly in control of an ever shifting balance.

Ok, maybe not so easy. How can we keep our equilibrium when our fulcrum is constantly shifting? Is it our task to pile matching good/bad, positive/negative, heavy/light commodities onto our personal balance to create personal peace?

I’d suggest that the commodities we typically view as being opposite sides of a balance may not be so. Consider: A sad or distracted person may be healed by the right song, sung at the right time. An individual who is feeing abandoned by their companions may achieve their equilibrium by having someone perform an unprovoked act of kindness in an unanticipated time and place. The right quote, highlighted at the right time, can be a sense of tremendous comfort for someone who is searching for meaning at a time of trouble. We all have our hands on a spiritual steering wheel, where we can turn it to the side of bracha or klala. We all know that driving means making slight course corrections—a little bit to the left, a little bit to the right. If life was a straight line, where we’re either on the route or off to the side, it wouldn’t be life as we know it.

The way we achieve the harmony between the blessing and the curse is an ever evolving, constantly shifting alchemy. Two things are vital to our keeping our balance, like a Fiddler on the Roof. We need to be aware that what allows us to maintain our equilibrium may not necessarily be two equal halves of the same whole. Furthermore, keeping a perfect centrist path is impossible; midcourse corrections are a vital part of the formula. Strive for the straight path, but know that it’s natural to wobble from side to side. However we may wander as we try to find our way, the important thing is that we ultimately get where we are supposed to.

Enjoy the journey.

Shabbat Shalom, and Chodesh Tov; a good month!

Rabbi/Hazzan David B. Sislen

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Ekev

8/19/2022

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Parshat Ekev opens with a clever bit of wordplay. “It shall be after you have heard these ordinances [that you should observe them…].” But the word “ekev” (after) shares its root with the Hebrew word for “heel” (think “Ya’akov (Jacob). Rashi, quoting Midrash Tanchuma, suggests that the double entendre is intended to refer to commandments which would likely be trampled or treated as insignificant. Among the mitzvot at risk for such trivialization, as suggested by other commentators, are rejoicing on Shabbat and holidays, praying in Hebrew, or, generally, any commandment for which an individual feels that the personal reward is not worth the effort.

It seems that this is likely what Moshe had in mind. At the beginning of chapter 8, he cautions the nation that they should observe “the entire commandment;” suggesting that selective attention to ritual must be avoided in favor of taking on the whole enchilada.

Is this setting the bar a little too high for the average Jew? Even in antiquity, no one person could observe all 613 commandments. In modernity, how much more so? Does Judaism give us the right, the responsibility, or the imperative to select those mitzvot we can take to fruition and perform in their entirety while avoiding or delaying those which we either reject or will not be able to fulfill?

Rashi again gives us a little more insight. In his commentary to “the entire commandment” he offers the following caveat: the mitzva belongs to the one who brings it to fruition. The example he gives is that of bringing Jacob’s bones to the Promised Land for burial. Joseph and his brother received the imperative, Moshe was charged with carrying it out but since he was unable to see the task to its end, Israel themselves received credit for fulfilling Jacob’s wishes. Rashi’s commentary quotes a source which highlights the word “the.” The implication of the added article is that if the standard applied to all of the mitzvot, it would have read “all commandments.” The addition of “the” suggests that any individual commandment which one ventures to undertake should be done in its entirety, but, failing that, the one who completes it receives the bulk of the credit.

That changes things. The Torah text and the associated commentaries teach us that:

1. No commandment (mitzva) is worthy of being “trampled” or trivialized.

2. Accepting mitzvot is not an all or nothing proposition.

3. Taking on any mitzva means making a commitment to see it through.

4. If you do not have the ability to complete a mitzva on your own, it may still be completed.

In other words, there is no reason to not continue striving to bring more of our tradition into your life. Whether practically, ritually, ethically, or spiritually, there are multiple points of entry from which you can enrich your personal situation. Choose one, do it, and do it as best you can. Then choose another. The greater the variety of colors on your palette, the more you can paint.

What holds us back is either a reticence to commit, a fear of failure, or simple lack of initiative. This week we will bless the month of Elul, the last month of the year before the Yamim Noraim, the Days of Awe. That gives us a month and a week before Rosh Hashana. It’s time for us to consider how we want to change and grow for the coming year of 5783. What can you add? What can you change? Where have you been successful, and where have you fallen short? Can you come to the New Year with a plan for self-growth, or are you content to continue where you were? Parshat Ekev is uniquely situated to raise these issues for us. It’s not surprising that this parsha, so dedicated to inspiring the observance of G-d’s commandments, only offers 8 new ones. The rest are referred to generally; suggesting that the vast array of practical and spiritual possibilities are open to possibility, and ready to claim. In Pirkei Avot, we are taught to rush to complete an easy mitzva as much as a difficult one, since one mitzva leads to another. With such a wealth of possibilities past, present, and future available to us, What will you claim as your own?

As always, call, email, or stop by to talk if you’d like a few personal suggestions….
Shabbat Shalom!

Rabbi/Hazzan David B. Sislen

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Va'etchanan

8/12/2022

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In his Sefer Hamitzvot, Rambam (Maimonides) ranks the 613 commandments in order of immediacy and centrality, beginning with six constant mitzvot which one must observe every hour of every day. Not surprisingly, as Moshe starts to get into the swing of alternately haranguing, teaching, and inspiring the Israelite nation, the top three of Rambam’s choices are stated (or restated) in this week’s parsha:

1. “I am the Hashem your G-d who brought you out of the land of Egypt….” (5:6)

2. “Hear O Israel, Hashem is our G-d, the Hashem is One.” (6:4)

3. “You shall love Hashem your G-d with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your might.” (6:5)

A mitzva needs a verb to tell us what to do or what to avoid doing. Here, though, we have three commandments, right at the top of Maimonides’ hit parade, where the instructions are ambiguous or obscure. The first is the commandment to believe in G-d; the opening of the Ten Commandments. But it is worded with Hashem as the speaker, identifying Himself as the Divine, not as a “thou shalt” or as a “thou shalt not.” It is interpreted by our sages to be the blanket acceptance of the existence of G-d. #2, the Shema, does have a verb, “hear,” but what we are supposed to hear (or accept) builds on the previous example. Having accepted the existence of an omnipotent Creator, we pay attention to the dual statement that Hashem is our G-d, and is singular. Then we move onto example #3, the opening verse of the V’ahavta. The ancient conundrum is: how can anyone be commanded to love anyone else, especially if they must do so with all their heart, soul, and might? Should I love G-d the way I love my wife, daughter, and family, or the way I love meatball subs? Or something totally different?

If these commandments are supposed to be uppermost in our thoughts, omnipresent in our lives, and directing our actions at all times, shouldn’t they be a little more specific? Virtually all of Jewish practice is based on ritual; either performing the commandments as they are reflected in modern Halacha (rabbinical law) or avoiding the things which are forbidden. Judaism can be visualized as a series of practical steps which lead to a spiritual end; following tradition and practice increases our chances of imbuing our lives with meaning, motivation, knowledge, and closeness to the Divine. Here, however, we have three unique mitzvot which represent the closest thing that Judaism has to dogma. In a faith which is rooted in things to do, here are things we must believe, or practice without knowing how.

The reason why is as simple as it is unexplainable. It is impossible for us all to picture or relate to Hashem in exactly the same way. This is alluded to in the conclusion of the Shema: “Hashem is One.” Many interpretations of this phrase exist (come to shul this Shabbos…) but I see this iconic verse as teaching that while G-d belongs to all of us, our individual relationships with the Divine are singularly unique. That makes it easier to understand how we are supposed to love Hashem our G-d. It’s an individual, evolving process. The steps which follow in the V’ahavta paragraph juxtapose physical actions with the spiritual imperative which preceded them, giving us ways to personalize the experience.

Or is it the other way around? Perhaps there is a symbiotic relationship between the spiritual and the physical—one informing the other. Simple actions which we can perform or avoid may bring an emotional or theological reward, but giving them individual context, by forging a uniquely personal relationship with Hashem in advance, allows us to approach faith and practice from multiple entry points at once. These three 24/7 commandments may be the most dogmatic and difficult to perform, but they can bring on special meaning when we realize that how we understand the existence of G-d, how we relate to the Divine, and how we love Hashem are all highly individual, dynamic, and deeply personal factors. The biggest mistake we can make is to assume that Judaism is monolithic, static, or fully formed. These confusing but vital mitzvot teach us that we can, and should, build a personal relationship with G-d, allowing our concept of the Divine to evolve, and letting it encourage us to reflect what we believe in what we do.

With all our heart, with all our soul, and with all our might.
Shabbat Shalom!

Rabbi/Hazzan David B. Sislen

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Bamidbar

8/5/2022

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Much will be said over the next few weeks about how D’varim (Deuteronomy), the fifth and final book of the Chumash, is Moshe’s restatement of Israel’s history and G-d’s teachings. Moses puts his personal and literary spin on the text, adding subtext and emphasis as he goes. The man who declared himself to be “not a man of words” will, over the course of D’varim, grow to his full prophetic potential.

Which means, that given the increasing ratio of prose and poetry in what is known as “Mishne Torah” (the repetition of the Torah), words count.

Moshe writes in the first person, and over the course of the book will freely switch voice between himself and Hashem , but the fact that the source is anonymous, or ambiguous, can teach us a whole lot.

So here’s one which Chazal (our learned sages) treat as a throwaway, but I think is most significant. Moshe’s discourse intends to castigate Israel for their adherence to the negative testimonies of the ten spies. After using his editorial privilege to imply that all of the spies had delivered a purely positive report (fake news was a thing even back then…) Moses states in 1:26: “You did not wish to ascend, and you rebelled against the word of the L-rd your G-d.”

The words which jump out at me are “v’lo avitem la’alot,” (you did not wish/desire to ascend). The Hebrew verb “la’a lot,” implying ascendence, is classic. Its derivations include “Making Aliya,” (moving to Israel). An Aliya to the Torah is an honor. Even the Aramaic version, where we say “l’eila” in Kaddish, gets augmented during the High Holidays to “l’eila l’eila,” (higher and higher).

So, what are B’nai Yisrael being criticized for in the opening verses of the final book of the Chumash?

Taking a step up requires putting your foot on the first step, then proceeding to the next. That’s how you ascend a literal, moral, or spiritual staircase. It’s far easier to stay on the landing or to descend. But that’s not the implied lesson, is it?

Moshe admonishes the nation that they missed taking that first step. But by extension, he is faulting us if we if we fail to do so as well.

We all have opportunities to take the first step to ascend to the next level. We can all go up, but we can also go even higher.

Shabbat Shalom!

Rabbi/Hazzan David B. Sislen

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