Rosh Hashanah is the New Year- we all know that. Logically, then, we are now at the end of the year. And “end of the year” means time to get away, doesn’t it?
It’s been a challenging year and most of us would probably appreciate a break before the third quarter. Imagine disappearing into the bush or to an exotic island just to escape it all…
The good news is Elul is a month of escape.
No, it’s not the Jewish December, where you leave your home, business and neighborhood, only to take your self (and your real issues) with you “on holiday”.
This is the time of year to get away from it all; to really escape.
Humans are designed with great ambitions, but frequently let themselves down. Our spirit guns for lofty achievements, but our natural cynicism and apathy keep us grounded. Eventually, we decide that who we are is who we will remain and there’s no point in trying to achieve spectacular things- at least not spiritually.
Hashem knows how we think, so He offers us 30 days a year to escape our self-mistrust and step into a world where anything is possible.
Like our Parsha’s “Cities of Refuge” that protected an inadvertent murderer from his victim’s avengers, Elul shelters us from every built-in mechanism we have that blocks soul-progress.
Simply put- if you daven a little extra, make it to a minyan, join a shiur or help another person during the next couple of weeks, the payoff will astonish you.
It’s time for the “Great Escape”- don’t squander the opportunity.
Monday, September 08, 2008
Friday, August 01, 2008
WARNING: Jewish terror plot!
A news report out of the Middle East this week warns of a Jewish terrorist ploy that will threaten one of Islam’s holiest sites. The article quotes a senior Islamic spokesperson who claims that a coordinated effort is under way in 200 locations globally to destroy the Al Aqsa mosque, on the Temple Mount.If the article is correct, I could be arrested under International anti-terrorism laws.
The claim fingers Chabad as an extremist Jewish movement, looking to establish a new Temple in Jerusalem. Zahi Nujidat, of the Islamic movement, notes that a three-week course on the Beis Hamikdash being held at Chabad centers worldwide indicates the movement’s intentions to destroy Al Aqsa to make way for a Jewish Temple.
I guess they’re not wrong. We do yearn for our Temple to be rebuilt. We do study about it at this time of the year, because this is when we recall the Temple’s destruction- and when we are most hopeful for its restoration.
But, we don’t wish harm on anyone in the process; we’ve never attacked people in the name of religion.
We see our Temple as a source of peace for the whole world. Praying and hoping for its rebuilding means dreaming of a better world- for all.
Our Temple will reverberate with prayer-calls, but these will be voices of blessing, peace and goodwill for all people.
The Talmud notes that, if the nations of the world had appreciated how much blessing the Jewish Temple brought them, they would have sent their armies to Jerusalem- to protect it.
Terrorism may be threatened by our Bais Hamikdash, but upstanding citizens around the world have everything to gain when it is restored.
May it happen speedily!
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Tractor terror
Yet another Arab terrorist attack in Jerusalem, this time just a little closer to home. Ghasam Abu-Tir used a mechanical digger to smash three cars and a public bus, injuring 11 people before police shot him.
Just a few meters away, a large group of our local rabbis sat eating lunch. Some saw the tractor attack, the rest dived to the floor when the shooting began.
We’ve seen rocket attacks, suicide bombings, shootings and knifings in Israel. Now, it seems there’s a new terror tactic. It’s called “Beating ploughshares into swords”.
I remember a 1991 magazine article that described how Armscor had started using technology that had originally been developed for weapons’ production to produce better-quality tractors.
Over the last 15 or so years, the world has shifted towards converting military technology and hardware into peaceful uses. Radar, GPS, nuclear energy, Internet and satellites are the better known examples of war-technology being used for useful purposes. Lesser known would be Kleenex (originally designed for gas masks), disused rifles that comprise avalanche-prevention systems in the USA and testing performance and stability of trucks on tank-testing sites.
“Beating swords into ploughshares” is a prophecy regarding the Age of Moshiach. As we draw closer to that special time, the world is already starting to behave accordingly.
Well, at least most of the world, with the notable exception of East Jerusalem.
Shortly after the destruction of the second Temple, Rabbi Akivah and some colleagues were walking past the ruins, when a fox darted out of the site of the Holy of holies.
Seeing this, the rabbis began to cry. Rabbi Akivah laughed.
“Why are you laughing?” they challenged him.
“Why are you crying?” Rabbi Akivah retorted.
“We are crying, because we’ve just seen a fox run out of the site that was so holy only the Kohen Gadol was allowed to enter, and only once a year. This is exactly what the prophet Micha predicted: ‘Tzion will be plowed over as a field.’”
“And that’s why I am laughing,” Rabbi Akivah explained, “Seeing the prophecy of Micha has been fulfilled assures me that Isaiah’s prophecy of the Temple’s rebuilding will also be fulfilled.”
Jerusalem is being plowed over again, this time with mechanized ploughs. It fits the Three Weeks of mourning the destruction of the Beis Hamikdash.
Now that we’re seeing Micha’s dire prediction happening all over again, let’s hope it means Isaiah’s prophecy is about to be fulfilled.
Just a few meters away, a large group of our local rabbis sat eating lunch. Some saw the tractor attack, the rest dived to the floor when the shooting began.
We’ve seen rocket attacks, suicide bombings, shootings and knifings in Israel. Now, it seems there’s a new terror tactic. It’s called “Beating ploughshares into swords”.
I remember a 1991 magazine article that described how Armscor had started using technology that had originally been developed for weapons’ production to produce better-quality tractors.
Over the last 15 or so years, the world has shifted towards converting military technology and hardware into peaceful uses. Radar, GPS, nuclear energy, Internet and satellites are the better known examples of war-technology being used for useful purposes. Lesser known would be Kleenex (originally designed for gas masks), disused rifles that comprise avalanche-prevention systems in the USA and testing performance and stability of trucks on tank-testing sites.
“Beating swords into ploughshares” is a prophecy regarding the Age of Moshiach. As we draw closer to that special time, the world is already starting to behave accordingly.
Well, at least most of the world, with the notable exception of East Jerusalem.
Shortly after the destruction of the second Temple, Rabbi Akivah and some colleagues were walking past the ruins, when a fox darted out of the site of the Holy of holies.
Seeing this, the rabbis began to cry. Rabbi Akivah laughed.
“Why are you laughing?” they challenged him.
“Why are you crying?” Rabbi Akivah retorted.
“We are crying, because we’ve just seen a fox run out of the site that was so holy only the Kohen Gadol was allowed to enter, and only once a year. This is exactly what the prophet Micha predicted: ‘Tzion will be plowed over as a field.’”
“And that’s why I am laughing,” Rabbi Akivah explained, “Seeing the prophecy of Micha has been fulfilled assures me that Isaiah’s prophecy of the Temple’s rebuilding will also be fulfilled.”
Jerusalem is being plowed over again, this time with mechanized ploughs. It fits the Three Weeks of mourning the destruction of the Beis Hamikdash.
Now that we’re seeing Micha’s dire prediction happening all over again, let’s hope it means Isaiah’s prophecy is about to be fulfilled.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Dear Mr. Ahmadinejad, can’t you say something nice for a change?
Ali Shirazi (he’s the Iranian guy who threatened to “burn Israel” if provoked) chose the right week to open his mouth- only he doesn’t know it.
As Ahmadinejad oversees missile tests and Iranian clerics spew hate-speech, Jews are studying details of the same story, set in a similar region, at a different time.
Balak, king of Moab, was afraid of the Jews. He had witnessed their miraculous victories against mighty armies, his own neighbours and allies. He had seen this band of refugees become a powerful nation. Balak appreciated that conventional warfare had failed against these people in the past, and that he needed a special weapon.
Balak hired Balaam, a deeply spiritual man; a prophet renowned for his unique ability to harm with words. Most importantly, Balaam was an avowed anti-Semite.
Together, they chose a prime vantage point from which to launch their barrage against the Children of Israel. With the entire Jewish nation in his sights, Balaam set about preparing his unique ammunition- inescapable curses that would destroy the People more effectively than any army could.
Balak looked on smugly, impatiently waiting to see the Jews’ certain fate unfold before his eyes.
It never happened.
Balaam, who could only curse, only see the bad, only spout evil- blessed the Jews! Balak was beside himself, but Balaam was unstoppable as blessing after blessing spilled from his mouth.
What went right? How did this wholly toxic human being turn benevolent?
Balaam himself answered that in his blessing: “Mah tovu oholecho Yaakov, mishkenosecha Yisroel- How good are your tents, Jacob; your dwellings, Israel”. Words that are so potent, we repeat them daily in our prayers.
As Balaam’s hateful eye focused on his intended victims, he was overwhelmed by their unusual camp-formation. Each tent was positioned so that everyone had complete privacy. Their unity and mutual respect made the Jews immune to Balaam’s verbal assault.
Love and respect for every Jew is potent stuff. It not only protects us from harm, it transforms our enemies and even causes them to bless us.
Let’s do more to show respect and concern for each other, to allow people their space and privacy, without ignoring their needs.
Let’s see what Shirazi and Ahmadinejad have to say then. It might be quite miraculous.
As Ahmadinejad oversees missile tests and Iranian clerics spew hate-speech, Jews are studying details of the same story, set in a similar region, at a different time.
Balak, king of Moab, was afraid of the Jews. He had witnessed their miraculous victories against mighty armies, his own neighbours and allies. He had seen this band of refugees become a powerful nation. Balak appreciated that conventional warfare had failed against these people in the past, and that he needed a special weapon.
Balak hired Balaam, a deeply spiritual man; a prophet renowned for his unique ability to harm with words. Most importantly, Balaam was an avowed anti-Semite.
Together, they chose a prime vantage point from which to launch their barrage against the Children of Israel. With the entire Jewish nation in his sights, Balaam set about preparing his unique ammunition- inescapable curses that would destroy the People more effectively than any army could.
Balak looked on smugly, impatiently waiting to see the Jews’ certain fate unfold before his eyes.
It never happened.
Balaam, who could only curse, only see the bad, only spout evil- blessed the Jews! Balak was beside himself, but Balaam was unstoppable as blessing after blessing spilled from his mouth.
What went right? How did this wholly toxic human being turn benevolent?
Balaam himself answered that in his blessing: “Mah tovu oholecho Yaakov, mishkenosecha Yisroel- How good are your tents, Jacob; your dwellings, Israel”. Words that are so potent, we repeat them daily in our prayers.
As Balaam’s hateful eye focused on his intended victims, he was overwhelmed by their unusual camp-formation. Each tent was positioned so that everyone had complete privacy. Their unity and mutual respect made the Jews immune to Balaam’s verbal assault.
Love and respect for every Jew is potent stuff. It not only protects us from harm, it transforms our enemies and even causes them to bless us.
Let’s do more to show respect and concern for each other, to allow people their space and privacy, without ignoring their needs.
Let’s see what Shirazi and Ahmadinejad have to say then. It might be quite miraculous.
Sunday, July 06, 2008
Paradox
Today is Gimmel Tammuz.I find this day difficult to define. Some will simply call it the yahrtzeit of the Rebbe, but it is significantly more than that. A Tzadik’s passing is anything but ordinary.
This morning I bumped into a colleague who described how a congregant had asked him: "Do I wish you 'long life' today?"
No, it's not a mournful day.
It's not a festive day either. After all, Gimmel Tammuz reminds me of the good times when the Rebbe inspired us every single week, called on us to achieve the impossible and reminded us uneqivocally that G-d runs the world and that Moshiach is on our doorstep.
Gimmel Tammuz is a day suspended between day and night, between sadness and joy, between nostalgia and hope.
This is the nature of the day- as it has been for centuries. The 3rd of Tammuz became famous over 3000 years ago, when Joshua led the Jewish nation in conquest of the Promised Land.
Overwhelmed by the Jews’ miraculous victories, the people of Givon made a truce with the invading Israelites. Soon enough five kingdoms attacked Givon, who then called on Joshua for help. G-d assured Joshua that he’d defeat those powerful armies and Joshua led his forces into battle at the Ayalon valley.
Joshua’s troops closed in on this huge allied force and, by day’s end, were poised to defeat them. It was getting late and the light was failing. After dark, they would have to stop fighting, which would allow the Canaanite forces to regroup.
G-d intervened and allowed Joshua to stop the sun just above the western horizon and suspend the moon as it rose in the east. During this unique daylight savings time, Joshua wiped out the attacking armies.
I’m sure you’ve heard that story, it’s very well-known. I doubt you knew it had happened on Tammuz 3rd. Most people don’t.
Gimmel Tammuz is a paradox. Both the sun and the moon share the sky. It is a day that’s outside of the ordinary- technically night, but still light.
On this day, the moon hangs in the darkening sky; reminding us of those wonderful times we had with the Rebbe, which are now on hold.
Yet, the sun has not set. Kabbalah defines a Tzadik’s yahrtzeit as a time of celebration, as his soul soars higher and his lifetime’s achievements resonate more strongly through the world.
Talmudic lore calls wicked people dead while they are still alive, and deems the righteous alive, even after their deaths. Jewish mysticism adds that a Tzadik’s impact on the world increases after his passing.
The Rebbe’s yahrtzeit is not simply a nostalgic time, but an empowering time.
Gimmel Tammuz is when- in the words of the Zohar- “Crying is entrenched in one side of my heart and joy in the other”.
Today reminds me how much all us Chassidim- and thousands of others- miss the Rebbe, as it reminds me that he is always with us. It is a day full of memories of his crystal-clear guidance to individuals and to nations; guidance we can still find today.
And these memories will reassure me of his crystal-clear vision that our world is in mid-preparation for Moshiach.
G-d first made Gimmel Tammuz famous with a spectacular miracle in the Ayalon valley. May He honour this Gimmel Tammuz with an even greater miracle.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Mountains of darkness
Typically Jewish, we were late for the start of the hike.
Truthfully, it was African time, not Jewish time that delayed us. Most of our group arrived on the Monday morning of the hike.
None of their luggage did- all our kosher supplies included.
We veered our way down the narrow, muddy road to Arusha National Park, our bus dodging pedestrians, bicycles, goats and chickens. A brief stop at the gate, an even bumpier ride and we were "there".
Our group looked the part in our boots, Raybans, camelbacks and overloaded backpacks. Our bodies tingled with anticipation as our minds focused on the challenge ahead. We were ready.
That's when I noticed that we couldn't see the top of the mountain. In fact, we couldn't see most of the mountain- it was mostly above the cloud. Doubt flitted through my mind. If the top was too high to see, was it too high to reach?
I had hiked Table Mountain and that wasn't easy; the Drakensberg's Amphitheatre had been trying too. I clearly remembered seeing the tops of both those mountains before setting off to conquer them. This mountain was high.
It was just as well I had trained properly for this hike.
Yes, I walked daily, but that's not how a rabbi trains for an expedition like this. Real training took place in the library, not the gym. I invested time exploring what the spiritual take on mountains is; Chassidic teaching prepares you for everything.
Kabbalah talks about two types of mountains: Mountains of "light" and mountains of "darkness".
Chassidic thought makes sense of this enigmatic reference: A mountain is a piece of earth that has been forced skyward. It represents a person's striving to rise from the banality of life to get closer to G-d. Perhaps that's where the human urge to climb mountains comes from; the innate soul-calling to rise beyond normalcy.
Sometimes you can predict your spiritual trajectory in advance- you can see where the spiritual path will lead you. Even before you take the first step of your spiritual journey, you know where you plan to end up.
That's a mountain of "light", a mountain with a peak you can spot from the ground.
Climbing that sort of a mountain takes effort, but it makes sense. You appreciate that every step you take brings you that much closer to your objective. You will always find doable mountains to climb.
Occasionally, you need to take a leap of faith; to go for a goal so impossible you can never see yourself doing it.
That's the mountain of darkness; the peak is so high, you can't tell where it is. You need to trust other people to guide you to where you never believed you could go.
Climbing that sort of mountain takes everything you've got. It's more difficult than you could ever imagine, almost breaking you in the process. Many times along the way, you feel you'll never get there or that you're wasting your time.
When you do reach the top, you're a changed person.
The clouds were still there, Meru's peak invisible. We were ready for the impossible.
Friday, June 06, 2008
Rural bliss
I've just returned from a fascinating trip to Tanzania. I joined a group of a dozen men from Chabad of Hendon to climb Mt Meru, Kilimanjaro's neighbouring little cousin (Meru's about 800m shorter than Kili).
Climbing a mountain is an extreme experience. I've been hiking before, but this was beyond anything I could have anticipated. In the tranquil setting of unspoilt nature, pushing your body to the limits, your mind opens to little truths about life that are worth bringing home to suburbia.
These last few days back home have allowed me a chance to reflect and unpack this amazing experience- full of insight.
Living in South Africa, I thought I was prepared for the African experience. But, northern Tanzania is far more rural than anywhere near my home and the simplicity took me by surprise.
Our guide collected us from Kilimajaro airport and zipped us along the one road that leads into the town of Arusha. Both sides of the road are mud paths, cluttered with bicycles (many veering into oncoming traffic), loads of pedestrians and a mix of boney cattle, goats, donkeys and chickens.
Tropical vegetation lines the streets, banana trees are everywhere. Beyind that, shacks and squalor.
It seems that Arusha's population is generally destitute. A fraction of the community benefits from the thriving tourist trade; the rest live off the land.
Back home we always hear how poverty causes crime. Nobody warned us against muggers or armed robbers in Arusha.
Besides which, the people were so friendly. Everyone greeted us with the traditional Swahili "Jumbo!", they all smiled. Over the whole week, I didn't see any road rage or arguments, our driver didn't even lose his cool when his Landrover packed up half way up a 4x4 track at Ngorongoro Crater.
There were no taxis available on the day I had to head home, so our tour guide arranged a friend to take me to the airport. He took me- all the way in, insisted on carrying my bags, and wouldn't leave until he knew I was going to make the flight (several big-deal motorcades had blocked the roads and we ran very late).
When I asked him if people were generally poor in Arusha, he assured me that my analysis had been accurate.
"So, if they are all poor, how is it that everyone looks happy?" I asked him.
"Because they are happy," he replied, simply.
"How can they be happy? They have nothing," I pressed him.
"Nothing?" he was surprised, "They have peace! We have had no conflict in our country for decades- that is why we are happy."
Simple, isn't it? Money doesn't buy happiness; peace does.
Friday, May 23, 2008
Over your head?
Kabbalah? We’re practical people. We relate to making a living, keeping the family happy and the pragmatic elements of being Jewish.
Mystical ideas are beyond us, mention spiritual realms, sefiros, Divine names and they simply fly over our head.
Today’s Lag Baomer, a day dedicated to celebrating one our nation’s greatest mystics. Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, responsible for one of the most seminal Kabbalistic texts, the Zohar, died on this date.
He is the one who insisted that we celebrate the occasion each year. Since then, Lag Baomer is a fun-filled family field day, especially in Israel, where it’s essentially a national holiday.
If you been to Israel at this time of the year, you will have seen hundreds of bonfires dotting the landscape wherever you go. Burning pyres are certainly iconic of this festival.
The other icon (maybe lesser known) is a bow and arrow. You have to wonder why. Mystics and fire seem to gel, fire is unconfined by the shape and size of other physical entities. But, mystics and bows ‘n arrows? Sounds like a bad Shidduch!
I got to try my hand at archery a few Lag Baomers ago. While I tried to hit the bullseye, the defiant arrow insisted on landing lower than the target time after time.
That’s when the instructor stepped over and revealed the arrow’s secret: “Aim higher than the target- and you’ll hit it”.
Then and there, in the chilly dusk of an archery club, I got the secret of Lag Baomer. Mysticism might seem out of reach, but it doesn’t matter. Aim higher than you expect.
In fact, all of Judaism is about aiming higher than our goals. If we aim for mediocrity, we land up uninspired- and less than mediocre. When we aim for the impossible, we hit a healthy spiritual target.
Sometimes, we surprise ourselves and reach beyond the target too.
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Round II
Important message from Israel’s Chief Rabbi: Due to unexpected circumstances, please note that Pesach actually begins this Sunday night!
If you think this message is far-fetched, it really happened. It was a long time ago, and the Chief Rabbi then was none other than Moshe himself.
What happened was a group of people volunteered to transport Yosef’s remains through the desert. When the first Pesach came around, they realized that they couldn’t participate in the Paschal lamb, because they were all impure.
This group went to complain to Moshe, who was stumped. Fortunately, he had 24/7 access to the Almighty, and received an answer for these people on the spot.
Had they never have asked, the Jewish nation would never have known that there’s a second chance at Pesach 30 days after the original for people who missed it.
This Sunday evening, we commemorate “Pesach Sheini”, the second Pesach, by eating some Matzah.
It is a beautiful time, with a powerful set of messages:
If you think this message is far-fetched, it really happened. It was a long time ago, and the Chief Rabbi then was none other than Moshe himself.
What happened was a group of people volunteered to transport Yosef’s remains through the desert. When the first Pesach came around, they realized that they couldn’t participate in the Paschal lamb, because they were all impure.
This group went to complain to Moshe, who was stumped. Fortunately, he had 24/7 access to the Almighty, and received an answer for these people on the spot.
Had they never have asked, the Jewish nation would never have known that there’s a second chance at Pesach 30 days after the original for people who missed it.
This Sunday evening, we commemorate “Pesach Sheini”, the second Pesach, by eating some Matzah.
It is a beautiful time, with a powerful set of messages:
- Judaism always offers a person another chance, regardless of why they missed it the first time around.
- Never feel embarrassed to ask for a second chance- if you don’t ask; you don’t get.
- Your awkward situation may land up benefiting the whole community.
- When you need to play catch-up, Hashem helps you do a seven-day course in 24 hours.
Enjoy round II!
Sunday, May 11, 2008
3D Judaism
3D movies seem to be making a comeback. People seem to enjoy donning those paper glasses and ducking projectiles that appear to fly out at them.
No doubt, 3D makes an experience all the more real.
Jewish movie production seems to lag somewhat. We don’t have too many Torah-education blockbusters; certainly none in 3D.
What we do have, though, is a formula for 3D Judaism without the silver screen. It was introduced 2000 years ago, by Rabbi Yehudah Hanassi (and we’ve just read it this week in the 2nd chapter of Pirkei Avos, Ethics of the Fathers).
He explains: “Consider three things and you’ll never sin.” He does list three factors to consider, but there’s a cryptic message in this sentence- before you get to the list.
Judaism is clearly a spiritual discipline, designed to bring us closer to G-d.
There are those who feel that the best way to progress spiritually is to see the world in 1 Dimension.
There is G-d & spirituality and nothing else counts. They argue that, if you want to grow spiritually, you’ll have to lose touch with the world and focus all your energies on study, prayer and meditation.
Others see the process in 2D. On the one hand, there’s spirituality, Torah and mitzvos. On the other, there’s “real life”. They’ll tell you that you need to find the balance between developing your soul, and making a success of your life. You can’t do both at once, so you’ll need to allocate time and energy for each.
Torah teaches us to see a third dimension. Yes, there’s a spiritual paradigm (we go there when we’re at Shul or engaged in a Mitzvah). There is also a physical reality, mutually exclusive to that spiritual realm.
Then there is G-d. He is neither physical, nor spiritual. That means that He can be accessed through physical action, just as through spiritual meditation.
Torah says that you don’t have to wait until you’re at Shul to engage G-d or develop your soul. You can, and must, find that connection at work, during leisure time, in your personal relationships.
3D Judaism is when you unveil the essential bond between everything in your life and it’s Source. It is when you recognize G-d as being up close and personal at all times, under all circumstances.
And, if He is that close, His blessings are too.
No doubt, 3D makes an experience all the more real.
Jewish movie production seems to lag somewhat. We don’t have too many Torah-education blockbusters; certainly none in 3D.
What we do have, though, is a formula for 3D Judaism without the silver screen. It was introduced 2000 years ago, by Rabbi Yehudah Hanassi (and we’ve just read it this week in the 2nd chapter of Pirkei Avos, Ethics of the Fathers).
He explains: “Consider three things and you’ll never sin.” He does list three factors to consider, but there’s a cryptic message in this sentence- before you get to the list.
Judaism is clearly a spiritual discipline, designed to bring us closer to G-d.
There are those who feel that the best way to progress spiritually is to see the world in 1 Dimension.
There is G-d & spirituality and nothing else counts. They argue that, if you want to grow spiritually, you’ll have to lose touch with the world and focus all your energies on study, prayer and meditation.
Others see the process in 2D. On the one hand, there’s spirituality, Torah and mitzvos. On the other, there’s “real life”. They’ll tell you that you need to find the balance between developing your soul, and making a success of your life. You can’t do both at once, so you’ll need to allocate time and energy for each.
Torah teaches us to see a third dimension. Yes, there’s a spiritual paradigm (we go there when we’re at Shul or engaged in a Mitzvah). There is also a physical reality, mutually exclusive to that spiritual realm.
Then there is G-d. He is neither physical, nor spiritual. That means that He can be accessed through physical action, just as through spiritual meditation.
Torah says that you don’t have to wait until you’re at Shul to engage G-d or develop your soul. You can, and must, find that connection at work, during leisure time, in your personal relationships.
3D Judaism is when you unveil the essential bond between everything in your life and it’s Source. It is when you recognize G-d as being up close and personal at all times, under all circumstances.
And, if He is that close, His blessings are too.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Lechaim Moshiach!
Everyone knows we Chabadniks are Moshiach-crazy. We talk about Moshiach all day, sing Moshiach songs, produce Moshiach newspaper ads, bumper stickers, posters, songs and even t-shirts.
On Pesach, we take it just one step further. For the last 250 or so years, we’ve hosted a welcome party for Moshiach at the end of every Pesach.
Our guest of honour hasn’t yet arrived at one of them, but that won’t deter us. It’s sort of like waiting at the airport’s arrivals gate for a relative. Just about every other passenger seems to walk through those doors before your family member emerges. You might get anxious over the delay, but you’ll keep standing there until the right person shows up.
Our Moshiach meal is something along those lines. And more.
A young boy once wanted an apple, but his father wouldn’t give it to him. The clever little guy hatched a perfect plan- he loudly said the full brocha over the fruit. Taken aback, his dad had no option but to give it to him.
We’d like to “force” our Father-in-Heaven’s hand the same way. We’ll set up the meal, invite the guests and drink the Lechaim- then He’ll “have to” send us the Main Attraction.
So, this Sunday afternoon, come say Lechaim for Moshiach. We’re really hoping he’ll be there to reply in kind.
On Pesach, we take it just one step further. For the last 250 or so years, we’ve hosted a welcome party for Moshiach at the end of every Pesach.
Our guest of honour hasn’t yet arrived at one of them, but that won’t deter us. It’s sort of like waiting at the airport’s arrivals gate for a relative. Just about every other passenger seems to walk through those doors before your family member emerges. You might get anxious over the delay, but you’ll keep standing there until the right person shows up.
Our Moshiach meal is something along those lines. And more.
A young boy once wanted an apple, but his father wouldn’t give it to him. The clever little guy hatched a perfect plan- he loudly said the full brocha over the fruit. Taken aback, his dad had no option but to give it to him.
We’d like to “force” our Father-in-Heaven’s hand the same way. We’ll set up the meal, invite the guests and drink the Lechaim- then He’ll “have to” send us the Main Attraction.
So, this Sunday afternoon, come say Lechaim for Moshiach. We’re really hoping he’ll be there to reply in kind.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Why Matzah?
Matzah? Delicious!
Well, not quite. I know some of you enjoy eating Matzah, but when it’s eight days straight (and especially if you don’t put anything on the Matzah, like us), it can get a bit much.
Why do we have to eat this tasteless, flour/water flat-bread?
Go ahead; consult your trusty Haggadah (which should be out by now) for an explanation. There it is, towards the end of the story of the Exodus. What does it say? Ah, yes, that we eat matzah because the dough of our forefathers didn’t manage to rise in the mad rush out of Egypt.
That’s what you’ve always thought, right?
One question: Before the Jews left Egypt, they had a special meal that Hashem had commanded.
On the menu was roast lamb (the Paschal sacrifice), maror and… that’s right, matzah!
That was before they rushed out of Egypt. They ate matzah then, well before midnight and the slaying of the firstborn. Jews in Egypt ate matzah because they were told to, not because they couldn’t manage to bake bread!
Like anything in Judaism, if you want to really understand what’s going on, you need to look a little deeper.
Matzah is made of dough that doesn’t rise. Puffed up chometz symbolizes ego. Flat and simple matzah represents humility.
There are two types of humility: You could work hard at being humble, train yourself to limit your ego; or you could be suddenly overwhelmed with a powerful realization of Hashem’s greatness that makes it patently obvious that there’s no room for your own ego.
When the Jews ate Matzah at their pre-Exodus meal, that was their own ego-deflation process. At the stroke of midnight, Hashem revealed Himself and their dough/ ego could not rise. As you stand before Hashem’s presence, you don’t feel yourself.
Which matzah do we eat on Pesach?
Glance into the Haggadah again. It says we eat matzah because the dough could not rise. Every Pesach, Hashem reenacts the Exodus in every spiritual detail. He reveals Himself and deflates our ego for us- opening the possibility for real spiritual growth- in leaps and bounds.
We just have to notice that He’s there.
Well, not quite. I know some of you enjoy eating Matzah, but when it’s eight days straight (and especially if you don’t put anything on the Matzah, like us), it can get a bit much.
Why do we have to eat this tasteless, flour/water flat-bread?
Go ahead; consult your trusty Haggadah (which should be out by now) for an explanation. There it is, towards the end of the story of the Exodus. What does it say? Ah, yes, that we eat matzah because the dough of our forefathers didn’t manage to rise in the mad rush out of Egypt.
That’s what you’ve always thought, right?
One question: Before the Jews left Egypt, they had a special meal that Hashem had commanded.
On the menu was roast lamb (the Paschal sacrifice), maror and… that’s right, matzah!
That was before they rushed out of Egypt. They ate matzah then, well before midnight and the slaying of the firstborn. Jews in Egypt ate matzah because they were told to, not because they couldn’t manage to bake bread!
Like anything in Judaism, if you want to really understand what’s going on, you need to look a little deeper.
Matzah is made of dough that doesn’t rise. Puffed up chometz symbolizes ego. Flat and simple matzah represents humility.
There are two types of humility: You could work hard at being humble, train yourself to limit your ego; or you could be suddenly overwhelmed with a powerful realization of Hashem’s greatness that makes it patently obvious that there’s no room for your own ego.
When the Jews ate Matzah at their pre-Exodus meal, that was their own ego-deflation process. At the stroke of midnight, Hashem revealed Himself and their dough/ ego could not rise. As you stand before Hashem’s presence, you don’t feel yourself.
Which matzah do we eat on Pesach?
Glance into the Haggadah again. It says we eat matzah because the dough could not rise. Every Pesach, Hashem reenacts the Exodus in every spiritual detail. He reveals Himself and deflates our ego for us- opening the possibility for real spiritual growth- in leaps and bounds.
We just have to notice that He’s there.
Friday, April 04, 2008
Moon People
Giggling children run excitedly from one bright stall to the next enticing ride. Lively music mixes with the whooping of thrilled little ones and the screech of metal. Candy-floss and popcorn aroma fills the festive air here at the funfair.
I’m not a big fan of roller-coasters, but gladly take my kids on the Big Wheel. They’re impatient, and fret when we sit at the bottom of the wheel for a minute too long as new passengers alight.
______________________________
We’re moments away from the month of Nissan. Over 3300 years ago, on the first Nissan ever, G-d gave our nation our very first Mitzvah.
No, it wasn’t “I am the L-rd, your G-d”. Actually, it wasn’t any of the apparently fundamental faith-builders. His first instruction to us seems almost trivial: “This is how the Jewish calendar works”.
Wouldn’t you have expected Him to first lay the ground-rules? You know- let us know He is in charge that we are obliged to believe in Him, serve Him and pray to Him.
Why start with the calendar?
He wanted us to know that Jews are moon people. On the 1st day of Nissan 2448, G-d showed Moses the sliver of a new moon and said: “This is what your people will look for every 30 or so days, to define the new month.”
G-d wanted us to know what Jewish life is like. Jews don’t live the static, stable life of the sun; we fluctuate like the moon. We have our ups and downs.
Some days we’re on top of the world, confident that we’ll never fall. Other days, we hit rock-bottom and don’t know how we’ll ever come right.
G-d wanted to show us, from day one, that these swings are normal. He also wanted us to know, that when your moon looks like it’s faded away completely- look out for a new moon. When things look bleak, He assures us there lies the seed for new growth.
You only need to believe it. And look for it.
As the Rebbe Rashab once said: “Both those at the top of the ferris-wheel and those at the bottom are mistaken- neither will keep their position for long”.
I’m not a big fan of roller-coasters, but gladly take my kids on the Big Wheel. They’re impatient, and fret when we sit at the bottom of the wheel for a minute too long as new passengers alight.
Moments later, when the Wheel stops again and we’re at the top, they shout with glee- sure this top-of-the-world experience will never end. Slowly, the Wheel moves downward; they groan.
______________________________
No, it wasn’t “I am the L-rd, your G-d”. Actually, it wasn’t any of the apparently fundamental faith-builders. His first instruction to us seems almost trivial: “This is how the Jewish calendar works”.
Wouldn’t you have expected Him to first lay the ground-rules? You know- let us know He is in charge that we are obliged to believe in Him, serve Him and pray to Him.
Why start with the calendar?
He wanted us to know that Jews are moon people. On the 1st day of Nissan 2448, G-d showed Moses the sliver of a new moon and said: “This is what your people will look for every 30 or so days, to define the new month.”
G-d wanted us to know what Jewish life is like. Jews don’t live the static, stable life of the sun; we fluctuate like the moon. We have our ups and downs.
Some days we’re on top of the world, confident that we’ll never fall. Other days, we hit rock-bottom and don’t know how we’ll ever come right.
G-d wanted to show us, from day one, that these swings are normal. He also wanted us to know, that when your moon looks like it’s faded away completely- look out for a new moon. When things look bleak, He assures us there lies the seed for new growth.
You only need to believe it. And look for it.
As the Rebbe Rashab once said: “Both those at the top of the ferris-wheel and those at the bottom are mistaken- neither will keep their position for long”.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Be a mentsch
This Shabbos we'll start reading the 3rd book of the Torah, Vayikra. It's opening message teaches: "Adam, A man who will bring from you a sacrifice to G-d".
Technically, this the intro to the laws of sacrifices. One level deeper, the Hebrew for "bring a sacrifice", yakriv, translates literally as "draw close". In other words, this section teaches us how to draw close to G-d.
Judaism uses four different words for humans. Adam refers to the most refined and developed of the four. You could probably say that Adam equates with what we'd call a mentsch.
Step one to draw close to G-d: Make sure that you are a mentsch.
Technically, this the intro to the laws of sacrifices. One level deeper, the Hebrew for "bring a sacrifice", yakriv, translates literally as "draw close". In other words, this section teaches us how to draw close to G-d.
Judaism uses four different words for humans. Adam refers to the most refined and developed of the four. You could probably say that Adam equates with what we'd call a mentsch.
Step one to draw close to G-d: Make sure that you are a mentsch.
Responding to terror
Hundreds of civilians were attacked in a terrorist ambush that targeted women, children and the infirm. The Jewish army responded swiftly and decisively, killing scores of insurgents and wounding hundreds of others.
This may sound like yesterday’s news, but it’s actually the Torah’s account of the first-ever terror attack against Jews- when Amalek ambushed our People soon after they left Egypt.
Every year, on the Shabbos before Purim, we are instructed to review this story and its lessons. It contains key aspects of how to deal with terror.
The nature of terror
Egypt was the World Superpower 3300 years ago. When miracle after miracle brought Egypt to its knees and the Jewish nation became the first slaves to ever leave Egypt alive, neighboring nations were concerned. After the world’s mightiest army disappeared underwater, Middle Eastern countries were shaken to their core.
40 years later, the nations of Canaan still shuddered as the Jews approached their borders. No thinking People would have dared to challenge the Children of Israel when G-d so patently destroyed their enemies.
Except one.
Amalek snickered at the jitters rumbling through the developed world. Laughing off the wild stories of Jewish miracles, Amalek ambushed the fledgling nation almost immediately after its miracle at the Red Sea.
Terror is insolent. It attacks indiscriminately, where sovereign armies would never strike, for no good reason.
The cause of terror
Jews are trained to look beyond what meets the eye. When evil grows in our world, we look inward to see how we may possibly be feeding it.
Only moments before Amalek attacked, the Jews had complained against G-d. With their own eyes, they had seen miracle after miracle in Egypt; they had crossed the sea on dry land; they were living in the climate-controlled environment of the Clouds of Glory, and G-d’s pillar of fire guided them at night. Yet, with G-d’s spectacular presence staring them in the face, when they ran out of water, they complained: “Is G-d with us or not?”
Rashi, the most important commentator on Torah, provides a telling metaphor for their attitude: “A man was walking with his son on his shoulders. When the son asked for a drink, his father got him water and when he was hungry, dad provided a snack.
“After some time, the pair passed a man on the road. The son turned to him and asked: ‘Have you seen my father anywhere?’
“Incensed, the father dropped his son to the ground and a dog came and bit him.”
“Likewise,” Rashi explain, “When the Jews became blasé about G-d’s constant care and protection, He allowed Amalek to attack- to remind them not to take His attention for granted.”
Terror breeds when we overlook Hashem’s miracles; when we believe in our military might or political prowess rather than in our G-d.
The response to terror
No sooner had the Amalekites attacked, Moshe sent Joshua and a crack army to repel them. Moshe climbed a mountain to oversee the battle.
From atop the hill, Moshe raised his hands. As long as his hands were raised, the Jews had the advantage. When he tired and dropped his arms, the battle turned in Amalek’s favour.
Obviously, Moshe’s hands didn’t make or break the Jewish victory. His extended arms reminded the people to look to G-d for victory, to entrust Him with their success. As long as they reinstated G-d’s control, their enemies stood no chance against them. If they slipped back into the “is G-d with us?” mindset, they quickly faltered on the battlefield.
“Zachor, remember!” The Torah instructs us never to forget the Amalek story. Of all the Torah readings of the year, this is the one every Jewish person is required to hear.
Its message is eternal: Fight terror by improving your relationship with G-d. Thinking that we can fend for ourselves without Him or doubting His absolute control place our nation in a perilous position.
Far from Israel, we can still all make a difference. We must fight the spiritual battle, like Moshe atop the hill, strengthening our faith in Hashem.
Hopefully, Israel’s leadership learns to do the same.
This may sound like yesterday’s news, but it’s actually the Torah’s account of the first-ever terror attack against Jews- when Amalek ambushed our People soon after they left Egypt.
Every year, on the Shabbos before Purim, we are instructed to review this story and its lessons. It contains key aspects of how to deal with terror.
The nature of terror
Egypt was the World Superpower 3300 years ago. When miracle after miracle brought Egypt to its knees and the Jewish nation became the first slaves to ever leave Egypt alive, neighboring nations were concerned. After the world’s mightiest army disappeared underwater, Middle Eastern countries were shaken to their core.
40 years later, the nations of Canaan still shuddered as the Jews approached their borders. No thinking People would have dared to challenge the Children of Israel when G-d so patently destroyed their enemies.
Except one.
Amalek snickered at the jitters rumbling through the developed world. Laughing off the wild stories of Jewish miracles, Amalek ambushed the fledgling nation almost immediately after its miracle at the Red Sea.
Terror is insolent. It attacks indiscriminately, where sovereign armies would never strike, for no good reason.
The cause of terror
Jews are trained to look beyond what meets the eye. When evil grows in our world, we look inward to see how we may possibly be feeding it.
Only moments before Amalek attacked, the Jews had complained against G-d. With their own eyes, they had seen miracle after miracle in Egypt; they had crossed the sea on dry land; they were living in the climate-controlled environment of the Clouds of Glory, and G-d’s pillar of fire guided them at night. Yet, with G-d’s spectacular presence staring them in the face, when they ran out of water, they complained: “Is G-d with us or not?”
Rashi, the most important commentator on Torah, provides a telling metaphor for their attitude: “A man was walking with his son on his shoulders. When the son asked for a drink, his father got him water and when he was hungry, dad provided a snack.
“After some time, the pair passed a man on the road. The son turned to him and asked: ‘Have you seen my father anywhere?’
“Incensed, the father dropped his son to the ground and a dog came and bit him.”
“Likewise,” Rashi explain, “When the Jews became blasé about G-d’s constant care and protection, He allowed Amalek to attack- to remind them not to take His attention for granted.”
Terror breeds when we overlook Hashem’s miracles; when we believe in our military might or political prowess rather than in our G-d.
The response to terror
No sooner had the Amalekites attacked, Moshe sent Joshua and a crack army to repel them. Moshe climbed a mountain to oversee the battle.
From atop the hill, Moshe raised his hands. As long as his hands were raised, the Jews had the advantage. When he tired and dropped his arms, the battle turned in Amalek’s favour.
Obviously, Moshe’s hands didn’t make or break the Jewish victory. His extended arms reminded the people to look to G-d for victory, to entrust Him with their success. As long as they reinstated G-d’s control, their enemies stood no chance against them. If they slipped back into the “is G-d with us?” mindset, they quickly faltered on the battlefield.
“Zachor, remember!” The Torah instructs us never to forget the Amalek story. Of all the Torah readings of the year, this is the one every Jewish person is required to hear.
Its message is eternal: Fight terror by improving your relationship with G-d. Thinking that we can fend for ourselves without Him or doubting His absolute control place our nation in a perilous position.
Far from Israel, we can still all make a difference. We must fight the spiritual battle, like Moshe atop the hill, strengthening our faith in Hashem.
Hopefully, Israel’s leadership learns to do the same.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Eight empty chairs in Jerusalem
Joy itself was struck down last Thursday evening.
Blood-splattered Torah books littered the violent scene, as the wounded were taken away. Eight young men, caught in the act of studying Torah, lay dead. This wasn’t 1938 Berlin, but 2008 Jerusalem.
On the eve of the month that should be the most joyous on the Jewish calendar, evil stung at the soul of the Jewish People. London reverberated when its Underground was bombed and America shook as their Towers fell. A strike at a Yeshivah, in the heart of Jerusalem, is a blow to the heart of Jews everywhere.
We are left reeling. How could this happen?
Youngsters.
Studying Torah!
In Jerusalem!!
There are those who will accuse the impotent Israeli government, while others will blame a society that glorifies death to its children. Some may even point a finger at the ever-apathetic world powers who don’t take a stand against terror.
Jews are taught to avoid blaming and rather look inward in troubled times. Our nation is smarting from a blow to our collective solar-plexus. Our nation needs to stop and think why something like this happens. More importantly, we need to reflect on what we can do about it.
Protests, letters to officials, coffee-table complaining are not going to change the situation. None of us is about to pack up and join the IDF. So, what can we do?
For a start, we can pay attention to the timing. We’re days away from Purim, another time in another place where they tried to kill us.
Persia’s Jewish community at that time was more politically connected than any other Jewish community in history. We had one of “ours” as queen, and the king owed a senior minister of his cabinet (who happened to be the Jewish spiritual leader) a serious favour. We could have pulled out all political stops and reversed Haman’s plot in a flash.
But, the Jews of Persia learned something critical: No political strategy will succeed without Divine backing. So, they went to Shul, fasted for three days and committed themselves to Judaism like no preceding generation had.
Then, Esther went to the King.
Jews approach life differently. We each hold the key- regardless of how far we are from the crisis- to make a difference. Every Jew can do something significant to help Israel.
After the Holocaust, people commonly left an empty seat at their Seder table to commemorate a Holocaust victim. The Rebbe was adamantly opposed to this practice, arguing that a better response to the Nazis is to fill every extra seat with a Jew who wouldn’t otherwise be at a Seder.
Today, eight seats sit empty at a Yeshivah in the heart of our Homeland.
It is up to us to fill them. If terrorists want to try and rob us of Torah, then our response must be more Torah. We need to fill the Torah-gap that was left last week at Yeshivat Mercaz HaRav.
Let’s take the challenge. Let’s each commit to eight additional Torah study periods (they can be just 10 minutes long) between now and Pesach in memory Jerusalem’s eight young martyrs.
When Hashem sees that our Jewish spirit doesn’t wane in the face of terror, He will surely bless us with the Purim blessing “Venahafoch Hu”, the transformation of sadness to joy and of darkness to light.
Blood-splattered Torah books littered the violent scene, as the wounded were taken away. Eight young men, caught in the act of studying Torah, lay dead. This wasn’t 1938 Berlin, but 2008 Jerusalem.
On the eve of the month that should be the most joyous on the Jewish calendar, evil stung at the soul of the Jewish People. London reverberated when its Underground was bombed and America shook as their Towers fell. A strike at a Yeshivah, in the heart of Jerusalem, is a blow to the heart of Jews everywhere.
We are left reeling. How could this happen?
Youngsters.
Studying Torah!
In Jerusalem!!
There are those who will accuse the impotent Israeli government, while others will blame a society that glorifies death to its children. Some may even point a finger at the ever-apathetic world powers who don’t take a stand against terror.
Jews are taught to avoid blaming and rather look inward in troubled times. Our nation is smarting from a blow to our collective solar-plexus. Our nation needs to stop and think why something like this happens. More importantly, we need to reflect on what we can do about it.
Protests, letters to officials, coffee-table complaining are not going to change the situation. None of us is about to pack up and join the IDF. So, what can we do?
For a start, we can pay attention to the timing. We’re days away from Purim, another time in another place where they tried to kill us.
Persia’s Jewish community at that time was more politically connected than any other Jewish community in history. We had one of “ours” as queen, and the king owed a senior minister of his cabinet (who happened to be the Jewish spiritual leader) a serious favour. We could have pulled out all political stops and reversed Haman’s plot in a flash.
But, the Jews of Persia learned something critical: No political strategy will succeed without Divine backing. So, they went to Shul, fasted for three days and committed themselves to Judaism like no preceding generation had.
Then, Esther went to the King.
Jews approach life differently. We each hold the key- regardless of how far we are from the crisis- to make a difference. Every Jew can do something significant to help Israel.
After the Holocaust, people commonly left an empty seat at their Seder table to commemorate a Holocaust victim. The Rebbe was adamantly opposed to this practice, arguing that a better response to the Nazis is to fill every extra seat with a Jew who wouldn’t otherwise be at a Seder.
Today, eight seats sit empty at a Yeshivah in the heart of our Homeland.
It is up to us to fill them. If terrorists want to try and rob us of Torah, then our response must be more Torah. We need to fill the Torah-gap that was left last week at Yeshivat Mercaz HaRav.
Let’s take the challenge. Let’s each commit to eight additional Torah study periods (they can be just 10 minutes long) between now and Pesach in memory Jerusalem’s eight young martyrs.
When Hashem sees that our Jewish spirit doesn’t wane in the face of terror, He will surely bless us with the Purim blessing “Venahafoch Hu”, the transformation of sadness to joy and of darkness to light.
Friday, March 07, 2008
Aah! The quiet life!
I returned a few days ago from a weekend wedding in Oudtshoorn (a small town in the semi-desrt Karoo region of S.A.). What a wonderful experience!We flew into the picturesque coastal town of George, drove through 40 minutes of lush countryside and breathtaking mountain passes, and arrived in the stillness that is Oudtshoorn.
Quaint old-style homes, stores and restaurants dot the lazy main road of this town. Chirping birds replace the roar of traffic and a crystal-blue sky illuminates the whole area.
Admittedly, people looked twice at the hat & beard, but were all genuinely friendly to us- at Pick ‘n Pay, our hotel and on the street.
What’s left of the 600 Jewish families is about two minyanim of warm, close-knit, salt-of-the-earth good people. Sitting in the same room as them is inspiring; a reminder of the humanness people should have.
Oudtshoorn’s sandstone Shul stands proud on the main road. A working mikveh, South Africa’s first ever Jewish day school (now rented to a local nursery school), rabbis’ house (pity there’s no rabbi) and a large tract of land- all well maintained- sit behind it.Many, perhaps most, of the community eats only kosher meat. Rabbi Maisels of Cape Town treks through once a month to shecht. Hundreds of kilometers away from kosher delis and bakeries, some still keep strictly kosher homes.
Shabbos in Oudtshoorn is the real deal- quiet, peaceful, restful. The wedding we went to celebrate was a communal/ family affair, as simchas were intended.
I couldn’t help but wonder why all the Jews had left.
Why do we opt to live in the stress, pollution and noise of the globe’s great metropolises? Why are all major Jewish communities in the Londons, New Yorks and Joburgs of the world?
Wouldn’t you love to move to a crime-free, tranquil spot of ramrod-straight-farmer territory, less than an hour from some of the world’s most beautiful beaches?
I would.
But, that would miss the point.
Hashem placed us in this world to create “a home for Him in the lowest realm”. Now, as the spiritual universe goes, Earth is as low as it gets. On Earth, the dog-eats-dog madness of city-life is as low and dirty as possible.
Jews gravitate to those places, because we’re driven to make a difference. We’re naturally drawn to uplift and inspire a world that’s not naturally kosher.
Its’ nicer to live in Utopia; it’s more meaningful to radiate light into the coal-face.
Still, it’s good to visit rural spots once in a while- just to remind yourself what our world is supposed to look like.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Beating the darkness
It’s a warm, quiet Friday evening. We have a table full of guests. The younger children are in bed. The relaxing atmosphere of Shabbos permeates the house as we prepare for Kiddush. Everyone feels uplifted as we begin to sing Shalom Aleichem…
The lights go out.
There are a few uneasy giggles and a wry comment about living in “Darkest Africa”. Thankfully, the children are reassured by the emergency light in their bedroom. Shabbos dinner turns into an intimate, candle-lit affair.
It’s unnerving to be plunged unexpectedly into darkness. It’s worrying not to know how power-cuts will harm your business and interfere with running a normal household. It’s concerning to speculate about what the future holds in this country.
We all seem to be living in the dark these days, an ominous sense of foreboding seeping through the community.
As we shop for candles, camping lights, gas or generators, wouldn’t it be useful to discover a product to boost optimism?
One glance at this week’s Torah portion provides one answer. Towards the beginning of the Parsha, we’ll read about how they lit the Menorah in the Sanctuary. Only the best fuel would do for this Divine light-source that would illuminate the entire world. The Torah calls for “Shemen Zayis Zach, kasis lamaor- Pure olive oil, crushed for lighting” to use in the Menorah.
Ostensibly, the Torah simply describes the fuel for the Menorah- pure olive oil. On a deeper level, Torah alludes to the secret of how to handle tough times.
The Jewish nation is compared to olives. Normal people collapse under pressure, succumb to adversity. Ancient Egypt, Rome, Greece and many others rallied when times were good, only to overrun when the tide turned against them. The secret of the Jew has always been that hard times bring out the best in us. “Kasis Lamaor”- when the olive is crushed, it can begin to shed light.
Judaism is a religion of courage and immense faith. We look to emulate the example of our founding father, Abraham, who stood up to the entire world and didn’t cower when they threatened him. We are empowered with a natural sense that G-d is in control, at all times and in all places (as rough as things may be, we have it on good authority that He hasn’t emigrated yet).
Ironically, in the good times, we sometimes forget about the fundamentals. As the pressure mounts, a Jew’s true potential surfaces.
We rally; we generate optimism because we know that G-d is in charge and has our interests at heart. We shine a light when the world goes dark. And G-d responds in kind, just as he did for the Jews of Persia at the time of Purim.
May we all be blessed with the light of the Menorah and the blessing of the Megillah: “And for the Jews there was light, joy, rejoicing and glory”.
The lights go out.
There are a few uneasy giggles and a wry comment about living in “Darkest Africa”. Thankfully, the children are reassured by the emergency light in their bedroom. Shabbos dinner turns into an intimate, candle-lit affair.
It’s unnerving to be plunged unexpectedly into darkness. It’s worrying not to know how power-cuts will harm your business and interfere with running a normal household. It’s concerning to speculate about what the future holds in this country.
We all seem to be living in the dark these days, an ominous sense of foreboding seeping through the community.
As we shop for candles, camping lights, gas or generators, wouldn’t it be useful to discover a product to boost optimism?
One glance at this week’s Torah portion provides one answer. Towards the beginning of the Parsha, we’ll read about how they lit the Menorah in the Sanctuary. Only the best fuel would do for this Divine light-source that would illuminate the entire world. The Torah calls for “Shemen Zayis Zach, kasis lamaor- Pure olive oil, crushed for lighting” to use in the Menorah.
Ostensibly, the Torah simply describes the fuel for the Menorah- pure olive oil. On a deeper level, Torah alludes to the secret of how to handle tough times.
The Jewish nation is compared to olives. Normal people collapse under pressure, succumb to adversity. Ancient Egypt, Rome, Greece and many others rallied when times were good, only to overrun when the tide turned against them. The secret of the Jew has always been that hard times bring out the best in us. “Kasis Lamaor”- when the olive is crushed, it can begin to shed light.
Judaism is a religion of courage and immense faith. We look to emulate the example of our founding father, Abraham, who stood up to the entire world and didn’t cower when they threatened him. We are empowered with a natural sense that G-d is in control, at all times and in all places (as rough as things may be, we have it on good authority that He hasn’t emigrated yet).
Ironically, in the good times, we sometimes forget about the fundamentals. As the pressure mounts, a Jew’s true potential surfaces.
We rally; we generate optimism because we know that G-d is in charge and has our interests at heart. We shine a light when the world goes dark. And G-d responds in kind, just as he did for the Jews of Persia at the time of Purim.
May we all be blessed with the light of the Menorah and the blessing of the Megillah: “And for the Jews there was light, joy, rejoicing and glory”.
The disappearance of Bishop Tutu
Here's an interesting article I came across:
The disappearance of Desmond Tutu
By Simon Deng
Friday November 16, 2007
Late last month, I went to hear Bishop Desmond Tutu speak at Boston's Old South Church at a conference on "Israel Apartheid." Tutu is a well respected man of God. He brought reconciliation between blacks and whites in South Africa. That he would lead a conference that damns the Jewish state is very disturbing to me.
The State of Israel is not an apartheid state. I know because I write this from Jerusalem where I have seen Arab mothers peacefully strolling with their families even though I also drove on Israeli roads protected by walls and fences from Arab bullets and stones. I know Arabs go to Israeli schools, and get the best medical care in the world. I know they vote and have elected representatives to the Israeli Parliament. I see street signs in Arabic, an official language here.
None of this was true for blacks under Apartheid in Tutu's South Africa.
I also know countries that do deserve the apartheid label: My country, Sudan, is on the top of the list, but so are Iran, Saudi Arabia and Egypt. What has happened to my people in Sudan is a thousand times worse than Apartheid in South Africa. And no matter how the Palestinians suffer, they suffer nothing compared to my people. Nothing. And most of the suffering is the fault of their leaders. Bishop Tutu, I see black Jews walking down the street here in Jerusalem. Black like us, free and proud.
Tutu said Israeli checkpoints are a nightmare. But checkpoints are there because Palestinians are sent into Israel to blow up and kill innocent women and children. Tutu wants checkpoints removed. Do you not have doors in your home, Bishop? Does that make your house an apartheid house? If someone, Heaven forbid, tried to enter with a bomb, we would want you to have security people "humiliating" your guests with searches, and we would not call you racist for doing so. We all go through checkpoints at every airport. Are the airlines being racist? No.
Yes, the Palestinians are inconvenienced at checkpoints. But why, Bishop Tutu, do you care more about that inconvenience than about Jewish lives?
Bishop, when you used to dance for Mandela's freedom, we Africans allover Africa joined in. Our support was key in your freedom. But when children in Burundi and Kinshasa, all the way to Liberia and Sierra Leone, and in particular in Sudan, cried and called for rescue, you heard but chose to be silent.
Today, black children are enslaved in Sudan, the last place in the continent of Africa where humans are owned by other humans. I was part of the movement to stop slavery in Mauritania, which just now abolished the practice. But you were not with us, Bishop Tutu.
So where is Desmond Tutu when my people call out for freedom? Slaughter and genocide and slavery are lashing Africans right now. Where are you for Sudan, Bishop Tutu? You are busy attacking the Jewish state. Why?
Simon Deng, a native of the Shiluk Kingdom in southern Sudan, is an escaped jihad slave and a leading human rights activist.
The disappearance of Desmond Tutu
By Simon Deng
Friday November 16, 2007
Late last month, I went to hear Bishop Desmond Tutu speak at Boston's Old South Church at a conference on "Israel Apartheid." Tutu is a well respected man of God. He brought reconciliation between blacks and whites in South Africa. That he would lead a conference that damns the Jewish state is very disturbing to me.
The State of Israel is not an apartheid state. I know because I write this from Jerusalem where I have seen Arab mothers peacefully strolling with their families even though I also drove on Israeli roads protected by walls and fences from Arab bullets and stones. I know Arabs go to Israeli schools, and get the best medical care in the world. I know they vote and have elected representatives to the Israeli Parliament. I see street signs in Arabic, an official language here.
None of this was true for blacks under Apartheid in Tutu's South Africa.
I also know countries that do deserve the apartheid label: My country, Sudan, is on the top of the list, but so are Iran, Saudi Arabia and Egypt. What has happened to my people in Sudan is a thousand times worse than Apartheid in South Africa. And no matter how the Palestinians suffer, they suffer nothing compared to my people. Nothing. And most of the suffering is the fault of their leaders. Bishop Tutu, I see black Jews walking down the street here in Jerusalem. Black like us, free and proud.
Tutu said Israeli checkpoints are a nightmare. But checkpoints are there because Palestinians are sent into Israel to blow up and kill innocent women and children. Tutu wants checkpoints removed. Do you not have doors in your home, Bishop? Does that make your house an apartheid house? If someone, Heaven forbid, tried to enter with a bomb, we would want you to have security people "humiliating" your guests with searches, and we would not call you racist for doing so. We all go through checkpoints at every airport. Are the airlines being racist? No.
Yes, the Palestinians are inconvenienced at checkpoints. But why, Bishop Tutu, do you care more about that inconvenience than about Jewish lives?
Bishop, when you used to dance for Mandela's freedom, we Africans allover Africa joined in. Our support was key in your freedom. But when children in Burundi and Kinshasa, all the way to Liberia and Sierra Leone, and in particular in Sudan, cried and called for rescue, you heard but chose to be silent.
Today, black children are enslaved in Sudan, the last place in the continent of Africa where humans are owned by other humans. I was part of the movement to stop slavery in Mauritania, which just now abolished the practice. But you were not with us, Bishop Tutu.
So where is Desmond Tutu when my people call out for freedom? Slaughter and genocide and slavery are lashing Africans right now. Where are you for Sudan, Bishop Tutu? You are busy attacking the Jewish state. Why?
Simon Deng, a native of the Shiluk Kingdom in southern Sudan, is an escaped jihad slave and a leading human rights activist.
Friday, February 08, 2008
The joys of building a new Shul
When I went to Yeshivah for all those years, I was trained in Talmudic logic, Halacha and Jewish mysticism (a.k.a. Chassidus).
Lately, I can tell you all about zoning issues, tax-rebates on donations, civil engineering and construction- and hopefully some Gemorah too.
These are the joys of building a new Shul: Meet with Julian (he's the architect), change the plans and then change them again. Phone the town-planner (for the 3rd time) to find out if the zoning has been approved. Check the bank account and realize nobody’s anonymously dropped a million in there (yet).
Dreaming of a new Shul was exciting; waking up and making it happen is challenging.
Thankfully, this week’s Parsha offers some inspiration. We’re going to read about the first Shul ever built- the Mishkan-Sanctuary in the desert.
Admittedly, they didn’t have the funding issues that we do (every Jew that left Egypt led 90 donkey-loads of gold and silver with him), but there’s something about that story that puts in all in perspective.
In particular, what strikes me is how much attention the Torah pays to this story. Torah, in its usual succinct way, dedicates about 8 paragraphs to Creation. Judaism’s keystone, the Ten Commandments, is summarized in a single paragraph. Yet, the story of the world’s first Shul occupies three whole Torah portions!
Why?
Creation, the Exodus, splitting the Sea and the giving of the Torah are things that Hashem did. That’s not the focus of Judaism- or of Life.
This week we begin reading about what we do. We make Hashem’s home on Earth, and we bring G-d’s goal for Creation to fruition.
It may take longer than we’d like, and bring some stress along the way, but building a home for G-d is the greatest project a person can ever hope to be involved in.
May Hashem bless our efforts- as he blessed the efforts of the Jews in the desert.
Lately, I can tell you all about zoning issues, tax-rebates on donations, civil engineering and construction- and hopefully some Gemorah too.
These are the joys of building a new Shul: Meet with Julian (he's the architect), change the plans and then change them again. Phone the town-planner (for the 3rd time) to find out if the zoning has been approved. Check the bank account and realize nobody’s anonymously dropped a million in there (yet).
Dreaming of a new Shul was exciting; waking up and making it happen is challenging.
Thankfully, this week’s Parsha offers some inspiration. We’re going to read about the first Shul ever built- the Mishkan-Sanctuary in the desert.
Admittedly, they didn’t have the funding issues that we do (every Jew that left Egypt led 90 donkey-loads of gold and silver with him), but there’s something about that story that puts in all in perspective.
In particular, what strikes me is how much attention the Torah pays to this story. Torah, in its usual succinct way, dedicates about 8 paragraphs to Creation. Judaism’s keystone, the Ten Commandments, is summarized in a single paragraph. Yet, the story of the world’s first Shul occupies three whole Torah portions!
Why?
Creation, the Exodus, splitting the Sea and the giving of the Torah are things that Hashem did. That’s not the focus of Judaism- or of Life.
This week we begin reading about what we do. We make Hashem’s home on Earth, and we bring G-d’s goal for Creation to fruition.
It may take longer than we’d like, and bring some stress along the way, but building a home for G-d is the greatest project a person can ever hope to be involved in.
May Hashem bless our efforts- as he blessed the efforts of the Jews in the desert.
Wednesday, February 06, 2008
It's easy to complain
Sol visits Abe and sees he’s got a new dog.
"So what kind of dog is this?" asks Sol.
"It's a Jewish dog. His name is Irving," says Abe.
"Watch this," continues to Abe as he points to the dog.
"Irving, Fetch!"
Irving walks slowly to the door, then turns around and says, "So why are you talking to me like that? You always order me around like I'm nothing. Then you make me sleep on the floor, with my arthritis... You give me this farkakta food with all the salt and fat, and you tell me it's a special diet... It tastes like dreck! YOU should eat it yourself!...And do you ever take me for a decent walk?
"No, it's out of the house, a few steps, and right back home. Maybe if I could stretch out a little, the sciatica wouldn't kill me so much!"
Sol is amazed and tells Abe how remarkable this dog is, to which Abe answers: "I don't know, I think this dog has a hearing problem. I said fetch, and he thought I said kvetch."
Ever since our 40-year tour in the desert, we Jews have done our fair share of complaining.
Our family is either too meddling or totally unsupportive; our community is too small and nosey, yet too big for me to be significant; our leaders aren’t perfect and the weather’s never right; our salary is insufficient, our budget overwhelming; Government is useless and the country’s going to the dogs.
It’s so easy to fall into this habit, especially when we feel our complaints are justified.
How do you break the kvetch syndrome?
Judaism offers a 60-day programme of outlook-modification- and it launches internationally this week. It’s called the month of Adar and it’s here for double the usual length this year (being a leap year).
The Talmud says "Mishenichnas Adar marbim besimcha", when Adar enters, we increase in joy. Adar is the month of Purim, which commemorates a time when Jews had plenty to complain about. Haman threatened to attack every living Jew, and the mightiest leader of that time was on his side.
Funny, those Jews didn’t complain; they became proactive.
First, they united- working together is critical.
Second, they prayed for a miracle- appreciating that He’s in charge is powerful.
Third, they followed Mordechai- we need strong leadership.
Thanks to their proactive approach, the inevitable tragedy became, instead, a cause for celebration.
Each Adar, we’re offered that opportunity again. Sure, there’s much to complain about, but Adar is about joy. Joy means that you trust that things can- and will- improve. Joy means that circumstances don’t paralyze you, but that you can generate your own happiness, under any circumstances. Joy is created by working with others, trusting G-d and learning from our spiritual leaders.
Joy comes from active participation, not from armchair grumbling.
We’ve got two months of potential Simcha, joy without limitations. Let’s grab the opportunity with both hands.
"So what kind of dog is this?" asks Sol.
"It's a Jewish dog. His name is Irving," says Abe.
"Watch this," continues to Abe as he points to the dog.
"Irving, Fetch!"
Irving walks slowly to the door, then turns around and says, "So why are you talking to me like that? You always order me around like I'm nothing. Then you make me sleep on the floor, with my arthritis... You give me this farkakta food with all the salt and fat, and you tell me it's a special diet... It tastes like dreck! YOU should eat it yourself!...And do you ever take me for a decent walk?
"No, it's out of the house, a few steps, and right back home. Maybe if I could stretch out a little, the sciatica wouldn't kill me so much!"
Sol is amazed and tells Abe how remarkable this dog is, to which Abe answers: "I don't know, I think this dog has a hearing problem. I said fetch, and he thought I said kvetch."
Ever since our 40-year tour in the desert, we Jews have done our fair share of complaining.
Our family is either too meddling or totally unsupportive; our community is too small and nosey, yet too big for me to be significant; our leaders aren’t perfect and the weather’s never right; our salary is insufficient, our budget overwhelming; Government is useless and the country’s going to the dogs.
It’s so easy to fall into this habit, especially when we feel our complaints are justified.
How do you break the kvetch syndrome?
Judaism offers a 60-day programme of outlook-modification- and it launches internationally this week. It’s called the month of Adar and it’s here for double the usual length this year (being a leap year).
The Talmud says "Mishenichnas Adar marbim besimcha", when Adar enters, we increase in joy. Adar is the month of Purim, which commemorates a time when Jews had plenty to complain about. Haman threatened to attack every living Jew, and the mightiest leader of that time was on his side.
Funny, those Jews didn’t complain; they became proactive.
First, they united- working together is critical.
Second, they prayed for a miracle- appreciating that He’s in charge is powerful.
Third, they followed Mordechai- we need strong leadership.
Thanks to their proactive approach, the inevitable tragedy became, instead, a cause for celebration.
Each Adar, we’re offered that opportunity again. Sure, there’s much to complain about, but Adar is about joy. Joy means that you trust that things can- and will- improve. Joy means that circumstances don’t paralyze you, but that you can generate your own happiness, under any circumstances. Joy is created by working with others, trusting G-d and learning from our spiritual leaders.
Joy comes from active participation, not from armchair grumbling.
We’ve got two months of potential Simcha, joy without limitations. Let’s grab the opportunity with both hands.
Thursday, January 31, 2008
Unexpected upgrade
Last week, I flew to Umhlanga, a beautiful resort town on the east coast of South Africa, to give a shiur.
I was booked to fly on Kulula.com, the local no-frills el-cheapo airline (after all, do I really need a half-warmed, double-wrapped inedible kosher lunch on a 50 minute flight?).
As it happens, Kulula is owned by Comair, a British Airways partner. Occasionally, they simply put their Kulula passengers onto BA flights- which is what happened to me. In fact, not only did I get onto a BA flight, but landed in row 7!
Row 7 means I had a business class seat!
Ok, I was behind the impermeable business class curtain and I didn't get the free newspaper or peanuts. But I did have extra leg room and a tad wider armrest. My ticket was for a buy-your-own-drinks, cattle-class flight, and here I was traveling in "style" (considering that people pay big bucks for 50 minutes of extra leg room...)
You see? Sometimes in life, you get more than what you pay for.
Of course, the Talmud knew this all along. That's why it teaches "Yoga'ato Umotzoso", try and you will find.
Everyone else will tell you that, if you try, you will succeed. Only G-d tells you that you will find.
If you chance upon a wad of cash on the side of the road, it's not because you tried to find it. It's a windfall; beyond your expectations.
G-d promises that whenever you try and grow spiritually or draw close to Him, the result will be so far beyond your expectations, that you'll feel as though we found the unexpected.
You just have to try.
(Next time I fly to New York, I think I'll try this free business class upgrade thing again...)
Friday, January 18, 2008
Always look on the bright side of life
Well, this is a refreshing moment, I can actually get to my PC and use the Internet. It's not that I've been unusually busy or anything, just that we've had rolling blackouts here for nine days straight : (
Honestly, this "load-shedding" (politically correct way of saying, insufficient-power-leading-to-regular-power-cuts) is one of the most frustrating experiences I’ve experienced to date. I’m sure you’ll agree.
Like it or not, we’ve been forced to alter our lifestyles compliments of Eskom. Businesses are really suffering and even just preparing supper has become a challenge, but not every powercut-induced lifestyle-change is bad.
Firstly, families are talking again. In the evenings, without the lure of TV or the Internet, people have become social again.
Secondly, we are being trained in the lost art of patience. Have you noticed how people behave at intersections sans traffic lights? No hooting, no shouting, just waiting their turn because they have no alternative.
Thirdly, while many people fret or simply twiddle their thumbs when the lights go out at work, we don't have to. My suggestion is: Take a Torah book to work. When the power goes, head outdoors, enjoy the fresh air and read. You’ll be surprised at how much you’ll learn in a matter of weeks.
Family time, patience and extra study are all important. We shouldn’t need a crisis to remind us.
If the world looks dark, a Jew is supposed to generate (even a little) light.
Honestly, this "load-shedding" (politically correct way of saying, insufficient-power-leading-to-regular-power-cuts) is one of the most frustrating experiences I’ve experienced to date. I’m sure you’ll agree.
Like it or not, we’ve been forced to alter our lifestyles compliments of Eskom. Businesses are really suffering and even just preparing supper has become a challenge, but not every powercut-induced lifestyle-change is bad.
Firstly, families are talking again. In the evenings, without the lure of TV or the Internet, people have become social again.
Secondly, we are being trained in the lost art of patience. Have you noticed how people behave at intersections sans traffic lights? No hooting, no shouting, just waiting their turn because they have no alternative.
Thirdly, while many people fret or simply twiddle their thumbs when the lights go out at work, we don't have to. My suggestion is: Take a Torah book to work. When the power goes, head outdoors, enjoy the fresh air and read. You’ll be surprised at how much you’ll learn in a matter of weeks.
Family time, patience and extra study are all important. We shouldn’t need a crisis to remind us.
If the world looks dark, a Jew is supposed to generate (even a little) light.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Life has its ups and downs
It's back to school tomorrow! (for those of us in the Southern hemisphere)
My younger children are excited, they have their cases packed and their lunches ready. They'll probably be up at the crack of dawn. The older kids have already reached the "ho-hum, how many days will the end of the year" stage and aren't overly excited.
I've start teaching again tomorrow. Enough said.
Whatever it is you do, you probably share that sense of excitement and conquer-the-world enthusiasm when you've had a good break and are about to start things afresh.
The reality is, no matter how excited or inspired you feel, chances are something will get in the way sooner or later. Inspiration wears off, obstacles test our optimism and boredom sets in.
Is it possible to keep the inspiration alive? Or are burnout and the doldrums realities we need to accept.
The answer may lie in the very first mitzvah that the Jewish people were given as a nation. That instruction was not belief in G-d (as many people think), but establishing a calendar. It must make you wonder: Why does the calendar take precedence over the basics of Jewish faith?
Our Jewish calendar follows the moon. Most of our festivals coincide with full moon, and we start each month with Rosh Chodesh, at the birth of the new moon.
The moon has its moments- birth, waxing, fullness and waning- and so do we. We run our calendar by the moon, because we are like the moon.
The moon grows steadily for the first half of each month, peaks and then diminishes. We also start new things with enthusiasm, then fizzle out.
What we do wrong is we stay fizzled out. G-d's very first message to the nation of Israel is "Hachodesh hazeh lochem rosh chodoshim". Simply that means: This month is for you the first month of the Jewish year.
Yet, the deeper message is: Renewal (chodesh, month comes from the Hebrew chidush, meaning new) is yours on a monthly basis. Don't get stuck in failure, G-d empowers you to renew and reinvigorate yourself on a regular basis.
My younger children are excited, they have their cases packed and their lunches ready. They'll probably be up at the crack of dawn. The older kids have already reached the "ho-hum, how many days will the end of the year" stage and aren't overly excited.
I've start teaching again tomorrow. Enough said.
Whatever it is you do, you probably share that sense of excitement and conquer-the-world enthusiasm when you've had a good break and are about to start things afresh.
The reality is, no matter how excited or inspired you feel, chances are something will get in the way sooner or later. Inspiration wears off, obstacles test our optimism and boredom sets in.
Is it possible to keep the inspiration alive? Or are burnout and the doldrums realities we need to accept.
The answer may lie in the very first mitzvah that the Jewish people were given as a nation. That instruction was not belief in G-d (as many people think), but establishing a calendar. It must make you wonder: Why does the calendar take precedence over the basics of Jewish faith?
Our Jewish calendar follows the moon. Most of our festivals coincide with full moon, and we start each month with Rosh Chodesh, at the birth of the new moon.
The moon has its moments- birth, waxing, fullness and waning- and so do we. We run our calendar by the moon, because we are like the moon.
The moon grows steadily for the first half of each month, peaks and then diminishes. We also start new things with enthusiasm, then fizzle out.
What we do wrong is we stay fizzled out. G-d's very first message to the nation of Israel is "Hachodesh hazeh lochem rosh chodoshim". Simply that means: This month is for you the first month of the Jewish year.
Yet, the deeper message is: Renewal (chodesh, month comes from the Hebrew chidush, meaning new) is yours on a monthly basis. Don't get stuck in failure, G-d empowers you to renew and reinvigorate yourself on a regular basis.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Don't cramp your style
Moses had a tough job. He hadn’t even started talking to Pharaoh, when the latter basically sent him packing.
“I’m here with a message from Hashem,” Moses began.
“Well, I don’t know any Hashem,” Pharaoh cut in, “and I’m not releasing any prisoners.”
We all know the rest of the story- Moses warns Pharaoh, G-d sends ten plagues, and eventually Pharaoh capitulates. And we celebrate Pesach very year.
People often get confused about us reading this account every year so many weeks before Pesach. Surely, they wonder, if the Torah portion is about Pesach, it should be read at that time of the year.
Actually, this story happens every day, to every one of us.
Part of us, our inner Moses, is inspired to do great things. Our Moses voice says: Think big, break the mould and challenge yourself to become spiritually active.
Our cynical Pharaoh retorts: “Never! Not you. You know yourself too well. You will always be who you have always been, and you’ll never amount to anything more.”
The secret to real personal growth and to achieving amazing things: Don’t let Pharaoh cramp your style.
“I’m here with a message from Hashem,” Moses began.
“Well, I don’t know any Hashem,” Pharaoh cut in, “and I’m not releasing any prisoners.”
We all know the rest of the story- Moses warns Pharaoh, G-d sends ten plagues, and eventually Pharaoh capitulates. And we celebrate Pesach very year.
People often get confused about us reading this account every year so many weeks before Pesach. Surely, they wonder, if the Torah portion is about Pesach, it should be read at that time of the year.
Actually, this story happens every day, to every one of us.
Part of us, our inner Moses, is inspired to do great things. Our Moses voice says: Think big, break the mould and challenge yourself to become spiritually active.
Our cynical Pharaoh retorts: “Never! Not you. You know yourself too well. You will always be who you have always been, and you’ll never amount to anything more.”
The secret to real personal growth and to achieving amazing things: Don’t let Pharaoh cramp your style.
Friday, November 30, 2007
The "Long-short" way
Said Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chananiah: "Once a child got the better of me."
"I was traveling, and I met with a child at a crossroads. I asked him, 'which way to the city?' and he answered: 'This way is short and long, and this way is long and short.'
"I took the 'short and long' way. I soon reached the city but found my approach obstructed by gardens and orchards. So I retraced my steps and said to the child: 'My son, did you not tell me that this is the short way?
' Answered the child: 'Did I not tell you that it is also long?'"
(Talmud, Eruvin 53b)
Spiritual growth also has a "short but long" way and a "long but short" way.
The “short-long” route is the “snappy answers to stupid questions” approach. In other words, you ask a good question and receive a quick answer. The answer is suave and impressive and you’re pleased. Later, when you think it over, you realize you still have some unresolved issues with this answer. So, you’re left with a decent answer, but you still have some questions.
The “long-short” approach requires more patience- and trust. You ask the question and, instead of hearing an answer, are directed to study something seemingly unrelated. That discussion leads you to another tangent, which takes you to a third, entirely unrelated concept. Along the way, you muse that this is all very interesting, but how does it answer the question?
In an instant, everything clicks and you realize that, in light of the new perspective all this information has afforded you, you actually have no question at all.
Chassidus is the “longer-shorter” route to spiritual growth.
"I was traveling, and I met with a child at a crossroads. I asked him, 'which way to the city?' and he answered: 'This way is short and long, and this way is long and short.'
"I took the 'short and long' way. I soon reached the city but found my approach obstructed by gardens and orchards. So I retraced my steps and said to the child: 'My son, did you not tell me that this is the short way?
' Answered the child: 'Did I not tell you that it is also long?'"
(Talmud, Eruvin 53b)
Spiritual growth also has a "short but long" way and a "long but short" way.
The “short-long” route is the “snappy answers to stupid questions” approach. In other words, you ask a good question and receive a quick answer. The answer is suave and impressive and you’re pleased. Later, when you think it over, you realize you still have some unresolved issues with this answer. So, you’re left with a decent answer, but you still have some questions.
The “long-short” approach requires more patience- and trust. You ask the question and, instead of hearing an answer, are directed to study something seemingly unrelated. That discussion leads you to another tangent, which takes you to a third, entirely unrelated concept. Along the way, you muse that this is all very interesting, but how does it answer the question?
In an instant, everything clicks and you realize that, in light of the new perspective all this information has afforded you, you actually have no question at all.
Chassidus is the “longer-shorter” route to spiritual growth.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Hang on G-d, I'll be with you in a minute
Picture the scene: You’re sitting at home on a hot summer’s day and Hashem Himself drops in to say “hi”. Every second you share with the Ultimate Guest is obviously precious, and you’d savour the experience (after you recover from the initial shock, of course).
As you sit there, basking in The Light and being inspired, you notice some scruffy passers-by. They might be looking for a handout or simply passing through the neighbourhood, it’s difficult to tell. What do you do?
Me? I’d quickly conclude that if they needed my help, they’d knock on my door. Meanwhile, I’d pay attention to what G-d has to say. After all, if He made the effort to come see me, it must be rather important.
It’s strange, then, to note the story of history’s first Jew, our Patriarch Abraham, in exactly that situation. Only, he didn’t react quite the way we would. He stopped G-d “mid-sentence” and ran off to invite three sandy desert-farers in for a meal.
Imagine that? “Just a second G-d, I have business to attend to…”
Apparently, G-d wasn’t put out by this show of chutzpah. In fact, He was quite pleased. According to the Talmud, He wanted Abraham to illustrate an essential Jewish teaching- that taking in guests is more valuable than a face-to-face with G-d.
You may recall how the sage, Hillel summarised the entire Torah for a would-be convert. To paraphrase, he said: “How you treat your fellow Jew is the litmus test of your spiritual progress”.
People sometimes make the mistake of thinking that you’re really “frum” when you hang out with G-d- at Shul, while studying or by being scrupulous about Mitzvah observance. That may be true, but when looking G-d in the eye makes you miss seeing people in distress, you’re missing the point.
Judaism, by definition, must translate into treating the next person with care, sensitivity and empathy.
And you know you’re doing it right, if you’d rather be shmoozing with Hashem.
As you sit there, basking in The Light and being inspired, you notice some scruffy passers-by. They might be looking for a handout or simply passing through the neighbourhood, it’s difficult to tell. What do you do?
Me? I’d quickly conclude that if they needed my help, they’d knock on my door. Meanwhile, I’d pay attention to what G-d has to say. After all, if He made the effort to come see me, it must be rather important.
It’s strange, then, to note the story of history’s first Jew, our Patriarch Abraham, in exactly that situation. Only, he didn’t react quite the way we would. He stopped G-d “mid-sentence” and ran off to invite three sandy desert-farers in for a meal.
Imagine that? “Just a second G-d, I have business to attend to…”
Apparently, G-d wasn’t put out by this show of chutzpah. In fact, He was quite pleased. According to the Talmud, He wanted Abraham to illustrate an essential Jewish teaching- that taking in guests is more valuable than a face-to-face with G-d.
You may recall how the sage, Hillel summarised the entire Torah for a would-be convert. To paraphrase, he said: “How you treat your fellow Jew is the litmus test of your spiritual progress”.
People sometimes make the mistake of thinking that you’re really “frum” when you hang out with G-d- at Shul, while studying or by being scrupulous about Mitzvah observance. That may be true, but when looking G-d in the eye makes you miss seeing people in distress, you’re missing the point.
Judaism, by definition, must translate into treating the next person with care, sensitivity and empathy.
And you know you’re doing it right, if you’d rather be shmoozing with Hashem.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Green & Gold
On my way to drop kids at school this morning, I noticed people driving to work wearing “Bokke” shirts. I saw Joburg’s notorious intersection-entrepreneurs peddling SA flags in place of their usual wire ornaments, cell-phone chargers and garbage bags. Flags flapped from office windows, passing cars and people’s homes. Every newspaper headline carried a “Go Bokke” message and you couldn’t hear anything but rugby on the radio.
Excitement is building all over, reminiscent of the euphoria of South Africa’s win in 1995. (At least this year, they’ve been considerate enough to host the final after Shabbos…)
To be sure, rugby is not soccer. It does not hold the same fan-base in South Africa as that sport does. A good portion of our population wouldn’t watch rugby under ordinary circumstances.
These are not ordinary circumstances. Over this weekend tennis-fans, soccer-fans, nerds and sophisticates will all eagerly await the outcome of Saturday nights’ game.
Why?
Because it’s our team playing.
It doesn’t matter if we don’t enjoy rugby, understand it or support the team, the fact is that our team is going out onto that field and we’re rooting for them.
It’s quite like being Jewish. Sure there are things about Shul and Jewish observance that don’t excite us, or that we don’t understand. Sometimes, we don’t even like the team that we belong to. But, it’s our team, and we need to support it.
Not just one Saturday every four years, but regularly.
Excitement is building all over, reminiscent of the euphoria of South Africa’s win in 1995. (At least this year, they’ve been considerate enough to host the final after Shabbos…)
To be sure, rugby is not soccer. It does not hold the same fan-base in South Africa as that sport does. A good portion of our population wouldn’t watch rugby under ordinary circumstances.
These are not ordinary circumstances. Over this weekend tennis-fans, soccer-fans, nerds and sophisticates will all eagerly await the outcome of Saturday nights’ game.
Why?
Because it’s our team playing.
It doesn’t matter if we don’t enjoy rugby, understand it or support the team, the fact is that our team is going out onto that field and we’re rooting for them.
It’s quite like being Jewish. Sure there are things about Shul and Jewish observance that don’t excite us, or that we don’t understand. Sometimes, we don’t even like the team that we belong to. But, it’s our team, and we need to support it.
Not just one Saturday every four years, but regularly.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Getting back to work.
I'm trying to self-motivate, to break out of the "day-after-the-month-before" syndrome and get back into "real" life. I'm stuck.
The last month has just been so special and uplifting. It always is.
We look forward to and plan it for weeks, He and I. We cherish every moment of those four weeks we get to spend together each year.
It's not that we're not in touch during the rest of the year, it's just that our live's are hectic and we don't spend as much quality time as we would like to. That's why we love this month.
We get to talk. Well, at least I get to talk. He's a great listener. As a child I always knew I could tell Him anything and He would listen. He would never judge me; and I believed absolutely that He could solve every problem.
When I grew a little older, I became more demanding- and critical. When He didn't agree with my opinions, or deliver on my demands, I got angry. There were times when I wouldn't talk to Him for days.
Fortunately, He was infinitely patient, and I grew up a little. Now I am happy just to have time with Him. Looking for my inner-child, I still try to trust that He knows better. For me, to have our conversations is more valuable than what I get from them.
I get to tell Him all about my family, what they've achieved, how they're doing, my fears, my dreams. Their fears, their dreams. He always makes me feel that my nachas is His; my worries His concern.
We also get to clear the air during this special month. I let Him know where I feel He's let me down over the past year. I apologise for letting Him down (usually it's been more often than I'd like to admit)- and promise to try harder between now and next year.
From day to day, we cherish our time together more. We laugh, we cry, we eat out under the stars and dance with unfettered joy. I feel close. Connected. Safe.
All too soon, it's over. It's time to go home and return to "normal" life.
I really don't want to go; it's just so special there.
But "normal" is where He wants me to be.
When I'm there, doing my best at making the "normal" special, it gives Him nachas. Then I know I'm really close to Him.
The last month has just been so special and uplifting. It always is.
We look forward to and plan it for weeks, He and I. We cherish every moment of those four weeks we get to spend together each year.
It's not that we're not in touch during the rest of the year, it's just that our live's are hectic and we don't spend as much quality time as we would like to. That's why we love this month.
We get to talk. Well, at least I get to talk. He's a great listener. As a child I always knew I could tell Him anything and He would listen. He would never judge me; and I believed absolutely that He could solve every problem.
When I grew a little older, I became more demanding- and critical. When He didn't agree with my opinions, or deliver on my demands, I got angry. There were times when I wouldn't talk to Him for days.
Fortunately, He was infinitely patient, and I grew up a little. Now I am happy just to have time with Him. Looking for my inner-child, I still try to trust that He knows better. For me, to have our conversations is more valuable than what I get from them.
I get to tell Him all about my family, what they've achieved, how they're doing, my fears, my dreams. Their fears, their dreams. He always makes me feel that my nachas is His; my worries His concern.
We also get to clear the air during this special month. I let Him know where I feel He's let me down over the past year. I apologise for letting Him down (usually it's been more often than I'd like to admit)- and promise to try harder between now and next year.
From day to day, we cherish our time together more. We laugh, we cry, we eat out under the stars and dance with unfettered joy. I feel close. Connected. Safe.
All too soon, it's over. It's time to go home and return to "normal" life.
I really don't want to go; it's just so special there.
But "normal" is where He wants me to be.
When I'm there, doing my best at making the "normal" special, it gives Him nachas. Then I know I'm really close to Him.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Rugby and the REAL World Cup
With Rosh Hashanah a fresh memory and Yom Kippur close on horizion, it's probably a little irreverent to talk about the Rugby World Cup. After all, this is the time when matters of Life and Death are decided for the year- though for some the rugby may be even more serious than that.Now, rugby is not a classical Jewish sport. I couldn't imagine Jewish mothers enjoying seeing their boychicks getting roughed up on the field, and most Jewish players would probably prefer to stand in the back and shout instructions to their colleagues on the offensive.
[One thing I do know is that, if the All Blacks were really Chassidim, there’d be a lechaim at every scrum…]
Anyway, Jewish or not, the game captures the imagination of millions of people- and (like everything else in life) carries a few spiritual lessons for us as Jews.
Lesson 1: TRY
A “try” in rugby means you have actually reached your goal. We're used to saying “I’ll try” as a pre-excuse for things not working out. Rugby teaches that when you succeed, you know you have made a real "try". (Heard this one from Rabbi Dovid Hazdan a few years ago)
Lesson 2: GET MORE THAN YOU BARGAIN FOR
Lesson 2: GET MORE THAN YOU BARGAIN FOR
Once you’ve scored a try, you get a chance to make a conversion. In Talmudic terminology, this is called the “Yogato umotzoso” principle. People normally expect their efforts to bear relative results; Torah guarantees that when you invest effort, you see results beyond your expectations.
Lesson 3: JOIN TOGETHER & LIFT
Lesson 3: JOIN TOGETHER & LIFT
Sometimes during the game, rugby players will bunch together and lift one player to catch or throw the ball.
Social gatherings are often a chance to get together and put others down. Life woulod be more pleasant if we took the rugby approach: When you get together with others for a chat, use the opportunity to give someone else a lift.
Lesson 4: KEEP MOVING FORWARD
Lesson 4: KEEP MOVING FORWARD
Unlike other sports games, rugby sees the ball going backwards to move forward. Too often, we think that of we’ve taken a step backwards, it’s all bad news. Judaism believes that every slip-up can be the catalyst for growth. Even when you toss the ball backward, remember to keep running forward, you’ll eventually get there.
Lesson 5: PLAY ALL THE WAY
Of course, it would be pointless to enter your team in the World Cup and only play the first one or two games. Sure, it gets tougher as you progress, but you have to be motivated to play through to the very end if you want to take the prize home.
Well, Rosh Hashanah is the launch of the spiritual World cup- and the winning team plays all the way to the final on Simchas Torah.
Hope you’ll be there!
Well, Rosh Hashanah is the launch of the spiritual World cup- and the winning team plays all the way to the final on Simchas Torah.
Hope you’ll be there!
Friday, August 24, 2007
Gain the upper hand
There’s a rather strange new Nike advertising campaign that’s popped up all over Joburg’s billboards. Each billboard depicts frame-by-frame shots of a sportsman in mid-game. The campaign’s theme is “This is how I war”.
We all know there is a huge amount of violence in our society, so Nike probably figured they’d advertise their brand and make a social statement at the same time.
It really is a nice message and let’s hope it succeeds.
Seeing as we’re generally expert armchair politicians, we tend to notice the battles around us and ignore the battles inside us. We all have them, they’re uncomfortable, and they’re for real.
People battle depression, laziness, temptation and a host of other personal weaknesses. If Judaism had to create a “This is how I war” campaign for those battles, what would the message be?
Luckily, the answer’s right at the start of this week’s Torah portion. It starts “When you go to war on your enemies, G-d will deliver them into your hands”. To use correct grammar, the Torah should have said “When you to war against your enemies”. On your enemies? What is that supposed to mean?
Human nature is such that we take our enemies really seriously; maybe even more seriously than they take themselves. “I have a big problem with keeping my mouth shut”, “I battle to motivate myself”, “I’ll never manage to break my bad habits”.
Such an attitude doesn’t help fight the war, it predisposes us to lose it.
That’s why the Torah says go to war “on” your enemies. Our challenge is to remain above it. G-d says He will deliver them into our hands, He’ll guarantee success for our personal challenges. All we need to do is rise above- and trust.
Pretty appropriate at Rosh Hashanah-time, don’t you think?
We all know there is a huge amount of violence in our society, so Nike probably figured they’d advertise their brand and make a social statement at the same time.
It really is a nice message and let’s hope it succeeds.
Seeing as we’re generally expert armchair politicians, we tend to notice the battles around us and ignore the battles inside us. We all have them, they’re uncomfortable, and they’re for real.
People battle depression, laziness, temptation and a host of other personal weaknesses. If Judaism had to create a “This is how I war” campaign for those battles, what would the message be?
Luckily, the answer’s right at the start of this week’s Torah portion. It starts “When you go to war on your enemies, G-d will deliver them into your hands”. To use correct grammar, the Torah should have said “When you to war against your enemies”. On your enemies? What is that supposed to mean?
Human nature is such that we take our enemies really seriously; maybe even more seriously than they take themselves. “I have a big problem with keeping my mouth shut”, “I battle to motivate myself”, “I’ll never manage to break my bad habits”.
Such an attitude doesn’t help fight the war, it predisposes us to lose it.
That’s why the Torah says go to war “on” your enemies. Our challenge is to remain above it. G-d says He will deliver them into our hands, He’ll guarantee success for our personal challenges. All we need to do is rise above- and trust.
Pretty appropriate at Rosh Hashanah-time, don’t you think?
Access Control
Security is a hot topic in Joburg. Actually, since 9/11, it’s become a hot issue throughout the world.
We have surrounded our homes with high walls, electric fences, security gates and burglar bars to keep the baddies out. Airports around the globe have introduced security screenings that would unnerve even the most ironclad heart. Our home PC’s and office networks are protected with firewalls to keep the rubbish at bay. It’s now not only acceptable, but fashionable to limit access on just about every level of our lives.
We know how to keep the burglars, terrorists and spammers out. Ironically, we still remain vulnerable to trespass of a different kind.
A wise man commented: “Jews have always considered it taboo to enter a church, yet nowadays they bring the church into our own homes”. “Church” represents more than a place of worship, it symbolizes anything antithetical to Jewish values.
You could sit in the comfort of your Jewish home, flanked by a silver mezuzah, Shabbos candle sticks and a portrait of your zeida. Flip a switch on the “black box” and you invite people, images, sounds and themes that are contrary to every Jewish value.
“Judges and policeman you shall place at all your gates”, states the Torah. You could just read that at face value- a Jewish town needs to have a judicial system. Or you could approach this line as a Jew should: The Torah is a book of personal lessons. If you cannot find the relevant lesson in the story for you, you have missed the point.
Let’s read that sentence again, with different emphasis this time. “Judges and policemen you shall place on all your gates”. Your gates are the access points to your soul: your eyes, ears and mouth. That is what the Torah is talking about. Just as it’s important to keep unwanted visitors out of your house, it’s just as important to keep them out of your head (and your kids’ heads).
We’ve invested a fortune in physical security, we should at least equal the effort for our spiritual security.
We have surrounded our homes with high walls, electric fences, security gates and burglar bars to keep the baddies out. Airports around the globe have introduced security screenings that would unnerve even the most ironclad heart. Our home PC’s and office networks are protected with firewalls to keep the rubbish at bay. It’s now not only acceptable, but fashionable to limit access on just about every level of our lives.
We know how to keep the burglars, terrorists and spammers out. Ironically, we still remain vulnerable to trespass of a different kind.
A wise man commented: “Jews have always considered it taboo to enter a church, yet nowadays they bring the church into our own homes”. “Church” represents more than a place of worship, it symbolizes anything antithetical to Jewish values.
You could sit in the comfort of your Jewish home, flanked by a silver mezuzah, Shabbos candle sticks and a portrait of your zeida. Flip a switch on the “black box” and you invite people, images, sounds and themes that are contrary to every Jewish value.
“Judges and policeman you shall place at all your gates”, states the Torah. You could just read that at face value- a Jewish town needs to have a judicial system. Or you could approach this line as a Jew should: The Torah is a book of personal lessons. If you cannot find the relevant lesson in the story for you, you have missed the point.
Let’s read that sentence again, with different emphasis this time. “Judges and policemen you shall place on all your gates”. Your gates are the access points to your soul: your eyes, ears and mouth. That is what the Torah is talking about. Just as it’s important to keep unwanted visitors out of your house, it’s just as important to keep them out of your head (and your kids’ heads).
We’ve invested a fortune in physical security, we should at least equal the effort for our spiritual security.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Run away!
Everyone likes to get away from it all at some point. Forget work pressures, even just driving down a Joburg street is stressful. It’s a relief to get out of town, find a serene spot and unwind.
The truth be told, though, it’s not always that easy. While we can get away from the external pressures of life, we tend to carry a full array of internal baggage with us wherever we go. Even on holiday, our doubts, insecurities and regrets come along for the ride. None of us is perfect, we’ve all made mistakes that we wish we could undo. Even in those quiet moments, we often feel we cannot shake them off.
Imagine if we could.
“Holidays from conscience”- now there’s a great business opportunity! I’m pretty sure if someone would offer us a place to escape our closet skeletons, we’d snatch it.
The good news is that we get a 30-day getaway opportunity every year. It’s called the month of Elul, and it starts next Wednesday (August 15th).
One of history’s greatest debacles was the crumbling of Jewish resolve at the foot of Mount Sinai. Just days after G-d’s unequivocal message that He is the only One, they traded Him in for an inanimate dummy-god. After Moshe gave them a piece of his mind, the Jews surely felt terrible. One can safely assume that they would have carried guilt and a sense of fickle-failure with them for long time.
That would have been the case, had Hashem not unveiled the Elul paradigm shift. He invited Moshe back up the mountain for a 40-day session. During that time, he allowed the People to escape their mess, and start with a fresh slate.
Like the Biblical Cities of Refuge, Elul created immunity for the Jewish People from the faults that threatened to haunt them.
It does so every year.
Escape to Elul. Invest some extra prayer, study and charity in the next 30 days and you’ll start the New Year on the right foot.
The truth be told, though, it’s not always that easy. While we can get away from the external pressures of life, we tend to carry a full array of internal baggage with us wherever we go. Even on holiday, our doubts, insecurities and regrets come along for the ride. None of us is perfect, we’ve all made mistakes that we wish we could undo. Even in those quiet moments, we often feel we cannot shake them off.
Imagine if we could.
“Holidays from conscience”- now there’s a great business opportunity! I’m pretty sure if someone would offer us a place to escape our closet skeletons, we’d snatch it.
The good news is that we get a 30-day getaway opportunity every year. It’s called the month of Elul, and it starts next Wednesday (August 15th).
One of history’s greatest debacles was the crumbling of Jewish resolve at the foot of Mount Sinai. Just days after G-d’s unequivocal message that He is the only One, they traded Him in for an inanimate dummy-god. After Moshe gave them a piece of his mind, the Jews surely felt terrible. One can safely assume that they would have carried guilt and a sense of fickle-failure with them for long time.
That would have been the case, had Hashem not unveiled the Elul paradigm shift. He invited Moshe back up the mountain for a 40-day session. During that time, he allowed the People to escape their mess, and start with a fresh slate.
Like the Biblical Cities of Refuge, Elul created immunity for the Jewish People from the faults that threatened to haunt them.
It does so every year.
Escape to Elul. Invest some extra prayer, study and charity in the next 30 days and you’ll start the New Year on the right foot.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Road Rage
I'm stopped at a red light.
My hands relax on the steering wheel as I watch for the green. Nothing of interest happens as I wait for the light to change. Not usually, that is.
Today is different; I have front row seats for a brief drive-by show.
She's a prudent driver, staying just within the speed-limit as she crosses the intersection and turns right. He's madly rushing, stop-starting, revving and braking inches behind her.
She's calm, with both hands firmly on the wheel, and both eyes on the road. His free hand gesticulates wildly out the window, punctuating the expletives pouring from his mouth, as he gears up and steers with his other hand.
He's fuming. She's oblivious.
I'm tickled.
I wish I had a video camera and this guy's address. He obviously doesn't realise how idiotic he looks- ignored by the object of his anger; and observed by dozens of amused rush-hour commuters.
* * *
What is it about driving that transforms mild-mannered, nice people into revving road-rage racers?
I know many of these people. In real life, they are courteous, responsible and family oriented. On the road they mutate into monsters. How?
I think it has to do with the feeling of control. Take the wheel and you assume control. You direct and your car obeys.
You choose the route, destination, travel-time, speed and driving style. This is your journey.
What you haven't necessarily considered is that you don't control the traffic volumes, the red lights, the drivers next to you or ahead of you. You actually control very little of the journey.
When it doesn't go as you had expected you get upset, angry or possibly aggressive. And all because you thought you were in control.
Interesting insight into life, this road rage is.
Believe you're in control and you're bound to be frustrated. Accept that there will always be variables outside of your control, and that your job is to know how to respond to them, and you will remain calm. And happy.
* * *
Judaism centers on the Ten Commandments.
Rule #1: G-d is always in control.
Rule #2: If you think for a moment He is not in control, see Rule #1.
My hands relax on the steering wheel as I watch for the green. Nothing of interest happens as I wait for the light to change. Not usually, that is.
Today is different; I have front row seats for a brief drive-by show.
She's a prudent driver, staying just within the speed-limit as she crosses the intersection and turns right. He's madly rushing, stop-starting, revving and braking inches behind her.
She's calm, with both hands firmly on the wheel, and both eyes on the road. His free hand gesticulates wildly out the window, punctuating the expletives pouring from his mouth, as he gears up and steers with his other hand.
He's fuming. She's oblivious.
I'm tickled.
I wish I had a video camera and this guy's address. He obviously doesn't realise how idiotic he looks- ignored by the object of his anger; and observed by dozens of amused rush-hour commuters.
* * *
What is it about driving that transforms mild-mannered, nice people into revving road-rage racers?
I know many of these people. In real life, they are courteous, responsible and family oriented. On the road they mutate into monsters. How?
I think it has to do with the feeling of control. Take the wheel and you assume control. You direct and your car obeys.
You choose the route, destination, travel-time, speed and driving style. This is your journey.
What you haven't necessarily considered is that you don't control the traffic volumes, the red lights, the drivers next to you or ahead of you. You actually control very little of the journey.
When it doesn't go as you had expected you get upset, angry or possibly aggressive. And all because you thought you were in control.
Interesting insight into life, this road rage is.
Believe you're in control and you're bound to be frustrated. Accept that there will always be variables outside of your control, and that your job is to know how to respond to them, and you will remain calm. And happy.
* * *
Judaism centers on the Ten Commandments.
Rule #1: G-d is always in control.
Rule #2: If you think for a moment He is not in control, see Rule #1.
Friday, July 20, 2007
EYES WIDE SHUT
You may well remember the “Magic eye” 3D-poster craze from a few years back. At first, those stereograms looked like random coloured patterns splashed across a page. Once you stared at them for a while, though, you could make out a 3D picture.
Remember how many people would stare and stare and simply not see the 3D picture (you may have been one of them)? They would either become frustrated or accuse you of having them on, because there really was no 3D picture to see.
Modern science claims that this happens to us daily. We look at what is around us, and only consciously perceive a fraction of what we see. So, when people try to convince us that there’s more to life than meets the eye, we don’t buy it.
Which reminds me of a very important story.
It wasn’t long after the Roman destruction of the Temple, when a group of Talmudic Sages walked along the rubble-strewn Temple Mount. One can only imagine the immense sadness they must have felt as they surveyed the ravaged remains of Judaism’s holiest site.
When a fox darted out from the debris of the Holy of Holies, it was too much for them to handle. The rabbis cried bitterly. Rabbi Akivah, who was also there, laughed.
“Why are you laughing?” they challenged him.
“Why are you crying?” he retorted.
“How can we not cry,” the Rabbis asked, “when we see a fox exit the spot that was always off-bounds to all but the holiest Jew, the High Priest, on the holiest day of Yom Kippur?”
“That,” said Rabbi Akivah, “is why I laugh!”
“There are two prophecies,” Rabbi Akivah explained, “Uriah predicted that the Temple Mount would be plowed over like a field. Zechariah prophesied that Jerusalem would, once again, regain its stature and glory. Until I saw the fulfillment of Uriah’s prophecy, I was unsure that Zechariah’s prophecy would be fulfilled.”
Hearing that, the Rabbis remarked: “Akivah, you have comforted us.”
On the face of it, this is a particularly strange story. Yet, it provides an essential insight into the unique Jewish take on life.
When the Romans destroyed the Temple, they didn’t just demolish an important building. They disconnected the portal that connects heaven and earth. They disrupted the direct line of communication that Jews had with G-d and He with them. They snuffed out the light of the world, heralding 2000 years of anti-Semitism, plunder, pogroms.
To the rabbis, this was the devastating picture they saw that day on the Temple Mount. They saw a chaotic mess of incongruent colour splashed onto the canvas where a masterpiece had just been.
Rabbi Akivah was able to look deeper, beyond appearances. He saw the 3D picture that would emerge from that chaos. Yes, he felt the pain. Sure, he mourned the loss. But, he also saw beyond- that the destruction was also the seed of a higher, greater process.
Rabbi Akivah perceived that the fast day of Tisha B’Av is also the birth of Moshiach.
Spiritual as they were, the other rabbis couldn’t see that perspective, until Rabbi Akivah showed it to them.
We still battle to see the full picture.
To our eyes there is chaos, crime, illness and global terrorism. We see a loss of moral direction, a crumbling of ethics, a lack of world leadership.
We have much to mourn this Tisha B’Av. But, just before that, Hashem gives us a Shabbat Chazon, the Shabbos of vision. The Shabbos prior to Judaism’s day of national mourning is so named, because that’s when He allows us a momentary glimpse into the meaning behind the madness. Shabbat Chazon briefly opens our eyes to see a higher purpose.
Our wish is that Hashem allows that vision to become our reality this year.
Remember how many people would stare and stare and simply not see the 3D picture (you may have been one of them)? They would either become frustrated or accuse you of having them on, because there really was no 3D picture to see.
Modern science claims that this happens to us daily. We look at what is around us, and only consciously perceive a fraction of what we see. So, when people try to convince us that there’s more to life than meets the eye, we don’t buy it.
Which reminds me of a very important story.
It wasn’t long after the Roman destruction of the Temple, when a group of Talmudic Sages walked along the rubble-strewn Temple Mount. One can only imagine the immense sadness they must have felt as they surveyed the ravaged remains of Judaism’s holiest site.
When a fox darted out from the debris of the Holy of Holies, it was too much for them to handle. The rabbis cried bitterly. Rabbi Akivah, who was also there, laughed.
“Why are you laughing?” they challenged him.
“Why are you crying?” he retorted.
“How can we not cry,” the Rabbis asked, “when we see a fox exit the spot that was always off-bounds to all but the holiest Jew, the High Priest, on the holiest day of Yom Kippur?”
“That,” said Rabbi Akivah, “is why I laugh!”
“There are two prophecies,” Rabbi Akivah explained, “Uriah predicted that the Temple Mount would be plowed over like a field. Zechariah prophesied that Jerusalem would, once again, regain its stature and glory. Until I saw the fulfillment of Uriah’s prophecy, I was unsure that Zechariah’s prophecy would be fulfilled.”
Hearing that, the Rabbis remarked: “Akivah, you have comforted us.”
On the face of it, this is a particularly strange story. Yet, it provides an essential insight into the unique Jewish take on life.
When the Romans destroyed the Temple, they didn’t just demolish an important building. They disconnected the portal that connects heaven and earth. They disrupted the direct line of communication that Jews had with G-d and He with them. They snuffed out the light of the world, heralding 2000 years of anti-Semitism, plunder, pogroms.
To the rabbis, this was the devastating picture they saw that day on the Temple Mount. They saw a chaotic mess of incongruent colour splashed onto the canvas where a masterpiece had just been.
Rabbi Akivah was able to look deeper, beyond appearances. He saw the 3D picture that would emerge from that chaos. Yes, he felt the pain. Sure, he mourned the loss. But, he also saw beyond- that the destruction was also the seed of a higher, greater process.
Rabbi Akivah perceived that the fast day of Tisha B’Av is also the birth of Moshiach.
Spiritual as they were, the other rabbis couldn’t see that perspective, until Rabbi Akivah showed it to them.
We still battle to see the full picture.
To our eyes there is chaos, crime, illness and global terrorism. We see a loss of moral direction, a crumbling of ethics, a lack of world leadership.
We have much to mourn this Tisha B’Av. But, just before that, Hashem gives us a Shabbat Chazon, the Shabbos of vision. The Shabbos prior to Judaism’s day of national mourning is so named, because that’s when He allows us a momentary glimpse into the meaning behind the madness. Shabbat Chazon briefly opens our eyes to see a higher purpose.
Our wish is that Hashem allows that vision to become our reality this year.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Life's a journey(s)
And I’m not sure we always enjoy the ride…
Actually, life is a series of journeys. Some of them are long and arduous,
while others are fairly straight-forward. At times, we travel on routes filled with potholes, and feel relieved to reach the wide tarred highways of life. Sometimes we know where we are headed and other times we feel hopelessly lost. Each trip, and each stop has a message and a meaning that makes our life what it is.
You may hear people talk of “Gilgul”, the Jewish concept of soul-cycles. People naturally assume that this refers to the multiple lives that a soul lives.
The Ba’al Shem Tov explains one goes through numerous Gilgulim or life-cycles within the course of a single life. If you know how to navigate them, you reach your destination whole and enriched.
We've just read the Torah portion called Massei, which lists the 42 pit-stops that the Jewish nation made en route from Egypt to Israel. If you pay attention to the opening verse, you’ll immediately discover an anomaly. The Torah starts: “These are the journeys that the Jewish people took to leave Egypt.”
Between you and I, it only takes one journey to leave Egypt. As soon as you cross the border, you’re out. Simple.
Yet, the Torah wants to teach us about life rather than about history.
Mitzrayim, the Hebrew term for Egypt, means constraints. Life’s journeys are not about getting from A to B. They represent the challenges that allow us to grow and develop into better people.
You grow when you challenge your natural limitations. Leaving Egypt means breaking your barriers and exceeding your expectations.
As soon you break out of the box, your new paradigm becomes your new “Egypt”. In other words, now that you’ve risen to the challenge, you can’t rest on your laurels. What used to be impossible has become ordinary. To grow further, you need to challenge yourself with a new “impossible”.
Do that 42 times, and you reach life’s destination - or your personal Promised Land.
Until then, you’re in a state of relative Egypt, with plenty more journeys ahead.
Actually, life is a series of journeys. Some of them are long and arduous,
while others are fairly straight-forward. At times, we travel on routes filled with potholes, and feel relieved to reach the wide tarred highways of life. Sometimes we know where we are headed and other times we feel hopelessly lost. Each trip, and each stop has a message and a meaning that makes our life what it is.You may hear people talk of “Gilgul”, the Jewish concept of soul-cycles. People naturally assume that this refers to the multiple lives that a soul lives.
The Ba’al Shem Tov explains one goes through numerous Gilgulim or life-cycles within the course of a single life. If you know how to navigate them, you reach your destination whole and enriched.
We've just read the Torah portion called Massei, which lists the 42 pit-stops that the Jewish nation made en route from Egypt to Israel. If you pay attention to the opening verse, you’ll immediately discover an anomaly. The Torah starts: “These are the journeys that the Jewish people took to leave Egypt.”
Between you and I, it only takes one journey to leave Egypt. As soon as you cross the border, you’re out. Simple.
Yet, the Torah wants to teach us about life rather than about history.
Mitzrayim, the Hebrew term for Egypt, means constraints. Life’s journeys are not about getting from A to B. They represent the challenges that allow us to grow and develop into better people.
You grow when you challenge your natural limitations. Leaving Egypt means breaking your barriers and exceeding your expectations.
As soon you break out of the box, your new paradigm becomes your new “Egypt”. In other words, now that you’ve risen to the challenge, you can’t rest on your laurels. What used to be impossible has become ordinary. To grow further, you need to challenge yourself with a new “impossible”.
Do that 42 times, and you reach life’s destination - or your personal Promised Land.
Until then, you’re in a state of relative Egypt, with plenty more journeys ahead.
Friday, June 29, 2007
It never snows in Joburg
That's what they say, at least.
The truth is, I remember the last time it snowed in Johannesburg. That was in September 1981. Everyone was so excited, especially when they let us go home early from school.
It's not that there was much snow, but we enjoyed it. We threw snowballs and made 10cm snowmen. By the next day, the white winter was gone.
For a few more years after that, I waited expectantly for snow. Each winter, I'd look out at the crystal clear blue sky- and hope.
But, it never came.
People explaines that it never snows in Joburg, how '81 was a freak incident.
Eventually I stopped hoping.
12:30 a.m. Wednesday- a thunderbolt shook my children out of bed. Their knocking on the door woke me.
As I calmed them and prepared to return them to bed, something prompted me to look out of the window. Before my unbelieving eyes, I saw hundreds of little flakes floating down.
By the morning, everything was covered in a light coat of white. Ok, there was less of it than there had been 26 years ago, but it was snow.
The children scooped it up in their hands (unaware of the need for gloves), slipped and slid and had a wonderful morning.
"Snowburg" the newspaper headlines cheerfully proclaimed.
As people marvelled at the white wonder (everyone seemed a little happier than usual), the snow made me think.
About things that we believe will never happen. About how when they takes longer than expected, we start to imagine it will never happen.
It made me think about Moshiach.
The truth is, I remember the last time it snowed in Johannesburg. That was in September 1981. Everyone was so excited, especially when they let us go home early from school.
It's not that there was much snow, but we enjoyed it. We threw snowballs and made 10cm snowmen. By the next day, the white winter was gone.
For a few more years after that, I waited expectantly for snow. Each winter, I'd look out at the crystal clear blue sky- and hope.
But, it never came.
People explaines that it never snows in Joburg, how '81 was a freak incident.
Eventually I stopped hoping.
12:30 a.m. Wednesday- a thunderbolt shook my children out of bed. Their knocking on the door woke me.
As I calmed them and prepared to return them to bed, something prompted me to look out of the window. Before my unbelieving eyes, I saw hundreds of little flakes floating down.
By the morning, everything was covered in a light coat of white. Ok, there was less of it than there had been 26 years ago, but it was snow.
The children scooped it up in their hands (unaware of the need for gloves), slipped and slid and had a wonderful morning.
"Snowburg" the newspaper headlines cheerfully proclaimed.
As people marvelled at the white wonder (everyone seemed a little happier than usual), the snow made me think.
About things that we believe will never happen. About how when they takes longer than expected, we start to imagine it will never happen.
It made me think about Moshiach.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Lessons from the NY subway (part 2)
So, I was riding the D train from Boro Park back to Crown Heights. My fellow passengers all sat cocooned in their reading or music, waiting for the moment when they return to life and exit the car.As I got off and merged with the human sea of the Atlantic avenue station, a staccato voice reverberated across the platform: "All passengers on the D and N trains, we regret to inform you that all D and N trains will be temporarily delayed as a passenger downtown requires emergency medical assistance!"
You may believe that your world operates independently of the next person's. But, when one person is in crisis, it derails us all.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Lessons from the NY subway (part 1)
I always enjoy the New York pulse. It's exciting. It's electrifying. It energizes.
New York has got to be one of the most animated cities on our planet. No matter the time of day or night, you will see people. The streets are alive with business executives, tourists, hawkers, sidewalk evangelists, yellow cabs, and, nowadays, lots of cops.
Beneath those bustling New York streets there's the shadow-life of the subway system. For millions the subway is an integral part of life in New York. It is here that you can observe the people, their quirks and habits- and their attitudes. You can learn much about life from watching what happens on those trains.
Back on the subway a few days ago (it's been nine months since my last NY visit), I again noticed the prevalent isolationist attitude of commuters.
Some spread newspapers to shield themselves from their co-riders. Some read books or magazines, while others escape into the Hip-Hop that pulsates through their Ipods. Those unequipped with the tools to create the required barrier simply avert their eyes.
It's as though the common thinking is: "I am an individual. My life is absolutely independent of yours. We have nothing in common and no shared experience. Please, leave me alone."
Just then, the train lurches forward- and every single passenger lunges back the same distance, at the same time and the same velocity...
New York has got to be one of the most animated cities on our planet. No matter the time of day or night, you will see people. The streets are alive with business executives, tourists, hawkers, sidewalk evangelists, yellow cabs, and, nowadays, lots of cops.
Beneath those bustling New York streets there's the shadow-life of the subway system. For millions the subway is an integral part of life in New York. It is here that you can observe the people, their quirks and habits- and their attitudes. You can learn much about life from watching what happens on those trains.
Back on the subway a few days ago (it's been nine months since my last NY visit), I again noticed the prevalent isolationist attitude of commuters.Some spread newspapers to shield themselves from their co-riders. Some read books or magazines, while others escape into the Hip-Hop that pulsates through their Ipods. Those unequipped with the tools to create the required barrier simply avert their eyes.
It's as though the common thinking is: "I am an individual. My life is absolutely independent of yours. We have nothing in common and no shared experience. Please, leave me alone."
Just then, the train lurches forward- and every single passenger lunges back the same distance, at the same time and the same velocity...
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