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.
Thursday, April 17, 2008
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...
Thursday, May 17, 2007
The secret that won the Six Day War
As Jews, we are trained to see the world differently. We look beyond the face of facts, and discern the hand that pulls the puppet strings.
To the Jew, World events are a Divine orchestration playing out in the terrestrial theatre.
To the Jew, if his People are involved, he is involved. He may not play a visible role in the National drama, but he directs some of the action from behind the scenes.
To the Jew, every event is a lesson. Major events provide key lessons; personal events convey personal messages.
It has now been 40 years and the Six Say War still captivates the minds and imaginations of people all over the world.
Military strategists still cannot quite explain how, with the odds stacked so heavily against them, the Israelis successfully routed the Egyptians, Syrians, Jordanians and their allies in six days.
Israel’s army was outnumbered and vastly outgunned. As Egypt vowed to push Israel into the sea, nobody could afford to be optimistic.
Well, almost nobody.
Just a few days before war erupted, the Lubavitcher Rebbe announced that Israel was guaranteed Divine protection. He launched an overt campaign to enlist Jewish reserves around the world, and a secret weapon that would change the tide of the war.
The Rebbe approached the war from a distinctly Jewish perspective. He understood that the direction each battle would take is determined by a Higher Power. He appreciated that every Jew’s actions contribute to the success or otherwise of other Jews. He knew that a united approach to pulling the right spiritual strings would turn the tide in Israel’s favour.
So, he launched the Tefillin campaign.
Jewish unity in serving G-d, he said, would empower the Jewish people. He quoted the Talmud, which terms Tefillin the “Mitzvah that strikes fear in the hearts of your enemies”.
It was controversial. It challenged Jews to confront their Jewish identity, often in public. It challenged religious Jews to reach out to their secular counterparts.
It succeeded. By the end of that year, about half a million people had donned Tefillin.*
Within six days, Israel had a miracle.
It’s now been 40 years since that revolution. In that time, people have come to expect to wear Tefillin at the Western Wall. Nowadays, you may be stopped at a bus station in Tel Aviv, on an Ivy League campus, on a plane or in your own office, and be offered to put on Tefillin.
Jews see the world differently.
We appreciate that one Mitzvah can jump-start our soul. We realize it could protect the rest of our People. We acknowledge we each play a lead role in the Divine production of Life.
So, roll up your left sleeve, and join the “war” effort.
*"Just before the outbreak of the war, an active campaign to push observance by Jewish males over 13 years of age to do the "mitzvah" of tefillin was launched by Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, the "Lubavitcher Rebbe" of New York--leader of a Hasidic sect with branches throughout the world.
Since the Six Day War in June which resulted in the creation of a united Jerusalem as part of Israel, more than 400,000 members of the Jewish faith are estimated to have observed the commandment to wear Phylacteries-- tefillin In Hebrew--at the city's Western, formerly known as the "Wailing,” Wall. "
The Boston Globe November 24, 1967
To the Jew, World events are a Divine orchestration playing out in the terrestrial theatre.
To the Jew, if his People are involved, he is involved. He may not play a visible role in the National drama, but he directs some of the action from behind the scenes.
To the Jew, every event is a lesson. Major events provide key lessons; personal events convey personal messages.
It has now been 40 years and the Six Say War still captivates the minds and imaginations of people all over the world.
Military strategists still cannot quite explain how, with the odds stacked so heavily against them, the Israelis successfully routed the Egyptians, Syrians, Jordanians and their allies in six days.
Israel’s army was outnumbered and vastly outgunned. As Egypt vowed to push Israel into the sea, nobody could afford to be optimistic.
Well, almost nobody.
Just a few days before war erupted, the Lubavitcher Rebbe announced that Israel was guaranteed Divine protection. He launched an overt campaign to enlist Jewish reserves around the world, and a secret weapon that would change the tide of the war.
The Rebbe approached the war from a distinctly Jewish perspective. He understood that the direction each battle would take is determined by a Higher Power. He appreciated that every Jew’s actions contribute to the success or otherwise of other Jews. He knew that a united approach to pulling the right spiritual strings would turn the tide in Israel’s favour.
So, he launched the Tefillin campaign.
Jewish unity in serving G-d, he said, would empower the Jewish people. He quoted the Talmud, which terms Tefillin the “Mitzvah that strikes fear in the hearts of your enemies”.It was controversial. It challenged Jews to confront their Jewish identity, often in public. It challenged religious Jews to reach out to their secular counterparts.
It succeeded. By the end of that year, about half a million people had donned Tefillin.*
Within six days, Israel had a miracle.
It’s now been 40 years since that revolution. In that time, people have come to expect to wear Tefillin at the Western Wall. Nowadays, you may be stopped at a bus station in Tel Aviv, on an Ivy League campus, on a plane or in your own office, and be offered to put on Tefillin.
Jews see the world differently.
We appreciate that one Mitzvah can jump-start our soul. We realize it could protect the rest of our People. We acknowledge we each play a lead role in the Divine production of Life.
So, roll up your left sleeve, and join the “war” effort.
*"Just before the outbreak of the war, an active campaign to push observance by Jewish males over 13 years of age to do the "mitzvah" of tefillin was launched by Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson, the "Lubavitcher Rebbe" of New York--leader of a Hasidic sect with branches throughout the world.
Since the Six Day War in June which resulted in the creation of a united Jerusalem as part of Israel, more than 400,000 members of the Jewish faith are estimated to have observed the commandment to wear Phylacteries-- tefillin In Hebrew--at the city's Western, formerly known as the "Wailing,” Wall. "
The Boston Globe November 24, 1967
Thursday, May 10, 2007
FINAL COUNTDOWN- Jewish Israeli Blog awards
A big thank-you to all of you who voted for this blog and got me into the Finals of the Jewish & Israeli Blog Awards (didn't quite expect it!).It's crunch-time, so, please go ahead and vote here for this Blog in the finals.
While you're about it, please also support Its Almost Supernatural, finalists for Best News and Current Affairs Blog and Best Coverage of a Live Event Post.
Voting closes on May 16th.
Thank you for your continued support!
Friday, May 04, 2007
KABBALISTIC ARCHERY
It’s exciting when Lag B’omer falls on a Sunday, especially if the weather is good. Lag B’omer is designed to be an outdoor affair, so you can really enjoy it when you don’t have to go to work. People have picnics, make bonfires- Chabad organizes Lag B’omer parades*.
And, people play with bows and arrows.
You might find that incongruous- playing with weapons on a day of unity, but that’s how it is. Lag B’omer happened during the height of Roman oppression in Israel. Torah study was a capital offence, and many of our greatest Sages were executed for this “crime”. Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, the main character of this holiday, had to hide for 13 years to evade the Romans who had put a price on his head.
Brave souls who studied Torah in outlying fields and forests, would feign archery contests when Roman patrols passed their way. So, we re-enact those archery games to remember their dedication under fire.
That’s the simple reason.
But, Lag B’omer is not a simple day. It is a day of mysticism and spiritual secrets; it celebrates Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai’s vital contribution to Kabbalah. Everything about the day bears deeper significance. We light bonfires to represent the blazing spirituality of the day.
So, what about the bows and arrows?
As spiritual as Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai was (so much so that his mentor, Rabbi Akivah, believed none of the other students could even perceive his greatness), he understood the foibles of ordinary citizens. While he demanded total dedication to Torah from himself, he taught that people under work-pressure need only say the Shema twice daily to fulfil their Torah-study requirements.
He was a great Sage, not because of his personal spiritual advancement, but because of his ability to relate to- and guide- the average person.
A bow and arrow represent his unique perspective. To propel an arrow forward, you need to pull the bowstring backwards. Spiritually, when you’ve slipped a little in the wrong direction, you develop potential to fly in the correct direction. Rather than criticize the person who had fallen, Rabbi Shimon hinted that each fall has the capacity to propel us to new heights.
As you draw your bowstring back this Lag B’omer, reflect on the great potential you have to progress.
Let fly!
*The theme of Lag B‘omer is Jewish unity. Lag B’omer is the day that Rabbi Akivah’s students stopped dying. They had been struck by a plague because they hadn’t had proper respect for each other. Lag B’omer reminds us to strengthen unity, in the light of what disunity can cause (G-d forbid). In the 50’s the Rebbe introduced the idea of a parade that would unite Jews, advertise Jewish messages and show Jewish pride on the streets.
And, people play with bows and arrows.
You might find that incongruous- playing with weapons on a day of unity, but that’s how it is. Lag B’omer happened during the height of Roman oppression in Israel. Torah study was a capital offence, and many of our greatest Sages were executed for this “crime”. Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, the main character of this holiday, had to hide for 13 years to evade the Romans who had put a price on his head.
Brave souls who studied Torah in outlying fields and forests, would feign archery contests when Roman patrols passed their way. So, we re-enact those archery games to remember their dedication under fire.
That’s the simple reason.
But, Lag B’omer is not a simple day. It is a day of mysticism and spiritual secrets; it celebrates Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai’s vital contribution to Kabbalah. Everything about the day bears deeper significance. We light bonfires to represent the blazing spirituality of the day.
So, what about the bows and arrows?
As spiritual as Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai was (so much so that his mentor, Rabbi Akivah, believed none of the other students could even perceive his greatness), he understood the foibles of ordinary citizens. While he demanded total dedication to Torah from himself, he taught that people under work-pressure need only say the Shema twice daily to fulfil their Torah-study requirements.
He was a great Sage, not because of his personal spiritual advancement, but because of his ability to relate to- and guide- the average person.
A bow and arrow represent his unique perspective. To propel an arrow forward, you need to pull the bowstring backwards. Spiritually, when you’ve slipped a little in the wrong direction, you develop potential to fly in the correct direction. Rather than criticize the person who had fallen, Rabbi Shimon hinted that each fall has the capacity to propel us to new heights.
As you draw your bowstring back this Lag B’omer, reflect on the great potential you have to progress.
Let fly!
*The theme of Lag B‘omer is Jewish unity. Lag B’omer is the day that Rabbi Akivah’s students stopped dying. They had been struck by a plague because they hadn’t had proper respect for each other. Lag B’omer reminds us to strengthen unity, in the light of what disunity can cause (G-d forbid). In the 50’s the Rebbe introduced the idea of a parade that would unite Jews, advertise Jewish messages and show Jewish pride on the streets.
Friday, April 27, 2007
ACHTUNG: Jews are taking over the world!
Some people actually take this seriously.Seriously enough (as we witnessed this week) to take the time to cyber-attack a Jewish blog awards site.
Why would anyone waste their time and energy hacking a Jewish blog site?
Sure, the awards mean a lot to the nominated bloggers, but the entire process is less than a blip on the Cyberspace horizon.
Yet, there are those who imagine that, if Jews have blogs, we have means for expression. If we have blog awards, we have added prestige. Who knows, then, what we may be capable of next?
Hacking a Jewish site is part of a pervasive phenomenon- the widespread belief that Jews plan to control the world, and are well on their way to doing so. People in developing countries believe it; Middle-Easterners discuss it; Westerners whisper it. Just about everybody seems to accept that Jews will, or perhaps already do, control the World.
Everybody, that is, except Jews themselves.
Big mistake!
We should want to take over the World. It’s a fundamental principle of our Jewish belief system. Jews are supposed to conquer the World- with goodness and holiness. Our role is not simply to be successful, or even to become spiritual. We are supposed to become the World’s inspiration. Our world is far from idyllic- and we are the people expected to fix it.
There’s a world out there waiting for us to uplift it. As long as we have not yet succeeded, the world will drop us an occasional reminder that we’re slacking.
Yet, there are those who imagine that, if Jews have blogs, we have means for expression. If we have blog awards, we have added prestige. Who knows, then, what we may be capable of next?
Hacking a Jewish site is part of a pervasive phenomenon- the widespread belief that Jews plan to control the world, and are well on their way to doing so. People in developing countries believe it; Middle-Easterners discuss it; Westerners whisper it. Just about everybody seems to accept that Jews will, or perhaps already do, control the World.
Everybody, that is, except Jews themselves.
Big mistake!
We should want to take over the World. It’s a fundamental principle of our Jewish belief system. Jews are supposed to conquer the World- with goodness and holiness. Our role is not simply to be successful, or even to become spiritual. We are supposed to become the World’s inspiration. Our world is far from idyllic- and we are the people expected to fix it.
There’s a world out there waiting for us to uplift it. As long as we have not yet succeeded, the world will drop us an occasional reminder that we’re slacking.
Monday, April 23, 2007
"CHOICE"- Reflections on the VTech massacre
It’s only been a week now since I met him.
You met him too then, under those most tragic circumstances. Before it happened, not many had heard of him; afterwards, who hadn’t?
He was a foreigner, whose name most people probably struggled to pronounce. His early life, in his home country, had been difficult. Even after he moved to the liberal United States, he part of an ethic minority.
His quiet, reflective character belied the difficulties that he had experienced. At a young age, he had already tasted discrimination; even suffered personally because of it. Over time he had experienced persecution and even physical abuse.
I guess it wouldn’t have been surprising for someone who had been through his life-experiences to be bitter, or even angry at the world. If he had dark thoughts, his therapist would likely have called them “natural”, considering his circumstances.
Considering the relevance of that Monday in his life, the negative images must have been magnified. Turbulent emotions likely cascaded through his mind as he walked through the hallways of Virginia Tech campus on that cold morning. It was the perfect day for his emotions to ignite.
It happened shortly after 9:00 a.m. In one notorious moment, he was blasted from near-obscurity to the world’s front pages.
His face will remain before our eyes, his actions etched in our conscience.
In an instant he became a hero; the man who placed his body between a senseless gunman and a classroom full of students.
Having endured anti-Semitic Romania, labour camps and Communist discrimination, Liviu Librescu had every excuse to be angry at the world. As a child, he saw his father torn away by the Nazis, and as an adult, the Communists robbed him of his career. If anyone should have felt vengeful, he should have. He chose not to be.
Monday was Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Memorial Day), a day that represented every seminal trauma of his life. It became the day that crystallized his response to that horror.
Liviu Librescu, following the legacy of tens of thousands before him, chose how to respond to life’s circumstances. Like his predecessors who emerged from the ravages of Crusade, the Auto Da Fé of Spain or the Gas Chambers, Librescu understood that a Jew is not shaped by life, but shapes life.
Years past retirement age, he remained committed to teaching, to sharing and adding value to the lives of others.
Our society is unnecessarily tolerant of people’s willingness to blame circumstances for their deviant behaviour.
Unlike his killer’s “You made me do this”, Librescu refused to surrender to “circumstances”. He understood the greatest gift of being human- choice.
He chose to live.
You met him too then, under those most tragic circumstances. Before it happened, not many had heard of him; afterwards, who hadn’t?
He was a foreigner, whose name most people probably struggled to pronounce. His early life, in his home country, had been difficult. Even after he moved to the liberal United States, he part of an ethic minority.
His quiet, reflective character belied the difficulties that he had experienced. At a young age, he had already tasted discrimination; even suffered personally because of it. Over time he had experienced persecution and even physical abuse.
I guess it wouldn’t have been surprising for someone who had been through his life-experiences to be bitter, or even angry at the world. If he had dark thoughts, his therapist would likely have called them “natural”, considering his circumstances.
Considering the relevance of that Monday in his life, the negative images must have been magnified. Turbulent emotions likely cascaded through his mind as he walked through the hallways of Virginia Tech campus on that cold morning. It was the perfect day for his emotions to ignite.
It happened shortly after 9:00 a.m. In one notorious moment, he was blasted from near-obscurity to the world’s front pages.
His face will remain before our eyes, his actions etched in our conscience.
In an instant he became a hero; the man who placed his body between a senseless gunman and a classroom full of students.
Having endured anti-Semitic Romania, labour camps and Communist discrimination, Liviu Librescu had every excuse to be angry at the world. As a child, he saw his father torn away by the Nazis, and as an adult, the Communists robbed him of his career. If anyone should have felt vengeful, he should have. He chose not to be.
Monday was Yom HaShoah (Holocaust Memorial Day), a day that represented every seminal trauma of his life. It became the day that crystallized his response to that horror.
Liviu Librescu, following the legacy of tens of thousands before him, chose how to respond to life’s circumstances. Like his predecessors who emerged from the ravages of Crusade, the Auto Da Fé of Spain or the Gas Chambers, Librescu understood that a Jew is not shaped by life, but shapes life.
Years past retirement age, he remained committed to teaching, to sharing and adding value to the lives of others.
Our society is unnecessarily tolerant of people’s willingness to blame circumstances for their deviant behaviour.
Unlike his killer’s “You made me do this”, Librescu refused to surrender to “circumstances”. He understood the greatest gift of being human- choice.
He chose to live.
He chose to rise from the ashes to success and scientific renown.
He chose to dedicate himself to enhance life.
He chose to sacrifice his life to preserve the lives of others.
Librescu and his murderer stood separated by four centimeters of door; and by attitudes that are light-years apart.
I stand proud in the knowledge that I belong to the People of Liviu Librescu.
May his memory be a blessing- and an eternal inspiration to us all.
(This article was inspired by Rabbi Eitan Ash of Chabad House Shul, Savoy)
Librescu and his murderer stood separated by four centimeters of door; and by attitudes that are light-years apart.
I stand proud in the knowledge that I belong to the People of Liviu Librescu.
May his memory be a blessing- and an eternal inspiration to us all.
(This article was inspired by Rabbi Eitan Ash of Chabad House Shul, Savoy)
Friday, April 20, 2007
Who's afraid of a rhinoceros?
I took my children to the Pilaneseberg Game Park the other day. Out in the wild, you get to spend quality time as you try spot the various animal and bird species.
It was relaxed and we chatted, joked, sang. Only one dark cloud hung over this exciting excursion: The Rhino.
Lions, elephants and leopards- we could handle all of them. In fact, we couldn’t wait to catch a glimpse of the Big Five. Well, actually the Big Four, because nobody wanted to encounter a Rhino.
The more they protested, the more I wanted to encounter Rhino- at close range.
Last time we had visited the same park, our bright red minivan raised the ire of a protective mother rhino. She charged, the kids panicked, I screeched off.
We got out of there with plenty time to spare, but the children remained traumatized. So, we needed to see Rhino, to normalize the Safari experience in the minds of my overly imaginative kids.
Then it happened. My eight-year-old daughter asked the question: “Why must we be scared of Hashem?”
Apparently, with all the talk of fears, this one had surfaced in her mind.
It reminded me of a ridiculous story I once heard. There was a deeply religious man who encountered the Torah’s commandment to “fear G-d”. Not sure how to achieve this, he turned to an equally observant, but rather superficial colleague for advice.
“This is how I do it,” the latter began, “I imagine a large, powerful, temperamental bull. Then, I picture that bull charging at me. I have a pretty good imagination, and it actually scares me to visualize this scene. At that point, I tell myself: ‘G-d is larger and more powerful than any bull I can imagine’. For me, that’s enough to fear Him.”
I told my daughter that the word “scared” isn’t the right word for Hashem. You could be scared of a rhino, because you imagine it might harm you. But, there’s no need to be scared of G-d. He is kind, gracious and interested in our wellbeing.
“Fear” of G-d is pointless, “awe” is appropriate. When you perceive His infinite greatness, and consider that He still takes an interest in you, you should be overawed. You should worry that perhaps you have not been giving Him all you can, considering He gives you all you have.
I’d like to think she understood, but we didn’t get to finish the conversation. We ran into a group of rhinos.
It was relaxed and we chatted, joked, sang. Only one dark cloud hung over this exciting excursion: The Rhino.
Lions, elephants and leopards- we could handle all of them. In fact, we couldn’t wait to catch a glimpse of the Big Five. Well, actually the Big Four, because nobody wanted to encounter a Rhino.
The more they protested, the more I wanted to encounter Rhino- at close range.
Last time we had visited the same park, our bright red minivan raised the ire of a protective mother rhino. She charged, the kids panicked, I screeched off.
We got out of there with plenty time to spare, but the children remained traumatized. So, we needed to see Rhino, to normalize the Safari experience in the minds of my overly imaginative kids.
Then it happened. My eight-year-old daughter asked the question: “Why must we be scared of Hashem?”
Apparently, with all the talk of fears, this one had surfaced in her mind.
It reminded me of a ridiculous story I once heard. There was a deeply religious man who encountered the Torah’s commandment to “fear G-d”. Not sure how to achieve this, he turned to an equally observant, but rather superficial colleague for advice.
“This is how I do it,” the latter began, “I imagine a large, powerful, temperamental bull. Then, I picture that bull charging at me. I have a pretty good imagination, and it actually scares me to visualize this scene. At that point, I tell myself: ‘G-d is larger and more powerful than any bull I can imagine’. For me, that’s enough to fear Him.”
I told my daughter that the word “scared” isn’t the right word for Hashem. You could be scared of a rhino, because you imagine it might harm you. But, there’s no need to be scared of G-d. He is kind, gracious and interested in our wellbeing.
“Fear” of G-d is pointless, “awe” is appropriate. When you perceive His infinite greatness, and consider that He still takes an interest in you, you should be overawed. You should worry that perhaps you have not been giving Him all you can, considering He gives you all you have.
I’d like to think she understood, but we didn’t get to finish the conversation. We ran into a group of rhinos.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
Lessons from a thief
One of the primary lessons of the Baal Shem Tov (founder of the Chassidic movement) was to take a spiritual lesson from everything you encounter in life.
Rabbi Meshulam Zusya of Anipoli was a spiritual master and student of the Baal Shem Tov's teachings. Reb Zushe- as he was known- defined seven lessons we can take from a thief.
(DISCLAIMER: The same spiritual force that motivates a criminal, impedes us from achieving our spiritual goals. In other words, it's easier for a thief to get this right than it would be for us).
1) He works quietly.
It's only the dumb thieves who boast of their exploits, or leave their ID at the crime scene- and get caught. A smart thief realizes that stealth and a low-profile are his key assets.
It's the same with spirituality. The foundation of all spiritual progress is humility. Moses is lauded in Torah for being the "most humble man" ever, not the most learned man ever (though he was that too).
2) He is ready to place himself in danger.
At any moment, an alarm might trigger and bring the police; or the thief could be spotted. He knows the risks, but goes ahead anyway.
Spiritual progress also involves taking risks. Nobody moves spiritually if they are too worried about what "might be".
Some of us are afraid to take the risk of showing our Jewishness in public. Others worry how their family will react to their newfound spirituality. The greatest challenge of all is taking the risk that your spiritual improvement may actually transform you into a different person.
Yet, that's the way spirituality works- take a chance, do something that you never imagined you could do. The Red Sea split because people took the chance of walking into it.
3) Every detail is important.
Did you hear the (true) story of a group of Romanian burglars? They cased a local bank for months and eventually made their move one night. They had overlooked one minor detail- the bank had moved to new premises a few days earlier.
People often wonder why Judaism pays so much attention to details. "Who cares if my mezuzah is missing a letter, surely it's the thought that counts?"
NASA has grounded billion dollar space flights in the past because of a loose screw. Your Judaism is a far more important project than any well-staged crime, or even a space mission. When the stakes are high, every detail counts.
4) He works hard.
Spirituality doesn't operate in a vacuum. Unless G-d appears to you and inspires you personally, you're not going to find your way to spiritual enlightenment overnight.
The important things in life come through effort. If you want the "treasure", you need to put in the effort.
5) The need for speed.
Thieves and getaway cars are quite synonymous. When he's in the process of stealing, a thief doesn't have time to waste. He needs to be quick, energetic and efficient.
You could have the greatest spiritual potential, but if you're sluggish or lazy, you probably won't move too far. Avraham, the first Jew, is quoted in the Torah as "waking up early in the morning" to fulfil G-d's missions.
We're his descendants- we're expected to operate with the same enthusiasm.
6) Confidence and optimism.
Who would attempt crime if he believed he would be caught?
You only succeed when you believe you can succeed. Too often, we tell ourselves that such-and-such a spiritual ideal is beyond us.
The arch-enemy of the Jewish people is "Amalek", the nation who had the gall to attack us as we left Egypt (when the rest of the world was cowering in fear after we defeated the Egyptian superpower).
In spiritual terms, Amalek represents doubt. Just as you begin to emerge spiritually, the doubts set in: "Can I really do this?".
That's the arch-enemy of a Jew. Hashem is one your side, you can definitely succeed.
7) If at first you don't succeed, try and try again.
You have to give criminals credit for perseverance. They will keep attempting a lucrative robbery time and again. They may be arrested and resume a life of crime when they get out.
All too often, we try, fail- and give up. "A Tzadik falls seven times before rising," says the Torah.
The question is not whether or not you fail, but how you react when you fail.
_____________________________________
Jews are charged with the task of transforming the world into a holy place. When we improve our own spiritual progress based on a thief's behaviour, we transform the world of thieves into something a little holier. Hopefully, we do it enough to actually eradicate crime altogether.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Is enough really enough? (A fresh angle on Dayeinu)
I recently read a story about a guy who wants to sell his late grandfather’s violin. He goes to a friend, an antique dealer, to get a quote.
The dealer tells him: “Old fiddles don’t really fetch a great price nowadays.”
So, he asks the dealer what the difference is between a fiddle and a violin.
The dealer explains: “If I’m buying it from you, it’s a fiddle; if you’re buying it from me, it’s a violin.”
* * * * *
There are certain moments during the Pesach Seder which are especially animated. One of these is “Dayeinu”. In homes all around the globe, everyone joins in and sings about all the wonderful things that G-d did for us during the Exodus from Egypt.
Every once in a while, though, somebody reads the famous poem with a discerning eye and asks the obvious question. Apparently, half of what we say there makes no sense.
We say: “If He had split the sea and not led us across it on dry land- dayeinu (it would have been enough for us).”
“If he had taken us across on dry land and not drowned our enemies- dayeinu.”
“If he had drowned our enemies, but not provided food for us in the desert for 40 years- dayeinu.”
What?!
If G-d had not taken us across the sea, drowned the Egyptians or fed us in the desert, we would have died! How can we honestly say any one of those steps would have been “sufficient”?
Now, I know there are several classical answers to this question, but a different thought crossed my mind this year- that it’s all about how you read Dayeinu.
The Pesach experience is supposed to be a personal spiritual-growth launch-pad. Part of that includes revisiting how we look at our world- and making some changes.
For many of us the personal version of Dayeinu might go something like this:
When you look at life from that perspective, you tend to wonder how you can ever say dayeinu (it is enough for me). You’re giving G-d violins- and getting fiddles in return. Regardless what you have, you still feel you need more.
A chosid once came to ask the first Chabad Rebbe, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, for a blessing.
The Rebbe said to him: “What you need you do not hesitate to mention, but what you are needed for, you omit to mention…”
Pesach challenges us to shift our focus, to introduce an objective dayeinu to our lives.
That dayeinu would go something like this:
If I wake up in the morning, even unable to get out of bed- dayeinu (it would be enough reason to be indebted to Him).
If I get out bed, but don’t have running water- dayeinu.
If I have running water, but not a wardrobe full of clothing to wear- dayeinu.
If I have clothing to choose from, but not a fridge full of food- dayeinu.
If I have a fridge full of food, but no job to go to- dayeinu.
If I have employment, but no transport to get me there- dayeinu.
If I have employment my own transport and a family to make all the effort worthwhile- dayeinu.
Dayeinu is a reminder of how much we have to be thankful for- and how appropriate it is to give a little back to Him, considering all that He does for us.
The dealer tells him: “Old fiddles don’t really fetch a great price nowadays.”
So, he asks the dealer what the difference is between a fiddle and a violin.
The dealer explains: “If I’m buying it from you, it’s a fiddle; if you’re buying it from me, it’s a violin.”
* * * * *
There are certain moments during the Pesach Seder which are especially animated. One of these is “Dayeinu”. In homes all around the globe, everyone joins in and sings about all the wonderful things that G-d did for us during the Exodus from Egypt.
Every once in a while, though, somebody reads the famous poem with a discerning eye and asks the obvious question. Apparently, half of what we say there makes no sense.
We say: “If He had split the sea and not led us across it on dry land- dayeinu (it would have been enough for us).”
“If he had taken us across on dry land and not drowned our enemies- dayeinu.”
“If he had drowned our enemies, but not provided food for us in the desert for 40 years- dayeinu.”
What?!
If G-d had not taken us across the sea, drowned the Egyptians or fed us in the desert, we would have died! How can we honestly say any one of those steps would have been “sufficient”?
Now, I know there are several classical answers to this question, but a different thought crossed my mind this year- that it’s all about how you read Dayeinu.
The Pesach experience is supposed to be a personal spiritual-growth launch-pad. Part of that includes revisiting how we look at our world- and making some changes.
For many of us the personal version of Dayeinu might go something like this:
If I give charity regularly, but don't go to Shul- dayeinu (I haveIn other words, we believe we do more than enough for Him, but He often doesn’t do enough for us.
done enough for G-d).
If I would go to Shul, but only once a year- dayeinu.
If I not only go to Shul once a year, but once a month- dayeinu.
If I not only go to Shul once a month, but also eat kosher at home- dayeinu.
When you look at life from that perspective, you tend to wonder how you can ever say dayeinu (it is enough for me). You’re giving G-d violins- and getting fiddles in return. Regardless what you have, you still feel you need more.
A chosid once came to ask the first Chabad Rebbe, Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, for a blessing.
The Rebbe said to him: “What you need you do not hesitate to mention, but what you are needed for, you omit to mention…”
Pesach challenges us to shift our focus, to introduce an objective dayeinu to our lives.
That dayeinu would go something like this:
If I wake up in the morning, even unable to get out of bed- dayeinu (it would be enough reason to be indebted to Him).
If I get out bed, but don’t have running water- dayeinu.
If I have running water, but not a wardrobe full of clothing to wear- dayeinu.
If I have clothing to choose from, but not a fridge full of food- dayeinu.
If I have a fridge full of food, but no job to go to- dayeinu.
If I have employment, but no transport to get me there- dayeinu.
If I have employment my own transport and a family to make all the effort worthwhile- dayeinu.
Dayeinu is a reminder of how much we have to be thankful for- and how appropriate it is to give a little back to Him, considering all that He does for us.
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