There is a Hassidic story about a certain rabbi who was leading services for Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. Yom Kippur services are very long and intense, filled with language of remorse and repentance for one’s sins. It’s also a twenty-five hour fast, so the effect is to really bring you to a state of bitul- a kind of deflating or nullification of your ego and purification from arrogance.
As this rabbi was davening (praying) with great intensity toward the climax of the service, he suddenly became overwhelmed with the realization of his own insignificance- a total dropping away of his ego. He realized with embarrassment how arrogant he had become, and before he knew what he was doing, he spontaneously cried out- “Ribono Shel Olam! Master of the universe! I am nothing! I am nothing!” When the hazzan- the cantor- saw him do this, he too became inspired. The sincerity of the rabbi’s cry combined with the intensity of the holy day shot through him, and he suddenly realized the same thing. “Ribono Shel Olam! I am nothing! I am nothing!” cried the hazzan. The truth was infectious. Suddenly, a poor congregant, Shmuyel the shoemaker, also became deeply moved and cried out as well: “Ribono Shel Olam! I am nothing! I am nothing!” When the hazzan saw Shmuyel’s enthusiasm, he turned to the rabbi with incredulity: “Look who thinks he’s nothing!” Genuine spiritual transformation is real. It’s emerges from the truth of who we are, and everyone has access to it, at least potentially. But, anything that the mind can recognize and label can be coopted by the ego! One moment there is genuine humility, the next moment you want to wear the humility like some kind of badge. In an instant, you can become arrogant about being humble! What’s the remedy? Today is the festival of Lag Ba'Omer, the thirty-third day of the forty-nine days between Passover and Shavuot (Lag is simply the letters Lamed and Gimel which together make the number 33- Lamed is thirty, Gimel is three). Each of the forty-nine days is a permutation of the seven spiritual qualities in Kabbalah. Today, the thirty-third day, is Hod Sheb’Hod, which we could call Humility of Humility, but we could also call it Gratitude of Humility. What is humility? To me, humility is not really a thing, but the absence of a thing. It’s the natural state of a person when ego, or separate self-sense, is not inflamed with arrogance or other ego qualities. But since arrogance and other ego qualities are often present unconsciously, it can be a great and surprising relief when they drop away. The heart feels so free when the qualities of ego dissolve, and like the story, you may not have even known how much ego was there until it disappears. But then the mind comes in a makes that freedom into a “thing,” into a badge, into something to identify with- in other words, egoless-ness becomes a form of ego. So today, Lag b’Omer, comes along and reminds us: If you experience egoless-ness, it’s a gift. Give thanks for it, don’t think of it as “me.” That’s Gratitude of Humility, and it’s also Humility of Humility. Hag Samayakh and Good Shabbos!
5 Comments
Today has a particularly wonderful symbolism in Kabbalah. Each of the 49 days between the holidays of Passover and Shavuot correspond to a permutation of the seven classic Divine qualities.
Today is Hod Sheb'Netzakh- "Humility of Persistence." These qualities are somewhat opposed- Humility has a passive ring to it- it carries the willingness to respect that which is beyond you, to not impose your will. Persistence is more hutzpadic- it means not giving up, and that means continuously imposing your will, no matter what. And yet, when it comes to living in the present, both are required- One one hand, you must persistently bring yourself to this moment. If you don't, the default of the mind is to make its home in the world of thought, not Presence. On the other hand, being present means first of all being with Reality as it is in this moment- and that is supremely passive and non-willful. How do we reconcile these? Being present doesn't mean not having a will, but rather it means standing outside of your will. Your will, your thoughts, your intentions, all arise in the space of this moment, and that space is beyond and far bigger than your will. It is the space of your pure awareness. So on one hand, you use your will to return again and again to Presence; on the other hand, return to Presence means return to the space that is beyond your own will. And that is Hod Sheb'Netzakh. For more on Presence from the Torah portion, please enjoy this week's d'var by clicking here... Once I saw my son looking at You Tube, ravenously drinking in the old 1980’s Michael Jackson Thriller video.
Oh man, that brought me back! The way Michael morphs into some kind of wer-cat and then leads a band of zombies in that funky dance of the dead- And then the really scary part- his girlfriend cowering in the corner of her house while zombies crash through windows, breaking through the walls and floor- it’s the classic zombie scene that both draws and repels. Why is the “zombies-invading-the-house” thing so compelling? To me, the home is a sanctuary- a place to be safe, to relax, to sip a cup of tea on the couch- wouldn’t you agree? And let’s face it- nothing messes with our nice, safe, home-sanctuary like a bunch of zombies clawing at your window! But there is also an inner sanctuary- a place of peace and stillness, a place of vitality, of creativity, of light and benevolence. That place is your own deepest layer of being- the space of awareness itself. When you dwell in that space, you dwell in the temple of your own being, which is also Divine Being. That space is always here, always open and sacred- the space of consciousness that is eternally this moment. But, there are zombies!! Sometimes there are only a few pathetic zombies, wandering around on your lawn. Sometimes they are fast, tricky and vicious, fooling and distracting you into letting them in. Sometimes, they are disguised as something you lust for- they are seductive- more like vampires- making your eyes glaze over as you lurch unconsciously toward the door and turn the knob... These zombies and vampires are your own thoughts. There was once a hassid who went to his rebbe for advice on how to empty his mind. He knocked on the door of his rebbe’s house, but no answer. He peered through the window- the rebbe was sitting at a table, reading. The hassid knocked again, a little louder- no answer. Growing more and more frustrated, his polite greetings and knocks turned into screams and bangs, pounding on the doors and windows. This went on for hours! Eventually, the rebbe opened the door- “Just as I can ignore you, no matter now much fuss you make, so you can ignore your own thoughts and not admit them into your mind.” It’s true, your zombie/vampiric thoughts can trick you, distract you, lure you, entice you. But unless you believe in them, they have absolutely no power. It is your own mind that is creating them; if you let them be and don’t get drawn in, they fade away. The power is completely with you. This can be learned and practiced, but it is not merely a technique. It is a way of being that reveals your own inner freedom, your own inner divinity. Free from thought, you dwell in the sanctuary of presence- a space of freedom, of blissful goodness within your own being. This is the space of kadosh- holiness, or sacredness. Kadosh means “separate”, because in it you are separate from the tornados of life. However, it’s not a separateness of alienation, but of the closest intimacy- not far off at a distance from the storm, but at the eye of the storm. Get seduced by the storm- get absorbed into the drama of time and people, get dragged around and eaten by those flesh-rotten zombies, and you become tamei- spiritually contaminated. Let go of the drama, let the thoughts dissolve and you return to the Presence- to the Kadosh. This is your role, if you choose to accept it, as priest or priestess of your own inner sanctuary. On that subject, this week’s reading begins with Moses telling the priests, “L’nefesh lo yitama b’amav- "You shall not become tamei (spiritually contaminated) to a person among your people.” In its plain meaning, it’s talking about a priest not becoming tamei from touching a corpse (a regular corps, not the undead!). But metaphorically, it also can refer to the inner tuma we can incur from allowing our thoughts about others to contaminate our minds. When was the last time you allowed your mind to become tamei because of what some person did or said that you didn’t like, some argument you had, or anything else involving another person? It’s one of the great traps. And yet, the power is with YOU! Remember- the tzures (suffering) you experience is mostly generated by your own mind. You can stop empowering it NOW and come into the sanctuary. And yet, the next verse qualifies the first- “Ki im lish’eiru hakarov- "EXCEPT for a close relative…” Here we move from the metaphorical to the actual- from people as thoughts in your mind, to actual living and breathing people. There are people who are our “close relatives”- not necessarily blood, but those in our tribe, in our community, in our web of interdependence. For them we must become tamei at times, meaning that the relationship sometimes requires the sacrifice of our own needs in order to serve. Sometimes that sacrifice takes a few minutes, as with a screaming child, and sometimes it can go on for years, as in someone who needs on-going care. Sometimes we must sacrifice the plush-ness of kadosh for love, for the love that binds us together. But then there are those who are not “close relatives”, who seek to insert themselves into your life for whatever reason. They have their dramas, their pathologies, their fixations, and they are truly zombies and vampires, seeking to drag you down to their level. As all famous people learn, you can’t let every person into your life who tries to get in. It’s impossible. But, this truth is not just for famous people. The rhythm of reality dictates we work with both sides of the Tree of Life- the Hesed and the Gevurah- the loving-kindness and the setting of boundaries and limits. And life/Hashem will test you on this- you must learn both sides of the Tree! Of course, there is also gray area- folks who lie somewhere in between close and not-so-close. Then what do you do? Make a decision, and don’t worry. Each moment is new. The enemy is not the not-knowing, it is the not-deciding. On this Shabbat Emor, The Sabbath of Saying, may we speak our intentions with decisiveness, balancing openness with boundaries. And, once our decisions are made, may our minds let go and drink in the Divine Words that are being said in this moment, as this moment. Good Shabbos! It was Mother’s Day this past week.
I looked for a nice picture to post on Facebook. I found one from my birthday a couple years ago with me and my mother. I was eating some chocolate pecan pie she had made for me. (And always makes for me on my birthday- thanks Mom!) After I posted it, I was looking at the picture. There was something funny about the expression on my face. Then, it struck me- the particular way I was smiling and looking into the camera looked just like my father. There’s so much that’s passed on from parent to child- not just genetics, knowledge and language, but also mannerisms and patterns of behavior. And some of these patterns, alas, are ones we perhaps could do without. Have you ever been critical of some behavior in your parents, and then caught yourself unconsciously acting exactly the same way? And, its not their fault! Patterns of thought, speech and behavior have been passed down through the generations for ages. When you become aware of this, there’s a tremendous opportunity for transforming not just your own patterns, but the patterns of those who came before you. As you awaken to your deeper potential, there’s redemption for your ancestors as well. As it says in this week’s reading: “Ish imo v’aviv tira’u… “You shall revere your mother and your father…” The word here for “revere”- tira’u- has the double meaning of both “revere” or “respect” as well as “fear.” In other words, you should “fear” your potential to perpetuate the negative qualities of your parents, and “revere” them by emulating their positive qualities and transforming the negative ones within yourself! And this is the call of this week’s parsha- to awaken your potential for holiness- your potential for the expression of integrity, truth, compassion, gratitude, and all the other middot (spiritual qualities): “Kedoshim tihyu ki kadosh ani Hashem Elohekhem…” “You shall be holy, for I- Divine Being, your own Divinity- am holy…” Holiness is intrinsic to who you are- it’s your own inner Divinity. It calls upon you to craft your garments of expression- your thoughts, words and actions- into expressions of the Truth of who you are. How do you do that? This parsha contains many beautiful prescriptions for expressing holiness: “You shall not steal… you shall not lie… You shall not curse the deaf, nor place a stumbling block before the blind… You shall not favor the poor, nor honor the great... You shall not go around gossiping… you shall not hate others in your heart…you shall not take revenge and you shall not bear a grudge… You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” According to the Talmudic sage Rabbi Akiva, this last mitzvah- “Love your neighbor as you love yourself- ve’ahavta l’reiakha kamokha”- is the essence of the whole Torah. But to really become aware of your unconscious negative patterns, to really get free from them and choose to embody the middot of love and integrity, there needs to be space. The suffering of life is too great for one to remain present and aware without a break from its momentum. Perhaps that’s why the verse about revering one’s parents concludes with the words: “V’et Shab’totai tishmoru- “My Sabbaths you shall guard…” In the stillness, you can recover from the patterns of suffering and reconnect with your inner wellspring of holiness. From that place, you can remain open to whatever suffering arises without losing yourself in it. There’s a story about Reb Mordechai Dov of Hornisteipl, that once he visited a doctor for a painful sore on his back. The doctor decided the best thing to do would be to cauterize it. In those days, this would involve heating up three metal rods, each one hotter than the last. If the patient didn’t cry out with the first hot rod, they would apply the second. And in the rare occasion the patient didn’t respond to the second one, a third super hot rod was ready. The only problem was, this tzaddik was accustomed to accepting pain in silence, not losing his inner connection regardless of how much he suffered. So, when the doctor applied the first hot rod and got no reaction from Reb Mordechai Dov, he went on to the second rod. Still no reaction. When he applied the third white hot rod and the tzaddik still didn’t respond, the doctor exclaimed- “I don’t know whether this is an angel or a demon!” Reb Mordechai Dov didn’t understand Russian, so he asked the translator to tell him what the doctor said. When he was told, he answered: “Please tell the doctor that when someone comes to me and asks that I pray on their behalf, and I see that I won’t be able to relieve their suffering with my prayers, it hurts much much more than these hot rods… and even then, I must not lose myself.” On this Shabbat Kedoshim, the Sabbath of Holiness, may we become aware of our true potential and practice it in real time. May we reconnect with the Source of that potential, the infinite wellspring of holiness within- the holy awareness that looks though your eyes and hears through your ears, in this moment. What does it take to set your heart free?
Put another way, what is it that imprisons your heart? Once I was holding a bunch of Jewish books in my hands. My three-year-old daughter came up to me and said, “Here Abba, for you!” She was trying to give me a little flower. “One moment,” I said, “let me put these books down first.” It’s like that. The heart is imprisoned by the burden of whatever is being held. Let go of what you’re holding and the heart is open to receive. There’s a little girl offering you a flower- that flower is this moment. Put down your books and receive the gift. A friend once said to me, “I always hear that I should ‘just let go.’ But what does that mean? How do I do that?” To really know how to “let go,” we have to look at why we “hold on.” There are two main reasons the mind tends to hold on to things. First, there’s holding on to the fear about what might happen. It’s true- the future is mostly uncertain, and knowing this can create an unpleasant feeling of being out of control. Holding onto time- meaning, thinking about the future- can give you a false sense of control. There’s often the unconscious belief that if you worry about something enough, you’ll be able to control it. Of course, that’s absurd, but the mind thinks that because of its deeper fear: fear of experiencing the uncertainty itself. If you really let go of your worry about what might happen, you must confront the experience of really not knowing, of being uncertain. That can be painful, and there’s naturally resistance to pain. But, if you allow yourself to experience the pain of uncertainty, it will burn away. Don’t block the pain with a “pile of books”- that is, a pile of stories about what might be. On the other side of this pain is liberation- the expansive and simple dwelling with Being in the present. Second, there can be some negativity about what might have happened in the past. If you let go of your preoccupation with time, if you let go of whatever “happened,” you must confront the fact that the past is truly over. The deeper level of this is confronting your own mortality. Everything, eventually, will be “over.” But, let go of the past, and feel the insecurity of knowing that everything is passing. Don’t block that feeling of insecurity with a “pile of books”- with narratives about days past. Then you will see- there’s a gift being offered right now. It is precious; it is fragile- a flower offered by a little child, this precious moment. This week’s reading, Parshat Akharei Mot, begins with a warning to Aaron the Priest concerning the rites he is to perform on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement: “V’al yavo b’khol eit el hakodesh- “He shall not come at all times into the holy (sanctuary)…” We may try to reach holiness by working out the past in our minds, or by insisting on a certain future, but as it says- “V’al yavo b’khol eit… he shall not come at all times…” In other words, you cannot enter holiness through time! To enter the holy, you must leave time behind, and enter it Now. Let your grasping after the future burn, let your clinging to the past be released. As it says, continuing the description of the Yom Kippur rite- “V’lakakh et sh’nei hasirim- “He shall take two goats…” Letting go of time means letting go of past and future- one goat for the past, one for the future. The first goat, it goes on top describe, is “for Hashem”- meaning, the future is in the hands of Hashem. This goat is slaughtered and burned. Meaning: experience the burning of uncertainty and slaughter your grasping after control. The other goat is “for Azazel.” The word Azazel is composed of two words- “az” means “strength”, and “azel” means “exhausted, used up”. In other words, the “strength” of the past is “used up.” The past is gone, over, done. Let it go, or it will use you up! This goat is let go to roam free into the wilderness. The past is gone, the future is in the hands of the Divine. But those Divine hands are not separate from your hands. Set your hands free- put down the narratives- and receive the flower of this moment, as it is, and with all its creative potential for what could be… There’s a story that once Reb Yehezkel of Kozmir strolled with his young son in the Zaksi Gardens in Warsaw. His son turned to him with a question- “Abba, whenever we come here, I feel such a peace and holiness, unlike I feel anywhere else. I would expect to find it when I’m studying Torah, but instead I feel it here.” Reb Yehezkel answered- “As you know, it says in the Prophets- ‘M’lo khol ha’aretz k’vodo- the whole world is filled with the Divine Glory.’ But, sometimes we’re blocked from recognizing it.” “But Abba,” pressed his son, “Why would I be blocked from feeling the Divine Glory when I’m learning Torah? And why would I feel it so strongly in this non-religious place?” “Let me tell you a story,” answered the rebbe. “In the days before Reb Simhah Bunem of Pshischah evolved into great tzaddik, he would commute to the city of Danzig and minister to the community there, even though he lived in Lublin. “When he returned to Lublin, he would always spend the first Shabbos with his rebbe, the “Seer”- Reb Yaakov Yitzhak of Lublin. “One time when he arrived back at Lublin, he felt disconnected from the holiness he had felt while he was in Danzig. To make matters worse, the Seer wouldn’t give him the usual greeting of “Shalom,” and in fact behaved rather coldly to Reb Simha. “Figuring this was just a mistake, he returned to the Seer some hours later, hoping to get a blast of the rebbe’s spiritual juice, but again the Seer just ignored him. He left feeling dry and sad that his rebbe had rejected him. “Then, a certain Talmudic teaching came to his mind: that a person beset with unexpected tribulations should scrutinize their actions. “So, he mentally scrutinized every detail of his conduct in Danzig, but he couldn’t recall anything he had done wrong. If anything, he noted with satisfaction that this visit was definitely of the kind that he liked to nickname ‘a good Danzig,’ for he had brought down such holy ecstasy in the prayers and chanting. “But then he remembered the rest of the teaching. It goes on to say- ‘Pishpeish v’lo matza, yitleh b’vitul Torah- ‘If he sought and did not find, let him ascribe it to the diminishing (bitul) of Torah.’ “Meaning, that his suffering must be caused by having not studied enough. “Taking this advice to heart, Reb Simhah decided to start studying right then and there. Opening his Talmud, he sat down and studied earnestly all that day and night. “Suddenly, a novel light on the Talmudic teaching dawned on him. He turned the words over in his mind once more: ‘Pishpeish v’lo matza, yitleh b’vitul Torah.’ “He began to think that perhaps what the sages really meant by their advice was not that he didn’t study enough, but that he wasn’t ‘diminished’ (bitul) by his studying. Rather than humbling himself with Torah, all that book knowledge was simply building up his own ego, and blocking his connection with the Presence. As soon as he realized this, he ‘let go’ of the books- he let go of being a great scholar, and the Presence that he longed for returned. “Later that evening, the Seer greeted him warmly: ‘Danzig, as you know, is not such a religious place, yet the Divine Presence is everywhere, as it says- the whole world is filled with Its Glory. If, while you were there, the Divine Presence rested upon you, this was no great feat accomplished by your extensive learning- it was because in your ecstasy, you opened to what is always already here.’” On this Shabbos Akharei Mot, the “Sabbath After the Death,” may all that we hold out of pride drop away. May all that we hold out of fear drop away. May all that we hold in an attempt to control drop away… and may we live in this holiness that is always already here. Each of the seven weeks between the holidays of Passover and Shavuot, the festivals of Liberation and Revelation, are said to be channels for the seven lower s'firot of the Tree of Life- the seven Divine qualities. In addition, the seven days of each of the seven weeks also embody the same seven qualities. Therefore, each of the 49 days (7 days x 7 weeks) has its own unique permutation Rebbe Nachman of Bretzlov teaches: “Know, that whatever people speak about during the days of S'fira, they are only talking about the S'fira of that day. People who understand are able to hear and know this, and if they will pay attention well to what people discuss, they will hear them talking only about the S'fira of that day...” -Likutei Moharan I, 182 Rebbe Nachman is saying that if you listen closely, you will see that everyone around you is talking about the particular permutation of the particular day. A fascinating claim! Is that really true? Are people going around talking about whatever they're talking about, and yet unbeknownst to them, the particular s'fira permutation of the day is influencing their thoughts and words? Actually, to go down this road of inquiry is to miss the point. There's another profound opportunity for inquiry that comes from this teaching: If you begin with the idea that everyone around you is talking about the sefira of the day in veiled terms, and you want to discover the hidden meaning of what they're saying, what does that lead you to do? It leads you to listen very very carefully! It leads you to be present- to keep your mind in the shape of this question: "What's really going on?" When you do that, you may not get an answer. With the practice of inquiry, the answer isn't really the point. It's the shape of your mind that's the point. When your mind is shaped like a question mark, it is open, curious, receptive- very different from a mind that already knows the answer, shaped like a period or exclamation point. So, this S'firat HaOmer period can be wonderful practice of inquiry. You can even do this practice without even knowing the Hebrew terms and Kabbalistic concepts. Simply ask inwardly each of the 49 days- what is the quality of this day? What is shining from everything that's arising in this experience? Then, just notice. If revelation comes, wonderful, but it's not the point. Counting is the point- meaning, noting and asking into the uniqueness of this moment. Shabbat Shalom, Ma'adim L'simkha- Good Times! P.S. If you do want to learn about the Hebrew terms and Kabbalistic concepts, here's some info: The Seven Sefirot and the "Middah" or spiritual quality associated with them: Hesed- "Loving Kindness" (Middah is also Loving Kindness) Gevurah- "Strength" (Middah is also Strength, particularly drawing boundaries) Tiferet- "Grace/Beauty"- Middah is Compassion. Netzakh- "Victory" or "Eternity"- Middah is Persistence, Not-Giving-Up. Hod- "Majesty" or "Glory"- Middah is Gratitude, also Humility. Yesod- "Foundation"- Middah is Connection, Empathy, Intimacy. Malkhut- "Kingdom"- Middah is Trust, Faith. Here is a cool chart I found for seeing how the S'firot permute for all 49 days, along with instructions for the counting of the Omer, which is done in the evenings. This year, the first day (16th of Nisan on the chart) was Saturday night, April 23rd. (There's a little typo however- the final day in the middle, the holiday of Shavuot, begins on the 6th, not the 7th, though it extends through the 7th outside the land if Israel.) For more info on how to do the daily Omer counting ritual with the dates for this year 2016 (5776), here's a useful link I found- Click Here
There are also tons of apps available nowadays for counting the Omer. One Passover, Rabbi Levi Yitzhak of Berditchev led the first night seder so perfectly, that every word and every ritual glowed with all the holiness of its mystical significance. In the dawn, after the celebration, Levi Yitzhak sat in his room, joyful and proud that he had performed such an perfect seder.
But all of a sudden, a Voice from above spoke to him: “More pleasing to me than your seder is that of Hayim the water-carrier.” “Hayim the water-carrier?” wondered Levi Yitzhak, “Who’s that?” He summoned all his disciples together, and asked if anyone had heard of Hayim the water-carrier. Nobody had. So, at the tzaddik’s bidding, some of the disciples set off in search of him. They asked around for many hours before they were led to a poor neighborhood outside the city. There, they were shown a little house that was falling apart. They knocked on the door. A woman came out and asked what they wanted. When they told her, she was amazed. “Yes,” she said, “Hayim the water carrier is my husband, but he can’t go with you, because he drank a lot yesterday and he’s sleeping it off now. If you wake him, you’ll see he won’t even be able to move.” “It’s the rabbi’s orders!” answered the disciples. They barged in and shook him from his sleep. He only blinked at them and couldn’t understand what they wanted. Then he rolled over and tried to go on sleeping. So they grabbed him, dragged him from his bed, and carried him on their shoulders to the tzaddik's house. There they sat him down, bewildered, before Levi Yitzhak. The rabbi leaned toward him and said- “Reb Hayim, dear heart, what kavanah, what mystic intention was in your mind when you gathered the hameitz- the leavened foods- to burn in preparation for the seder?” The water carrier looked at him dully, shook his head and replied, “Master, I just looked into every corner and gathered it together.” The astonished tzaddik continued questioning him- “And what yihudim- what holy unifications did you contemplate when you burned it?” The man pondered, looked distressed, and said hesitatingly, “Master, I forgot to burn it, and now I remember- it’s all still lying on the shelf.” When Rabbi Levi Yitzhak heard this, he grew more and more uncertain, but he continued asking- “And tell me Reb Hayim, how did you celebrate the seder?” Then something seemed to quicken in his eyes and limbs, and he replied in humble tones- “Rabbi, I shall tell you the truth. You see, I had always heard that it’s forbidden to drink brandy on all eight days of the festival, and so yesterday morning I drank enough to last me eight days. Then I got tired and fell asleep. “When my wife woke me in the evening, she said, ‘why don’t you celebrate the seder like all the other Jews?’ “I said, ‘What do you want from me? I’m an ignorant man and my father was an ignorant man. I don’t know how to read, and I don’t know what to do, or what not to do.’ “My wife answered, ‘You must know some little song or something!’ “I thought for a moment, and then a melody and words came to me that I had heard as a child. I sang- “Mah nishtana halaila hazeh mikol haleilot- Why is this night different from all other nights? “I thought, 'why is this night different?' “Then, something strange happened. It was as if I awoke from a dream, and everything was suddenly more real, more present. It was as if the night itself woke up all around me… “Then I looked and saw the table before me, and the cloth gleamed like the sun, and on it were platters of matzot, eggs, and other dishes, with bottles of red wine. So we ate of the matzot and eggs and drank of the wine. “I was overcome with joy. I lifted my cup to the heavens and said, 'Oh Hashem- I drink to you!' “Then we sang and rejoiced in the nishtana- the specialness- of that moment… then I got tired and fell asleep.” So my friends- before you fall asleep! Why is this moment different? On this Shabbat Pesakh, the Sabbath of Passing, may we awaken to know that everything is passing, savoring the unique specialness of this moment. Let the unfolding of Reality become what it will, letting go of whatever it was, and breathing the intention of peace and love and awareness into every thought, every word, every act. Let’s go forth, again, out of mitzrayim- out of constriction- and into the mystery of the Presence as the present. This moment is truly different from all other moments, and always is… A couple sits anxiously in the therapist’s office, unsure how to begin talking about their problems at home. “Why don’t you start,” says the therapist to the woman.
“My husband is a jerk!” she blurts. “Please’” says the therapist, “Only ‘I’ statements. Don’t tell me about him, tell me what’s going on with you. You can start by saying, ‘I feel…’” “Okay,” says the wife, “I feel like he is a jerk!” Differentiating between your actual feelings in the present moment and your impulse to accuse, judge, or blame, is no easy matter when your emotions are inflamed. But making this differentiation is crucial. There’s a world of difference between “I feel like he is a jerk,” on one hand, and “When he comes home late, I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach...” on the other. The first one is an attack- it’s accusatory. The second one is truthful… and vulnerable, exposing the actual experience of what happens when he comes home late. And of course, if you’re feeling punched in the stomach, the last thing you want is to be vulnerable. You want to attack back, accuse, blame. But ultimately, it’s a self-defeating impulse. Your negative words create an effect, and the ripples of that effect continue on in time. There’s a Jewish proverb of unknown origin- “A bird that you set free may be caught again, but a word that escapes your lips will never return.” This week’s reading also involves setting a bird free. It begins describing the ceremonial purification of a person afflicted with tzara’at- a skin disease that afflicted those who had committed negative speech. “Zot tiyhyeh torat ham’tzora b’yom taharato- “This is the law of the afflicted one on the day of purification…” The ceremony uses two birds, a piece of cedar wood, a crimson thread, and some hyssop. One bird is slaughtered into an earthenware vessel filled with “living waters.” The live bird is then held together with the cedar wood, the crimson thread and hyssop, and dipped into the bloody water. The bloody water is then sprinkled on the afflicted person seven times, and the live bird is set free into an open field. What does this mean? Medieval commentator Rabbeinu Ephraim explains the symbolism of this ritual in transformational terms: The first bird represents negative speech- gossip, slander and so on. This “bird” must be “slaughtered” into an “earthenware vessel.” The vessel represents the “home” of our bodies- fragile, temporary, of the earth. By contemplating the temporary nature your bodily home, you free yourself from arrogance and allow the impulse toward negative speech to be “slaughtered.” The “living waters” represent Truth, which fills the humble “earthen vessel,” once the arrogance is gone. The bird that’s set free represents the disease- just as the bird flies away, so should the disease depart. But, just as the bird might return, so too can the affliction return if you allow yourself to fall back into your patterns of negative speech. Why is it so easy to fall back into negative speech? Why is it so hard to stay present with what you’re actually experiencing, and be nourished by the “living waters” of the vulnerable truth? Because the truth can be painful and ego crushing. And yet, if you constantly project blame and judgment, without fully being with the truth of what you’re experiencing, healing cannot happen. You become the disease- a disease of living on the surface, holding back from your own inner depths, out of fear that your depths are too painful. That’s why tza’arat is a skin disease. It reminds me of the times my family would return to our house after a few weeks of being away. All the windows and doors would have been shut, and there would be a kind of unpleasant smell from the stagnant air, until we opened the windows and doors and let the air flow. That’s what it’s like- your inner world is like a shut up house, festering. But open the doors and windows- speak the truth, and healing begins! As it says in Psalm 30: “Shivati elekha vatirpa’eini- “I cried out to You and you healed me…” This is the true potential of prayer and meditation- to give yourself the space to go into your depths every day, feel whatever needs to be felt there in meditation, express what needs to be expressed in prayer, and tap the renewing and healing power of the Presence that is ever-present. The "living waters" will fill the “home” of your body and renew your spirit. There’s a story of Reb Mordechai of Pintchov, that his poverty was so extreme, he could barely support his household at all. His wife would nag him incessantly to tell their woeful situation to his rebbe, the Seer of Lublin. Time after time he would travel to Lublin, but never once did he mention his troubles to the rebbe, because on arriving there he would forget them completely. Being a practical woman, his wife decided to say nothing more, but to make the journey there by a separate wagon immediately after he had left home. When Reb Mordechai arrived at Lublin, he was confronted by the fact of his wife’s presence. There was no way out- and he told the rebbe all about their state of affairs at home. “Why did you never mention this until now?” asked the Seer. “Rebbe,” answered the hasid, “I assumed that my situation would be known to you through Ruakh Hakodesh (Divine inspiration), through the holy spirit that rests upon you.” “Not so,” answered the rebbe. “It’s true, the Torah says- ‘A person whose skin has the plague of tza’arat shall be brought to Aaron the priest, and the priest shall see the plague.’ “That is to say: As soon the ailing person is brought before the priest, the priest will be able to see the the malady for himself, without being told. “But, in the case of plagues that affect houses, the Torah teaches otherwise: ‘And the house owner shall come and tell the priest, saying: ‘Something like a plague seems to be in the house!’ “From this we see that for plagues affecting houses, one should come before the ‘priest’ and tell him about it!” On this Shabbat Metzorah- the Sabbath of Affliction- may we fully feel and truthfully express our inner afflictions- not with judgment and blame, but as prayers of healing; may we not shrink from the "bitter herbs!" And just as our ancestors tasted the bitterness of slavery before their liberation from narrowness into the Presence, so may it be for us. Good Shabbos!!
I’m reminded of a conversation I once had with my sister-in-law, in which she said she understood the traditional Jewish idea that mothers are exempt from time-bound mitzvot- Jewish practices that happen at particular times, such as morning prayers, for example.
“Why is that?” I asked. “Because mothering can be all consuming,” she replied. “Being a mother is not necessarily good for you. It’s a fire of suffering- the lack of sleep, the constant neediness of the child. But, it’s a suffering of love, a fire of love.” Her words made me think of the two kinds love as explained in the classic work of Kabbalah and Hassidic philosophy, the Tanya. According to the Tanya, the first kind of love happens when you experience the Divine as your very own life force. Since people naturally love their own life, seeing God as your own life force means that you love God just as you love your own life. In fact, the two are not separate; you love God as your own beingness. The second kind of love happens when you experience God as your parent. The Tanya talks about the example of certain children who love their parents so much, they’re willing to sacrifice their lives for their parents. The first type of love is non-dual; God is not something separate from your own being. The second type is dualistic; God is separate from me, even possibly negating me if I sacrifice my life. Which one is higher? You might think the non-dual one is higher, that it’s more authentic to see yourself as not separate from the Divine. However, the Tanya says otherwise. It goes on to explain that when you know the Godliness within, there is a pleasure, a spiritual bliss that comes with being in touch with your own inner Divinity. But, if you see God as separate, and you’re willing to give up your very life for God, that’s far more transcendent and selfless. When my sister-in-law was talking about the all-consuming love of mothering, she was basically talking about the Tanya’s self-sacrificing love, except it was inverted- rather than the rare child that would sacrifice its life for the parent, this was the very common example of the parent who’s constantly sacrificing her life for the child! Which brings us to this week’s reading, Parshat Tazria: “Ki tazria v’yalda zakhar- “When a woman conceives and gives birth to a son, she is ritually un-fit for seven days- like the days of her menstrual separation, she is ritually un-fit…she shouldn’t touch any holy thing, and into the holy she shall not come…” It’s talking about how a woman who gives birth shouldn’t touch sacred things or come into the temple for a certain period of time. Let’s look more deeply at what this is talking about: The word for “holy” is kodesh, which means separate. However, it means a special kind of separate. It doesn’t mean separate as distant or removed, but rather as central and exclusive. For example, where is the holiest place? It’s not some distant site outside the camp. It’s the very center of the camp, in the very center of the Sanctuary, in a special room where the priest goes once per year to be in special intimacy with God. Similarly, the intimacy of marriage is also a “holy of holies”. It is holy in its unique togetherness, holy because of the closeness that happens there. So kodesh doesn’t exactly mean separation, but really means “separation from all separation.” It means separateness in that it’s the closest, and therefore separate from all other things that are less close. The menstrual period is considered a time of nidah, which also means “separation”. During this time there is traditionally no sexual intimacy, no kodesh, no “separation-from-all-separation”. Nidah, therefore, really means “separation-from-the-separation-from all-separation”. These two states, Kodesh and Nidah, really parallel the two kinds of love- love of the Divine as your own self (Kodesh) and love of the Divine as your own parent- or, as many of us have experienced, as your own child (Nidah). Seen in this way, the opening of the parsha is really describing these two kinds of love and service. The new mother is in a state of Nidah because she’s not concerned with the experience of Divinity in her own being; she’s completely at the service of the newborn. This is itself a swing of the pendulum because she just gave birth- and what could be more Godly than giving birth? Her own body just created another living being. She is a Goddess- a Creator. And now she swings from Goddess to servant, burning in the painful love of motherhood. But this does not- and cannot- go on forever. She’s in a Nidah-like state only for a short time. Then she returns to connection with the Kodesh. She must do that, because to be only in the selfless service of another would be self-destructive, and therefore destructive to the baby as well. In one way or another, life brings us between these poles- sometimes being an Eved Hashem- a servant of God, devotedly (or sometimes drudgingly) giving of ourselves, not “getting” anything out of it. Other times, we are B’tzelem Elohim, manifestations of the Divine, enjoying the renewal and bliss of the Divine energy that is our essential nature. Even in our Avodah, our daily spiritual practice, these two poles exist. Sometimes there’s a palpable flow of blissful connection with the One- and the One is not other than our own being. But sometimes, that connection is not felt, and your commitment to your Avodah must come from a deeper motivation- one of service. That’s why the prayer that happen in synagogue is called a “service.” You may not feel like you’re getting much out of it, but you do it because you’re devoted, because you’re committed. These two poles even manifest in the two main forms of Avodah- meditation and prayer. In the stillness of meditation, the Completeness of the present moment is not something other than your own being. But in the fire of prayer, the self’s longing for Completeness reaches out for help from That which is infinitely greater than the self. Yet there comes another point- perhaps that point is now- when these two poles meet, when they’re not separate at all, when the fire of love and service is the very thing that opens the door to your own inner Divinity. It’s said that once the Baal Shem Tov heard a Bat Kol- a Heavenly Voice- tell him that for some little sin he had committed, he would be denied life in the World to Come. When he heard this news, he began dancing for joy. The Voice then asked, “Why are you so happy? I just said you will have no life in the World to Come!” The Baal Shem replied, “I dance because now I am free to serve God for it’s own sake, without ulterior motive.” On this Shabbat Tazria, the Sabbath of Conception, may we deeply realize this paradox of Being God and being a servant of God, and may we fall into this Shabbos as a child falls into her mother’s arms. And, may all mothers find the time and support to renew in the bliss if the Kodesh, and may we give that support when it is needed! Amein, Selah! Once when I was driving, I saw a man asking for money with a sign that read, “I have three toes- please help.” For an instant, my heart twinged with compassion. But that was immediately followed by a disorienting surprise as I reconsidered his sign.
He needs money because he has three toes? I immediately thought of Aimee Mullins. Aimee Mullins had both legs amputated when she was one year old. Rather than adopt the identity of a disabled person, she became a star athlete, a model and an inspirational speaker who empowers her listeners to transcend limited thinking and limited identity. I don’t mean to be uncompassionate to the man with three toes who needed some money, or to imply that it’s no big deal to lose a part of your body. I want to bless that man that he should have relief from any suffering caused by his body or anything else. But the real disability, as Aimee Mullins and countless others have demonstrated, is not in how many toes or legs you have, but how imprisoned you are by your thoughts. If you narrate your life in negative terms, telling yourself sad stories of victimhood, then that will be the lens through which you live, and that is what will seem to manifest. On the other hand, if you refuse to accept limiting labels, if you refuse to identify with negative stories, is there any fixed limit to what you can accomplish? In this week’s reading, Parshat Sh’mini, the Torah narrates the climax of the inauguration ceremony for the priests. Moses tells the Israelites that after the various offerings are brought- “Hayom Hashem nir’ah aleikhem- “Today Hashem will appear to you!” The offerings are brought, the rites performed, and then it happens- “Vayeira kh’vod Hashem el ha’am- “The glory of the Divine appeared to the people!” Then something tragic happens: in the ecstasy of the moment, the high priest Aaron’s two sons, Nadav and Avihu, break ranks and rush forward to offer their own incense. A fire streams forth from the Divine and kills them. Moses tells Aaron that Hashem is sanctified and honored by their death. Of Aaron it says- “Vayidom Aharon- Aaron was silent.” There’s a story of the Hassidic master Reb Menachem Mendel of Kotsk, the Kotsker Rebbe. One day, the son-in-law of Reb Shlomo of Radomsk was visiting him. The Kotsker asked his guest to please tell some Torah from his saintly father-in-law, to which he replied with this teaching: “When Aaron lost his two sons, the Torah records his praise, saying- ‘Vayidom Aharon- Aaron was silent’ because he was able to accept his misfortune with equanimity and not become a victim. But King David surpassed him and reached an even higher level, as he says in the psalm- ‘L’man y’zamerkha khavod v’lo yidom- ‘So that I may sing of Your glory and not be silent’- -for even in times of great distress he would still sing God’s praises.” This teaching, though somewhat extreme, points to the power of your mind to define the way you frame reality. It also hints at the two basic practices for learning to use your mind. The silence of Aaron hints at meditation. Through meditation, you learn to free your mind from all the thought forms that tend to imprison most people to some degree. The praise of David indicates prayer. In prayer, the sacred dimension that’s revealed in meditation is given expression. These two basic practices together- meditation and prayer- tap into the sacred dimension and draw forth Its nourishment into expression. The name of this parshah is “Sh’mini” which means “Eighth.” This refers to the eighth day of the ceremony on which the action takes place. The number eight symbolizes infinity, both in its Arabic shape and in its Hebrew meaning as the number that transcends seven, which is the number of finite creation. One of the names of God in Kabbalah is Ayn Sof, which also means Infinite- literally “there is no limitation”. Thus, the Infinite appears to the Israelites on the day of infinity. And when is the “day of infinity” as it applies to each of us? “Hayom Hashem nir’ah aleikhem- today Hashem will appear to you!” Today, of course, means now. In the subsiding of thought, there’s the subsiding of time. In the subsiding of time, there’s the blossoming of the only Reality there is- the Reality of this moment, the one and only moment. This moment is not fixed. Ever changing, it is Ayn sof, without limit, unbound by past and future. On this Shabbat Sh’mini, this Sabbath of the Infinite, let us co-create this moment not as victims of the many mishaps and tradgedies that unfold in time. But rather, from the silent depths of our being, let the voice of God emerge through our voices to praise Its own Mystery… |
Archives
July 2024
|