Last week I took my 3-year-old girl and nine-year-old boy out for dinner, along with my son’s nine-year-old friend.
As we sat in the vegan Japanese restaurant waiting for noodle soups and avocado rolls, the friend was singing some popular song, trying to get my daughter to sing along and do the dance moves that apparently went with it. “Watch me whip! Watch me ney-ney!” he sang, showing her how to wave her arm in a certain way that I assume is from a video he saw. I had never heard the song before, and something about the way he was doing the arm wave and singing “watch me ney-ney” seemed a little off to me. I don’t want to say it sounded obscene, but not knowing what “ney-ney” meant, I was suspicious. Was this appropriate for a three year old? I wasn’t comfortable with it, so I told him to please stop. The next day, I went to pick up my daughter from her Jewish preschool. When I got there, all the kids were being led in a dance by their teacher. What was the dance? “Watch me whip! Watch me ney-ney!” The song blasted from the stereo and all the kids were doing the moves. I couldn’t believe it. Apparently her teacher thought the song was perfect for preschoolers! Later on, I told my wife the story and we laughed so hard. The next day, she told the whole story to the teacher, who also laughed and said, “Yeah I thought the song was a little strange too, but I learned it from the Rebbetzen- the rabbi’s wife!” Our narratives about reality are not the same as actual reality. Was the song appropriate or inappropriate? We had different narratives about it, but I still have no idea what "nay nay" means. Similarly, we have all kinds of narratives about who we are and who other people are, but ultimately they are just stories, mental fabrications. The roles we play, the scripts we run, the functions we fulfill, are not what we actually are. So what are we? This week’s reading opens with Moses’ words to the Children of Israel: “Atem nitzavim hayom- You are standing today…” He then goes on to describe all the different identities of the people who are “standing”: the heads of the tribes, the elders, the officers, the men, the women, the children and the stranger, ending with the sweepingly inclusive description- “…meikhoteiv eitzekha ad sho’eiv meimekha- From the hewer of your wood to the carrier of your water.” In other words, all the different identities are standing together. What does it mean to “stand today”? It means to take your stand in the present. When you stand in the present- awake, still, and attentive- all of your identities and roles are temporarily suspended. When you stand in the present, you are pure potential, pure aliveness, a field of awareness encompassing a human form. Why are they standing today? It goes on to say, “L’ovrekha bivrit Hashem Elohekha- To cross over into the covenant of Being, which is your own Divinity…” All identities, in the end, are just roles, just stories. It doesn’t matter if you are a hewer of wood or a carrier of water. When you simply stand, you stand as Being, as the Divine Being that you are. I remember one time a visiting rabbi came to our shul and gave a talk for a Shabbat service. When he stood up to talk, he first stood in silence. He looked around the room, making eye contact with everyone. The silence was powerful, and lasted about 3 or 4 minutes. Finally, he began to talk. His teaching was very good, but the truth is, it was nothing compared to his silence. When he stood in silence and connected with everyone in the room one by one, there was a shift. That ineffable quality of being- the quality that some call “Divine”- was palpable. The roles we play, on the other hand, have the potential to divide us. Our roles can create competition. Our stories can become arguments over who is right, over who has the “truth”. The solution? Stand together. We need not get rid of our roles, but we do need to choose roles that express our basic oneness, our inner Divinity. But to do that, we need to be committed to it. That’s the brit, the covenant. Commitment to transformation, to truly embody who you want to be, may seem difficult. But, as the Torah reminds us later in the same parshah, “Ki karov eilekha hadavar me’od- this matter is very near to you- b’fikha uvilvavkha la’asoto- in your mouth and in your heart, that you may do it.” A shopkeeper once complained to Reb Moshe of Kobrin that his neighbor, who sold exactly the same goods as he did, always made a killing, while customers just passed on by his shop. “I can promise big profits to you, too,” said the tzaddik, “but only on the condition that when you see your neighbor doing well, you must thank Hashem for his success. Something like this- Thank God for the rich livelihood of my neighbor! "It may be difficult to say this wholeheartedly at the beginning, but as you train your mouth to say the words, in time they will find their way into your heart as well- until in fact you will be saying them with all your heart. "For, in the verse- ‘in your mouth and in your heart, that you may do it’- we first find ‘in your mouth’, and only after is it written ‘in your heart.’” If you want your life to express your inner Divinity, rather than merely repeat old scripts and narratives, it’s important to consciously construct your narratives- don’t let them construct you! Choose who you want to be, write it down and repeat it often. And, to tap into the transformative power that makes this possible, you must go beyond all narrative, and stand in the silence of pure potential. That’s meditation. As we come into Shabbat Nitzavim, the Sabbath of Standing, and then into the New Year beginning Sunday night, may we renew our connection with the Divinity of Being. May we “crown” Reality as “King” over all our mental narratives. May we know ever more deeply the sweetness and bliss of what we truly are, and the power and potential of what’s possible when we stand together. L’shanah tovah tikatevu- May you be inscribed for a good year- And may you consciously inscribe yourself as an expression of your deepest potential! love, brian yosef PS- Following the High Holidays this year, I will be offering a powerful new learning opportunity, specifically aimed at this kind of personal transformation through the power of meditation and commitment. Stay tuned and look for more info in November!
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As I was making coffee yesterday morning, my almost ten year old son came into the kitchen and sat with me a bit. We started talking about the Sh’ma, the Jewish affirmation of Divine oneness. I asked him if he knew what the first of the two blessings are that that come before the Sh’ma.
He knew: “Yotzer orr uvorei hoshekh- the Former of light and Creator of darkness- oseh shalom uvorei et hakol- Maker of peace, Creator of All.” I told him that these words actually come from the Bible, from the Book of Isaiah. There, Isaiah describes God with the same words- except for one difference. At the end of the verse in Isaiah, it doesn’t say- “… uvorei et hakol- Creator of All”. Rather, it says- “… uvorei et haRa- Creator of evil”! Of course, “Creator of all” must include “evil” as well, since evil is part of the “all”, but the rabbis who composed this blessing must have thought Isaiah’s words were just a little too provocative, a little too dangerous. After all, how could a “good God” create evil? It’s the age-old theological dilemma… for those who go for theological dilemmas! Still, they included this verse right before the Sh’ma to emphasize that God is not one side of a polarity. God is Oneness, and that includes everything. I asked my son, “What do you think about Hashem creating evil?” He said, “There might be evil, but we are not evil, Abba.” And, I would add, sometimes it takes the experience of evil to realize your own inherent goodness. Sometimes it takes the experience of the “bad” to come to a true and simple humility, and deep gratitude for the blessings that can otherwise go unnoticed. This week’s reading, Ki Tavo, begins by describing a ritual of gratitude and joy for the Israelites to perform when they come to dwell in the Promised Land: “Ki tavo el ha’aretz- when you enter the land… V’lakakhta mereishit kol p’ri ha’adamah- you shall take from the first fruits of the earth…” It goes on to describe how the celebrant should put the fruit in a basket and bring it to the place where the Divine “chooses” to “make the Holy Name rest”. The celebrant then makes a declaration of having come from slavery to freedom, of having now received the gift of the land, and of now coming to offer its first fruits. The celebrant then “rejoices” with "family" and “stranger” together. There is a fruit that you are reaping right now- That fruit is the fullness of this moment. This, now, is the “fruit” of all that has come before. But what is your “first fruit”? It is your immediate relationship with this moment. The content of this moment is complex; it often contains both goodness and suffering. You may have many stories and judgments about it. But before the stories, before the judgments, there is something more immediate. There is simply this life, this consciousness, meeting this moment as it is. When you descend deeply into yourself, when you return from the journeys of the mind into the reality of the present, it can dawn on you: you have the choice to hold this moment in the “basket” of gratitude. This is not a denial of suffering. In fact, it is often thanks to our suffering that we are awakened to those things that truly matter, to the blessings we are constantly receiving but often take for granted. And when you have the choice to relate to this moment with gratitude, is that not grace? It is your choice, but the fact you have become aware of that choice is a gift. It is as if God has chosen "rest Its Presence" in the place of your own awareness. Is there any greater gift than that? Is that not the movement from slavery to freedom? Two disciples of the Hassidic Master known as the “Maggid of Mezritch” came to the Maggid with a question: “We are troubled by the teaching of our sages, that one must bless for the evil one experiences as well as the good (Mishna, Berachot, 9:5). How are we to understand this?” The Maggid replied, “Go to the beit midrash (house of study). There you will find Reb Zusha smoking his pipe. He will give you the answer.” So, they went and found Reb Zusha and put the question to him. Zusha just laughed and said, “I think you’ve come to the wrong man. I have never experienced suffering in my life.” But the two knew that Zusha’s life had been a web of poverty, loss and illness… and they understood. On this Shabbos of Entering, and in this month Elul, the month of return- may we fully enter the place we are already in. May we re-turn evermore to gratitude for the blessing of this “fruit”, and for the suffering that has brought us to this gratitude. May we too rejoice with those we considered to be “strangers” and heal all wounds of separation. Good Shabbos! love, brian yosef This past Sunday I was in the Oakland Airport with my family, preparing to board a plane to visit my mother in Tucson.
After checking our suitcases, we arrived at security to find an incredibly long line, winding around rope dividers and culminating with a tiny funnel into only two security gates. There were several more gates that could have been opened to move things along, but for whatever reason, they were not staffed and were closed. Right in front of us, a middle-aged man started cursing angrily. “What the %$^$ is going on here? Why don’t they ^%&$*# open the other gates??” He started verbally abusing the security person looking at IDs and checking tickets. He demanded to speak to a supervisor. When the supervisor arrived, he cursed him out too. The supervisor said, “You just hold that thought, and I’ll go get someone for you to speak to.” I was sorry my three-year-old girl had to hear that language. I was bracing myself for some police to come and wrestle this guy to the ground. Strangely, no police showed up. Instead, he just kept on cursing and venting all the way through the line. When it was time to remove our shoes and put our laptops in separate bins, I didn’t want to aggravate him more with our clumsy family choreography, so I offered to him that he go ahead of us. “Nah, that’s okay,” he said, “I have plenty of time, I’m just mad about how they’re running this place.” He had plenty of time! I saw an interview once with an Indian spiritual teacher who had a novel way of explaining the spiritual path that I had never heard before. He said that the “self” is like a cow in a pasture. The cow always wants to wander outside the field and into the town or woods, but when she does, she gets attacked by wild animals, kids throw rocks, people shoot guns. Eventually, she figures out she’s better off to just stay in her own field. The “field” is the inner heart. When the “self” dwells in the inner heart, according to this teacher, it enjoys union with the Divine. When it gets tempted and wanders outside the heart, it always ends up in suffering. So, in this teaching, the aim is to learn to keep yourself in the cave of your heart. That’s it. To me, this is a wonderful description of what it means to be in connection with Reality, with the Present, and with the Divine that is the Presence of the Present. To “wander outside the heart” means to lose this connection by getting lost in the mental narratives that our minds are constantly superimposing on Reality. The mind can dream up something wonderful one moment, but then change to a nightmare in the next. I thought of this teaching when I saw this guy in the airport. Even if he was going to miss his flight and his plans would be all disrupted, what is it that is really creating all his suffering, and hence the suffering of those around him? Nothing but his mind! The mind creates all these stories and gets all excited about them. It was even more telling to learn that he wasn’t even going to be late. He was just out to make some enemies, to do some warfare. As this week’s reading begins- “Ki teitze la-milkhama al oyvekha- When you go out to battle against your enemies…” When you leave the sacred place of the heart, when you leave your connection with the present as it is and travel the labyrinth of the mind and its necessarily self-centered stories, you create your enemies and battles. But then the rest of the verse says, “Untano Hashem Elohekha b’yadekha v’shavita shivyo- and Existence- your Divinity- puts it in your hand, and you capture its captivity.” It’s a strange construction- “shavita shivyo- capture its captivity.” But if you understand that it is you who are captured by seeing the world as your enemy “out there”, then you need to “capture your captivity”- meaning, you need to be bigger than those ensnaring mental narratives. How do you do it? You can do it by understanding- Untano Hashem Elohekha b’yadekha - Existence, which is your own Divine nature, is giving this moment to you. This is both surrender and empowerment: Surrender to the truth of what is, rather than fighting with your idea of what is, and also empowerment to create a narrative that allows you to dwell in the cave of your heart, that allows you to respond not from ego, but from the Divinity that you are… It once happened that a large group of hassidim went to visit Reb Yitzhak of Vorki in a village near Warsaw. In their enthusiasm to get to their rebbe more quickly, they cut through a field and damaged the grain crops with their trampling. One of the employees responsible for the damaged field was himself a hassid by the name of Reb Moshe. Seeing the damage the hassidim caused, Reb Moshe stormed into the rebbe’s room and cried, “Look what these idiots have done! They should be beaten for this! It would be a mitzvah to beat them!”- for this was the custom among wealthy land owners of that time. Reb Yitzhak gave no answer. Assuming that the rebbe agreed with his view, the angry man strode out to have the hassidim beaten. But the tzaddik called him back and said, “When you perform a mitzvah, you must articulate your holy intention by first contemplating and pronouncing the evocation that begins ‘l’shem yikhud- for the sake of the Unification’. Since you are a hassid, you should also purify yourself for the holy act by immersing yourself in the waters of a mikveh (ritual bath). So, after you go to the mikveh, and devoutly chant l’shem yikhud, then you can go ahead and perform your mitzvah…” My friends, before going out against our “enemies”, may we enter the mikveh of the present and connect with our deepest heart-intention for unity and peace. And, may we have the strength of commitment to remember that when we are pulled unconsciously into the battlefield! Good Shabbos! 4 Elul, 5775
What are you committed to? Last night I stepped out onto the front porch just before the sun set to daven Minkha- the collection of afternoon prayers. It was such a beautiful evening- rays of pink and orange from the descending sun flickered through dancing leaves in the cool breeze. As I sang the words with eyes closed- “Ashrei yoshvei veitekha- joyful are those who dwell in your house…” -I heard a harsh female voice call to me: “Excuse me, are you meditating and praying?” “Yes,” I answered politely. I opened my eyes to see a woman standing on the sidewalk right in front of me. She over-smiled mockingly and grotesquely, then dropped the smile, revealing a sinister and angry face. “You are engaging in rrrrepetitive prayers?” she spurted with a theatrically rolled “R”. She thrust her neck at me and circled her head with her fingers, as if to mock the kippa I was wearing. “Do you live on this street?” I asked her. “You mean do I live in a house?” she yelled at me, “Because I see you certainly live in a house! You sit there in your house with your nonsensical prayers, asking me where I live??” She continued up the sidewalk in a rampage- “Look at this guy in his house! Saying his prayers and meditating!” she screamed and yelled as she continued up the street… then she was gone. When you hear this story, what’s your impression? I imagine people will hear this story in different ways. Some will be shocked at the woman’s behavior, while others will be moved by the problem of homelessness, and others will wonder what I did next. The human mind understands what happens in terms of its own narratives. These narratives are not even necessarily conscious; they are mostly in the background and taken for granted as truth. For example, what if this same scenario unfolded, except that the characters were actors in a play? Imagine you played the guy on the porch, and your friend played the woman. When the play was over, there would be no emotional residue. It wouldn’t be real- you and your friend were just acting, so there would be no lingering emotional charge. But when someone comes and assaults you verbally for real in the course of life, what experience might arise then? For most of us, there would be a sense of being threatened. There may be anger, an urge to retaliate, to defend, and so on. Probably, the first reaction would not be equanimity and compassion. I know “equanimity and compassion” were not my first impulses! I admit, I had no feeling of compassion for her whatsoever, even though that woman may have been abused. Even though she may have had mental illness. Even though I am incredibly privileged- not just with a house, not just with friends and family who would help me out if I were to lose my house, but with a mind that is for the most part sane and capable. She was not privileged in that way. But, though I may not be evolved enough to feel compassion for someone verbally attacking me in the moment, I am committed to compassion. I am committed to giving of my resources to help others in need, and to help my fellow beings however I can. That commitment was not changed in any way by the experience, except perhaps to strengthen it through the test. And this is the crucial thing: not what you happen to feel in any given moment, not what you happen to think in any given moment, but rather what you choose to be committed to, regardless of your momentary, passing experience. When you know what you’re committed to, you know how to be in the moment, how to be with Reality as it is in the moment, including being with your own thoughts and feelings, without being taken over by them. What are you committed to? This week’s reading begins: “Shoftim v’shotrim titein l’kha b’khol sh’arekha- Judges and officers you should place in your gates- asher Hashem Elokekha notein l’kha- that your Divine nature, Existence Itself, is giving you… v’shaftu et ha’am mishpat tzedek- to judge the people with fairness.” The mind has its automatic judgments, but this verse is telling us to intentionally place the judge in your gate- meaning, you choose the narrative with which to frame your experience. You choose how to use the experience you are having, and to what end. These choices are your basic commitments. Your behaviors will also have their automatic patterns, so you need to also have officers- concrete practices to establish your commitments in your actions. Without these two things- commitments you can verbalize and practices you can actualize- your highest intentions will be fleeting, blowing about in the winds of whatever happens to happen. And, the threat is not just from the unpleasant things that happen. Just as unpleasant things can derail you from love, peace, equanimity, gratitude and other positive midot, so also “good” things can cause complacency, laziness, and so on. But armed with these two essential ingredients- commitment and practice- every experience, pleasant or unpleasant, becomes a helper. Than you can come to see for yourself the second part of the verse- “…asher Hashem Elokekha notein l’kha- that your Divine nature, Existence Itself, is giving you...” We are, in fact, in a play after all! Behind our roles, behind our characters, there is only One Being giving every experience, and there is only One Being receiving every experience, all for the sake of the One Being awakening to Itself. But to what end? “…v’shaftu et ha’am mishpat tzedek- to judge the people with fairness.” As long as we see ourselves, and each other, only as the outer roles we play, and not as the Divine manifestations we truly are, how can we live with wisdom and bring heaven down to earth? But when you can receive everything and everyone in this moment as God, then you know- this is it! This is the moment in which you bring the potential heaven down to earth or you don't. Your choice! If you would like to learn more about how you can actualize your potential through the power of commitment and practice, stay tuned for a new learning opportunity I will be writing you about soon. More to come! On this Shabbos Shoftim- the Shabbat of Judges- may we choose our every word and every action toward the actualization of a just, inspired and beautiful world. Shabbat Shalom! -b yosef 28 Av, 5775
Back in the early nineties, there was an episode of Star Trek The Next Generation, in which Commander Data was attempting to learn the meaning of humor. Data was an android, so he had trouble understanding certain human characteristics such as humor and other emotions. To practice his humor, he goes into the “Holodeck”- a place on the ship that creates virtual realities. The “Holodeck” gives him a comedy club scene with an audience, and Data gets on the stage to practice his stand up routine. At first, Data is pleased because the audience roars with laughter at his jokes. But after some time, Data notices something is fishy. He begins to deliberately say things that are not funny at all, but the audience still laughs. Data realizes that the Holodeck computer is simply making the audience laugh at whatever he says. Disappointed, Data leaves the stage. Now, why is Data disappointed? Of course, it’s because his goal is not to simply experience an audience laughing at him. His goal is to get funnier. To do that, he needs a realistic, critical audience to get good feedback. Spiritually speaking, it’s the same. We need the friction of a world with both blessings and curses in order to master the art of life. What is your goal in this life? If your goal is only for the world to give you what you want, you had better get a Holodeck. Then you can program it to do whatever you want it to do. But if your goal is to master this life, then the world is perfectly calibrated for helping you do that! And what does it mean to “master this life”? There was once a farmer named Moishe, who owned many horses. But, after a series of unfortunate incidents, he lost all of his animals except for one old horse. One day, his last horse escaped, leaving Moishe with nothing. The villagers came to console him: “Oy Moishe, we are so sorry. What great sin could you have committed to bring this curse upon yourself?” Moishe replied, “Maybe curse, maybe blessing. We don’t know.” Later that week, just before Shabbos, the horse returned- with an entire herd of wild horses! Moishe’s son was able to move all the wild horses into their fenced field. Instantly, Moishe was a rich man. The villagers returned: “Oy Moishe! What a blessing! Surely you have done some great mitzvah to deserve such a reward!” Moishe just said, “Maybe a blessing, maybe a curse! Who knows?” After Shabbos, Moishe’s son began the task of breaking in the wild horses. While he was working a particularly feisty one, he was thrown and broke his leg. Again the villagers came: “Oy Moishe, I guess those horses were not such a blessing after all! Now your only son is worthless! How will you get any work done? How could you have brought such a curse upon yourself?” Moishe simply replied, “Well, we really don’t know… maybe it’s a curse, maybe it’s a blessing.” The next day, some Russian soldiers came through the village, drafting all the young Jewish men into the army. But, Moishe’s son was spared on account of his broken leg. Again the villagers came- “Oy Moishe! Hashem has surely blessed you by causing your son to break his leg!” Where does it end? Mastering life means getting free from the impulse to constantly judge everything. Of course, it’s natural, and to a certain degree necessary, to judge. But if you are constantly blown around by the shifting winds of circumstance, compulsively judging everything that happens as either a blessing or a curse, isn’t that itself a curse? This week’s reading begins with the words: “Re’eh anokhi notein lifneikhem hayom brakha uklalah- See- I place before you today blessing and curse.” “Today”- meaning now- there is the potential for either blessing or curse. How to choose the blessing? It goes on to say, “et habrakhah asher tishma’u el mitzvot- the blessing- that you listen to the commandments.” There are three levels of meaning here in the word “mitzvot” or “commandments.” First, this moment in which we find ourselves is itself a “commandment.” Meaning, it is what it is. It has authority. We surrender to this moment or we struggle in vain. This moment has already become what it is! The second level of meaning is that “mitzvah” is related to the Aramaic word “tzavta” which means not “to command”, but “to connect”. How do you connect deeply with someone? By listening to them! So the sense of “listening” is a metaphor for connecting. When we “hear” what someone is saying, it means that we deeply connect with the speaker- “I really hear you, man!” So if you want blessing and not curse, connect with this moment- be present to what is, regardless of whether it seems like a blessing or a curse to your mind or your heart. Accept the blessing and the curse- that’s the blessing! Prefer the blessing and not the curse- that’s the curse! But in order to do that, you have to be aware of your situation: “Re’eh- See- I place before you today blessing and curse.” The sense of “hearing” is a metaphor for connecting, while the sense of “seeing” is a metaphor for understanding. We “see” that something is the case- “Oh, I see now!” The automatic, unconscious impulse is to be like the villagers, stuck in the curse of judging blessings and curses. It’s only natural! But to go beyond that, you need to be aware: Simply listen to the fullness of how it is. Let go of the judging mind. Once you do that, you are free. Like Commander Data, you will be happy if the audience is not laughing at your jokes. That’s how you learn! Like the farmer, you will respond to each situation as it is, without the excess drama. And that brings us to the third meaning of “mitzvot”- the plain meaning of “God’s commandments.” When you free yourself from compulsive judgment, seeing the Whole, then you know you are not something separate from the Whole. Your actions flow from that Oneness, in service of the Whole- in service of God. Then, all your actions are truly mitzvot- expressions of God in the world. On this Shabbos Re’eh, the Shabbat of Seeing, may we all “see” our Divine potential in this moment, to “hear” the Divine Voice as this moment, and to do blessing for each other moment by moment, uniting heaven and earth one step at a time. Good Shabbos! -b yosef 21 Av, 5775
Many years ago, when I was in college, I was over at the Chabad house for Shabbos. The rebbetzin and I were talking about food and health, when suddenly she jumped up and said she needed to show me a new product she was using. She returned with a bottle of some kind of juice. “Do you know what this is?” she asked eagerly. I recognized the bottle from my father’s house, because my father always had the latest health products. It was a bottle of “noni juice”, which was purported to have amazing health properties. But, there was something funny about the label on the bottle. On the noni juice labels I had seen in the past, there was a picture of a muscular, shirtless Hawaiian man chugging a big glass of noni juice. On this bottle that the rebbetzen had in her hand, the picture was almost exactly the same- except that the man had a colorful Hawaiian shirt on! “Wait a minute! Why does that guy have a shirt on?” I asked. “Oh,” she replied, “it’s because we requested that the company change the picture to a guy with a shirt, so that it would be permitted for us to buy it. It would be forbidden for us to by any product with the shirtless man on the label.” “But what’s wrong with a having no shirt?” I asked. “The point of spirituality is to make you more sensitive," she replied. "A lot of secular culture is extremely stimulating, having a desensitizing effect. By keeping bodies covered, we enhance our sensitivity to the sacredness of the human form.” You may or may not agree with the Chabad standards of tzniyut (modesty), but her underlying point is true: The more you get, the less sensitive you tend to be to what you already have… hence the tendency to always want MORE. This is so obvious with children. We want the best for them. We want to give them everything. And yet, the more we give, the more they want. Giving them more and more doesn’t always satisfy them more; it can create spoilage. So, it turns out, if we want to give them more, we sometimes have to give them less. This week’s reading begins with the words, “V’hayah eikev tishma’un- It shall be the reward when you listen…” The sentence is strange, because the word “eikev” really means “heel”, but it’s understood here to mean “reward” or “because” or “consequence”. This meaning is probably related to the English idiom when we say that something “follows on the heels” of another thing. The thing that “follows on the heels” is the consequence. There’s a “heel” story of Reb Menachem Mendel of Lubavitch (b. 1789): When he was little boy, his grandfather would teach him Torah. When they came to the verse, “Eikev asher Avraham b’koli- Because (eikev) Abraham listened to my voice…”, his grandfather asked him to explain it. The child said, “Abraham heard God’s Voice even with his eikev- his heel!” The grandfather, Reb Shneur Zalman, was ecstatic with the boy's answer and responded, “In fact we find this same idea in another verse- “V’hayah eikev tishma’un- It will be the reward if you listen...’ This verse tells us we should strive to become so sensitive that even our eikev- our heel- should ‘listen’, meaning that we should sense the holiness that permeates all creation even with the most insensitive part of our bodies.” How do you do that? Be your own parent- restrict yourself. The most astonishing and incredible thing I think I’ve ever seen was on television, several days after a huge earthquake hit Haiti. A man was searching day and night for his wife who was buried somewhere under a collapsed building. After something like five days, a voice was heard from beneath the rubble. Men dug furiously toward the voice. Soon they pulled out this man’s wife. She had been buried, no space to move, no food or water for many days. What did she do? She sang hymns! As they pulled her out, she was moving and singing. She was clapping her hands, crying “Halleluyah!” I couldn’t believe it. Incomprehensible. But there it was: She was singing in gratitude for her life, for the sunlight, for being able to move. That’s sensitivity. This is the whole point of all of those traditional spiritual practices that restrict you in some way, such as fasting. Their message is: don’t keep going in the direction of “more”. Go in the direction of less, even if just for a small period of time. This is the potential gift of suffering. This idea is expressed a little later in the parsha, Devarim (Deuteronomy) 8:3- “You were afflicted and hungered… so that you would know- ki lo al halekhem levado yikhyeh ha’adam- not by bread alone does a person live, but by everything that comes out of the Divine mouth does a person live!” In other words, to truly live, you have to feel your most basic needs. You have to hunger a little. Otherwise, you won’t appreciate your life and sustenance as a gift, as coming from the “Divine mouth”. And, while fasting and other traditional restrictions can be useful aids, you can actually practice this in a small but powerful way every time you are about to eat: Rather than just digging in, take a moment. Delay the first bite. Appreciate. Say a brakha (blessing)- either the traditional one or something in your own words. But don't just rush through the blessing while the food is on its way to your mouth! Acknowledge the Divine mouth. Feel the hunger. When you are finished, don’t just get up and go. Take a moment. As it says only a few verses later (8:10), “Ve’akhalta, v’savata, uveirakhta- and you shall eat, and you shall be satisfied, and you shall bless…” On this Shabbat of the Heel, let's not hurry through the present moment to get to the next thing. There is only one life to enjoy- and that’s the one we are living. Enjoy it down to your heels on the earth! Good Shabbos! -b yosef 14 Av, 5775
When I was in the fifth grade I went to a summer camp called, “Le Camp”. It was a day camp, so every day I was schlepped back and forth by my parents- except for one day. Once per summer, we had a sleepover. The sleepover evening would begin with a dance in the barn. Later, we slept in our sleeping bags out in a huge field. I was at the age when girls were first becoming interesting. During the dance part, there was a girl I was dancing with for most of the night. I guess I got it in my head that this girl liked me, and during the sleeping-bags-in-the-field part, I kept trying to sneak out of the “boys area” and into the “girls area” so I could go see that her. At some point a counselor caught me. “Brian, stop bothering the girls!” “No you don’t understand,” I pleaded (etkhanan), “they want me to be here!” after which that girl and several of her friends cried out, “NO WE DON’T!” Rejection! Sometimes we think we are wanted, but we are not. That’s just the truth. The person who thinks he’s wanted despite all protestations is an egomaniac. Kids can be like egomaniacs sometimes, and at some point, the delusion is toppled: “No, you really are annoying the hell out of me and I want you to STOP!” But these kinds of hurtful childhood experiences can also create another kind of misperception into adulthood: it can create a self-image that you have nothing to offer, that people don’t need or want you. Recently I was in a situation where I wanted to help someone, but I wasn’t being asked for help. In my post “LeCamp” psychology, I didn’t offer anything, because I thought that if my help was wanted, I would be asked. As time went on, however, I could see that I would never be asked- not because my help wasn’t wanted, but because the person wasn’t comfortable asking. So, I gathered my will against my personality, offered my help directly, and it was promptly accepted! So easy. In this week’s reading, Moses tells the Israelites about how he pleaded (etkhanan) with God to let him enter the Promised Land. Moses says: “Va’etkhanan el Hashem baeit hahi leimor- I pleaded with God at that time, saying… please let me cross and see the good land on the other side of the Jordan!” But God doesn’t let him. Moses, the beloved prophet who “knows God face to face” is rejected. But does Moses develop a bad self-image and stop doing his job? Not at all. A few verses later, Moses says, “V’atah Yisrael sh’ma- and now Israel, listen!” He then goes on teaching them the Torah that he was called upon to transmit. Sometimes our offers are accepted, and sometimes they are rejected. But if you shut down when you are rejected and stop offering, you may miss your real calling. And furthermore, what’s wrong with being rejected anyway? If rejection feels bad, it’s because there is a self-image that is feeding off the desire to be appreciated. That ego, that separate self-sense, is quite natural, but ultimately it is a burden. When the ego is bruised, take that as medicine. Accept the pain- let it burn away the ego’s substance. Ultimately, the pain will be liberating, and in that liberation is real intimacy- intimacy with the plain and radiant present, with the simple bliss of being. After all, when you are pleading for something, it’s because you desire some kind of completion. But when the pain of rejection burns away the very source of incompleteness, then the rejection itself can actually be the fulfillment! There is a story that Reb Beirish of Alisk once went to spend Shabbos with his childhood friend-turned-rebbe, Reb Uri of Strelisk. At the Shabbos table, Reb Uri turned to his hassid: “Rav of Alisk! Could you perhaps honor us with some spontaneous words of Torah, some words that you have not prepared?” Immediately Reb Beirish answered, “It is written, ‘Va’etkhanan el Hashem ba eit hahi leimor- I pleaded with God at that time, saying.’ You see, in order for me to say something spontaneously at that time- meaning at this time, unprepared, I have to plead with God! Reb Beirish had nothing to say except his plea that he should have something to say, and that plea itself became his words of Torah! This Shabbos V’etkhanan is also known as Shabbos Nakhamu- the "Shabbat of Comfort", named from the Haftora reading. On this Shabbat of Comfort, may you be blessed with the confidence to know that you are needed for something quite unique, something no one else can offer. And, when your offerings are rejected, may you be blessed to bring your awareness deep into the present experience of that rejection, so that any trace of the “Wounded Me” gently dissolves into the spacious calm of the Timeless. Good Shabbos! -b yosef 8 Av, 5775
7/24/15 Have you ever had the experience of finding yourself in conflict with someone, and then realizing that the same conflict has happened a thousand times before, in different forms? It is as if the conflict is a virus, a replicating pattern. It has no real life of its own; it is just a dead, repetitive, automatic story that lives off your life energy, playing itself out again and again. I have a friend whose father was a very deep person, very calm, never getting dragged into the dramas of life that so many participate in. My friend said that he would always go off and pray alone in the evenings. One day, when my friend was a boy, he snuck into the room where his father was praying, to see what he was doing. He heard his father crying and imploring, “Slaughter the one who is dead! Slaughter the one who is dead!” He didn’t understand it at the time, but later he came to believe that his father was praying that he should be free from those dead, repetitive patterns that are parasites on our souls. How can you slaughter the dead? The first step is to realize that they are already dead. And how do you do that? The moment you notice that you are disturbed by something or someone doing that “same old thing again” that you hate, you yourself are doing that same old thing again that you hate! Yes, the pattern of being disturbed repeatedly by something is itself the dead thing. That’s not to downplay whatever the external thing is that’s bothering you. It’s only to say that your pattern of response is what leads to conflict. You don’t need that automatic reaction; you can be free from it. But to be free from the automatic reaction, you have to be willing to feel the pain of whatever is happening. Feel the pain on purpose, and there is no need to create conflict. Then, move on. Leave the pattern behind, and open yourself to the possibility of a new response: a next step in your personal evolution! Sometimes, the dead thing is not a conflict at all. Sometimes the dead thing is something you love, even a beautiful spiritual experience. I often hear people lament about having to come down from the lofty mountain of the spirit to deal with the crap of life. It reminds me of a passage I read once in one of Ram Dass’ books, where he talks about coming down from a spiritual high and literally “seeing” a tidal wave coming toward him- a tidal wave made out of all the broken relationships, tedious responsibilities, unconscious expectations- the whole mess. It’s natural to resist that tidal wave. And yet, what are you resisting? What are you holding on to? There is nothing but the Divine, unfolding in ever-new ways through time. If you cling to the spiritual experience of a moment ago, you lose its most important message: God is speaking in everything. The unfolding of life in time is God’s speech. There are such beautiful hints in this week’s reading, the beginning of Devarim, the Book of Deuteronomy. “Devarim” means “Words”. Moses is speaking the words to all of Israel on the bank of the Jordan. His message? He is telling them a story about their journeys. He begins by recounting the highest moment, when they stood at Mt. Sinai and heard God speak to them. But does he tell them about all the Torah they learned there? No! At this point, he tells them about only one piece of Torah they learned back at the mountain- “Rav lakhem shevet bahar hazeh! It’s too much already for you to still be dwelling by this mountain! Turn and journey for yourselves!” You can’t keep sitting in any particular place. The world is turning; you must turn with it. The journey is “for yourselves”- it is for your own happiness and fulfillment that you have to not cling to your idea of happiness and fulfillment! Then it says, “Uvo’u har ha’emori- and come to the mountain of the Amorites…” On the surface, this is talking about a tribe called “Amorites” that live on a mountain in the Promised Land. But the word for “Amorites” has the same letters as the verb “to speak”- aleph-mem-reish. The hint here is that you must leave the “mountain” where you hear God’s “speech” so that you can come to a new mountain, where there will be new “speech”. Don’t cling to the old speech; it’s dead. Then it goes on to say, “… on the mountain, in the plain, in the lowland, in the desert, and on the seacoast…” The point is not only the next “mountain” experience you will come to. There is also the “plain- aravah”- the ordinary, daily work of life, a mixture (erev) of many different kinds of experiences. There is the “lowland- sh’felah”- times of sadness, of tragedy, of failure- all part of God’s speech! These times are medicine for the ego. Then there is the “desert”, or the “south- negev”- times when your life and work don’t seem to be yielding anything good, but you must persevere through these stretches! These times train us to stay focused and true to our goals. Then there is the “seacoast- hof hayam”- like when the children of Israel stood at the Sea of Reeds, with the Egyptian army behind them. These are times when the outcome is unknown, when we are tempted to fear and despair. This is training for the supreme quality of Trust, to take the leap into the unknown. (Of course, all outcomes are always unknown, but only sometimes does this become obvious!) Finally, it says you will come all the way to “Hanahar Hagadol- the Great River!” The Great River is at the end of the journey, because if you can learn to work with life in all of its manifestations, you will see that life is the Great River. God incarnates in the form of your mind and your body, for just a brief time, to take a little journey on the Great River. This moment is the arena within which we are learning to journey. As we enter Shabbos Devarim, the Shabbos of words, may our words be ever fresh and alive, free from old and dead patterns. May we hear the Living Words that are spoken anew, always in this moment. And as we come this Saturday night to Tisha B’Av, a time of mourning for past destructions, may we let that which is dead, die. I bless you to make room for the new life that is just now sprouting… Good Shabbos!! 28 Tamuz, 5775
This week I’ve been taking my son to a band camp in Danville, a 45-minute drive from home. Since the drive is so long, I’m staying out there rather than driving back and forth, davening and working in my car while the camp happens. Danville is bit hotter than Oakland, and there are fewer trees as well, so there aren’t many places to park my car in the shade and stay cool. Today, while driving around a neighborhood looking for shade, I found a tiny tree that could at least partially shade my car. I parked there and rolled the windows down. This is was fine for the first couple hours, but then it started getting really hot, so I rolled up the windows, turned on the car, put on the air conditioner and continued to work. After a few minutes, I was surprised by how ineffective the air conditioner was. Then, I was startled by a noise coming from the backseat. I twisted around to see what was going on and realized- I had neglected to roll up the back windows! No wonder it wasn’t getting any cooler. All the cold air was blowing into the car and right back out the window. Spiritual life can be like that too sometimes. You might be trying to “cool down” your anger or impulsiveness, or maybe you need to “heat up” your enthusiasm for your daily practice and your passion for moving into connection with the present, or for living and serving with your whole being. And yet, even with the best intentions, transformation might elusive. In that case, it is possible that you’ve left the window open. All your best intentions are “blowing right out the window!” How do you “roll up the window” and make the most out of the power of your intention without wasting it? This week’s reading begins- “Ish ki yidor neder laShem- if a person takes a vow to the Divine- o hishava sh’vua lesor isar al nafsho- or swears an oath to prohibit something upon oneself… k’khol yotzei mipiv ya’aseh- according to everything that comes out of one’s mouth, one shall do…” Why would someone want to take an oath or make a vow? Because verbally saying your intention- and even repeating it often- is a powerful way to “shut the window.” Just because you have an intention one moment, that doesn’t mean that your brain will constantly be connected to that intention, especially if the intention goes against your habits. For that, you need to create a new pattern in your nervous system so that the intention doesn’t “fly out the window” as life unfolds in real time. So, if want to transform, put the transformation in your mouth! And then, repeat it often. That way, when the flow of life tends to confuse and distract, you will be solid as a rock. If your intention is clear to yourself, nothing can shake you. Stay tuned- soon I will be offering a new course of study to put the power of intention and commitment to work for you. Until then, Good Shabbos and bless you. May the Divine that is your deepest self come to more and more obvious expression in all your life! Love, brian yosef One of my favorite Saturday Night Live sketches begins in one of those exotic import stores, filled with incense holders, meditation bowls, handmade musical instruments and the like. A stoner-type guy who works there comes up to some customers, starts showing them all the crafty knick-knacks and says (stoner voice): “This is a Senegalese lute carved from deer wood, used for fertility rituals… oh and you can put your weed in there!”- indicating that a bag of weed could fit in one of the flute holes.
They move from one knick-knack to another. Each time, after the stoner guy describes the intricacies and history of each item, he concludes by showing them some hole or little compartment and says, “oh, and you can put your weed in there!”- and stuffs a baggy of marijuana into it. Finally, a cop comes into the store. When the stoner sees the cop, he anxiously tells his customers to say nothing about weed. The cop walks over to them and says, “how you doing?” The stoner clenches his jaw, trying to restrain himself, and then busts out uncontrollably: “WEED!! WEED!! WEED!!” The cop says, “Why are you yelling that?” He then examines whatever object the stoner is holding, finds the weed and arrests him. The Talmud says, (Sukkah 52a) “A person’s yetzer (drive, inclination, desire) grows stronger each day and desires his death.” In the sketch, all the stoner guy had to do to not get caught is nothing. But he can’t help it- he yells, “Weed! Weed!” How often are you given the opportunity for life to go well, to go smoothly, and somehow you find yourself messing the whole thing up? As I look back on my life, I can think of plenty of such times. In fact, I think it’s safe to say that the most dangerous person to me has been myself! Why do we have this yetzer hara- (the “bad inclination”)- this drive toward self-destruction? In his introduction to Pirkei Avot, HaRav Yochanan Zweig proposes something I find very compelling: He says that the reason we tend to sabotage ourselves is actually because of our unbelievably enormous potential. We know, on some level, that our potential is enormous, and that creates a kind of psychological pressure. We are terrified of not living up to our potential. So, to avoid the pain of not living up to our potential, we try to convince ourselves that we have no potential, that we are worthless, and all our self-destructive behaviors are aimed at proving our worthlessness to ourselves. This week’s reading begins with the aftermath of a self-destructive incident, when the Israelites are on the threshold of entering the Promised Land. All they have to do stay focused and keep on track. But what happens? They are seduced into an orgy of idolatry and adultery! It’s the golden calf all over again! Dang. The fellow for whom the parsha is named, Pinhas, has just wielded his spear and killed two particularly hutzpadik offenders who were flaunting their orgiastic idolatry right in front of the Ohel Moed, the holy “Tent of Meeting” (where the Divine Presence would manifest and communicate with the people). This week’s parshah then begins with Pinhas getting rewarded for his heroic murder, and he is given a Divine Brit Shalom- a “Covenant of Peace.” For many, it’s hard to see anything positive in this story. Most would say that murder in the name of religious zealotry is an unfortunate, evil and embarrassing part of our humanity and religious history. And yet, if we dig deep into the underlying currents of the narrative, an urgent message appears: There is a powerful drive toward self-sabotage, toward self-destruction. It is seductive, sexy, exciting and relentless. It will disguise itself in all kinds of ways to trick you and lure you into its power. But, you can overcome it, if you are aware of it! In fact, if you are aware of it, it has no power at all. The Talmud says that in the future, the Yetzer hara will be revealed for what it really is. When the wicked see the yetzer hara, it will appear as a thin hair. They will weep and say, “How is it that we could not overcome such a thin hair?” The key is being conscious, and clearly holding the intention that you are not trying to serve your ego, you are not trying to live for your own gratification, but rather you are here to serve the enormous potential for wisdom and love that are your essence, your divine nature. This spirit of holy intention is actually the way to quench the inner thirst that the yetzer hara thrives on. When you live in holy intention, that needy, fragmented self that reaches for wholeness in unwholesome things can ultimately dissolve. And that is the good kind of self-destruction! Good Shabbos, Bless you, brian yosef |
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