by Ner Tamid | Jan 27, 2024 | Sermons
I will not be speaking about her… Just needed to get that out of the way.
However, being that today is Shabbos Shira, a Shabbos designated for song, I want to teach you an old Chassidic niggun. It goes way back, and it goes like this:
Nanana…
Is anyone familiar with that tune?
Good. I am glad you’re not familiar with that song because it is not a Chassidic niggun. It was written by Lars Ulrich and James Hetfield, ie, Metallica, a hard rock band that I may or may have not have possibly loved when I was a teenager. But it sounds pretty Jewish, doesn’t it? (For those reading, this is the haunting tune from the end of The Memory Remains.)
So let’s play a little game here – we’ll call it Jewish or Jew-ish (to borrow a term from a former and now disgraced congressman).
Here’s another song:
Yidden, Yidden, kumt aheim!
Moshiach vet shreiyin
In di gassen fin Yerushalyaim
Yidden, Yidden, kumt tzu gein!
Is that song Jewish or Jew-ish?
Sounds pretty Jewish, right? This was a wildly popular song, sung by Mordechai Ben David, that was played at all the Bar Mitzvhas when I was growing up. It even had its own little dance to go along with it, which I always thought was a very yeshivish dance.
The only problem is that the song and even the dance was a complete rip-off of a German song all about Genghis Khan and the many children that he fathered. The song is totally inappropriate, and we’ll just leave it at that.
Or how about this one? At the end of Neilah, right before the shofar is blown, if you were to walk in to a Lubavitch shul, you would hear them singing an upbeat tune. It almost sounds like a tune that a marching band would march to. The truth is, it actually is one. The tune is called Napolean’s march, and it was taken from… Napolean’s army.
What makes a tune Jewish?
According to Rav Moshe Feinstein, the preeminent Halachic authority of American Jewry of the 20th century, it seems like there is no such thing as a Jewish tune. He was once asked if it is appropriate to use the tunes composed by a certain Jewish composer who engaged in a number of very problematic behaviors. There is a prohibition against learning Torah taught by a sinner. What about their music? He responded in Igros Moshe (Even Ha-Ezer, I, no. 96) that there is no intrinsic holiness to a tune and therefore it is allowed. It would seem, according to Rav Moshe, that there is no such thing as a “Jewish” tune.
Okay, let’s move onto the food category.
Is gefilte fish Jewish?
It doesn’t get more Jewish than gefilte fish. Right? Only that the first mention of this dish, gefuelten hechden, goes back to a non-Jewish German cookbook from the 14th century. Apparently, Gefilte fish was a very popular dish during… Lent – when Christians could not eat meat.
How about cholent? Cholent is a Moorish dish, dating back to the 11th century.
So no, there is no such thing as a Jewish food.
A while ago I was talking to a group of thoughtful Jewish people who were describing their connection to Judaism. They told me, proudly, it revolved around lox and shmear, brisket, and learning Jewish values from… Bob Dylan.
It was very sad. Not only was it sad, but it was also incorrect. There is no Jewish ethnicity – look around this room. There is no intrinsically Jewish culture – most of the music, food, or art that we describe as Jewish is borrowed from our host cultures.
So what is Jewish?
Some may say that Judaism is a collection of values. Judaism certainly has an incredible collection of values. To quote Christian historian, Paul Johnson: “To them (the Jews) we owe the idea of equality before the law, both divine and human; of the sanctity of life and the dignity of human person; of the individual conscience and so a personal redemption; of collective conscience and so of social responsibility; of peace as an abstract ideal and love as the foundation of justice, and many other items which constitute the basic moral furniture of the human mind.”
But values are only half the story. Our tradition never revolved around values, it revolved around laws, what we call Halacha, the practical application of those values. What makes something truly Jewish, is when it is codified in Jewish Law.
And so today, as a case study, and since unfortunately war is on all of our minds, I’d like to share with you two laws, two halachos that relate to war. Two laws that we can use to conceptualize a truly Jewish approach to warfare.
The first law is found in the Talmud, in Meseches Shabbos. There is a law that on Shabbos one may not carry any items in an area that does not have an Eruv. However, if you are carrying something that is seen as an adornment, like jewelry, that is permitted. On Daf 63, we find a debate about carrying a sword. Rabbi Eliezer says, it’s an adornment, you are allowed to carry it on Shabbos. The Sages say, you cannot.
Now if you were learning Daf Yomi, you would tell yourself, “Okay, one opinion says this, one opinion says that. Let’s keep on going!” But if you would pause and take a moment to think about what they are really getting at, you would hear the Sages say, “Yes, many people see their weapons as a sign of power, as a sign of brute beauty. But the Torah does not. The Torah paints weaponry as a necessary evil. And therefore, a weapon, no matter how beautiful it may be, is intrinsically not an adornment. It is ugly.”
The Sages are teaching us, and this ruling is codified in the Shulchan Aruch, that regardless of how buff and beautiful our boys and girls in green may look, war is intrinsically unattractive. There is nothing glorious about a Merkava tank, there is nothing wonderful about an F4 Phantom fighter jet. Weaponry, our Sages are teaching us, should not get us excited, it should offend our sensibilities.
There is another law about warfare that is found in our parsha, the Mitzvah to destroy the nation of Amaleik. We read today how Amaleik attacked our ancestors even though we were nowhere near their land, and they broke every rule of engagement, even by ancient standards. The Torah subsequently commands us to obliterate them, timcheh es zecher Amaleik. This includes men, women, and children, what we call in modern times, genocide.
Now it’s worth noting that according to Maimonides, we first encourage them to accept the seven Noahide laws, a baseline of morality. If they say yes, we leave them be. Only if they reject this offer, only if they say, no, we will hold onto our immoral ways, then and only then, is our army to attack. Though this mitigates some of the challenge, the Torah does instruct, if they refuse, to kill them every member of this nation, and many, understandably see this Mitzvah as morally challenging.
While I am troubled by the Mitzvah, I could also acknowledge that my moral compass is not as refined as G-d’s moral compass.
There’s another issue with this mitzvah that I find equally puzzling and that is our obsession with it. This Mitzvah is no longer in practice, we have no idea who the descendants of Amaleik are and therefore even if we wanted to, we could not perform this Mitzvah. It would be absolutely forbidden to commit genocide or even to kill those who are innocent. And yet, despite it being entirely irrelevant to our modern lives, we have an entire Shabbos dedicated to remembering this Mitzvah. There are people who remind themselves of this Mitzvah every day. Why? It would be quite convenient to bury this Mitzvah under a pile of shaimos and call it a day, but for some reason, we are enjoined to make a fuss about this Mitzvah every single year.
The common thread between all those who address this question is this: The reason we are obsessed with this Mitzvah is because it is relevant to our everyday lives. It is a Mitzvah, I would argue, that is needed today more than ever. Because even though Amaleik no longer exists, the eternal and ongoing Mitzvah to destroy Amaleik is meant to remind us that evil still exists. The eternal and ongoing Mitzvah to destroy Amaleik is meant to remind us that despite the emphasis Judaism places on compassion for the downtrodden, we cannot allow that to blind us to the fact that we must defend ourselves against those who come to attack us. It is meant to remind us that the ugliness of weaponry notwithstanding, weapons of destruction must be used at times to remove evil from this world.
In the words of Rabbi Dr. Norman Lamm: The motif of this Mitzvah is to “reserve our… hatred for the unusually hateful individuals who commit historic crimes and whose malice is monstrous and premeditated. Anti-Semites who wish to destroy all the Jewish people; monsters who seek sadistically to wipe out whole populations–such people remain deserving, on purely moral grounds, of actual contempt and hatred.”
There are Jews who glorify violence. And there are Jews who wish that Israel put their weapons down and allow Hamas to continue killing Jews. Both views claim to be Jewish, but they are at best, Jew-ish. They are not consistent with Jewish tradition and Jewish law.
Today is Holocaust Memorial Day. It’s a day that I always assumed Jews do not need. How could we, the people who grew up on Never Forget, fail to remember? But it seems like many Jews have forgotten that evil exists. Many Jews have forgotten that when they come for us, they do not care for our politics. Too many Jews have forgotten the Mitzvah of mechiyas amaleik.
Judaism, true Jewish law, promotes a love of peace but also demands of us not to be naïve. What’s truly remarkable is that our modern State of Israel, despite not claiming to run its army according to Jewish law, incorporates so much of these values into their protocols. For example, the IDF is a defense force, and goes to unimaginable lengths to preserve life – because we do not glorify violence. Not only do we not glorify violence, but our hearts are truly broken over the many innocent Arabs in Gaza who are being killed, the collateral damage of this war. And at the same time, to put down our weapons when there are missiles aimed at our cities, to stop fighting when there are people who proudly proclaim that they will continue to steal our children and violate our women, not a chance. Thank G-d, our values have held on for all these years.
There is nothing wrong with culture. On the contrary, we can partake in whatever good we can from all around us. But culture, even Jewish culture, it comes and it goes. What has lasted for three thousand years is not Gefilte fish or Bob Dylan, our ancestors sang the song at the sea I would assume with an Egyptian tune. What has lasted for three thousand years are the laws of the Torah and the values that those laws represent. So enjoy all that is Jew-ish in the world, but never lose sight of what we really stand for.
by Ner Tamid | Jan 20, 2024 | Sermons
What do you think of when you see snow?
As a child, the first thought you have is, “NO SCHOOOOL!”
As a parent of young children, the first thought you have is, “What in the world am I going to do with these kids for a full day?!”
As a rabbi, the first thing I thought of when I looked out the window on Friday morning was, “Darn, there goes our minyan…”
What you think of when you see snow has a lot to do with who you are.
Jewish literature has a lot to say about snow. There are halachos of snow, like, can you make a snowball on Shabbos? (no) Can you shovel your walkway from snow on Shabbos? (yes) Can you use snow as a mikvah? (sometimes)
But what I’d like to focus on is the symbolism of snow in Jewish literature.
One approach is to see snow as a hindrance, a challenge, a difficulty, a pain. When it snowed, and I mean really snowed. Not like the 3 inches of snow that you non-Canadians cancel school for… But when it really snows, everything is forced to shut down. Historically, before modern transportation, after a snowstorm, people traveling could be stuck in their location for weeks. Wars were scheduled around the seasons to avoid getting bogged down in the snow. The amount of work that the cold weather in general and snow in particular demanded of us was immense. Making sure the livestock didn’t freeze to death. Making sure the people didn’t freeze to death. Snow was an absolute pain.
Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch writes that snow and the cold season were created by G-d for precisely that reason – to be a pain, to force us to toil, to make our lives complicated. He quotes an opinion found in the Medrash of Bereishis Rabbah that suggests that prior to the great flood there was only one season, spring. The weather was always pleasant and peaceful, which on the one hand is wonderful. At the same time, there is a danger when things are too peaceful. King Shlomo writes in Mishlei, how the devil loves idle hands. Too much peacefulness lends itself to sin. L’fum tzara agra, according to the struggle is the reward, our Sages teach us. We need some tension in our lives, some pressure, some intensity, that is where the real growth is found.
And so, Rav Hirsch suggests, that after the flood, in order to ensure that humankind never becomes too complacent, to ensure that we never fall prey to the dangerous lure of endless relaxation, G-d introduces seasons to the world. And specifically, the cold season with all its difficulties.
Snow according to this approach reminds us of our frailty. How we need to keep ourselves busy to stay out of trouble. How it’s hard to be a good and honest person. Snow reminds us of our spiritual vulnerability.
There are other sources about snow that go even further, associating snow with death. When G-d speaks to Moshe at the burning bush, Moshe tells G-d that the Jewish People are unworthy of redemption. How does G-d respond? By turning Moshe’s hand “white like snow.” Later on, Miriam turns the same color for speaking negatively about Moshe.
The commentators, explaining why snowy white is the color chosen for the punishment, suggest that snow is a lifeless color. It’s the color of death. The message behind Moshe’s hand and Miriam’s skin turning white is that one is undeserving of their life. White is a sickly and deathly color.
Along the same lines, according to the mystics, snow represents the fact that there are times in our Avodas Hashem, in our service to G-d, when we feel cold; there’s no blood pumping, no energy. In Eishes Chayil, we speak of the woman of valor who does not fear snow because her house is “lavush shanim,” it’s weatherproof. What that means is that she is wise enough to navigate the dark and snowy times in her spiritual life. She knows how to ride the inevitable lows as represented by snow.
But not all Jewish sources depict snow as dark and gloomy. Some Jewish sources see in snow majestic beauty. King David creatively describes snow as a source of warmth – hanosen sheleg katzemer. G-d who makes snow like wool. What he was trying to convey by associating snow with wool, the source of warmth is that there is nothing as soothing as snow. Robert Frost uses snow to evoke an almost hypnotic feeling in his famous poem, Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening, “The woods are lovely, dark, and deep…” There is something magical about a landscape transformed under a blanket of snow. Or even better, the warm and cozy feeling of watching the confetti-like snow slowly falling from the heavens.
King David invokes snow as a sign of G-d’s majesty. When we see that beautiful white tablecloth, the source of cold and the source of inner warmth, we are to see Hashem’s greatness. The Rambam writes that the most straightforward pathway to developing love and awe of the Divine is …
בשעה שיתבונן האדם במעשיו וברואיו הנפלאים הגדולים ויראה מהן חכמתו שאין לה ערך ולא קץ מיד הוא אוהב ומשבח ומפאר ומתאוה תאוה גדולה לידע השם הגדול
When we see something majestic we are expected to see who is behind it. Whose the artist who painted this majestic picture and how do I draw close to Him?
So while the first approach sees within snow a reminder of human frailty, this second approach sees within snow, the majesty of G-d.
Elsewhere, snow is used as a symbol of repentance, “If your sins are red, I will make them white like snow…” The prophet wisely chooses a snowfall to depict change to encourage us – Yes, there is change that is sometimes a total transformation of one’s self. But there is also a change that is skin deep, or snow deep, and it’s still meaningful. The landscape is totally transformed even with a small sprinkle of snow.
So why do I bring this all up?
There is a fascinating set of verses that describe the moment that Moshe transformed from being an intelligent shepherd to the leader of the Jewish People. Moshe sees a bush on fire. He also notices that the bush is not consumed.
וַיֹּ֣אמֶר מֹשֶׁ֔ה אָסֻֽרָה־נָּ֣א וְאֶרְאֶ֔ה אֶת־הַמַּרְאֶ֥ה הַגָּדֹ֖ל הַזֶּ֑ה מַדּ֖וּעַ לֹא־יִבְעַ֥ר הַסְּנֶֽה׃
And Moshe said, “Let me go see this great vision. Why is the thorn bush not consumed by the fire?”
G-d responds by saying, take your shoes off – experience this moment. The desert floor was not filled with snow; but it was hot, it was filled with thorns, pebbles. By telling Moshe to take his shoes off and allow his bare feet to touch and feel the ground, G-d was telling Moshe to stop being a scientist, to stop asking what is going on here and how does this work, and instead to just feel and experience the moment.
We love talking about weather! We love analyzing the weather. How many inches, how much damage, where the storm is coming from, where it’s going. G-d is saying to each and every one of us, just feel the snow – experience it.
Yes, we could still celebrate a day off of work or school. Yes, I will still get nervous about our lack of minyan. But as Jews, we could also see our un-shoveled walkway and be reminded of the frail nature of humankind and the necessity of the seasons as Rav Hirsch taught us. We could look at the beautiful white and warm blanket and just stand in awe of G-d’s creation like the Rambam poetically wrote. We could be reminded of the times that we feel dead inside and take this moment to reflect on the fact that gam zeh ya’avar, bad times, like bad weather will pass and we’ll get reenergized sooner or later. Or we could remind ourselves that like a snowfall that transforms the landscape, we are all capable of taking small steps and changing who we are.
To be a Jew is to be a poet. A poet does not see something, even something ordinary, and certainly something out of ordinary, and simply just walk by. A poet is moved and if not naturally moved, the poet removes her shoes, she forces herself to experience and be moved by the world around.
I hope the weather picks up, I really do. I’m freezing and I hate having just barely a minyan. But next time we see it snow, let’s awaken the poet within, let’s awaken our soul and be moved by its beauty and be inspired by its many lessons.
by Ner Tamid | Jan 13, 2024 | Sermons
She is all alone.
The only nourishment she receives is a small trickle, without any consistency.
She cries out constantly, but no one hears her.
She wonders if anyone even knows she’s alive.
Every day that passes, she gets a little weaker. She knows she cannot go on like this forever.
I am not referring to one of the 136 hostages still held in captivity. I am referring to a hostage-taking that we are partly guilty of ourselves. I am referring to the captivity of our soul.
As Jews, we believe in a soul; she’hechezarta bi nishmati, we thank G-d every morning for returning our soul to our body. As Jews, we believe there is some level of tension that exists between our body, meaning, our physical drives, and our soul, our spiritual yearnings. And as self-aware and honest people, we could probably all admit that our body is often times holding our soul captive; not giving her the nourishment she needs, not listening to her cries, and in doing so, allowing her to whither away.
I’ve struggled to imagine what those hostages in Gaza feel like until I realized I have an all too perfect example living inside of me. My soul can relate to the pain and loneliness that the hostages are experiencing every day.
“Will they ever come for me?” she asks. “Will my voice ever be heard?” “Will I be constrained in the darkness for all of eternity, or will I have the opportunity to thrive and to blossom?”
Our collective soul is no stranger to this feeling of being held hostage; it goes back thousands of years to the sunbaked fields of Egypt. Our ancestors were so beaten down, so overwhelmed that they had no capacity to dream of a different life. “V’lo shamu el Moshe, and they could not listen to Moshe, mikotzer ruach umei’avoda kasha, due to a shortness of spirit and their all-consuming difficult work.” Does that not sound familiar? Are we not, at times, so beaten down, so stressed, so focused on survival, that the notion of change seems impossible?
Rav Moshe Chaim Luzzatto, an 18th century Kabbalist, saw in the story of our Egyptian slavery a mirror to our modern lives. In his magnum opus, Mesilas Yesharim, he interprets Pharoah’s insistence on increasing the Jewish People’s workload after Moshe arrives, as a model for the tension between body and soul. When our body senses that our soul is starting to awaken from her slumber, when it senses a flash of inspiration, the body’s response is to overwhelm her; with stress, anxiety, busyness – anything that will distract her from making any real changes of a spiritual nature.
In 2024, with the busyness of life, the incessant interruptions beeping out of our pockets, the stress and anxiety that seems to be in the air we breathe – our soul is being beaten down at every moment.
Have you ever gone on a walk or started driving your car in silence and felt uncomfortable? Uneasy with the quiet? That’s our Neshama trying to speak to us, to awaken us, to remind us that there is more to do, that there is greater depth to life, to stop living so superficially. Our soul is not as abstract as we may think. Our soul is that magnetic pull we sometimes feel towards being a better person, to wanting more meaning in life, the desire to transcend the mundane and the meaningless.
But what do we too often do in response to that gnawing feeling? We distract ourselves. We turn on a podcast – maybe even a Jewish podcast, but it’s still a distraction. We turn on some music; anything to prevent us from sitting there with that pull of our soul.
Rav Avraham Yitzchak Kook, a man who spoke about the soul in his writings probably more than any other Jewish writer describes the great need for solitude, for allowing our soul to feel free: “The greater the soul a person possess,” he writes, “the more time such a person needs to be on their own.” To allow their soul to soar, to be unencumbered by the noisiness around us; to allow their soul to be free.
Imagine how rich our lives would be if we would spend just a few minutes daily in solitude, in reflection, in touch with our spirit.
But G-d in His infinite wisdom recognized that solitude is not easy and so He instituted a daily practice to give our soul the nourishment that she needs.
Rav Kook writes in Olat Re’iyah, that our soul is constantly talking to G-d. But her soft voice is usually drowned out by all the noise and distractions in our lives. However, when we pray, we are opening the door to her prison, we are giving her a microphone, we are giving her the expression she so desperately yearns for.
Now of course, Rav Kook is not referring to when we mumble the words while we daydream with a siddur open in front of us. That doesn’t do it. They say the Baal Shem Tov once walked into a shul and immediately turned around and walked out. They asked him why he didn’t go into the shul, and he explained that there was no room for him; it was too stuffy. So they cleared some tables, they gave him a lot of space, but he still wouldn’t enter. Until he finally explained to them that the room was filled with prayers; prayers that were said without any meaning, without any focus, without any reverence and without any love. And so, those dry prayers remained grounded, in the shul, they never went up to G-d in Heaven.
I shudder to think of how many of my own prayers are still down here in this room because I never gave them the wings to fly.
And it doesn’t take much. The Torah describes the prayer that was the catalyst for our ancestors’ redemption. Vayiz’aku min ha’avodah, they cried out due to their hard work, and G-d heard them. It was a wordless prayer that was born out of their pain. It was a krechtz, a deep sigh. But it was sincere. It was genuine. And that’s all it took to break them free.
There are times in history when our collective soul is stirred. After the six-day war, there was a spiritual awakening. Many Jews who grew up rejecting a Jewish life, or at the very least, grew up apathetic to an observant lifestyle, changed their lives around. A similar phenomenon is on display right now. Jews, who otherwise would hide or downplay their Jewishness, are proudly embracing it.
One example of many is the Shabbat of Love. The Federations, meaning, the umbrella for the Associated and all the Jewish Federations country-wide are pushing for a full-fledged Friday night observance for next week. They’re encouraging people who otherwise would not be observing Shabbos to light candles, to say kiddush, to share divrei Torah and have meaningful discussions at their meal. In the past, there have been movements like Project Inspire and the Shabbat Project. Those were Orthodox-led initiatives, but this is not. This is the largest collection of Jewish organizations coming together on their own to create a spiritual space for their awakened souls. Are we taking advantage of this spiritual awakening? Are we enhancing and elevating our Shabbos observance?
I’ve been reading the literature they’ve been producing about the beauty of Shabbos and it makes me wonder how many weeks have gone by that I have squandered this incredible gift of 25 hours to let my soul recharge…
***
She is indeed all alone.
The only nourishment she receives is a small trickle, without any consistency.
She cries out constantly, but no one hears her.
She wonders if anyone even knows she’s alive.
Every day that passes, she gets a little weaker. She knows she cannot go on like this forever.
Tomorrow marks 100 days since our brothers and sisters were taken into captivity in Gaza. We are limited in how we can help them. We can and we must continue to place pressure on our elected officials. We can and we must continue to support the soldiers of the IDF. But as Jews, as Jews who believe in the power of prayer and in existence of a soul, as Jews who look to the story of the Exodus as a model for a future redemption, it is critical for their sake and ours that we give our Neshama the sustenance she needs. By spending time each day in silent contemplation, by engaging in heartfelt prayer, and by experiencing the beauty of Shabbos.
In that merit, may every hostage, those inside of us and those in Gaza; may they all break free.
by Ner Tamid | Jan 7, 2024 | Sermons
I love lashon hara, I really do.
Is there anyone here who does not love some good gossip?
We all know it’s wrong, but it’s also really hard to overcome. Someone starts talking and your brain comes up with three million reasons why you are allowed to keep on listening. “I may end up hiring this individual one day. Maybe one day our grandchildren will get married.”
So how do we curb this very human impulse?
Some people have a jar. They gossip, they speak or listen to lashon hara, and they put a dollar in a jar. Eventually, you spend too much money, and you kick the habit. But I believe there’s a better way; it involves a deeper understanding of where our love for gossip comes from.
Dr. Robin Dunbar is the preeminent scholar of gossip. “She suggests that gossip functioned as a sort of grooming tool for social groups that were growing in size. As human beings shifted from smaller, hunter-gatherer societies to larger communities, there was a need for an effective, low-cost way to communicate social norms and keep bad behavior in check. Gossip was a way for our ancestors to mitigate the negative impacts of delinquents and free riders.” (https://www.vice.com/en/article/ne9ae8/gossip-may-have-played-a-role-in-human-survival)
But there’s another reason I heard years ago from Rabbi Shlomo Freifeld that really resonated with me, and it goes like this: If you had a choice of two types of gossip. Behind door one is gossip about John Doe, a stranger you never met. Behind door two is gossip about your next-door neighbor, or the person sitting next to you in shul, or even better, me. Which one are you going for?
No question about it. You’re going for door two. Why is that?
Let’s think about how we view ourselves. Are you a stingy person or a generous person? Are you smart or not so smart? Are you an honest person or not?
What many of us do is we look around and we define our worth based on our surroundings. For example, am I smart? Well, one friend of mine says words that I have to check up in the dictionary after we’re done speaking. Another friend does not know how to spell dictionary. Me, being somewhere in the middle, I guess I am of average intelligence.
Am I honest? Well, I have one friend who never told a white lie, who makes sure to return all the pens she mistakenly took home from work, sends back the package to Amazon when they send a double of her order, and thinks three times before she says anything lest it be a lie. This other guy I know is in jail for embezzlement. I’ve never been arrested before, so I guess I’m a pretty honest person compared to that guy, but not so honest, compared to Ms. No White Lies.
But let’s say you come over to me one day and tell me that Ms. No White Lies regularly cheats on her taxes. You know what happens to me and my self-worth? It goes up. A moment ago, I was plotted somewhere in the middle between Mr. Jail Guy and Ms. No White Lies. But now that she’s down here, I just went up.
Most of us define our self-worth relative to others. And so, when we gossip, specifically about the people in our lives, the people we know, and best of all, when we gossip about people who we are supposed to look up to, it takes them down a notch, which in our relative assessment of our own self-worth lifts us up.
You bet that makes us feel good.
But a person who judges their own attributes based on his or her own potential, a person who does not look to the right or the left and instead looks inside, that’s a person who does not need gossip. If my self-worth comes from within then I really don’t care about what he or she did; it doesn’t affect me at the slightest. The greatest antidote to gossiping is being happy with who we are. (Rabi Freifeld suggests this to be the meaning of the well-known verse: “Who desires life” meaning, the individual who is in touch with their own life, “guard your lips from speaking evil,” is someone who is well-equipped to not speak lashon hara.)
Not speak Lashon Hara has developed into a beautiful trend in Jewish circles. Obviously, it has been a mitzvah for a few thousand years but it only really became “in” about 100 years ago when Rabbi Yisrael Meir Kaganoff wrote a book outlining the laws of forbidden speech. Then about thirty years ago, a man by the name Michael Rothchild started something called the Chafetz Chaim Heritage Foundation which published endless books and movies on the topic. A few years ago, the New York Times featured an initiative taken on by a number of Orthodox girls’ high schools to not gossip one hour a day.
But like all good things, sometimes too much of it is not that good at all. There is a caveat to the laws of Lashon Hara – if one has information that can save people from harm, not only are they permitted to share that information, they are obligated to do so.
For example, if someone calls you about a man or woman they want to date and you know something egregious about said person, you are obligated to warn them. You are not doing anyone any favors by withholding that information. You are causing untold anguish.
Even worse, unfortunately, in our community, when people know of an abuser, they sometimes refrain from letting the authorities know. Why? Lashon Hara. That is a perversion of the laws of Lashon Hara. If someone is a danger to others, we are obligated to do what we can to prevent them from harming others, be it physical, emotional, or sexual abuse. And to be clear, telling a rabbi does not count as preventing further abuse. I have yet to meet a rabbi who is qualified at policing perpetrators.
Rabbi Avraham Hirsch Eisenstadt, the author of Pischei Teshuvos, was one of the most influential Halachic authorities of the 20th century. This is what he wrote about not speaking Lashon Hara when it is warranted:
“There is a sin even greater than [speaking lashon hara], and one which is more widespread, namely, the sin of refraining from informing another about a situation in which one can save him from being victimized—all out of concern for lashon hara… One who behaves in this manner, his sin is too great to bear, and he violates the injunction “You shall not stand by the blood of your brother.”
Lashon Hara is bad. Not speaking lashon hara can be much worse.
In our parsha, the Jewish People gossip about Moshe. After he kills the Egyptian slave-master, he comes to the fields the next day and learns that people were talking about him. When Moshe hears this, he exclaims, “Achein noda hadavar. Now I know!” Now I know what? Rashi explains that Moshe was struggling to understand why the Jewish People were suffering so terribly. When he realized that they were engaging in gossip he understood. The Maharal of Prague sheds some light on Rashi’s comments. He explains that gossip has such a negative effect on us because words are otherworldly, they belong in the spiritual realm, they do not belong here on earth. When we bring them down, when we take an idea from our soul, into our mind, through our mouth, and into this world, we need to make sure it is protected. It’s like nuclear energy; in the right setting, it is the engine of the world. In the wrong hands, it brings about destruction. When we misuse our words – that spiritual gift exclusive to humans, it has devastating effects on us and the world around us.
May we develop a sense of self that is independent of our surroundings; a sense of self based on who we are and who we need to be. May we appreciate the precious gift called language. And may we refrain from bringing destruction by saying too much and refrain from bringing destruction by saying too little.
by Ner Tamid | Dec 30, 2023 | Sermons
With all due respect to Forrest Gump, life is like a… football game; a Ravens game to be exact.
Rabbi Eliyahu Dessler was one of the leading Jewish thinkers of the 20th century. His lectures were transcribed and translated in a collection of books known as Strive for Truth. In the first volume of this wonderful collection of deep thought, he coins a term called, Nekudas Habechira, the point of free will. The analogy he uses to explain Nekudas Habechira is trench warfare, but had he lived in Baltimore in 2023 (24?), I have no doubt he would have used a Ravens game as an even better analogy.*
Imagine for a moment you were playing quarterback in the NFL. You see these huge 325-pound defensive linemen getting into position. They are ready to pounce on you. They snap the ball, you catch it. What do you do next?
I know what I would do. I would kneel. I would kneel on every play. G-d knows, I will break all my bones and likely die under a single tackle.
If there were fans at the game, they would be pretty annoyed. Annoyed that I was playing quarterback, but also annoyed that I wasn’t even trying to move the ball forward. I would try to explain to the fans that it is so much easier to just stay put and not move forward. And they would kindly and politely tell me to go, fill in the blank, because that is not the point of the game. The point of the game is to move forward, not stay still.
In life, explains Rabbi Dessler, it is a lot easier to stand still, to coast on the accomplishments of our past, our upbringing, or our nature. But that is the equivalent of kneeling on every single play. The goal of life is to face the defensive line, a scary defensive line, and then move forward.
But it’s deeper than that, and here is where he introduces the Nekudas Habechira, the point of free-will:
We are all born at some point on the field of life. Some of us are born at the 5 yard-line and some of us are born 5 yards from the end zone. Some of us are born with great spiritual, material, and physical advantages. These advantages are given to a person based on genetics, who they were born to, luck. And some of us are born with great disadvantages. Superficially, the man or woman born 5 yards from the end zone is doing an amazing person. This person is smart, disciplined, and accomplished. They grew up to bright parents, in a loving home, and went to the best schools. This person is great. But in truth, they’re not great. Coasting on your natural gifts is meaningless. The objective of the game is not to celebrate where you are born, the objective of the game is to move forward from where you started. If someone was born 5 yards from the end zone and moved two yards and someone else was born on the 5-yard line and moved forward 60 yards, who is the more accomplished of the two?
For example, I was born into a family in which keeping Shabbos, keeping Kosher, those things were a given. When I refrain from eating non-Kosher that’s not a challenge for me. I’ve never tried non-Kosher and I have no interest in eating non-kosher. So every time I go to a store and only buy kosher items, I am not making a conscious choice to not buy that food, it’s second nature, and so I am not moving the line of scrimmage an iota. For others, that is a tremendous challenge. Every time they choose to buy Kosher, they are exercising free will and in doing so they move their line forward. Another example, I grew up in a home where daily Torah learning is a given; to learn a little every day is not an accomplishment. The fact that some of you are dedicating 30-45 minutes a day to learn is incredible. It’s the same learning, but for one person, it’s standing still, and for another, it’s moving forward. The same is true for character traits. Some of you may be naturally inclined to being polite or patient (otherwise known as Canadian); when you keep it together, that’s nice, but you didn’t move the line forward. Whereas some of you grew up in a volatile home and struggle with anger. When you stop yourself in mid-scream, you just scored a touchdown.
We could all just stand still, and people will applaud us for all those things we are naturally good at. But as long as I am not exercising my free-will, as long as I am just coasting on my upbringing or even choices I made decades ago, I am not living. Life is like a football game; if you’re not struggling to move your line forward, wherever that line is for you, spiritually speaking, you are not alive.
This week’s parsha begins with the words, Vayechi Yaakov b’eretz Mitzrayim shva esrei shana, and Yaakov lived for 17 years in the land of Egypt. The Medrashim tell us that those 17 final years of his life, lived in Egypt, were the best years of his life. And yet, the same Medrashim observe that our forefather is referred to as Yaakov in this verse, a name that connotes subjugation, and not Yisrael, the name that connotes triumph. Why? Because the subjugation to the Egyptians began during those 17 years. So which one is it? Are these the best years of his life? Are these the years that Yaakov is alive or are these years of intense struggle?
The answer is that it is both. Yaakov was 130 when he came to Egypt. If there was anyone who could have sat back and said, I have done it all. I stood up to Eisav, to Lavan, to Shechem, I am finally reunited with my family. I just want to have some nachas. But he did not do that. He rolled up his sleeves and faced the challenge of bringing his family together Egypt, of leading a family in a society that stood diametrically opposite everything he stood for. Yaakov did not kneel; he struggled, he made gains, I am sure he had losses, but he pushed forward, and that, that is life. Vayechi Yaakov b’eretz Mitzrayim shva esrei shana.
Let’s go a little further in this football analogy. Contrary to popular belief, despite growing up in Canada, as a little kid, I played sports other than hockey. Now we were not very sophisticated football players, so on any given play, as soon as the ball was hiked, I would run to the end zone, hoping the quarterback would chuck the ball up, giving me a touchdown. I would often drop the ball and that’s when I started playing hockey.
But that’s not really how the game of football works. One of the first things I noticed when I started watching a little bit of pro football is how many short passes there are. Short pass to OBJ. Short pass to Flowers. A few yard run by Lamar Jackson. 2 yards here, three yards there. And eventually, if you keep it up, you find yourself in the end zone with a touchdown.
Most of life is about small steps. Small gains. And here is where Rabbi Dessler’s original analogy of trench warfare falls short. Because in trench warfare, when you gain two yards, what do you do? Nothing. You get back to fighting. But when the Ravens gain two yards, when they get a first down, you know what they do?
They celebrate! They dance! They sometimes even do the Park Heights Strut…
There was a magnificent Talmid Chochom and educator by the name of Rabbi Shlomo Freifeld. He led a yeshiva called Sh’or Yashuv; at the time a place for students with limited backgrounds. There was one student who joined the Yeshiva and a few days in, confided with Rabbi Freifeld that he felt overwhelmed by the volume of learning. “There is no way,” he said, “that I will be able to keep up with the other students.”
The next day, Rabbi Freifeld walked into the Yeshiva with a leather bound Gemara for this student. The student opened the gemara and found in it a single Daf, one page. “This,” said Rabbi Freifeld, “is your Gemara. When you finish it, we will make a siyum, we will celebrate.”
Life is like a football game. It’s about knowing where you started, what you have already accomplished, and what your line of scrimmage is TODAY. It’s about making small steps forward, in the way we act with our family, in the way we think and speak, in the way we interact with G-d. And it’s about celebrating those small steps. Sometimes we act too tough to celebrate small wins but if the Ravens can, you can too.
This past Rosh Hashana, I pitched a learning program called 6/13, a daily 5-minute class I give on the parsha. Many of you have participated, some every day, some on some days. Today, we finished the book of Bereishis and so my wife and I are hosting a siyum, a celebration for all those who participated for the past 3 months. Some of you questioned the value of a celebration. “It’s just five minutes? Is this really such a big deal?” And the answer is yes. Because life is like a football game. And when you gain two yards, or when you fight back against the opposing team’s offense, you do a little jig; you celebrate.
But there’s one more way that life is like a game of football. As I mentioned, most of life involves small steps and small struggles. But every once in a while, you throw a Hail Mary (Sorry for the term but ‘Tis the season!). A hail Mary is that incredibly long throw from one side of the field to the other. It’s rare, but when it’s successful, it’s the highlight reel of the week.
Today, we are also celebrating a Hail Mary; a momentous decision, one that moves the line of scrimmage not just yards, but miles. 6,744 miles to be exact. We are celebrating the fact that Adriene and Harry Kozlovsky are making Aliyah. You’ve had a couple of Hail Mary’s in your life. You, along with a good number of people here today, started Yeshivat Rambam. It was bold, it was like an 80-yard pass. Despite the physical structure no longer remaining, the impact of that pass lives on. And now, you are going to a war zone, you are travelling away from family, to live your dream, the dream of every Jew, liyot am chofshi b’artzeinu. It is a bold move, a difficult move, and one that is an inspiration to us all. We will miss you and we wish you all the success in the world.
Yard by yard, day by day, may we all move our own lines of scrimmage closer and closer to the end zone.
*using a football game as an analogy for nekudas habechira was something I heard from Rabbi Moshe Hauer many years ago
