by Ner Tamid | Nov 3, 2023 | Sermons
Day One of the Orthodox Union United We Stand Mission
Ben Gurion is a ghost town.
In the void are signs, every few feet, for bomb shelters.
It’s not a depressing silence.
Everyone in that airport has purpose in their footsteps.
We’ve come to fight. We’ve come to help. We’ve come home.
Nearly every passenger from the US is carrying anywhere between 2 and 13 duffel bags.
I told them at customs my bag was filled with clothing for soldiers.
That’s what they told me.
It was filled with medical supplies.
The soldier looked at the supplies, looked at me, shrugged his shoulders and let me through.
Handed the bags to some off duty soldiers who were waiting for me. A quick embrace before they went back to their base.
We’re all family, bringing packages for our loved ones.
The highways are empty. I’m waiting for foxes to run across Kvish Echad.
But we’re not crying.
We’re all Rabbi Akiva.
Here to give hope and to experience the eternal hope of the Jewish People.
The hotel – this is the third hotel we booked as the others got filled up with displaced people, is now a refugee center.
A Bat Mitzvah is taking place.
Strangers off the street come to give the girls some joy.
Kids running through the halls.
Pressing all the buttons on the elevator.
Fighting ever so hard to just be normal.
How many people from the south told us tonight that they said shema on October 7th, thinking it was their last prayer? How many parents described giving out kitchen knives to their 13 year olds?
Who dared awaken these old plotlines from books from the crusades, movies of the Holocaust. What are they doing here?! In Israel?! In 2023?!
There are words that keep on being repeated: “Miracle” “Hashem was watching over me.” “Achdut!!”
The last time I was here was August and I’ve only been here a few hours, but I can confidently say, this is a new people; a people awakened from a deep slumber, a people energized with unity, with faith, and with resolve.
It’s midnight. There’s a cool breeze outside, blowing hope through the streets of Jerusalem. We have been knocked down. But we are anything but beaten.
Day Two of the Orthodox Union United We Stand Mission
There’s just too much to share and emotions that are too raw to unpack. So I’ll just share a single moment –
In Chevron, we learned that one of the soldiers stationed there got married a few days ago. Immediately after his wedding he went back to serve. Because that’s what you do in a time of war.
He didn’t have any sheva berachos. However his battalion decided to surprise him and brought his newly wed wife to their base for an impromptu sheva berachos. We crashed and this is what we experienced.
You can watch a clip of the sheva berachos here: https://www.instagram.com/reel/CzFAG-JrU7r/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igshid=MzRlODBiNWFlZA==
V’haikar lo l’facheid klal.
May Hashem give them the strength to not be scared and to return home in safety.
Day Three of the Orthodox Union United We Stand Mission
It’s a pretty holy group of people I’m traveling with. Leaders of their community, international teachers of Torah, and just plain old good people. Despite their collective stature, there’s one sentiment I’m hearing from them over and over: “The people here are just on another level.”
The parents whose child is in captivity who affirms his faith in G-d’s plan, the father who just buried his 19 year old son who affirms his faith in the holiness of the land, the secular soldier who thanks us for coming to the kotel to pray, the unit whose job it is to identify bodies who have been pulling 24 hour shifts who have seen and smelt and touched the most horrific sites who somehow danced with us affirming their faith in the eternality of the Jewish people with huge smiles on their faces…
These are not rabbis or spiritual gurus. These are doctors, mechanics, college students, teachers…
To be in their presence pushes you, it opens your eyes to how shallow our version of spirituality is.
My dear colleague, Rabbi Larry Rothwachs, a different level individual in his own right, commented today how he’s afraid that whatever new vistas have been opened to us will be lost when we return, he wonders how long it will last. Those concerns shook me to the core.
I’m afraid it won’t even make it off the tarmac. It’s like those bottles of ‘Israel air’ they used to sell in the shuk.
We shouldn’t kid ourselves, the holiness of Israel cannot be imported. The people are different because the air is different. Or maybe it’s the other way around.
I’m already checked in to my flight tomorrow night, the ominous countdown has begun. But I’ll be back. We’ll all be back. Our soul is drawn to holiness like a magnet. No amount of missiles and no amount of terror can hold her back.
And even if we only stay for a few days, we can still walk these holy streets, breathe the holy air, and hug the holy people of Israel who are radiating their holiness now more than ever.
Touching Down in the US
The commentators question why it is that Hashem made Noach save the animals. Why couldn’t G-d save them on His own?
“Olam chesed yibaneh, the world is created on kindness.” There is a principle that for the world to form it must be built on kindness. This is not only a mystical idea, but practically, the world cannot function unless there is kindness at its core.
The pre-flood society had devolved into a jungle where each person or tribe was focused entirely on themselves. That world was destroyed; it simply could not go on. Hashem asked Noach to look out for the animals as He wanted to ensure that the new world will be founded on the most important quality – chesed – only then would the world endure.
This past year was a low point in the history of the State of Israel and the Jewish People. Our differences seemed unbridgeable, our shared values seemed to not be enough to hold us together.
That world experienced its own mabul on October 7th; destruction and devastation beyond description.
In its place a new world is forming. Every Israeli citizen has been mobilized not to fight but to unite. Charedi teens are cleaning understaffed hospitals in Tel Aviv. Senior citizens are picking fruit to help farmers. Communities are creating massive meal trains for all the mothers whose husbands are on the front lines. One Israeli told me, “There are more volunteers than opportunities to help.”
“Olam chesed yibaneh, the world is created on kindness.” There is a new world forming and at its core is unity and kindness.
***
I’m about to land in Newark airport.
My heart is always in the east, but now more than ever, I want to be a part of the revolution of kindness that is sweeping across the land.
Below you will find a video and letter from a soldier to whom we brought cards drawn by children. I had assumed that these hardened soldiers, and these ones in particular whose job it was to deal with the dead, could not care less for silly cards. Boy was I wrong.
We can still be a part of the revolution from across the Atlantic. We have and we will continue to think and pray for the people of Israel – aside from its intrinsic value, they appreciate it more than you can imagine. We have and we will continue to fundraise unprecedented amounts of funds to help support the people of Israel – they need it now and they will need it for the long haul. We have and we will continue to do anything we can for them, up to and including drawing pictures, thanking the brave men and women of Israel.
But perhaps even more importantly, we can and we will rebuild our own world; maybe it wasn’t as broken as Israeli society, but our community too faces its own share of challenges. We can commit to rebuilding it it before it is destroyed.
My heart is not in the east. My heart is with my people, in Israel and in my backyard.
by Ner Tamid | Oct 15, 2023 | Sermons
I received a call this past week from someone in Israel. He told me he had a question, but he couldn’t get the words out. Finally, through the deep breath and sobs, he managed to ask, “How can I pray?”
He is involved in emergency work and so he got wind of what was going on Shabbos morning. And he told me that when he heard that something was unfolding in the south, he prayed like he never prayed before. He poured his heart out, begging G-d to have mercy.
But then the news started to trickle through, and then pictures started to emerge. He found out what happened to the innocent, to the elderly, to the men, to the women, to the infants. “Where is G-d? How can I pray?”
As he was speaking, I remembered my grandfather who had a similar question. My grandfather told us how he would pray every single day, Shacharis, Mincha, and Maariv. But on Rosh Hashana, he watched as hundreds of children were led to the crematorium. The next time he tried to daven, he simply forgot the words.
He never told us how, and I wish I had asked him, but eventually he did find the words. Ultimately, he became a chazzan leading others in prayer. I knew there must be a way forward.
So let me tell you what I told this young man – truly the least inspiring message I could share – but it’s true:
Nowhere in the torah does it say that if we pray G-d will answer.
Nowhere in the Torah does it say that those who are good will be rewarded and those who are evil will be punished.
You may be wondering, yes it does? The Torah constantly talks about reward and punishment in this world. It talks about evil people getting punished. The righteous being rewarded?! It speaks of the power of tefilah?!
It does. In the context of a Messianic era. In the context of a time when the Temple stands. In the context of a time when G-d’s presence is among us.
At such a time, we will see justice in the world; those who are morally bankrupt – and my oh my, how many we are seeing today, they will be eradicated from this earth. At such a time, those who are holy will shine. At such a time, will pray and feel G-d before us.
But right now? In a non-Messianic era, the Torah tells us what we will experience, a reality described as Hester Panim; the hiding of G-d’s face.
In such a reality, nature is in control; the righteous suffer, the evil prosper.
In such a reality, we pray, and we feel like we’re talking to ourselves.
That is what hester panim is – G-d is not looking at us; He’s hiding.
People tell me in general they struggle with prayer – of course you do! G-d is hiding. And when some rabbis try saying, just pray harder, just pray better, and you’ll feel it. That’s all you need to do! They’re right in that you may feel a little bit, prayer can be the most exhilarating experience possible. But you won’t feel G-d’s presence fully. I am sorry to say they’re lying to you. Not in this world you won’t, not before Mashiach comes.
People wonder how such bad things happen to good people – this is precisely what hester panim means; that G-d allows us to be ruled by the random rules of nature. And when some rabbis try pointing out the divine plan in everything around us, “you just need to look harder.” They are lying to you.
And then people wonder, they may not say it out loud, do we really need a Messianic era?
Part of that is our fault, the rabbis’ fault, for painting such a perfect picture of Judaism; for claiming that Jewish Law is perfect when without a Sanhedrin, a grand court, it is broken; for claiming that what we have in Israel is so great, when without a Bais HaMikdash, it is incomplete; for claiming that if we only prayed more or better we could hear from Hashem, when G-d is hiding His face; for claiming that if we just had a more positive perspective we would see the Divine Hand, when it’s not true; the Divine hand is in self-imposed exile.
I understand why you struggle to pray, I told this young man. I understand why you struggle to see G-d’s hand. He’s hiding, and I’m sorry that we claimed otherwise.
Now I know this sounds like the most depressing message possible, but I don’t think it is. Allow me to share with you an analogy:
I wake up every morning and the battery on my phone is at 100%. The green rectangle is full. As the day progresses, the green gets smaller and smaller, and eventually, it turns yellow. When it turns yellow, it means the phone is on ‘battery saver mode.’ Battery saver mode kicks in when the phone knows that it is soon going to die and in order to keep it going, it shuts off certain applications, and it slows down. This mode allows the battery to preserve itself.
When G-d told us in the Torah that when He destroys the temple, He will hide his face, He could have so easily just “shut the phone off” and left us with no connectivity whatsoever. Instead, He provided us with battery saver mode. Yes, prayer is difficult, excruciatingly so, but at times we can still feel an incredible connection. Yes, Jewish Law is not perfect, but it’s still glorious and magnificent! Yes, bad things do happen to good people – but sometimes we do get to see G-d’s hand!
We could have had nothing. G-d could have hidden His face entirely, but He chose not to. And to think and to know that in this time of hester panim, despite not having everything, we do have a land of our own, we do have an army that will fight back – and a brave and amazing army! And we have unity once again like never before! To think that in Tel Aviv, just a few days ago, they had to call in the army to break up fights among fellow Jews! And this week, all striped of Jews gathered in those same squares to pack bags for soldiers!
And to think that during this time of hester panim, we have been able to maintain our faith, that my friends, is remarkable. That, my friends, is worth celebrating.
When Bibi Netanyahu was heading to the UN assembly for the very first time as an ambassador for Israel, he stopped at the Lubavitcher Rebbe for a visit. And he asked the Rebbe advice; “The UN is a place that is not very friendly to Jews or to the State of Israel. How will I manage?”
And the Rebbe famously replied, “It’s a dark place. But one small candle, one small light can banish a whole lot of darkness.”
Yes, it is a dark world. It is especially dark this week. For those of us who forgot that He has been hiding His face from us for 2000 years, we were given a rude reminder this past week. But there is light!
There is light in the outpouring of support from the world around us!
There is light in the precious unity that we are experiencing!
There’s light in the incredible chesed and tzedakah that we have all been a part of!
And let’s not just see the light. Let’s add light; through our prayers, through our extra Torah learning, through our charity, through our unity and kindness.
AM YISRAEL CHAI!
We will prevail.
We will keep on seeking out the light,
And we will keep on adding our own light until the ultimate day of light. Until the day we merit the original spiritual light of creation, a world in which we can see and experience G-d and all of His goodness, bim’heira v’yameinu, speedily in our days. Amen!
by Ner Tamid | Oct 2, 2023 | Sermons
My very first Chol Hamoed Sukkos in Israel started off terribly. The first two days of Sukkos were beautiful; I had pleasant meals with relatives and slept comfortably in the sukkah. But after Yom Tov was over, I headed to Meah Shearim to partake in the many Simchas Beis Hashoeva celebrations that I had been hearing about from my friends. “They’re awesome.” “They’re so spiritual.” “What a unique experience.”
These celebrations go all the way back to the time of the Bais Hamikdash. The Jewish People would gather in the courtyard of the temple for an all-night party celebrating the forgiveness that we just attained over Yom Kippur. The leaders of the Jewish People would lead the way with juggling and dancing and there are many tales told of their acrobatic feats. The Talmud relates that “one who never saw the joy at the Simchas Beis Hashoeiva never experienced joy in their life.” Talk about hype. Of course, the Talmud was referring to the original in the Bais Hamikdash, not the celebrations in Meah Shearim, but still I was quite excited to see the continuation of this tradition for myself.
I got to Meah Shearim, met up with my friends, and we started going from shul to shul. Each celebration had their own unique flavor. One place we went to was known as the dryer – as in a clothes dryer. The dancing there is as chaotic as dryer. People holding hands and running in every direction at high speed. It’s nuts. We went to another place where they were known for singing really loudly. The rumors were true. It was deafening. We went from simchas beis hashoeva to simchas beis hashoeva. Everyone around us was happy but me and my small group of friends, we just weren’t feeling it. We weren’t connecting to it in any way.
Another friend called us and told us we were in the wrong place – he told us we need to go to Yeshiva Merkaz Harav. This is the yeshiva founded by Rav Kook. It is the flagship religious Zionist institution. So we headed over there. It was definitely very festive, and we tried to get into it. At one point I was standing near the band – there was a band performing – and I must have been standing right under the trumpet player and all of a sudden, I felt a huge glob of wetness on my face. I am told by professional trumpet players that it is not spit, it is condensed water. You could call it whatever you want, it was gross.
We left.
It was midnight. Everywhere we went people were laughing and dancing and joyous, and we weren’t. It’s a pretty lousy feeling to be surrounded by such joy and to feel so distant from it. It’s a very lonely feeling. To go through an experience that is supposed to be spiritually uplifting and not feel uplifted at all, is kind of crushing.
I imagine some of you may have felt this way on Rosh Hashana or Yom Kippur, maybe this year, maybe in years past. People around you are into the services and you’re not. You know you’re supposed to be feeling something and you can’t feel anything at all. It’s lonely and demoralizing.
Rav Moshe Schreiber, otherwise known as the Chasam Sofer, one of the most influential rabbis of the 19th century, has a beautiful and pertinent thought about the holiday of Sukkos. There is a debate in the Talmud about what we are commemorating on this holiday. Rav Eliezer says that we are commemorating the clouds of glory that surrounded the Jewish People as they journeyed through the desert. Rabbi Akiva argues and says that we are commemorating actual booths that the Jewish People built for themselves in the desert. But here’s the problem – the Torah tells us explicitly that there were clouds of glory that surrounded the Jewish People. There is no mention of the Jewish People building booths and why would they? They had these miraculous clouds that protected them from the elements?
Suggests the Chasam Sofer, Rabbi Akiva agrees that there were clouds of glory that protected the Jewish People. But the Torah also teaches us that certain individuals had to sometimes leave those clouds of glory and live outside the Jewish camp. People who were tamei, impure, people like the Metzora, individuals who had a form of skin disease that indicated that they had sinned. Such people, due to their state of impurity, were forced to leave the clouds of glory and stay by themselves, away from everyone else. Those people did not have clouds of glory to protect them from the beasts of the desert. These people did not have clouds of glory to protect them from the elements. What did they do? They built huts. Sukkos mamesh.
What Rabbi Akiva is suggesting is that on Sukkos, we are not commemorating the nation of Israel being surrounded by clouds of glory – as great as a miracle as that was. We are commemorating the individual Jew, the lonely Jew, who was not connected to the nation in that moment, who felt alone, who felt broken, who felt lost. Who nonetheless was protected by G-d even though he or she was not surrounded by the clouds of glory. That is what, or rather, who, we are commemorating on this holiday. The Zohar writes that the Sukkah is meant to be a hug from Hashem. It is a hug to the solitary Jew who is all alone.
And that’s what Sukkos is meant to be. You may feel distant, you may not feel loved by G-d, you may not feel connected to your fellow Jews, you may not feel inspired by religious experiences. But then you go into your Sukkah. Simple walls and roof, no rituals you have to do. You just sit there surrounded by G-d. A hug from Hashem for those of us who do not feel connected.
At about midnight that evening on Chol Hamoed Sukkos, my friends and I had given up on having an uplifting evening. We were walking by the central bus station, the tachana merkazi. We were hungry – we were 19, we were always hungry. So we bought some danishes and beer from a convenience store, and sat down in the small sukkah outside. One of my friends started singing, and we joined him. A few minutes later, a woman who was carrying a whole bunch of bags with her – she seemed homeless, joined us. A little while later, a young chossid came in the sukkah as well. More and more people joined us in this little sukkah. We bought some more food, some more drinks. People shared stories and we sang. More stories, more songs. It was the most beautiful simchas beis hashoeiva I have experienced in my life.
Sometimes we need to go off the beaten path to reconnect. Sometimes we need to be a little bold, we need to try something new and different to get that spark of spirituality that we crave. Sometimes we need to leave our comfort zone, sometimes we need to leave the clouds of glory because that’s the only place we can really find ourselves.
The Sukkah is a reminder to all those who feel disconnected, all those who feel impure, and all those who feel lost and alone, that Hashem is still there with you and He’s giving you a hug.
by Ner Tamid | Sep 27, 2023 | Sermons
Tonight, in shuls across America, rabbis are talking about “hamatzav,” the situation in Israel. In some shuls, there are rabbis lambasting the chareidi community who are growing in size and are not contributing enough to the Israeli economy nor serving in the IDF. In other shuls, rabbis are criticizing the secular community for forgetting that Israel is a Jewish State not just a state for Jews. And yet in other shuls, it is the religious Zionists who are being attacked for their brazenness in leading the charge on judicial reform. Personally, and truly with the greatest of respect, I think all those rabbis are wrong. Not wrong in their opinions, but they are wrong for bringing this up on Yom Kippur.
“Ki bayom hazeh y’chaper aleichem mikol chatoseichem, for on this day, you will be forgiven of all your sins.” Yom Kippur is a day of repentance, it’s a day dedicated to personal transformation. In what way do we become better people by discussing who is right and wrong in Israel?
Am I concerned? Oh yes, I am. Should the future of the State of Israel be a focal point of our prayers on this holy day? Absolutely. The prayer of “simcha l’artzecha, bring happiness to Your land,” has never been so pertinent. But simply talking about it this evening will not help in any tangible way. You want to make a difference? Invest in Israel Bonds, pray. But speaking about what this group or that group is doing right and wrong in Israel and expecting that to move the needle? It’s as ludicrous as suggesting that we straighten that pole over there with the Israeli flag, and by doing so, it will bring a positive resolution to Israel’s political nightmare. That crooked pole has been driving me crazy for the past year…
In his best-selling book, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People, Stephen Covey introduces the concept of the Circle of Influence and the Circle of Concern. We all have a circle around us of the people that we are able to influence with our actions or words; family, neighbors, community, co-workers. For some of us, our circle of influence is larger and for some of us it’s smaller, but we all have a circle. Then there is the Circle of Concern. In this circle are the people or events that we are concerned about.
“Proactive people,” writes Covey, “focus their efforts in the Circle of Influence. They work on the things they can do something about. Reactive people, on the other hand, focus their efforts in the Circle of Concern. They focus on the weakness of other people… and circumstances over which they have no control.” What Covey was trying to say is that a healthy individuals’ circle of concern is as big as their circle of influence – their concern matches up with the amount of influence they have. An unhealthy person’s Circle of Concern is far larger than the circle of influence – they waste endless energy and attention on people and events well out of their control.
There’s a beautiful story my friend Rabbi Benji Goldschmidt reminded me of. It’s a story of a Lubavitch chossid who was imprisoned in Russia many years ago. In his cell, there were a number of men who would play poker. Only that in this jail, it was illegal to play cards. Every once in a while things would get a little rowdy and the guards would come running in looking for the cards. But every time they came in, they could not find the cards. They’d strip-search the inmates, they’d check under the beds, in the ceiling. The cards could not be found.
After this happened a number of times, the chossid turned to one of his fellow inmates and begged him to tell him how they managed to always hide the cards. “Easy,” he said. “We’re professional pick pocketers. When the guards come in, we slip the deck of cards into their pocket. Right before they leave, we take them back. They look everywhere, but they never look on themselves.”
We could spend this evening and spend the next 25 hours pointing fingers at this group or that group of Israelis who are destroying our country. There are people who spend a lifetime pointing fingers at everything that’s wrong around them, but they never look in their own pockets.
The Baal Shem Tov, the founder of the Chassidic movement, had a transformative teaching that can help us close the gap between our circle of concern and our circle of influence. He would often say, “Everything you see, everything you hear, is a personal lesson from G-d.” Whether you believe that to be the case or not, imagine living your life with such a mindset. If you read in the news about a tragedy that took place in Libya, there is a message there for you. If you watch the Orioles clinch a playoff spot, there is a message there for you. What the Baal Shem Tov did was acknowledge that our concern, our interest may go well beyond what we can influence – but that’s such a waste. So we bring those interests, those concerns back into our circle of influence by internalizing, by making it about us and how we can change. “Everything we see, everything we hear is a personal lesson to be learned.”
So when we see our fellow Jews in Israel who are not doing enough for their country, we need to ask ourselves, are we doing enough for our country? For our community? For our shul? Are we really carrying our part of the burden or are we allowing others to do all the work?
When we see our fellow Jews in Israel who want to diminish the Jewish character of the State, we need to ask ourselves, do we wear our Judaism with enough pride, or do we attempt to blend in, to be just like everyone else?
When we see our fellow Jews in Israel pushing their view without broad consensus, we need to ask ourselves, how well do we listen to those around us? Do we care what others think or do we bulldoze ahead because we know we’re right?
The Talmud observes (Yoma, 43b) that the Kohein Gadol in his service on Yom Kippur would first bring a sin-offering for his sins and the sins of his family. Then and only then, after atoning for his own sins, would he bring a sin-offering for the sins of the Jewish People. In a similar vein, Covey points out that those who focus on what they can change, on their circle of influence, such people, with time, tend to expand their circle of influence – those are the people who end up changing the world.
Are things broken in Israel? Yes, they are. But today is not a day to point an accusatory finger across the ocean. It’s Yom Kippur, it’s a day for real change. 25 hours of focusing on our circle of influence, of putting our hands in our own pockets, of trying to change the one person we have any chance of changing – ourselves.
by Ner Tamid | Sep 26, 2023 | Sermons
I have a great business idea for the shul. Has anyone here seen the Harry and Meghan Netflix series? There was a documentary all about Prince Harry and his wife Meghan that was put out earlier this year; it was the most watched documentary on Netflix. I want to pitch a new documentary to Netflix that is similar but so much better. My documentary would also involve royalty, romantic intrigue, and family drama, but it would have more royalty, more romance, and more drama. The documentary would be called… Joseph and His Brothers.
Think about it – a strapping young man – like Harry, who loses his mother at a young age – like Harry, sold as a slave by his brothers – which is far more interesting than having petty fights with his brother, who is almost seduced by his master’s wife – which for the British royal family is equally scandalous to falling in love with a black woman… who instead of losing his connection to the royal family becomes royalty, and then after two decades apart, reunites with his brothers. Tell me that wouldn’t be the most watched documentary ever. Ner Tamid presents Joseph and His Brothers. We’ll make millions. No more Causematch campaigns, our front lobby will be paid for in cash, gala kiddushes by O’Fishel every Shabbos. It’s going to be great.
There’s only one problem. You know that dramatic scene when Yosef reveals his true identity to his brothers. The music stops. The cameras pan the room. You can see the pain in Yosef’s eyes, the shame on the faces of the brothers. We all know what happens next in the original. They fall on their feet; they beg Yosef for forgiveness, and Yosef embraces them. But if this story were to be retold in 2023, I am not so sure what would happen next.
In 2023, I do not think Yosef’s brothers would fall on their feet. I think they’d storm out of the room. I think they would pull out their phones and tell all their followers how they had been victimized by the power-hungry Yosef and how unsafe they feel around him. Yosef would call a press conference and let reporters know that as far as he’s concerned, his family does not exist. In 2023, I am fairly certain that the brothers would sooner starve than apologize, and Yosef would sooner give up his position in Egypt than forgive his brothers. And that’s because the greatest currency in this day and age is not power, not money, not prestige, it’s victimhood.
Parul Seghal, a brilliant columnist for the New Yorker, observed how the plotline of almost every show and movie over the past decade involved someone’s trauma. Storylines are no longer about some future goal or even about romance, all stories revolve around something hidden in the closet, with flashbacks, of course, helping us understand why the protagonist is who they are today – they have been traumatically victimized in one way or another. Whether it’s Ted Lasso, Wanda Maximoff, Claire Underwood, Fleabag. There is even a reboot of “Anne of Green Gables,” only now Anne is given a history of violent abuse. Or think about the origin story of Joker – Now we know why he’s so deranged! The trauma of his life caught up with him; he was a victim!
This idea that we’ve all been victimized, that we all have trauma is true in real life as well. Television and movies serve as mirrors held up to society, giving us a chance to see ourselves. As David Brooks, in an article in the New York Times wrote, in the past “the word “trauma” referred to brutal physical wounding one might endure in war or through abuse. But usage of the word spread so that it was applied across a range of upsetting experiences… For many people, trauma became their source of identity. People began defining themselves by the way they had been hurt.” Trauma was selected by Vox as the word of the decade.
And on the one hand, this development is great. Maybe we don’t use the word trauma or victim when we think of ourselves. But all of us are far more attuned to the pain we have experienced in the past and its impact on our present. All of us are far more attuned to our emotions – the good, the bad, and the ugly. And that is wonderful. Being emotionally aware and feeling our pain is critical to our well-being. Yosef, the original Yosef, is the Torah’s biggest crier. He cries no fewer than eight times. Shoving that hurt away, ignoring it, “manning up” as they used to say when I was a child, has terrible ramifications.
We should, on the one hand, celebrate how far we’ve come. Imagine two generations ago, the survivors of the Holocaust would have been given the tools to heal instead of bottling up all their pain. There’d probably be a lot less Jewish anxiety in the world today. Feeling our pain, being true to our pain, recognizing its impact on who we are, should be encouraged.
But here’s the problem – Victimhood comes with a price. To define ourselves as a victim of someone else’s actions, to constantly ruminate over all the injustices that others perpetrated against me, is to define ourselves as someone who is acted upon; as a slave, not a master of our own destiny. But even more importantly, to hold on to resentment towards those who have wronged us is like eating rat poison and hoping the rat dies; not letting go only hurts ourselves.
And I want to pause here and make something very clear – Trauma is real, it has devastating effects on a person’s life. There are experiences which are objectively traumatic, such as abuse and war. And there are experiences which for one person is uncomfortable and for another it is truly traumatic. Each person’s emotional pain threshold is different, and sometimes the pain is so deep that it is just too hard to move on. Who are we to judge someone else’s pain? My heart goes out to anyone in such a place.
But sometimes we don’t move on because we prefer to be a victim, we prefer to hold on to that grudge, we prefer to not let go of the pain. It’s usually not conscious, it’s usually to protect ourselves in some way, but also, having a complicated origin story is kinda trendy.
(You’ll notice, by the way, I quoted the New York Times and the New Yorker. This is not a political critique; this culture of victimhood is apolitical. Yes, it’s true, you will hear Democrats use the term and idea far more often than Republicans. But Jordan Peterson and co. who constantly describe themselves and their beliefs as being under attack, is that not just another way of saying that we too are victims?)
And here’s where Yosef, the original Yosef has something to teach us. Yosef could have easily played into the “currency” of his day. In the ancient world the currency was not victimhood, it was power and strength. But Yosef did not use his power to hold himself above his brothers, and despite being exquisitely attuned to his own pain, he did not hold that over them either. Not only did Yosef forgive his brothers, he did so without them even asking for it. “Where’s the justice?” you may ask. “It’s not fair! After all they did to him, how can he just go ahead and forgive them?!”
Perhaps Yosef was a pious man. The Rambam in Hilchos Deios writes that a victim may choose to forgive without being asked for forgiveness, and to do so is ‘midas chassidus,’ an act of extreme piety. Perhaps Yosef was spiritually mature – that’s the label given by a modern philosopher, David Bednar, to those who let go. Or perhaps, Yosef realized that he stood nothing to gain, only to lose, by holding on to the pain. Yosef never said what his brothers did was okay, it was not, they tried to kill him. But he did say, it was time to move on.
But if we were to make a reboot of Yosef and His Brothers, the plotline would have to be adjusted. Forgiveness is so corny, so out of touch, so unjust. In a world in which victimhood is a badge of honor, why would anyone want to forgive? Why would anyone want to forget?
I have to add a very important caveat – another lesson we can learn from Yosef. There is an age-old question – if Yosef was such a good guy, why did he wait so long to reveal himself to his family? It’s a good question. Forget his brothers for a moment, what about his father? His father was devastated. He couldn’t send him a postcard. “Hi dad, I’m alive.” What was he waiting for?
There are many answers to this question, but I’d like to suggest something new. Perhaps Yosef was waiting until he could feel safe with his brothers. They hurt him, physically and emotionally. To forgive them and to get right back into that toxic relationship, one in which he would be hurt time and time again, that is a grave mistake. Forgiveness should not be given if it means that I lose all boundaries and allow someone to hurt me all over again. But if the individual is remorseful, or if the individual is no longer capable of hurting us, that’s when forgiveness is something to strive for.
And yet, some of us in this room are still holding on to pain from parents who are no longer in this world. Some of us are holding on to pain from siblings or friends who cannot hurt us anymore. Some of us are holding on to resentment against our community, society, maybe even G-d. And you know what? The Torah does not mandate that we forgive. One is not obligated to let go. Nor does the Torah tell us to forget. On the contrary, G-d demands of us to remember our experience as victims every day – l’maan tizkor es yom tzeis’cha mei’eretz Mitrzayim. We are commanded to remind ourselves of our experiences as slaves in Egypt, the ultimate victims. But then we are told to take our victimhood and use it as a catalyst to change; to be more compassionate people, to be more thoughtful people, to be more understanding people, and to be more forgiving.
So how do we do so? Maybe we know how much we are hurting ourselves, we want to, but we still can’t let go? How do we sincerely say, salachti, I have forgiven?
I’d like to share with you a reflection by Esau McCauley, a columnist for yes, you guessed it, the New York Times, which I found enlightening. He writes: “I do not recall giving a single Father’s Day present. There were no cards hastily scribbled on colored paper during elementary school art class. My dad never received the barbecue apron with a silly message on it. My siblings cannot recall ever giving him gifts, either. This was no joint decision; it was an instinctive, shared response to trauma…
We shared a city, if not often a home, with a man troubled by addiction. He came and went in our lives, his presence and absence coinciding with the cycles of sobriety and relapse. For a long time, all I felt about him was anger because he seemed to care more about drugs than his children.
We never developed that traditional father-son relationship, but I did forgive him before he died in 2017… I forgave my father not because I concluded that his actions were not as bad as I recalled. They were. I began the long process of forgiving when I recognized him as more than a character in my story. My father, Esau McCaulley Sr., was a human being in his own drama… We enter our parents’ lives… in the middle of things. Our parents have their own traumas and disappointments that precede our arrival in their lives… As children, we think of our parents’ decisions in terms of us. We prefer to believe that they have only ever been parents. But we are only a part of their story, not the whole of it.
…Placing my father and his addiction in his own story made his failures not less tragic but more. What was at stake was not merely a father failing a son but a whole life crumbling. His story was much bigger than the two of us. Seeing that larger story stirred my sympathy.”
Esau McCauley saw the bigger picture. He recognized the person who hurt him was not only his father, but he was also someone who had a whole life, a difficult life, independent of his role as father. For Yosef, the bigger picture was not only seeing the full picture of who his brothers were but also seeing how him being sold as a salve was part of G-d’s divine plan. Trying to understand the entirety of the life of the person who has hurt us, acknowledging G-d’s hand in our lives, allows us to begin to transform from being a victim to being able to forgive.
As we stand before G-d on this Yom Kippur morning, as we reflect on this past year and maybe even reflect on years past, it’s okay, it’s healthy to feel pain over the hurt and yes, the trauma that we have experienced. But if we are no longer in danger of being hurt again by that same person, then maybe this is the year that we change the trend of our times. Maybe this is a year not of passive victimhood, but of transformative victimhood. Maybe this is the year that we no longer define ourselves by what happened to us, but by what we do about it. Maybe this is the year we let go of all the poison and pain, the baggage that is weighing us down. Maybe this is the year that we can forgive. And in that merit, may G-d forgive us.
by Ner Tamid | Sep 19, 2023 | Sermons
My favorite moment on Rosh Hashana is the minute or two leading up to the blowing of the Shofar. Parents are running around in the social hall scooping up their children and bringing them inside. The men and women all adjust themselves to find the perfect position to stand by at attention. Children start to gather around the bimah, faces beaming with anticipation. And the ba’al tokeiah, with a creased forehead and a sense of heaviness on his shoulders, makes his way through the preliminary prayers.
The Shofar.
It’s why we come to shul on Rosh Hashana, to hear those blasts, to be moved by their wordless cry. To remind ourselves of the shofar at the giving of the Torah, to blow trumpets as we coronate G-d as our king, to express our faith in the great shofar of the Messianic era.
And then there are the memories. I am sure for many of us the sounds of the Shofar awaken dormant feelings. Perhaps the warm memories of standing near a parent or grandparent as the shofar was sounded. Or maybe a Rosh Hashana during which we felt especially inspired. Sound, especially musical sounds have the power of stirring memories from their sleep. So much symbolism and so many memories packed into a tekiah, a shevarim, a teruah.
But alas, ‘those rabbis,’ they came along and ruined everything. Because as you know, (and despite what it said on our High Holiday tickets) there is no shofar blowing today. Although the Torah instructs us to blow the shofar on Rosh Hashana even when it falls out on Shabbos, the Gemara in Rosh Hashana teaches us that the rabbis were concerned. What if someone needs to brush up on their shofar blowing skills on Rosh Hashana. And what if they decide to walk over to someone else’s home who is an expert in blowing the shofar for a last-minute tutorial. And what if they live in a community that does not have an eruv making carrying forbidden. And what if they forget that they cannot carry and they walk outside, carrying a shofar, and they violate the law of carrying on Shabbos. And soooo, it is forbidden to blow the shofar on Rosh Hashana that falls out on Shabbos.
What?! Are you kidding me?!
All of that beauty, all of that magic, all of that spiritual and emotional power thrown out the window because some shmendrik living in a community without an eruv will forget and carry on Shabbos?! Give me a break!
The great Baal HaTanya, the very first Lubavicther Rebbe, was also bothered by this question. How could it be that the rabbis robbed us of this incredible spiritual opportunity?
He offers a profound insight in response. He points out that the mere fact we’re asking the question betrays the fact that we are missing out on something so much greater than the yearly Shofar blowing. The fact that we are bothered by a lack of blowing a Shofar on Shabbos means that we do not appreciate what Shabbos has to offer. You see, that shmendrik carrying the shofar, he’s just a scapegoat. It’s not about him at all. The real reason we do not blow the shofar on Shabbos is because – we do not need to. We do not blow the shofar on Shabbos because every seven days, the magic, the emotions, the power of the shofar can be attained. What the rabbis were trying to convey to us is that we do not have to wait 365 days to feel that nostalgia. We do not have to wait until the shofar is blown to feel that excitement. We do not have to wait until the Ba’al tokeiah is red in the face to feel a tingling down our back. Every Shabbos can and should feel this way. You want nostalgia? You want meaning? You got it. Every seven days. For a full 25 hours. It’s all there.
You’re not sold, I know. C’mon, Rabbi Motzen, Shabbos is nice, but it is NOT Rosh Hashana.
But I’m in luck. Something happened this year that in my opinion, serves as the perfect metaphor for Shabbos. It will help us, I hope, understand how and why Shabbos is indeed so awesome that we don’t need to blow the shofar when Rosh Hashana falls out on Shabbos.
This event was so grand that it grabbed the attention of millions of people, it impacted the economy, it got the attention of all politicians and even more amazingly, our incredibly distracted teens. It was something that even caused a small earthquake – Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour. That’s right, the singer, Taylor Swift, and her series of concerts, called the Eras Tour.
On November 15th, 2023, presale tickets for her concerts went on sale. Ticketmaster had anticipated the sale of 1.5 million tickets. 14 million people flocked to their site causing the site to crash and spawned a federal investigation into Ticketmaster’s practices. The revenue from her tour is estimated at over a billion dollars – the most ever for a concert tour. But she’s not the only one raking it in. Glendale, Arizona reported more profits for local businesses during her visit than the Superbowl had generated a few months prior. The governor of Illinois credited her three-night stay with reviving the tourist industry of the state. Politicians across the world are falling over themselves trying to bring her concert to their cities. Santa Clara made her honorary mayor when she visited, and Minneapolis renamed their city for a day to be… Swiftie-apolis…
After spending an embarrassing amount of time scouring through tens of articles, I came up with three reasons Taylor Swift and her concerts are so popular – (What is Rabbi Motzen doing? Taylor Swift on Rosh Hashana?! It’s a good analogy. Hear me out.)
- She’s a good songwriter, but it’s more than that. Her lyrics are highly personal but also universal. Her fans all claim that they find their own stories in her
- It’s not just a concert. It’s a journey through time – the Eras tour takes you through her history, which for her fans is their It’s like going in a time machine.
- Her concerts bring together a community of people with a shared love and a shared language and even shared rituals, like giving each other friendship bracelets.
Personal story, historical journey, and a sense of community. And that, my friends, is a terribly sacrilegious but perfect metaphor for the magic of Shabbos.
Every Friday night I open my siddur to the words of l’cha dodi, a beautiful 16th century composition by the great mystic, Rav Shlomo Alkabetz. I am tired, physically and emotionally, after six days of giving it my all. But most of all, I feel distant from myself, from my life mission, from who I know I could be. I know there’s more to life than the daily grind, but I am usually so consumed by the task at hand that I cannot bring myself to imagine anything beyond. I imagine I am not the only one who feels this way on a regular basis.
And then, “Hisna’ari mei’afar kumi, shake it off (😉), get up from the dirt!” Who is this song speaking of? Shabbos? Mashiach? No. It’s talking about me! “Livshi bigdei tifarteich ami, put on your royal clothes!” You are not the sum total of your struggles; you are royalty, you have so much to offer. “Uri, uri, shir dabeiri, wake up, wake up, sing your song!” “K’vod Hashem alayich niglah!” There is a personal mission, a song that only you can sing, G-d is watching over you, He is rooting for you; spread your wings and let yourself soar!
That song, that story of Shabbos – my story, it lifts me up from the dirt every single week.
As I walk home from shul, the sun setting over my week, with no phone to look down to, I look up at the darkening sky, and I am reminded of the very first sunset. I imagine two beings standing in awe at the world around them – vayechulu hashamayim v’haaretz, G-d had just concluded the finishing touches of this planet with all its brilliance. Imagine the peace and serenity of a world with just two people?
The next morning as I look out to the community gathered here in shul – v’shamru b’nei Yisrael es haShabbos, imagining our ancestors in a barren desert being taught to rest on the seventh day, for the very first time. I imagine the communities of Jews who held onto this radical idea through the ages. I feel inspired by them, connected to them and connected to each other.
And by the end of the day, as the sun begins to set again, I have a memory of something I have yet to experience – Avraham yageil, Yitzchak yeranein, a time in the future, a true Shabbos, a time of peace, health, and prosperity for all.
Shabbos is the ultimate time machine – a historic journey from the beginning of time to its glorious end.
And lastly, Shabbos is the glue of Jewish Peoplehood. I remember hearing a prominent member of the Jewish Conservative movement lamenting their decision in the 50’s to allow the driving of cars to shul. That, he said, was when their movement’s membership started to decline. Because Shabbos, with its restrictions on travel and carrying, forces us to live with community. And yes, we can complain about how expensive it is to live within the eruv, but when the nation is facing a crisis of loneliness, I’d pay a premium for a neighbor who I can say hello to.
Shabbos is the ultimate experience; it’s my story, it’s a historic journey, and it connects us with one another. I don’t know about you, but Shabbos causes a seismic movement, a mini earthquake, in my life every seven days.
And like all good things in life, it comes at a cost. You can’t get into the concert unless you pay up. The cost of Shabbos is a hectic Friday that lets you know you’re about to embark on something magical. The cost is shutting down your business and shutting down your laptop and turning off your phone for 25 hours. Yes, there are restrictions, but there are also restrictions as to what you can bring inside the stadium at a Taylor Swift concert. Those restrictions are there to create an ambience like no other.
And hey, it’s a free country, you don’t need to go all the way. You could do a half-Shabbos; a Friday night meal, some candles, keep some of the rules, ignore others. But it’s the equivalent of partying in the parking lot pre-concert. It’s nice. But it’s just not the same as standing inside, swaying, singing, being lifted up by the crowd.
And for all of us who “keep the rules” of Shabbos, before we pat ourselves on the back, let’s take our metaphor one step further. You’re at a Taylor Swift concert, or for all you alfa males out there – maybe you’re at a Ravens game, and excuse me, but you need to go to the bathroom. Okay, okay, you need to make a quick call or you’re hungry and want to buy a drink or some food. How long do you spend outside in the hallway at the food stands? We’ve all done this. We move as fast as we possibly can. We’re at an amazing concert! We’re at a game! We don’t want to miss a second!
How much of Shabbos do we miss out on?
The Gemara teaches us that on Shabbos we have an extra soul. Some understand this to mean we have an extra appetite on Shabbos. I guess that explains all the food. The deeper meaning is that on Shabbos, our spiritual impact is so much greater. During the week, we’re up in the nosebleeds with an obstructed view and on Shabbos, we’re up against the stage, but it’s not Taylor on the stage, it’s G-d! It’s an unparalleled opportunity to connect to Him through prayer and through Torah study. And you know who else is standing up there with you? Your loved ones, yourself – you know, the people you ignore throughout the week. Shabbos is an unparalleled opportunity to connect to our loved ones, to go on a walk, to have a real and uninterrupted conversation, and it’s the ultimate time for self-reflection. Are we really going to spend these precious moments waiting in line for popcorn?
It’s not just Swifties who are looking for a transcendent experience. We are all weighed down by the bad news we hear daily, by the challenges we face and bear. We all feel assaulted by the hate and discord in the streets. We all have that gnawing feeling from time to time that there is more to life than work and play.
Thank G-d, there is a tried and tested method to revive our faith in humankind. There is a tool we have access to that strengthens the bonds between us, our family, and friends. There is a mechanism at our fingertips to awaken our soul. “More than the Jews kept Shabbos, Shabbos kept the Jews.” Shabbos is what keeps us together in a culture that tries to divide us – look around at this wonderful mix of people! Shabbos is what keeps us sane in a world that spins faster and faster by the day – who here doesn’t feel like they’re drowning? Shabbos is what keeps us in touch with our soul in a world that denies her existence. So yes, Shabbos is the most timely message of all. And now we have a choice to make. What is it going to be?
Can we put our phones down for 25 hours and recharge our soul? Can we take our Shabbos meals seriously and fill them with meaningful conversation, a weekly opportunity to strengthen our family values? Can we look into the eyes of our loved ones for a few moments a week and connect ever so deeply? Can we lose ourselves in a book for a few hours, maybe even a Jewish book, and allow our minds to soar? Can we take advantage of the magical atmosphere on Shabbos and pray, slowly, thoughtfully? Can we sing? Here at shul? At home? Yes, song – the ultimate spiritual tool to bring people together that allows us to feel the edges of our soul? Can this be a year in which we invest in what G-d describes as the greatest gift to humankind?
We don’t need Taylor Swift.
We don’t even need the Shofar.
We have Shabbos.
Good Shabbos. Shabbat Shalom.
