Let There be Light

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!

A Sukkah for One

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 19^th 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.