Tag Archives: God

the twenty eighth day of Elul

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What do we do when we remember?
The Hebrew root זָכַר appears about 240 times in Tanakh – meaning to call to mind, mentioning, or bringing to active awareness. The verb extends beyond cognitive recall; and includes the expectation of acting on what is remembered.
It is not surprising that the command to remember is so powerful in Judaism and Jewish texts – with no remembering there is no story to be passed down the generations, there is no long term identity, there is no more past, present and future.
And remembering is one of the first stages of teshuvah – of our journey back towards God, our journey to become our best selves, to return to who we would ideally be.
But remembering can also be problematic. Sometimes it is a mitzvah to forget, to let go of emotions that hold us back from the journey of teshuvah.
And sometimes the problem is that remembering is an active behaviour, and as we remember we already change what was. Years ago as an undergraduate I was taught that memory had been thought to be fixed, that one could take it out and examine it and return it without change, but that that understanding of memory was painfully wrong. Each time we examine a memory, consider it, relive it, or simply recall it – we change it and we return it changed.
As Marcel Proust famously wrote ““Remembrance of things past is not necessarily the remembrance of things as they were.”
Sometimes memory plays us false by providing us with the bittersweet feelings of nostalgia, as we yearn for something we may never truly have had, but certainly can not recreate exactly in our present. Sometimes memory damages us by the different lenses time has evolved, so that what happened in the past may be seen quite differently then than we see it in the present. As LP Hartley wrote in The Go-Between: “The past is a foreign country, they do things differently there”
Memory can be a false friend, but we cannot disentangle ourselves from the need to remember. It is important to remember and review, to repent and to mitigate, to let go and to move forward towards living the life of our best selves. But as you think back, remember that memory is created by us, changed by our interaction with it, not always what it seems
Rabbi Shmuel bar Nachmani (Berachot 55b) wrote “A person is shown in a dream only what is suggested by their own thoughts…”
We remember through the lens of history, of experiences, of emotion.
Judaism commands us to remember – the sabbath day, the covenant at Sinai, the exodus from Egypt – to remember and to tell the story so others remember too.
Going forward, what do you want to remember? And what do you need to forget?
What do you want others to remember? And what do you hope they will forget?
Memories can be created in every moment we live – and they can be overlaid and enriched by how we continue to explore them. Life is for building on memories and for making memories. Until our last breath, making memories is the gift we have been given.

The twenty sixth day of Elul

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MISHNAH: Rebbi Neḥoniah ben Haqqanah used to recite a short prayer when he entered and when he left the house of study. They asked him, what kind of prayer is this? He told them: When I enter, I pray that no mishap should come through me and when I leave I give thanks for my lot….
Gemara:…. In the house of Rebbi Yannai they say: He who awakes from his sleep must say “Praised are You, o Eternal, Who resurrects the dead. My Lord, I sinned before You. May it please You, o Eternal, my God, that You might give me a good heart, good part, good inclinations, good hope, good repute, benevolent eye, good soul, meek soul and meek spirit. Your Name should not be desecrated by us; do not make us a byword in the mouths of all creatures; our future should not end in destruction, nor our hope in sorrow… (Jerusalem Talmud Berachot 4:2)
There are many personal prayers in tractate Berachot in both of the Talmuds, and many of them resonate powerfully to this day. But coming across this one – a prayer both about personal responsibility and about the responsibility we have for others, feels particularly relevant to this season and this year. Rebbi Nehonia was a contemporary of R. Yochanan ben Zakkai, a 2nd generation tanna. He directed his own academy and authored several prayers and laws. Highly respected by his peers, he attributed his unusually advanced age to his harmonious relations with others. His prayer that he would not mislead or misinform others in the study house, and his gratitude for his lot show both humility and deep appreciation for his life. But it is the prayer of R. Yannai, to be said every morning on wakening and to add to the blessing for the return of the soul to the body, asking God for a good heart, good reputation, good actions… and then the petition that our actions align with God’s expectations of us, that we do not act to create a Hillul haShem, desecrating the name of God in the world, and finally that we should continue into the future, that we should continue to hope. The prayer goes from the very personal and individual into the equally personal but communal space – we belong to a community, how we behave in that community and how that community behaves in our name is part of the same “whole”.

The twenty fifth day of Elul

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Ani Ve’Ata (Me and You)
by Arik Einshtein

Ani v’Ata by Arik Einstein

Me and You
Me and you, we’ll change the world
Me and you, then all the others will come
It was already said before
It doesn’t matter
Me and you, we’ll change the world.
Me and you, we’ll try from the beginning
It will be bad for us,
Never mind, it’s not terrible
It was already said before
It doesn’t matter
Me and you, we’ll change the world.
Me and you, we’ll change the world
Me and you, then all the others will come
It was already said before
It doesn’t matter
Me and you, we’ll change the world.

אֲנִי וְאַתָּה

אֲנִי וְאַתָּה נְשָׁנֶה אֶת הַעוֹלָם,
אֲנִי וְאַתָּה אַז יַבוֹאוּ כְּבָר כּוּלָּם,
אַמְרוּ אֶת זֶה קוֹדֶם לְפַנָי,
לֹא מְשָׁנֶה – אֲנִי וְאַתָּה נְשָׁנֶה אֶת הַעוֹלָם.

אֲנִי וְאַתָּה נְנָסֶה מֵהַתְחָלָה,
יְהֶיֶה לָנוּ רַע, אֵין דָּבָר זֶה לֹא נוֹרָא,
אַמְרוּ אֶת זֶה קוֹדֶם לְפַנָי,
זֶה לֹא מְשָׁנֶה – אֲנִי וְאַתָּה נְשָׁנֶה אֶת הַעוֹלָם.

אֲנִי וְאַתָּה נְשָׁנֶה אֶת הַעוֹלָם,
אֲנִי וְאַתָּה אַז יַבוֹאוּ כְּבָר כּוּלָּם,
אַמְרוּ אֶת זֶה קוֹדֶם לְפַנָי,
לֹא מְשָׁנֶה – אֲנִי וְאַתָּה נְשָׁנֶה אֶת הַעוֹלָם.

Arik Einstein wrote this song in 1971, and it quickly became the song for a generation, who needed the optimism it expressed and who desperately wanted to believe that the world could be changed for the better by them.
The narrative seems fairly simple – together we can change the world, others will come and join us, some will scoff and mock, we aren’t the first generation to try to do this and others have failed. But none of this matters because you and I can change the world.
But look a little deeper than youthful optimism expressed in song. Ani v’Ata – You and I – it echoes Martin Buber’s I-Thou philosophy – the relationship between human beings is predicated on the relationship between human beings and God and God (the Eternal ‘Thou’). Sometimes our relationships with others are superficial or contractual or otherwise “others” the other – we treat people as objects rather than find ourselves seeing them and their humanity, rather than creating deeper relationship. But as Buber writes, it is possible for us to create good and satisfying and mutually beneficial relationships with others if we take from what we have learned from our I-Thou relationship and use it in the human realm.
There is of course more to this song – You and I – we need each other, we need the partnership and the relationship of others for us to be our best selves. Just as God creates an “ezer k’negdo” a partner who is equal and different from the first human being in Genesis, so all human being need others to help them to grow and to change.
And then the other “hooks” in the song – “it will be bad for us” “it was already said before” – referencing the hardships of people who strive to be different, to bring change, to lead others and convince them of the importance of what is needed to be done. Referencing the endless iterations of people trying and failing to make change, who often then come to believe that change is not possible.
But this song says – change is possible. It will be hard for us and we may find others mocking or tearing down our visions of the future, but change is possible. We can do it together. It is up to the reader who is the partner – it can be other people it can be a relationship with the divine, it can be both possibilities – But it is always possible to change, and it is up to us to make the first steps towards change.

The twenty fourth day of Elul

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אַחַת  שָׁאַלְתִּי מֵאֵת־יְהֹוָה אוֹתָהּ אֲבַקֵּשׁ שִׁבְתִּי בְּבֵית־יְהֹוָה כׇּל־יְמֵי חַיַּי לַחֲזוֹת בְּנֹעַם־יְהֹוָה וּלְבַקֵּר בְּהֵיכָלוֹ׃
One thing I ask of God, only that do I seek:
to live in God’s house all the days of my life,
to gaze upon God’s beauty, to frequent the temple.

There is a widespread practice in the Jewish world to recite psalm 27 from the beginning of Elul until the end of Sukkot, a practice that is said to have stemmed from the kabbalistic belief that the name of God is found in it thirteen times, and these correspond to thirteen pathways of mercy, so the psalm enables us to reach the mercy of God and annul the expected heavenly decrees of judgement we might face at this time. (Benjamin Beinish in Shem Tov Katan 9b)


It is a beautiful psalm, and unusual too in that the trajectory of the psalm moves from a rather definite certainty in God’s protection, through anxiety and fear of enemies who can do great harm, leading to a recognition of the need for God’s protection – one would normally expect that trajectory to be the other way around.


And the mood changes from the initial absolute certainty in the protection of God with this verse – “Achat Sha’alti -One thing I ask of God”


For the psalmist the request is for the ability to be part of the Temple life and rhythm, – to live in God’s house, protected and safe from the wars and enemies who are all around.
While we can sadly recognise the scenario of being surrounded by enemies wanting Israel’s end, we neither have a Temple nor do we expect God to protect us from enemies or to intervene in modern warfare.


The psalmist writes of external enemies, but the use of this psalm in our penitential period points to a different interpretation – of our confidence in God being questioned not by outside events but by our own internal processes, our doubts or our feelings of dislocation because of our own behaviours.


Which leads us to the question – what is the one thing we would ask of God today, for ourselves, if we could? And having thought of what we might ask of God, what is one thing God might ask of us?

The twenty third day of Elul

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Rabbi Elimelech of Lizhensk (1717–1787) is said to have written a meditation to be used before prayer, in order to be able to pray without the distraction of our emotions. A prayer before formal prayer in the morning service, a kind of preparation of the soul, a letting go of feelings that hold us back, a reminder that how we behave with others has an impact on how we find our way to God.

This forms part of the prayer:

“Place within our hearts the gift of seeing the goodness in one another,
the strengths of each person and not their shortcomings.
May our words to one another be honest, kind,
and pleasing in Your sight.
Let no trace of hatred take root in our hearts,
one person against another.
Strengthen us in our love for You,
As it is revealed and known to you
that all we seek, all we do,
is to bring You joy.”


The twenty second day of Elul

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Twenty second day of Elul
There are said to be 613 mitzvot (commandments) in the bible, though there is some debate as to exactly what they are. The Sefer haChinuch (“Book of Education”) is an anonymous work written in thirteenth-century Spain that details 613 commandments and explains the reasons behind them using biblical texts. There are other formulations too, but whatever one chooses, only one mitzvah can be done without any conscious forethought – that of “Shikhechah” – the mitzvah of forgetting. Based on the verse in Deuteronomy “When you reap the harvest in your field and overlook a sheaf in the field, do not turn back to get it; it shall go to the stranger, the orphan, and the widow—in order that the ETERNAL your God may bless you in all your undertakings.” (Deut 24:19), this is a mitzvah designed to ensure that having left the grain in the field, those people who are following the harvesters to glean what they can from what is left over, are not inconvenienced by the landowner returning. Once he has left the field with his harvest, the remaining “leket” and “peah” belong to the poor.
“To leave what is forgotten to the poor: That we were commanded when we forget a sheaf in the field to leave it there, and that we not return to take it when the thing becomes known to us. And about this is it stated (Deuteronomy 24:19), “and you forget a sheaf in the field […]; it shall go to the stranger, the orphan, and the widow” — meaning to say, leave it there for them.
It is from the roots of the commandment [that it is] since the poor and destitute — in their sin and in their poverty — suspend their eyes upon the produce, in their seeing the owners of the field sheaving their sheaves “according to the blessing of the Eternal that God gave to them”; and they think in their heart, saying, “If only it will be like this for me, to gather sheaves into my house — and if only I could bring one, I would rejoice in it”; and hence it was from God’s kindnesses towards all creatures, may God be blessed, to fulfil this desire of theirs when it occurs that the owner of the field forgets it. There is also a benefit for the owner of the field, that he acquires through this a goodly soul; for truly through the trait of generosity and a blessed soul that does not place its heart upon the forgotten sheaf and leaves it to the destitute — on those with such a soul — does the blessing of God descend forever. (Sefer haChinuch 592:1-2)

I have to say I like the idea of it being a mitzvah to forget. While this is based on a blessing to those who even inadvertently support the poor and needy in society, the idea of it being not only a good thing for others but also for ourselves that we can forget something we have held on to closely, is one I can get behind.
How many times have we found ourselves remembering with shame and embarrassment something that happened a long time ago, or that was minor in the minds of everyone else, but stays with us in full technicolour horror down the years? How many times have we hung on to our anger at the actions of someone else?
This is a strange mitzvah in so many ways, because it cannot be done with forethought. But also, it is a mitzvah that can only be done when we have made a mistake, not completed the full task we expected to do or done something not according to plan. We have made a mistake, and we can turn it into a blessing.
So as you examine your lives, look to see what you are holding on to that is holding you back, damaging you in some way or damaging a relationship or a reconciliation. And, recognising that that holding on has been a mistake, practise the idea of turning it into a blessing, let go and forget, it can be over and we can move forward without holding on to emotions that can only damage us.

The twenty first day of Elul

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Rabbi Eliezer was known to be very severe and rather domineering with his pupils and his colleagues. He was inflexible and deeply conservative. But he was also recognised to be a great scholar and a worthy leader within the community.
During one particularly bad drought, Rabbi Eliezer led the community in prayer for rain. 13 different fast days were instituted in order to show penance to God, to beg for forgiveness and life giving rain. But still the sky stayed clear. As the people were preparing to leave the synagogue on the last day, Rabbi Eliezer called out to them “have you prepared graves for yourselves?” a question so shocking and terrible that they began to cry, and only then the rain began. (Ta’anit 25a-b)

The Talmud tells a second story, where again Rabbi Eliezer led the community in a long and extended amidah prayer while they all fasted, but his prayers were still not answered. Then Rabbi Akiva, a student and friend of Rabbi Eliezer, added his prayers – five sentences each beginning with the phrase “Avinu Malkeinu”. At that moment, the rains began and the famine was averted. The rabbis began to ask why the young Akiva was successful in his prayers whereas the great Rabbi Eliezer was not. And a bat Kol, a heavenly voice was heard to say that the issue was not one of greatness, but because Rabbi Eliezer was exact and demanding whereas Rabbi Akiva was relaxed and forgiving, and God had responded to each according to his personality.
How do we both create and receive the forgiveness we seek? Our liturgy quotes God as saying (as God said to Moses in Numbers 14:19-20 after Moses begs God to forgive the people who rebel after the report from the spies) “Pardon, I pray, the iniquity of this people according to Your great kindness, as You have forgiven this people ever since Egypt.” And GOD said, “I pardon, as you have asked – Salachti kidvarecha. “Salachti kidvarecha” – the answer is in the word kidvarecha – the thoughts and feelings we have and we express as we search for this elusive yet much wished for state. Maybe we have been a little too much like Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrcanus, a little too inflexible, rigid in our attitudes and stubborn in our analyses. Maybe we have been more concerned with our status and how things look to others than we should have been. There is no question in the Talmud that Rabbi Eliezer didn’t pray – simply that his prayer was not conducive to being answered. In the first story the people finally comprehend that they have come to the end of the road – if their prayer is not answered this time they will die – and it is that realisation that gives their prayer the added dimension – urgency, depth, honesty – that means it will be answered. But it is from the second story that we learn something new, that God treats us as we treat others. If we refuse to forgive others, we too will have a hard time attaining forgiveness from God for ourselves. The same message is found elsewhere in the Talmud in tractate Rosh Hashanah 17a, where we find the statement “Whose sin does God forgive? The one who forgives sins (against themself)” – the person who is forgiving to others is more easily forgiven by God, who responds middah k’neged middah – measure for measure – towards each person according to their own behaviour and personality.

The nineteenth day of Elul

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The first use of the verb “k.p.r” is in the story of Noah, when God instructs Noah
עֲשֵׂה לְךָ תֵּבַת עֲצֵי־גֹפֶר קִנִּים תַּעֲשֶׂה אֶת־הַתֵּבָה וְכָפַרְתָּ אֹתָהּ מִבַּיִת וּמִחוּץ בַּכֹּפֶר׃
“Make yourself an ark of gopher wood; make it an ark with compartments, and cover it inside and out with pitch.” (Genesis 6:14)
Here the root of the word appears to mean both“ to cover”, and, since the word for pitch uses the same root – “pitch – some kind of waterproof and protective covering- so we can extend this meaning to “to protect”
We find an echo of Noah’s “ark” in the ark made for the tent of meeting, the place where the presence of God will hover: For this “aron” too is to have a protective covering – the kapporet (exodus 25:17-21) – the mercy seat that covers and protects the ark and the stones within it, decorated with cherubim to the sacrifices of atonement to be made by the high priest.
When we come to the more usual formations of the verbal root, it is generally found in Temple artefacts and ritual – almost always in the plural and in the piel or hitpael binyan , and almost always to do with the sacrifices to be made there to atone for the sins of the people, either as individuals or as a collective.
Altogether the root appears over a hundred times in Tanakh, and from its earliest and most “material” form in the “kal” binyan that we find in Noah, it grows to have meanings or undertones of “covering” or “protecting”, “appeasing”, “ransoming”, or a “reconciliation”.
What does it mean for us today, that we name our holiest day of the year after this verbal root with meanings of to cover over and protect, to appease and to ransom, to reconcile?
I think it means that we recognise that we cannot undo the past – but we can come to terms with it, and we refuse to allow it to define us and our future. We can create a kapporet – a protective “lid” or closure between us and what has happened– to enable us to let go of the damage or pain we have been carrying, and to accommodate out reality as we move into the future.

The fourteenth day of Elul

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From the very days of your ancestors you have turned away from My laws and have not observed them. Turn back to Me, and I will turn back to you—said GOD of Hosts. But you ask, “How shall we turn back?” Malachi 3:7

לְמִימֵי אֲבֹתֵיכֶם סַרְתֶּם מֵחֻקַּי וְלֹא שְׁמַרְתֶּם שׁוּבוּ אֵלַי וְאָשׁוּבָה אֲלֵיכֶם אָמַר יְהֹוָה צְבָאוֹת וַאֲמַרְתֶּם בַּמֶּה נָשׁוּב׃

Teshuvah – Returning to the ways that God expects of us, is the theme of these Days of Awe, and again and again our liturgy exhorts us to return to God, and that should we do so, God will return to us. But as the prophet Malachi records – sometimes our response to that exhortation is – I would like to – but how do I do it?

Tradition tells us that teshuvah is not an event, but a process. Maimonides codifies the laws of Repentance in his Mishneh Torah, which begins

(1) All commandments of the Torah, whether they be mandatory or prohibitive, if a person violates any one of them, either presumptuously or erroneously, when they will repent and turn away from their sinful way, they are obliged to confess before God, blessed is God! even as it is said: “When a man or woman shall commit any sin..… Then they shall confess their sin which they have done (Num. 5.6–7), which is a confession of words. Such confession is a mandatory commandment.”

So the very beginning of the process is that a person must have in some way sinned, either deliberately or by mistake, and that they will recognise that they have done so. The recognition then leads to an acknowledgement, in the form of a confession before God.

How do we recognise and acknowledge what we have done / failed to do? The process is called cheshbon hanefesh – literally the accounting of the soul. The metaphor of a cheshbon is deliberate – the word is used in hebrew to describe a calculation, a reckoning, an account, and is the word in modern hebrew for the bill at a point of sale.

So we begin by looking in detail at our past selves, and look at each action – was it something that gave my life more meaning and brought me closer to my best self? Was it something I did carelessly that maybe impacted negatively? Was it something that brought me selfish gain or pleasure but did not reflect well on my values?

It is the first step in a process of return to our best selves, but cheshbon nefesh does not only have to be done retroactively as we reflect on our lives at this time. Cheshbon nefesh can be a useful metric for us to make choices going forward – we can ask ourselves how a particular choice will sit in the accounts book – will it take me closer to who I want to be or will it take me further away?

The thirteenth day of Elul

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This story is repeated in many management curricula, though it is unclear who first told it. The metaphor is powerful and important – how do we think about and set our priorities? A good task for Elul:

A professor in a business school walks into a lecture hall and places a gallon-size empty jar on the table in the front of the room. He proceeds to fill the jar with large stones, as many as he can. “Is the jar full?” he asks his students. “Yes,” they reply. The professor pulls a bucket of pebbles from underneath the table and pours the pebbles in between the large stones. “Is it full now?” he asks. “Yes,” they reply.
Next the professor pulls out a bucket of sand and pours it into the pickle jar, its grains neatly filling the crevices left between the stones and pebbles. “Is it full now?” he asks. A bit more wary, some students shake their heads no. The professor pulls out a pitcher of water and fills the jar to the brim.

“What is the purpose of this demonstration?” the professor asks. The students offer platitudes like “you can always fit a bit more into your schedule,” or “a busy person can always find time to accomplish an additional task.”

“No! That’s not it at all!” the professor says. “The point is that unless I add the large stones first, I can never get them into the jar at all. You have to arrange your life so that high priorities come first, or you won’t find time for them at all.”

What are your Jewish priorities for the coming year?

Rava said: After departing from this world, when a person is brought to judgement for the life he lived in this world, they say to him in the order of that verse: Did you conduct business faithfully? Did you designate times for Torah study? Did you engage in procreation? Did you await salvation? Did you engage in the dialectics of wisdom or understand one matter from another? And, nevertheless, beyond all these, if the fear of the Lord is his treasure, yes, he is worthy, and if not, no, none of these accomplishments have any value. There is a parable that illustrates this. A person who said to his emissary: Bring a kor of wheat up to the attic for me to store there. The messenger went and brought it up for him. He said to the emissary: Did you mix a kav of ḥomton, a preservative to keep away worms, into it for me? He said to him: No. He said to him: If so, it would have been preferable had you not brought it up. Of what use is worm-infested wheat? Likewise, Torah and mitzvot without the fear of God are of no value. (Shabbat 31a)

Look at the questions again. The first is about our ethics in our interactions with others – not about rituals or religious observance. The second about making time for our spiritual nourishment. The third about engagement with the continuation both of Judaism and of the world, reminding us that each of us is responsible for creating something lasting that will live on and nurture the world after us – as the sages ask of us- “were you engaged in planting seeds?” The fourth – did you continue to hope and not to despair? Did you find ways to nurture hope in yourself and others or did you join those who claim hope is pointless? The fifth question asks about our clinging to the primacy of moral discernment – of knowing what is right and what is wrong an holding to the principles of righteousness.

And finally – did you act in the world not mechanistically or without a sense of the value of our world, but with an awareness that we must do more than “just enough” because our world deserves more than that. Whether you see ethical actions as stemming from a belief in God or a belief in the value of humanity – to do them without any value system but only as a way to make material success or to evade the judgement of others is to minimise their importance.

Whatever priorities you choose in the coming year, take a look at these and the order they come in (From the rabbinic interpretation of Isaiah 33:6) – begin with ethical actions and find your way to God through nurturing your spiritual life, your relational life, your engagement with the world and your hope in the future – tradition offers a pathway that is worth exploring