Tag Archives: spirituality

The fourteenth day of Elul

Posted on by
1

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

Posted on by
Reply

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

The twelfth day of Elul

Posted on by
1

I had a friend at university who had misunderstood the famous quote attributed to Socrates by Plato – “The unexamined life is not worth living”, and believed it to say – in the misery of end of year examinations – “The examined life is not worth living”

Socrates was arguing that for our lives to have meaning and value, it is critical that we reflect on how we are living them, develop an awareness of ourselves and our actions, thinking seriously about the choices we make. If we question our actions and our beliefs, if we drill down into what our motivations might be, and consider the consequences of what we do, then our lives will be lived with more purpose, we will learn to grow into our authentic selves.

But I think a Jewish lens adds an extra dimension. Judaism teaches of the value of every human life – each of us is made betzelem elohim, in the image of God. So I believe it could never frame the idea as Socrates had – that a life without certain conditions is not worth living. Judaism teaches that examining our selves and our lives with frequency and with regularity makes something even more than giving us clear purpose or authenticity – it allows us to create meaning, to go above and beyond understanding ourselves or creating change for our own lives, and instead invites us into the role of the Creator par excellence. By examining our lives and our behaviour we can aspire to more, we can become agents of change, co-creating the world as God expects of us.

This period of Elul and the Yamim Noraim is the most intense (though certainly not the only period in the Jewish year) that reminds us of the responsibility we have in the world, not only to make meaning for ourselves, but to make a world of meaning. Not only to make a tikkun – a repair – in our lives, but a tikkun in the world in which we live. What may begin with examination of the self should not end with understanding only the self, but is the first step towards understanding our responsibility to others, from those who came before us to those who will live long after us, and to those with whom we live today

The tenth day of Elul

Posted on by
Reply

“What day is it?” asked Pooh
It’s today,” squeaked Piglet.
My favourite day,” said Pooh.” ― A.A. Milne

The Jewish festival calendar ensures that we create rituals and safeguard days which take us out of ordinary time, out of our routines and regular activities. These are days which we create for ourselves in order to make a perspective on our lives that we are rarely able to see. Shabbat is the most regular such day, a day where the business and busyness of ordinary life is put aside for 25 hours. But we also have an extended period of time to dig deeper, reflect longer, consider not just the immediate week gone by and the week to come, but the life gone by and the life to come – the period of the Yamim Noraim, the Days of Awe. And these extend from the beginning of the month of Elul, right up until Hoshanah Rabbah.


Most of the time we live our lives carelessly, always looking forward or else living in the past, hoping or rehearsing or editing our lives. We rarely notice the present moment, and this tendency not to be fully present in the moment is made easier, as we view important events in our lives through the lens of our camera phones, or remain connected to our technology instead of paying full attention to our surroundings or to the people we are physically with. And we are able to distract ourselves with the activities of others, rather than take the time to give ourselves our full attention.

And then comes Elul, and Rosh Hashanah, leading into Yom Kippur and even through to Succot, nudging us to reflect, to notice – reminding ourselves to stop, to look and listen, to pay attention to the needs of ourselves and our world.


Rabbi Nachman of Bratslav the 18th Century Hasidic master whose short life (he died aged 39) was filled with spiritual teaching and thinking, reminds us of how important it is to do this, writing: “All we have in the world is the day, and the hour where we are, for the morrow is an entirely different world”.

The ninth day of Elul

Posted on by
Reply

“And God lifted me out of the pit of destruction, etc.” Did David really descend into a pit? Rather, David said, “I was already on my way down to the pit, and God did not let me fall.” And so it says (Psalm 16:11), “You make known to me the path of life.” Therefore it is said, “God lifted me out of the pit of destruction,” and not only that, but God lifted me up to a high place, as it says (Psalm 18:34), “God made my feet like the feet of deer and set me secure on the heights.” Why did God do this for me? Because of my hope in God. God did not desire sacrifices or offerings, but rather hope. (Midrash Tehillim 40:2)

The Midrash on psalm 40 reminds us that we are not alone, that the universe is neither random nor intentionally cruel. That if we continue to strive for hope, even in the face of what may feel a lot like despair or destruction, then God will not be far away.

Nachman of Bratslav- a famous depressive – is reported as having said it is forbidden to despair:

At the time he spoke the torah on Va’etchanan, which was published in Likutei [Moharan], Part II, section 78, and he’s speaking there about it being always forbidden to bring oneself to despair, however things are, heaven forfend. And he said it this way: “Men tor zich nisht m’ya’esh zayn. Gevalt! Zayy aych nisht m’ya’esh!” [It is forbidden to despair! Oy! [or: Bloody murder!] Don’t despair!” And he really drew out the word “gevalt” as one who does who cautions and cries out from the heart’s depths. (Chayei Moharn 49)

The main thing is to encourage oneself in every way possible {for there is no such thing as despair! (What he said was: Kein yiush iz gor nit fahr-handin !) He drew out these words Kein yiush…, and said them emphatically and with very amazing and awesome depth, in order to instruct and hint to each and every person throughout the generations not to despair under any circumstances, no matter what happens to him.} And be what may, even if one has fallen to where he has fallen, God spare us, since he encourages himself with something, he still has hope of repenting and returning to God.(Likutei Moharan, Part II 78:7:1-3)

It is indeed important not to despair – but maybe it would be easier to remind ourselves to continue to have hope. That, as the midrash says – God does not want our sacrifices or our offerings – God wants us to have hope.

Eighth day of Elul

Posted on by
Reply

In the Talmud there is a discussion about what happens after we die. We go to Sheol – a Hebrew word deriving from the verb “to question” – and there we are interrogated. We will be asked four questions about the life we have lived. They are good questions and I want us to ask – and even to try to answer them for ourselves. They are questions that can stay with us as we prepare for the Yamim Noraim – and as we move into the coming years.

The previous three questions can be found in the previous three posts

The last question the soul is to be asked is this “Tzipita l’yeshua?” do you anticipate redemption, are you living in a state of hope?

Hope:

The theologian and philosopher Emil Fackenheim wrote “to be a Jew is to hope,”

And Rabbi Jonathan Sacks added “to be a Jew is to be an agent of hope”

Future Tense – How The Jews Invented Hope by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks
“Judaism is a religion of details, but we miss the point if we do not sometimes step back and see the larger picture. To be a Jew is to be an agent of hope in a world serially threatened by despair. Every ritual, every mitzvah, every syllable of the Jewish story, every element of Jewish law, is a protest against escapism, resignation or the blind acceptance of fate. Judaism is a sustained struggle, the greatest ever known, against the world that is, in the name of the world that could be, should be, but is not yet. There is no more challenging vocation. Throughout history, when human beings have sought hope they have found it in the Jewish story. Judaism is the religion, and Israel the home, of hope.”

The seventh day of Elul

Posted on by
Reply

In the Talmud there is a discussion about what happens after we die. We go to Sheol – a Hebrew word deriving from the verb “to question” – and there we are interrogated. We will be asked four questions about the life we have lived. They are good questions and I want us to ask – and even to try to answer them for ourselves. They are questions that can stay with us as we prepare for the Yamim Noraim – and as we move into the coming years.

The third question

The third question we are to be asked is this:
Nasa’atta b’emunah? Did you act with honesty and integrity in your dealings with others?
Maybe one of the hardest questions to answer – we may at some level be aware of whether we are connecting to our people and engaging in living Judaism, We are probably aware – if only through feelings of guilt and inadequacy, of our record with family relationships, but our dealings with other people – so many of them – how can we really reflect on each one and ask ourselves this question?

The reality we should acknowledge is that what we say isn’t always what we mean; We need to admit to ourselves that even when we mean to do something and say we will do it, it doesn’t necessarily follow that we actually do it, and so we create a dissonance that we have to address. Once we recognise that we are not living up to our expressed and internal values we are able to take the next step to try to realign our reality to our principles, to behave differently, to try to be that wonderful thing, a mensch. The act of teshuvah is really the realigning of our saying with our doing, the ongoing process of matching our behaviour with our ideals. And here again is the same issue. Nasa’atta b’emunah? Are you going about your business like a mensch? Are you really acting as though you are b’tzelem Elohim, in the image of God?

Nasa’atta b’emunah – were you a mensch? Did you stay true to your values? Did your behaviour make people respect you or did it make them fear you? Did you behave in a way you would like others behave towards you?

The previous two questions can be found in the previous two posts. Tomorrow will bring the fourth question

The sixth day of Elul

Posted on by
1

In the Talmud there is a discussion about what happens after we die. We go to Sheol – a Hebrew word deriving from the verb “to question” – and there we are interrogated. We will be asked four questions about the life we have lived. They are good questions and I want us to ask – and even to try to answer them for ourselves. They are questions that can stay with us as we prepare for the Yamim Noraim – and as we move into the coming years.

The second question God asks is this:
Asakta b’priya u’reviyah?
Did you devote yourself to family?
If engaging in Torah is a way of reaching both forwards and backwards in time and of pulling both into our worlds, how much more so is the family the touchstone of our immortality. We inherit so much from our parents and from their parents – not only physical looks and inherited tendencies, not only gestures and ways of being in the world. We inherit all sorts of other things – second and third generation groups will speak of the damage that can be passed through families. Dynasties of musicians or scientists demonstrate the intangibles that get passed on. Social workers can speak of the cycles of abuse or neglect; community rabbis can testify to the many non Jews who come to them to convert to Judaism – because they feel Jewish, because on further research a Jewish grand parent or great grandparent has been discovered, because they just know they have a Jewish soul.
Our liturgy speaks of a Book of Life in which all our actions are recorded. It is a powerful image, a metaphor for the truth that nothing we do – neither good nor bad – is ever really lost in this world, even if we forget. The book of Life exists in a number of ways, it exists within our own souls, but we also write it upon the souls of our family – our children, our parents, our partners, our family relations and the friends who act as our family in this modern more fractured world.
In particular, the book of our life is inscribed upon our children. They take on our pain and they internalise our experiences. They pay for many of our mistakes, and they struggle not to take on our lives and our expectations instead of their own.
The question we are asked after we die will not be did we love our family, or did we leave them well provided for. It is more subtle and complex than that. Rather like the first question it is about how we set our priorities in our life more than the actual acts we did or did not do. So, did we set aside time for Torah means did we engage in Jewish activity and covenant, but it also asks – did we control our time in such a way that we were able to make the choices we wanted to make? Did we fritter away our time or give away the control of our lives to someone else and abdicate from the responsibilities of our freedom? Asakta b’priyah uv’riyah? Means did we busy ourselves with our families, did we devote our energy and our thoughts to them, did we make their needs our preoccupation?
It is a truism that when we look back in our lives, what we regret tends not to be the things we did, but the things we didn’t do. All community rabbis will tell you that no-one regrets not spending more time in the office, but many people regret not spending more time with their families. So here is the question – asakta b’priyah uv’riyah? – did you engage with and invest in your family? Did you make time for them and be with them? Because when you look over your life, you will see that your family provide your structure, your history and your future. You will live on in them and with them; they are the ropes of life into which your soul is bound.

The first question can be found in yesterday’s post

Fifth day of Elul

Posted on by
1

In the Talmud there is a discussion about what happens after we die. We go to Sheol – a Hebrew word deriving from the verb “to question” – and there we are interrogated. We will be asked four questions about the life we have lived. They are good questions and I want us to ask – and even to try to answer them for ourselves. They are questions that can stay with us as we prepare for the Yamim Noraim – and as we move into the coming years.
The first question is this
“Kav’ata Itim L’Torah? Did you set aside time for Torah?”
Did you set aside time for torah? Not, you’ll notice, ‘did you study Torah’. Nor ‘did you follow all the halachic requirements predicated on torah text?” But did you set aside time for Torah – the question isn’t academic.
Torah you see isn’t simply a book, it isn’t a text that we can learn or a narrative we teach our children. Torah has many more dimensions than that. It is a process, it is a history, it is the ongoing dialogue across generations between Jews and Jews, and Jews and God. So when we get ourselves involved in Torah, when we join the conversation and add the experiences and reflections of our lives to the living narrative of Torah, that is when we fit ourselves into our people and truly enter the Covenant. To set aside time for Torah is to be willing to identify in, to be prepared to challenge our ancestral understanding of God, to be ready to encounter God in modernity with open heart. To set aside time for Torah is to say “I will engage with life as a Jew – and in doing so I hope to enrich Judaism and deepen life. And I will add my link to the chain of tradition that remembers the past, supports the present and reaches out to a future I will not know”.

The next question will be posted tomorrow

Yitro – an abundance of learning

Posted on by
Reply

Six sidrot in our torah reading calendar are named for people – they are the parashiot of Noah, Hayei Sarah, Yitro, Korach, Balak and Pinchas. It’s an odd list – the first is a man who was the part of the tenth generation after Adam, named by his father Lamech for much longed for rest and comfort after the expulsion of human beings from Eden and the requirement for them to work for everything they needed: “This one will provide us relief from our work and from the toil of our hands, out of the very soil that GOD placed under a curse” but whose life is anything but respite from the hard work of survival, and who, having been the only one to survive the flood with his family, makes another covenant with God. Then there is Sarah, wife of Abraham and the woman through whom the divine covenant for Israel is fulfilled with the birth of Isaac, a woman whose life was multifaceted and whose death is recorded right at the beginning of the sidra which then details the arrangements for her burial. Then Yitro a priest of Midian – about whom more later, then two different members of the priestly tribe of Levi both of whom challenge the leadership of Moses and Aaron, and finally a Moabite King who has heard about the Israelites and their travels in the wilderness, and in his fear of them he hires a prophet to curse them – unsuccessfully.

When we meet Yitro, we meet him first as a father and a priest, rather than learning his name: – “The priest of Midian had seven daughters” (Exodus 2:16). Later on he will be described as the father in law of Moses (who married his daughter Tzipporah) (Exodus 4:18). We see him take in the young Moses who is fleeing from Egypt, and bring him into his home. Later we will see him teach Moses about timely justice. We see him in many different roles and indeed our commentators suggest that the many names and descriptions of Yitro refer to the different periods of his life, his evolving relationships and facets of his identity. (see Nachmanides ad loc)

The midrash is particularly interested in his various names in bible “ Yitro had seven names: Yeter, Yitro, Chovav, Reuel, Chever, Putiel, Keni. Yeter — he added (yiter) a section in the Torah; Yitro — he was “abundant” (yiter) in good deeds. Chovav — he was beloved (chovev) by God. Reuel — he was a “friend” (rea) to God. Chever — he was a “companion” (chaver) to God. Putiel — he “weaned himself” (niftar) from idolatry. Keni — he was zealous (kinei) for Heaven and he acquired (kanah) Torah. (Mekhilta DeRabbi Yishmael, Tractate Amalek 3:12)
The same midrash teaches that he relationship between the Moses and Yitro undergoes a significant shift after the exodus – “In the beginning Moses was proud of being the son in law of Yitro. Afterwards, Yitro was proud of being the father in law of Moses.”
The midrash builds on the difference between the names Yeter and Yitro noting that there is an additional letter vav – a letter whose origin is a hook, and concluding that this change in name is in order to demonstrate that he linked his fate to that of the Jewish people – that is, he converted to Judaism.

The midrash converts Yitro to Judaism, suggesting that he tried every form of idolatry in order to find the true nature of the divine and meaning of existence, and only after a journey through the entire world of idolatry does he see what God does for the children of Israel, and recognise the One true God. He becomes a sort of icon for the personal spiritual journey in this way.
But for me this rather misses the point. For me, Yitro personifies the goodness of the outside world, taking a refugee into his home and family, giving him not only a place in the family but work and meaningful status. I like the idea that we learn from others, that Yitro (which can mean both that “abundance /more” and “remnant/left over”) can offer for us to become more of what we are, and can also show the power of what is “not us”. It can speak of the sense of “plenty”, and it can at the same time remind us that with even a small amount of our tradition and people surviving, there can always be new growth. How often do we learn in Jewish history of the power of a small remnant to pick ourselves up and build ourselves once more?

One of the nouns that derive from the same Hebrew verbal root as Yitro means a cord or a rope, something that ties together. By holding on together, by organising ourselves in relationship with each other, this biblical figure reminds us that we are able to build ourselves again, however great the opposition to us may be, however small a group of us is left.

So I would rather Yitro stays a Midianite – a supportive and critical friend, an outside eye who sees what we may not notice. One of the best biblical examples of this is his teaching to Moses of creating a responsive judicial system, rather than delaying justice for people. Yitro is a figure who challenges precisely because he isn’t part of Israel, someone who can ask difficult questions, challenge the group-think, make us rethink the norms. And as such he provides a great service, both in the biblical text and later. We are told (BT Sotah 11a) that his descendants the Kenites lived at Yabetz – and that they sat in the Sanhedrin in that the place, and the Jewish people went there for advice, in the Chamber of Hewn Stone. (See Sifrei Bemidbar 78)
.
Yitro and his descendants model the dynamic and mutually beneficial relationship between the Jewish people and those outside the community. They are the “other” whom we respect and value, who bring their insights and understanding to our world, who remind us that while we have a particular covenantal relationship with God, God is the God of all peoples. They remind us to value other faith traditions, to understand that each of them has perception and awareness of God that we may not be party to, to know that God is much greater than the particular relationship with the Jewish people. As the prophet Amos reminds us
“To Me, O Israelites, you are Just like the Cushites —declares GOD.
True, I brought Israel up From the land of Egypt,
But also the Philistines from Caphtor
And the Arameans from Kir. (Amos 9:7)

The many names of Yitro remind us that people are made up of many experiences and identities. And they remind us too of the many names for God – the same God, the only God, who manifests in every tradition and faith.

There are six sidrot named for people and they can be seen as sets of pairs. Pinchas and Korach are Levites, both act zealously according to their own narrow world view, and challenge Moses and the leadership. Sarah and Noach are each critical to a covenant with God, each produce the child through which the covenant will continue. Balak and Yitro are also a pair – Balak sees the travelling Israelites on their way to their land, and is afraid of them coming through his kingdom. His response is to pay a freelance prophet of God to curse them and so destroy what he perceives to be a threat. Yitro hears of the splitting of the sea and the escape of the Israelites from the pursuing Egyptians and recognises that God cares for this ragtag of ex-slaves travelling to freedom. His response is to help them to organise themselves for the future. He is a reminder that every outsider need not be an existential threat, but that people of faith can care for each other and lift each other.

Yitro walks away just before the giving of Torah at Sinai. I have always wondered about that decision – was it his way of retaining his own Midianite and priestly relationship with God, or was he sent away because his work was done? Either way, he remains the consummate critical friend, the figure we need to give us perspective, to remind us that difference is good and that there are many, many paths to the One God.