Parashat Bo 5769 – January 31, 2009
My Work Here is Done
Every holiday, every celebration in our lives, every month and even every single week is a reminder of the miracle of liberation.
Have you ever had one of those weeks where you were really busy and yet you felt like you didn’t get much done? Well, this week was like that for me. I was occupied all day every day this week and yet I have little recollection of what I actually did and even less memory of what I accomplished. I recall that I sat in a lot of meetings this week. Some meetings were in my office, some in other people’s offices, and some outside the shul. I even participated in a couple of conference calls this week. I remember sitting at my desk much of the time. I remember using my computer… a lot. I think I did a little reading and I’m pretty sure I did a little writing too. I don’t remember spending much time at home. I’m pretty sure I was working really hard (I’m certainly tired enough), but at the end of the week, few of my to-dos were checked off the list. Have you ever had one of those weeks? Isn’t it interesting how those kind of weeks can seem both really long but they also feel like they flew by?
One of the things I needed to do was write this sermon… but of course I procrastinated until Friday morning. And when I sat down to write, I came up dry. All I could think about was how unproductive I felt. Rabbi Dollin can always tell when I’ve procrastinated because he’ll see me in the office at 2pm with 8 different books scattered across my desk… all of them open. That’s what I do when I don’t know what I want to talk about: I start fishing around in the medieval commentaries and Hassidic collection. You probably do that at your job too, right?
Now, you might be thinking that I’m just telling you about my terrible week in the office to kill time. Well, you’d be right. But, that’s called an introduction! Speakers use it to get your attention. They use little anecdotes to loosen up the audience. So, now that you’re drawn in a little, here comes the less than smooth transition.
On Friday morning I sat down and started reading the parsha. I’m reading about the plagues, about Pharaoh’s recalcitrance, Moses, Aaron… nothing is resonating with me. And then I came across a rather mundane section of this week’s parsha. Right in midst of the dramatic climax of the story, when God is about to send the Plague of the Death of the First Born, there is a digression. Chapter 12 opens: “The Lord said to Moses and Aaron in the land of Egypt. This month shall mark for you the beginning of the months; it shall be the first of the months of the year for you.” These verses stood out to me because I remembered learning in school that this is the first Mitzvah given to the Israelites as a nation. There are a few mitzvot in the book of Genesis, but this is the first mitzvah we have as a people. And as I began delving into the commentaries, I started gaining some perspective the week that flew by me. I started thinking about the passage of time and how we mark time in a unique way as Jews.
Living in a secular society governed by the solar calendar, most of us don’t give much thought to Rosh Hodesh – the beginning of the Jewish month – which, is too bad, because we have a lot to learn about our uniquely Jewish way of looking at time. On this verse, Rashi says “Her’a’hu l’vana b’hidushah…” that God showed Moses the moon in its renewal (hodesh/ hidush) and said to him, when the moon renews itself it will be the beginning of the month for you.” According to Rashi, God isn’t just telling Moses when to start counting the beginning of the month. There’s a lesson here. The moon has a unique quality – every month it grows (or appears to grow) and every month it diminishes. It gets brighter and bigger, and then dims until it almost disappears. Our lives also seem to wax and wane. We grow and mature, and we age. And within our lives, we go through cycles too. Sometimes things are looking bright… and sometimes it feels like we’re groping around in the dark. The great Hasidic master, known as the Netivot Shalom, says that our lunar calendar teaches us hope in times of despair – that just when things seem darkest, there is the possibility of new light. As I read Rashi, my attitude toward the week started to change. I thought about all the small things, the little slivers of light, that I overlooked in my hurry and stress. I thought about 3 little people who scamper around my house that I didn’t see much of this week.
And then I read Sforno (Italy, ea. 16th C). Sforno was known for his close literary reading of the text. He points to the seemingly superfluous use of the word lachem, “For you,” in the verse “This month shall be for you the beginning of the months.” Sforno says this comes to emphasize that this was for us a radically new way of looking at time. After having been slaves for generations, we now had to look at time like free people. In slavery our time was not our own. Every moment was dictated to us. In freedom, time is ours… but, as you know, freedom comes with risks. Freedom means we are free to use our time to be productive or we can choose to waste our time. We can use our time to do good or to do evil. We can choose how and with whom to spend our time. Today we are blessed with wonderful technology that allows us to communicate and travel like never before. The people who make these machines sell us on the idea that they save us time. But, if we don’t exercise control over these conveniences, they actually compress time… making it possible for us to do more, rather than less.
The paradox of our times is that in our busy lives we come to crave “free time” (which is really empty time). I know I do. When I’m tired and stressed, my first inclination is to veg out. I’ll tell you a secret. I love television. If I didn’t control myself, I could watch TV for hour upon hour. Its like a drug that numbs the mind. But that’s the problem. Our culture fills the vacuum of “free time” with entertainment. Henry David Thoreau observed a similar phenomenon in the 19th century when he wrote “the mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.” Today, I would say that most people live lives of noisy distractions.
So what is the solution to this modern dilemma?
Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman, the Ramban, also comments on our verse. The month of which God speaks of here is not what we call “Rosh Hashanah.” In fact, the Mishna says there are 4 new years. The one in the fall that comes before Yom Kippur is God’s New Year. But the month in which we celebrate our liberation from Egypt is our new year as a people. It means that every event in Jewish life is counted in relation to the Exodus. Every holiday, every celebration in our lives, every month and even every single week is a reminder of the miracle of liberation. As you know, we celebrate Shabbat because the bible says that God rested on the seventh day after creating the world. But, when we raise a cup of wine on Shabbat we not only remember creation, we also invoke the memory of the Exodus from Egypt. Why? What does Shabbat have to do with yetziat mitzrayim? Shabbat is a taste of how we are meant to live if the world were perfect. It is a glimpse into a world redeemed. We mark time in Judaism by recalling that we are free people. Every Shabbat, we are asked to put aside our work, we are asked to lay down all the technology that fills our lives. Shabbat beckons us live life as truly free people. It calls on us to reestablish the relationships in our lives. It asks us to be at peace with the world as it is, if only for a day.
Last night, I had dinner with my family and with another family too. The table was set with a white table cloth. We had a beautiful leisurely meal. It was the first night this week in which I sat down at the table with all my kids. Last night I didn’t watch TV or do work or check email. I spent time with the people I love. Shabbat is a reminder to live life consciously. To live life deliberately – seeking meaning and purpose and valuing the things and people that really matter. The work we do during the week is important. The truth is I did a lot of worthwhile things this week. The problem is that, when we fail to live life with consciousness, even the valuable work we do can feel empty.
No matter how you keep Shabbat, I want you to find some time this afternoon and on the Shabbats to come to set aside the work and distractions that make time feel fleeting and instead embrace the taste of eternity that is Shabbat…[1]
{That’s as far as I got when I originally wrote this sermon. Shabbat started at 5pm and at 4:58pm I wasn’t done yet. But, I had to stop… I pressed “print” and went to light candles with my family. At first I was disappointed that there was yet one more thing I couldn’t quite check off the to-do list. But then it occurred to me: that’s what Shabbat is about. That’s what it means to live in Jewish time… to celebrate the holidays, to measure time by the month, to keep Shabbat. It means to live our lives conscious that we are indeed free people. It means that our work is never done, but that we can choose to set it aside in order to experience the transcendent. So, the sermon was never finished, but now it’s Shabbat… and my work here is done.
Shabbat Shalom.}
[1] The sermon as I originally wrote it ended at this point. What follows is more or less how I improvised the conclusion in shul.
