Be Wholehearted With God

Judaism draws our attention to the preciousness and holiness of moments in time, reminding us of the limits of our power as human beings.

Until recently, if you had asked me to go camping, I probably would have made an excuse not to go.  I’ve been camping before and I’ve had good experiences.  But I’ve never been enthusiastic to go on a camping trip.  I have to admit I’m a city kid and a bit… let’s say… fastidious.  I don’t much like to get dirty.  I don’t like bugs and reptiles.  I like sleeping on a good quality mattress surrounded by 4 solid walls and roof.  I like having a bathroom with a flush toilet and a shower.  (In short, I’m a wuss.)  At least that’s how I used to feel until this past weekend. 

I spent last weekend with Melanie and the kids at Camp Ramah in the Rockies for the annual family Shabbaton.  I have to admit that prior to the weekend I was not very enthusiastic about the trip.  Ramah in the Rockies is secluded in the wilderness of Pike National Forest on the site of an old Girls Scouts camp, which even in its heyday was pretty rustic.  As a person who likes his home environment, I get very nervous about all the possible contingencies – all the “what ifs.”  I don’t like being caught off guard without my stuff.  I want to know what to expect… but camping requires the kind of flexibility that I find uncomfortable. 

So when we arrived at camp on Friday afternoon, we set up our tents and unpacked our gear and I was still pretty agitated.  But then something happened.  As the sun began to set behind the beautiful red mountains on the west side of camp, we made our way to where the young campers were holding their Kabbalat Shabbat service in a wide open field next to where horses were grazing.  The campers’ spirited singing to the tune of guitars blended with the gentle outdoor sounds of evening… and a calm came over me that I haven’t felt in a long time.  Suddenly I became aware of the beauty that surrounded me – the crisp breeze, the smell of pine trees, the babbling of a nearby creek, the waving tall grass, the majestic horses a few feet away, the expansive valley and towering mountains all around, colorful rocks and rich dark earth, and even the insects that I usually dislike.  I looked at my children running around – healthy and happy.  I looked at my beautiful and talented wife, who had organized the Shabbaton.  I took a deep breath of mountain air and I felt at peace – profoundly grateful for everything that surrounded me.  I let go of some of my worries and nervousness and resolved to accept whatever the weekend would bring.

It turned out to be a glorious experience.  On Shabbat we sang, and played and prayed, and learned together.  We had great conversations and enjoyed the outdoors.  On Sunday and Monday we were treated to the activities the camp has to offer – hiking, mountain biking, rock climbing… and I got to go horseback riding for the first time in my life.  And, yes, I got some bug bites, I didn’t bathe, I slept on the hard ground, it rained on us a couple of times, and our kids refused to go to sleep when we wanted them to.  But, somehow, none of that bothered me very much.

For a city boy like me, spending a Shabbat in the wilderness reminded me of some very important lessons.  It reminded me of the wisdom Dr. Abraham Joshua Heschel shared: that in humanity’s need to survive and conquer nature, we must not be tempted to believe that we have ultimate control.  He taught that the rhythms and practices of Judaism draw our attention to the preciousness of the moment.  This is especially true on Shabbat, when we refrain from labor and activities related to the conquest of things and space.  And, being out in nature on Shabbat brings that into even sharper focus. Dr. Heschel wrote: “The solution to mankind’s most vexing problem will not be found in renouncing technical civilization, but in attaining some degree of independence of it.  In regard to external gifts, to outward possessions, there is only one proper attitude – to have them and to be able to do without them.  On the Sabbath we live, as it were, independent of technical civilization… Man’s royal privilege to conquer nature is suspended on the seventh day.”[1] 

           

One doesn’t have to trek into the mountains in order to be independent of civilization – that, according to Heschel, is what Shabbat affords us.  It is what he called “an island in time.” Nonetheless, taking a break from the creature comforts we all enjoy certainly reminds us that, in the scheme of things, what makes life meaningful is not what we possess or what we can conquer, but how we live with whatever and whomever surrounds us.  It teaches us the limits of our power.  It reminds us of what is truly valuable.  Similarly, and perhaps paradoxically, being attuned to time reminds us that we are not in control of time. 

           

In this week’s parsha, the Torah discusses a very interesting prohibition.  Chapter 18 of Deuteronomy admonishes us not to imitate the practices of the surrounding pagan nations.  Moses warns: “Let no one be found among you… who is an augur, a soothsayer, a diviner, a sorcerer, or who casts spells, or who inquires of the dead… [Instead] You must be wholehearted with the Lord your God.”[2]  These practices are associated with paganism, and for that reason alone they are forbidden.  But, the medieval commentator, Rabbi Moshe ben Nachman (known also as Ramban or Nachmanides) makes a very perceptive observation.  In his commentary on these verses he asks: how can these things be abominations?  After all, it is only human nature to want to know the future and seek out guidance about what’s to come.  Furthermore Ramban says, these things have some efficacy.  You see, Ramban was himself a mystic and he studied astrology.  He writes in his commentary that some kinds of fortunetelling actually work!  So what’s wrong with wanting to know the future?  To answer this Ramban draws on Rashi (the most famous of the medieval commentators) who points to the next verse that says, “Tamim tih’ye eem HaShem Elohecha.”  “You shall be wholehearted with the Lord your God.”  Rashi says that to be “wholehearted with God” means to trust in God.  Wholeheartedness means accepting with equanimity whatever comes – both the good and the bad.  Ramban expands on this and says that the problem with necromancy and fortune-telling isn’t that it doesn’t work; rather the problem is that these things feed into our impulse to control the future and manipulate time.   

            One of our challenges as human beings is that we are indeed very powerful; but that power is also seductive.  We start to believe we can defy time and space.  But, Rashi and Ramban wisely counsel us to accept what the future holds without fear.  That doesn’t mean being passive.  Instead it means believing in the capacity that God gives us to deal with what life brings.  It means we should embrace what Rabbi Irwin Kula calls the “sacred messiness of life” with humility, awe, and gratitude. 

Like the experience of Shabbat that Heschel prescribes; and like the experience of nature and wilderness, the prohibition against sorcery in the Torah teaches us to put into perspective the limits of our power.  These things teach us that our very lives are themselves precious; that the present moment is unique and valuable… but, only if we cultivate that awareness and let go of our desire to control everything.  That means instead of always trying to cheat the limits of time and space, we should respect what we have been given; that we should trust in our capacity to deal with what life has in store for us with grace and dignity. 

We are less than a month away from Rosh Hashanah.  During this month of Elul leading up to the Holy Days is a time to reflect on the year that has passed and look to improve ourselves in the year to come.  Paradoxically, one of the best ways we can do that kind of reflection is to be more fully present in the current moment.  So, sometime between now and Rosh Hashanah, I hope you will find some quiet time – perhaps in the peaceful rest of Shabbat, or maybe in the tranquility of nature – to look around you, to gain some perspective, to think about the many blessings in your life, to be honest with yourself about the challenges, to feel grateful, to experience wonder and awe.  It is the sort of reflection that happens when we let go a bit, when we refrain from trying to manipulate time or overpower space, when we take some time to just be rather than to do.

           

As Moses said, “May you be wholehearted with the Lord your God.” Shabbat Shalom.

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[1] A. J. Heschel (1951) The Sabbath.

[2] Deut. 18:10-13

Love II: Choosing to Love Judaism

Parshat Ekev 5770

Last week I spoke about love and how love relationships bring with them many challenges.  It isn’t easy to find love and when you do, it isn’t easy to sustain.  Yet, love is essential to who we are as human beings and love is our best hope for redemption – as individuals and as a world.  So, whenever two people come together in love, it is worth celebrating.

This evening, former first daughter Chelsea Clinton is getting married.  She apparently has found her beshert – the love of her life.  I wouldn’t usually remark on this sort of thing; but, as it happens, her groom Marc Mezvinsky is Jewish.  The son of a political family himself, Mezvinsky was raised with a Jewish identity and grew up in a Conservative synagogue.  So a lot of our Jewish friends in the press and in the leadership of the Jewish community have felt a need to comment on this very famous interfaith wedding.  Frankly, I feel a bit sad for Chelsea and Marc – neither of them chose to be celebrities and they probably don’t appreciate having millions of people gawking or giving opinions about how they should live their lives.  So I’m going to try not to talk about Chelsea Clinton and Marc Mezvinsky, per se, but I am interested in the ways this event has prompted a conversation in our community about interfaith weddings.  So, “Mazal Tov” to Chelsea and Marc and let’s leave it at that.

That being said, the reactions to the Clinton-Mezvinsky wedding, have been interesting to read because they say a lot about where we are as a Jewish community on interfaith relationships.  On the whole the Jewish community is not reacting with horror or dread.  However, there is an ambivalent mix of pride and concern.  On the one hand, I hear some muted pride that “one of ours” has made it to the top of American social life.  For some people this wedding is further evidence that we’ve arrived as a community.  All the barriers have fallen.  Yeah us! On the other hand, it is a sign of the times because the reality is that Marc Mezvinsky is not at all unusual.  He’s among the majority of American Jews today who marry someone of another religious background.  In fact, in his age cohort of younger Jews, the intermarriage rate is approaching 70%.  Oy vey!

As a community, we have good reason to be concerned about intermarriage.  The sociological research shows that intermarriage is a huge challenge to Jewish continuity.  We have always been a small minority that has felt threatened by outside influences.  This week’s Torah portion is a good example of how far back these concerns go.  In parashat Ekev Moses admonishes the people to follow in God’s ways or risk destruction.  He exhorts the Israelites to wipe out the pagans who occupy the land of Israel saying, “You shall destroy all the peoples that Adonai your God delivers to you, showing them no pity.  And you shall not worship their gods, for that would be a snare to you.”   Moses goes on to say, “You shall consign the images of their gods to the fire… You must not bring any abhorrent thing into your house, or you will be destroyed like it; you must reject it as abominable and abhorrent, for it is forbidden.” (Deut. 7:16; 25-26).

To our modern sensibilities these words seem harsh and intolerant.   But in context these strict social boundaries made a lot of sense.  The Cannanite tribes threatened to destroy us and their pagan practices enticed our people away from the One true God.  And I think our defensiveness over the centuries about mixing with other peoples made a lot of sense because we were persecuted and abused.  Today the situation is markedly different (or at least I would like to think so).  Jews today, especially in the United States, are freer and more accepted than at any time in our long history.  And, in contrast to our early 20th Century European brethren, I don’t think we’re deluded when we feel truly part of this multicultural society.  I really think we’re living in a new era of Jewish life.  That doesn’t mean we should stop encouraging Jews to marry other Jews, but it also means that shunning people who intermarry isn’t going to get us very far. 

When I was growing up, when someone married out of the community, it was often interpreted that they were rejecting their Jewish heritage.  But that turns out not to be true.  Instead, intermarriage is an outcome of the very freedom and acceptance we cherish; and many people who choose a partner who isn’t Jewish do not see their choice as incompatible with maintaining a Jewish identity or passing that identity along to their children.  And this isn’t unique to the Jewish community.  Americans today do not, by and large, see themselves divided by tribes or ethnicities.  And when it comes to religion they pick and choose with little loyalty to dogmas or ideologies.  People are instead seeking religious experiences that add wisdom and meaning to their lives. 

So, if we can no longer rely on tribal loyalty to keep us together; and if fear of anti-semitism isn’t a good enough reason to be Jewish, what then is the basis of our Jewish identity?  Judaism today is something people either choose to participate in or not.  So if we are to survive as a community, we need a new way of talking about Judaism and Jewish identity.  If couples like Chelsea and Marc are going to choose to give their children a Jewish identity, it will be because they find something meaningful, relevant, and compelling in Judaism that helps them live their lives with greater depth and purpose.  The challenge for Jewish leaders is: how we do that with integrity and loyalty to our tradition?

We shouldn’t forget that Judaism is much more than a wisdom tradition.  It is a way of life practiced by a people who share a common culture.  Judaism makes claims on our lives and demands of us.  The mitzvot, God’s commandments, are not a menu of choices.  So what is it that Judaism expects of us today?  Perhaps this week’s parsha also can give us some guidance.  In parashat Ekev Moses sums up Judaism in a succinct statement.  “And now, Israel, what does Adonai your God ask of you?  Only this: to revere Adonai your God, to follow in God’s ways, to love God, and to serve Adonai with all your heart and soul.” 

That’s Judaism in a nutshell.  All of our ancient traditions, customs, and laws, are directed to this purpose: Serving God and living by God’s example.  Judaism and the mitzvot are not an end in themselves.  Instead they are the means to a higher purpose.  If we remember that, perhaps we have a good chance of passing our religion on to our children.

Love is a Verb

Love is an art form that must be continually refined and practiced.   

Parashat Va’etchanan / Shabbat Nachamu 5770

In one of my favorite scenes in Fiddler on the Roof, Tevye the milkman asks his wife Golda this very simple question: “do you love me?”  To which she very romantically answers, “do I what!?” 

To modern audiences it might seem like a silly question.  In an open and free society like the one we live in, we take for granted that love is an individual decision that stems from romantic feelings.  But Fiddler is a reminder that it wasn’t too long ago that arranged marriages were common in many Jewish communities as well as in other traditional cultures. 

When we think about our ancient ancestors and the texts we inherited from them, the theme of romantic love does not usually come to mind.  There are only a few examples of romance that stand out in the Torah.  But the truth is that love is very important in Judaism.  In fact we have a day set aside for celebrating love. 

According to the Mishna (Taanit Ch. 4), during the time of the 2^nd Temple, the 15^th Day of Av (Tu B’Av) was a day set aside for romance.  Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel recounts that on Tu B’Av, under the warm glow of a full summer moon, the young women of Israel would go out of the city walls dressed in white and dance in the vineyards calling to the young men to choose their bride. 

We know very little historically about Tu B’Av and it fell out of practice after the destruction of the Temple, but in recent decades this day has been revived in modern Israel as the Jewish day of romance (kind of like Valentine’s Day). 

It’s interesting to me that this joyous day comes right after the saddest day of the Jewish year – Tisha B’Av.   On the 9^th of Av we mark the destruction of the 1^st and 2^nd Temples, the massacre of Jewish martyrs, and a number of calamities that have befallen our people over the centuries; but just 6 days later we have a celebration of love.  It was also on the 9^th of Av, according to tradition, that the Spies returned a negative report about the Land of Israel and God condemned the generation that had left Egypt to wander in the wilderness; but on the 15^th of Av, 40 years later, the Israelites were given permission to enter the Promised Land. 

I don’t think it is a coincidence then, that Tu B’Av – the day of love – falls during the week we read Parshat Etchanan.  Love figures in very centrally to this week’s parsha in which Moses admonishes the people to follow God’s mitzvot and live up to God’s standards when they settle the Land of Israel.  He recounts how we witnessed God at the foot of Mount Sinai (called Horev in the Book of Deuteronomy) and how we received the 10 Commandments. 

This parsha also contains one of the most famous passages in Torah – recognized by almost any Jew.  “Shma Yisrael, Adonai Eloheinu, Adonai Ehad.”  The Shma and the paragraph known as “V’ahavta” are taken from Chapter 6 of the book of Deuteronomy.  This section is essentially a sermon on the first commandment, which is to know that there is One God and to Love God.  “Shma Yisrael – Hear, O Israel!  Adonai is our God, Adonai is One.  You shall love Adonai your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all you have.”

The most well-known Mitzvah – to Love God – is also one of the most enigmatic.  How can love be commanded?  How can God demand our love?  The reason this commandment seems odd to us is that we’ve been raised in a culture in which love is thought of as a noun – an emotion or sentiment that one feels.  But for God, love is a verb – love is something you do.  It is true that emotions cannot simply be commanded, but we can be instructed to act in loving ways. 

Let’s consider the first line of V’ahavta because from it we can learn about what the Torah means by love.  “V’ahavta – You shall love Adonai your God with all your heart (b’chol levavcha)…”  Our ancestors believed that the heart was the seat of intellect and will.  Therefore, to love God with our heart means to love with intention – with all our thoughts and desires.  The Hasidic Rabbi known as the Sfat Emet says that loving God with our heart means directing our impulses and drives (both noble and base) to God so that everything we do is imbued with holiness.

“u’v’chol naf’shecha - With all your soul…”  The word nefesh in the Torah is often translated as “soul” but it really means “life.”  Love God with your life.  Basing himself on the Talmud (Ber. 54a, 61b) the commentator Rashi says that loving God with your Nefesh means being willing to give even your very life for God.  When you truly love someone, you have to be willing to give of yourself.  It takes a commitment of the heart, but also a commitment of self.

“u’v’chol me’odecha”  This is usually translated as “with all your might.”  The word “me’od” is really a measure of quantity, so the traditional understanding of this phrase is that loving God “b’chol me’odecha” means loving God with all you own and all you have.  It means not only the willingness to give something intangible – like your time and effort.  This means quite literally to give what you have to God.  Sometimes loving relationships call on us to really give to another what is precious to us. 

The paradigm for loving God also applies to all the loving relationships in our lives.  Loving other people cannot simply be a sentiment we hold in our hearts.  The romantic impulse that draws us to another person is not enough to sustain a relationship.  The Psychoanalyst Erich Fromm (perhaps drawing on his Jewish roots) also observed that true love is not a passive feeling but rather an art we must cultivate and practice. 

It isn’t easy for me to talk about this subject.  I like to think of myself as a pretty good husband and father, but I’m as guilty as anyone of being lazy when it comes to what Fromm called The Art of Loving.  It’s so easy to forget that love is a verb – something you have to do and sustain.   But that’s the point.  One of the lessons of parashat Etchanan is that God would not have to command Love if it were easy to do.  Think about it: Moses is speaking to the generation that experienced God’s salvation from Egypt, saw the plagues and the miracles God did, and actually encountered God face to face at Mount Sinai.  You might think that they would have no trouble loving God.  But God understand that love is not easy.  So we shouldn’t beat ourselves up when we falter in our attempts to love another.  Through love of God, the Torah gives us a paradigm for life.  Or, as Fromm put it “Love is the only sane and satisfactory answer to the problem of human existence.”

So this Sunday night and Monday (on the 15^th of Av) do something loving for someone you love; and let this day – like the Sh’ma we recite day and night – serve as a time to refine your skill in the art of loving.  Take an opportunity to go beyond the feeling of love that you hold inside and instead remember that love is verb.