PARSHAT BO

 (5768)

 

DESTRUCTIVE BEHAVIOR – PART 2

 

“That very day the Lord freed the Israelites from the land of Egypt, troop by troop.”        

                                                                        (Exodus 12:51)

 

            This week we read of the great founding event in the history of Israel as a people – the exodus from Egypt (in Hebrew yitziat mitzraim).   After the tenth plague, Pharaoh finally relents and lets the people go forth.  Later Judaism saw this as more than a one time historical event.  “In every generation a person should see himself as if he went forth from Egypt.”  (Passover Haggada)   What does it mean for us in our generation to relive the exodus?

            Let me suggest an answer.  Last week I spoke about destructive behavior.  I wrote, “Some people seem hard wired for destructive behavior.  Some people do the wrong thing over and over so often that the destructive behavior becomes part of their very nature.”  Can such people change?  We all have some area in our lives where we need to break away.  The word mitzraim “Egypt” actually comes from a Hebrew root meaning “narrow place.”   Perhaps we can say that our personal exodus is a breaking away from the narrow place that confines us, from the destructive behaviors that make our lives more difficult.  The great message of the Torah is that it is possible to break out of the narrow place, to change our behavior.

            How do we do it?  The process of change is not easy.  The longer we have been doing the wrong thing, the more it becomes ingrained in our very nature and the harder it is to change.  But I have seen people who broke away from the narrow place after years of destructive behavior.  I have seen people who gave up serious addictions to alcohol or drugs, long time irresponsible sexual behavior, uncontrolled anger or greed, and terrible relationships with family members.  Change is possible.

            In my recently re-released book The Ten Journeys of Life I speak about seven steps towards changing destructive behavior.  In the book I call these “the seven R’s.”   Let me summarize briefly these seven steps:

Recognition - Knowing intellectually that some behavior is wrong.

Responsibility - Accepting that we are responsible for our behavior.

Remorse - Feeling bad about that behavior.

Restitution - Apologizing and facing the consequences of our behavior.

Resolve - Making the decision to change.

Recovery - Turning to a Higher Power or God to help us to change behavior.

Repentence - As Maimonides defines it, facing the same temptation but being a changed person.

            Each of these steps is difficult.  It is easy to avoid recognizing our behavior as wrong – “What is the big deal; everybody is doing it.”  It is easy to avoid responsibility – “I can’t help it; my short temper is in my genes.”  We hear from the therapeutic community that remorse or guilt is unhealthy.  We hear from the legal community that one should never admit guilt.  (“I was not talking on the cell phone when my car rear-ended you.”)   Resolve is difficult, that is why we do it over and over again.  (“I am good at quitting smoking; I have done it a dozen times.”) 

            Regarding recovery, turning to God is never easy.  Often we feel that God has abandoned us when our behavior is inappropriate.  The truth is that God would no more abandon one of God’s children than we would abandon one of our children if we did not approve of their behavior.  With our own children we always leave the door open for change.  And so it is with God; the door is open when we are ready to walk through.

            Finally, true repentance means that we are a changed person.  Maimonides says that true repentance can only take place when we are put to the test – we have the same opportunity to do the same destructive behavior, but his time we are different.   Finally, we have gone out of our own mitzraim, our own narrow place, from slavery to freedom.  True repentance happens after we have relived the exodus in our own lives.

 

 

 

PARSHAT BO

(5766)

 

LOVE YOUR CHILDREN

 

“When in time to come, your son asks you saying, what does this mean, you shall say to him, it was with a mighty hand that the Lord brought us out from Egypt, the house of bondage.”                                           (Exodus 13:14)

 

            It was one of those television scenes I will never forget.  Baby Richard, a four-year-old adopted boy, was removed from the home of the only parents he had even known and handed to a man who was a complete stranger.  The little boy screamed and cried as the court mandate was fulfilled.  The birth father had not given proper legal consent to the adoption, and now four years later he was asserting his legal rights.  The television image was viscerally painful.

            After taking custody of “his son” whom he had never met, the putative father was asked by the press, “Why are you doing this?”   His answer reflects every thing that is wrong with how too many parents see their role.  “I am doing it because I love my son.”  He so loved his son that he was willing to destroy him.

            In truth, he did not love his son; he loved himself.  He was focused on his needs, not his son’s needs.  How different the baby Richard story is from the story in the Bible of the two women fighting over the same baby.  King Solomon proposed the baby be cut in half.  The true mother cries out, “Give the baby to her, but do not harm my child.”   How different also the baby Richard story is from the story we read two weeks ago of Moses’ mother placing her son in a basket and letting him float down the river.  Odds are she would not see her own son again.  But what was important was the child’s needs, not her needs.

            Love begins when we focus on the child and his or her needs, not on ourselves and our needs.   Love is always about what the other person needs and how we can meet those needs.  But the area of life where meeting someone’s needs is most vital is when we raise children.  Every child is unique.  Our job as parents is to see our child’s uniqueness and focus on what we need to do to help that particular child succeed in life.  There is no generic way to raise children.  Or as King Solomon wisely taught us, " Teach your son according to his way, even when he grows up he will not depart from it."  (Proverbs 22:6)   Every child has his or her own unique way.

            This point is made in this week’s Torah portion.  Three times the Torah teaches that a parent must teach a child the story of the exodus from Egypt.  In case the point was not clearly made, the commandment is repeated a forth time in the book of Deuteronomy.  Why does the same commandment to teach children appear four times?   The Passover Haggada, which we use at the Seder or Passover meal, gives an answer.  There are four unique kinds of children.  We must design the telling of the story in a way that fits the particular kind of children we have.  The Haggada teaches, “According to the child’s mind the father teaches.”   But first the father must see the uniqueness of each child.

            Every child is unique.  Yesterday somebody told me how different their two children are from one another.  “I can’t believe they came from the same gene pool.”  The Kabbala teaches that children choose the parents best able to raise them.  If one accepts such a mystical idea, from the very beginning the child’s soul picked parents able to prepare him or her for a unique mission.   But to truly parent that child, the parents must first see that child.

            Unfortunately, too many parents are focused on their own needs.  They want naches from the kinder, children that will fill their dreams and their needs.   We need to focus on our children’s needs and dreams, which can be very different from our own.  Love begins when we focus on the other.

            There was a man who went to his rabbi with a problem; his son’s behavior was out of control.  The rabbi answered with a simple solution, “Love him more.”   We must love our children.  But first we need to see our children.

 

 

PARSHAT BO

 (5764)

 

DARKNESS

 

"People could not see one another, and for three days no one could get up from where he was; but all the Israelites enjoyed light in their dwellings."

(Exodus 10:23)

   

 I recently listened to a motivational tape put out by the National Speakers Association, an organization to which I am a proud member.   The members are people who speak for a living, and the tape was how to write and market your book.  One insight hit home.  Find a place to write besides your home or your office; there are too many interruptions.  The tape recommended finding a public place, such as the local Starbucks.  Having other people around somehow energizes us.

My ears perked up.  The tape was talking to me.  I wrote my books at Starbucks, at the Barnes and Noble coffee shop, sometimes even in the Food Court at the mall, but never at home or in my office.  I find the flow of people coming and going inspires me.  I know an author who rented a cabin in the woods in New Hampshire during the dead of winter to complete her book.  I would last about an hour in such a cabin, and then begin to go out of my mind.  I need people around me to succeed at my work, even total strangers.

Barbra Streisand sang in Funny Girl, "People who need people are the luckiest people in the world."  Most of us are such people.  We need people.  Certainly there are people who are loners, who function best separated from others.  But most human beings need the interaction with other human beings in order to succeed, even if it is only the casual presence of people in a public place.  To be alone, according to the Bible, is the only thing God said is not good.

We hear of children who grow up in orphanages, receiving minimum human interaction with their caregivers.   Often such children suffer from what psychologists call a "failure to thrive."  On the other hand, the worst punishment given to incarcerated adults is to be put in solitary confinement.  Cutting off people from contact with other people is a severe form of punishment, used in only extreme cases.

People need people.  This human need for others is reflected in a  wonderful passage in the Talmud about the first man.  "Look how hard Adam had to work.  If he wanted a meal he had to plant a seed, and then he had to harvest it, and then he had to winnow the chaff, and then he had to knead the dough and bake the bread.  Whereas I can come to table and others have done all these things for me.... When Adam wanted to wear a garment, he had to cut the wool from the sheep, and then he had to wash it, and then he had to spin it and sew it.  Whereas I go to the store, and all the work has been done for me my others."  (Berachot 58a).

This week we read the end of the ten plagues.  The worst plague, of course, was the slaying of all the first born in Egypt.  What was the second from the worst plague?  It was plague number nine, the darkness that descended on Egypt for three days.

The darkness was not simply a lack of light.  That could be solved by lighting lamps.  Rather it was an inability for anyone to see or interact with any fellow human being for three days.  It was as if a thick depression fell on everybody, leaving them entirely alone.  People were cut off from people, as if they were in some kind of solitary confinement.  There was a blackness of despair, of being entirely alone in the world.

People need people to function, to thrive, and to flourish.  The rabbis of the Talmud taught, we can begin our morning prayers when there is enough light that we can recognize our neighbor’s face.  Only when we begin to see each other are we ready to turn to God.  Light is the joy of human beings face to face; darkness is the despair of human beings utterly alone.

 

 

PARSHAT BO

(5763)

 

FIRST BORN

 

"The Lord spoke further to Moses saying, Consecrate to Me every first born, man and beast, the first issue of every womb among the Israelites is Mine."      (Exodus 13:1-2)

 

Each year on the day before Passover I skip my morning cup of coffee.  I will not eat or drink until I attend services and participate in a study session finishing up a selection from the Talmud or another holy book.  Then I will join a meal in honor of that moment.  By doing so, I avoid the day long fast of the first born.

I am the oldest.  And there is that deep knowledge that, had I been an Egyptian in ancient times, I would have fallen victim to the tenth plague.  Since the exodus from Egypt, the first born of every family is consecrated to God.  I would have had a pidyon haben, a ceremony redeeming the first born, except my mother was a bat kohen, the daughter of a priest.

Every year, from the year he was born until he went off to college, I brought my oldest child with me to the pre-Passover service for the first born.  I do not know if he continues to go while away at college, but I certainly hope so.  Sometimes when he is home, he reminds us how much stricter we were with him than his younger brother and sister.  I admitted that as the first born, we made our share of mistakes with him.  But I also reminded him of the sense of privilege at being first born.

I want to share some thoughts from my book God, Love, Sex, and Family about being the oldest child:

 First born children are different from last born children, and middle children have their own particular issues.  It is the first born who has the greatest displacement when younger children are born.  He or she has gone from being the only to sharing mom and dad with another.  Firstborns often feel rage and resentment towards younger siblings; they also often experience protective and paternal or maternal feelings.  Most firstborns combine some combination of these traits.

Francine Klagsbrun in her book Mixed Blessings writes about a firstborn personality being overcautious and perfectionist.  Growing up as the oldest of three boys, I see much of this theory in my own personality.  By Torah law, the eldest son does have certain prerogatives.  He inherits a double portion, even if he is born of an unloved wife.  (Deuteronomy 21:15-17)  Later Rabbinic law teaches that a younger sibling should honor an older one in a manner similar to the honoring of parents, particularly when the older sibling has taken a role in raising him or her. (Yoreh Deah 240:22.)

Klagsbrun writes about how later children feel a connection to earlier children; they never knew a world without an older brother or sister.  They often behave in a manner similar to the relationship with parents, both imitating older siblings and trying to break away.  Looking back at my own two younger broth­ers during my early years, they often seemed to need me more than I needed them.  Part of my own growth and maturity as an adult has been cultivating a relationship with my two younger brothers.

Obviously a child's place in the birth order can affect that child in profound ways throughout life.  Having said that, there is another powerful insight that comes out of the Biblical stories.  Birth order is secondary to personal achievement.

One of the most recurrent themes in the Bible is a younger child overtaking or displacing an older one.  God accepted the offering of Abel, the younger son, over Cain, the older.  Isaac was chosen over his older brother Ishmael.  When Rebekah was pregnant with Jacob and Esau, God told her "The older shall serve the younger." (Genesis 25:23)  Joseph dreamt that all his older siblings would some day bow down to him, a dream that ultimately came true.  Jacob blessed his grandsons Ephraim and Menashe, favoring the younger over the older. (Genesis 48:19-20)  Jacob reserved his most bountiful blessing for Judah, son number four.   Moses, the second son, was chosen to lead the Israelites to freedom.  Even David, chosen to be king to the surprise of his father, was the youngest of eight.  (I Samuel 16:11-13)

The fact that this theme recurs over and over indicates that the Bible is trying to make an important point.  Older children may have certain prerogatives and privileges based on birth.  Younger children, however, can earn privileges through worthy deeds.  Again to quote Klagsbrun, "The Bible may also be teaching a lesson in showing the triumph of younger over older siblings - nothing in this world is fixed or unchangeable; even the natural order can be reversed."   Biology, in regard to sibling relation­ships, is not destiny.

PARSHAT BO

(5762)

 

SIGNS OF LOVE

 

"And so it shall be as a sign upon your hand and as a symbol on your forehead that with a mighty hand the Lord freed us from Egypt."                                     (Exodus 13:16)

 

The newly released book Chicken Soup for the Jewish Soul published a true story I wrote.  It tells of how I convinced my mother to accept my decision to become a rabbi.  The essence of the tale was an encounter with a little boy in a small town in South Dakota, and my teaching him to put on tefillin (the phylac­teries or leather boxes containing Biblical verses that Jewish men traditionally wear on their arm and forehead during daily prayer.)

My mother was concerned that as a rabbi I would be more concerned with rituals than with people.  Without repeating the details of the story, the tefillin became a symbol of my willing­ness put the needs of people over the demands of the law.  Tefillin in Judaism have always been a symbol of the love between God and the Jewish people.  Too many Jews ignore this particular commandment.  Often our nursery school children see me wearing tefillin and cry out, ARabbi, what=s that?@  I tell them that they will learn.  In our synagogue we require every bar mitzvah boy (and those bat mitzvah girls who so choose) to own and learn to put on tefillin. 

According to tradition, when the tefillin straps are wrapped around the finger, we recite the Biblical verse "I will betroth you to myself forever, I will betroth you to myself in righteous­ness and in justice, in kindness and in mercy, I will betroth you to myself in faithfulness and you shall know the Lord."  (Hosea 2:21-22) Like a wedding ring, tefillin are the Jewish symbol of love.

This week's portion mentions tefillin for the first time.  It also deals with another powerful symbol, the blood on the doors of the households of the Israelites.  When the angel of death went through Egypt, it passed over the households with blood on the door.  (Thus, the name of the festival at the center of this week's portion - Passover.) 

If these events had taken place today, I can picture families saying, "Why put blood on our door; it would make a mess.  Who needs these old fashioned symbols anyway?  We know we are Israelites in our hearts.  What is important is what is in our hearts, not some external symbols!"  Would their home be passed over?  Today Jews do not put blood on our doors like they did in ancient Egypt.  But we do put a mezuzah on each door, a small case containing Biblical passages, another symbol of our relationship to God.

Do we need such symbols?  In our day it is very sophisti­cated to say that we do not need symbols to express our love.  Our feelings in our heart are what is important.  The external signs, the tefillin, mezuzah, Shabbat candles, other ritual items are unnecessary.  I remember once meetings with a bride and groom to plan their wedding, and I asked the bride if she had an engagement ring.  Her groom said very firmly, "We love each other.  We don't need those external symbols."  When he left the room, the bride told me privately, "He may be right, but I wish he had bought me a ring."

In truth, human beings need symbols.  They need a physical way to express their love.  Lovers need to bring each other flowers or cards, or even an occasional piece of jewelry.  If we need such material ways to express our love for one another, how much more so do we require material ways to express our love towards God.    

 

PARSHAT BO

(5761)

 

WE ARE REDEEMERS

 

"It came to pass that same day that the Lord did bring the children of Israel out of the land of Egypt by their hosts."                    (Exodus 12:51)

 

This week we read the Torah's biggest story.  God's redeems His people from Egypt.  The Israelites go forth from slavery to freedom.  In this portion we meet the God of history, the God who rescues his people.  God opens His Ten Commandments with a reminder of this moment AI am the Lord your God Who brought you forth from the land of Egypt from the house of bondage.@  (Exodus 20:2)

This week's portion describes the festival of Passover, the most observed holiday in the Jewish faith.  Jews sit around the festive table at the Passover seder, eating various symbolic foods and retelling the story of the exodus from Egypt.  Moses, the human hero of the tale, is mentioned only in passing.  God is the redeemer. 

God's redemption of His people becomes the paradigm for all the great redemptions in history.  The black slaves in the south used the story as inspiration that they too would find redemp­tion.  Martin Luther King Jr.  quoted from the story in his vision of a new promised land.  Oppressed Jews in the former Soviet Union found in the story the strength to dream of someday leaving Russia and going to Israel..  Jews throughout the world each and every morning pray to God for the ultimate redemption, calling out to Goel Yisrael B the Redeemer of Israel.

Nonetheless, as we read through the rest of the Bible, God seems to disappear from the picture.  The heroes are David , Solomon, and the kings of Israel and Judah, Elijah, Elisha, and the various prophets.  Later in the Bible we read the story of Esther, about the redemption of the people Israel from the vicious Haman.  In this book, God is not mentioned at all.  The redemption is entirely carried out by human beings. 

Jews throughout the world celebrate the events of the book of Esther on Purim, which always falls exactly one month before Passover.  The two redemptions are linked together in the Jewish calendar.  But if the hero of the Passover redemption is God, the hero of the of Purim redemption is human beings.  God has faded into the background.  Humans have become responsible for their own redemption.

Perhaps this points towards an answer to one of the ques­tions I have been most asked since I first became a rabbi.   Where was God during the holocaust?  Why did God not sweep down on the Nazis with ten plagues and lead His people out of war torn Europe?  Why was there no crossing of the Red Sea to end World War II and stop the destruction of so many millions?  What became of the ancient Biblical God of miracles?

Could it be that God has stepped back and allowed us humans to become our own redeemers.  We cannot passively wait for God to save us.  We must stand up to evil wherever we see it.  We must rescue the oppressed wherever we find them.  We must feed the hungry, clothe the naked, help the poor learn to support them­selves, rescue captives, heal the sick, comfort the bereaved, and find ways to make this a better world.

Perhaps God has given us humans this responsibility.  The events in Egypt were a paradigm for us.  Now we must be God=s partners in redeeming the world.

One of the oldest stories says it so well.  It was raining, the flood waters were raising, and a very pious man stood praying to God to rescue him.  Someone came by in a car and said, "Let me take you to higher ground."  The man replied, "No, God will save me."  The waters grew higher and a boat came, "Let me save you."  The man replied, "No, God will save me."  Finally the waters were covering the roof.  A helicopter came over and said, "Climb aboard."  The man replied, "No, God will save me."

Alas, the man drowned.  He went to heaven and poured out his heart before the Holy One.  "I was always pious, I prayed, why did You let me drown."  God answered, "What do you want from me.  I sent you a car, I sent you a boat, I sent you a helicopter."

This week we read of God as redeemer.  God was merely showing us how.  Now we are to become the redeemers.