PARSHAT DEVARIM
(5768)
TWO VIEWS OF HISTORY
“It was in the fortieth year, on the first day of the eleventh month, that Moses addressed the Israelites in accordance with the instructions that the Lord had given him for them.”
(Deuteronomy 1:3)
This week we begin Deuteronomy, the last book of the Torah. This portion also falls every year on the Sabbath before Tisha B’Av, the saddest day of the Jewish year. (Tisha B’Av begins this year Saturday night at sundown.) Deuteronomy starts with Moses retelling the history of the people Israel during their wanderings. And Tisha B’Av, which commemorates a series of Jewish tragedies, points to how sad and hopeless history can appear.
Let me return briefly to a theme I have discussed in the past. There are two views of history – the pagan view and the Biblical view. The pagans, whether the ancient Greeks and Romans or the great religions of the East, viewed history as a great cycle. Everything returns once again. In the long run, nothing ever changes. Professor of religion Mircea Eliade wrote the classical book on this subject, The Myth of the Eternal Return. Eliade writes regarding humanity in primitive societies, “for him things repeat themselves for ever and nothing new happens under the sun.” (p. 90)
The influential philosopher Frederick Nietzsche in his attack on Jewish and Christian morality also spoke about eternal return. Nietzsche longed to recreate the heroic mindset of the ancient Greeks. He attacked what he called the slave mentality of the Bible. The world, like nature, must always come back to where it started. Once a slave always a slave; nothing can ever truly change.
The Bible presents a radically different view of history. History has a direction. The world will not to return to what it was. Slaves can go free. (That is the entire essence of the Passover festival.) The world can be made into a better place. Suffering in the past does not automatically point to suffering in the future. We humans can transform the world. This view of history grew out of the Bible and became central to both Jewish and Christian thinking. Thomas Cahill called it The Gift of the Jews in a popular book by the same name. If history is not a cycle but a line, it creates a totally different outlook.
The clash between these two world views – history as a cycle versus history as a line – has effected how humans see themselves in Western civilization. It has even affected scientists. Einstein, when he worked out his superb theory of general relativity, realized that the equations point to an expanding universe – in other words, a universe that is constantly changing. Einstein preferred to see the universe as static and unchanging – more of a cycle than a line. So he added a constant to his equations, the cosmological constant, to avoid an expanding universe. Later Edwin Hubble discovered that the universe is expanding. In 1931 Einstein met with Hubble who took him up Mount Wilson to see for himself the evidence that the universe is expanding. Einstein then famously remarked that his cosmological constant was the biggest blunder of his life.
Even the universe has a direction; it does not simple recycle itself. How much more so human history! Because Jewish history has been filled with pain and suffering, does that mean pain and suffering are inevitable in the future? Are Jews simple born to suffer for eternity? If so, that would give Tisha B’Av, our most tragic day, a deep sense of sadness.
There is a legend that the Messiah will be born on Tisha B’Av. (If anyone has a baby on Saturday night or Sunday, let me know.) Perhaps the legend means that even the sadness contains the roots of hope. A much brighter future will grow out of a dismal present. History has a direction and the future will be better than the past. The Biblical book of Zechariah already makes a remarkable prediction. “Thus says the Lord of host, the fast of the fourth month, and the fifth, and the fast of the seventh and the tenth shall be to the house of Judah joy and gladness and cheerful seasons; therefore love truth and peace.” (Zechariah 8:19) These are four of the traditional fasts Jews keep to remember tragedies; the fast of the fifth month is Tisha B’Av. In the future even our saddest day will become a day of rejoicing.
PARSHAT DEVARIM
(5767)
COPING WITH ADVERSITY
“How can I myself alone bear your weight, and your burden, and your strife?”
(Deuteronomy 1:12)
This portion is always read on the Shabbat before Tisha B’Av, the saddest day in the Jewish calendar. I have written elsewhere that I believe we need one day to remember the sadness of our history. Hopefully the other 364 days we can remember the joy. And so it is in our personal life.
We all have pain and adversity in our lives. And we all have joy and comfort in our lives. Do we focus on the pain or do we focus on the joy? Let me share a small piece from my book The Ten Journeys of Life, which will be reissued at the end of the summer.
A woman in great pain goes to her rabbi for solace. The rabbi tells her, “I want you to bake a loaf of bread. But I want you to bake it from flour that you borrow from others. One more rule: You can only borrow the flour from households that have never known pain and unhappiness.”
The woman heeds the rabbi’s advice and searches from household to household for a cup of flour. There is no one who has not known pain and suffering. Finally, the woman returns to the rabbi. “I realize I am not alone in my suffering.”
There is no life that does not contain some pain. Nobody totally escapes loss. As the Bible puts it, “There was no house where there was not someone dead” (Exodus 12:34). Death may take many forms. It may be an actual death of a loved one, or it may be the death of a dream, the death of hope.
The Talmud teaches that to be unable to conceive a child is a kind of a death (Nedarim 64b), and Abraham and Sarah coped with infertility. Illness also can be a kind of death—the death of the illusion that we are invulnerable.
My own rabbinic experience has taught me that many losses are a kind of death. I have counseled people coping with grievous losses—divorce, illness, bankruptcy, family estrangement, the loss of dreams. The mourning symptoms for all of these losses can be the same as when a loved one dies: shock, anger, guilt, depression, loss of faith, loneliness. Unlike an actual death, no traditional rituals are unavailable to help people cope with such losses. Often they feel alone, abandoned by God in an indifferent universe. Sometimes they feel cursed by God or believe that they have sinned and received God’s punishment.
This chapter explores the journey toward healing and wholeness. The losses are real, but humans have a God-given ability to cope with their losses, to continue to function, to move beyond the loss. The pain may not go away totally. But our losses become part of our being, they make us the people we are. The scars hurt, sometimes deeply, but they also help form us. As the philosopher Nietzsche taught, “What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.”
A path to healing is available even when we are in pain. A vital point about this healing journey is that there is a difference between healing and a cure. A cure makes a loss go away completely. Some diseases can be cured, but many cannot. Some losses disappear, while others stay with us throughout our earthly existence. Healing is the ability to live with our losses, to find wholeness, faith and a sense of purpose in spite of our losses. Healing can occur even when there is no cure. We can be at one with the universe, with God and with ourselves even after coping with death. I have watched many people again experience joy, even after grievous losses.
PARSHAT DEVARIM
(5766)
A RELUCTANT SAVIOR
“How can I myself alone bear your weight, and your burden, and your strife?”
(Deuteronomy 1:12)
Imagine the following story. A young baby, threatened with death, is sent away from his homeland in order to save his life. He is rescued and adopted by a family, but never forgets the people of his birth. He grows up and becomes the savior of a people. But the calling to be a savior is a difficult and painful one. To some extent, he is wounded by the task at hand. He is a reluctant savior.
What is this story? It is a classical story of western civilization. First, it is the story that is popular in the movies today. I have always enjoyed the Superman story ever since I started reading comic books as a young child. I was a fan of Christopher Reeve, may his memory be a blessing. So when the new movie Superman Returns opened, I actually saw it twice. First, I went to see it in a regular movie theater. Then, while visiting my brother on the Jersey shore, I had a chance to go to Imax in Atlantic City and see it on the big screen, with several scenes in 3-D. It is quite an experience.
The movie was nicely done, and I recommend it for those who enjoy superhero action films. But it was billed not just as an adventure but as a love story. Much of it focused on the relationship between Superman and Lois Lane. I never thought about the religious implications of the Superman saga. But it also touched on a religious theme. Do we humans need a savior? And what kind of sacrifices must that savior make? (The Christian implications are clear. But of course, Judaism also speaks about the Messiah, the savior who will come rescue us. The original writers of Superman were two Jewish boys.)
In one scene, Superman takes Lois Lane high over the city and asks her what she hears. She tells him that she hears nothing. He answers that he hears everything, particularly the cries of people. Superman is called to be the rescuer, but he loses the woman he loves in the effort.
This story ought to be familiar. It is also the story of Moses. Moses was also sent away as an infant; Moses also grows up in a family of strangers but cannot forget the family of his birth. He grows up to be the reluctant savior, heeding the cry of the people. But there is personal sacrifice in his mission to save his people. Being a savior is a painful and difficult calling.
This week’s portion begins a series of speeches Moses delivers in the last weeks of his life. He admits the burden and difficulty of his role as savior of his people.
“How can I myself alone bear your weight, and your burden, and your strife?” (Deuteronomy 1:12) Moses was always the reluctant prophet. When God appeared to him at the burning bush and told him to become the savior of the people, he looked for any excuse not to go. Moses sacrificed his own family life for his leadership role. According to the Midrash, he separated from his wife and the Torah says virtually nothing about his children. His role as rescuer of the Jewish people was all consuming.
As I watched the movie Superman, the ancient exodus story echoed in my mind. The movie told the same story of the reluctant savior. When an ancient religious text and a contemporary movie both tell the same story, they obviously echo a deep human need. We humans tell stories to ourselves. The story of the baby sent from his home who grows up to save his people, making personal sacrifices along the way, is a story as old as time. It reflects something deep about human nature. We long for a savior. But what does the savior give up as he, or perhaps she, fulfills his or her mission.
PARSHAT DEVARIM
(5764)
SLAYING GIANTS
“Only King Og of Bashan was left of the remaining Rephaim. His bedstead, an iron bedstead, is now in Rabbah of the Ammonites; it is nine cubits long and four cubits wide, by the standard cubit!” (Deuteronomy 3:11)
“You are too tall to be a rabbi!”
I hear these words all the time. Standing a few inches over six feet, I am taller than most rabbis I know (but a few tower over me.) I am also shorter than most professional basketball players (and no, I never played in college. I was not that talented.)
Height has its advantages and its disadvantages. One advantage is that when you speak publicly, height gives you a very strong presence. For better or worse, height creates authority, even if it is false authority. The disadvantage is you tend to bump into many chandeliers. (I once walked into a shiva home - “a house of mourning”, walked into the front chandelier, and knocked out all the lights in the house.) Height also makes it very difficult to fly coach in most airplane seats. I fight to get a roomier exit row, or occasionally if I am lucky, a first class upgrade. (I once flew to Europe in the front row of coach, with my legs sticking under the curtain into Business Class. I told everyone, “I flew coach but my feet flew Business.”)
I mention these musings about height because we read this week about the last of the great giants, who was killed by Israel in an unexpected victory. His name was Og, king of Bashan, and the Israelites were very frightened to face him. In the end they were victorious, and even captured his bedstead. It was nine cubits by four cubits – approximately 13 ½ by 6 feet. I would love to sleep in such a large bed.
The theme of the giant killer is one of the great myths of Western tradition. By myth, I do not mean a falsehood. Rather it is a story that even if not literally true, is certainly spiritually true. Whether or not David really slew Goliath, his story has become a fundamental part of our Western culture. How often do we cheer on the little guy taking on the large enemy? How often do we root for the underdog as he overcomes an adversary far larger and more powerful?
I believe that this myth accounts for the popularity of the wonderful Lord of the Rings trilogy. While in college I read the story of Frodo the Hobbit from the Shire, who overcame great forces of evil to destroy the ring with its evil powers. I could not put it down, and about a year later I read it all again. Something in the series touched me. Perhaps that is why I sat through all three movies, well over ten hours of movie watching. The story of the little guy overcoming something much greater had a powerful meaning for me. The giant does not always win.
Often in life we face adversaries far larger than ourselves. It may be the evil corporation who pollutes the environment or establishes unfair labor practices. It may be cancer or some other dreadful disease that seems to overwhelm us at first. Or it may be as simple as trying to establish an idea in a world not yet ready to hear what we have to say.
The story of the victory over Og in this portion, the story of David and Goliath, the story of the Lord of the Rings, and countless other great myths, are the story of giant slayers. They are not literally true; I doubt if a giant named Og really lived outside of Canaan. And yet they are true, because we all face moments in our lives when we must become giant slayers. We all face adversaries whom at first seem to tower over us, seem overwhelming. Nonetheless, with faith, persistence, and a commitment to the righteousness of our cause, we can be triumphant. We can relive that glorious Biblical moment when the little guy slew the giant. That is why this is a story we will never stop telling.
PARSHAT DEVARIM
(5763)
FROM DESTRUCTION TO CREATIVITY
"Then you retreated and wept before the Lord, but the Lord did not listen to your voice and He did not hearken to you."
(Deuteronomy 1:45)
I am reading a beautiful book by Brian Swimme and Thomas Berry entitled The Universe Story. The book attempts to find the spiritual meaning in the unfolding of the cosmos and the evolution of humanity.
Among the many insights of Swimme and Berry is that destruction is built into the universe. "Violence and destruction are dimensions of the universe. They are present at every level of existence: the elemental, the geological, the organic, the human. Chaos and disruption characterize every era of the universe, whether we speak of the fireball, the galactic emergence, the later generations of stars, or the planet earth." (P.51 - 52)
However, out of destruction comes creativity. The explosion of a supernova leads to the manufacture of matter necessary for life. The destruction of hydrogen at the heart of the sun causes the creation of energy to sustain that life. The volcanic and geological activity releases the chemicals necessary for life. New higher forms of life emerge from the death of lower forms. From destruction comes creativity.
What is true on the cosmic level is true on the human level as well. Some of the most creative periods of human history grew out of some the most destructive. Throughout history, war and tragedy leads to creativity and growth.
This week's portion is always read on the Shabbat before Tisha B'Av, the saddest day of the Jewish year. According to Jewish tradition, the Israelites sent spies into the land, and keep back fearful and weeping. God said to them, "You want to weep on this day. I will give you reason to weep." The day was the ninth of Av, and God declared that it would be a day of tragedy. Both the first and the second Jewish Temple in Jerusalem were destroyed on the ninth of Av. It was a day of destruction like the Jewish people had never known.
Yet, out of destruction grew creativity. A wise rabbi, Yochanan ben Zakkai, was able to escape Jerusalem by hiding in a casket. He approached the Roman general leading the siege and asked for permission to set up a center of learning in Yavneh. The general gave permission, and out of this center grew Talmudic Judaism, one of the most creative periods of Jewish history. Through the Talmud, Judaism survived.
This same theme plays out throughout Jewish history. From the terrible Khmelnytsky massacres in seventeenth century Ukraine arose the development of Hasidism and new creativity in Jewish life. In a similar way, the terrible events of our own day, the holocaust, led to the founding of the state of Israel and a rebirth for the Jewish people. Certainly this does not detract from the tragedy of these events. But it is a cause of hope for redemption, rebirth, a new creativity when something terrible happens.
This week Jews commemorate the tragedies of our history, from the destruction of the temples through the many massacres to the holocaust and the ongoing murder of our people. Tisha B'Av is our saddest day. Yet it is also a day of hope, there is a vision that out of destruction will grow a new creativity. Rabbinic legend teaches that the messiah, the redeemer of humanity will be born on Tisha B=Av.
Out of destruction will grow new creativity. This is the way of the universe. This is the way of our history. And this can give us hope when sadness and destruction become part of our own lives.
PARSHAT DEVARIM
(5762)
WHEN SADNESS STRIKES
"You sulked in your tents and said, It is because the Lord hates us that He brought us out of the land of Egypt, to hand us over to the Amorites to wipe us out."
(Deuteronomy 1:27)
We all experience sadness at some time in our lives. We all know pain. How do we react to the inevitable crises that occur as we go through life?
Often our first inclination is to lash out at others. If sadness has happened, someone must be to blame. Sometimes when illness or the death of a loved one occurs, we run to hire a lawyer and sue someone. If we have any kind of religious inclination, we lash out at God. How often have I seen someone boycott the synagogue after sadness happens in his or her life, as if to say "God, you abandoned me, now I will abandon you!" How I want to tell them that when sadness happens they need the solace of synagogue and religion all the more.
In this week's portion, the story of the twelve spies is retold. Ten of the spies brought back a negative report about the holy land, saying that it was filled with giants and unconquerable. God told the people that they must now wander the desert for forty years, until that generation died off. The people cried out, blamed God, and said that they would be better off in Egypt. They reacted to their pain by lashing out at God.
The Midrash or Rabbinic interpretation fills in the story. God looked at the people and said, "You want to cry on this day. I will give you a reason to cry. This will be a day of tragedy for you throughout the generations." The day was Tisha B'Av, the ninth day of the month of Av. On this day both the First and Second Temple in Jerusalem were destroyed, Jerusalem was plowed under, the Jews were thrown out of Spain in 1492, and numerous other tragedies occurred. This week's portion is always read on the Shabbat before Tisha B'Av. On the day itself we fast, read the book of Lamentations and other sad poems in a mournful tone, avoid joyous activities. (In our summer camp we will not be taking our young people on their usual daily field trip, but instead will have a movie and discussion about the meaning of the day.)
There is another powerful lesson of Tisha B'Av that can be helpful to people of all faiths today. Although the day commemorates tragedies and sadness, it is also a day of soul searching and self examination. "Because of our sins were we exiled from our land," the prayerbook says. According to tradition, the First Temple was destroyed because of widespread bloodshed, sexual immorality, and idolatry. The Second Temple was destroyed because of sinat chinam, unjustified hatred of people towards one another. Tisha B'Av becomes a time to remove hatred from our hearts.
When sadness strikes, it is a time for careful self-examination. Did our own behavior contribute to this catastrophe? Did poor eating habits or smoking cause the heart disease or cancer, and if so, can we change the way we eat? Did a lack of sexual self-control contribute to the breakdown of our family, and if so, can we gain sexual self discipline? Did greed contribute to our business problems, and if so, can we change our attitudes towards money?
Sometimes sadness strikes and it has nothing to do with our behavior. Even so, rather than lash out at God or at other people, this is a worthy time for careful self-examination. How can we use this sadness to become a better person? What can we learn from this event? Can we create a better world where no one else suffers the way we have suffered?
The lesson of Tisha B'Av is that when sadness strikes, the best response is self-examination. I mention this not to add guilt to the pain we are suffering. Rather it is wisdom to go through our sadness and find a new positive direction in life.
PARSHAT DEVARIM
(5761)
WHY I FAST
"Again you wept before the Lord, but the Lord would not heed your cry or give ear to you." (Deuteronomy 1:45)
Parshat Devarim always falls on the Shabbat before the fast day of Tisha B'Av. It speaks of the way the people wept after God punished them with forty years of wandering. According to the midrash, God said, "You want to weep, I will give you a reason to weep. On this day the future temples will be destroyed." On this Shabbat it is worthy to share with you a piece I wrote a few years ago for Jewish Family and Life.
I am not a very good faster. In fact, I confess that I allow most of the minor fast days of the Jewish calendar to pass without notice. If I did fast, I would spend most of the day thinking not only about food, but about missing my morning cup of coffee.
However, twice each year I gear up for a full twenty five hour fast. One of course is Yom Kippur, where I am conducting services for several thousand people. The other comes in the midst of the summer, when life is quiet around the synagogue. The second is Tisha B'Av and is by far the more difficult for me.
Why do I fast on these days? As a wise rabbi once taught, on Yom Kippur, when our sins are being forgiven, who needs to eat. And on Tisha B'Av, when we recall the horrors of Jewish history, who can eat.
I fast on Tisha B'Av because we Jews need one day to commemorate sadness. Certainly we ought to emphasize the joys of living Jewish, particularly for our children. I know too many Jews who show up on yizkor and yahrzeits, who speak of the shoah and suffering, but who never dance with the Torah on Simchat Torah or wear a mask on Purim. I know too many Jews who only emphasize Jewish suffering and sadness. That is not a healthy approach, nor is it Jewish. Most of the Jewish calendar is filled with joyous moments.
Once a year it is necessary to stop and remember that Jewish history is filled with sadness. We need to mourn, and then say never again. Tisha B'Av is that day.
For me, Tisha B'Av has a personal as well as a national sadness. I had flown out to California with my soon to be bride Evelyn to introduce her to my family. On Tisha B'Av morning, as we were fasting, we found my mom unable to talk. She had a stroke. Fortunately she was able to attend our wedding, but the stroke was the beginning of a series of health problems that led to her premature death a few months before our oldest son's Bar Mitzvah.
Thinking about my mother, and about Tisha B'Av, I think about how do we mourn. And how do we teach our children to mourn. The first lesson is that we need rituals to mourn. On Tisha B'Av we not only fast, but we sit on the ground and chant the book of Lamentations to a mournful melody. In Jewish camps they often conduct the rituals outdoors by candlelight. Children remember it.
For many of us, our natural inclination is to protect our children from the rituals of mourning. I have met families that will not allow even their teens to attend a funeral because it is too sad. I always teach that as soon as a child is old enough to sit respectfully, usually around six, they ought to be allowed to attend funerals.
The other major lesson is that sadness and mourning are also a time for soul searching. We Jews did not despair through the destruction of the two temples. Instead, we said "because of our sins were we exiled from our land." We saw the tragedy as a time for careful self scrutiny and repentance.
Personal mourning can also be a time for self improvement. The Talmud teaches that when disease strikes, people should always search their own soul. This does not mean that our behavior caused the disease (although that is sometimes true.) Rather, it means that moments of sadness are a time for self reflection and self improvement. Many people walk away from a disease, a funeral, or other losses with the resolve to do better in life.
Our children need to hear this lesson. We cannot protect them from the vagaries of life. We can teach them to use difficult moments to think about their lives, and how they can do better. Times of national loss such as Tisha B'Av, and times of personal loss such as a funeral, are perfect times to teach children the importance of tzedakah and good deeds.
Tisha B'Av is a difficult fast. Some Jews fast only part of the day, maintaining that with the rebirth of Israel the sadness is mitigated. I still fast a full day. We Jews need one day of mourning. My hope is that the day becomes an opportunity to create rituals and memories, and also a day of soul searching and resolve. On Tisha B'Av we can learn to improve ourselves, and improve the world.
PARSHAT DEVARIM
(5760)
THE MEANING OF HISTORY
"These are the words which Moses spoke to all Israel on this side of the Jordan in the wilderness."
(Deuteronomy 1:1)
As I write these words, I am sitting on the edge of the Grand Canyon in Arizona. In honor of my fiftieth birthday, I am recreating a trip I took with my father and brother when I was fifteen years old. It is strange and wonderful reliving your own history.
Looking at history is the major theme of this portion. Moses, facing the end of his life, reviewed the history of the Israelites' forty years of wandering. He shared memories of the spies who spoke out against the land, and of the punishment of forty years of wandering until the old generation had died off. He recounted the sins of the people, and the hope that they would now be worthy to enter the land.
We always read this portion on the Shabbat before Tisha B'Av, the saddest day of the Jewish year. On this day we recall the destruction of the two Temples in Jerusalem, and the other tragic events of our history. We Jews belief that "because of our sins were we driven from our land." The Rabbis believed that our history was not a series of random events, but the results of our behavior. (Admittedly, this idea is difficult to maintain after the Holocaust.)
As I reflect on history, my own personal history and the history of the people Israel, one thought comes to mind. There are two ways to understand history. We can see history as a series of disconnected events, leading nowhere and meaning nothing. Or we can see history as heading in a particular direction, leading somewhere. The former we can call random history. The latter we ought to call redemptive history.
King Solomon, in his old age, saw life as futile and history as meaningless. His powerful words are recorded in the Bible for posterity. "Vanity of vanities, all is vanity. What real value is there for man in all the gains he makes beneath the sun? One generation goes, another comes, but the earth remains the same forever... All streams flow into the sea, Yet the sea is never full; To the place from which they flow the streams flow back again...Only that shall happen which has happened, Only that occur which has occurred; There is nothing new beneath the sun." (Ecclesiastes 1:2-9) It is a vision of history as a series of random and meaningless events. What a depressing vision!
There is another way to look at history. History has a direction and purpose. The future builds on the past. This view of history is best represented by a chain, with each generation a new link. That is why the Bible is so concerned with who begat whom. Each generation builds and adds to the previous link. Previous generations contain a repository of wisdom and knowledge on which a new generation can build. Each new generation stands on the shoulders of their parents and grandparents. Each new generation sees itself as closer to the perfect Messianic age still to come. Humans experience a link between generations, an appreciation of the past and a vision of the future, which animals can never know.
This is the meaning of being human. To be part of a chain, part of some greater purpose, gives human life its spiritual quality. Now we can finally understand the beautiful thought articulated by the Christian theologian Reinhold Niebuhr:
"Nothing that is worth doing can be achieved fully in our lifetime; therefore we are saved by hope."
The Biblical view is to see ourselves as something great, one link in a chain that will lead to human redemption. Perhaps the Grand Canyon is the perfect place to reflect on the role of God in human life. We see God's hand in the marvels of nature. And we see God's hand in the acting out of human history.