PARSHAT HAAZINU

(5769)

 

HAVING A VISION

“You may view the land from a distance, but you shall not enter it – the land that I am giving to the Israelite people.”                                                                       (Deuteronomy 32:52)

 

            The end of Moses’ life had arrived.  God called him to the top of the mountain to look over the Promised Land.  He can view it, but he will never enter it.  Moses would leave behind a powerful vision of a new nation living in a new land.   He himself would never live there.  But his great vision will sustain the people.

            To be a leader is to have a vision.  The great men and women of history have inspired us with their vision of what the future holds.  Who can forget FDR’s words, “We have nothing to fear but fear itself” or Martin Luther King Jr.’s speech, “I have a dream.”  Ronald Reagan, whatever you may think of his particular policies, inspired the nation with his “City upon a Hill” image.  (Actually the phrase was first used in 1630 by John Winthrop in a famous sermon.)  And Eleanor Roosevelt inspired us with the line, “Beautiful young people are accidents of nature but beautiful old people are works of art.”

            The key to leadership is vision.  King Solomon already stated this in the Bible where he said, “When there is no vision the people perish.”  (Proverbs 29:18)    People need and desire a vision, and it is vision which will lead us into the future.  This idea was made into a hit contemporary Jewish folksong by the talented composer Debbie Friedman, using words from the prophet Joel.  “Your old shall dream dreams and your youth shall see visions.”  (Joel 3:1)  Like Moses, we may not be able to arrive in the Promised Land.  But we need people who can articulate a vision of that land.   Humans need a powerful vision of the future and need leaders who can articulate that vision.

            That brings me to the upcoming election, particularly the election for President of the United States.  I am following the debates, looking at the candidates’ backgrounds, and trying to follow their ongoing discussions of issues.  What do they have to say about the economy, the war in Iraq, the fight against terrorism, the protection of Israel, taxes and welfare?   How do they feel about abortion and gay marriage, pornography and prayer in the schools?  Who are their advisors and how does their faith illuminate their moral values?   These are all important questions.  But ultimately I will not decide who to vote for based on any of these questions.

            In my mind, the central task for anybody who wishes to be President of the United States is to articulate a vision.  Where are we going as a nation?  What will our future be like?   Will the president use the Oval Office as a bully pulpit to encourage American to follow that vision?  Does the person seeking office truly have a vision of where he or she wants to go?  Or does the person merely bend with the shifting wind,  following the polls and letting popular opinion sway them?  To put it another way, does the dog wag the tail or does the tail wag the dog?   Is the person truly a leader?  For without a visionary leadership, as King Solomon said above, without such a vision the people fail.

            Such a vision is essential for anyone who wishes the office of President.  But it is also true for anyone who desires to be a leader of any organization.  If one desires to be the CEO of a major corporation, the president of a small business, the captain of a football team or the rabbi of a synagogue, a leader must articulate a vision.  Where is our organization going and how are we going to get there?  What are the values that sustain this organization?  How will the organization overcome its obstacles in its quest to realize the vision?  That is leadership.

            So how will I vote?   I will not share my decision; I do not believe it is appropriate for clergy of a congregation to endorse any candidate.   Besides it could jeopardize our tax exempt status.  I have not told you who I will vote for, but you now know my number one criterion.   I will vote for the candidate who, like Moses, can stand on the mountain and best articulate a vision of the Promised Land. 

 

 

PARSHAT HAAZINU

 (5767)

 

THE WILDERNESS

 

“He found him in a desert region, in an empty howling waste. He engirded him, watched over him, guarded him as the pupil of His eye.”              (Deuteronomy 32:10)

 

            When I was young I used to enjoy backpacking in the mountains of California.  We would hike to a campsite in the woods, build a fire and cook food we had carried in, often freeze dried, sleep under the stars, and be at one with nature.  Somewhere along the line I lost my interest in camping.  Perhaps it had to do with my becoming more observant Jewishly (freeze dried kosher food is hard to come by.)  Or perhaps as I began studying Judaism, I started to assimilate the classical Jewish view towards the wilderness.

            The way Judaism traditionally pictured the wilderness is reflected in one verse in this week’s portion.  The wilderness is “an empty howling waste.”  The desert is a scary place and God rescued us and brought us out like an eagle brings its young on its wings.  We Jews tend to be an urban people.  Our laws require us to live in a community with certain necessities of communal life – a minyan, a synagogue, a Jewish school, for the more traditional a kosher butcher and a mikvah.  These amenities are not found in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, in the deserts of the southeast, nor even in the swamps of the Everglades. 

            The Biblical vision gives a view of the wilderness as a place to escape from and a place to be tamed.  We transform the wilderness.  Even in modern Israel we grew up with images of how the early pioneers drained the swamps and made the desert bloom.  We learn about how the city of Tel Aviv was built on sand dunes.  The notion of preserving some wilderness areas has recently begun to take hold in modern Israel.  There are nature trails and some wilderness preserves.  But wilderness in general is a place to be transformed and built up, not a place to be savored and appreciated.

This view towards the wilderness fits in with the overall Jewish view that nature is imperfect, and the job of humanity is to perfect nature for God.  I have often told the story of a king with two sons.  He could not decide which son was worthy to inherit his kingdom.  So he gave both sons wheat, and told them to take care of it properly and come back in thirty days to show what they have done.  The first son came and handed back the wheat, AI guarded your precious wheat carefully, no water touched it, no one stole it.  Here it is just as you handed it to me.@  The second son came and handed his dad a loaf of bread.  AI have perfected your wheat.@  Guess which one inherited the kingdom.

            The pagans saw God as manifest in nature, but Judaism rejected paganism.  The great philosopher Spinoza was a pantheist, identifying God with nature, and the Jewish community excommunicated him.  There is a powerful strand in Jewish tradition of escape from nature, transforming nature, nature as a “howling waste.” 

            And yet, in this time of environmental sensitivity, a new message is beginning to be heard in some Jewish circles.  The new message teaches that perhaps there is some truth in paganism and perhaps Spinoza was right.  Perhaps nature is not simply God’s creation but an actual manifestation of God very being.  Perhaps God is immanent in nature.  Perhaps the Torah was given at a mountain in the middle of the wilderness to teach that we can sense God’s presence in the midst of nature.

            We need to ask whether the classical view of nature as a scary place has resulted in many of our environmental problems.  If our job as humans is to transform nature, have we been less than responsible in our approach to the natural world.   Have we seen nature as existing to serve human needs, rather than humans as a precious part of nature itself?  Perhaps if we see God as manifest in nature, we can treat the natural world with more respect.  Perhaps it is time for me to go camping again.  Anyone know where I can find kosher freeze dried food?

 

 

PARSHAT HAAZINU

(5764)

 

GOD IN NATURE

 

"He found them in a desert, a waste and howling wilderness."

(Deuteronomy 32:10)

 

It is common wisdom that we can find God in beautiful natural settings.  I have said my early morning prayers as the sun is rising over the Grand Canyon, or from Massada overlooking the Dead Sea.  I have said my evening prayers as the sun is setting at Key West or over the mountains of Colorado.  I have beautiful memories as a child, going to a non-sectarian summer camp, of weekly vespers on a meadow overlooking the mountains.  If the weather is nice, many synagogues will hold services outdoors in a natural setting.

Having said that, God is not in nature.  Jewish tradition has not always loved naturals surroundings.  Perhaps most pressing, the Israelites hated the desert.  This week's portion tells how God found us in a howling wilderness, a scary and evil place.  God protected us as an eagle protects its young, until we were able to move out of the wilderness into a settled community.  Godliness is found in the community, in a village, in a minyan (ten Jews necessary for prayers), not out in the wilderness.

The ancient pagans worshiped nature.  God was found in the sun and moon, in mountains and trees, in oceans and rivers.  There was a spark of divinity everywhere.  Today there is a return to this pagan viewpoint among many new age worshipers.  The earth is Gaia, the great goddess, worthy of worship, and pantheism (the belief that God is really just nature) has returned.

Nature can be beautiful and inspiring.  It can also be dangerous and scary.  Nature is not God, but a creation of God.  God is beyond nature.

Allow me to share some thoughts from my Yom Kippur sermon this year: 

If a wise, loving, omnipotent God designed the universe, why do such awful things happen?  Why are there mosquitos, why are there cancer cells, why are there birth defects, why are there hurricanes, why do airplanes fall from the sky, why do terrorist bombs explode on busses?  What kind of God would make such a world?

To grope towards an answer, I want to tell you about a bris I went to recently.  The mother was quite nervous.  "Look at my baby, he is so perfect.  Ten perfect fingers, ten perfect toes, this is how God made him.  Rabbi, how can you cut the foreskin of this perfect baby?"  I tried to soothe her, "That is the point.  Nothing God made is quite perfect.  Circumcision symbolizes our responsibility to perfect the world."  When God made the world, God looked at it and saw that "It was very good," but not perfect.  So God created humans to perfect God's world.  We call it tikkun olam, the perfection of the world.

Jewish tradition tells the story of a king with two sons.  He could not decide which son was worthy to inherit his kingdom.  So he gave both sons wheat, and told them to take care of it properly and come back in thirty days to show what they have done.  The first son came and handed back the wheat, "I guarded your precious wheat carefully, no water touched it, no one stole it.  Here it is just as you handed it to me."  The second son came and handed his dad a loaf of bread.  "I have perfected your wheat."  Guess which one inherited the kingdom.

A couple of weeks ago, when hurricane Isabel was bearing down on the United States and we were wondering whether it would hit here, I asked myself a question.  If we could find a way, an environmentally safe way, to sprinkle some chemical on the hurricane and make it go away, should we do it?  My answer is absolutely - that is why God created us.  When God made the world, God looked at it and said it was tov meod - very good.  Very good, but not perfect.  God created us humans to perfect the world.  Nature is not God.  God created the world, and we humans are partners in creation.

PARSHAT HAAZINU

(5763)

 

LEAP OF ACTION

 

"The Rock, His deeds are perfect; Yea, all His ways are just."

(Deuteronomy 32:4)

 

There is the story about a man from a small town in Poland who went to the university in Germany.  He received his doctorate in philosophy and became a freethinker and an articulate orator.  He returned to his small town to deliver a lecture on "Why there is no God."

All the Jews of the town gathered to hear him.  He presented a powerful case on how modern science and philosophy proves that God could not exist and that religious observance was a waste of time.  All the people seemed to be shaking their head in agreement.  The man felt proud that he was getting through to these small town Jews.  Then, one by one the Jews began to walk out of his lecture.  Soon almost everybody had left, leaving him speaking to a near empty room.  He turned to his sponsor, "I thought I was getting through to them.  Where are they going?"  The sponsor replied, "They love your lecture.  They all left to daven mincha (pray the afternoon sevice.)"

A similar story tells how a group of Jews in a Nazi Concentration Camp put God on trial, and after hearing testimony, found God guilty.  When the trial was finished, they went to daven mincha.  Traditional Jews will immediately understand these stories.  It does not matter whether we believe or do not believe in God, whether we understand or do not understand God, whether we are angry or not angry with God.   Jews pray.  Jews go to synagogue.  The key is action.

On Rosh Hashana I spoke about love.  The kabbalah teaches that the universe consists of four concentric worlds.  This first world is the Olam HaAsiya, the world of action.  Love in this world is manifested by our actions towards one another.  The second world is the Olam HaYitzira, the world of formation.  Love in this world is manifested by our passions.  (For love in the higher two kabbalistic worlds, come on Yom Kippur to hear my sermons.  Or ask me for copies.)

On the most basic level, love is about action.  Before taking any action, we must do a personal human impact statement.  Will this act lower the dignity of another human being?  Will this act raise the dignity of that human being?  We must act in a particular manner towards our fellow human beings, even if we do not feel like it.  Feelings, passions, appetites, are in a higher world.  But at the most basic level, our concern must be actions.

People say to me, how can I act in a certain way if the feelings are not there?  How can I kiss my mother when I have no feelings towards her?  How can I hold hands with my husband when I am so angry at him?  How can I visit my sick neighbor in the hospital when his barking dog keeps me up at night?  How can I greet this woman on the High Holidays when she ignored me last year?  Am I not being a hypocrite if I act this way when the feelings are not there? 

When the Israelites received the Torah, they said "We will do and we will understand." (Exodus 24:7)   We will act in a certain way, and then we will develop the proper feelings.  The world of action is the first of the four worlds in kabbalah.  Action always comes first.

The existential philosopher Soren Kierkegaard spoke about a "leap of faith" as fundamental to the Christian way.  In response, the Jewish philosopher and spiritual teacher Abraham Joshua Heschel spoke rather about a "leap of action."  Behave in a certain way, even if the heart is not quite there.  Say the afternoon service, even if angry at God.  Act lovingly towards a neighbor, even if the heart does not feel good about that neighbor.

On this Shabbat before Yom Kippur, it is appropriate to scrutinize our actions.  According to this week's Torah reading, God's ways may be perfect.  (Actually looking at the world, they are not so perfect.  But that is a message for another time.)  What we must do is look at our own ways.  Let us take a leap of action, whether or not the feelings are there.  Hopefully, the heart will follow.

PARSHAT HAAZINU

(5762)

 

BUILDING AGAIN

 

"I deal death and give life, I wound and I heal, None can deliver from My hand."                                           (Deuteronomy 32:39)

 

The great Hasidic master Rabbi Nathan of Breslov told a wonderful story.  He once saw a man whose house had burnt down.  The man had been crying terribly about his losses.  Now he began looking through the rubble, finding bits and pieces of wood or metal to start rebuilding.  One by one he made a pile of pieces.  Rabbi Nathan said, "See how he is collecting pieces to rebuild.  So it is with our spiritual lives.  Even when we think there is no hope, we are already collecting pieces to rebuild."

This story hit me in the aftermath of the terrible events of a few weeks ago.  Buildings have been destroyed, lives lost, including some I knew and loved.  Yet there is a rebuilding going on.  It is a spiritual rebuilding, and soon there will be a physical rebuilding.  The World Trade Center may not stand again precisely as they were.  But something will be built there, perhaps a building, perhaps a memorial, probably some combination of both.  The rebuilding will be testimony to our faith in God and the power of the human spirit.

The book of Psalms speaks of the power of God in creating a building.  "Except the Lord build the house, they labor in vain to build it; Except the Lord keep the city, the watchman labors in vain."  (Psalms 127:1) God is there when we build and God is there when we rebuild.

On Rosh Hashana I spoke about humans who try to play God.  The Biblical example is the Tower of Babel, which humanity built a tower to challenge God in order to make a name for themselves.  God punished humanity by taking away their most Godly power, the ability to communicate with each other.  I then spoke of humans who play God by destroying buildings, deciding "Who shall live and who shall die" to quote the High Holiday liturgy.  Both are examples of how easily we humans forget God.

This week's Torah portion consists of a poem spoken by Moses shortly before his death.  It speaks about the Israelites becoming comfortable in the land, building their homes, growing rich, and spurning God.  How easy it is to forget God when we become rich and comfortable.  It takes a crisis, the destruction of a building, to remind us of our need for faith and a sense of purpose.

This is part of the logic behind Sukkot.  The feast of tabernacles is also about a building.  But it is a building exposed to the elements, with flimsy walls and branches for a roof.  The branches must cover sufficiently so that there is more shade than sun, but not so much that the stars are blocked.  When we sit in the Sukkah and eat, we are exposed to the wind and the rain.  (Here in Florida, we are mostly exposed to the bugs.)  We are at one with nature.  We realize how dependent we are on God.  It is a lesson that we take home as we return to eat in our comfortable homes and buildings when the festival is over.

Buildings show our human ingenuity, which is a gift from God.  Buildings also show our dependence on God.  When all seems hopeless, God will give us the strength to rebuild.  When something terrible happens, we can rebuild not simply our buildings, but our souls and our faith.

PARSHAT HAAZINU

(5761)

 

GOD AND REPENTANCE

 

"See now that I, even I, am He, and there is no other god with Me.  I kill and I make alive, I have wounded and I heal, and there is none that can deliver out of My hand."

(Deuteronomy 32:39)

 

There is a classical Hasidic parable.  A king had a son whom he loved very much.  Unfortunately, as the son was growing up, the king began to see that he was heading on the wrong path.  The son's behavior became more and more difficult, and the king realized that he could not keep him in the palace.

The king sent his son to a far off village to be raised in the home of peasants.  There his officers and spies were able to keep an eye on him and see how he was doing.  The king's son grew up in the village, but always maintained a memory of the palace where he was born.

One day the young man said, "I am the son of a king, and I must return to my father."  He began the long and difficult journey.  Soon messengers came to tell the king, your son is on your way home.

The king immediately broke into tears.  He told his servants, "I know it is a difficult journey.  Go load up my carriage right away.  I will travel and meet my son half way."

The meaning of the parable is clear.  The king is God, the son represent God's children.  There are times when we feel that God sends us away and is hidden from us.  And there are times when we send ourselves away, hide ourselves from God, travel a long distance from the proper path.

The theme of these days between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur is teshuva, which literally means "return."  It is about returning to the path God wants us to travel.  Teshuva teaches that we humans are not stuck; we have the ability to turn our lives around and change the path we are travelling.  When we do teshuva, God in a sense also does teshuva.  God also has the ability to turn around.  Perhaps that is the meaning of the rather difficult poetic words in this portion "I kill and I make alive, I have wounded and I heal."  God can change.

One of the most profound teachings of Judaism is that there is a symmetry between what happens here on earth and what happens in the spiritual world.  When we humans return to God, God also returns to us.  God meets us half-way, if you will.  We travel towards one another.

The twelve step recovery programs such as Alcoholics Anonymous speak of turning to a higher power on the road to sobriety.  They recognize the key role God plays in changing our live style and our habits.  Some secularists have recommended an eleven step program, leaving out the religious part.  They quickly discovered that this never worked.  God has a vital role in helping us humans change.