This Week's Drashot - Enjoy!

To Cry Out in Pain

Friday, 3 August 2012

It is said: ‘There are no atheists in foxholes.’  Once, when I was a military chaplain I got in trouble for repeating this more-or-less accepted truism.  I was giving a briefing to troops deploying to Iraq.  The briefing was on how to cope in times of great stress.  I was making the case that religious faith can be an important tool for coping.  After the briefing, a Colonel who was in the deploying group came up to me. ‘Rabbi,’ he said as he shook his head sadly. ‘You’ve just negated the worldviews of all the non-believers in the group, and they’re just as patriotic and duty-bound as the believers.’

                The point I’d been trying to make was not – at least not overtly – to argue for religious faith.  Rather, it was to present a methodology for making that faith – if one had it – a part of one’s personal toolkit.  Perhaps my lecture helped someone besides that Colonel.  In any case, I learned an important lesson – about ‘political correctness’ and how it can stymie even the most innocuous speech!

                So let me repeat, and this time I am making an argument for religious faith – imagine that!   There are no atheists in foxholes.  That is to say, when we face the extreme, even the a-religious have a tendency to reach for religious faith.  I have listened to testimony after testimony of those for whom this rang true.  And in my own personal experience it has and does resonate for me.

                Thus, I daresay for some of you tonight, the opening words of this week’s Torah portion will especially resonate.  Moses is giving a sermon to the people Israel.  He begins:  Ve’ethanan el-Adonai be’et hahi leimor.  I pleaded with The Lord at that time, saying…  Moses is referring to how he pleaded with G-d to let him cross over the Jordan River and see the Promised Land.  But to translate the Hebrew word ve’ethanan, ‘I pleaded’ as in our Plaut edition, doesn’t really capture the depth of the verb’s meaning.  It means more accurately, ‘I cried out from the depths of my soul.’  It means to cry out pleadingly for some need that weighs so heavily on one’s heart, that they can’t imagine not having it.  In Moses’ case, it was to see the Land of Israel.  For me, it was the life of my newborn son.  For some of us, it might be for our own life!  For each human being, in the time when he feels this powerful need, it will be something different.

                Sometimes, when we cry out in this way, what we desire so keenly is granted to us.  When this happens, this can be the start, or the reinforcement of an incredibly strong faith.  But sometimes, what we cry out for, is not granted.  One would think that the natural consequence would be the opposite of the above:  the killing of faith.  But faith is not such a simple and logical animal as that.

                Many are the testimonies of those who didn’t get what they pleaded for.  When facing a loss that occasioned them crying out to G-d in the way that Moses did, what they begged for did not happen.  For Moses in our parashah, that was the way things played out.  He did not get to the Land of Israel.  And yet even when one’s most fervent request is denied, one’s faith can be strengthened.  Or even actually born of the experience.  Because in the end, crying out in such a way is not about what you get, or do not.  Rather, it is about letting your very soul be touched.  It is about the connection, and comfort, that come when you realize that you can cry out…and someone is listening.

                In psychological terms, this is called catharsis.  But the faith that results from connection is even deeper than catharsis.  It comes from a recognition that we are not alone.  That G-d listens.  That G-d is not the Great Santa Claus in the Sky who must produce if He is to be believed.  Rather, G-d is the Great Comforter.  And G-d’s comfort is available no matter what the result of one’s request.

                We know that we need the kind of comfort, about which I speak.  And yet…we are embarrassed by displays of emotion when we pray.  Take the prayers for healing.  We offer prayers for healing every Shabbat and festival during the Torah reading.  We have recently begun doing so also on Friday nights.  I feel very strongly that it is important to offer such prayers – for others and for ourselves – every time we gather to worship.  When we pray for healing, it need not be only for physical healing.  As Debbie Friedman so poignantly puts it in her prayerful song, which we shall sing shortly:  Bless those in need of healing with refu’ah sheleimah; the renewal of body, the renewal of spirit. We’re willing to repeat, and sing these words, because it provides us with a structure for prayer to reduce the embarrassment that comes from having forgotten how to pray.  But are we really touched by the words and their affect?  Maybe sometimes.

                All of us experience stress in extremis at some time in our lives.  It is wonderful when we are able to cry out to G-d at such times.  It is even more wonderful that healing of a wounded spirit can come, no matter what the physical outcome.  This is the wonder of G-d; G-d’s healing transcends physical consequence.  May we all experience a Shabbat of Peace.  A Shabbat of Healing.  Amen.

If That’s not Love, What is?

Saturday, 4 August 2012

This morning’s Torah reading includes the section of the sixth chapter of the Book of Deuteronomy, with which everybody in this room is familiar.  Not only are you familiar with it, you could recite it from memory.  Or probably, chant it.  Even in your sleep.  Of course I’m talking about the declaration we refer to as ‘The Shema’ and ‘Ve’ahav’ta’ – two readings that are really one.  They are the very centrepiece of every Jewish evening and morning worship service.  They are the first ‘Jewish’ words that we teach our children.  Many Christian children are taught from a young age to recite at bedtime a prayer that begins:  Now I lay me down to sleep / In Your hands my soul to keep.  When Jewish parents teach and supervise their children’s reciting of some ‘prayer’ before bed, it is most often not a ‘prayer’ at all but the familiar words:  Shema Yisrael / Adonai Eloheinu / Adonai Echad.

                But I wish to direct your attention this morning to the words after that central declaration of Jewish faith, which comes to us as a commandment:  Ve’ahav’ta et Adonai Eloheicha / Bechol Levav’cha uvechol naf’shecha uv’chol me’odecha.  You shall love the Lord your G-d with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your abundance.  As with many formulaic declarations, we probably seldom think about these words and what they mean.  Of course, that we declare them in Hebrew doesn’t help in that regard, at least for those who don’t understand Hebrew.  I’m not giving you an entirely free pass, though.  Since you could recite these words in your sleep, you could read the English translation on the same page while chanting the Hebrew.  Only those who can’t walk and chew gum at the same time should be challenged by this.  Next time you’re reciting the Shema – or any old time, for that matter – think about these words and what they might mean.

                First of all, reflect on this being stated as a commandment.  You shall love.  But wait?  Isn’t love an emotion?  Are we being commanded to feel something?  How can that be?

                Obviously, my stating this is a classic ‘straw man’ – erected for the sole purpose of being knocked down.  Yes, love is an emotion.  But it is not only an emotion.

                Many say that love is an emotion, and that the verb to love is a response to an emotion.  But that’s not the whole story.  Similarly, the Hebrew verb ahav, translated as love, has multiple meanings.  Since one can be commanded to do and not to feel, it is clear that there is at least one meaning that transcends love as an emotional state.

                For all you Baby Boomers here, do you remember the brief appearance on the late 60’s – early 70’s music scene of a band called ‘Mashmakhan’?  They had essentially one hit song, As the Years Go By.  Remember the lyrics?  It begins:

A child asks his mother, ‘Do you love me?’

And it really means, “Will you protect me?’

The Mother answers him ‘I love you.’

And it really means ‘You’ve been a good boy.’

And as the years go by,

True love will never die.

At seventeen a girl says, ‘Do you love me?’

And it really means, ‘Will you respect me?’

The teenage boy answers, ‘I love you.’

But it really means, ‘Can I make love to you?’

And as the years go by,

True love will never die.

It’s an interesting statement, set to a catchy tune, written and recorded by a band whose name alludes to a variety of hashish.  Oy!  To be young again!  But if we listen critically to the lyrics, we see exactly what I’m talking about.  If we dismiss love as having only one meaning, we lose out on understanding so many meanings of the word.

                More from a Jewish Oeuvre, remember the song from Fiddler on the Roof?  Tevya asks Golda, his wife of 25 years, Do you love me?  And that prompts the two of them to contemplate in a song, exactly what ‘love’ means.  So the apprehension of the many possible meanings of the word ‘love’ beyond the emotion that sets the heart racing, is an age old quest.  And here, in an ancient text, is a reflection of one of those meanings.

                So exactly what does ‘love’ mean here?  It means a reciprocal relationship of commitment and dedication.  We’re commanded to love The Lord our G-d with all our heart, with all our soul, and with all out abundance.  That means that G-d is central to our very existence.  That means that G-d is the basis, around which we build lives of meaning.  That means that G-d is the first, most enduring object of our loyalties.

                Understand that I’m not talking – at least not necessarily – about religion, Jewish or otherwise.  Many are those whom those words will convict deeply and who will translate ‘loving G-d’ as the fastidious practice of religion.  They will attach their loyalties to an institutional expression of religious faith that will, at the very least, disappoint at times.  More likely, the religion that demands the loyalty that only G-d deserves, will probably take the gifts provided by that loyalty and subvert their intent.  It will use them for questionable, or even nefarious purposes.   Yes, we should be loyal to our religion.  No, it shouldn’t be a loyalty of the degree which we owe G-d.

                It’s important to understand the nature of the loyalty intended in the commandment, You shall love.  Until we apprehend the concept, we cannot even begin to contemplate the meaning of the following phrases:  With all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your abundance.  Perhaps I shall address these phrases in a series of Drashot someday.  Perhaps it shall be someday soon! (hint, hint…)

                When we repeat formulaic words again and again – in this case, every time we gather for worship at Temple Shalom – it is understandable that we don’t usually contemplate the meaning of the words.  At least, we don’t contemplate them too deeply.  Understandable.  But we should occasionally take the time and effort to contemplate the meaning of the words.  If we do, then we will capture the essence of the Jewish faith and quest.  Only if we do, will we be able to build a life of meaning through the mitzvoth, the sacred practices of Judaism.

                Think about the quality of loyalty and commitment that is represented in the commandment you shall love.  When you think about it, it isn’t too different from the quality of loyalty and commitment represented in the promises we made at our respective weddings…or will make when we’re finally caught under the chuppah…halvai!  Tevya and Golda realized, after a little contemplation, that ‘love’ – at least the ‘love’ that is really important – is not the emotion that makes your heart race.  Rather, it is the long-term commitment to their partner, a commitment that spans the years and transcends the way one might feel at any given moment.  As Tevya and Golda agree:  If that’s not love, what is?

                As in marriage, so too in our relationship with G-d.  ‘Love’ -  the love that the Torah commands of us – is a long-term and unwavering commitment.  Not to the trappings of religion.  Rather, to the person of G-d.  To the principles that Torah teaches us.  To the imperative to make the world a better place, in every way we understand that.  If we do this, out of love for G-d, then we have mastered the essence of Judaism.  We have mastered the essence of love.  If that’s not love, what is?