This week, the Jewish world begins the annual reading of the book
of Exodus. Last week, we read from the
final weekly portion in Genesis, Vayechi.
This week, we turn our attention to the second book of the five that
comprise our sacred Torah. In doing so,
we go through a very sharp transition.
Genesis or Sefer
Bereishit, is an intensely personal story.
Oh, I know…it starts with the creation of the world, the falling of
humanity into evil, and the flood to give humanity a new start. But the real essence of Genesis begins with
the call of Abraham. It’s the story of a
family, and how successive generations grasp onto the heritage of faith and
calling that began with Abraham. It
takes place against sweeping events. But
it is, at its heart the story of one family.
With the beginning
of the book of Exodus, there’s a phase shift.
That family has become a confederation of tribes. Egypt has changed and become xenophobic. This sets the scene for a tremendous clash of
two opposing worldviews. Of a culture of
life versus a culture of death.
In case I haven’t
been completely clear, I really love the book of Genesis. The patriarchal narratives give us so much insight
to the human condition. As we read of our
ancestors’ struggles, we learn so much about what makes us tick. From their successes and failures we draw
inspiration to continue the struggles that characterise our turbulent
lives.
You’ve heard of the
great sage, Hillel, who lived in the first century before the Common Era. One of the best-known sayings of Hillel is
found in the first chapter of Tractate Avot of the Mishnah: If I am not for myself, who will be for
me? And if I am only for myself, what am
I? And if not now, when?
Most of us have
heard this, and we understand what Hillel meant. If I do not take care of my own needs, whom
can I expect to do so? Each one of us is
a flesh-and-blood person. It is natural
– and desirable – that each one of us takes responsibility for our own
needs. For our own happiness. If we don’t, then how can we expect someone
else to pick up the slack?
And yet, if we are only
directed towards ourselves, then that means we are self-absorbed. So we must take care of our own needs, but at
some point we must turn our attentions outward.
We grow in stature when we reach out to others. When we are for others.
And if we haven’t yet
gotten on with the business of putting the two into effect in our lives, then
now is the time. Since these two are
among the keys to a happy and successful life, why put them off? If not now, when?
It’s hard for us to think of the Jewish
festivals, observances and practices as little more than an extra overlay to
our lives. Perhaps they carry some
degree of obligation. Perhaps you plan
your year, and your life, with some reference to the festivals and
observing them in their time. But it is
likely that you do now see them as having much to do with the essence of
your lives. If you didn’t come to shule
on Rosh Hashanah, or if you didn’t practice some degree of self-deprivation
on Yom Kippur, you might feel that you’d missed out on something – and you would
have. But you probably don’t see
them as an essential element of the rhythm of your own lives.
If not, this is
not a criticism directed at you. Rather,
it’s an expression of frustration. The
frustration that I other teachers whom you’ve encountered, have not been able
to make real the connection between the rhythms of the Jewish year and the
inner life of the Jew.
If this is the
case – or if it is not – allow me to use illustrate the principle from recent events. In September, as in every September – or
perhaps October when the holidays are ‘late’ – we came together to observe the High
Holy Days. Rosh Hashanah and Yom
Kippur. Although we spend a large
number of hours in shule during these days, they are at heart intensely
personal. The theme of the twin
observances is that it is time once again to take stock of our lives and
imagine what the next year might bring. For
each one of us to decide our unique destiny in the coming year. The meta-message is that God instructs and
inspires us. But at the end of the day,
it is we who must make it happen.
Then, almost as
soon as we’ve caught our breath after Yom Kippur, we enter an additional cycle
of observances: the weeklong festival of
Sukkot and the additional celebration of Simchat Torah. From ten days of the intensely personal, we
spend eight days celebrating God’s loving care to the Jews as a people. First He kept us alive in the wilderness. Then He watered our collective souls with the
nourishment of Torah.
Once Simchat
Torah is past, we see the same progression manifest differently. We settle back into the patriarchal
narratives. The personal and intimate
story of our people, beginning with the one family, the ‘Abrahamsons.’
But when, 12
weeks later, we complete the book of Genesis and begin the book of Exodus, we
make that same phase-shift again. We
turn from the micro to the macro. Form
the personal to the grand. From the focus
on self and one’s closest relations, to the focus on a larger group and their
destiny.
These repeated calls to broaden our
perspective show what must happen in our real lives. We must take care of our own personal business. But if we never make the phase-shift to a
broader perspective, then we are not living up to our true potential. We sometimes struggle with that shift. We don’t want to take the focus away
from ourselves. But ultimately, we must.
This week we
begin reading and studying the narrative of what happened to the People Israel
in Egypt. Of how God through the agency
of Moses took them out and led them from slavery to freedom. Of how a large gaggle of related tribes had
to make a further phase-shift into a people, a nation. But for all this to begin, and for us to
learn from it, we must shift from self to something broader. Let’s make that shift together, now. If we cannot, then we must ask ourselves
Hillel’s eternal question: What am
I? And if we cannot do it now,
then we must ask ourselves his second question:
If not now, when?
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