Saturday, September 22, 2018

The Tapestry of the Jewish People as Seen from 4 Species

Sukkot

by Rabbi Avi Billet

There is an interesting discussion in halakha about whether it is appropriate to smell the Hadasim and the Esrogim. Shulchan Arukh says you can’t smell the Hadasim attached to the Lulav, while one may smell the Esrog. However, it is not recommended to smell the Esrog because it is unclear what blessing needs to be made on smelling it.

For example, most times someone smells a sweet smelling fruit, one is supposed to say the blessing which translates to “Blessed are You, God, etc… the One who gives nice aromas to fruits.” The argument to not say the blessing in general is because in most cases, people use a fruit for food, and thus say a “Borei Pri Ha’etz” blessing, and are then exempt from the smelling bracha.

And yet the Mishnah Brurah distinguishes between when you’re using the Esrog, and when you’re not actually using the Esrog, saying that you can certainly smell it when you’re not in the act of shaking the 4 minim (species).

The question is, what’s the difference? And where do the Hadasim fit into all this?

Two items contribute to this conversation.

The first is the one often taught in schools, that the 4 minim each have certain qualities that distinguish them. The esrog has a nice smell and nice taste, the hadasim have a nice smell but not a nice taste, the lulav has a nice taste but no smell to speak of, and the aravos have no taste and no smell.

The second point is that there is a difference between how these items are perceived when engaged in the mitzvah v. how they are perceived when not actively engaged in the mitzvah.

The point made by the Shulchan Arukh is that the hadasim’s good quality, its smell, is what designates it for the mitzvah. As a result, its smell is designated for the mitzvah and it can’t be used in some other fashion. With the esrog, however, it’s main quality and feature is its taste. As a result, since the taste is elevated for the mitzvah, the smell is available to enjoy – were it not for the bracha debate mentioned above.

This is precisely how the Arukh haShulchan couches the conversation, and how he frames the use of these two items.

On the surface it would seem that the question is silly. Meaning, it’s obvious that if something is designated for a mitzvah that it can’t have another use.

But is it really so obvious? And is it even true?

Some might make the argument that marriage is only for the fulfillment of a mitzvah of procreation. Would anyone argue that a husband and wife can’t enjoy each other’s company in other ways?

Some might argue that a synagogue is a place for davening. But for whatever reason, in Hebrew it’s called a Beit HaKnesset – a place of gathering – not a Beit Tefillah – a house of prayer. With that reality, could we really argue that the only use a Beit HaKnesset could have is tefillah?

And so I’d like to suggest that there is a distinction between mitzvah and not-mitzvah because there is a profound lesson to be learned from a metaphor.

The qualities of the esrog, lulav, hadasim and aravos are used to remind us that there are different kinds of Jews. Some with all good qualities, some with good and bad, bad and good, and some with all bad. And, of course, that the gathering of these items display a kind of unity that the Jewish people ought to have, in particular after Yom Kippur, when we vowed to be better to one another.

But it goes deeper. The Esrog proves that a fruit can have more than one good quality. And that if one good quality is unavailable, that doesn’t take away from our ability to find other good qualities.

And I would argue that the same would be true of the Hadasim, the Lulav and the Aravos. If they are meant to be metaphors for people, then people need to see them as if possessing more qualities. We can limit the appeal of a branch to one or two qualities, but that’s a branch.

PEOPLE, by definition are much more complicated. Have much more going for them, then a simple one-sidedness.

This is one reason why the deterioration of dialogue between people with different views, in politics, in society, etc is so devastating to a culture. Instead of hearing another view and properly weighing pros and cons, considering the other side and refining one’s viewpoint, we tend to put people who think differently into boxes and dismiss their intelligence and their “feelings” without really getting to know them. How many intelligent people have been unfairly painted as fools, as uncaring, as childish, for simply having a different viewpoint?

People are a lot more complex than that.

I promise you if the Hadas had another quality other than smell, we would be allowed to benefit from it – certainly when not engaged in the mitzvah.

The holiday of simcha, when we spend time in the sukkah, gives us an opportunity to walk around, and knock on busy sukkahs, and try to get to know one another. Even just a little.

And who knows? While we can easily find things about one another where we disagree, maybe with the right attitude and direction of conversation, we can find so much more areas in which we agree, as well as perspectives we never considered before.

In this way we take the lesson of the 4 minim, the different kinds of Jews, and create a tapestry of unity that puts different kinds of groups together – with whatever clear differences exist – and turns them into a unified embodiment of mitzvah-fulfilling Kiddush Hashem makers. If we can do that, we will have earned the right to gladden others and joyfully enjoy the holidays.

Tuesday, September 18, 2018

Remarkable Jews And When the Incredible Die

Parshat Ha'azinu 

by Rabbi Avi Billet 

The Talmud (Rosh Hashana 16a) has an interesting discussion about how Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur work in terms of Judgment, Verdict and the fulfillment of the decree.

A basic assumption is that Rosh Hashana, also known as the Yom HaDin, Day of Judgment, is when the judgment is written down, while on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, the verdict is sealed. It’s like a day of reckoning.

And, of course, the judgment is always Life or Death.

But there’s an obvious question and a not as obvious question. The obvious question is, if the Verdict is sealed on Yom Kippur, that means there wasn’t a verdict for around 10 days. What do we make of those who die between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur?

The not as obvious question – which is a deep philosophical, theological, and ontological question – is “Is it really that simplistic?” Meaning, life and death are decided now? If my verdict is death, can I not do teshuvah? Is there no possible reversal of this decree if I have a complete turnaround? Besides, why should I die if I’m good? Why do the bad seem to be given life every year? More confusing, is death always a punishment? Meaning, of course it’s difficult for those who are left behind, who mourn the passing of their loved one or friend. But maybe God wanted the soul of this person because the person was so incredible! It’s hard for us, the living, to reconcile such a position. But it is certainly possible that not every death is considered a punishment.

Much of our perception of life and death and Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur is planted in our minds based on the chilling and powerful prayer of U’Nesaneh Tokef. And it is a heart-breaker for all of us. Because when we read through it and we recall all those who did not die a natural death at an old age, we wonder – was their awful end, whether by drowning, a car or plane crash, smoke inhalation, a fire, a terrorist bombing, shooting or stabbing, falling on a battlefield – was that their decree on Rosh Hashana which was sealed on Yom Kippur?

היתכן? Could it really be? Did the composer of U’Nesaneh Tokef get it right? Or is the drama of the passage chilling, but not so clearly a reflection of reality? Certainly one of the opinions in the Talmud, that of Rabbi Nathan, is that every person is judged every moment of life!

Let’s tackle the first question – of how we are to view those who pass between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur.

The Shaagas Aryeh, in his Turei Even on that Talmudic passage, writes the following: “[Since] a person is judged on Rosh Hashana, and his verdict is sealed on Yom Kippur, and judging of this person is based on both the past and the future (presumably because God knows the person’s potential and the person’s future – AB). The verdict comes on Yom Kippur! But the beginning of the actual consequence only begins after Yom Kippur.

Since the verdict (gzar din) comes on Yom Kippur, the implication is that verdicts are actually carried out from Yom Kippur to Yom Kippur.

Therefore the days from Rosh Hashana until Yom Kippur are a reflection of last year’s gzar din.”

Statistically speaking (this is a statistic arrived at through doing basic math) the 2.7% chance people have to pass away during this ten day period, in this one thirty-sixth of the year, might be a reflection of an incredible status achieved by those who merit.

The fact that the Talmud debates this means it’s open for discussion. The words of the Turei Even suggest that their judgment was issued a year ago, when God declared “This will be your last year, but it will be the longest ‘last year’ you can possibly have.”

What an incredible sentiment! Your last year... AND YOU GET AN EXTENSION.

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In a sense, Haazinu confirms the best of the worst and the best of the best for the Jewish people, while it concludes with a very personal account of what God will wreak on non-believers and enemies of God’s people.

Some sample snippets, beginning with 32:36: “God will then take up the cause of His people, and comfort His servants…[God] will then say: Where is their god, the power in which [non-believers] trusted?...But now see! It is I! I am the [only] One! There are no [other] gods with Me! I kill and give life! …I am Life forever…I will bring vengeance against My foes, and repay those who hated Me… Let the tribes of His nation sing praise, for He will avenge His servants' blood. He will bring vengeance upon His foes, and reconcile His people [to] His land.”

This is not a “politically correct” speech, of course, but as God is not running for election, He can say what He wants.

Then, in 32:45, we read “When Moshe had finished speaking all these words to all Israel, he said to them, 'Pay close attention to all the words through which I warn you today, so that you will be able to instruct your children to keep all the words of this Torah carefully. It is not an empty teaching for you. It is your life, and with it you will long endure on the land which you are crossing the Jordan to occupy.'”

On this last verse, Rashi (32:47) has a very important comment. He says the Torah is not a volunteer system. There is reward to be given to those who follow it. Furthermore, he says, there is no such thing as a pointless verse in the Torah from which you can not learn profound lessons. Even the identity of Timna in Bereishit 36 is used to show how much people wanted to marry into Abraham’s family.

Chizkuni also has a profound comment. Torah study should never be viewed as a useless and worthless pursuit. If we don’t study it, we won’t know what is a transgression and a culpable punishment, and what is a mitzvah (commandment) which merits one great reward.

If my assessment of those who pass away between Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur is on target (who will prove my theory wrong?), then a lot of credit goes to the 2.7% of people who pass away in this period. They were extraordinary, remarkable Jews.

Parshat Ha’azinu gives all of us the ingredients to become extraordinary, remarkable Jews ourselves. We must become Jewishly literate. We can never stop and be satisfied with what we knew in high school or even with what we’ve learned up until now.

Some people are happy if their children know more than they know. But this is one New Year’s resolution that must be renewed year after year because the previous sentence is wrong. With so many books in print, in Hebrew and in English, there is no excuse for any Jew to not seek more knowledge.

Devarim 30:14 states: “It is something that is very close to you. It is in your mouth and in your heart, so that you may do it.” A Hassidic teaching on this verse explains, “It is close to you. You say (in your mouth) you want to do it. You feel (in your heart) that you want to do it. Well, now it’s time to put up. Go do it!”

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As to the second question, which addressed whether we really only have a 10-day window during which our fate for the coming year is sealed, as well as whether death is always a punishment, I think the answer MUST be that the premise is simply untrue.

Teshuva is possible all year round! A person can always change one’s ways! We have the power to choose life, and to take important steps to change our trajectory at any time!

At the same time, to assume that death is always a punishment is to make very bold assumptions about how God runs the world.

For example, Haksav V’hakabbalah compares the way God accepts the offerings at the end of Vayikra chapter 9, at the dedication of the Mishkan, to how Nadav and Avihu are taken – the exact same words are used ותצא אש מלפני ה' ותאכל – and he uses that parallel to suggest God was equally בשמחה - joyous - taking the offerings and the young men.

Moshe Rabbenu even said “God had said He’d be sanctified with His holiest people!” There was no punishment here!

The first person to be “taken by God” was Chanoch in the book of Bereshis. And by and large the perspective shared about Chanoch is that he was SO HOLY that God wanted his soul back. Everyone else lives to 800s, 900s. He lives to 365. A young man!

This is not to say that those who lived through these particular passings did not feel pain. Of course they did. But that was because losing someone close to us is painful. We will miss the person terribly. But to assume the person was punished is even more painful! How could we reconcile that the person we loved, who was indeed such a good person, was punished with a judgment for death? We can’t! Which is why we are so confident after Yom Kippur that everyone has gotten a positive Verdict!

I came across a fascinating comment of the Alshikh on Parshat Nitzavim which has changed my entire perception of Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. Because it turns a head on U’Nesaneh Tokef and suggests we are going about this all wrong.

The Alshikh says that what we are judged for at this time of year is whether our destination will be to “Gehinnom” (purgatory) versus “Chayei Olam” (eternal life).

In other words, our deeds inform less whether we will live or die in the coming year, but what kind of stock we are building for the journey our souls will take when our time on Earth is over.

Even the U’Nesaneh Tokef prayer says some will die בקצו ומי לא בקצו. At his (or her) set time or not at his (or her) set time. What set time? Who sets this time? How does a person know how much time we are meant to have?

We don’t know. Which is why I believe that image refers to what we humans perceive as a person’s “set time.” No one says about a 100 year old, “Oy nebich. So young!” A 100 year old is expected to die - even though at times we think they just might live forever. But we say about (lo aleinu) children, teens, anyone under 70, and even people under 80(!), “Too young to die!” We tell ourselves that it was לא בקצו. But we have no idea what we’re talking about!

Who is to say what each person’s mission in life is? Who is to say when a person’s תפקיד in life is or is not complete? Every person has a purpose in life. A person of faith understands that when that purpose ends or comes to its conclusion, that is the person’s time. That is the Master of the World's way.

This very easily explains how wicked people can live year after year while wonderful people – whether old, or tragically very young – might die.

It is painful! It is very hard for those left behind! We loved the person! We will miss the person! But if we look at it as if their stock for going to Chayei Olam was flowing over and God said, “I want this Neshama (soul),” then we can begin to understand, or at least come to terms with what has happened, despite our pain, our longing, and our sense of loss.

Monday, September 17, 2018

Are Life and Death Hanging in the Balance?

Two and a half days before Yom Kippur of this year, a hero of the Jewish people and the State of Israel, Ari Fuld HYD and ZL, was murdered by an Arab terrorist. I can not even pretend to make sense of this tragedy, nor can I accept that his death was determined a few days earlier on Rosh Hashana. Hopefully the teaching of the Alshikh at the end of this piece can provide some comfort, with a very different perspective on what the Yom HaDin is all about. 

Yom Kippur

by Rabbi Avi Billet


A year ago, a family I know almost had a terrible tragedy. Their 2 year old son (who is now 3, thank God) fell into the pool. He was under water for some time and was taken out of the pool unconscious. With God's help, the doctors at the children’s Emergency Room which took him pulled off a miracle, revived him and just before Yom Kippur of last year he went home.

When I visited him in the hospital, his mother shared with me a few points worthy of sharing here.

First. “Never be judgmental.” How many times have we heard of these kinds of tragedies and asked, “Where were the parents?” And then we judge them for what happened. She said to me, “I was right there. We were leaving the pool. I turned for a second – for a second! – to gather my things. And then this happened.”

The truth is we often are extremely judgmental. How many people judged the parents of the child who was attacked by the alligator in Disney? Or the parents whose child ended up in the gorilla display at the Cincinnati zoo? How many times have we heard a story about a child being tragically left in a hot car? I knew an 8-year old child who jumped into a pool to race his cousin, when there were plenty of adults there, and they did not know there was a short in the pool light, which pumped the pool with electricity. His cousin got out, but he was intent on winning the race, and by the time he got out of the pool, he had basically been electrocuted. Can we blame the parents?

It is shameful to suggest these are bad or neglectful parents. This type of thing could happen to anyone. Anyone who is raising children – when they think about it – should give a blessing of thanksgiving at the end of every day that the kids are OK. Between the things they do because they don’t know to be careful, or the amount of times they run into the street, a parent can’t be the police all the time.

Second. “Everything is in God’s hands.” She told me, “I can’t imagine what the rest of my life would look like had the result of this story gone in the other direction.” We talk about this in the U’netaneh Tokef service. Who will die at the pre-destined time, and who will die not at the pre-destined time? Who in water…? “I must thank God every day for the miracle that my child is ok.”

How often do we notice the miracles that happen every day? How often do we express our gratitude and appreciation for the blessings God gives us every day?

How often do we blame things that happen on – actually on anything and everything? We certainly never blame ourselves. There is a level of Emunah (trust in God) that we fail to achieve if we assume we know why things happen. Those who trust in God understand He is running the show. We MUST do our part. But once we’ve done our part, we are left to leave the uncertain up to Him.

Third. “I was given a ‘pikadon’ – a gift from God to watch over – 2 years ago. And I was regiven that pikadon on the day [the doctors saved his life.]”

I hope she can carry that perspective forever. And it’s a perspective we ought to have as well. Our own lives are a pikadon – a gift from God to watch over. And every day, whether we say Modeh Ani, Alokai Neshama, or pay attention to the words of Modim, in which we give thanks to God “for our lives which are given to Your hand, and for our souls which are entrusted to you,” we nevertheless tend to lose sight of the “miracles that are every day, evening, morning and afternoon.

I remember when the plane was landed on the Hudson several years ago, listening to a radio program in which the host was interviewing someone who had been on the plane, and he asked the person, “You have a second chance at life. How does that make you feel?” And the person said, “I’m very grateful to be alive. I hope to do good things with the gift I’ve been given.”

One of the more fascinating perspectives on the concept of life and death hanging in the balance is shared by the Alshikh on Parshat Nitzavim. He discusses how what we are judged for is our destination of “Gehinnom” (purgatory) versus “Chayei Olam” (eternal life).



In other words, our deeds inform less whether we will live or die in the coming year, but what kind of stock we are building for the journey our souls will take when our time on Earth is over. This very easily explains how wicked people can live year after year while wonderful people – whether old, or tragically very young – might die. 

To summarize, our three lessons from near tragedy are: Don’t judge others, as we have no idea what happened, unless we were there (and if we were we wouldn’t judge!); everything is in God’s hands – we must do our part, but to a certain degree we have to be ready to let go and realize we can’t control everything; life and everything in it is a gift from God, and we must acknowledge and show appreciation to the Almighty for everything He does for us and everything we have.

May we be blessed to have a year filled with blessings and joy.

Thursday, September 6, 2018

Accomplishing My Goals - All About What I Put Into It

Rosh Hashana

by Rabbi Avi Billet

The haftorah we read on the first day of Rosh Hashana follows Chana's plight, her desire to have a child and her celebration of the arrival of that child.

There is so much we learn from Chana’s story – the way she deals with adversity, childlessness, sharing a husband with a seemingly petty woman. How she doesn’t despair, how she realizes that “I am the only person who can effect change, who can make a difference in my life.”

Chana knew that in order to get what she wanted in life, a child, she could no longer mind two stores – Peninah’s and hers.

She could no longer put her faith in her husband – men, it seems, don’t really understand what childless women go through. When Rachel told Yaakov, “If you don’t give me children I will die” his response was “Have I taken the place of God who has prevented you from having children? I have children from Leah! I am not the problem!” Wrong answer.

Elkanah says to her, “Am I not better for you than 10 sons?” Even if his intentions were honorable – and Radak says he either meant “My desire for you and my love for you is greater than the love ten children would have for you.” OR “I am better to you than I am to my 10 children from Peninah.” In other words, I love you more than I love them.

This was still the wrong answer.

Telling a barren woman that she should get over it is a complete dismissal and downright lowdown response, if it is not akin to using an emotional machine gun to shoot her hopes and dreams to kingdom come.

A woman’s nature is to love and to give and to care for, and most importantly, if at all possible, she wants to take part in creation. Think about what Chava, the first woman said, when Kayin emerged from her body. “I acquired a man with God” – and Rashi explains, “I have become a partner with God in creation.” Only a person who has nourished and felt and lived with a baby inside of her can understand what it means to be a partner in creation. Chana wanted that.

Clearly Elkanah could not relate to her pain. As a parent himself he could no longer understand her place. And as a man, who will never feel the partnership with God in creation, he could not relate to her desire, and arguably had no right to consider telling her to push her feelings aside by looking at all the good in her life, most notably his love for her.

In addition to her husband who was of no help, Chana also realized that no human could help her – as much as Yaakov was wrong in the manner in which he spoke to Rachel, he was correct that all the things we want in life come from God. And so Chana, in her personally motivated conclusion, turned to God.

Here is how the Navi depicts Chana – and it becomes even more poignant when we consider that Shmuel wrote this book, and wrote about his mother.

First she is bitter. She beseeches God – she is crying. She makes a vow "God, if you see the suffering of your maidservant, if you can remember me, and don't forget your maidservant, and give your maidservant [a child], I will give him to God for all the days of his life, a cutter will never go on his head." She continued to pray for a long time, and Eli was examining her mouth. But Hannah, she was speaking in her heart, only her lips were moving, and her voice was not heard, and Eli thought her to be a drunken woman. And Eli said to her: “Until when will you be drunk? Throw off your wine from upon yourself.” And Hannah answered and said, “No, my lord, I am a woman of sorrowful spirit, and neither new wine nor old wine have I drunk, and I poured out my soul before the Lord.”

Pouring out our soul is an important theme of Rosh Hashana.

What does it mean to desire to be a partner in creation? What does it mean, when a person has nowhere else to turn, that a person turns to God, pouring out one's soul?

“Hannah, she was speaking in her heart, only her lips were moving, and her voice was not heard…”

Perhaps that’s the solution! Chana’s prayers were heartfelt and real. She knew what she was saying as she bared her soul. She understood her own words – of course. And she also knew that sometimes, in order to get what we really want, you have to be willing to give your most precious possession.

She wanted a child to open her womb, to prove she could have children. And she was ready to give that child to serve in the mishkan, and to commit him to a lifetime of nezirut – to never cut his hair.

How many of us are willing to give up everything just for experience of having what we want briefly? (No intended references to recent Nike ad nonsense)

This is the first ingredient we learn from Chana – how to pray. How to get God to listen. To want it, to mean it, and to be willing to give up something precious in order to get it.

What we call lip service doesn't cut it. It's Chana's form of lip service, the kind that may include, to the undiscerning eye, a loss of dignity, that is the kind of prayer to God we are talking about. When I don't care how others view me, when I don't think about human perception. When I show God how real I am, that in this moment I recognize that there are two beings in the conversation – God and little me. And mostly, that I can't rely on anyone else to do this.

Like Chava before her, Chana wanted to be a partner in Creation with God, to create life. It is our job to be like Chava as well – not to create new life, but to recreate, to renew our own lives. It is about making our lives better – through the things we do between ourselves and God, the ways we interact with our fellow humans, and the ways in which we view ourselves and the world around us.

We will live our lives atypically, tackling issues that arise creatively, simply because we must. We have to take the bull by the horns and say "I am the one that will resolve this. I will bring a new light or perspective. I have the power."

Chana did this. And she merited not only to have Shmuel, but to have many children. All she needed to do was overcome the initial hurdle, to break open her womb, so to speak, to become a full fledged partner in creation.

Just as God remembered Chana, we hope He will remember us, as we demonstrate our efforts to be like Chana. To make high commitments, after pouring out our souls, and to live by them.