From Evil to Good

It is difficult to make sense of the recent terror attack at the Merkaz HaRav Yeshiva in which a lone terrorist murdered eight young men — boys, really — as they sat and studied Torah.  How are we to understand such a tragedy.  Maybe someday someone will look back and find some solace in the fact that although the terrorist fired nearly 600 rounds of ammunition at the scores of unarmed students, ‘only’ eight were killed?  But certainly that is of little comfort today to the grief-stricken families of the victims; nor is it a silver lining of any great worth to their fellow students who hid helplessly as the murderer finished one clip of ammunition only to refill his weapon and seek new prey.

And, of course, what makes this tragedy even more difficult to comprehend is the fact that it took place on Rosh Chodesh Adar - the first of the month of Adar.  This is a time, according to Talmud, in which one’s life is to ‘increase in joy.’  Not only do we celebrate this new month with song and dance — as the boys in the Yeshiva had planned to do just a little while later that fateful night — but we actually are supposed to undertake tangible actions to express our faith in the extra joy contained within this month.  For example, according to the Talmud in Ta’anit, one should try to schedule his/her court dates during this month, for it is an auspicious time during which one will most likely be successful.  Also, if one is considering a new business venture, now is the time, our sages tell us, to take the chance.  One will be rewarded, for the month of Adar is time a great joy and good fortune for the Jewish people.

SO AGAIN, HOW CAN WE UNDERSTAND WHAT TOOK PLACE THE OTHER NIGHT? 

On a theological level, I don’t think we can, as least not now.  When the Jews completed the mishkan (tabernacle) in the desert, God provided the with a cloud to help guide them as they moved from place to place.  The Netivot Shalom notes that the mishkan is symbolic of our individual lives as well, and the cloud is symbolic of uncertainty and doubt.  Why, then, did God choose a cloud as the means to help direct us?  Because, the Netivot Shalom suggests, even when we are moving in the right direction, even when we are doing the will of God, it is possible that we will be surrounded by a cloud of uncertainty and doubt.  

This inability to comprehend the events of the other night, however, is on a theological level.  On a practical level, we know exactly what we are to do.  It is the same thing that Jews have done throughout the millenia; it is the same thing that had enabled us to survive in every generation and overcome every obstacle.

We must turn the evil into good.

***

When the Talmud says “for one who enters the month of Adar, joy is increased,” what does it mean?  After all, a Jew has an obligation to be joyous all year long.  True  joy, after all, is not meant to be a product of a charmed life, one in which suffereing and pain never visits a person.  One is not meant to wait for the right circumstances to be happy.  Rather, true joy — or in Hebrew, simcha — should emanate from a conscious decision to be aware of God and the goodness God showers upon the world.  And that awareness must not be dependent on external factors; it is, after all, nothing less than faith in God.   

So if we are always to be joyous, if we are always to see God and God’s goodness, what does it mean to say that Adar brings an increase in joy?

One must remember that the month of Adar was not always a time a great celebration for Jews.  Indeed, it was the time during which Haman planned to murder our entire people.  It was, therefore, originally a period of great evil.  But as we all know, and as we will read about during Purim, this evil was transformed (nahaphoch hu) into goodness.

That is what the Talmud means by ‘increase in joy.’  Yes, we are always to be filled with joy, always able to appreciate the goodness around us.  However, we should also be aware that there is higher level of joy as well — and that’s when we cannot see the good around us because there is tremendous evil blocking it, but rather than giving up, we transform that evil into good.  The joy that emanates from that experience is an increase in the joy we normally feel.

The month of Adar, therefore, is not simply about being happy.  It is about taking the evil in the world and making something good out of it.

***

And that is what we must do with regards to the tragedy the other night.  And to be sure, the attack the other night was an unmitigated tragedy.  There is no sugar coating the absolute carnage that took place, nor ignoring the pain one ought to be feeling in its aftermath.  However, there is tragedy without meaning, and there is tragedy that can produce meaning.  As the survivors, it is our obligation to ensure that something good is produced as a result of this tragedy.

And we must do so for (at least) three reasons.

First, we must do so for the boys themselves.  They were so holy and pure; they prayed with great intention, learned Torah with great enthusiasm and were trying to become the best people they could become.  We extend their lives somewhat by adopting such goals as our own.

Already, I have seen, there are thousands of people dedicating themselves to learn more Torah in their merit.  Others are improving their prayer, while still others are focusing on increasing the amount of good deeds they do - again, all in the merit of the slain boys. 

All these actions do not eliminate the tragedy that took place; they do, however, pay homage to the victims by producing some good as a result of their sacrifice.

Second, it is important to add some ’good’ to our actions in order to improve our relationship with God. 

Take, for example, something that took place in my community this past Shabbat.  Prior to the attack, I had sent out an e-mail suggesting we pray with particular joy and celebration during the upcoming Shabbat services; after all, it was Rosh Chodesh Adar and we should go out of our way to make sure the prayers were particularly joyous.  After the attack - but before services - I wondered if it was still appropriate to sing joyously on Shabbat.  Perhaps it would be inappropriate, maybe even insulting to the families still raw with emotion over their losses.

Ultimately, though, I decided it was not only appropriate, but the most appropriate thing we could do.  During Shabbat, of course, one prays to God for a number of reasons.  On this Shabbat, in particular, we prayed that God would hear our (and all Am Yisrael’s) prayers, understand our pain and take heed of our suffering.  

How we prayed might have influenced the degree to which God chose to listen.  If we simply said the words, fulfilled our technical obligations and then moved on, I felt it might appear like like a man who gives a gift to his wife in honor of their anniversary by simply throwing the gift on the table and then running off to watch TV.  Certainly, if such a man wrapped the gift, wrote a loving note and spent some time before and after giving it, certainly he have demonstrated his seriousness about both the gift and - more importantly - the person in a much more powerful way.  So, too, with our prayers.  By singing them, rejoicing in them and even dancing as a result of them, we ‘wrapped’ them up beautifully for our God.

[This concept, by the way, has halachic support.  It is called Hidur Mitzvah, glorification of the mitzvah.  Based on the Torah verse "this is my God and I will glorify him," many commentators assume we have Torah obligation not only to fulfill mitzvoth but to also make them as beautiful as possible.  According to the Gemara in Bava Kamma, one should even be prepared to spend up to 1/3 more on the fulfillment of mitzvoth if doing so will make them more beautiful.  This is why we buy a nice kiddush cup, or candlesticks, or maybe even spend more on certain types of Kosher food.  Certainly if we can do these types of things, we should also be able to spend a little extra time in prayer, exert a little more enthusiasm in learning Torah and give tzedaka with a bigger smile and a more heartfelt desire to help the person as opposed to simply technically fulfilling the obligation but making no connection to the person in need.]

There is a third reason why we must add good to the bad — and that is to make a statement to our enemies.

No doubt, the terrorists picked their target carefully.  They knew that the Merkaz HaRav Yeshiva was the heart of the religious zionist world.  And perhaps they thought they would be able to defeat this entire enterprise by striking at the heart; after all, when the heart dies, the rest of the body cannot survive for long.  So perhaps they envisioned a devastating blow to this Yeshiva might utterly destroy its spirit and prevent it from pumping the life blood of love of Torah, people and land to the rest of its arteries.

Yes, the terrorists thought they knew what they were doing … but they had no idea.  And primarily because they had no idea of the people they were attacking.  Did they really think they would destroy the spirit of the religious zionist community, not just at the Yeshiva but throughout Israel?  To the contrary, they have unleashed it!

I have no doubt that one (or more) of the twelves siblings of Yonaton Hirshfeld, may his memory be for a blessing, will be inspired to do something great in honor of their slain brother.  Maybe one will volunteer for an elite army unity, or become a great Torah scholar or build a new community (I am certain there will be at least eight new Jewish communities established over the next few years as a result of this tragedy). 

And do the terrorists really think Leah Moses, the mother of 16 year old Avraham David Moses, may his memory be for a blessing, will now give up and pack up shop.  This woman lost her first husband to a tragic traffic accident in America years ago; she then moved to Israel, remarried and built a family and contributed to the building of Efrat, a bustling and growing yishuv just south of Jerusalem.  If I were a terrorist, I would be frightened by what a woman of such strength might produce now.

And indeed, all of us have something within us that will come out as a result of this tragedy.  For that matter, I imagine positive reverberations from this event will be felt for generations.  Some will build new communities, others will write books and still others will engage in deeds of loving kindness … all in the merit of these young men and in direct opposition of the terrorists’ desire to destroy our spirit, our love of the land and our commitment to rebuilding our people. 

They have unleashed a monster of spiritual goodness.

***

Of course, none of this will happen immediately and none of it will happen without a tear falling from our eyes as we also remember the individuals whose physical presence is no longer.  But the evil of Purim so long ago also did not become subsumed by goodness overnight either.  It took a year for the decree of evil against the Jewish people to become the celebration of light and goodness that we commemorate today.  So yes, it will be a long process.  It starts today. 

From Rockets to Rock n’ Roll

A friend and colleague of mine, Rabbi Shmuel Herzfeld, recently led a group of his congregants from Washington, DC to Israel to express solidarity with the people of Sderot.  Here are some of his beautiful thoughts:

All together there were 27 of us.  It was ten o’clock at night.  Some of the group had never been to Israel before and wanted to go straight to the Western Wall.  My six year old son, Roey was on the trip as well.  It was his first time in Israel.

I said to Roey: “Do you want to go Kotel tonight or would you like to go early in the morning?”  He immediately said, “Both.”

I saw this excitement and enthusiasm in the faces of so many people on the group.  I watched the expression on Doug’s face as he saw the Kotel for the first time in his life.  I saw Jordan literally embrace the Kotel as if the wall were an old friend. 

Those of us who dipped in the famous mikvah of the Kabbalist the Ari felt the excitement that comes with a spiritual cleansing that accompanies an immersion in the mikvah.

I saw this same cleansing and renewal in the body language of the people on our trip who gathered before dawn so we can daven vatikin (with sunrise) at the Kotel.  The idea of praying at sunrise is to daven to Hashem at the very first moment that Halakhah allows.  It is always an amazing experience doing so at the Kotel.  There is so much noise as people shout the prayers aloud and then as the entire plaza reaches the Amidah at sunrise…total silence.  That silence always overwhelms me.

This enthusiasm and excitement is the emotion we should always have in our service of Hashem. 

The paradigm of enthusiasm and excitement is this week’s Torah portion.  Mosheh called for volunteers to build and donate to the Mishkan.  But almost immediately we are told: “vayavou kol hachamim…va-yomeru el moshe…marbim ha-am le-havi mideh ha-avodah le-melacha, all the contractors came and told Moshe, the people are bringing too many donations, there is not enough work to go around!” 

The enthusiasm and excitement was overwhelming when the call came to build the Mishkan.  That excitement is what we should all strive for in our religious lives.  Yet, sometimes, the excitement wanes and we need to be inspired.  When I want to be in inspired I travel to Israel.  On our trip I met so many inspiring people. 

Here is one example …

On Friday a few people from our group traveled to Sederot, a town of 25,000 people that borders Gaza.  Sederot was founded in 1951 (note that that is well before the six day war) and is recognized by everyone as being inside the green line.  Yet, Sederot has been under daily Kassam rocket attacks for the past four years.  These rocket attacks have intensified greatly after Israel withdrew from Gaza.

The first place we stopped in Sederot was at Hesder Yeshiva Sederot.    This is a Yeshiva in Sederot where the men do army service combined with Torah study.  The head rabbi of the Yeshiva—Rav Fendel–married a woman who grew up one block from me, so I felt comfortable calling him up and asking for an appointment. 

We called him 15 minutes before arriving and he told us that a rocket had literally just fallen.  When we arrived he showed us a picture of how a rocket had fallen only ten feet away from him but had miraculously not exploded.  He then showed us how many of the students in his yeshiva slept every night in a bomb shelter. 

Here is the amazing thing.  Imagine what he was doing in the face of these daily rockets?  He was expanding.  The more the rockets rained down, the quicker the Yeshiva was building and expanding. The Torah of the Yeshiva would provide the moral strength for the entire city of Sederot.

From the moment the “code red” siren sounds the people of Sederot have 16 seconds to get to shelter.  I asked him if we could arrange something so that the “code red” also lights a signal in our synagogue so that during those 16 seconds we can recite special prayers for the people of Sederot.

After meeting with Rav Fendel we went to meet with Chavvah.  Chavvah is 42 years old and is the mother of three children, the youngest is nine.  Just last Friday night a Kassam hit her building during Shabbat dinner.  She cried to us that her nine year old has suffered tremendously since the Kassams started intensifying.  She said he is afraid to sleep by himself and even go to the bathroom by himself.  He is afraid to go outside and play.  When the Kassams are quiet for a few days he gets an A on his tests; then the Kassams return and he gets a D.  We asked her why she doesn’t move.  She said she has no money to move and she continued: “If I give up on Sederot, I am giving up on all of Israel.”

We left her apartment feeling sad and shaken by the tremendous struggle she lives on a daily basis.  Suddenly we heard music coming from the main market of Sederot.  Unbeknownst to us 10,000 people from all over Israel had descended upon Sederot in a show of unity with the besieged city.  The idea was that they would do their Shabbat shopping in the markets of Sederot in order to help the city’s devastated economy. 

A festive feeling overcame the city as people were dancing in the streets and strangers were hugging each other.  One person from our group took out his guitar and started to sing.  We hurriedly emptied our pockets of all our money as we started to buy anything we could find.

I found a Kiddush cup which our group bought for the shul and I have with me today. 

From now on when we recite Kiddush in our congregation our cup will overflow with the courage and bravery of the people of Sederot.  Their Torah and their moral strength will help sanctify us and inspire us.  And every time I answer Amen to a Kiddush in our congregation, I will be thinking about the people of Sederot and praying that Hashem may guard them and protect them.

Remembering Daily the Purpose of Torah

Each morning, prior to beginning the formal prayer service, traditional Jews recite a series of blessings that prepare themselves for the day.  One of these blessings involves thanking God for the opportunity to study Torah; it reads something like this:  “Blessed are You, Lord of the Universe, Who has … commanded us to engross ourselves in the words of Torah.  Please, sweeten Your Torah in the mouth of Your people … and may we and our offspring study Your Torah for it’s own sake.  Blessed are You Who teaches Torah to Israel … and blessed are You, the Giver of the Torah.”

Then, immediately following this blessing, the Rabbis of old instructed us to actually learn a little Torah, thus transforming the philosophical into the practical, and showing God we truly appreciate the gift of the Torah.  After all, what better way to express genuine gratitude for a gift than to excitedly use it almost immediately after receiving it.

Specifically, three distinct texts were offered to fulfill this purpose, one from each of the primary sources of our tradition — the Torah, the Mishnah and the Talmud.  Understanding why the texts from the latter two sources were instituted is quite easy; they both speak about the importance of Torah and its ability to inspire good action in all that we do.  The text taken from the Torah, though, presents somewhat of a mystery.  It is taken from the Book of Numbers and includes the Priestly Benediction: “May God bless you and keep you; May God shine His countenance upon you and be gracious to you; May God turn His countenance towards you and place upon you peace.” 

Why was this text chosen to immediately follow one’s recitation of the blessings over the Torah?  Unlike the texts taken from the Mishna and Talmud, this text has nothing to do with Torah.  How does studying it relate to the blessings that precede it? 

The Hasidic Rebbe, the Tipheret Shlomo, offers a simple yet beautiful answer: The text of the Priestly Benediction is all about blessing others.  The Priests, after all, were commanded by God to share these comforting words to the Jewish People as a sign of God’s love and concern for them.  We therefore read these blessings, says the Tipheret Shlomo, to remind us that the whole purpose of our Torah study must be to bring blessing into the world and show love and concern for one’s fellow.  Torah study for purely academic interest or intellectual stimulation misses the point and is a grossly inadequate form of study.  No, we do not learn Torah simply to acquire knowledge or spur hypothetical discussions.  Rather, we do so to become better people, more caring people and more helpful people.  We learn Torah so that our actions bless others and make their lives better.

Once one understands the Tipheret Shlomo’s point, the meaning behind the next two texts studied — those from the Mishna and Talmud that seemed perfectly relevant due to their mention of Torah study — is also transformed.  Yes, each of them discuss Torah study, but notice they also focus on an array of other commandments that seem less relevant, like leaving the (food found in the) corner of one’s field for the poor, practicing acts of kindness, honoring one’s mother and father, providing hospitality to guests, visiting the sick, providing for the needs of a (poor) bride, escorting the deat and bringing peace between two warring people.  Once we have learned the Tipheret Shlomo, though, these commandments appear as anything but irrelevant.  To the contrary, they are the reason why we study Torah!

Indeed, the final line of the Talmudic text brought for us to study — from the Tractate Shabbat 127A — can now be read differently than normally understood.  After listing a litany of commandments, many of which I mention above, this text concludes “and Torah study is equal to all of them.”  Usually, one interprets the phrase as meaning Torah study is more important than even all of these commandments together.  Now, however, we realize such a reading is not totally accurate.  In telling us that Torah study is ’equal’ to all of them, the text is not saying that it’s more important than all the commandments listed, but rather enables all of them — which is to say, through studying the Torah in which all these commandments are taught, one will more likely fulfill them properly.  Torah study, thus, makes these commandments possible …

But only if we understand that that is what Torah study is all about.   

Miracle Girl

The following are observations about the recent wedding of Rachel Sharansky by Katie Green, an independent film director and producer, and PR head for Ma’aleh Film School in Jerusalem: 

The wedding of Rachel Sharansky, the eldest of Natan and Avital Sharansky’s two daughters, and Micha Danziger, a new immigrant from the United States, was one of those weddings … never to forget.

The Sharansky wedding at Kibbutz Ramat Rachel last Friday morning was never going to be, never could be, in any sense a normal wedding.  During the coffee and cake reception before the ceremony, I observed among the hundreds of people there, two distinct groups:  the young people who were simply happy to be participating in the celebration and who had little idea of the historical significance of the event, and the older people who had taken part in the drama of the Refusenik struggle and for whom Rachel’s wedding was the grand finale and closing chapter of that astonishing narrative. 

My husband and I wandered over to an alcove in the reception area to congratulate the bride. Rachel, more than radiant, more than happy, positively sparkled with her enjoyment of the day.  Her lovely face, with its expression of intelligence, warmth and humor, looked up smilingly at every guest without a trace of nervousness of self-consciousness.  The thought crossed my mind, as I stood at a distance where I could just enjoy looking at her, that this magical person very nearly did not come to be.  In the configuration of the universe as we knew it in the early 1980’s, the chances of there being a glowing Rachel Sharansky standing here in her wedding dress in 2008, were statistically very small indeed.   All of us who participated in the demonstrations of those years, remember perfectly well, that whether Natan was in solitary confinement or on hunger strike or doing both together, there were times when we very nearly lost him.

On one memorable occasion I remember how shocked my parents were when, twenty-five odd years ago, a group of us disrupted a concert of the Moscow Philharmonic Orchestra at the Royal Festival Hall in London.  Half way through the performance, we shed our outside clothes to reveal the striped “prison uniforms” we were wearing underneath, and handcuffed ourselves to the railings of the balcony in the auditorium, yelling our Soviet Jewry slogans and shaking our fists. As the cellos and violins and violas of the Moscow Philharmonic came slithering to halt, we knew, in the dealthly silence that followed, that our Refusenik brothers and sisters would be listening thousands of miles away on the BBC World Service.   It was only a few minutes before infuriated police officers arrived on the scene with large metal pincers to cut us free from the railings, but it was enough.

I speak of it now as if it were a childish prank, but it was not an easy thing to do.  We were young and idealistic, but we were also nicely brought up middle-class Jewish girls and boys.  We had all been taken by our parents on one Sunday evening or another to hear a concert at the Royal Festival Hall.  We had learned to sit politely and not fidget and not applaud between movements. For years we had enjoyed Tchaikovsky and Saint-Saens and Schubert in this bastion of British culture, and now we were more or less spitting in its face.

The second before I had to stand up along with my friends, and shout at the top of my voice into the silent abyss of the stalls, my courage failed me and I did not think I could do it.  The only thing, the only thing, which enabled me to get to my feet, was the thought of Natan in his solitary confinement cell, the thought of him never seeing Avital again.  The reason why so many Jewish youth were participating in these demonstrations all over the world, was that Natan’s story was not just a prisoner story, or a persecution story, or even a Jewish story.  It was a love story.

And it is this love story I am thinking of as I watch Rachel laugh and talk with all her guests, before her parents accompany her to her Chupah, before she marries Micha under the Jerusalem skies.  I am here with her but I am not really here at all; I have risen in one second to my feet at the Royal Festival Hall, and have screamed : “Free Sharansky!” like an animal, at the respectable Russian musicians playing classical music on the stage below.

I have always known, across all of the years, what I was shouting for that night. But today, looking at Rachel’s face, at that beloved and wonderful genetic combination of Natan and Avital, today I really know.

The weather forecast for Thursday, Friday and Shabbat had been discouraging – Rain, rain and more rain. On Thursday it rained all night.  But God, one of the guests at the wedding, had decided to momentarily dispense with regular weather patterns for January, and Rachel and Micha took their place under a raised outdoor Chuppah, with a stunning view of the Judean hills behind and below them.  The sun shone warmly and benevolently on the hundreds of people, Russians and Israelis and Americans and Brits, members of Knesset and rabbis and journalists and intellectuals, millionaires and philanthropists and activists and chairmen of committees, family and friends and very young babies and old age pensioners, who had gathered, with upturned faces, to watch the wedding ceremony unfold.  A soft breeze played across the bride’s face and lifted her veil into the air, so that she looked, for a moment, like a floating figure from a Chagall painting.

“Sometimes a place is named for its future”, said Rabbi Moti Elon who was the officiating Rabbi. “Kibbutz Ramat Rachel was named for you, Rachel.  It was named for you to get married here.”

When it was time for the groom to break the glass, Natan took the microphone to say a few words.

“I’d like to say something about why we are breaking this glass” he said, alternating seamlessly between English and Hebrew.

“Thirty-four years ago, in a Moscow apartment, Avital and I stood under a sheet held up by four boys, for our own Chuppah.  There were barely enough people to make up a minyan.  We had never been to a Jewish wedding before, and we had no understanding of what to do.  We mouthed the words that the Rabbi told us to say, without knowing their meaning.  But the breaking of the glass, this we understood very well.  We had one challenge, and the challenge was very clear to us.  We knew that we had to get to Jerusalem.  No matter what it would take, no matter how many years, we had to get to Jerusalem and build a home there. And this is what we did.” 

“So now you are standing under the Chuppah Rachel, a child born in Jerusalem, overlooking Jerusalem, the first sabra in our family, marrying Micha, the first Oleh Hadash from his family.  And this begs the question:  Why should we break the glass at all?  We are here, after all. Jerusalem has been rebuilt, and it is a vibrant city.

But the reason we are breaking the glass is this: the challenge that faces you, Rachel and Micha, is different to the challenge that faced us.  You will make a home in Jerusalem, yes, but you must simultaneously have your feet on the ground, building a Jerusalem shel mata, a physical Jerusalem, while always keeping an eye on the Jerusalem shel ma’alah, on what it means, on what it represents. It will be your mission, and the mission of all your generation, to defend Jerusalem, to protect her, to keep her safe.  And I think that your challenge may, in the end, be even more difficult than ours”.

It will rain later, but not yet.  I am standing in the sunshine, listening to Natan, looking at Avital, and glorying in Rachel, who has pushed her veil away from her face, so that she can see better, and hear better, everything that is going on at her wedding.  She looks up at her tall, straight, young husband and smiles, and all of us watching her feel, that this is the just kind of person to whom we can entrust the future of Jerusalem.

Mazal Tov on your wedding Rachel Sharansky.  Mazal Tov, miracle girl. 

The True Worth of a Shekel

If you’re looking for a description of the human chain formed around Jerusalem’s old city walls, go here. 

*** 

Tzedaka — the giving of charity — is a Jewish custom we are all familiar with.  Slightly less known, though, is the custom of a person giving tzedaka — even if just a small amount, a shekel (or dollar) or two – just prior to praying each day.  There are a number of reasons for this custom:

For starters, by showing concern for others just before we pray to God, we fulfill the mitzvah of “loving one’s neighbor” — which in turn ‘inspires’ God to be more open to our petitions.  As the Ari z”l suggests, when God sees the unity of His children below, God cannot but desire to allow his children to also forge a unity Above, with God.  God is like a parent who derives satisfaction and pride when His children get along and help one another, and what better way to reward such action than to overlook some of His children’s other flaws and accept their petitions.

[This, by the way, is also one of the reasons why all our prayers are in the plural form.  In so doing, we join together with others, proving to God that we are concerned with one another and united with one another.]

A second reason why we give tzedaka right before praying is to help improve our kavana - intention - while praying.  One of the obstacles to proper kavanais the constant intrusion into our thoughts of different problems we may be currently facing and regular daily concerns.  One may be praying quite nicely when all of a sudden he or she is reminded of the bill not yet paid — and the lack of money in one’s account to pay it — or the trouble at school one’s child is having, or the fact that people don’t like him as much as he would like, and on and on.  When a person gives tzedaka he realizes that whatever problems he may have, there are others far less fortunate than he.  There are those that don’t have food on their plate or a roof above their heads.   By giving to others, he leaves his problems a little and goes beyond his own personal needs.  From such a state, his prayers are far more effective.

… Which leads us to a third reason.  The essence of prayer is the ability to reach beyond the mundane and limited, our world, and attach oneself to the awe-inspiring and One without limits.  How can one possibly bridge the gap?  Part of the answer must be that an individual needs to approach God as someone ‘more’ than his regular self.  He must aspire to great heights if he has any hope of reaching such heights.  When one gives tzedaka - and demonstrates responsibilites to others, to an entire community, and even to people he does not know — he affirms his connection to things much larger than himself.  His vision expands and his horizon widens.  Such a person can approach God and hope to bridge the gap between the Heavens and the Earth.

Who knew that a small little shekel or dollar could open up such worlds?

Ramat Gan and Selma, Alabama

The below post was picked up by Israel National News and appears here as well. 

***

The other day I read a disturbing piece of news.  Updates about the situation appear here. 

Apparently, a small of group of Israeli high school students had begun praying on a regular basis the afternoon prayer service (mincha) during a break in classes at their Ramat Gan school.  The school, which is a part of the regular — i.e., non-religious — government school network, felt this was a violation of their principles — in fact, a provocation! — and ordered the students to refrain from praying on school property.  The students were then threatened with punishments ranging from the prohibition of taking necessary tests to expulsion.

Such a ban is, in my mind, abhorrent.  After all, this is not a case of religious coercion of, nor even religious intrusion into, the lives of secular students.  No one was asked, let alone pressured, to join the group, and certainly in a school of 2,000 people, having 15 people gather in a small, unused room in an out-of-the-way part of the school should not have made any non-attending student feel uncomfortable about the situation. 

I remember as a child in my U.S. public school I was told by my parents to step outside the classroom each morning during the morning prayers (as these prayers certainly were not inclusive of my religious beliefs).  Yes, then I did feel a little awkward being the only one separated out, but here, obviously, the case is not in any way parallel.  Here, the issue is not state sponsorship of prayer, perhaps to the detriment of a student’s right to be free from such an obligation; here, the issue is whether or not a group of students may gather to exercise their freedom to engage in legal, non-intrusive behavior during a break in school.  Certainly other groups of students were gathering for a whole array of other purposes during this time, from playing sports to spreading rumors about teachers to comparing the latest fashions.  It seems highly unfair that the only gathering banned is one in which the students want to pray. 

And the excuse the administration used to justify their actions? If they want to pray, they can go to another school; i.e., they’re not welcome here. 

When I read that, two images immediately popped into mind.

The first is the old joke about a young boy who needs to enter Synagogue on Yom Kipur to give his father a message that his mother needs to talk to him outside for a moment.  The security guard at the entrance refuses the boy entrance since he doesn’t have a ticket.  “But I just need to see my father for a moment.  May I please enter the Synagogue?” the child begs.  The guard retorts: “Fine, but just for a moment.  But if I catch you praying inside, you’ll be in big trouble!”

The second image that popped into my mind was Selma, Alabama.  In 1965, when Blacks in the city began registering to vote, the white population prevented them from doing so through formal discrimination and informal intimidation and harassment.  When civil rights activists protested this situation three weeks later in an attempted march to the state capital, Montgomery, the powers that be, including the Police and the local Judiciary, brazenly defied the activists and the law, beating many of them up in the spotlight of the media present, unashamedly declaring the righteousness of their cause — i.e. discrimination — and preventing the march from taking place. 

 ***

As I note above, I found this story to be quite disturbing, believing it to be a sign of much of what is bad about Israel, a place that I generally love and am inspired by but sometimes am discouraged by the lack of civility, tolerance and common sense.  But then I remembered another story and reconsidered my disappointment.

At the conclusion of the Holocaust, an American Army Rabbi was one of the first to enter Auschwitz.  There, as one might imagine, he found barely breathing skeletons nearly devoid of any sign of physical life.  Spiritual life, however, was a different matter.  The survivors instantly took to rejoicing at their good fortune and were all to pleased to join a religious service the Rabbi organized shortly after his arrival.  One individual, however, stood apart and was clearly bothered by the whole thing. 

The American Rabbi approached him and asked why he separated himself from the service.  “Rabbi,” he said, “I cannot possibly ever pray again.  I cannot possibly believe in God again.  I don’t want anything to do with religion.”  The Rabbi wondered why.  Certainly the man had every right to feel however he felt considering the suffering he had undergone … but so many others had suffered equally devastating cruelties and they flocked to the religious service.  The man explained: During his time in Aushwitz he witnessed a despicable act.  One man had succeeded in smuggling in a small sidur, prayerbook.  This was quite a valuable asset, and everyone in his bunk was thrilled by the opportunity to pray from it.  But rather than freely offering the right to use the sidur to whoever requested it, this one man insisted on payment for each use, very often a significant amount of the measly portion of bread each prisoner was given each day, the sole source of his physical nourishment and for some the only thing keeping him on this side of the life and death continuum.  “After I saw such cruelty from this Jew, after I witnessed him cynically take advantage of religion for his own well being to the detriment of others, I became so disgusted with religion that I vowed never to return.”

The American Rabbi understood the survivor’s words and feelings.  He was right, after all.  When a religious person does something despicable, it does ‘turn off’ others, and not just to the individual but to the entire system which he represents.  But he also realized that there was more to the story.

“Why do you only look at the terrible deeds of the man who sold the right to use the sidur to people willing to make a payment that for many threatened their very lives?  Why not also look at all the people so dedicated to the words of the sidur they were willing to take such a risk in the first place!  Look at their amazing courage and willingness to sacrifice.”  At that point in time, the story goes, the survivor cried and entered the service, rejoining his people and realizing his community was much more special than he had initially thought.

***

I believe we owe it to the courage of those brave 15 boys who chose to pray in their school — despite the administrative and peer pressure brought to bare to discourage them – to look at the good in this story as opposed to the bad.  These kids are not from religious families and by most accounts don’t view themselves religious in the classical sense of the word.  They simply want to pray, and are prepared to give up a lot — perhaps not quite as much as their last piece of bread but a lot nevertheless — in order to stick up for their right to do so.  When such a group of secular Jews demand the the right to pray in a secular school — and when others who have no interest in praying join them in solidarity as a large group of fellow students did recently – we need not be depressed about the wrong-headedness of the school administration (though, of course, we should argue that they ought to change their policy), but rather we should be inspired by the good of the story.

And one more thing.  Remember Selma, Alabama?  Two days after the abortive march to Montgomery, 2,500 friends from all over the country descended on Selma to attempt the march once again.  They failed yet again … but a week later a Federal Judge stepped in and declared that the march must be protected.  “The law is clear that the right to petition one’s government for the redress of grievances may be exercised in large groups . . . and these rights may be exercised by marching, even along public highways.”  

May what happenned in Ramat Gan symbolize a turning point in Israeli society as well.  May the courts decide that the law also protects the right to petition one’s God, even if that means using a public school. 

A Giant Hug

I just returned from Jerusalem’s Old City after participating in a wonderfully heartening experience. 

As you may recall from yesterday’s post, a human chain was to be formed today around the Old City walls as a sign of the Jewish people’s commitment to keeping Jerusalem united.   I rode my bike down to this event organized by One Jerusalem and circled the area to get a sense of what it was all about.

And my description? In a word: Inspiring.

There, despite the rain and dropping temperatures, thousands of people lined — nay, celebrated — the ancient walls of the Old City.  As I rode my bike around the human chain I was struck again and again by the enthusiasm and joy of the participants — most of whom were young (and people say youth today are apathetic … certainly not today, and certainly not about Jerusalem).  Spontaneous bursts of song and yes, even dance, were commonplace.  Good spirit and hearty laughter were ubiquitous. 

This is a protest? I wondered to myself.  Where is the shouting?  Where is the name calling and angry rhetoric?  Where was the enemy?  To my surprise — and complete joyous satisfaction — none of these could be found. 

Yes, serious people made serious arguments of why Jerusalem must never be divided.  Some, of course, touted the fact that Jerusalem has always been a Jewish capital and center of our millenia yearnings, and that our Bible mentions its significance hundred and hundreds of times, while in contrast, Jerusalem has never been an Arab Capital (to the contrary, it was relegated to a backwater distant outpost when under Arab control), and is not mentioned even once in the Koran (except when it may be being referred to as the unspecified location of the distant mosque). 

Others reminded the press in attendance that religious freedom for followers of all religionshas only been protected over the past 2,000 years under the Jewish rule of the past 40 years, and that all previous regimes harassed followers and destroyed holy sites of the non-majority faith.  Surely, the argument went, anyone concerned with tolerance must pray for Israel’s continued sovereignty.

Yet in-spite of such arguments being made, I did not sense the human chain formed around the Old City was a political statement.  No, it reminded me more of an enormous hug.  To be sure, when one hugs another, he shields the person he is hugging from outsiders and those that may wish to hurt the person.  The hugger’s back and arms protects the huggee.  The purpose of the hug, however, is to express love, whatever the other positive consequences might be.  So too here.  There may have been a political statement made against those who would divide Jerusalem, but that was secondary.  The main thrust was to express love … and the singing and dancing certainly did this.

This whole experience reminded me of a beautiful teaching of (I believe) the Maharal from Prague.  He describes a midrash in which one receives a glimpse into the life of the righteous in the world to come.  Everyone is dancing in a circle, says the Maharal, joyously celebrating the existence of God, whose presence can be felt — but not seen — in the center of the circle.  As they dance around and around the unseen presence of God, they point to the center, heaping praise and song upon that focale point.

Now here is where it gets interesting.  Think for moment: When all these people point to the center – for that is where the unseen God, the source of their common joy resides — who are they really pointing at?  If one draws a line from their pointed finger straight through the center — where God exists but cannot be seen — the line will cross the center and arrive at a person on the exact opposite side of the circle.  

What a beautiful point!  When a person points at God in the center of his or her life, he or she will ultimately be pointing — and heaping praise and song — upon a person exactly opposite him/her.  For the first time, he will see the person opposite him, and as he sings and dances his gaze will be nothing but joyous. 

And here I am not just talking about geographic opposition, but rather a whole host of differences – spiritually, politically, culturally, ethnically and on and on.  A commitment to a common center — a common purpose — has the wonderful ability to unite all variaties of people and ideas committed to that center.

And this is what I saw today in the enormous hug formed around Jerusalem’s Old City.  People of different ages and backgrounds circled the walls.  People who never met one another.  They turned to Jerusalem and sang her praises and celebrated her beauty, spiritual and physical alike.  In facing the city, though, they did not just face ancient stones; they also directed their love to the person on the other side of the circle, and in so doing united people who were as far apart physically as one could be.  Most people had no idea who was on the other side of the circle – but by sharing a common commitment to Jerusalem, they felt as one with each other …

Which I imagine is one of the reasons why the One Above chose Jerusalem in the first place.

Now that’s a demonstration I was proud to be apart of.       

A Positive Protest

I just received this announcement via e-mail:

“Thousands will form a human chain around the Old City this Tuesday, January 8 to dramatically demonstrate our commitment to a united Jerusalem, on the eve of President Bush’s visit.   Participants will be gathering at the Jaffa Gate beginning at 2:30 p.m.  For more information, call One Jerusalem 1-800-20-20-91.”

I love this type of protest.  Notice it’s essential quality: Demonstrating love for something as a means to protect it, not animosity against something or someone else. From my experience, people engaged in this type of ‘protest’ are usually much more successful than those engaged in the other form.  Think about it.  What would you do for a person you deeply love? Your spouse?  Your child?  Your parent?  Almost anything, right?  How many obstacles are you prepared to overcome to protect them?  An unlimited amount, right?  But now consider the alternative.  What happens if you didn’t love someone but simply hated someone else.  How many obstacles now are you prepared to overcome in order to maintain that hatred?  Perhaps quite a bit in the beginning; after all, hatred boils our blood and energizes a person.  Eventually, though, hatred is not a strong enough motivator to maintain vigilance.  Ultimately, one will become interested in spending his or her time more wisely in a different, more productive arena.  The same never happens when we love something; it’s always a wise way to spend one’s time.If you can’t make it to Jerusalem to hug her, maybe make tomorrow an extra special day in terms of ‘hugging’ people in your life, and not just the people you like, but even some you may be having difficulties with.  After all, Jerusalem was destroyed (as our Sages teach us) because of senseless hatred amongst Jews.  The City will be redeemed, then, by senseless love — expressions of concern for our fellow man simply because he is created in the image of God.  So even if you can’t hug Jerusalem, you can hug someone else — or at least offer a surprising smile and wishes of concern and reconcilliation — and accomplish the same objective. 

Michael Jackson, Gandhi and the Exodus from Egypt

Mahatma Gandhi once said, “If you want there to be change, you must be the change.”   What did he mean by this statement?

(If you don’t have time for the full answer, go down to after the three asteriks below).

I believe one way to answer this question is to look at an odd arrangement of verses in the Torah portion this last week (Va’era).  God tells Moses and Aharon that they are to speak to the Jewish people and to Pharaoh and liberate the Jewish people from Egyptian bondage.  The dramatic story of the Exodus from Egypt then continues with the introduction of the ten plagues … but before it does, there is a strange digression in the text in which the family lineage of three of the tribes — Reuben, Simon and Levi — is explored in depth.  Why?  Why interrupt one of the most powerful stories of all time with such mundane information.  It seems totally out of place - both textually and spiritually.

Before we answer this question, let us note another oddity, and that is in the verse that immediately precedes this strange digression, the verse we have already mentioned above about “God commanding Moses and Aharon to speak to the Jewish people and to Pharaoh to liberate the Jewish people …”  Why must Moses and Aharon speak first to the Jewish people?  Moses has already told them that he is representing their interests in front of Pharaoh.  If the goal is the liberate the Jews — and every commentator agrees that this is indeed the essential mission — then why speak to the Jews at all.  Pharaoh is the one holding them captive.  Speak to him directly!  Insist that he let them go!  What does Moses have to say to the Jews themselves?

One possible answer - mentioned by many - is that Moses had to convince the Jewish people first and foremost that they deserved - and would receive - liberation.  If they doubted the possibility themselves, or worse, if they didn’t even want to leave, then there was no way Moses would be able to convince Pharaoh to let them go.  And indeed, that was a distinct possibility.  The Netzivdraws a comparison  between the Jewish people and a bird held in the hand of a King.  At any moment, the King could strangle the bird and kill it; so too with the Jewish people.  At any moment, Pharaoh could decide he’s had enough and slaughter all of his slaves.  Only God could rescue us (and God did, with an “outstretched arm”).

But another possibility could also exist.  Let’s  say the King opened his hand to let the bird go free … there’s no guarantee that the bird would would chooseto fly away.  Maybe it felt comfortable in the hands of the King; maybe it had no idea of where it should go and figured it might as well stay in the place it knows as opposed to travel to a place it doesn’t know; or maybe it was just too tired to fly away.  So too with the Jewish people.  Even if God smote Pharoah and forced him to ‘open his hands’ so the Jews could leave, the Jews still had to have the desire to take the first step and actually leave. 

It was to convince the Jews that they needed this desire — that they were indeed commanded to take the first step — that inspired God’s command to Moses and Aharon to firstspeak to the Jewish people about their liberation and only afterwards address Pharoah.  (This is the reason, says the Netziv, why the Torah describes God also liberating the Jewish people with “a strong hand.”  The “outstretched hand” above refers to the times when God save the Jewish people from Pharoah, while the “strong hand” refers to the times when God saves the Jewish people from themselves).

The Meshech Chochmah goes a step further.  He notes that not only were some of the slaves fearful of leaving Egypt, and thus in need of some persuasion from Moses and Aharon, but they were actually content with their lives in Egypt.  And not only that … Some of the Jews were actually slave-owners themselves!  This is a shocking statement, but after a moment or two of reflection, it seems entirely plausible.  After all, even during the dark days of the Holocaust, there were some Jews who preferred to take advantage of the misery of their fellow Jews and elevate themselves as a result of denigrating their brothers and sisters.  And it doesn’t just seem possible from a logical point of view; textually, too, it makes sense that some Jews might have been slaveholders. 

And here is where we get back to our initial question, the question of why the Torah digresses to include the family lineage of the tribes of Reuben, Simon and Levi.  The Meshech Chochmah notes that each of these three tribes did not have a complete inheritance in the land of Israel once the Jewish people are in fact liberated and brought to their homeland.  Levi, of course, is not allowed to own land at all; Reuben is relegated to the other side of the Jordan river; and Simon’s population is spread throughout the entire land.  The Meshech Chochmah then goes on to note that we are told that the tribe of Levi never was enslaved in Egypt.  Perhaps this fact is the reason why they are not allowed to inherit land in the future, he suggests.  Perhaps one can only acquire a reward if he first suffers for it.  If that is true, he continues, then perhaps Reuben and Simon also were prevented from a complete inheritance for the same reason.  And if all three of them were not enslaved during this time, does it not seem entirely feasible that some of their members took advantage of the situation — of their elevated and protected status — and actually enslaved some of their brothers and sisters?

***

From these two insights – first the one from the Netziv and then the Meshech Chochmah’s  – an incredibly powerful lesson becomes apparent.  Before God commanded Moses to speak to Pharoah, God insisted that he must first address the Jewish people, and not just address them, but give them reproof.  “Before I can go tell Pharoah to let you go,” Moses seemed to be saying, “You must first be completely worthy of being let go.  You must have the desire for liberation (Netziv); and you must not have any flaws or negative behaviors similar to the Egyptians (Meshech Chochmah).  We must get our own house in order before we can insist on the same from anyone else, no matter how evil and wrong the other may be.”

This idea is, of course, relevant for all of us today.  If we want something to happen, or someone to change their ways, then we must be sure we are pure in our actions first.  Or, to quote Gandhi, if we want change, we must be the change.

Therefore, if a parent wants their child to become a scholar and to be more dedicated to Jewish learning, then the first step is not to send them to a Jewish school or another extracurricular activity, but for the parent to enroll him or herself in a serious learning program.  The child will learn that the parent values education, and then want the same for him or herself.  [This insight is affirmed in the wonderfully entertaining book Freakonomics.   In it, the authors prove that one of the greatest indications of academic success is the presence of books in the house in which the child grows up — mind you, not children’s books, but adult books read by the adults in the house.  This fact, surprising though it sounds, provides a much greater indication of later academic success than what I would have thought would play that role: actually reading to one’s kids.  No, the studies argue, reading to one’s kids is not the best thing you can do (though of course it helps); rather, reading yourself is even a more powerful aid. 

Similarly, if one feels that not enough dedication is being devoted to a specific cause — let’s say the building up of the land of Israel — then the answer is not to critique those who you feel lack the dedication, but rather to redouble one’s own efforts at expressing one’s commitment to the cause.

And so too with our difficult relations with fellow Jews of different backgrounds and religious or political beliefs.  If you want peace amongst us, then finding the flaws in our fellow Jews is not the right path.  Rather, one must become a walking Ohev Israel - Love of Israel.  He must greet every person with a smile, a warm embrace and loving concern. 

If we want change to come, we must be the change.

Or as Michael Jackson once sang, “I’m starting with the man in the mirror.”

Surrounded by Geniuses

One of the premises of this blog is that a focus on positive aspects of Judaism can inspire identity and increase commitment more so than the unfortunate all too often reliance on negative aspects — such as fear and guilt.  Someone might honestly critique this position by suggesting that yes, a focus on the positive might produce desired results, but it is not an accurate reflection of what Judaism is all about — and truth should matter.  In other words, my hypothetical critic will argue that Judaism includes both the positive and negative — both the “Love Your Neighbor as Yourself” as well as all the “Thou Shall Not’s” —  and thus emphasizing one area of tradition over the other distorts the reality.  Isn’t it simply picking and choosing what you like about the Torah and disregarding the rest?  And if so, how can that be justified?

My traditional answer to such a critic is that emphasizing one aspect of our faith over another is not the same as disregarding the other aspect.  In no way do I suggest we abandon the “Thou Shall Not’s” … I do, however, think observance of the “No’s” naturally follow once one becomes firmly committed to following the “Yes’s” — for it is then that a person feels inspired, joyous and fulfilled and thus becomes more committed to all things Jewish.

Recently, however, I came across an interesting column by Rabbi Frances Nataf of the David Cardozo Academy.  After reading it, I realize perhaps that an additional answer should be offered, and that is that it’s not so bad to pick and choose.  For an Orthodox Rabbi that may sound somewhat heretical, but allow Rabbi Nataf to explain:

“In many circles, it has become fashionable to replace the word “history” with the word “narrative.”  Doing so is an admission that recorded history is necessarily selective. Otherwise, we would be left with more random facts than we can, or would want to, remember. Thus, history represents a particular culture’s attempt to discriminate between important facts that need to be recorded to better understand itself and less important ones that seem to merely clutter that understanding.  Hence the Torah’s selectivity should come as no surprise; some chapters cover several centuries, whereas other events that transpired in a few days or even minutes are recorded in great detail over several chapters.

However, rather than apologizing for  this inconsistency as something “unscientific,” the Torah presumes that selectivity is not only necessary but that it can actually be a very positive feature of human consciousness. From this perspective, the Torah records and emphasizes that which is helpful for us to remember and omits what is not. The Torah is also comfortable with selectivity in its legislation. Not all mitzvoth are given the same attention. Some laws require more of our attention whereas others require less.

The commandment to observe Pesach through the generations (Shemot 12:14-20 serves as a particularly apt example of the former:  There we find that Pesach is described as a zikaron, a term that in classic usage could best be translated as a memory device and which otherwise is almost always used to describe an object.[1]  This anomaly is perhaps explained by the fact that the first set of commands regarding perpetual Pesach observance contains an overwhelming emphasis on the mandate to eat matzah and the corresponding prohibition to eat, or even possess, chametz. This emphasis is further bolstered in two ways. 1) Generally, when we are commanded in a positive commandment, the inverse does not become prohibited.[2]  For example, when we are commanded to don tefillin, we are not commanded to not put anything else in their place or, when we are commanded to blow the shofar we are not told to refrain from the playing of string instruments. 2) The stringency of this prohibition’s penalty – of being cut off (karet) is highly unusual in the laws of festivals. At the same time, some of the laws of Pesach, such as the eating of the Pesach sacrifice, or the telling over of the story, are not mentioned at all.[3] 

If Pesach is only referred to as a zikaron,specifically in the section that so emphatically deals with matzah, it could be the Torah’s way of telling us that it is the  matzah itself that is central to the day  being transformed into a zikaron – a memory device.  Indeed, matzah, which is essentially hastily baked bread, naturally conveys both the haste of the exodus and the poverty of the slavery in Egypt. It is itself a memory device that can encapsulate the main themes of Pesach if we pay attention to it. Our familiarity with holiday foods can blur the revolutionary nature of marshalling the multi-sensual experience of foods that could turn an entire day into a zikaron.   What is remarkable is that the Torah understands that, for a commemoration to have true meaning, it must recreate an experience. The memory has to be personal and not simply something of which one knows about other people. Thus, with all the centrality of recounting the story of Pesach, without matzah, it would remain just a story about what happened to others. It is precisely for this reason that the halacha states that the tale cannot be told without the presence of matzah, thereby turning it into a personal memory which, like all personal memories, can be relived.[4] 

And the unparalleled numbers of Jews who keep this mitzvah and have an idea what it is about indicates the success of the Torah’s strategy. What the Torah does by selecting that which is most useful should make us reflect on how to order our own lives and identities. (my emphasis)  We experience so many events in our lives which make us who we are. But there are also many events that do not make us who we are. The difference between the former and the latter is almost entirely determined in our own minds. Most of us are not sufficiently self-aware to know that we ourselves choose which events tell us who we are. 

The good news is that it still can be otherwise. I am not suggesting that we focus only on our good sides in order for us to be more cheerful about ourselves. The point is seeing ourselves in a way that will help us to develop to our maximum potential.”

***

Upon reading this article, I was reminded of a scientific study I once heard about in which the question of brilliance was explored, specifically asking what is it that enables some people to become a genius and others not.  One of the conclusions of that study was quite surprising and somewhat counter-intuitive.  A genius, it stated, was not someone who has acquired vast amounts of knowledge but the exact opposite.  A genius — and this was born out by exploring the brains of brilliant people — was someone who had the ability to preventoodles of information from entering his or her brain.  By possessing less information, but at the same time, the right, or more significant type of information, the genius was better able to access in a more powerful, clear and efficient way the the type of information most valued.  Surprising, but very much feasible once you think about it for a moment.  When I was a kid, I used to know more information than one could possible ever need to know about Baseball statistics.  I knew everyone and everything involved.  That information, for some unknown reason, is still in my brain, and I can still recall certain details about teams and players from more than 20 years ago.  That may be impressive, but it is also a waste of knowledge (since I didn’t end up going into the sports business, where of course perhaps it would be valuable); and since it takes up space in my mind, and in fact clutters it, it is not a neutral thing but actually a detriment.  When I know add new information, information I actually need to remember, it must compete with all this old information to be heard.  And since I can’t press the delete button, all that old information will remain a problem for some time.  Knowing less, therefore, might have helped me to today know more.

Pirkei Avot - The Teachings of our Sages teaches the same thing when it compares a student who begins learning as a child as opposed to when he is much older.  The child is likened to a blank piece of paper; when one writes on it, it is clear what is being written.  Teaching an older student, though, is likened either to writing in the margins of a book already written or writing on top of the actual pre-existing print.  Obviously, the matter is much less clear.

This idea very much fits in with Rabbi Nataf’s idea above about the importance of selection; of the need to set priorities about learning and behavior, aware that some mitzvoth may be more important for some people to achieve the end goal we are all striving for of becoming a better person and better servant of God.  Again, this doesn’t mean that some mitzvoth are unimportant — that they’re intellectual clutter like my baseball statistics, God forbid — but rather that some other mitzvoth might speak to me in a more powerful and effective way … and becoming experts in these mitzvoth, by focusing on them and emphasizing them in one’s life, one becomes better in observing everything.