The Voice in the Shofar (Derashah for Rosh HaShanah 5776)

Birthdays: Why am I here?

If today is the birthday of humanity, then we have two obligations: 1) To thank Gd for our existence, as we do in the davening, and 2) To ask ourselves: Why are we here? What is the purpose of the brilliant, inventive, moody, creative, ambitious, bizarre creature that is the human being?

Fortunately, we don’t need to start on this question from scratch – this is a 14-minute derashah, not a shiur. I want to show you three sources, which carry a message of such power that it has changed my life, and which I believe can change our Rosh HaShanah birthday for all of us.

Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin

First, Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin, with words that are among the most inspirational I have ever heard.

Rav Chaim Volozhiner was the greatest student of the Vilna Gaon, toward the end of the 18^th century. He founded the Volozhin yeshiva, the top yeshiva in Europe, famed for training intellectual geniuses; it is reported that the entrance exam included putting a pin through a gemara and telling the examiner, without looking, what word the pin had pierced on every page. Rav Chaim started the great Brisker dynasty, which produced the brilliant Soloveitchik family.

And Rav Chaim’s son, Rav Yitzchak, wrote the following about his father:[1]

וכה היה דברו אלי תמיד, שזה כל האדם: לא לעצמו נברא, רק להועיל לאחריני ככל אשר ימצא בכחו לעשות.

This is what my father always told me: "This is a person's entire purpose. A person is not created for himself. A person is created only to benefit others, with whatever power is in his possession."[2]

The uber-intellectual declared to his son: You are not here on earth to be a genius. You are not here on earth to ace the pin test. Not to minimize the importance of learning Torah, but to maximize the importance of chesed: You are here on this earth to look at the person beside you and ask yourself, “What can I do to make his life better?”

Rav Yerucham Levovitz

Second, Rav Yerucham Levovitz, expanding on an idea stated by Rav Simcha Zissel Broide, also known as the Sabba miKelm.[3]

Rav Simcha Zissel Broide was a brilliant talmid chacham. My Beit Midrash is learning Eruvin this year, and we have the newest edition of the Meiri on Eruvin, a fairly technical and esoteric text – and it comes with scholarly footnotes from Rav Simcha Zissel Broide.

As far as Rav Levovitz, he was the Mashgiach Ruchani (spiritual leader) of the Mir Yeshiva in the first decades of the 20^th century. The Mir Yeshiva is another institution famed for its Torah scholarship, and Rav Levovitz is honoured as one of its greatest leaders.

And this is what Rav Levovitz wrote:

גדול כ"כ ענין של נושא בעול עם חבירו מפני שזה כל התורה כולה, היינו איחוד הנפשות להרגיש זא"ז. וכל לימוד התורה, הלימוד והמעשה, הנה סוף המטרה שיתאחדו הנפשות להיות מרגישים זא"ז שיהיו אחד ממש.

Bearing a burden with others is of such importance because this is the entire Torah: the joining of souls, to feel what each other feels. All of Torah study, all of the learning and all of the deeds - the final goal is that all souls should be joined, to feel each others’ feelings, to truly be one.

Faced with identifying the purpose of the entire Torah, with all of its laws and rituals, Rav Levovitz, leader of one of the major European yeshivot, identified not our personal connection with Gd, and not Torah study, but bearing each other’s burdens with them! Not that he was diminishing the importance of Torah study, or saying that it is sufficieent to just “be a good person”. Just the opposite – it is critical that we practice all of our mitzvot, and that we examine them to gain an understanding of how they will help us to benefit others, and to bring people to greater empathy. Hashem gave us the Torah in order to instill empathy in our hearts and lives.

Rabbi Moshe Cordovero

And third, Rabbi Moshe Cordovero, one of the greatest kabbalists of the past 500 years. He was a leader of the community of kabbalists in Tzfat, and a Rebbe of the Ari z”l. One of his great works is Tomer Devorah, “The Palm Tree of Devorah”, which speaks of the ability of a human being to emulate Gd.

In Tomer Devorah, Rabbi Cordovero wrote that when the Torah says a human being is created in the image of Gd, this means that we hold within our hearts, our minds, our limbs, the capacity to emulate the actions of G-d in our relationships with others.

He wrote, “האדם ראוי שיתדמה לקונו, A person is suited to resemble his Creator.” Not that this is something we need to leap for, to struggle to achieve – we are suited for this. And specifically, to resemble our Creator in the way we relate to the human beings around us, the way that Gd reached out to save Yishmael in this morning’s Torah reading – with mercy, with generosity, with empathy, with love.

And he added powerfully, אילו ידומה בגופו ולא בפעולות, if a person were to have the physical capacity to reach out to others, if a person were to have the emotional capacity to love, and a person would not employ it in action, הרי הוא מכזיב הצורה, ויאמרו עליו 'צורה נאה ומעשים כעורים', that person would be making a lie of our form! They would say of such a person, “What a pleasant form, but what ugly deeds!”[4]

Summary

Three voices, three of the greatest minds Judaism has ever known. Not cherry-picked – there are others I could bring. But three voices which unite to answer our birthday question: The brilliant, inventive, moody, creative, ambitious, bizarre creature that is the human being was put here on this planet on this day, in order to help other people. In order to unite with others in empathy and carry their burdens. In order to emulate Gd’s aid for Yishmael with generosity, empathy and love for other human beings.

Of course, a good derashah requires nuance; there must be another side of the coin, and there is. We face two limits to our empathy: Biology, and Knowledge.

Limit 1: Biology

First, biology – The saying goes, “One death is a tragedy, one million deaths is a statistic.” We have trouble relating to too large a circle of human beings.

British anthropologist Robin Dunbar studied the brains of primates and the size of their societies, and came up with a formula that predicted that human beings would only form social networks of up to 150 or so people.[5] Malcom Gladwell made the theory famous in his The Tipping Point, where he marshalled evidence for it.

And it’s not only Dunbar and Gladwell - halachah[6] limits its demands upon our empathy. We have a principle of עניי עירך קודמים, that our tzedakah should go to our families first.[7] Granted, that same talmudic passage includes the warning that those who only help their own will soon find themselves in need of aid from others – still, the rule is that our own do come first.

Another example from halachah: The Torah describes our obligation to help others load and unload their animals, and to restore their lost property. But the Torah says כי תפגע, this is only when you encounter a need. The sages explained that only upon encountering a need up close are we obligated to help; they defined a distance limit of about 150 meters. Halachah is aware that we respond best to what it calls ראייה שהיא פגיעה, to a personal encounter, and it does not obligate us to go looking to help those we don’t know and we don’t see.[8]

So how can Rav Chaim of Volozhin expect me to walk around all day thinking of helping people? How can Rav Yerucham Levovitz expect me to carry the burdens of so many people? How can Rav Moshe Cordovero demand that I emulate the Divine embrace for everyone around me?

To this, I respond with an article published in the New York Times this past summer, by three research psychologists. Darryl Cameron, Michael Inzlicht and William Cunningham wrote a piece called Empathy is Actually a Choice.[9] They said, “While we concede that the exercise of empathy is, in practice, often far too limited in scope, we dispute the idea that this shortcoming is inherent…We believe that empathy is a choice that we make whether to extend ourselves to others. The ‘limits’ to our empathy are merely apparent, and can change, sometimes drastically, depending on what we want to feel.” And they demonstrated, with research studies, that humans are actually designed with the ability to expand the empathetic capacity of our hearts. Dunbar’s Number does not prevent us from expanding our hearts to care about, and extending our arms to carry the burdens of, a world of human beings.

Limit 2: Knowledge

The other hypothetical limit is knowledge.

Here is a powerful blog post I saw back in 2007. The writer is anonymous:

I write to you today as one of the Unseen. It hurts to not be seen. It hurts even more to suffer alone and in silence. I have a mental illness… I hide it well most of the time.
Today I did not hide it. I cried openly in shul… surrounded by some two hundred people during the kiddush luncheon that followed, and still you did not see me. I stumbled out of the social hall, blinded by tears I could not control and sobs that left me unable to breathe, and still no one saw me.
I took refuge in the chapel and sobbed aloud… People came into the chapel for various reasons: to look for a lost tallis, read the newspaper, find a book in the library. Even still, I remained Unseen.
When my sobs exhausted themselves and I found my peace in emotional numbness, I rose to leave the chapel, falling onto a chair in my weakened state. One man remained in the chapel, facing me. He did not even bother to look up. I left the chapel, Unseen.[10]

I don’t believe that people ignored a crying person in shul because they didn’t care, and weren’t moved. Rather, I think it’s because they didn’t know what to do. Perhaps they were afraid to make her uncomfortable by approaching her. So they left the room.

But our ignorance is easy to eliminate – and looking around our minyan, I see so many people who have taken the steps to do that, who have become involved in chesed causes and who have pioneered chesed causes. So we know how to eliminate ignorance: Good parents do research to learn how to take care of their children. Good teachers study how to teach well. Good first responders train in the latest CPR techniques. And good human beings, like us, find out how to help other people.

Summary

This is what we celebrate today: נעשה אדם!

·         The Divine decision to populate His universe with the brilliant, inventive, moody, creative, ambitious, bizarre creature that is the human being.

·         The Divine decision to create a human being who would look to help others beyond Dunbar’s 150, beyond the halachic minimum of ראייה שיש בה פגיעה, as Rav Chaim Volozhin wrote.

·         The Divine decision to create a human being who would overcome ignorance and train herself to bear the burdens of others, as Rav Yerucham Levovitz wrote.

·         The Divine decision to create a human being who would emulate Divine mercy and love and empathy, as Rav Moshe Cordovero wrote.

Shofar
The Talmud[11] teaches that the shofar’s sound replicates different types of crying. These might be our own cries of repentance before our King, but these may also be the cries of other people – even the wicked mother of Sisera, as the gemara teaches.[12] As we fulfill this mitzvah momentarily and hear the moaning tekiah, the groans of the shevarim, the shuddering teruah, let us expand our empathy, our image of Gd, and ask ourselves whose cries we are hearing.

Who do we hear in the shofar? Is it the panhandler at the corner of Bathurst and Steeles? Is it a socially awkward person who is more easily ignored than greeted? Is it someone who lacks a family and is rarely invited for a meal? Who do we hear crying with the shofar? And what will we be moved to do about it?

·         Let us hear the shofar and reach out because Rav Moshe Cordovero says that is a fulfillment of our Image of Gd.

·         Let us hear the shofar and reach out because Rav Yerucham Levovitz says that’s what Judaism is for.

·         Let us hear the shofar and reach out because Rav Chaim of Volozhin says that’s why we were created on that first Rosh HaShanah.

Let us hear the shofar and reach out as Gd did for Yishmael – and האדם ראוי שיתדמה לקונו, we can do it as well.

---

[1] Introduction to Nefesh haChaim

[2] Another relevant passage – Horeb 120 on seeing in others the condition of our own existence.

[3] Daat Chachmah Umussar III #295 (pg. רעא)

[4] See, too, Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Avadim 9:8

[5] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dunbar%27s_number

[6] Bava Metzia 33a, codified in Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Rotzeiach 13:6 and Shulchan Aruch Choshen Mishpat 272:5

[7] Talmud, Bava Metzia 33a

[8] Indeed, Shulchan Aruch haRav Choshen Mishpat הלכות עוברי דרכים וצער בעלי חיים 6 says explicitly that there is no obligation to help beyond this perimeter, even if one knows of the other party’s need.

[9] Daryl Cameron, Michael Inzlicht, William A. Cunningham, Empathy is Actually a Choice, July 10, 2015

[10] http://wingslikeadove.blogspot.com/2007/02/what-would-i-want-my-congregation-to_10.html

[11] Rosh HaShanah 33b, for example

[12] Ibid.

Of Teaching and Chesed

About a month ago, I posted a question on this blog: "Is teaching a class an act of chesed (generosity)?" I received some insightful emails, as well as good comments on the post; thank you.

As I said on that post, teaching a class just doesn't feel like chesed. I'd like to unpack that here.

I can see three definitions of Chesed:
1) Filling the need of a recipient;
2) Sacrificing personal resources for a recipient;
3) Connecting with a recipient.

In truth, I believe that teaching a class does qualify as Chesed, within all three definitions. A good teacher:
(1) provides for the educational needs of the students;
(2) expends real effort and time in planning how best to convey Torah to the students; and
(3) connects and builds relationships with the students.

So why doesn't it feel like chesed? A few reasons, I think, all tied to the different definitions of chesed I mentioned above:
1) Filling a need - Rabbis need to advertise and recruit people to shiurim; if this were filling a need, would we need to work so hard to persuade people to take advantage? Further, however well-intentioned, a Rabbi may misunderstand or misstate his Torah. A shiur may be wrong without the teacher realizing it, but the benefits of a hospital visit, counseling, a relationship are often visible.

2) Sacrificing personal resources – If I am paid to teach classes, then whatever I do is a fulfillment of that job. It is equally true that a shul rabbi is paid for rabbinic chesed, but when a rabbi sacrifices to go above and beyond in chesed – as happens regularly – it feels more like an uncompensated "extra" than when I learn with a chavruta or give a shiur despite being exhausted.

3) Connecting with others - One can teach Torah without investing emotionally; I believe that such teaching is less successful, but it can be done. On the other hand, the relationship aspect of chesed requires at least sympathy, if not empathy.

I don't see a moral to this story; it may just be something I find interesting. But then again, this is a blog, so I suppose that's okay.

'Tis More Honourable to Give (Parshat Korach)

A thought I've written up for Toronto Torah, on Parshat Korach:

After the collapse of Korach's rebellion, G-d presents Moshe with three instructions that counter elements of that misguided mutiny:

• First, the tribe of Levi is charged with protecting the Beit haMikdash from future incursions by those who are ineligible to enter. (Bamidar 18:1-7)
• Second, the nation is instructed to give special gifts to the Kohanim, explicitly recognizing that Korach was wrong for challenging their right to their positions. (ibid. 18:8-20, as understood by Rashi 18:8)
• Third, the nation is instructed to give a tenth of their produce – maaser rishon - to the Levites, enabling their service. (ibid. 18:21-32)

Within that last segment, though, an eight-verse passage describes the mitzvah of terumat maaser. When a Levite receives maaser rishon, he must separate one-tenth of that donation and give it to a Kohen; until he does so, he is prohibited from eating the maaser rishon he has received. How does terumat maaser respond to Korach's rebellion?

Three approaches are put forth by classic commentators; each stems from a different view of Korach's moment on the biblical stage. More broadly, each stems from a different perspective on the nature of human generosity:

1: Display Respect

One may read Korach's rebellion as a protest against the elevated position of the Kohanim; Korach, a Levite, wants the power of the Kohen for himself. Opposite this arrogance, the Divine command to give a gift mandates a display of respect. The requirement to give terumat maaser – a tithe paid by the Levite to the Kohen – reinforces the Kohen's dominance.

Taking this approach, Rabbeinu Bachya, in his 13^th century Kad haKemach (Rashut 8), explained that just as the Jew's one-tenth gift to the Levite marks the Levite's leadership position, so "the Levite is obligated to give the Kohen a tenth from their tenth. Just as Israel is bound to the Levite, so the Levite is bound to the Kohen."

2: Recognize G-d

On a deeper level, Korach's rebellion may be read as a rejection of Divine control. The selection of Kohen and Levite comes at the Divine word, and so Korach is actually challenging G-d's architectural design for the Jewish people. Giving a gift on Divine command, on the other hand, demonstrates a recognition that G-d is the true owner of my property. The requirement to separate terumat maaser provides a constant reminder that there is an Authority above all, who establishes the rights and roles of every citizen.

Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch (Horeb 304) put forth this position, writing of the terumah given by every Jew to the Kohen, as well as the terumat maaser contributed by the Levite, "You should not use that portion for personal purposes but dedicate it to G-d, declaring thereby that G-d is Lord of the earth  and that only through Him have you any right to the earth and to the fruit it yields."

Similarly, Sefer haChinuch wrote (mitzvah 396), paraphrasing Kohelet 5:7, "Thus they will put into their hearts that there are higher-ups above them, and that higher than all of them is the exalted Guardian of all."

3: Take Honour from Giving

A third approach reads Korach's rebellion as a misunderstanding of Honour; Korach believes that holding an elevated position and receiving a gift is the height of human dignity. Thus Korach does not seek the right to serve as Kohanim do, but only to hold their position of authority. (Bamidbar 16:3) Giving a gift inverts Korach's initiative, displaying an understanding that there is great honour in giving. The requirement to give terumat maaser teaches the Levite the stature to be found in generosity.

Sefer haChinuch (ibid.) saw this as a clear benefit of terumat maaser; he wrote, "There is also merit and honour and stature for the Levites, lest their name be eliminated from the mitzvah of tithing when they receive their portion of produce. Lest the children [of the Jews] say to the children [of the Levites], 'You receive the produce, we receive the mitzvah,' there will now be a response: We have Torah, and we have flour [to give]." Of course, the Levites already give, with their service in the Beit haMikdash and in their role as teachers of Torah, but sharing material resources with others is a unique and honoured form of generosity. [For more on this from a secular perspective, see Tamara Brown, Raising Brooklyn: Nannies, Childcare and Caribbeans Creating Community, Chapter Four.]

Taken together, these approaches provide three lessons in generosity: Giving gift shows respect, giving a gift mandated by G-d demonstrates recognition of Divine authority, and giving a gift earns true honour. As explained by these commentators, Korach did not grasp these three points, but the mitzvah of terumat maaser ensured that his descendants, and all readers of the Torah, would absorb these lessons for themselves.

The Stokes Game

This is an absolutely stunning article, on "The Stokes Game", on the Grantland website. I highly recommend it, and particularly for Elul. Chesed, chesed, chesed - the beginning, middle and end of our mission here in this universe.

I have nothing to add to that, but I'll throw in Rav Yitzchak of Volozhin's recollection of the rebuke of his father, Rav Chaim of Volozhin, since I haven't post it in a while:

והיה רגיל להוכיח אותי על שראה שאינני משתתף בצערא דאחרינא. וכה היה דברו אלי תמיד שזה כל האדם. לא לעצמו נברא רק להועיל לאחריני ככל אשר ימצא בכחו לעשות.

He regularly rebuked me, because he saw that I did not participate in the pain of others. And these were his constant words to me: This is the entire person. One is not created for himself, but to benefit others with the full extent of his powers.

On feeling a profound absence of generosity

[The Nine Days make me terribly grim; I apologize in advance. Please forgive the darkness of these pre-Tisha b'Av musings.]

A rapid series of knocks at the door on a Friday afternoon – I get up from my computer where I am trying to finish preparing a source sheet for a Shabbos shiur, grab the checkbook and walk to the door. But not without a krechtz [sigh] at the untimely intrusion.

A car noses its way in front of me, trying to force its way into the lane, not even bothering with a turn signal – I pause to let him get in front of me. But not without a glare.

I give the tzedakah, I let the car in. I am not Sdom; I do what is right. But the feeling of generosity isn't there, and it scares me. It's only human to sigh and glare, but that doesn't mean it's right or healthy.

People hear about a public figure speaking on a charged topic, and immediately want the dirt on what was said. Who insulted whom, and how strongly? What was the reaction? What will be the political fallout? This is such an unwholesome approach to other people's lives.

I am reminded of a note by Rav Yonasan Eibeschutz in his Yaaros Dvash (drush 10) – the translation here is from one of our avreichim, Adam Frieberg, in this week's Toronto Torah:

This is not to say, Heaven forbid, that each Jew doesn’t love his friend's physical person. If harm were to befall him, or if the government would falsely charge a Jew, all of Israel would be quick to help him, with their lives and resources. We don’t even need to mention saving a life, he will surely redeem his brother. They would completely affix themselves, with their lives and with their resources, day and night, and would not quit. And if one would become sick, all would pray and visit, and any possible help they would not withhold, they would even race three kilometers through sand. If a woman would have difficulty giving birth and suffer pain, would not all of the wealthy, complacent women rise in the darkness of the night, and go to be with her to help! Can there be greater love, brotherhood and friendship than this?! Your portion is meritorious, holy nation, before the holy King!

My experience matches Rabbi Eibeschutz's glowing description of the way we go to great lengths on each other's behalf. However, I still sense a problem in myself, and I suspect I share this with others: A profound absence of generosity. Of love.

One can daven without concentrating;
One can learn Torah without being emotionally attached to the text;
One can observe Shabbos without feeling מעין עולם הבא (that one is thereby connected to the Next World);
And one can visit the sick, bury the dead and give tzedakah to the needy without an inner pull of "I love to help" generosity.
But to me, this last deficiency is potentially even more destructive than the previous three - and if the bliblcal and talmudic emphasis on social relationships is to be trusted, it makes us far less worthy of ultimate redemption and an end to these Tisha b'Av fasts.

I sense that acts of generosity without generous feeling are hard to sustain – they are more likely to fade as excuses present themselves.

I sense that acts of generosity without generous feeling are hard to transmit to our children – our children are more likely to absorb the sigh than the check.

And I sense that generous feeling is necessary for overall religious commitment. People who feel a need to guard their preserves are less likely to open their hearts, homes and wallets in the way that religion demands, whether in their relationship with Gd or in their relationship with others. Children who absorb that mentality are, in my opinion, less likely to find the "derech" attractive.

How, then, do we build generous feeling? Certainly, the point made by the Sefer haChinuch (216) that generous deeds will help inspire generosity of spirit, is a start. Perhaps this is also part of the talmudic statement (Berachos 6b) that the central reward for fasting comes from the tzedakah we give – when we take the food out of our mouths and give it away, that may help inculcate or reinforce generosity of spirit. But I would like more. How can I make myself a more generous person?

Could we be inspired by Sean O'Connor?

Our thoughts during the run-up to Tisha b'Av are all about shalom and chesed, ways we can help each other and avoid sinat chinam (baseless hatred) and build community. To a certain extent, the drumbeat is so consistent that we run the risk of thinking we already know all there is to know about kindness and doing for others.

That's why I appreciate the story of Scott Widak, a 47-year old man with Down's Syndrome and terminal liver disease, whose nephew, Sean O'Connor, posted a Reddit message asking people to send his uncle mail because "one of his favorite things to do is open mail."

As CBS tells it, he has now received more than 1,000 letters and packages, postcards and gifts.

To a certain extent, it is easier to help someone we've never met. There's no long-term obligation. There is no existing framework to dampen our creativity. There is no baggage or resentment from external factors.

Still: If so many people could do this for someone they never met, what creative ways could we devise to help those we know?

Spending beyond our means?

The words of Rabbi Yisrael Meir Kagan (aka Chafetz Chaim) in his afterword to Ahavat Chesed (original Hebrew at the end of the post):

In truth, when we inquire of a person about his conduct in his household spending, in which he acts as though he was wealthy and great beyond his means, his answer is ready to hand. He says that he cannot reduce his household needs one iota, and he trusts Gd to help him with this.

However, when a matter of tzedakah and chesed comes before him, he toughens his heart and closes his hand and makes himself out to be needy and indigent, and he does not even give according to his means.

Regarding this Mishlei 13:7 says, "There is one who acts as though he is wealthy and he has nothing, and one who acts as though he is poor and he has great wealth."


I find this not only in the way I spend my money, but in the way I spend my time and energy – as he writes, it's about chesed, too, and not only tzedekah. For certain things I can always find time and push off other concerns. For other pursuits, I suddenly have no time.

A good thought as we begin Cheshbon haNefesh (personal accounting) season.

The original Hebrew:

ובאמת כאשר נשאל לכל אחד ואחד על הנהגתו בהוצאת ביתו שהוא מתנהג כעשיר ורב הוא יתר מכפי ערכו תירוצו נכון לפניו שאי אפשר לגרע מהנהגת הבית מאומה והוא בוטח בד' שיעזרנו על זה ואלו כשבא לפניו ענין צדקה וחסד הוא מאמץ לבו וקופץ ידו ועושה את עצמו לעני ודל ואינו נותן אף לפי ערכו ועל ענין כזה אמר הכתוב יש מתעשר ואין כל מתרושש והון רב

Childlessness in the Jewish Community – www.yerusha.com

Imagine if anyone who could achieve 100 on an IQ exam was given a special hat to wear, and you couldn’t top 90.

Imagine if people who possessed at least three friends were admitted to a communal lounge, and you only possessed two friends.

Imagine if everyone could ride the bus regardless of their ability to pay, but those who couldn’t pay were forced to wear a special badge, and you couldn’t pay.

Certainly, it would be cruel to publicly penalize human beings who were disadvantaged in any of the above ways – but we do it, unintentionally, to a specific group in the Jewish community. People who are unable to bear children are often placed on the fringe, made to feel different as well as inferior.

I don’t mean to make childless people sound pathetic, as though they were moping about in a cloud. They are people with lives and families and careers and hobbies. But like everyone dealing with a problem, they still need the community’s awareness and sensitivity.

The communal snub is not intended. No thinking person would ever stigmatize someone for having blocked ducts or a low sperm count, for having been unable to find the right mate until after the biological clock ran out, or for any of the other reasons people are unable to produce children. Nonetheless, I know from personal conversation and observation that the feeling of being on the outside persists and is fed by numerous communal practices, and particularly in the shul environment.

• We loudly admire people’s children, and we highlight their success in our bulletins.

• We talk incessantly about wanting to attract young families, with children, to inject vitality into our shuls.

• We center our communities around schools and youth programs.

• We parade our children around shul, on the bimah, when the Torah is removed and returned, at Adon Olam, and so on.

• We create support systems for singles, for divorcees, for the handicapped and abused and bereaved, but rarely for the childless.

And the unintended offense is in the Torah we teach, as well:

• The rabbi will pontificate on Rosh haShanah about Gd answering Sarah and Chanah and Rachel, and he will praise the prayers of Chanah as though promising that if you, too, would pray as Chanah did, you would be blessed with a child.

• One of our Shabbat songs, צמאה נפשי, includes the exultant line לא כי בנך המת ובני החי, "No; your child is the deceased one, and mine is the live one." In context, of course, the line is not meant to come off this way - but I have been unable to sing that line for a dozen years, since a friend's pregnancy was cut off mid-way.

• We teach classes on raising children, we use child-centered anecdotes and metaphors in our speeches, we deliver derashah after derashah with lessons for educating our youth, repeating incessantly, “our sons and daughters,” “our children,” and so on.

• The rabbi notes that the first mitzvah in the Torah is to procreate, and that one of the six questions we are asked posthumously is, “Did you involve yourself in procreation?”

Each speech and shiur can be a hammer-blow. None of this is ill-intended, and none of it is inherently wrong. We must teach authentic Torah. But we could do better, with sensitivity.

I’m definitely not suggesting that rabbis deliver speeches about childlessness. Every year, when I was in the pulpit, I would think about doing that on Parshat Vayyetze, regarding the rivalry between Rachel and Leah, and every year I scrapped the idea; the topic would be painful and embarrassing for every childless couple in the shul. No, that’s not the right way.

There are right ways, though. I was careful to say “our children, our nieces and nephews, the children of our friends,” when talking about issues relating to kids. I added caveats and disclaimers when discussing the prayers and salvations of Sarah, Chanah and Rachel. I downplayed my kids when talking to people who were not blessed with their own. I reminded myself that had I lived in a less blessed time, I might well have been childless, too, and their pain would have been mine. I encouraged adoption, when I felt it was appropriate. I avoided “Im yirtzeh HaShem by you” as well as kvater opportunities when I thought they would not have been appreciated. And I davened, of course, for those who were trying to have children.

But I know it was not enough; how could it be enough, when people who had done nothing to warrant their childless state came to shul and were inevitably immersed in a child-centered culture?

We need to develop greater sensitivity, and to create institutions that will reflect this; this is why I was glad to receive an email advertising Anna Olswanger's www.yerusha.com, a site advertised as serving “Older Childless Jews” with resources and support. The site’s structure is currently a skeleton, but much more flesh could be added. הגיע זמן, it’s about time.

Of course, www.yerusha.com is a drop in the bucket, and it’s only getting started – but with enough such drops, developed sufficiently, we might yet get somewhere.

My life as a secret agent

CNN has an article here about a woman named Laura Miller who styled herself “Secret Agent L” and did nice things for people anonymously, and then started a blog to encourage others to do the same. You can find her blog here.

ברוך שכוונתי – My wife and I did this in our community in Rhode Island, when we had just gotten married. This is the first time I’m writing about it; as the Rambam wrote, it’s best to be fully anonymous, but I think Laura Miller is also right – it pays to publicize this sort of thing, in order to encourage others to do likewise.

It was very simple: We went to a local florist on a Friday and bought a bouquet, and then gave it to our partner in crime, a high school student who did the delivery. The note was simple: “Have a good Shabbos,” and it was signed, “A Friend.” That was it.

We did it for several months – this was before we had children, when we (thought we) could afford it. We sent the flowers to older people who lived alone and to families, to people who had friends and people who were more reclusive, to people from our shul and to people who were not affiliated.

It was fun, and it felt good, and it was a mitzvah, designed around the gemara’s account of Mar Ukva and his wife leaving money behind a door, for a pauper to find (Kesuvos 67b). I admit that we naively thought it might take off on its own, inspiring recipients to do likewise for others, but we never heard of anyone else doing it.

[Of course, we also worried that there might be a "creep factor" involved - that someone might suspect something weird or improper was behind the flowers, leading to trouble. Not unlike some of the "secret missions" listed on Laura Miller's blog; in one, for example, someone leaves body wash and body lotion in a fitness club shower, with a note that this is a gift given in kindness. I, for one, wouldn't use those if I found them; I'd worry about a hidden camera prank, or worse.]

Fast-forward a dozen years later, and the Internet is a great tool for helping to promote this sort of activity. יישר כחך, Laura Miller – good job, and may you grow stronger in your efforts.

Added note: In a sense, the shul rabbinate is essentially a career of anonymous favors - finding ways to help people, directly and indirectly, often without them knowing you are the provider. Now that I’m out of the pulpit the opportunities are fewer, but there is always some way to do it.

To cite Rav Yitzchak of Volozhin, regarding his father, Rav Chaim of Volozhin:

והיה רגיל להוכיח אותי על שראה שאינני משתתף בצערא דאחרינא. וכה היה דברו אלי תמיד שזה כל האדם. לא לעצמו נברא רק להועיל לאחריני ככל אשר ימצא בכחו לעשות.

He regularly rebuked me, because he saw that I did not participate in the pain of others. And these were his constant words to me: "This is the entire person. One is not created for himself, but to benefit others with the full extent of his powers."

Fish Storm

I learned a new term yesterday, courtesy of CNN.com: Fish storm.

The article covered predictions for the year’s hurricane season, and the particular sentence read, Tropical Depression One then drifted over cooler ocean waters and turned out to be merely a "fish storm," one that remains at sea and poses no threat to land.

In other words, a “fish storm” is a storm that affects only the fish, not human beings.

Of course, the term is inaccurate, on multiple levels – the storm can affect boaters and fishermen, it can affect beach erosion through increased wave activity, it can affect butterflies in Tokyo, and so on. Nonetheless, I love the term, because it perfectly describes the way we manage our responsibilities toward the world.

Fish Storm is a defense mechanism, a natural reflex to protect me from the world. “It’s not my problem,” as they say.

I write off certain news stories as fish storms, and move on without reading them. Sometimes this reflex is a good thing, such as when the story is about the latest Ashton Kutcher-Twitter kerfuffle, or Filipe Fa and the World’s Biggest Loser. But other times it reflects a desire to run away from serious issues, such as when stories about North Korea, Tajikistan or Darfur come up on the page. Those aren’t fish storms; I just want to treat them that way.

The fish storm defense mechanism comes up in the rabbinate a lot. A trivial example: We hold a “Kever Avos” memorial service at the cemetery before Rosh HaShanah, and many people request that I say a Kel Malei Rachamamim (memorial prayer) at their relatives’ graves. I pass the grave of someone who doesn’t have any living relatives, or whose relatives didn’t request it. Do I say a Kel Malei? Do I then stop and say one for every person buried in the cemetery?

Similarly, think of the million-man Mi sheBeirach list, which is so long because various people in shul received names of ill people in emails years ago and have not heard any update on their conditions.

Those examples are relatively trivial, but a rabbi's overreaching OCD has no end short of burnout, and can apply in many and diverse areas – teaching innumerable classes because someone, somewhere, wants to learn; contacting every potentially needy person to make sure they are all right; reworking and reworking derashos and articles out of concern for hitting every listener/reader just right. Sometimes you need to declare Fish Storm and write it off.

We actually just came across the same idea in Daf Yomi the other day. Bava Metzia 33a talks about my obligation to help an animal which is sprawled under a heavy burden, and it places a limit on how far out of my way I need to travel to offer assistance. We need that limit, both to provide a Fish Storm limit for those who will try to save everyone, and to forestall the Fish Storm response for those who wish to save no one.

“Fish Storm,” indeed. I like it.

Purim: A Holiday founded on Chesed (Derashah Zachor 5769)

This derashah was actually a mussarish talk for an issue in our community. I have excluded the community-relevant piece, which somewhat damages the flow but leaves the dvar torah intact.

Our Yamim Tovim commemorate glorious historic events – national rebirth, covenants between the finite and the Infinite, moments of Divine intervention in the lives of mortal humanity – but they also commemorate the themes which shaped our ancestors’ actions in the past and which remain a part of our national psyche.

Those themes shape the way we mark each holiday – the mitzvot of the day translate those themes into action.


On Succot, for example, we commemorate the theme of Emunah, trust in Gd, לכתך אחרי במדבר בארץ לא זרועה, our ancestors’ willingness to trail after a pillar of cloud and a column of flame in a land which provided neither milk nor honey. Therefore, we celebrate by sitting in סוכות, huts which offer scant protection against the elements, trusting in Gd to look after us.

On Pesach we commemorate the theme of Masorah, that tradition which communicated פקוד יפקוד, Gd will save you, and so inspired the enslaved descendants of Avraham and Sarah to cry out to Gd. Therefore, we celebrate with והגדת לבנך, with a Seder constructed around the theme of Masorah, of telling our children about our history, conveying precisely that message that Gd will come to our rescue.

On Shavuot we commemorate the theme of Commitment to Gd, our pledge of timeless loyalty and devotion memorialized at Sinai in the words נעשה ונשמע, We will do and we will hear. Therefore, we celebrate by bringing the ביכורים, the First Fruits, each farmer committing the first benefits of his year’s labor to Gd at the Beit haMikdash.


Which brings us to Purim, and the association between its practical mitzvot and Purim’s driving theme.

We mark Purim with four mitzvot: Megilah reading, the Purim Seudah, Mishloach Manot (gifts of food), and Matanot laEvyonim (tzedakah).

We read the megilah to remember the miracle and to thank Gd for creating it. We enjoy a Purim Seudah because we always celebrate Divine rescue with a feast of thanks.

But what holiday-related theme is evoked with these mitzvot of Chesed – giving gifts of food, or tzedakah?


An answer, I think, lies in the Chesed event that made the Purim miracle possible – an event that is barely mentioned, but critical to the storyline.

Before Haman’s ascendancy, before the beauty contest for the queen’s job, even before Achashverosh’s party, a single key act of generosity made everything else possible, paving the way for our salvation. It’s there in the megilah, but it doesn’t demand our attention and we tend to skip it.

The entire megilah rests on this single act of chesed: “ויהי אומן את הדסה היא אסתר בת דודו כי אין לה אב ואם, And Mordechai nurtured Hadassah, aka Esther, his cousin, because she had neither father nor mother.” Esther was an orphan, and Mordechai, her senior cousin, took her into his home and raised her.

Chesed is the theme that drives Purim. Just as Batyah’s adoption of Moshe in the Torah shaped one redemption, so Mordechai’s adoption of Esther in the Megilah shaped another:

Because Mordechai had adopted Esther, he was able to help guide her character as she matured.

Because Mordechai had adopted Esther, he was able to advise her when Achashverosh’s talent scouts came knocking.

And ויהי אומן, because Mordechai had adopted Esther, he was able to coach her when she was in the palace.

This great act of selflessness, taking in an orphan and raising her as his own, made all of the difference.

And so, every year, we mark Purim not only by thanking Gd with megilah and a feast, but also with Chesed, sharing gifts and giving tzedakah to commemorate the kindness that planted the seeds of redemption.


This morning we concluded קריאת התורה with the story of Amalek’s attack, with the account of how this nation who had no apparent issue with us chose to attack us out of the blue.

The Torah indicates that Amalek was not a great warrior nation; we davened and we rallied to drive them off, and even before that they were not able to score much of a military victory. As the Torah describes it, they were scavengers. ויזנב בך כל הנחשלים אחריך, They attacked those who were weak, the stragglers at the back.

We are charged with the annual responsibility of remembering Amalek’s attack, not only to commemorate their viciousness but also to reinforce our defenses against their attack, to ensure that the next Amalek in history’s long parade of Amalek’s is not able to repeat the success of the original.

When we succeed in ויהי אומן, when we follow Mordechai’s lead and adopt those around us, then there are no נחשלים, there are no vulnerable stragglers, there will be no victory for Amalek. Instead, ליהודים היתה אורה ושמחה וששון ויקר, we will be able to celebrate a Purim victory.

-
Notes:
1. There are more acts of Chesed in the megilah - Mordechai for Achashverosh, Hatach for Mordechai and Esther, ditto regarding Charvonah, and, of course, Esther for the Jewish people as a whole.

2. Of course, another source for Matanot laEvyonim and Mishloach Manot is a counter-balance for Haman's allegation of ישנו עם אחד מפוזר ומפורד בין העמים, the splintered character of the Jewish people. And a third source, which fits Mishneh Berurah 694:3, is that these mitzvot generate joy, enhancing our national celebration of the miracle.

Our blank spaces in the Torah (Derashah Yom Kippur 5769)

I like the strong images in this derashah - the blank parchment, the missing al cheit, the פסקא באמצע פסוק - but, overall, I consider this year's Kol Nidrei derashah, posted below, a better derashah. Part of it is that I prefer the passion of the Kol Nidrei derashah. See more in notes 2 & 3 at the end.

Just short of entering Israel, months away from escaping the desert, the Jews were attacked by a plague of serpents, a punishment for their harsh speech against Gd. Many died - until Moshe, as instructed by Gd, formed a copper statue of a serpent and placed it atop a pole. The nation looked heavenward and remembered to pray to Gd, and the plague stopped. Afterward, Moshe kept the copper serpent in order to remind the nation of the price of rebellion.

Fast-forward some six hundred years. The Jews were now living in that promised land. The Jews of the north strayed into Canaanite idolatry, but the Jews of the south, led by righteous kings, primarily followed the Torah. Then a small idolatrous sect sprang up around that copper serpent. The cult persisted until King Chizkiyah boldly destroyed that historic heirloom, the work of Moshe Rabbeinu’s own hands.

The sages of the Talmud were shocked: How could Chizkiyah have decided to destroy an historic treasure, the handiwork of Moshe, an artifact from the Torah itself? If the serpent was actually an idol, wouldn’t his predecessors, the righteous kings Yehoshafat and Asa, have destroyed it themselves?

To which the sages answered, מקום הניחו לו אבותיו להתגדר בו, Chizkiyah’s ancestors did wish to destroy the statue, but they held back in order to leave him a place to make his own mark, to apply the Torah’s principles to the world of his day. Chizkiyah was challenged, by his ancestors, to convert the Torah’s words into action, on his own.


A second story:
Moshe came down from Har Sinai with a set of Luchos/Tablets, and found the Jews celebrating with a Golden Calf. He smashed those Luchos, then prayed to Gd to forgive the Jews. Gd acquiesced, and told Moshe we would have another chance, on the very first Yom Kippur, to receive the Luchos. But Gd told Moshe, oddly, פסל לך, chisel these new tablets for yourself.

The sages explained that HaShem told Moshe, “Chisel out these precious stones, form the tablets, for yourself; you get to keep the valuable leftover material, to enrich yourself.”

I can’t take that midrash only literally, though; what use did Moshe have for gems? He had food, he had clothing, he had a place to live, there were no luxuries to buy! Gd knew that Moshe would never make it out of the desert, so there would be no future need, either!

So I would explain that talmudic passage homiletically: Gd enriched Moshe in that He gave Moshe the valuable space around the Torah’s letters.

The letters were HaShem’s message to the Jews; the stone around them, carved away, was the space left for Moshe to become Moshe Rabbeinu, to give his own counsel and lessons and guidance to the nation, to teach the nation how to apply HaShem’s words in their world, how to create a Jewish society.

מקום הניח לו למשה להתגדר בו, HaShem enriched Moshe with this opportunity in which to achieve greatness.


That opportunity for greatness, for applying the Torah to our lives, is not limited to Moshe - it is an opportunity for all of us, as codified in the laws of writing a Sefer Torah:

• Each letter in a Torah must be מוקף גויל, surrounded by parchment. No letter may run to the edge of the klaf, and no two letters may be joined.
• No word may run into the next, either; every word must be evenly spaced.
• Every פרשה, every paragraph, too, must be separated from the next by a prescribed space.

Those spaces - between letters, words and paragraphs - are our מקום להתגדר בו, the place in which we achieve greatness.


King Chizkiyah was meant to achieve greatness by eliminating an ancient idol.
Moshe was meant to achieve greatness by teaching the Jews how to apply the Torah.
Neither of those apply to us. So what greatness are we meant to achieve, what are supposed to be the contents of our spaces?

Based on the writings of Rambam and Ramban, those spaces are where we define and apply our social relationships.

Rambam wrote that the Torah’s mitzvah of “Love your neighbor as yourself” was meant to imply all of the ways we would find to implement that overall ethic. Gd gave us the starting point; we develop ways to implement this Divine instruction.

Ramban wrote, “אי אפשר להזכיר בתורה כל הנהגות האדם עם שכניו ורעיו, וכל משאו ומתנו ותקוני היישוב והמדינות כלם - It would be impossible to include in the Torah all of human social behavior and interactions, and the rules necessary for society and nations to function.” Therefore, the Torah mentioned some starting rules, such as “You shall not peddle gossip,” “You shall not take revenge or bear a grudge,” “You shall not stand by the blood of your brother,” “You shall not curse the deaf,” “Rise before the aged,” and then it gave us a general rule: ועשית הישר והטוב, Do what is just and good.

Love your neighbor, Practice the good and the just - that’s what is in those spaces. That’s what is in our spaces.

In our spaces, we recognize that our money is a means of aiding others, and use it to help the needy.
In our spaces, we recognize that we share our environment and resources with others, and we preserve and share them.
In our spaces, we recognize that all Jews are part of one family and one covenant, and we act on our special responsibility to each other.

This is our opportunity for greatness. As Yeshayah said in the haftorah moments ago, “Open the chains of wickedness, untie the yoke, let the oppressed go free… break your bread for the hungry, bring the desperate poor into your home, clothe the unclothed and do not turn away from your flesh.”

(See Note 1 below.)

But we all miss opportunities to fill those spaces. What’s worse, these opportunities, once missed, tend to disappear forever. As the Chafetz Chaim noted, we can repent for violating laws, but how will we repent for missing opportunities? Even if we regret our inaction, the opportunity is still lost, the person or persons who needed our help still didn’t receive it!

I call this “the missing Al Cheit.” The list of “al cheit” sins in our machzor includes apologies for all sorts of actions, but there is no apology for, “על חטא שחטאנו לפניך באי-פעולה, The sin we have committed before You, Gd, through inaction.” This “Al Cheit” is not there, because it would be useless; saying “I’m sorry” doesn’t change the fact that we failed to act; we cannot atone until we heal the abused worker, restore the wasted environment, give to the ignored pauper.

The 10th day of Tishrei, Yom Kippur, can’t do anything, can’t forgive anything, on its own, in these areas. Instead, we need to wake up the next day, tomorrow, the 11th of Tishrei, and use our power to transcend our past mistakes and live up to the charge of filling in those blank spaces in the Torah with our own ethical practices:
• To start speaking more positively about other people;
• To stop wasting the resources we all share;
• To use our money for others, rather than hoard it for ourselves.


Our ancestors had spaces of their own in the Torah; they, too, were given these opportunities for greatness. At Yizkor, especially on Yom Kippur when all of the living and deceased are judged and forgiven for their sins, we remember with love those parents, grandparents and other relatives who made good in their own chances to act. But those lives and their chances were cut off at some point.

In a few cases in the Torah, we find a פסקא באמצע פסוק, an abrupt break, a blank space, right in the middle of a sentence. This is what happens when a person dies - it is an abrupt break in mid-sentence, and all projects, acts of kindness, social interactions, all of them come to a full stop.

That abrupt break is a tragedy, a loss - but, after the grief, it becomes an opportunity. That is מקום הניחו לנו אבותינו, the place our ancestors left for us to work, to grow, to accomplish. Like Chizkiyah, like Moshe, like every generation of Jews and human beings, we have been given the ability and space to accomplish great things. Let’s not end up saying an impotent על חטא for inaction - rather, let’s follow Yeshayah’s charge, let’s follow the counsel of Rambam and Ramban, let’s pick up where our ancestors and relatives left off, and so earn a גמר חתימה טובה.


-
Notes:
1. I also used this derashah to talk about Agriprocessors/Rubashkin (where I wrote "See Note 1 below"), but I have not included it here because the derashah is better without it. I only did it in shul to address specific questions which have come up locally.

2. One of the reasons I'm not 100% thrilled with this derashah is the homiletic regarding Moshe and the leftover material from the luchos. To me, pshat in the leftover material is, indeed, that it was to enrich Moshe. What I did here is within normal homiletic bounds, but I don't really like doing it.

3. Another reason I'm not 100% comfortable: I like my derashos to be less abstract, more concrete in their recommendations.

4. Some sources: The gemara on Chizkiyah is Chullin 6b-7a. Gd's gift to Moshe is in Yerushalmi Shekalim 5:2. The Rambam's note is in Mishneh Torah Hilchos Avel 14:1, and Ramban's note is on Devarim 6:18 - ועשית הישר והטוב. The Chafetz Chaim's quote came from a biography of his, I don't recall which one anymore. It might have been in כל כתבי.

Dealing with Depression - in others (Rosh HaShanah 5769 Day 2)

And Gd told Avraham to bring up his son, his only son, whom he loved, Yitzchak, as an offering on Har haMoriyah. And Avraham obeyed the Divine instruction. And Yitzchak, too, obeyed, and allowed himself to be bound hand and foot and placed atop the altar, atop the wood. And Avraham stretched out his hand and took the hatchet - and then an angel called out, “Avraham, Avraham! Don’t send your hand toward your child, don’t do him any harm!”

This is a story full of pain - father sacrificing son, Gd putting faithful followers to an excruciating test, a son offering up his own life for the sake of his father’s beliefs - but perhaps the greatest pain waits for the end of the story, the way in which the Akeidah is closely followed in the Torah by the death of Avraham’s wife, Yitzchak’s mother, Sarah. A medrash explains the association:

וישב אברהם לבאר שבע, Avraham returned home, without his son, Yitzchak; Yitzchak went off elsewhere. And Sarah -
the righteous woman who had abandoned home and family to travel where Gd would lead her;
the woman who was taken captive by kings and rescued by Divine decree;
the righteous woman who received a child at the age of ninety because, as we read yesterday, Gd had heard her prayers;
the prophetess regarding whom Gd told Avraham, “Do everything she tells you” -
this woman Sarah saw Avraham returning alone and believed that her husband had killed their precious son.
ותבך ותחנק ותמת מן הצרה, she wept, she strangled, she died in agony.

She died, in pain, not knowing that, in fact, her son was alive.
She died, in agony, not knowing that it had all been a Divine challenge.
She died - and the medrash allows us to believe it might even have been by her own hand - in the deepest depression imaginable, a mother who thought she had lost her child, her only child, whom she had loved, Yitzchak.

I read this medrash and cannot help but be distraught. So tragic - and so wasteful, so unnecessary! In vain! How could Gd allow her to wallow in this depression until she passed away?
And yet, we allowed it to happen just yesterday. And today. And, if we don’t do anything about it, tomorrow as well. It happens every day, every minute of the day.
On a daily basis, people around us suffer from psychological pain, from the angst that comes with unemployment, with bankruptcy, with family trouble, with inability to cope, with stress and fear, with biochemical imbalance. Some of them find ways to manage, through counseling and friends and medicine. Far more never find ways to manage.
If we are torn by Sarah’s death, then we must do more than shed tears over this lost queen of Israel.
We had a breakfast program about this issue in February of 2006. I spoke about it on Yom Kippur last year, too. Nonetheless, I want to re-visit it: Our Judaism and our humanity obligates us to do more to prevent such deaths.

Our Torah obligates us to help.
In a series of paragraphs at the end of Sefer Vayyikra, the Torah speaks of our responsibility to help each other economically:
כי ימוך אחיך ומכר מאחוזתו - If your brother becomes impoverished and sells his ancestral fields…
כי ימוך אחיך ומטה ידו עמך - If your brother becomes impoverished and seeks a loan from you…
כי ימוך אחיך עמך ונמכר לך - If your brother becomes impoverished and is sold to you …
In each of these cases, we know what to do. If he sells his ancestral fields, redeem them for him. If he seeks a loan from you, lend him the money and be prepared to turn that loan into a gift. If he sells himself into servitude, treat him with respect and set him free. Yes, we know that we are obligated to help our economically destitute brethren, and we know how to do it.

But poverty comes in many forms, and economic poverty is nothing compared to emotional poverty, to a need which is often born of circumstances entirely beyond your brother or sister’s control. It can come from biochemistry. It can come from stress. In the end, the result is the same: A poverty that demands our help. There is no greater כי ימוך אחיך than when your neighbor is suffering emotional pain, is in the shoes of Sarah Imenu.
The Torah says that we are obligated to restore lost objects to their owners; how much more so, to restore lost control, lost stability, lost hope.

The mitzvah of tzedakah itself is contoured to provide not only financial help, but also emotional support. We are taught that it is better to give a penny, with a smile, than to give a dollar with a grimace. As the gemara explains, giving with a grimace is worse than giving nothing - it actually takes something away from the recipient.

Many other mitzvot instruct us to gladden others:
Every Jew is obligated to tithe Israeli produce, and part of that tithe is supposed to be shared with the needy. At the end of each tithing cycle, the Jew declares for all to hear, שמחתי ושימחתי אחרים, I rejoiced, and I helped others rejoice as well, with these tithes.
When a man gets married, he is obligated to fulfill the mitzvah of ושמח את אשתו, making his wife happy. And during the wedding and the immediately ensuing week, everyone is obligated in the mitzvah of שמחת חתן וכלה, gladdening the bride and groom.
On our national holidays, we are obligated in ושמחת בחגך, to gladden not only our families but also the strangers around us, and the widow and the orphan and anyone in need.
The Torah is filled with mitzvot related to bringing joy to others - because we dare not allow Sarah’s agony to recur. This is our obligation.

Of course, it’s easy to want to help - but often we don’t know how. Fortunately, though, the Torah also tells us how to help people in their emotional need, giving us the example of Yosef - a man who had a technicolor dream coat, and who was also an excellent empath:
One day, when Yosef was in jail, וירא אותם והנם זועפים, he noticed that two of his fellow prisoners, the former royal butler and former royal baker, were dejected.
Yosef’s reaction was immediate: He approached them and asked, מדוע פניכם רעים היום, “Why are you so down today?” They told him they had experienced frightening dreams, and Yosef offered to listen, and they took him up on the offer, and the rest is history and a Broadway show.
Yosef gave us two hints here, for preventing future Sarah’s from perishing in grief:

First, we take Notice. Yosef was almost killed by his brothers, then sold as a slave, then thrown into prison on false charges; he was certainly deep in his own troubles. He could be excused for missing the cues when his cellmates were down - but he didn’t. He saw their pain.

Second, We don’t tell people to snap out of it; we listen to them. Yosef didn’t tell the butler and baker to get over their problems, to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, to trust in Gd the way that he did. Rather, Yosef asked them to tell him what was wrong, and - when they were willing to talk - he listened carefully.

To these two pieces of advice I would add a third lesson of the Torah: Recognize that people who are depressed are not “crazy,” they are not out of touch with reality. They are, if anything, more realistic than the rest of us: This world is broken.

It’s certainly broken if you read the newspapers - Washington is broken, or so I’ve been told a few hundred times in this campaign season. The trans-Atlantic Alliance is broken, or so I’ve been told a few thousand times over the past eight years. The economy is broken, say the Democrats. Public morality is broken, reply the Republicans. And so on. And, in many ways, they are right. It’s no wonder that the rates of suicide and emotional dysfunction among highly intelligent people are reportedly higher than for the rest of the population; they are just reacting to what they are seeing.

Judaism, too, declares that we live in a broken world. The gemara calls it עולם הפוך, an upside-down world. Justice is rare and suffering is rampant and Gd is visible only if you look very, very hard.

Rav Kook noted evidence of this brokenness in the actual structure of the Talmud, the core of Jewish tradition. The Talmud is composed of six sections, each covering a different area of law. One section is called Nashim, and it deals, primarily, with marriage and divorce.
One might have expected the Marriage section to start with laws of betrothal and weddings - but it doesn’t. Instead, it begins with the laws of Yibbum, of levirate marriage, the case in which a man dies without children, and his wife marries his brother in an attempt to restore life after this devastation.
Rav Kook taught that the Marriage section begins with the laws of Yibbum in order to show that it is normal, we must expect it, to live in a ruptured, broken, world. The real world doesn’t have many neat marriages and well-adjusted children. The real world has death and childlessness and Yibbum - and this is the reality which many depressed people see.

This is why the concept of tikkun olam b’malchut Shakkai, repairing the world under Gd’s reign, is so important in Judaism. Judaism’s central mandate of repairing the world forces us to recognize that the world bequeathed to us by Gd is not a Panglossian best of all worlds; it is broken, and it’s waiting for us to fix it.

So when we see people who are dealing with Depression, we don’t dismiss them as crazy. Instead, we follow Yosef’s lead: Take Notice, and offer to Listen.

I readily admit that I am very flawed in this. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were people sitting here thinking, “I’ve been depressed for years, and the rabbi hasn’t taken any notice,” or, “I’ve tried to talk to him about it, and he hasn’t listened well.” I’m not the best at it - but I’m working on it.

CNN ran a story a few months ago about Yukio Shige, a retired Japanese police officer. Shige patrols Japan’s Tojinbo cliffs twice each day, to keep people from leaping off to kill themselves.

The story described a 34-year old man named Hiro who came to the cliffs one day, intending to jump off at sunset. His mother had died. He had no friends, and a great deal of debt. But as Hiro waited for sunset, Officer Shige came by and asked Hiro if he needed to talk. Shige listened, and then helped set him up with financial counselors. The key wasn’t in the financial counseling, though; Hiro, today, credits Shige with saving his life by showing him that someone would be upset if he died. It made all the difference - listening, showing that he mattered. That saved a life.
In four years, Shige has saved 129 lives this way.

Helping people is not an endless pursuit; we need not be afraid of being sucked into some vast, bottomless pit of emotional need. With friends and with medical help, people survive depression; I know numerous people who were on medication and are now off, who spent years dreading getting out of bed and are now healthy. It can and does happen - not in all cases, but in some.

Today we all wish each other a happy and healthy year. We pray to Gd for a happy and healthy new year, too. But if, by Rosh haShanah next year, we notice just one Sarah and offer her an on-going ear, then we will have done much more than wish and pray: Aided by the merit of our matriarch Sarah, we will have created a happy, and healthy, new year.

-
Notes:
1. I first started emphasizing this theme in response to the writings of Rivka at Ha'azina Tefilati.

2. The midrash about Sarah's death is cited, among other places, in Targum (pseudo)Yonatan. (Note that Ibn Ezra says Avraham and Yitzchak did, indeed, return together.)

3. On gladdening others with maaser, see Mishnah Maaser Sheni 5:12; Sifri Devarim 303.

4. On highly intelligent people experiencing Depression, Google it; it's all over.

5. The idea from Rav Kook was cited by Prof. Shlomo Carmy in a recent edition of Tradition.

6. The idea regarding Yosef's treatment of the butler and baker was sparked by a Yossy Goldman article I happened across here.

7. Yukio Shige's story is found here. Note that Tojinbo is also rendered, in some places, Tojimbo.