Are You my mother? (Derashah for Rosh HaShanah)

Several years ago, researchers at Baylor University in the US published a study entitled, "American Piety in the 21^st century".[1] They asked Americans to identify what kind of Gd they believed in. The five choices were:

• Authoritarian (meaning that Gd is highly involved in day-to-day life, in punishing ways),
• Benevolent (meaning that Gd is highly involved in day-to-day life, in helpful ways);
• Critical (meaning that Gd is not involved in the world, but Gd watches and judges and will reward and punish eventually);
• Distant (meaning that Gd started the world, but doesn't care about it or run it);
• And atheist.

When the results were broken down by religion,[2] Evangelical Protestants largely believed that Gd is authoritarian. Mainline Protestants and Catholics were split. And among Jews, the dominant choice was D – 41.7% of respondents who identified themselves as Jewish believed that Gd is distant – not watching, not caring, what happens in our universe.

Tanach presents the story of a man who came to agree with that 41.7%, a man who lived in a place called Utz; his name was Iyov.

You might have heard of Iyov; here's a quick outline of his story:

• Iyov enjoys a large family and magnificent wealth, and is extraordinarily devoted to Gd.
• Off in heaven, a malicious malach charges that Iyov only serves Gd because Gd protects him. Gd permits the malach to test Iyov; the malach takes almost everything away from him.
• Iyov is visited by various people who try to justify his suffering. He rejects their claims; he curses the day he was born, arguing that there is no justice, that Gd has outsourced the running of the universe and isn't paying attention. He demands to sue Gd for negligence.
• Gd then addresses Iyov personally, challenging him: What do you know about running a universe? Where were you when I created the world? What are your powers?
• At which point Iyov apologizes for his words, accepting Gd's response. Gd then gives Iyov a new start in life, with great rewards.

The book invites many questions – I intend to discuss more about it in a class during the break on Yom Kippur – but for now I want to ask just two:

• First: How does Gd's "answer" to Iyov address his questions, and why does Iyov accept it?
• And Second: Iyov seems to reject Gd throughout the book, proving that the malach was right. So why does Gd reward him at the end?

I would like to re-write the book of Iyov, and answer Baylor's 41.7%, with an idea that goes to the heart of Rosh haShanah and the mitzvah of shofar.

People usually believe that the sole problem of the book of Iyov is Iyov's question to Gd: "Why do good people suffer?" But as we have seen, that question is barely answered in the book! Instead, Professor Yaakov Klein of Bar Ilan University[3] suggests that a second central problem of the book of Iyov is the malach's question to Gd: "Why do people follow Gd?" Do human beings revere and serve their Creator to win fabulous prizes, or for something else? And this is answered in the book, by Iyov himself.

The book makes clear that Iyov is loyal because he believes he has a relationship with Gd. When he suffers without apparent reason, he assumes there is no relationship; like the 41.7%, he decides that the Creator is allowing proxies to run the world. Angry and hurt, he rejects this distant Gd. Then Gd responds that He is indeed watching and running the universe, that He is aware of a man named Iyov and his fortunes and misfortunes. Gd declares, "I halt the oceans where they are, I harness the mightiest beings in existence, and I still have time to pay attention to you. I won’t tell you how justice works, but I will tell you that I am watching, and I care." That's Gd's response to Iyov.

Iyov accepts Gd's declaration because that's all he ever wanted – it confirms what he believed at the start of the book, that Gd is watching. Iyov didn't need great rewards, and he didn't need to know the mechanics of Divine justice. What Iyov needed was to know that Gd was watching, listening, caring, at all. Whether Gd is Authoritarian, Benevolent or Critical is irrelevant; once Iyov knew that Gd was not Distant, he was satifisfied.

And because Iyov was satisfied with that response, because Iyov showed that what mattered to him was not fabulous prizes but the existence of a relationship, Gd rewarded Iyov – because with his actions Iyov answered the malach's question in the most positive of ways. The malach had claimed that human beings revere Gd for selfish reasons, and Iyov answered him: We do it because we believe in a relationship. We do it because we believe that Gd cares about the events of our lives. Because even if Gd is מונה מספר לכוכבים, able to number the stars, He is first הרופא לשבורי לב, the healer of broken hearts.[4]

Iyov is not the only human being in the Torah to want Gd to see us, to be near us; the biblical narrative is replete with such people:

• Avraham serves Gd not for reward, but as אוהבי, the one who loves Gd.[5]
• After the Golden Calf, when Gd indicates He is going to separate from the Jews, Moshe dictates to Gd, "אם אין פניך הולכים אל תעלנו מזה," "If You won't be our intimate, leave us here in the wilderness!"
• In our haftorah this morning, Chanah warns us, אל תרבו לדבר גבוהה גבוהה. As Abarbanel explains, she insists, "Don’t say that Gd is elevated and far away from us; Gd is near at hand!"

Our need for proximity to Gd is fundamental to Judaism. To borrow a phrase from the philosopher Alfred North Whitehead,[6] this is one of the "irreducible and stubborn facts" of Judaism, a first principle which must be accepted in order for us to discuss anything Jewish: being one of the 41.7% is to be out-of-step with Jewish theology. The Jew demands Divine immediacy, that Gd pay attention.

And in parallel, it is an irreducible and stubborn fact of the Torah's conception of Gd, that Gd longs to be near us; Gd does not want to be of Baylor's 41.7%.

• Thus HaShem commands the Jews to build a משכן, a sanctuary in their midst, in which He will dwell. And so the Kinos of Tishah b'Av describe the effect of the loss of the Beis haMikdash not only in terms of our human suffering, but in terms of Gd suffering, כביכול, as a newly homeless, rootless being, ונהיית כצפור בודד על גג, like a lone and lonely bird perched upon a roof.
• Thus HaShem commands us not only to perform mitzvah actions, but ואהבת, to love Gd, to contemplate Gd, to draw near to Gd.
• Thus the Talmud tells us that when a single person is studying Torah, Gd is present.[7] When just one individual grieves for the death of a good person, Gd counts and stores the tears.[8] When a single person prays in silence, Gd listens.[9] הקב"ה מתאוה לתפלתן של צדיקים, Gd longs for our prayers.[10]

If this relationship is not the reason we were created, it is, at the least, fundamentally necessary to, and inextricable from, the Divine plan.

This is the way Gd planned our existence, from the beginning – to live with Gd, in Gan Eden. When HaShem created the plants and animals and people of this world, He used the same terms to describe all of them. But He did not address the plants and animals. He only addresses humanity. As Rav Soloveitchik explained,[11] "Gd takes [this] man-animal into His confidence, addresses him and reveals to him His moral will."

Indeed, this need for human-Gd proximity is a major reason why large numbers of people, Jewish and non-Jewish, wander the earth searching for Gd, migrating from philosophy to philosophy trying to find Gd. It's like the classic children's story, "Are you my mother?" The baby bird knows he has a mother, wants his mother, and travels the world trying to find her.

It's also one of the causes for angry atheism. Like Iyov, people have sought Gd, and they have been disappointed and frustrated. They are turned off by perpetual Divine absence and perceived Divine abuse - and they are also frustrated by the gross improprieties of human beings who claim to represent Gd, and this drives them the other way, to insist that there is no Gd at all. They have been hurt and let down.

And as a tangent – this one is not only on Gd, it's also on us. Us, the rabbis, and us, the visibly observant Jews. If our behaviour isn't beyond reproach, or if we conflate the laws and lessons of Torah with superstition, or if we are self-satisfied and arrogant, if we fail to inspire the confidence and faith of those around us, then we are the reason why people are unable to find their mother, we are the reason why people become hostile, we are the reason why people choose Option D. They believe Gd is distant in part because people who visibly select Options A, B and C portray a relationship with Gd that is repugnant. But I digress.

Torah is meant to be a way for us to find that relationship with Gd. As the Talmud Yerushalmi says, the goal of Torah is to bring us into that relationship with Gd.[12] It's what Gd wants. It's what we want. And it's what Iyov wanted, all along – not to have his material needs met, but to enjoy a relationship.

To return to Rosh haShanah: This relationship with Gd is a central theme of the day; Rosh haShanah is the day that tells us that there is a relationship.

• It's not a human-centred day of self-analysis, for us to review our pasts and make resolutions for our future. We spend our day in הכתרת מלך, crowning Gd, in human consideration of the Divine.
• It's not a Gd-centred day of distant decrees, taking place in some throneroom up in the heavens. It is a יום הדין, a day of Divine consideration of human beings in judgment.

In the very structure of our musaf of Rosh haShanah, our liturgy sends this message:

• We remember our King – מלכויות.
• And our King remembers us – זכרונות.
• And as the Talmud[13] says, ובמה? בשופר. Nowhere is this more clear than in the shofar, forever the symbol of the encounter between human being and Gd. From the ram substituted for Yitzchak on the altar, to the shofar blast when the Torah was given at Har Sinai, to the shofar blasts of Yovel every fifty years, to the shofar of mashiach, the ram's horn represents human and Gd meeting together.

When we hear the shofar blown in a few minutes, let us remember that this is the central point of Rosh haShanah: rejecting Option D. During shofar, we occupy these moments alongside Gd, because Gd is here, and listening, and thinking of us.

Last year at this time, I proposed that shofar is not about verbal exposition; rather, shofar is an experience; existimare aude, "dare to experience." For some of us, the mood of that experience will be apologetic. For some it will be grateful. For some it will be mournful. For some it will be a moment of petition. That's up to each of us to formulate; the key is that we recognize within ourselves that which our ancestors saw when they canonized the book of Iyov in Tanach: That the irreducible and stubborn fact of our Jewish existence is against the 41.7%. Our Creator connects with us, and we connect with our Creator.

May we merit to connect with our Creator, to build that relationship, today and for the rest of the year, to live lives which convince others that there is such a relationship, and so merit a כתיבה וחתימה טובה, to be inscribed and sealed for a great year, and then to live a great year.

---

[1] http://www.baylor.edu/content/services/document.php/33304.pdf

[2] Pg. 32 of the pdf

[3] Olam haTanach, Iyov, pp. 9-10

[4] Tehillim 147:3-4

[5] Yeshayah 41:8

[6] The Influence of Western Medieval Culture Upon the Development of Modern Science, http://www.inters.org/Whitehead-Western-Development-Science. And see R' Eliezer Berkovits in Tradition 3:2 (1961) "What is a Jewish Philosophy?", who attributed the phrase to Galileo. I know no basis for attributing it to Galileo, but I am channeling R' Berkovits's use of the concept to define a " Jewish" philosophy here.

[7] Avos 3:2, 3:6

[8] Shabbos 105b

[9] Yerushalmi Berachos 9:1

[10] Chullin 60b

[11] The Emergence of Ethical Man, pg. 5

[12] Yerushalmi Chagigah 1:7, Eichah Rabbah Pesichta 2, based on Yirmiyah 16:11

[13] Rosh haShanah 16a

Becoming a slave

A thought for Pesach:

Many themes thread through the events of our departure from Egypt, but one caught my eye this week: The focus on time and schedule -

The Jews are told on Rosh Chodesh Nisan (Shemot 12:1) that they should plan to designate a lamb on the tenth of Nisan (ibid. 12:3), to be slaughtered on the fourteenth of Nisan (ibid. 12:6), for their meal on the night of the fifteenth of Nisan. (ibid. 12:8) They are told to eat from this meal only that night; anything left until the morning is to be burned. (ibid. 12:10)

The Jews are told that for all generations, they are to observe this holiday of Pesach for seven days - and repeatedly, the schedule for the holiday is drilled into them: For seven days you shall eat matzah. On the preceding day you shall destroy chametz. Anyone who eats chametz from Day 1 to Day 7 will be punished. The first day shall be holy. The seventh day shall be holy. On the fourteenth day of the month, at night, you shall eat matzah, until the 21st day of the month, at night. For seven days, chametz shall not be found in your homes. (ibid. 12:15-19)

Moshe emphasizes to Pharaoh that the plague striking the firstborn will happen in the middle of the night (ibid. 11:4), and indeed, we are told that it happens at midnight (ibid. 12:29)

And the departure is emphatically punctual; we are told, "The Children of Israel dwelled in Egypt for 430 years. And it was, at the end of 430 years, on that very day, G-d's multitudes left Egypt." (ibid. 12:40-41)

Why are these schedules drummed into our heads? Here's one thought: When a slave is freed, the least likely result is that he will get up on time the next day. But the Jews are told that they are not becoming free in order to serve their own desires; rather, they are becoming free in order to serve a new master. They are now to become avdei HaShem, servants of G-d, and to run on G-d's schedule. All will happen on the clock of the Boss.

Of course, one might then ask whether the Jews gained anything at all by leaving Egypt; indeed, the Jews themselves asked this question repeatedly in the ensuing months. But a quick comparison of their bosses provides the answer: When serving Pharaoh, the goal was to satisfy Pharaoh's needs. When serving G-d, the goal would be to grow and develop as human beings and as Jews. The mitzvot, as a midrash (Bereishit Rabbah 44:1) declares, are meant not to satisfy G-d, but to purify G-d creations.

When we celebrate Pesach, then, we celebrate not release from slavery, but entry into a new relationship. As we say at the start of Hallel, "Hallelu, avdei HaShem!" Praise G-d, servants of G-d!

To my mind, this is the challenge of Jewish History: Will a free person choose a Master? And meeting this challenge is our mission on Pesach.

[I am grateful to my chavrusa, Jerry Balitsky, for planting the seed of this idea in my head.]

Parshat Behaalotcha: A Grown-Up View of G-d

I wrote the following for this week's Toronto Torah. It's an idea that occurred to me only in the last few days, and I find it compelling. What do you think?

We may observe that each of the Torah's chumashim presents a transition for the Jewish nation:

• In Bereishit we are born, evolving into a clan.
• In Shemot we evolve further, experiencing slavery, redemption and revelation en route to becoming a G-d-centered nation with an ideology and a mission.
• In Vayikra we develop spiritually, learning the mechanics and meanings of sanctity and purity.
• In Bamidbar we again evolve, from the fresh-faced recipients of the Torah at Sinai to an older, perhaps sadder nation on the cusp of  entering the Land of Israel.
• In Devarim we lose Moshe, the great leader who had molded us, and the nation of masorah [received tradition] takes the place of the nation of direct personal experience.

The above observation runs into a snag, though, in a talmudic reflection (Shabbat 116a) on our parshah. Noting the odd insignia which demarcate the beginning of Bamidbar 10:35 and the end of Bamidbar 10:36 in the Torah, Rabbi Yehudah haNasi contends that these two verses, Bamidbar 10:35-36, constitute a chumash in themselves. Indeed, that talmudic passage even deems this an independent chumash as far as certain issues of Jewish law. [Of course, viewing Bamidbar 10:35-36 as an independent book should render the word chumash, meant to connote one of the Torah's five books, obsolete; there would now be seven chumashim! However, we will continue to use the term chumash in this article, rather than coin a new term.] But if this small section is a chumash, then what transition takes place therein?

The verses themselves do not seem to contain any action, or any lessons for Jewish practice: "And it was, when the Ark travelled, that Moshe said: Arise, G-d, and Your enemies will be scattered, and those who hate You will flee before You. And when it rested, he would say: Settle, G-d, among the myriads of thousands of Israel." How do the Jewish people change in the course of these two verses?

Perhaps an answer lies not in action or halachah, but in the depiction of G-d offered here. Until now, the "bad guys" of the Torah fought directly with the Jews; as their stories are spelled out in the Torah, the Egyptians and the Amalekites were concerned primarily with the Jews, and with G-d only second, if at all. Here, for the first time in Jewish history, G-d is presented as having enemies, and the Jews are eager for their defeat.

In the early emotional life of a child, a parent lacks any personality or identity beyond that of protector and nurturer. The narrative of a parent's existence, his life before the child was born, her ambitions and social interactions, are of no relevance for the child. At some stage, though, the child becomes aware of the parent's broader identity, and of the role that the child plays on that fuller stage. This, perhaps, is the metamorphosis that takes place in Bamidbar 10:35-36 – we learn of our Parent's existence beyond His actions of feeding, clothing, teaching and protecting us. We learn of G-d's relationship with the broader world.

Much of our Judaism is applicable only once we undergo this metamorphosis, recognizing the importance of spreading awareness of G-d and of our own responsibility to execute that mission. The concepts of kiddush HaShem and  its opposite, chillul HaShem, are about more than sanctifying the Divine Name in our own midst (Vayikra 22:32); they are also about how G-d is viewed in the greater world. (Yechezkel 38:23) The imperative, "Cause the Name of G-d to be beloved through your actions," is linked by the Talmud (Yoma 86a) to a verse in Devarim (6:5), after this book, and not in Shemot or Vayikra. And so it is that in Shemot we are told that G-d will personally wipe out the name of Amalek (Shemot 17:14), but in Devarim we are told that it is also our own mission to wipe out the name of Amalek. (Devarim 25:19)

Unfortunately, our transition did not go smoothly; in the very next biblical chapter we displayed conduct as selfish as any in the preceding chapters of our history, complaining of the faintest privation and driving Moshe to desperation. We were not yet ready, and the path to maturity was long and winding, but there were flashes of brilliance along the route, such as Yehoshua and Kalev standing up to slander, Pinchas standing up to immorality, and Devorah standing up to national cowardice.

Truth be told, we are not yet at end the end of this path; we have not yet reached the stage at which all of us, all the time, ask, "What can I do to promote G-d right now?" This is not a matter of evangelism per se, but of actions which, by dint of their visible loyalty to Divine command, challenge the foes identified in Bamidbar 10:35.

We would do well to learn the lessons of this chumash, to stop seeing G-d as exclusively personal and instead comprehend the greater picture, a universe in which we are active participants in promoting Truth. When we do, we will also merit the second half of this chumash, Bamidbar 10:36, and G-d will settle among the myriads of thousands of Israel.

Holy, but still King

[This could be a derashah for Rosh haShanah or Yom Kippur for a Rabbi who was still seeking something…]

In the period of Rosh haShanah and Yom Kippur we devote a great deal of liturgical space to the idea of coronating Gd, declaring Gd to be King. In the third blessing of the amidah we even add a special mention of Gd as King, hamelech hakadosh.

Last week, a relevant aspect of the amidah caught my eye: All year, we identify Gd as King in the first two blessings of the amidah. With the insertion of "haMelech (the King)" in the third blessing at this time of year, we complete the set.

But each King is different.

In the first blessing we speak of the Divine relationship with our patriarchs, Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov. (Yes, I know that some Jews insert the matriarchs, but I stick with Exodus 3:15, in which Gd self-identifies as "the Gd of Avraham, the Gd of Yitzchak, and the Gd of Yaakov," and then says, "This is My Name eternally, and this is the way you shall mention Me from generation to generation. This is the "name" for Gd as Redeemer.) We speak of Gd as identifying with each of these human beings, and we describe Gd as a King who is "helper, redeemer and shield" for them. This is an intimate King.

In the second blessing we speak of Gd as all-powerful; the blessing itself is called gevurot, a blessing about Divine might. Gd brings life, wind, rain, aid, health, death and life. And we identify Gd as a King who "causes death, causes life, and causes redemption to sprout." This King is all-powerful, and therefore distant, but this King is also involved with our existence.

Those two Kings are the ones we know all year. Then, in the period from Rosh haShanah to Yom Kippur we add a third King – "hamelech hakadosh", the Holy King. Borrowing from Chanah's description of Gd as "holy" in Shemuel I 2:2, we identify Gd as remote, removed from this universe, and yet still, on some level, associated with us as our King.

I find it odd that we would add a remote King at this time of year; we normally view Gd as "closer" at this time of year, as seen in Rosh haShanah 18a, commenting on Yeshayah 55:6. Perhaps, though, this is when we need that reminder. All year long we need to emphasize Divine closeness, lest we forget His presence. At this time of year we have so many reminders of His closeness, and so we need to accentuate His distance.

Or perhaps we are making a proud, even defiant statement: Abarbanel (to Shemuel I 2:2) understood that Chanah's statement of a "holy Gd" was a rebuke to those who claim that Gd is distant and uninterested in human affairs. "Gd is at hand!" Chanah insisted, on the authority of her personal miracle.

Yes, Gd is holy and removed, but Gd is still the King who brings death and life, still the King who was close with His intimates. Do not speak to me of a King who is dispassionate and uninterested; I acknowledge the distance, but as Chanah continues, לו נתכנו עלילות, all is known to Him, measured by Him, and valuable to Him.

Yes, I think this could become a derashah. More to say here, but this will have to do for now.

Empowerment or Abandonment?

[This is my article from this week's Toronto Torah.]

Nearly two thousand years ago, Rabbi Yehoshua battled Rabbi Eliezer regarding a question of halachah. Rabbi Yehoshua defended the view of the assembled authorities, but Rabbi Eliezer stubbornly summoned a celestial voice, which declared, "Why do you quarrel with Rabbi Eliezer? The law always follows his view!" But Rabbi Yehoshua dismissed the heavenly interloper, citing our parshah (Devarim 30:12), "Torah is no longer in the heavens." In the end, Rabbi Yehoshua emerged victorious. (Bava Metzia 59b)

Our parshah indeed asserts that Torah is no longer in the heavens; after G-d taught Moshe all He wished to convey, no novel messages could be communicated to humanity. All innovation and application must now come from the beit midrash, authored by human minds. In general, we tend to view this evolution positively; we no longer need to ascend to the heavens in order to ascertain the Divine will. Har Sinai is in our hands!

From another perspective, though, the assignment of Torah to humanity alone is a horrifying abandonment which threatens the very veracity of our transmission of Torah. On an earlier occasion when HaShem attempted to distance Himself from us, Moshe dramatically denied permission, declaring, "If You are not going with us, do not move us from here!" (Shemot 33:15) Why, then, was Moshe not troubled now? And why was the heavenly source of authentic wisdom closed in our parshah, long before the destruction of the Beit haMikdash and the severing of our close relationship with the Divine?

In truth, the declaration that Torah has left the heavens is both empowerment and abandonment. It is empowerment of the Sages, whose supersession of the prophets is acknowledged in the talmudic observation (Bava Batra 12a), "The scholar is greater than the prophet." Further, a sage may occasionally be privileged to Divine aid; as the Talmud (Bava Batra 12a-b) indicates, scholars may find themselves inspired by a Divine muse. So it is that a scholar who has reached his wits' end may suddenly find his capacity mysteriously augmented. (For more on this, see Ramban and Chatam Sofer to Bava Batra 12a, and Maharitz Chajes to Berachot 3a.)

At the same time, we are unmistakably abandoned, for the vistas open to a thoughtful sage are more limited than those to which a prophet can aspire. The Zohar (Mishpatim pg. 116b) observes that scholars are capable of philosophizing regarding the most abstruse matters, speculating upon even the Shechinah, while the prophet reaches a stage at which he falls upon his face and can see no more. Yet this is not a sign that the scholar is truly greater than the sage; the prophet must withdraw his gaze because he is exposed to fantastic wonders which the scholar will never come close to apprehending.

The reason for this partial abandonment may be seen in a note authored by Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin regarding his mentor, the Vilna Gaon, "The heavens wished to give him, without any work or exhaustion, celestial secrets via angelic messengers… He did not raise his eyes to this. It was close to him, and he distanced it. I heard from his mouth that angelic messengers often rose early to his door, desiring to convey to him secrets of Torah without any work, and he did not turn his ear to them at all." (Introduction to Safra d'Tzniuta)

The Vilna Gaon understood that we are not meant to be recipients of free gifts; that which comes to us without labour is, in the terminology of the Zohar, nahama d'kisufa, bread of shame. As Adam and Chavah were instructed to work in the Garden of Eden despite its Divine bounty, so we are meant to draw our insights from the strain of our minds, not from prophetic communication. [Perhaps this is why we tend to feel greater satisfaction with the fruits of our labour than with the gifts we receive from others, as noted in Bava Metzia 38a.]

Our ancestors, standing on the edge of the Jordan River, were nudged from the nest like a young bird pushed forth by her mother. Certainly, there was an element of abandonment, but this was also a grant of independence critical to achieving our purpose.

Expanding this idea further, we may say the same for the gift of Free Will which is mentioned several sentences subsequent in our parshah (Devarim 30:19). Certainly, our religious lives would be more productive were G-d to take charge, but we are meant to work for our greatness. And as with scholarship, the one who works for his personal purification is promised Divine aid. (Yoma 38a)

In both our studies and our general religious lives, may we merit to struggle and to be rewarded with Divine assistance, and to earn a ketivah vachatimah tovah.

The Holy One of Yaakov

I wrote this tonight, for the bentcher for my son's Bar Mitzvah. Thoughts appreciated:

The fourth blessing of Birkat haMazon identifies many Divine roles - King, Creator, Redeemer, and others. Along the way, we associate God with one of our patriarchs, Yaakov. We identify God as “the Holy One of Jacob” and “the Shepherd of Israel”. Why do we link God to Yaakov, in particular?

Yeshayah 29:23 predicts, “They will sanctify the Holy One of Jacob, and they will praise the God of Israel.” On this passage, Radak noted that God is defined as “the Holy One” uniquely in connection with Yaakov, whether under his given name or in his Yisrael capacity. Radak explained, “This is because Yaakov saw the sanctity of God in a prophetic vision, in the vision of a ladder standing on earth, with its head reaching heavenward.” This answer is itself cryptic, though; what was uniquely ’holy’ about this vision, and why would we connect it to Birkat haMazon?

Ramban (Vayyikra 19:2) explains holiness as a state apart, an existence which is separate from unworthy association. We are taught to make ourselves holy by separating from sin, as well as from pursuits which are permissible but unworthy of our attention.

Perhaps Radak sees this holiness in the ladder image; God is beyond our realm, and we are connected with Him only through intermediary angels which commute from our realm to the Heavenly court.

This notion of Divine separateness would be consistent with Yaakov’s experiences, as opposed to those of his predecessors. Avraham and Yitzchak lived in a world of the Divine; God expressed explicitly His desire to share information with Avraham, and Yitzchak gained permanent attachment to God when he cooperated with Avraham and offered himself as a sacrifice to God. Indeed, Yitzchak never left the land of God; he lived in the courtyard of Eden. Yaakov, on the other hand, despite his occasional conversations with God, became the first “Diaspora Jew”, wandering in exile and surviving trials and suffering without advice or reassurance from his Creator. From the day when he was forced to rely upon his mother’s wiles to receive a blessing she was certain was his due, to his decades of abuse at the hands of his uncle Lavan, to the loss of his son Yosef, Yaakov lived without Divine counsel. In Yaakov’s life, God was “holy”, separate, indeed.

God did manifest Himself to Yaakov early in his life, though, as he set forth into exile, in that vision of the ladder. God told Yaakov, “Behold, I am with you, and I will guard you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you until I have accomplished that which I have told you.” With this message, God softened the vision of a distant God, atop a ladder; God would be aware of all that happened in Yaakov’s life, and would protect him and bring him home. The same message would be reiterated toward the end of Yaakov’s life, on his way down to Egypt. The “Holy One of Jacob” is distant from this world, but He watches and stands ready to aid.

In this light, the “Holy One of Jacob” is particularly appropriate for Birkat haMazon. In a blessing which tacitly declares God to be part of our lives, providing the mundane food we eat, we acknowledge that there is another side to our Provider. God is holy, distant, otherworldly in the extreme. And yet, we gratefully note that God is “the Holy One of Jacob”, willing to attach Himself to us and to our world in our protection. We pray that just as God protected our ancestor and saw that he returned home, so He will protect us, and bring us home to our land.

A different view of Shabbos

["Wow, now that's going to cause trouble" post of the day, at Life in Israel]

Jewish literature is replete with diverse praises of Shabbos for its regenerative and social elements:
• It's a day of rest from creativity, time to curl up with a good book, time to recharge.
• It's an opportunity to connect with spouses and children and siblings and friends.
• It's a chance to gather as a religious community, for study and prayer and – of course – kiddush.

Just look at the song מה ידידות, an educational poem traced to 11th century Germany, which describes the day as a time for eating, singing, learning with children, sleeping and enjoying.

But here's a description that doesn't get much airtime: Shabbos is a day to retreat from everything and everyone, and communicate with Gd. No family, no friends, no books, no garrulous kiddush.

Witness:

Talmud Yerushalmi, Shabbos 15:3

אמר רבי חנינא מדוחק התירו לשאול שלום בשבת אמר רבי חייא בר בא רבי שמעון בן יוחי כד הוה חמי לאימיה משתעיא סגין הוה אמר לה אימא שובתא היא

Rabbi Chanina said: It was only with difficulty that they permitted greeting people on Shabbat. Rabbi Chiyya bar Abba said: When Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai saw his mother speaking a great deal, he would say, 'Mother, it's Shabbos!'

Maimonides, Commentary to Mishnah, Shabbos 23:2

הטעם שאסרו למנותם מן הכתב שמא יקרא אגרות בשבת, וזה אסור, שכל זולת ספרי הנבואה ופירושיהם אסור לקרותו לא בשבת ולא ביום טוב, ואפילו היה בו דברי חכמה ומדע.

One may read nothing on Shabbat or Yom Tov, beyond the books of the Prophets and their explanations. This even applies to works of wisdom and knowledge.

Lest one think these represent extreme views of pietists, the former is codified in Shulchan Aruch Orach Chaim 307:1, the latter in Shulchan Aruch Orach Chaim 307:17. [The latter source does add the caveat that some disagree and permit reading 'books of wisdom'.]

On one hand, I like this; I need to spend more time thinking about Gd. If Gd created me, and the purpose of my existence is to satisfy Divine expectations [in social relations as well as spiritual development, of course], shouldn't I set aside a regular time to contemplate that relationship? And might that go some way toward helping me feel Gd's presence on an on-going basis?

On the other hand: If I were to dedicate my weekly Shabbos 'time-out' for this sort of monkhood, when would I spend time on all of those other necessities – recharging, family, community?

But that other hand may not be a legitimate point. A person who doesn't have a knife can't decide that his fork is a knife – it's a fork. A person who doesn't have money can't decide to use someone else's funds as his own. And a person who hasn’t set aside time for recharging, family and community can't decide to use Gd's time for those purposes.

And it may not be the point at all; does my concern for recharging, family and community simply mask a fear that I couldn't spend an entire day contemplating my relationship with Gd?

Something to think about.

Dealing with Illness by bargaining with Gd

[I wrote my first version of this several years ago, when my 5 year old daughter had to have a colonoscopy to check for stomach problems. Thank Gd, she's fine.]

Bargaining is an automatic reaction to loss, as described by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross in her famous formulation of the stages of grief. Someone takes ill, and at some point he starts to think about what he could do differently, how he could improve, such that he would ‘deserve’ to escape this grief.

For the non-theist the poker chips to be ante'd may include a better diet, dropping smoking, going to the gym, or perhaps creating a stronger positive karma - even after the cards have been dealt.

For the theist, the options include religious improvement: I’ll give more tzedakah, I’ll learn more Torah, I’ll go to minyan.

The semi-conscious theology is that the better I do, the less I’ll ‘deserve’ the loss, and therefore the loss will be reversed.

I have long been troubled by this religious reaction, though. Yes, I say a מי שברך (prayer for the ill) and certainly recite the normal prayers and psalms. No, I can't deny ותשובה ותפלה וצדקה מעבירין את רוע הגזרה, that repentance, prayer and charity can save us from harm. And we do have a concept of נדרים בשעת צרה, vowing to Gd in times of need (see Tosafos Chullin 2b). But even still, I can’t bring myself to say, “I’ll change my life if only You’ll take the bad thing away.”

Part of that reluctance is because this mitzvos-for-prizes approach feels like it cheapens religion; mitzvos demonstrate loyalty, they aren’t bribes. Yes, I know the Gemara (Pesachim 8a) that “One who says ‘I give this coin to tzedakah that my son may live’ is a צדיק גמור, fully righteous.” And I understand why that’s true. But all the same, my heart is with Antigonus of Socho (Avos 1:3); pledging mitzvos for rewards feels wrong.

Another part of my reluctance is that the whole bargain is just so presumptuous. If I learn more Torah, then my relative should live? Rabbi Yochanan lost ten children (Berachos 5b); is my extra learning going to make me more worthy than Rabbi Yochanan? It’s like when people talk about having been saved from a disaster by a G-d-driven coincidence - what about all of those people who weren’t saved, were they not as worthy as you?

So I just keep on doing the regular davening, dedicate a shiur for a refuah shleimah perhaps, and hope for the best.

Rosh HaShanah vs. Yom Kippur (Dvar Torah, Rosh haShanah Day 2)

[If you are interested in my three shiurim on Rav Kook's Orot haTeshuvah, they are now on-line here, here and here. Note that the source sheets have quick translations of the cited lines from Orot, but the sheets also contain a link to the Hebrew edition of Orot haTeshuvah, available on-line here.]

Why do I need Rosh haShanah, when Yom Kippur is coming? Why bother sweating through Elul, Selichos and a Day of Judgment when I know that HaShem’s mercy is just one week distant, the product of a simple viduy, a single day’s fasting and a heartfelt neilah?

An answer may lie in the perplexing story of Dovid haMelech and Batsheva.

We know the basic details – Batsheva’s husband Uriah serves in Dovid’s army. Dovid becomes enamored of her and has her brought to the palace. She conceives, Dovid tells her husband Uriah to return home, Uriah refuses, Dovid sends Uriah to the front lines, Uriah is killed. Dovid declares חטאתי, I’ve sinned, and does teshuvah. Batsheva becomes Dovid’s wife, and mother of Shlomo haMelech.

We are also familiar with the declaration of R’ Yonasan, that Dovid did not sin. R’ Yonasan asserts that anyone who says Dovid sinned is mistaken, and the gemara clarifies that this doesn’t mean Dovid really sinned but it’s a mistake to say so – rather, it means that there was no sin. Uriah and Batsheva were divorced, and so on.

The problem is that R’ Yonasan’s predecessor, Rabban Shimon bar Yochai, declared that by doing as he did with Batsheva, Dovid taught future generations that teshuvah is possible, that one who has sinned can return to Gd. Tosafot even says that this is why Tanach records חטאם וקבלת תשובתם - he uses the term חטא to describe Dovid’s actions! What, didn’t Rabban Shimon bar Yochai and Tosafot get the memo? Dovid didn’t sin in the first place!

The explanation seems to be that this is, in fact, a machlokes between R’ Yonasan and Rabban Shimon bar Yochai about how to understand a single sentence in Shemuel Alef. The navi says, “ויהי דוד לכל דרכיו משכיל וד' עמו, Dovid displayed insight in his actions, and HaShem was with him.” R’ Yonasan looks at this pasuk and asks, אפשר חטא בא לידו ושכינה עמו? Can it be that Dovid sinned, and yet HaShem was with him?! Can’t be! Rather, we must conclude that Dovid did not sin with Batsheva. As R’ Yonasan sees it, HaShem would never have associated with Dovid, had he sinned with Batsheva. Teshuvah notwithstanding, one who would commit such an aveirah could never be linked with HaShem.

Rabban Shimon bar Yochai disagrees – Dovid taught us precisely this point, that one can return to HaShem, and HaShem will accept him back. Having sinned does not mean we will be held forever at a distance.

Rosh haShanah and Yom Kippur play out the same opposition regarding what it takes to draw close to Gd.

Rosh haShanah is יום הדין, the Day of Judgment, כי חק לישראל הוא, a day of חק, of stone-sculpted law, unchanging and unforgiving. Rosh haShanah is Moshe declaring, יקוב הדין את ההר, Let the law pierce the mountain! Rosh haShanah is Yonah declaring that mercy is an insult to the law! We don’t even bother with viduy and Ashamnu on Rosh haShanah, and we make only the barest mention of teshuvah. Instead, on Rosh haShanah we pass before HaShem כבני מרון, one by one, to face a trial in which there is no clemency. Within the Rosh haShanah vision, there is no room in the perimeter of Divinity for a person who has sinned and strayed, fallen short, missed the mark, whatever term we wish to place upon a display of human frailty. אם עונות תשמור י—ה ד' מי יעמוד, Rosh haShanah says that none deserve to survive for their sins. As far as Rosh haShanah is concerned, אפשר חטא בא לידו ושכינה עמו? It is impossible to believe that Dovid haMelech would have become king, patriarch of the eternal Jewish monarchy, progenitor and namesake of Mashiach, poet laureate of the Jewish nation, if he had sinned with Batsheva. Impossible.

And then Yom Kippur paints a competing vision, in which the Jew who has sinned is promised לפני ד' תטהרו, you shall be purified before HaShem. מה מקוה מטהר את הטמאים אף הקב"ה מטהר את ישראל, Just as the mikvah purifies the impure, so HaShem will purify us. Yom Kippur is the Divine response to Yonah, “How could I not have mercy?” Yom Kippur is a day of ובקשתם משם את ד' אלקיך ומצאת, of seeking HaShem and finding HaShem, of fasting and of korban and of apology, even after all of our sins. Yom Kippur is a day of using the anxiety generated by our sins to fuel our return to Gd, a day when, as Rav Kook said, עיקר יסוד השלימות שלו היא העריגה והחפץ הקבוע אל השלמות, that perfection is not in our deeds but in our desires, not in our perfect records but in our perfect longing for return. In the Yom Kippur vision, as Rabban Shimon bar Yochai contended, Dovid may well have crossed the line of legality – but he returned, and HaShem accepted him back, because HaShem will associate with us so long as we return.

We don’t pasken between R’ Yonasan and Rabban Shimon bar Yochai, with their conflicting versions of Dovid’s actions and of HaShem’s pledged affinity for him and for his line. And we don’t pasken between Rosh haShanah and Yom Kippur, with their conflicting expectations for keeping Divine company. Both claim our loyalty, and hold unique space in the halachic and hashkafic landscape.

In day to day life, our natural tendency is to style ourselves as Yom Kippur Jews, expecting that we will make mistakes and then repent. But, to address our initial question of why we mark Rosh haShanah’s judgment if we will be forgiven on Yom Kippur, we very much need a Rosh haShanah, a day to set the bar high and demand of ourselves that we hit the mark the first time, that we stretch beyond our preconceived limitations to reach for perfection, a day to motivate ourselves with a vision that moves and inspires us to greatness.

There will be plenty of time for Yom Kippur and its message of ex post facto redemption tonight, and during the next week. For now, though, for Shofar, for Musaf, for the remainder of the day, we ask of ourselves, we demand of ourselves, nothing less than perfection.

Like the gemara in Shabbos prescribes for Dovid, like Rosh haShanah commands for us, we set personal standards for the coming weeks and months, resolving that this year we will learn more Torah, that this year we will speak more appropriately, that this year we will focus more on davening than on conversing with our neighbors, that this year we will speak out for what is right rather than settle for what is popular.

The payoff of this Rosh haShanah drive for perfection is not only for ourselves and our own righteousness, but for our children, our nieces and nephews, and our grandchildren.

If we leapfrog Rosh haShanah’s intensity in pursuit of Yom Kippur’s forgiveness, then we teach our children to leapfrog their assignments and responsibilities as well, relying on whatever mercy they can beg from teachers and parents. Better to teach our children to demand much of themselves, to let their reach exceed their grasp as Robert Browning advised - and to teach that by our own example.

Daniel Burnham, an architect who designed, among other things, New York’s Flatiron Building and Washington DC’s Union Station, offered wise advice along these lines, urging us to demand much of ourselves. He advised, “Make no little plans. They have no magic to stir men's blood and probably themselves will not be realized. Make big plans; aim high in hope and work, remembering that a noble, logical diagram once recorded will never die, but long after we are gone will be a living thing, asserting itself with ever-growing insistency. Remember that our sons and grandsons are going to do things that would stagger us. ”

-
Notes:
1. This is more dvar torah than Derashah; I see the freedom to deliver a more simple dvar torah as a benefit of being out of the shul rabbinate.

2. The germ of this idea came from a friend who asked why the gemara in Shabbos is so bent on determining that Dovid did not sin, when the story of his teshuvah and its acceptance is so powerful.

3. The gemara that exonerates Dovid is Shabbat 56b. The gemara that indicates Dovid was modeling teshuvah for us is Avodah Zarah 4b-5a, and Tosafos there uses the term חטא explicitly. The problematic pasuk indicating Dovid's righteousness is Shemuel I 18:14, Moshe's declaration of יקוב הדין את ההר is Sanhedrin 6b, and the Rav Kook quote is from Orot haTeshuvah 5:6.

4. Thanks, Russell, for finding the origin of the Daniel Burnham quote here.

How to Bribe Gd

[This week’s Haveil Havalim is here]

Just a quick Torah thought, synopsis of a greater discussion, leading up to Rosh haShanah. If you want something a little lighter, you might think about clicking on that Haveil Havalim link above.

In three separate discussions, the gemara challenges our right to expect Divine clemency. The Torah tells us that Gd is a Judge who does not show partisan favor or accept bribes, so the gemara challenges the biblical blessing of ישא ד' פניו אליך, “HaShem will lift His face toward you,” which indicates a show of special favor. How could a fair judge show favor to a litigant? [The question itself is posed oddly agrammatically in the gemara, but אכמ"ל.]

The gemara’s answers in those three different discussions are:
1. HaShem only shows favor in matters that are between us and Gd, not in matters between one human being and another (Rosh haShanah 17b)

2. HaShem only shows favor before the verdict (Niddah 70b)

3. HaShem shows favor to those who transcend their obligations (Berachos 20b)

I believe all three answers draw on the same point: That our hope lies in moving Gd off of the judicial bench.

1. If it’s a matter between myself and others, Gd is a judge. But if it’s between myself and Gd, then Gd is not judge but plaintiff, and Gd can choose to drop the charges;

2. Before concluding a trial, Gd can choose to cease serving as a judge (much as Sanhedrin 6b discusses the power of a human judge to counsel compromise before concluding the trial);

3. If I transcend my legal obligations, then I show that I am not appealing to the law as a standard for my benefit, at all. Therefore, Gd does not adjudicate my liability based on the law, either.

Perhaps this is one reason why we don’t appeal to Gd for forgiveness with viduy, etc on Rosh haShanah – Because on that day Gd has already declared the role of Judge, כי חק לישראל הוא משפט לאלקי יעקב. So we wait until afterward, when that role of Judge is not guaranteed, and then we do our best to convince Gd not to serve as judge, and to offer clemency.

Grow! Now!

I’ve been sending out daily “Torah Thought” emails for 13 years now; these are just straight texts, almost always without editorial comment (other than that which naturally occurs in translation). Quite often, I use a well-known midrash or a passage of gemara, and as I look at it, I realize that I never really comprehended it before.

This morning I used the following midrash:

א"ר סימון אין לך כל עשב ועשב, שאין לו מזל ברקיע שמכה אותו, ואומר לו גדל, הה"ד (איוב לח) הידעת חקות שמים אם תשים משטרו בארץ וגו', לשון שוטר

Rabbi Simon said: Every single blade of grass has a force [lit. constellation] in the heavens which strikes it and says, ‘Grow!’
This is the meaning of the verse (Job 38:33), ‘Do you know the laws of the heavens, and can you place their control [mishtar] over the earth?’ Mishtar is an expression of shoteir [meaning, an enforcing officer].

A few thoughts here:

1. We often think of this as a lesson in hashgachah pratit, Divine supervision of all elements of Creation. Even an individual blade of grass, lost in the sameness of billions of other blades, is supervised by an agent of Gd.

2. This is meant to translate to us as humans, of course; we are the blades of grass, and although we may feel lost in the crowd, we each have our own constellation guiding our growth. Further, the passage cited from Job notes that the stars/Heavens are given power, but only in order to service life on Earth. We remain the teleological center of the universe.

3. But the brutality of the line takes it in yet another direction. An officer standing over the blade of grass/human being, striking it and ordering, ‘Grow!’… This raises images of taskmasters whipping Jewish slaves in Egypt, or of more modern versions of cruelty.

Certainly, this constellation wishes the best for us; the blade of grass that does not grow will be crowded out, choked and overshadowed. Growth is to its/our eternal advantage. But here we see how someone may have the best of intentions for us, and yet manifest those intentions in a way that is harsh, perhaps unnecessarily and painfully so, perhaps even counterproductively so.

4. And perhaps that’s why a constellation is specified as the helper here, to make that point about inferior management. Divine nurturing is generally rendered as benevolent, even gentle; this voice is demanding, stentorian, even abusive. Gd is a protector, complete and perfect, but His agents are inferior, and their work, while directed by high ideals, is imperfect.

Clearly, there is more here; this is a quick read. What additional lessons are we meant to glean from the celestial approach to every blade of grass?

חכ"ו!

Got rid of the chamez, sifted and checked the quinoa, washed and checked and washed and checked the marror-lettuce. The kids are lunching on gefilte fish, and cutting the pineapple karpas is someone else’s responsibility.

My Yom Tov reading is all prepared, the news websites are still full of Everyone Hates Bibi, the blogs are full of Pesach – except for RWAC, whose blog seems to have disappeared in the past couple of weeks.

My Yom ha’Atzmaut “To Go” article (“Mother and Motherland”) is complete and submitted, my Shavuos “To Go” article (“Avraham’s Holiday”) needs a closer. My next medical halachah shiur (“Returning home from the hospital on Shabbos”) is in progress, as is my next Amos shiur. But nothing is happening on those fronts today.

There’s a moment here to breathe, to stop and think, before the likely-futile attempt to nap the kids.

A moment to think about a weird dream I had last night:
It was right before Yom Tov and I was returning home (Allentown) from somewhere, and I went straight to the hospital to visit a certain congregant because I had a premonition that something was wrong with him and he must be in the hospital. Sure enough, he was there in the hospital, and they were about to operate on him. I don’t remember the rest of the dream, but the eerie part is that this congregant passed away on the last day of Pesach last year. I don’t think that was on my mind, but who ever really knows what’s on his mind?

And a moment to hope for real cheirut [liberation] tonight, cheirut from the things that drag me down, cheirut that I can’t create on my own, but that can come to me from outside myself.

It sounds jarring, to say that cheirut must come from beyond ourselves, that we cannot liberate ourselves. This is not the zeitgeist, certainly. But I believe it is so.

It's like Talmud Torah [Torah study]. Much of Torah study isn’t from within, it’s Revelation from outside; we learn Torah in order to gain new information and insight. I can deduce and analyze and reason, but I need raw materials from beyond myself. מצוות שכליות [rational mitzvot] are all well and good, but תורה צוה לנו משה, HaShem had Moshe give us the Torah to provide us with מצוות שמעיות, the mitzvot of Revelation, because we need those to gain a full understanding.

And it's like the Yetzer HaRa, our set of challenges and temptations. The world says there is no test you cannot pass, but I disagree. There are tests and challenges and temptations I cannot survive on my own. There are temptations in life which are not about passing or failing, but about remembering to daven to HaShem for help, and then HaShem will help us pass. דום לה' והתחולל לו.

I believe Cheirut is designed with the same model. I can struggle and work and improve, but I also need building blocks from beyond. This is a liberation which comes from Divine aid, without which I remain a slave, but with which I can achieve greatness. And Gd is willing to provide that aid. Liberation did not come to the Jews in Egypt until ויזעקו, they cried out for it, and ויאמן העם, the nation believed.

We are מאמינים בני מאמינים, זועקים בני זועקים. Our ancestors cried out and we cry out. Our ancestors believed and we believe. And our ancestors achieved Yerushalayim, and we will as well.

חג כשר ושמח! May all of us experience our liberation tonight.

Moshe, Yonah and Us on Yom Kippur (Derashah, Kol Nidrei 5770)

I was asked to speak before maariv on Yom Kippur night; here's what I expect to say:

Rabbi Haskel Lookstein has commented that Yom Kippur night is the hardest time to speak. People are somewhat bloated from their pre-taanis meals, somewhat concerned about how smoothly the fast will go, somewhat worried about how well the חתימה will go, somewhat nervous about how long the speech will go, glancing at their watches, fidgeting with their machzorim.

My father quotes Rav Soloveitchik as having made the same observation; Maariv on Yom Kippur is hardly the time for a long and serious derashah. So I will just make one point about the Yom Kippur experience and where it can take us, based on a gemara at the beginning of Yoma.

So I will just make one point about the Yom Kippur experience and where it can take us, based on a gemara at the beginning of Yoma.

The first mishnah in Yoma mentions that the Kohen Gadol separates from his family, and, indeed, from most of the world, living in a special room on Har haBayis for seven days, leading up to Yom Kippur.

R’ Yochanan and Reish Lakish debate the source for this separation – why does the Kohen Gadol go into seclusion, in this ultimate waiting room? What’s the point of having him cool his heels?

• R’ Yochanan explains that it’s based on the מילואים, the seven-day period when Aharon haKohen was trained in the avodah of the mishkan.

• Reish Lakish explains that the quarantine is based on the ענן, the six days when Moshe Rabbeinu remained in a cloud, before entering HaShem’s presence to receive the Torah on Har Sinai.

As Rav Soloveitchik explained it, R’ Yochanan’s concept is that a week of separation provides opportunities for training, as a practical matter. This makes sense; the Kohen Gadol needs to undergo training, too, for Yom Kippur.

But Reish Lakish’s comparison is less obvious. Reish Lakish equates attending Har Sinai with entering the Beis haMikdash, arguing that Moshe waited before entering HaShem’s presence, and so each Kohen Gadol must endure a Moshe-style experience and be separated from the nation before the Yom Kippur appointment with HaShem in the kodesh kodashim… But why? Where is the benefit?


First, let’s understand why Moshe needed that period of quarantine. Avos d’Rabbi Nasan, the midrashic expansion of Pirkei Avos, explains: “משה נתקדש בענן וקבל תורה מסיני שנאמר וישכון כבוד ה' על הר סיני - למשה לטהרו... א"ל רבי מתיא בן חרש ר' לא אמרו אלא לאיים עליו כדי שיקבל עליו דברי תורה באימה ביראה ברתת ובזיע. Moshe was sanctified in a cloud and received the Torah from Sinai, as it is written, ‘And the glory of HaShem rested on Har Sinai’ – it was for Moshe, to purify him. And Rabbi Masya ben Charash declared: This was specifically to intimidate Moshe, so that he would receive the Torah with fear, with awe, with trembling and shaking!”

Moshe waits in a cloud, for six days, in order to feel הכנעה, a particular mixture of respect and humility.

This הכנעה is a state which is necessary, in some measure, for all relationships.

• Children need humility in order to appreciate what their parents and others do for them.
• Parents need humility in order not to demand their due from their children.
• Spouses need humility in order to listen to each other.
• Siblings need humility in order not to stand on their rights.
• And students need humility, as do teachers, in order that they learn from each other and appreciate each other.

הכנעה is Esther waiting, in trepidation, for Achashverosh.
הכנעה is Yosef's brothers nervously waiting for the viceroy.
הכנעה is Noach anxiously waiting for word that the Flood is over.
הכנעה is a Jew on Yom Kippur davening not in fear, but with respect, with awe, standing before her Creator.

Certainly, for that greatest relationship, standing before Gd, הכנעה is a requirement - and so this intimidating experience is a prerequisite for Moshe's ascent to receive the Torah.

And as Avot d’Rabbi Natan continues, achieving this state of הכנעה is what made Moshe worthy of transmitting Torah to the kohanim, of creating the שמן המשחה, of passing Torah to Yehoshua, and so on. All that makes us the Jewish people – the Torah, the mitzvot, the Kohanim and their service in the Beit haMikdash – all of it traces to Moshe and his intimidating period in that cloud.

Reish Lakish argues that this is what the Kohen Gadol must experience before Yom Kippur, in order to approach HaShem on behalf of the nation with אימה, with יראה, with רתת, with זיע, with fear and trembling, with הכנעה, to meet HaShem on a latter-day Har Sinai, in the Kodesh Kodashim.

R’ Pinchas ben Yair said פרישות מביאה לידי קדושה, separation leads to sanctity – and so it did for those kohanim gedolim.


So we’ve answered our questions about Moshe and the Kohen Gadol - but we are missing something, I am missing something, approaching Yom Kippur. Granted we will not stand on Har Sinai. Granted we will not enter the kodesh kodashim. But will we not stand before HaShem today, to plead our case? On Rosh haShanah we were tried in absentia, but is Yom Kippur not our day in court, our day to clamber atop Har Sinai and, at נעילת שערים, declare ה' הוא האלקים, declare that HaShem is our Gd and that we are HaShem’s people? Do we not need to achieve קדושה?

So where is our הכנעה experience? Where is our anan, where is our perishah, where is our hafrashas shivah yamim? Is it the cheshbon hanefesh of half-remembered flaws and successes we composed during the month of elul? Is it the rushed slichos we mumbled for a week and a half in the early hours of the morning? Is it the embarrassed apologies we made to relatives and friends in hurried phone calls and minutes stolen before and after minyan on erev Yom Kippur? Where is our anan?

Tomorrow, Gd-willing, those who are able to stay during the break will learn Sefer Yonah with me. We’ll learn about a man, a נביא, who wanted nothing more than to draw close to HaShem, and who ran away from the HaShem he could not understand, in search of the HaShem he thought he understood.

Yonah did succeed in drawing close to HaShem, after a three-day period of perishah, his seclusion in the דג.

But what about us? Where is our ענן?

Our ענן is Yom Kippur itself. אבות דרבי נתן describes Moshe in the cloud, not eating, not drinking, just contemplating a meeting with HaShem. Yom Kippur is our day when we neither eat nor drink, our day when we tremble and contemplate a special audience before our Creator, a reunion with the בורא עולם.

Moshe had six days. The kohen gadol had a week. Yonah had three days. And we, starting tonight, have just one day.

Perhaps their isolation was longer because their ultimate exposure to HaShem was more intense. Perhaps their isolation was longer because they could do more with the opportunity; we struggle to maintain intensity for even one day. But whatever the reason, all we have is this one day plucked out of time, from כי הנה כחומר tonight until we encounter HaShem at נעילת שערים tomorrow night and declare ה' הוא האלקים.
This is our opportunity for bona fide הכנעה and a cleansing process akin to Moshe’s and akin to the Kohen Gadol’s, and it must suffice for our preparations for קדושה, so that we meet HaShem with true humility.

But one last note: Our exposure to HaShem doesn’t end at ה' הוא האלקים, just as Yonah’s closeness to HaShem is not supposed to end with his emergence from the דג, and just as Moshe’s closeness to HaShem does not end at Sinai. The moment of intense exposure to HaShem ends – but the repercussions continue.

Yonah’s moment of closeness to HaShem is meant to power his return to Nineveh and his on-going career as a נביא ה'.

Moshe’s moment of closeness to HaShem powers the next thirty-eight years, and the transmission of Torah to בני ישראל and to all subsequent generations.

And for us, our moment of closeness to HaShem, our ה' הוא האלקים, powers our entire year. It is a spark of lightning charged with unimaginable wattage. It is a burst, an intense surge of power – and it can drive us far, far into our own future.

It all begins with tonight’s הכנעה through perishah, our separation from this world, from eating and drinking and physical pleasures, for just one day… and where it will lead, Gd knows right now, and we will learn over time.

Let’s take advantage, and so earn a גמר חתימה טובה.

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Notes:
1. It's a simple point, which could use greater expansion in terms of community vs isolation in Tanach and Halachah, but as I said at the outset - Kol Nidrei and Maariv on Yom Kippur night are not the time.

2. The Yoma discussion is on 3b, and the Rav's analysis is the first shiur in שיעורי הגרי"ד: עבודת יום הכיפורים.

3. The question of when the cloud-isolation took place, in relation to the עשרת הדברות, depends on the resolution of the 6/7 Sivan debate on Shabbat 88.

4. Rabbi Pinchas ben Yair is in the last mishnah in the 9th perek in Sotah.

5. Yes, the pun on Back to the Future is intended.