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A Mitzvah of Time and Place

In our last Parsha Insight on Acharei mot-Kedoshim, we discussed the need to live simultaneously in the quantitative specified world of Halacha and the mystical, immeasurable spiritual world too. We should be capable of functioning in a place unlimited by the three spacial dimensions and in a moment ungoverned by time. It is strange that the very next week in Parshat Emor, we are given the Mitzvah of Sefirat He’Omer that we are currently busy practicing. This is a mitzvah of counting time from a point in the past toward a point in the future. It is about a journey from a very defined place, Mitzrayim (Egypt), to another very defined place, Sinai. Far from being focused on the present moment and place, we focus on the passage of time and our movement between places.

Yet, even in this very quantifiable Mitzvah of counting time, we find a simultaneous focus on the unquantifiable. The Torah commands us to count seven weeks, “Temimot Tiheyenah [1]” (they shall be complete weeks). From this phrase we learn [2] that we need to count in the evenings and a number of other very quantifiable laws. But the word Temimot does not only mean “complete”, it also means “perfect”. This leads the Midrash [3] to introduce the qualitative statement, “When are they (the weeks) perfect? At a time that Israel carries out the will of Makom (G-d).”

The Fifth Dimension – in Time

The Midrash here introduces us to a new spectrum similar to time, a new dimension, the fifth dimension of kabalah: The spiritual dimension of Meaning and Value. Each of the three dimensions of space has two directions. This is expressed in the six directions in which we move our Lulavim on Sucot. Time also has two directions: Forward and backward. The Jew lives with a fifth dimension too: the dimension of G-d’s will. This dimension also has two directions: good and evil, right and wrong. The Midrash tells us that this fifth dimension is more closely tied to the dimension of time than to those of space. To make a period in time “complete”, it needs to be spiritually complete too.

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by Yosef Yitzchak Jacobson 

“Do not make yourselves gods out of cast metal (1),” the Torah instructs us in this week’s portion (Kedoshim).

How could an intelligent person believe that a piece of metal is god? We could perhaps appreciate how ancient pagan societies attributed divine qualities to powerful, transcendent forces of nature, like the Zodiac signs, the sun, the moon, various galaxies, the wind, etc. But why would a thoughtful human being believe god could be fashioned out of cast metal?

Even if we can explain how in the ancient, pagan world such an idea could be entertained seriously, how does this Torah commandment apply to our lives today?

I once encountered a beautiful interpretation to these words (2), which is profoundly relevant to the human psyche in all times. What this biblical verse – “Do not make yourselves gods out of cast metal” — is telling us is not to construct a god of a lifestyle and a weltanschauung that has become like “cast metal,” cast and solidified in a fixed mold.

A natural human tendency is to worship that which we have become comfortable with. We worship our habits, patterns, attitudes, routines and inclinations simply because we have accustomed ourselves to them and they are part of our lives. People love that which does not surprise them; we want to enjoy a god that suits our philosophical and emotional paradigms and comfort zones. We tend to embrace the fixed, unchangeable and permanent molten god.

Comes the Torah and says: Do not turn your consolidated mold into your god. Do not turn your habits, natural patterns of thought, fears or addictions into a deity. Life is about challenge, growth and mystery. Never say, “This is the way I am; this is the way I do things, I cannot change.” Never think, “This is the world view I am comfortable with; any other way must be wrong.” Rather, you ought to muster the courage to challenge every instinct, temptation and convention; question every dogma, especially dogmas that speak in the name of open mindedness, and are embraced simply because you fall back on that which you have been taught again and again. Let your life not become enslaved to a particular pattern just because it has been that way for many years or decades. G-d, the real G-d, is not defined by any conventions; let your soul, too, not be confined by any external conventions. Experience the freedom of your creator.

Judaism never articulated who G-d is and what G-d looks like. What it did teach us is that G-d ought never to be defined by any image we attribute to Him. In Jewish philosophy we never speak of what G-d is; only of what He is not: G-d is not an extension of my being or imagination (3).

Thus, to be open to the G-d of the Hebrew Bible means to be open to never ending mystery, infinite grandeur, limitless sublimity; it is the profound readiness at every moment of life to open ourselves to transcendence.

And that which remains of your ambitions and desires after you have faced all of your fears and challenged all of your defenses, that is where your will meets G-d’s will (4). At that point you become truly one with yourself, one with the inner core of reality.

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Footnotes:
1) Leviticus 19:4.
2) Mei Hasheluach by Rabbi Mordechai Yosef Leiner, Parshas Kedoshim, p. 118. The author was a brilliant and creative 19th century Chassidic thinker and master, and is known as the Rebbe of Ishbitz. He passed away in 1854.
3) This is a common theme in the writings of Maimonidies in his “Guide to the Perplexed.” See at length Likkutei Torah Parshas Pekudei and references noted there.
4) See at length Mei Hasheluach ibid.

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www.algemeiner.com

by Simon Jacobson

With distressing news shaking up the world – senseless murders at Virginia Tech, bottomless quagmires in Iraq, endless pain wherever you look – we sure could use a respite. Just in time Samach-Vav comes to the rescue.

Samach-Vav is the fundamental series of mystical – Kabblistic/Chassidic – discourses delivered one hundred years ago (1906-1908) by the Rebbe RaShaB (Rabbi Sholom Dovber – 1860-1920). This column has been following the progression of this series, with analysis and discussion (click here for the previous installments of the series).

Now, after a six-month break, in which the Rebbe Rashab spent time in Wurzberg, Germany, this week one century ago he resumed this 61-part classic, with his 49th discourse, addressing the… cosmic comb.

Well, as expected, everybody is weighing in on the latest tragedy coming out of Virginia Tech University in Blacksburg, Virginia.

I, for one, will rely on the flood of commentary deluging us via all possible mediums – some more worthy than others, everyone identifying different culprits, analyzing the current state of affairs, searching for the causes that allow for tragedies like this.

One article that stands out amidst them all is David Brooks’ The Morality Line in today’s New York Times. Brooks points out how individual choices have been replaced with a complex series of biological, chemical and social causes, effectively reducing the scope of the individual to “a cork bobbing on the currents of giant forces: evolution, brain chemistry, stress and upbringing.” Instead of personal responsibility we now have – as scientists, psychologists and social experts explain – many background forces at work.

It seems that as time passes we are finding better and more sophisticated ways to lower expectations of our selves and each other. We have developed an entire slew of “reasons” – which are really just camouflaged excuses – for our behavior: Chemicals, natural selection, environment, television, President Bush, Ann Coulter, Hillary Clinton, Leon Chomsky, and of course… Don Imus. (Feel free to add your own culprits).

Did anyone ever consider that the greatest cause for our lower expectations is… lower expectations? The mere fact that we keep lowering the bar of what we expect of the human race is causing us to feel less responsible and less accountable. The lower we drop the bar of expectation the less we will actually expect of each other.

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by Rabbi Yosef Y. Jacobson

A great deal of intelligence can be invested in ignorance.
– Saul Bellow

Light travels faster than sound. That’s why most people seem bright until you hear them speak.
– Author Unknown

“Inquire he inquired”

In many editions of the Hebrew Bible, an interesting comment is inserted into the book of Leviticus, in this week’s Torah portion (Shemini). In between the words “inquire he inquired” (”derash” and “derash” in the original Hebrew) it is written: “Half of the words of the Torah.”

What this means is that these words – “inquire he inquired” — mark the halfway point of a word count in the Torah. The first “inquire” completes the first half of the five books of Moses; the second “inquire” begins the second half of the Torah (1).

Biblical commentators, sensitive to the fact that even minor, seemingly coincidental aspects of the Torah, contain layers of significance, address the symbolism behind the fact that the halfway point of Torah is between these words “inquire he inquired.” One of the beautiful explanations is given by one of the great Chassidic masters (2).

He suggests that the Bible is attempting to teach us that the entire Torah – both halves of it – revolves around inquiry, the search to learn, grasp and internalize the truths and perspectives of Torah (2). To be Jewish is to forever remain a student of Torah wisdom (3).

“Inquire did he inquire” – this is the center point of Torah, because Moses himself, the extraordinary scholar and prophet, never ceased to inquire and search (4). Moses knew that the most essential component necessary to absorb Torah is our never ending yearning and readiness to continuously study, explore and seek knowledge. Moses realized that after all of his discoveries, he had only reached the middle of Torah, and there was much more ahead which he had not yet learned.

This message, I believe, is vital for Jews today.

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By Yosef Yitzchak Jacobson

Passover is, by its very definition, a national holiday. Commemorating our birth as a people, Passover celebrates the creation of a new and free nation destined to transform civilization. Following its Exodus from Egypt, the youthful nation could forge its own destiny, crate its own vision, build its own homeland, and make its unique impact on mankind – all the endeavors the Jewish people engaged in following their liberation from Egyptian tyranny on Passover.
 
One would thus expect that the holiday rituals would emphasize the “nation” motif, the idea of our collective and national identity. Perhaps, we would imagine, the Torah would instruct us to assemble on Passover the entire nation (as it instructs at the end of Deuteronomy to gather the whole nation once in eight years, during the Sukkot holiday), or suggest another ritual that would reflect the national dimensions of Jewish life. 
 
Yet, surprisingly, the Torah does exactly the reverse. The way Passover is to be celebrated, the Hebrew Bible informs us, is through individualized seder meals, conducted in the privacy of homes. “Every man must take a lamb for the family, a lamb for each household. If the household is too small for a lamb, then he and a close neighbor can obtain a lamb together, as long as it is for specifically designated individuals. Individuals shall be designated for a lamb according to how much each one will eat (1).”
 

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