Shaarei Tzedek – Orthodox Judaism in Downtown Toronto

via Rabbi David Lapin, iawaken.org

“Happiness is not about how much you have, but about how little you miss.”

Would you daven three times a day (assuming you are a man) if there were no chiyuv (obligation) or reward for davening? Which mitzvot would you continue to keep consistently if they were voluntary and there was no reward for doing them nor negative consequence for not keeping them? Think about it carefully and consider asking it of your children.

I recently put this question to a group of Benei Torah from various walks of life that had come to join me in a “Tefillin Workshop.” They answered candidly: very few would keep anything, some would continue to keep Shabbat because it was good for family cohesiveness. This means that their shemirat hamitzvot (mitzvah observance) was inherently fear driven, and they experienced no inherent attraction to and benefit in most mitzvah observance, or not sufficient to warrant the commitment to it. This contrasts with, say, practitioners of Meditation who practice it religiously even though there is no chiyuv or reward. They do it for the benefits they feel. Why are so many of us not feeling similar benefits from our davening?

I reviewed some halachik, Talmudic and kabbalistic elements of the mitzvah of Tefillin with the Workshop and then took them through a process of learning how to put Tefillin on mindfully. We used some simple breathing and concentration techniques to still the mind from distraction and focus it on the mitzvah. We learnt how to feel the various contact points of the Tefillin with the body. We practiced staying with the experience of the mitzvah for a few moments before launching into the davening. I urged them to practice these techniques and let me know their experiences. For many it was life changing and has remained so. Those young men would now put on Tefillin each day even if it were not a chiyuv. Several are investing a little more time and a lot more thought in this precious mitzvah than they ever have before.

Part of the allure of Eastern and New Age Philosophies is that they enhance their practitioners’ Olam Hazeh (This World) experience rather than merely promise them a better Olam Habbah (World to Come). People who practice yoga and meditation feel the benefits almost immediately. Relaxing their bodies and clearing their minds, they learn how to access deeper levels of their subconscious wisdom.

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© Rabbi David Lapin, 2008 (iawaken.org)

Engaging in the Story

Media technology enables hitherto unimagined dramatic power. Special effects, with their synchronized visual and audial impact stun audiences again and again. The news media use visual impact to shape public opinion and manipulate public sympathies. Sitting in a movie seat or in front of a TV, demands no effort to engage in the drama. The drama is so compelling that it leaves an audience little choice about engaging in it.

Theater is a little different. Unless it is a major Broadway-style musical production, theater requires more attentiveness. You need to follow the dialogue, catch the humor and understand the sequences. The subtleties are generally more difficult to note than in the movies. Elizabethan theater did not even have props of any kind, everything was left to the imagination, requiring still more audience engagement than most of today’s theater.

Reading a good book requires still more engagement and attention. The investment of time and of self in reading is more than that of any other art form. The subtleties are greater, the characters develop over a longer time, and the story line needs to be held together for longer. There is less instant drama.

These differences in art forms explain the differences between various Moeid Moments (Festive times in the Jewish calendar). If Mattan Torah (the giving of the Torah at Sinai on Shavuot) is the ultimate dramatic production with unbridled visual effects, then Purim is the subtle work of literature. Mattan Torah was felt, all of it in one dramatic moment. It was compelling in its essence. It could not be denied by anyone present. That is why we are told[1] that Hashem held the mountain over them and threatened them with extinction if they did not accept the Torah. The Maharal of Prague[2] makes it very clear that this Chazal is not to be taken literally. It simply means that the revelation was so compellingly powerful that the Nation had no option but to accept the Torah.

Mystery and Allure

The Megillah (Book of Esther) is very different. It is a story of events that the cynic could interpret as coincidence. The very meaning of the word Megillah is a process of revelation rather than a moment of revelation (Giluy). The literal meaning of Megilah (scroll) is a book that unfolds, slowly: as one section becomes visible the previous one disappears. This is the essence of Tzeniut, the quintessence of Esther (I shall hide).

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via Y.Y. Jacobson, algemeiner.org

The Ship, the Island, and the Fish

One of the great Talmudic sages related the following episode:

Once, while on a ship, we came to what we assumed was a large island, since we saw on it sand and growing grass. We disembarked the ship, went on to the island, built a fire, and cooked our meal. Yet what we assumed to be an island was really a fish. When the fish felt the heat, he rolled over and we were plunged into the water. Had the ship not been nearby, we would have drowned.

– Talmud Bava Basra 73b.

What is the meaning behind this absurd Talmudic tale, related by one of its great sages Rabba Bar Bar Chana?

According to some of the great Talmudic commentators, this tale captures – in intriguing metaphor – one of the most essential truths about Jewish history, particularly one relating to the holiday of Purim.

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Image of “The Cracow Wedding” Purimshpil”

[via iawaken.org by Rabbi David Lapin]

The story of the Megillah, always on the edge of tragedy, is nevertheless peppered with poignant moments of hysterical comedy. The bulk of the comedy however is found in the pages of Talmudic and Midrashic material. This material gives even more life to the fairly brief recounting of the story as told in the Megillah itself.

One such moment occurs when Queen Esther has set the stage for her dramatic revelation of Haman’s complicity in the plot to exterminate her and her nation. Both her husband the King and Haman have arrived at her dinner party. The King is in a joyful mood and asks her what he could give her as a gift up to the value of half of his kingdom. At that point she asks for her life and that of her people, and intends to thrust an accusing finger at Haman who she identifies as the man responsible for the extermination scheme.

An almost tragic error occurs: she points her accusing finger at her husband instead of at Haman. Just in time, an angel comes and slaps her hand across to point at Haman as the culprit rather than Achashveirosh [1]. The moment is miraculously saved and tragedy averted – once again.

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© Rabbi David Lapin, 2008 (IAwaken.org)

The Inevitability of Leadership Sin

Leaders make mistakes; they sin. This is an inevitable (although not excusable) reality of leadership. Leadership greatness is not defined by the absence of error or sin, it is defined by the way Leaders manage their errors. I am not talking about leaders’ personal lives: in that their sinning is no different from anyone else’s. It is not inevitable that a Governor should engage in prostitution. I am referring to the inevitability of errors of judgment in the day-to-day business of leading organizations and nations.

The Parsha lists a number of Korbanot (sacrifices) to be brought as a consequence of an unintentional sin. Cases are given for a Kohein Gadol (High Priest) who sins, a national sin, the sin of a Nasi (Prince of a Tribe) and an individual. In all cases but one, the case is introduced with “if an individual (or high priest, or the nation etc) should sin..” The exception is the Nasi about which it says (4:22) Asher Nasi yechetah – “When a Nasi sins”. For a leader it is when he sins, not if he sins. The Ramban and the Rashbam read nothing specific into this different usage of language for the Nasi, but the Seforno and Rashi do.

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via Chabad.org, based on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe:

The Torah reading of Pekudei (Exodus 38:21-40:38) opens with an accounting of the various materials donated by the people of Israel for the making of the Mishkan, the portable sanctuary which “housed” the divine presence in the Israelite camp during their journeys through the desert.

These donations included: gold for the Mishkan’s “vessels” (the Menorah, Ark, etc.) and the plating of its wall panels; silver used for the “foundation sockets” into which the wall panels were inserted; copper used in the making of the Altar and the washbasin; wood for the wall panels and posts; wool dyed in a variety of colors, and fine-spun linen, for the tapestries and the priestly garments; goat hair and animal skins for the roof coverings; a variety of precious stones for the Ephod and Choshen (the apron and breastplate worn by the High Priest); oil for the lighting of the menorah and spices for the making of the ketoret (“incense”) — fifteen materials in all.

With 14 of these 15 materials, each Jew gave whatever he or she chose to give and how much he or she chose to contribute. The type and amount given depended solely on the resources and the degree of generosity of the individual making the donation.

The single exception was the silver used to make the Miskan’s foundation. Here, G-d commanded that each should give exactly half a shekel of silver — “The rich man shall not give more, and the poor man shall not give less” (Exodus 30:15; from the section of Shekalim, a special supplementary reading added this week because of the upcoming month of Adar, when the half-shekel was traditionally contributed).

Every person is different: we differ in our intellect, character, talents and sensitivities. But we are all equal in the very basis of our bond with G-d: our intrinsic commitment to Him. So while we each contributed to the making of the various components of the Sanctuary in accordance with our individual capacity, we all gave equally of the silver of which its foundation was made. As regards the foundation of the relationship between us and G-d, the rich man cannot give more, and the pauper cannot give less, since we all equally possess that intrinsic commitment.

Upon this foundation, we each build our individualized edifice. Upon this foundation, we each erect a home for G-d made out of the unique talents, capacities and resources we are able to contribute. The foundation is the lowest, least noticeable part of the edifice; sometimes it is buried out of sight in the ground. But it is the silver foundation of absolute, immutable commitment that is the basis and support of it all.