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Tisha B’Av: Longing for Goodness and Righteousness

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Jewish in Jerusalemlast night i decided to take a walk around 1am. on my way back a sweet old lady approached me asking if i knew where a certain hotel was. i must note that since leaving my house i was filled with this expansive sense of love and suddenly the situation struck me as very odd that an elderly woman was roaming the streets looking for a place to stay for the night. i told her i did not know where the hotel was but i knew of a hostel nearby. we walked there but there was no room. then we tried another hotel, long story, it turned out the rooms there were $200/night, more than the woman had. at this point the woman began looking at stairwells and considering just sitting somewhere for the remaining night hours. the situation was heartbraking. i even offered to let her stay in my room on a mattress, but she did not want to impose. at this point we were in the ultra-orthodox jewish neighborhood of jerusalem, and i thought, perhaps someone knows of somewhere she could rest for the night, perhaps in a syngagogue or house of study. without really thinking i told her to wait and ran after one of the ultra-orthodox men walking the streets. i explained the situation and asked if he knew of a place she could rest, he said no..no..i began to give up..then he said…

“Tzedakah miracle in Ir HaKodesh, week of Shabbos Chazon 5772”
Rucho Shel Mashiach blog

I actually posted a link to this blog article on Facebook a few days ago, but I really wanted to write about what it means to me (you can click the link above to read the whole story, but I’m going to finish the quote in just a little bit).

I was thinking about Christian perceptions of Jews and Judaism. At its worst, Christianity thinks of Judaism as a dead, works-based religion that has no spirit or soul, no connection to the living God, and that religious Jews only do good deeds because they’re “under the Law” and out of fear of breaking their commandments.

But then I realized that atheists think about Christianity in pretty much the same way.

I’ve been criticized several times over the past week or so by atheists who say that I need to have the “excuse” of God to do anything good for another person. They ask why I can’t just do good deeds because it’s the right thing to do? After all, that’s what (supposedly) all atheists and progressive humanists do.

My, my, my but how we judge each other. Hopefully the “Tzedakah miracle” story will help change some Christian minds about how Jews see helping other people. I’m not sure what to do about helping atheists see that we Christians can actually do good as well, and how we experience Jesus as a powerful motivator and example of what it is to be charitable.

I was also thinking about Tisha B’Av which begins on Saturday at sundown. It’s the solemn commemoration of the destruction of both Solomon’s and Herod’s Temples, as well as many other tragic events that have occurred in Jewish history. Jews typically fast on this occasion, which is the culmination of a three-week period of mourning, and refrain from various pleasurable activities.

Of course, for Christians and everyone else, it’s just another day.

I sometimes wonder why Christians don’t mourn the destruction of the Temple. I know, that probably sounds silly. Most Christians believe that the Temple was destroyed as a natural result of the coming of Jesus and that now, each individual Christian is a “temple” for the Holy Spirit. The physical becomes “spiritualized” a great deal in Christianity.

But among other things, the rebuilding of the Temple in Holy Jerusalem is part of what the Messiah is supposed to do (see Jeremiah 33:18). Here’s a little bit more about what the Messiah will do when he comes.

The mashiach will bring about the political and spiritual redemption of the Jewish people by bringing us back to Israel and restoring Jerusalem (Isaiah 11:11-12; Jeremiah 23:8; 30:3; Hosea 3:4-5). He will establish a government in Israel that will be the center of all world government, both for Jews and gentiles (Isaiah 2:2-4; 11:10; 42:1). He will rebuild the Temple and re-establish its worship (Jeremiah 33:18). He will restore the religious court system of Israel and establish Jewish law as the law of the land (Jeremiah 33:15).

“Mashiach: The Messiah”
Judaism 101

Although plainly depicted in prophecy, almost all of the information in the quote above isn’t generally known and accepted in the church.

But assuming it is true, then perhaps we Christians should mourn the Temple. Perhaps we should long to see it rebuilt because that would mean the Messiah, the Christ has returned.

But what does this have to do with charity? More than you might think.

Jews long for the coming of the Messiah so that their exile will end and that Israel will be restored to great glory and God will be revered by all of the earth (and just because the modern state of Israel exists today, doesn’t mean the exile has ended yet). Christians want Jesus to come back because he will rule and reign over the earth and everyone will honor Christ and Christianity and know God through him.

Similar goals but radically different applications.

Except for a few things like charity.

Both the Jewish and Christian requirements to do charity are rooted in the same source: the Law of Moses. The Torah of Moses and the Gospels of Jesus both go to great efforts to encourage and support a lifestyle of giving and generosity among their devotees. Although in Christianity, there is no direct connection between doing good and bringing back Jesus, in Judaism, every act of tikkun olam or “repairing the world” is thought, at least by some, to hasten the return of Messiah (the mechanics behind this concept are complex, so I won’t delve into them here).

I don’t know if it’s true or not that doing charity brings the Messiah closer to returning, but it couldn’t hurt.

And it couldn’t hurt to help someone out when they’re in need. Does there have to be a reason or does your reason or mine really matter? After all, regardless of motivation (interesting article, by the way), if you give a hungry person some food, they’ll still be fed.

Interestingly enough though, charity doesn’t always have a straightforward result, as we see in the conclusion of the “Tzedakah miracle” story (and as far as I can tell, this isn’t “just a story,” it’s real life):

without really thinking i told her to wait and ran after one of the ultra-orthodox men walking the streets. i explained the situation and asked if he knew of a place she could rest, he said no..no..i began to give up..then he said, that he has money, if that could help. as if to reject it i said no, the only room is $200, but thank you. he preceded as if i had said $5, pulled $150 out of his wallet and handed it to the woman while quoting from the talmud that the temple was destroyed because of a lack of love between people. together we giddily walked to the luxury hotel, only to find out that there were no rooms available! the man then said to the woman that it is not right to ask for charity back after it has been given, so the money is now hers. we considered several other hotels and the man walked off. as soon as he walked off the woman took my hand and we walked into an alleyway. she was beaming with excitement, she said, i will go to the local hospital and sit there for the night, now i have money for the whole week, i can stay somewhere nice while i find an apartment, maybe even save it for shabbos. in other words, hashem orchestrated a miracle..nothing could have turned out better. when i told a friend about this he said i had met the souls of abraham and sarah roaming the streets of jerusalem. now i know why i felt compelled to take a walk, sometimes we are but vehicles for the miracles that are scheduled to take place..

The old woman never found a very comfortable place to spend the night, but instead of spending all of her new-found “wealth” in a single evening, she now had enough money to live on for a week. True, her situation was not permanently solved, but just think of how many people all across our planet live extremely uncertain lives. Even if we give them charity, we can’t solve all of their problems forever. But then, giving them enough to eat even for one more day makes life better for them.

But what about the Temple? Is there a hidden blessing in its destruction and the long, long wait for the coming of the Jewish Messiah King? I don’t know except perhaps that it gives us time and something to shoot for. It reminds us that the Temple is no longer with us because of lack of love between people (at least according to the Talmud). The world needs a lot of fixing. No doubt about that. It’s probably the one thing we can all agree on, regardless of our politics, our religion (or lack thereof), our social standing, or anything else. The world’s a mess.

Tisha b'Av at the Kotel 2011There are a lot of missing bits and pieces to the world that need to be replaced and repaired. It’s like our existence is a half-built jigsaw puzzle and we’re the puzzle makers. We have to cooperate to make the picture whole. For those of us who believe, Jesus will come and his job will be to do the final “fixing.” For religious Jews, the Messiah will come and do pretty much the same thing. But you and I are here now. People are still hungry and homeless. We can’t solve their problems, but we can make their lives just a little bit better for an hour, or a day, maybe even for a week if God so wills it.

We can grieve and feel sorrow over our losses. We can complain about what’s wrong with the world and complain about the politics and religions of those people who are different from us. Or we can let events like Tisha B’Av remind us that we have lost but we also have something to look forward to. Tisha B’Av also reminds us that we can get over ourselves, get over being cranky, and try to be part of the solution instead of part of the problem.

I said this ago a few days ago, but it bears repeating. “Do good. Seek peace. Keep swimming.” Give life. I don’t care why you do it. Just do it.

May the inherent righteousness and goodness of all our souls be revealed in full and hasten our full redemption, and may we merit to see the third temple speedily in our days, as one people with one heart.

–Rucho Shel Mashiach

Edit: I should note that Tisha B’Av actually starts tonight at sundown, but because it’s also Erev Shabbat, the fast doesn’t begin until after Shabbat has ended. I apologize for the error I made above.

Torah Portion

Devarim: At the Threshold of a Dream

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Moshe recited the Book of Deuteronomy as the Jews stood on the banks on the Jordan, preparing to enter Eretz Yisrael. The crossing of the Jordan River was to be a spiritual as well as a geographic movement. During their journeys through the desert, the Jews depended on miraculous expressions of Divine favor: they ate manna, their water came from the Well of Miriam, and the Clouds of Glory preserved their garments. After entering Eretz Yisrael, however, the Jewish people were to live within the natural order, working the land and eating the fruits of their labor.

To make this transition possible, they required an approach to the Torah that would relate to man as he functions within his worldly environment. It was for this purpose that Moshe taught the Book of Deuteronomy.

Herein lies a connection to the present day, because we are also “on the banks of the Jordan” preparing to enter Eretz Yisrael together with Mashiach. It is through the approach emphasized by the Book of Deuteronomy fusing the word of G-d with mortal wisdom that we will merit the age when “the occupation of the entire world will be solely to know G-d,” the Era of the Redemption.

-Rabbi Eli Touger
“A Mortal Mouth Speaking G-d’s Word”
from the “In the Garden of the Torah” series
Commentary on Torah Portion Devarim

“I have to confess, I don’t really get it. If you believe in Jesus, you believe he is the King. The Lord. The Boss. Your Boss. There is no other option. It’s an integral part of his identity. The fact that some people have lost sight of that fact is evidence, to me, of how far we have come from a really Biblical idea of who Jesus is. We have forgotten that there is no such thing as a Jesus who is not our King, a Jesus we don’t have to obey.”

-Boaz Michael
Founder and President of First Fruits of Zion

I sometimes wonder what it must have been like to stand there on the banks of the Jordan river, watching and listening to Moses, knowing that this was the last time he would speak to Israel, knowing that they were on the threshold of the fulfilled promises of God, knowing that Moses wouldn’t be part of that fulfillment.

It must have been an incredible thrill mixed with passionate anticipation and more than a tinge of bitter sorrow. How could Israel go into Canaan, take possession of The Land as God had ordained, and yet have God deny the man they had come to know as Prophet, tzaddik, and even father entrance with them? What would the realization of a dream mean if Moses wasn’t there in their midst?

From Moshe’s point of view, how difficult it must have been for him. For over forty years, he had guarded the Israelites. He had guarded them from hunger and thirst, from losing their way, both geographically and spiritually. He had guarded them from hostile kingdoms and armies and he had protected them from their own folly. He had watched the entire generation he brought out of Egypt die one by one in the desert, and he had watched their children grow up and become the people who replaced them; the people who would enter The Land.

But he wouldn’t be going with them. Who would protect them from their folly should they speak against God and God’s anger flare against them?

That’s what Deuteronomy is all about. Moshe’s last message to the Children of Israel before he was to die and they were to live and go forward. It was his last opportunity to speak out, to encourage them, to warn them, to beg them, to scream at them, “Don’t screw this up! I won’t be with you to save you anymore!”

The Chassidic sages have much to say about the last speech of Moses, trying to reconcile the words of God that came through the prophet in the first four books of Torah with the words of Moses that fill to the brim this last, fateful tome:

Our Sages note that the Book of Devarim differs from the first four Books of the Torah in that the latter are “from G-d’s mouth,” while Devarim is “from Moshe’s mouth.”

This does not — Heaven forfend — imply that the words in Mishneh Torah are not G-d’s. Rather, as Rashi explains: (Sanhedrin 56b.) “Moshe did not say Mishneh Torah to the Jews on his own, but as he would receive it from G-d he would repeat it to them.”

Since the words of Mishneh Torah too are not Moshe’s words but G-d’s, why are the first four Books of the Torah considered to be from “G-d’s mouth” while the Book of Devarim is considered to be from “Moshe’s mouth”; what difference is there between the first four Books and the fifth?

The inherent sanctity of Torah is such that it completely transcends this physical world; in order for it to descend within this world an intermediary is necessary — one who is both higher than this world yet within it. This intermediary bridges the gap between the sacred Torah and this corporeal world.

“Devarim”
from “The Chassidic Dimension” series
Commentary on Torah Portion Devarim
Based on Likkutei Sichos Vol. XIX, pp. 9-12
and on the teachings of the Lubavitcher Rebbe
Rabbi Menachem M. Schneerson
Chabad.org

I know. It’s difficult for me to comprehend as well. How can the first four books of Torah basically be from God as “dictated” to Moses and yet the fifth book be from Moshe’s own mouth and yet still be inspired by God?

I don’t know.

How can the letters of Paul be Paul’s own words, written in his “style,” expressing his own concerns, his own fears, his anger at the screw ups some of the churches were making, and still be the inspired word of God through the Holy Spirit?

It’s a mystery.

Can you have a rant and still have it be a “holy rant?”

I don’t know that either. But that’s what Deuteronomy is mostly about. The deep anguish and pain of a man who was about as close to God as any human being ever got expressed in his own words, through his own feelings and yet…

…and yet, God was still in all that somehow.

I don’t think I’m a prophet. Far from it. I’m just a guy with a blog. I sincerely doubt that there are any prophets in the world today that we could compare with Moses, Isaiah, and Jeremiah. Holy people, tzaddikim, sure, but no prophets. I don’t think there are “letter writers” (today, they’d all be emailers and bloggers) who have the special mission Paul had, to communicate to the churches in such a way that our words would become holy documents.

But we have our own words. As people of faith, we sometimes faintly hear the whispers of God. Most of the time, we have no idea what we’re hearing. It it our imagination? Is it just the wind? Is it only my feelings?

Paul wrote letters and, in all likelihood, he probably never had any idea that they’d become part of what we consider the Holy Scriptures. He was just doing his job, being the Messiah’s disciple, being the emissary to the Gentiles, trying to make it all work somehow, depending on the Spirit of God to get him through it all.

When Moses was standing there at the Jordan, did he realize that God would have him record everything he was saying later for the Torah? Did he think that it all ended with Numbers? After all, he knew he was to die soon. Maybe he thought the responsibility for recording God’s words was already past. How could he possibly imagine that God would have him record the moment of his own death and then what happened next?

I have no idea. I’m not theologian or historian. For all I know, Christian and Jewish scholars and authorities may have answered these questions ages ago.

Or not.

All I know…all I can tell for sure, is that both Moses and Paul were mere flesh and blood. Just like you and me. Moses had an unparalleled relationship with God. They spoke, for all intents and purposes, as if they were “face to face.” Paul saw a vision of the Master on the road to Damascus (Acts 9:1-6) and later was taken up into the third Heaven. His experience in the latter case goes something like this:

I know a man in Christ who fourteen years ago was caught up to the third heaven—whether in the body or out of the body I do not know, God knows. And I know that this man was caught up into paradise—whether in the body or out of the body I do not know, God knows – and he heard things that cannot be told, which man may not utter. –2 Corinthians 12:2-4 (ESV)

These were both men who led lives and had experiences probably none of us could even begin aspire to. And yet they were human beings, they got hungry and thirsty, they became angry and frustrated, they cried out to God.

Just like you and me.

So as Moses launched into his last, impassioned speech to the Israelites at the Jordan river, anticipating all that was to come and knowing that time was extremely short, God was somehow infused in this last book of Torah, and yet everything that was of Moses was there, too.

What does this teach us?

I can’t give you a definitive answer, I can only give you my answer.

I think it teaches us that a life of faith is a life of companionship. Some people think of time as a predator, stalking us all our lives, closing in on us as we get older and weaker, waiting for the moment to strike and make the kill. However, God shows us that time and a life spent in faith is a life of companionship. God goes with us on the journey and reminds us to cherish every moment, because it will never come again. What we leave behind is not as important as how we’ve lived. After all, we’re only mortal. (with apologies to Patrick Stewart and his alter ego Captain Picard as they appeared in Star Trek: Generations 1994)

Each morning when we wake up, we stand at the threshold of living out our dream. It’s not a dream of the house you’ve always wanted to live in, the clothes and the car you’ve always wanted to own, or the places you’ve always wanted to visit. It’s the dream of a day lived out with God as a companion. It’s the realization that we can be, and we indeed are, fully and completely ourselves, frail and mortal human beings, and yet we can still walk our path, step by step, with the lover of our souls. Moses walked this path until the day he died. So did Paul.

By the grace of God, so will we all. Like them, we will try to continually listen to His Voice and to obey His Words. But as we live out His Words, they will be expressed to the rest of the world through whatever we say and do. This is just like Moses in his farewell to Israel recorded in Deuteronomy. This is just like each of Paul’s letters to the various churches of the diaspora.

This is just like us every time we speak of our lives, our journey, our very existence at the side of our God. The words and the voice everyone hears are ours. But somehow, God is in them, too.

When the white eagle of the North is flying overhead
The browns, reds and golds of autumn lie in the gutter, dead.
Remember then, that summer birds with wings of fire flaying
Came to witness spring’s new hope, born of leaves decaying.
Just as new life will come from death, love will come at leisure.
Love of love, love of life and giving without measure
Gives in return a wondrous yearn of a promise almost seen.
Live hand-in-hand and together we’ll stand on the threshold of a dream.

-Graeme Edge
from the song “The Dream”
on the album On the Threshold of a Dream (1969)

Someday we will cross the threshold with our Master, our Messiah, and we will enter the final Shabbat rest in the Kingdom of Heaven. And the whole world will know God. The dream will become reality.

Good Shabbos.

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I’m Younger Than That Now

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When I was seventeen
It was a very good year
It was a very good year for small town girls
And soft summer nights
We’d hide from the lights
On the village green
When I was seventeen

“It Was a Very Good Year” (1961)
-composed by Ervin Drake

A self-ordained professor’s tongue, too serious to fool
Spouted out that liberty is just equality in school
Equality, I spoke the word as if a wedding vow
Ahh, but I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now

“My Back Pages” (1964)
-composed by Bob Dylan

This is a counterpoint to this morning’s meditation, which had a distinctively forlorn tone and pessimistic outlook. Life can be like that for me sometimes. I suppose it can be like that for some of you on occasion. But something LeVar Burton said on twitter about 1968 made me think back. I actually “misremembered” the famous chorus to Dylan’s tune as, “I was so much younger then, I’m older than that now.”

When I looked up My Back Pages (and I’m probably remembering The Byrds’s cover of the song), I realized my mistake. Then the Drake song, made famous by Frank Sinatra, popped into my head.

That’s more like it. That’s what I was thinking. That’s what I was feeling. I was so much younger then, and it was a very good year.

But this is supposed to be optimistic, isn’t it?

I’m utterly convinced that the key to lifelong success is the regular exercise of a single emotional muscle: gratitude.

People who approach life with a sense of gratitude are constantly aware of what’s wonderful in their life. Because they enjoy the fruits of their successes, they seek out more success. And when things don’t go as planned, people who are grateful can put failure into perspective.

By contrast, people who lack gratitude are never truly happy. If they succeed at a task, they don’t enjoy it. For them, a string of successes is like trying to fill a bucket with a huge leak in the bottom. And failure invariably makes them bitter, angry, and discouraged.

Therefore, if you want to be successful, you need to feel more gratitude. Fortunately, gratitude, like most emotions, is like a muscle: The more you use it, the stronger and more resilient it becomes.

-Geoffrey James
“True Secret to Success (It’s Not What You Think)”
Inc.com

That reminds me of the very first meditation I wrote for this blog, exactly 14 months ago today.

“I gratefully thank You, living and existing King
for restoring my soul to me with compassion.
Abundant is your faithfulness.”

–Blessing Upon Arising in the Morning

It’s the one Jewish blessing I still allow myself to recite and virtually the first coherent thought I have upon awakening each morning.

I’m grateful to wake up alive.

In his article, Geoffrey James calls gratitude the “secret to success.” He talks about making a list of everything that happened to you during the day that makes you grateful and writing it all down before going to bed. He says that the more you practice gratitude, the more it will become part of your “reprogramming.”

It’s funny, but I think the Jewish sages had that idea long before James wrote his wee article for Inc.com.

Of course, that’s how we learn just about anything, by practicing. I suppose that’s true of being grateful. I suppose that’s true about having a relationship with God. Like any relationship, it takes practice, patience, and lots of attention. You reap the rewards of whatever you put into it. If you practice too little, the rewards are very few.

Both “It Was a Very Good Year” and “My Back Pages” are retrospectives on life. The former song expands the person’s vision across an entire human lifespan while the latter is Dylan’s personal presentation of his disillusionment with the folk protest movement of the early 1960s.

I periodically become aware that there are more days behind me than there are ahead, but I take some comfort in my family, the next generation I see in my children, and the generation beyond that in my grandson.

And I take some comfort in God.

But it’s difficult not to look back and ponder all the youthful wonder and immature anguish, the carefree nights and days and the painful and terrible mistakes. Was I a better person then, or now? What have I learned. Was being seventeen really better? Am I younger or older than that now?

But however it’s all worked out, I haven’t forgotten to be grateful to God. I’m alive. I have a wife and three children. I have a grandson (and I can still hardly believe I’m a grandpa). I’m working. I live comfortably. I’m able to give something back to my community, which is a blessing. Life isn’t perfect, but God has been generous.

And I’m grateful. I should practice that more.

Yes, my guard stood hard when abstract threats
Too noble to neglect
Deceived me into thinking
I had something to protect
Good and bad, I define these terms
Quite clear, no doubt somehow
Ahh, but I was so much older then
I’m younger than that now

-Dylan

But now the days grow short
I’m in the autumn of the year
And now I think of my life as vintage wine
from fine old kegs
from the brim to the dregs
And it poured sweet and clear
It was a very good year

-Drake

How do I feel?

I feel older. But sometimes, when I’m grateful, I feel young.

 

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Above All Else, God Needs To Feel Compassion

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Fear is the opposite of genuine faith. Fear comes from a place of faithlessness. When we have real confidence in God, fear is driven out. For the person of faith, fear is actually irrational.

Thought for the Week
“Fear Not”
Commentary on Torah Portion Devarim
First Fruits of Zion (FFOZ)

There are times when moving forward is not enough. There are times when you can’t just change what you do, how you speak and how you think about things. Sometimes, you have to change who you are. You need to pick both feet off the ground and leap.

-Rabbi Tzvi Freeman
“The Quantum Leap”
Based on letters and talks of the Rebbe
Rabbi M. M. Schneerson
Chabad.org

And while the future’s there for anyone to change, still you know it’s seems it would be easier sometimes to change the past.

Jackson Browne
Fountain of Sorrow
from the album Late for the Sky (1974)

Uh-huh.

I keep thinking about the victims of the Aurora, Colorado theater shootings. I’m sure some of the people who were there, some of the wounded, some of those who died, were probably religious. Some of them probably had faith. Some of them probably loved God. Did those people have no fear in the dark, choking on whatever gas the shooter released into the air, hearing the gunshots, the screams of the victims, seeing the blood. Were they not afraid because they had faith?

People get hurt, we get sick, we’re afraid, we sometimes cry. Doesn’t God understand that? If the writer of the FFOZ commentary is right, then every time a person of God feels fear, they are experiencing faithlessness. They are experiencing a total, catastrophic failure in their faith, a failure as a disciple of the Master, a failure as a child of God, and a failure as a human being.

Nevermind that we’re wired to have all of these emotions that we experience, including the emotion of fear. If you take your small, sick child to the doctor and you are told your baby has leukemia, is it a sin to be afraid that your child will die? If you lose your job and realize that you have no way to support your family and will most likely end up putting your wife and children on the street because you failed, is it a sin to be afraid?

It would be wonderful to not feel fear. It would be wonderful to approach every difficult situation with ultimate confidence and self-assuredness. It would be wonderful to constantly experience the love, grace, and strength of God in all circumstances, no matter how dire, knowing that even if you should be hurt, suffer the most hideous and painful diseases, and even face the loss of everyone you have ever loved, that it would be OK because God is with you.

And you never ever felt afraid.

It would be wonderful, but how many people have ever pulled it off? How many people have that much faith, trust, and confidence in themselves let alone God, to never feel afraid?

I don’t know the answer, but I suspect that the number is extremely small.

And he came out and went, as was his custom, to the Mount of Olives, and the disciples followed him. And when he came to the place, he said to them, “Pray that you may not enter into temptation.” And he withdrew from them about a stone’s throw, and knelt down and prayed, saying, “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done.” And there appeared to him an angel from heaven, strengthening him. And being in an agony he prayed more earnestly; and his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down to the ground. –Luke 22:39-44 (ESV)

It’s impossible to really know what Jesus was feeling at that moment in time, but obviously he wasn’t facing his bloody, tortuous execution with calm, cool detachment. He accepted the cup set before him by the Father, but he still asked that it be taken away. He still was in agony, so much so, that “his sweat became like great drops of blood falling down to the ground.”

But the Bible says,

…fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. –Isaiah 41:10 (ESV)

PleadGod was addressing Israel through the prophet Isaiah. Did Israel feel no fear because God was with them? Did they feel no fear when faced with the barrier of the Reed Sea as the armies of Egypt descended upon them with murderous intent? Did they feel no fear as they faced giants and fortified cities when they first tried to cross over into Canaan? Did they feel no fear on the day when the Temple was destroyed, when Jerusalem was burned to the ground, when the Jewish people were sent into exile and scattered like loose change among the nations of the world for 2,000 years?

For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, “Abba! Father!” –Romans 8:15 (ESV)

Yesterday, I wrote,

Maybe you’re thinking I’m being unreasonable. Maybe you’re thinking that I can’t be serious. Maybe you’re thinking that it would be too hard for you to help another person while facing a crisis of your own. And yet, God calls us to serve Him under all circumstances. Certainly we expect Him to serve us no matter what we’re going through and no matter what else is happening in the world.

You and I are only flesh and blood and bone. We’re weak. How can we stand up under the pressures of life and still be expected to help someone less fortunate than we are?

Some days the faith and trust is better and some days it’s worse. Some days I feel like I can take on whatever life and God dish out and some days I just want to hide in bed under the covers and have God make it all go away.

Someone recently commented on one of my blog posts, “I say, let the End come! Only He can fix this mess. We just keep messin’ it up!” I responded with encouragement. We can’t give up. We can’t just sit on our thumbs and do nothing and wait for Jesus to arrive on the bus from Heaven to repair our broken and dying world.

But discounting our weakness and criticizing the faithful for being faithless when we feel fear isn’t an answer I can accept. All flesh is grass (1 Peter 1:24). It is said that the spirit is willing but the body is weak (Matthew 26:41). I say that even the spirit is weak sometimes. For some people, it’s weak a lot of the time.

Some people say that fear is a liar and I suppose if a person allows fear to be the driving force in their life, then they will never really live. But many people have good reasons to feel afraid, either because they’re in a stressful or dangerous situation, or they’ve experienced enough of those situations that the future looks like a room full of tripwires and trapdoors.

But having said all that, the FFOZ commentary ends on this note:

It may not sound like one of the commandments of the Torah but it actually is a rule of life for the People of God. We are to live by faithful confidence in the strong hand of God. He who delivered Israel from Egypt and defeated the Amorites will also deliver the Canaanites into the hands of Israel. He who rescued our Master and Savior from the grave will also rescue us from every trouble and fear.

Yeshua says, “Are not two sparrows sold for a cent? And yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So do not fear; you are more valuable than many sparrows.” (Matthew 10:29-31)

According to Rabbi Freeman, we have a Godly soul that strives to go higher each day and “she will transform that animal to yearn with a divine yearning.”

We have a Godly soul and a body of shredded and bleeding flesh. When you’re young, you have a certain amount of courage, even to the point of foolishness, because in most cases, nothing really bad has happened to you yet. After three or four decades, you know better. If you stick your hand in a fire, you’ll be burned. The chest pain you are feeling might not be “just indigestion.” The “near miss” on the freeway because an aggressive driver just had to pull in front of you came within an inch of a collision at 65 miles per hour.

I can’t give up. I can’t be safe. I cannot hide. God does not promise that I won’t ever suffer or die in pain. The Book of Job scares the heck out of me.

All I know is if God decides to slowly feed me into a running wood chipper feet first, an inch at a time, my only guarantee is that He will be with me. One translation of Job 13:15 says, “Though He slay me, I have no hope.” I suppose it’s more encouraging to rely on standard translations like, “yet I will wait for Him” or “yet will I hope in Him.”

I just wish some religious people wouldn’t be so hard on the rest of us (or is it only me?). Faith isn’t easy. Hope often fails. The commentary says,

When we feel frightened or worried, we must remember who our Father in Heaven is, and that He cares for us and watches over us.

Tell that to the people of Haiti who are still struggling. Tell that to the Christians in Japan post-tsunami. Tell that to every soldier, Marine, and sailor who has ever gone to war and still struggles with PTSD years and even decades later.

And tell that to the victims of the Aurora, Colorado movie theater massacre.

Are they just going to recover, bounce back, and feel all hunky-dory again as if nothing ever happened? Are those people weak when they hear a car backfire and run for cover? Do they all suffer from chronic faithlessness just because they get scared?

Don’t you have compassion? Haven’t you ever been afraid?

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Giving Life

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The Jews of Vitebsk, if you want to know the truth, at the time were known not to be generous givers to charity. When money needed to be raised for a worthy cause, it was no simple matter to extract hard currency out of them without applying a good deal of pressure. To their credit, however, it must be said that the Vitebskers could always be counted on to provide food for the hungry; indeed, the Talmud states that giving ready-to-eat food is greater than giving money to charity because it provides immediate relief, while the benefit of money is indirect.

One day a chassid from Vitebsk came to see the Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Lubavitch (the third Chabad Rebbe, 1789-1866). He told the Rebbe that his only son was about to be drafted into the Russian army. Previously, only-sons were exempted automatically, but this year there was a new, tough policy and their precious child was in danger. “Please, Rebbe,” he entreated, “help us, save us.”

Rabbi Menachem Mendel shook his head sadly: “I’m sorry, I cannot help you in this matter.”

-Rabbi Yerachmiel Tilles
“A Plate of Food”
Tales from the Past
Chabad.org

What does stinginess with money, a willingness to feed the hungry, and an only son of a chassid being drafted into the Russian army have in common? On the surface, not very much, but Rabbi Tilles’ commentary tells the whole tale.

But not quite all of it as you’ll see.

The chassid, after much begging and pleading, could not change the Rebbe’s answer, so he turned to another option, the Rebbe’s youngest son, with whom the chassid was good friends. The chassid beseeched the Rebbe’s son (and his eventual successor, Rabbi Shmuel 1834-1882; known as the Maharash), and the young Shmuel promised he would do what he could to change the Rebbe’s response. But when Shmuel approached his father with the matter, he was given the same answer that the Rebbe gave the chassid: “I cannot help him at all.”

Shortly thereafter, the Rabbi Menachem Mendel summoned his son to his study and asked him to bring a Midrash Tanchuma. The Rebbe leafed through it to the week’s reading of Mishpatim, and showed his son section 15 there, concerning the verse, “If money you will lend” (Exodus 22:24):

Says the Holy One, blessed be He: “A poor person was struggling for his life, to escape starvation, and you gave him a coin and saved his life. I promise that I will pay you back ‘a life for a life’: If tomorrow your son or daughter will be seriously ill or in any life-threatening situation, I will remember the good deed that you did… and I will repay you ‘a life for a life.’ “

Rabbi Shmuel was perplexed. What did his father have in mind in showing him this passage?

A few days later, the news reached Lubavitch that the chassid’s son had been released, and for no apparent reason. The Rebbe was visibly delighted by the report.

But there was a reason, at least according to Chassidic midrash (remember, we have no way of telling if this story is even remotely factual…but that’s not the point). There was something important in the lesson the Rebbe taught his son a few days earlier. What had the family of the draftee done to merit that their son be released from service and the restoration of his life? When questioned, neither parent could think of anything special. Then the boy’s mother thought of something.

“That very day, a poor person came to the house and asked us to give him something to eat. At first we told him that we were so worried about our son who was going to be drafted that day that we really couldn’t deal with him. But then he pleaded with us: it had been a long time since he had eaten anything at all and he was starving, and how could it be that a Jew did not have time or food for another Jew who was so hungry! We realized our mistake and served him a huge meal, from what we had prepared to be a special farewell meal for our son. None of us had the appetite to eat anyway, because we were so upset. Then…”

While this is a very inspiring tale, why should we pay any special attention to it? The story is like a thousand other stories of the Chassidim. What can it teach a Christian about kindness, charity, and giving life?

“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on his glorious throne. Before him will be gathered all the nations, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. And he will place the sheep on his right, but the goats on the left. Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’” –Matthew 25:31-40 (ESV)

So consider the next time someone needs a helping hand from you, even when you are in distress yourself, even when you are distracted by your own problems, and even if your problems are serious, such as the impending loss of your only son. The gift of one small morsel of food (and if it’s a huge meal, so much the better) to a hungry man may make a tremendous difference, not only for the hungry man, but for you.

Turn away from evil and do good; seek peace and pursue it. –Psalm 34:14 (ESV)

Maybe you’re thinking I’m being unreasonable. Maybe you’re thinking that I can’t be serious. Maybe you’re thinking that it would be too hard for you to help another person while facing a crisis of your own. And yet, God calls us to serve Him under all circumstances. Certainly we expect Him to serve us no matter what we’re going through and no matter what else is happening in the world.

You and I are only flesh and blood and bone. We’re weak. How can we stand up under the pressures of life and still be expected to help someone less fortunate than we are? There are two ways to express the answer:

You have to keep moving forward. As long as you’re holding on to where you were yesterday, you’re standing still.

-Rabbi Tzvi Freeman
“Don’t Just Stand There”
Based on letters and talks of the Rebbe
Rabbi M. M. Schneerson
Chabad.org

Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming. Just keep swimming, swimming, swimming. What do we do? We swim, swim.

–Dory

Do good. Seek peace. Keep swimming.

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Modesty

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Ever wondered why the ark in your synagogue has two coverings – a door and a curtain?

The first mention of the concept of the curtain is found in the Talmud. Today this curtain is called the parochet (Heb. פרוכת).

The ark, known as the aron kodesh (Heb. ארון קודש), is considered one of the holiest components of the synagogue; the actual Torah scrolls which are kept inside the ark are the holiest.

In the Holy Temple in Jerusalem there was a curtain separating the “Holy” chamber and the “Holy of Holies” chamber. “And you shall place the table on the outer side of the dividing curtain…”

The curtain in the Temple was not used to separate the rooms; there was a stone wall for that. The curtain, explains Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki, known as Rashi, was a sign of modesty and respect for the Holy Ark which was kept in the Holy of Holies.

The same is true for the ark in the synagogue. The Torahs are wrapped in individual coverings, the ark has a door, and we add an extra curtain as a sign of modesty and respect for the holy scrolls.

-Rabbi Dovid Zaklikowski
“Why is There a Curtain Covering the Ark in my Synagogue?”
Chabad.org

What I quoted above might be just an interesting, educational tidbit except for the following:

And behold, the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. And the earth shook, and the rocks were split. The tombs also were opened. And many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised, and coming out of the tombs after his resurrection they went into the holy city and appeared to many. When the centurion and those who were with him, keeping watch over Jesus, saw the earthquake and what took place, they were filled with awe and said, “Truly this was the Son of God!” –Matthew 27:51-54 (ESV)

For he himself is our peace, who has made us both one and has broken down in his flesh the dividing wall of hostility by abolishing the law of commandments expressed in ordinances, that he might create in himself one new man in place of the two, so making peace, and might reconcile us both to God in one body through the cross, thereby killing the hostility. –Ephesians 2:14-16 (ESV)

I’m really not bright enough or at least not sufficiently educated in theological issues to really address this issue, but it came up while I was reading so I thought I’d blog about it anyway.

In truth, I doubt there’s a way to connect the small article by Rabbi Zaklikowski to the New Testament verses I’ve referenced, but if nothing else, I guess I can illustrate how differently Judaism and Christianity view the parochet. It’s also important to remember, before I proceed, that Rabbi Zaklikowski’s commentary is midrash rather than established fact, relative to the “modesty” of the Torah scrolls. With all that said, let’s continue.

From Christianity’s point of view, the parochet represents something of a problem. It is both what separates man from God and what separates Jew from Gentile (specifically Gentile Christian). It is commonly believed that when Jesus died, the splitting of the parochet, which separated the Holy place from the Holy of Holies, indicated that through Christ’s blood, there was no longer any separation between man and God. To put it in Christian vernacular, “man could now boldly approach the Throne of God” without the intermediary of the Levitical Priesthood.

The second symbolic representation of the parochet was the separation of Judaism, which for thousands of years was the sole keeper of ethical monotheism, the Torah, the Shabbat, and access to the God of Abraham, from the rest of humanity who were not inheritors of the covenant of Sinai. Through Jesus, the separation was torn down and now all men, not just the Jews, could approach God. There was no need to access God through Judaism and the Jewish priests. The distinctions between Jew and Gentile were torn away and everyone became “one new man” before God.

Well, that’s how the Christians see it.

But looking at the parochet from Rabbi Zaklikowski’s perspective, it isn’t an undesirable barrier at all but rather, a protector and a sign of significance and special Holiness. Putting a veil between man and the most Holy place indicates that it is indeed the most Holy place; something not to be treated casually or as something common or ordinary.

This provides, or rather confirms something for me (and remember, this is all symbolism and parable, not concrete fact or Biblical truth). It has often bothered me how Christianity seems to treat Holy things as common. Jesus is a “good buddy.” God Almighty, Creator of the Universe, vast, infinite, omnipresent, omnipotent God, is actually a cute, cuddly cosmic teddy bear and anyone can just crawl up onto His lap and squeeze Him, and hold onto His furry, little tummy. I’ve even heard some women say that they occasionally imagine falling asleep in bed while being held in Christ’s arms.

Wow, really?

I can understand being hurt and sad and broken and needing access to a comforter beyond what we have access to within humanity; someone who knows us, understands us, sympathizes with us, and yet, has access to the Throne of God and can intercede for us with the Almighty, asking for mercy, comfort, and grace.

Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need. –Hebrews 4:14-16 (ESV)

On the other hand, in order to serve our own wants and needs, we have reduced the Jewish Messiah King and the One God of eternity, the great and awesome Ein Sof, down to mere shadows and objects of personal convenience.

We don’t want Jesus to be separated from us by anything so we make him our neighbor, our buddy, our “lover” (I say that in a non-sexual way), and our BFF.

That isn’t normally how a disciple treats his Master or how a subject considers her King.

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to put the parochet back up at some point so we can preserve our sense of respect and honor of God as is His due, and to show glory and majesty to the King who came once and who will come again in power.

But what about the separation between Christian and Jew? How will putting parochet back up affect the “one new man?”

I’ve discussed that subject, from one point of view or another, for the past several years. What is the Christian responsibility to the Jew in terms of encouraging Jewish Torah observance, supporting the restoration of national Israel and her redemption, and thus summoning the great and terrible day of the Lord’s return?

In order to have a role in that, there must be some sort of distinction between Christian and Jew, especially if Gentile Torah observance isn’t what’s required to initiate Israel’s national redemption and everything that will follow. To tear down the parochet, removes the mechanism by which the Messiah will return. How can we do that?

Then what am I saying? Am I dismissing scripture? Am I discounting the Gospel of Matthew and the letter of Paul to the Ephesians? Not at all. I am saying that these events may not mean what we’ve been taught they mean. They are two, isolated text strings that have been used as part of a long pattern of the church’s supersessionist theology but which, on an actual lived and spiritual level, may represent something other than what we imagine.

After all, when the parochet in the Temple was torn, do we think that it was never repaired, and remained rent until the final destruction of the Temple and the razing of Jerusalem decades later? And was Paul’s metaphorical language meant to literally mean the Temple’s parochet, or was something else removed, the hostility, which may simply have been the attitudes between Jew and non-Jew which we see Peter overcoming in Acts 10?

I can’t say for sure. Perhaps New Testament scholars have their own theories. All I’m suggesting is that we might want to treat God with a tad bit more awe and reverence than what we are accustomed to, and we might want to consider that the Christian role in redeeming Israel may require removing the barriers of ethnic and religious “hostility,” without removing ethnic and religious distinctions, so that we can work in complementary fashion to perform Tikkun Olam, to repair our broken world, and to make it ready for what God has planned to happen next.

Just a few thoughts to ponder on today’s “morning meditation.”

 

 

"When you awake in the morning, learn something to inspire you and mediate upon it, then plunge forward full of light with which to illuminate the darkness." -Rabbi Tzvi Freeman