Tag Archives: Judaism

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Falling and Rising

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Rabbi Noah Weinberg was visiting the United States of America. He spent one Shabbat in a small New Jersey community. The people were friendly, and because of the small size of the congregation for Rabbi mingled freely with all the congregants. On Shabbat afternoon, when they sat to eat Seudah Shelisheet, the third Shabbat meal, a young man who was sitting next to the Rabbi began a conversation, which expressed his frustration with his ability to learn Torah. The young man described the many hours in the many techniques he had tried in order to grasp the difficult concepts of the Talmud study.

“How come I just can’t get it?” he asked. “No matter what I do, it seems my conclusions are wrong when I get a chance to review with my Rabbi. I am about to give up,” he said he reported.

-Rabbi Raymond Beyda
“Try Try Again”
Commentary on Parashas Terumah
Torah.org

On last Friday’s extra meditation, I posted a video of Rev. LeeAnne Watkins, Rector at St. Marys, St. Paul, a faith community located in the Merriam Park neighborhood of St. Paul, Minnesota. As you may recall, she was lamenting that after “years of experience and lots of good will, traditional Faith Formation programming is floundering in communities across the country,” including her own. In response, the ministerial staff at St Mary’s had stopped offering all adult education classes. They cancelled everything. They gave up. Rev. Watkins gave up.

I just got an email notice from WordPress.com notifying me that the domain name for this blog will expire in 90 days. I can either choose to renew it for another year, or let it lapse, sending my “morning meditations” into obscure oblivion. Believe me, there are times when I’m tempted to give up, too. The contentiousness and extreme lack of unity within the community of faith in Jesus Christ is just stunning at times. It’s not only the lack of unity, but the hostility expressed in our various online exchanges that makes me wonder if there even is a community of faith in the Messiah anymore. Everyone is so concerned with protecting their own turf and their own theologies, usually at the expense of everyone else who calls Jesus “Master” and “Lord.”

An extreme, though understandable, example is found in Lawrence H. Schiffman’s review of Rabbi Shmuley Boteach’s controversial book, Kosher Jesus as posted at JewishJournal.com. Even the concept of attempting to establish peace between Judaism and Christianity is depicted in widely different ways by these two Jewish gentlemen:

Most difficult to accept is Boteach’s claim that Jews should re-accept Jesus as one of their own teachers, so that Jews and Christians will share this common teacher and unite in our service of God. This notion is probably the cause of the great controversy that already surrounds this book. In making this proposal the author ignores two major issues: 1) The symbolism of Jesus in Western culture where Jews were taunted, persecuted and killed in Jesus’ name. It is simply insensitive to expect, as Boteach does, that this experience should be forgotten so quickly. 2) The need for Judaism to draw clear lines between itself and Christianity to avoid losing adherents to the dominant faith. The Jewishness of Jesus is regularly used in evangelizing Jews by Christian proselytizers to ease the way from Judaism to Christianity. So there is no sense to the proposal to reclaim Jesus as a teacher and hero. He is best left to his Christian adherents, even if he was once a fellow Jew who lived by the Jewish tradition.

Although Rabbi Boteach advocates Jews attempting to reintegrate the historical and Jewish Jesus back into Judaism in order to foster Jewish/Christian peace, Professor Schiffman believes that such peace can only be achieved and maintained by abandoning any hope that Jesus could be considered Jewish, relegating him to the exclusive realm of “Gentile god”. While I can certainly understand the need to separate the Christian Jesus from modern Judaism, given the traditional enmity between the two religions, it is still discouraging that Judaism is unable or unwilling to at least consider the teachings of the Jewish teacher from Natzeret, even apart from Christian rhetoric.

Of course, there are plenty of disagreements within Christianity and particularly between the church and the Messianic Jews who have accepted the Nazarene as Master and Messiah, so I don’t have to go looking too far for discouragement. Going back to Rabbi Beyda’s commentary, at the level of the individual, disappointment doesn’t have to be caused by interfaith conflicts. Just facing personal inadequacies can be enough to make you, or rather, to make me want to give up.

But what about our metaphorical Talmud student. Is his case truly hopeless. I found an interesting answer from a very non-religious source:

In this new paper, Moser et al. extends this research by looking at how beliefs about learning shape these mostly involuntary error-related signals in the brain, both of which appear in less than half a second. More specifically, the scientists applied a dichotomy first proposed by Carol Dweck, a psychologist at Stanford. In her influential research, Dweck distinguishes between people with a fixed mindset — they tend to agree with statements such as “You have a certain amount of intelligence and cannot do much to change it” — and those with a growth mindset, who believe that we can get better at almost anything, provided we invest the necessary time and energy. While people with a fixed mindset see mistakes as a dismal failure — a sign that we aren’t talented enough for the task in question — those with a growth mindset see mistakes as an essential precursor of knowledge, the engine of education.

-Jonah Lehrer
“Whe Do Some People Learn Faster?”
October 4, 2011
Wired.com

I encourage you to read the entire article but in brief, research seems to support the idea that what you tell yourself about learning affects your ability to learn more and to learn faster. If you believe learning is only an effect of your raw, native intelligence, then you internally set limits that you cannot and will not exceed. If, on the other hand, you believe that time and effort can create change and expand your ability to learn beyond your current thresholds, then you indeed will learn more and exceed your limitations.

Interestingly enough, that’s not much different from the advice Rabbi Weinberg gave to the troubled Talmud student.

“That is the worst solution, you could choose” the rabbi responded. “A person has to understand that the learning of Torah is not something that a human being can do without the help of Hashem. Hashem expects you to put in all the effort you can, and then he will produce the results.”

The young man listened and was encouraged. The respect he had for the sage gave him the strength to continue with his suggestion of try try again. Not long after he made a breakthrough. He reached a level where he was able to prepare a portion of the Talmud on his own. Today that young man is a practicing Rabbi in his community teaching others how to learn and how to be patient, if at first they do not succeed.

I’ve presented a lot of content to express what has already been said in a single sentence attributed to 19th century educator Thomas H. Palmer: If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again. W.C. Fields said something similar, but it’s hardly as useful. Then there’s what the brother of the Master said.

Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. –James 1:2-4 (ESV)

Am I trying to give you some sort of pep talk? Not at all. If anything, I’m trying to encourage myself. Given the sad shape the world is in lately, the spiritual struggles of one human being who otherwise is doing fairly well don’t really stack up all that much. To extend that thought back into the realm of famous Hollywood quotes, here’s what the “great sage” Rick (played by Humphrey Bogart) had to say:

I’m no good at being noble, but it doesn’t take much to see that the problems of three little people don’t amount to a hill of beans in this crazy world. Someday you’ll understand that.

–Casablanca (1942)

If I (or anyone else) feels alone in the world of faith, it’s not because we are separated from God, it’s because we are separated from each other as human beings and disciples of the Master. That separation is largely by choice. We choose to believe this or that about what the Bible says, which makes it difficult for us to associate with people who interpret the Bible differently. We choose to organize a worship service on a particular day, using specific prayers, and songs, and sermons, and others choose to do it differently on a different day. Then we tell ourselves that one type of service “feels at home” while another type “feels uncomfortable,” but those are choices, too.

There’s nothing wrong about making those choices, but having made them, we live with the consequences. I’ve made choices and am living with the consequences now. I can choose to do nothing or choose a different direction and then there will be more and different consequences. Rev. Watkins and the folks at St. Mary’s made a choice and now they, and the people who attend their church, will live with the consequences. If the Talmud student had given up, there would have been consequences too, but he chose to go on and the consequence for perseverance was to become a Rabbi.

We like to think that we make one choice and we never have to revisit it again, but I find that I am looking at the choices I’ve made every day and continually confronting the consequences, adjusting my studies, my searches, my prayers, and my actions all the time as a result. A relationship with God is incredibly dynamic. If I were to dare to become comfortable with my choices, I have no doubt He would challenge me into discomfort, and then I would have to learn something by generating some effort. What we learn isn’t always what we want to learn but it all adds up to something, though I’m not always sure what. In the end, the only thing I know how to do is to move forward, whether I ultimately choose to continue this blog after the next 90 days or not. I can’t see around the next bend on this “trail of faith” which I suppose makes sense. Faith is pursuing the unseen, not the knowable. God is unseen but sometimes, so are people. Even though I know that my goal is holiness and it is God, what the finish line looks like, and whether I’ll accompany anyone else on the journey, is a mystery.

I only know that I can’t give up what I’m doing, whether it is chasing the scorching Sun like Icarus and plummeting to earth in flames, or like the Phoenix, rising painfully from my own burnt and smoldering ashes. I only know that I have to keep trying, regardless of the consequences. Because God will let me do no less.

 

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Shopping for a Christian Church

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Likewise, Gentile Christians are in brotherhood with Jewish Christians, reckoned as spiritually circumcised in heart (Rom 2:26) and thus joined to Abraham through faith (Gal 3:29). Here then is racial diversity within spiritual unity, in the same way as a Christian man and wife are diverse in their spiritual unity (Gal 3:28). This same diversity in unity is strongly intimated in Rom 15:8-9 since “Christ has become a servant of the circumcised on behalf of the truth of God, to confirm the promises to the fathers, and so that Gentiles may glorify God for His mercy” because of their inclusion as Gentiles with the fathers.

-Pastor Barry E. Horner
“Chapter 10: Israel and a Romans 11 Synthesis” (pg 278)
Future Israel: Why Christian Anti-Judaism Must Be Challenged

Hoch also quoted A.T. Hanson on this issue. While explaining that the prevailing interpretation of Phil 3:3 identifies the “we” as all true Christians, Hanson nevertheless declared that this understanding…

…seems quite foreign to Paul’s thought and means actually reading into Philippians ideas which seem to have originated at the time of the Reformation…The Philippians, being Gentiles, would have no reason to boast in the flesh anyway. Paul goes on to describe what he means by this phrase in the ensuing verses: it is plain that he means boasting of the national and spiritual privileges peculiar to the Jews. This the Philippians could not do…It is simpler to take “we” here as “we believing Jews”, or even “we, Paul and Timothy”, in whose name the letter is written. We know that Timothy was circumcised. So there is no good reason for maintaining that the use of “the circumcision” here suggests that Paul could apply the name Israel to Gentiles.

-A.T. Hanson, The Pioneer Ministry (London: SCM, 1961), 35
as quoted in Horner, pg 277

There’s really a lot going on in this chapter of Horner’s book, but space won’t allow me to insert all of the relevant quotes. If I tried, I might as well just copy and paste the chapter in verbatim. Actually, I’m not just writing another anti-supersessionism rant. I have a different, but related purpose for this “extra meditation” today.

I don’t agree with everything each of these gentlemen says in their respective books, but they are still refreshing to me. I tend to read mostly Jewish commentaries, but I’ve been reading Horner as part of my research into superessionism relative to my ongoing series on that topic in FFOZ’s Messiah Journal. What’s really exciting is that I’m reading the works of Christian authors and Pastors who actually agree that the church has not replaced the Jews in the covenant promises. I know they’re out there somewhere. Now if only I could find them.

Let me explain.

Not long ago, I discovered that “plan A” wasn’t going to work. Plan A was my separating from active participation in Messianic Jewish worship (One Law, anyway) for the purpose (well, it’s one of the reasons) of joining my wife in classes and services at our local Reform and Chabad synagogues. It took awhile, but I eventually discovered that it wasn’t just my former association with Messianic Judaism that made my wife hesitant to include me in that part of her life. It is my active and continuing faith as a Christian.

That’s not something I’m going to walk away from, even for the slim chance that my wife would feel more comfortable including me in her Jewish communities (and I don’t think it would do any good anyway). So plan A is shot to heck. Now I can either exist in isolation as a person of faith, or I can attempt to find some sort of community in which to participate as a Christian. But that presents a problem.

I previously wrote at length regarding all the roadblocks that stand in the way of my attending a church. On the other hand, there must be some churches that aren’t dripping with supersessionist rhetoric, aren’t there? I decided to look for one by querying a Christian Discussion Group several days ago. As the saying goes, except for one person trying to convince me that the church has replaced the Jews, the silence has been deafening (a second, more helpful person, responded while I was composing this blog).

But then, you have these Christian authors that make such encouraging statements. I mean, do these guys worship in heavily anti-Jewish churches and just keep their mouths shut, or are there actual havens of sanity and brotherhood under the sign of the cross? You couldn’t prove the latter by me, but since I’m facing a move to “plan B” now, I need to start somewhere.

I haven’t the faintest idea how to “shop” for a church.

I’ve occasionally talked to people who have been around churches for decades and can go into a church and assess its theology and how it operates almost immediately. They tell me what they see and hear that convinces them that the church is this and that, but I haven’t the faintest idea what they’re talking about. I went to a Lutheran church as a kid and then, decades later, I “came to the Lord” (I hate to say it, but “Christianese” still makes me crazy) in a Nazarene church (which ultimately turned out to be a bad experience, with a few bright spots mixed in), but that’s it. I don’t know from larger “organized Christianity”. The church, as in “all churches everywhere,” is a mystery to me. Actually, given my general outlook, the idea of “church shopping” makes me nervous.

But I’m getting a little tired of only being able to talk about what I think, feel, and believe in a virtual environment. It would be nice to occasionally address human beings face to face. However, I don’t want to get into a verbal “knock down-drag out” in a church because I don’t comfortably blend in to the homogenous Christian scenery, relative to Judaism. If I encounter a supersessionist attitude or worse, an anti-Semitic one, I’m liable to take it personally since my wife and kids are Jewish.

Does anyone have any ideas as to how to proceed? I’m not necessarily in a rush, and in fact, I’d like to plot, plan, and scheme, so to speak, about my next move. I have to admit, the thought of walking into a church again is intimidating. I call myself a Christian but socially, (which is a lot of what going to church is about) I’m anything but.

If you aren’t a regular visitor on this blog, you’ll need to get some idea of who I am and where I’m coming from. Since I more or less wear my heart on my sleeve when I write, just read four or five of my blog posts (the most recent, or pick some at random), and you’ll get a pretty good idea about how I see things.

Oh, I live near Boise, Idaho if that helps any.

Thanks.

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The Man Without a Face

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The source of all illness is the lovesickness of the soul. She yearns to return to her Beloved Above, and so is repulsed by the human form, her prison of pain.

Two things, then, must be repaired, and body and soul will be healed:

The human body must open itself to become a holy temple for the Infinite G-d who desires it for His dwelling. The soul must learn to discover the Infinite G-d from within this human form, the place where He most desires to dwell.

-Maamar Ani Hashem Rof’echa
as referenced by Rabbi Tzvi Freeman
“Love Sickness”
Chabad.org

That’s an interesting statement coming from an Orthodox Jewish Rabbi, since the idea of the human body being a Temple for the Spirit of God is such a Christian concept, going all the way back to Acts 2. And yet, as I mentioned recently, the concept of each Jew being a container for the Divine Presence (which probably isn’t the same as the Holy Spirit, but what do I know) is also very Jewish.

This brings to mind what I’ve heard in some Christian “advertisements” recently: (the tale of “the church meets Madison Avenue” isn’t exactly new, more’s the pity) Christianity: it’s not a religion, it’s a relationship. This implies that only through Christianity can a person have a “personal relationship with our Lord Jesus Christ,” and thereby, God. Do I catch a hint of supersessionism in this assumption? Where in the New Testament does it say that through Jesus, we enter into a personal relationship of any kind, or that such a relationship is unique to the modern disciples of Christ?

But I get it. Christianity is continuing to correct what I have recognized as something of a flaw. It’s trying to build an identity.

I suppose I’m overstating my point. Christianity has a very recognizable identity in the world. If I were to walk up to just about anyone and say, “I’m a Christian,” no matter who they were, they’d immediately come up with some sort of idea as to what being a Christian means. Some of those ideas are pretty dismal, but it’s not like anyone would respond, “What does that mean?”

However, my problem with Christianity is my identity as a Christian. To me, the Christian identity seems incomplete and poorly defined. Maybe one of the reasons I’m somewhat attracted to Judaism is that, by comparison, the life of a religious Jew is very well-defined, depending on the branch of Judaism to which he subscribes. The Torah and Talmudic rulings contain a great deal of identifying information that defines the day-to-day role of a Jew among his people, within society, and in relation to God. For the Christian, who has grace in place of the Torah, the definition is rather anemic by comparison. The “freedom” a Christian has in Christ allows for a great deal of latitude, perhaps too much in some cases. Also, in order for that freedom to exist, Christianity must remove the definition the Torah provides for the Jewish people. For most Christians, in order for Christ to live, Judaism must die, and historically this has meant the Jewish people must die with it, either physically or through conversion and assimilation.

But I don’t believe in that definition of Christianity. It would make absolutely no sense for Jesus, Peter, James, and later, Paul, Titus, and Timothy to promote and support a sect of Judaism that was self-annihilating. By “creating” a religious expression that was expressly anti-Jewish and then exporting it to the non-Jewish nations, the Jewish Apostles would be virtually guaranteeing the complete destruction of their way of life, the Jewish religious devotion to God, and every single lesson that was taught by the Jewish Messiah, their Master.

Why would they do that?

The answer is, they didn’t. They couldn’t have.

So where did he go? Where did the original Jesus disappear to? Why can’t we find him in the churches and in the Christian Bible studies?

I said before that Christianity has a very recognizable and robust identity. I didn’t say it was the same identity that the very first non-Jewish disciples had as they embraced the teachings of the Jewish Sage from Natzaret. If I could sit down with Cornelius (see Acts 10), even for one hour, and talk to him (assuming we had a language in common), what could he tell me about being a Gentile disciple of the Master? What world could he show me that has since been lost to antiquity? What portrait of discipleship could he paint? What tapestry of holiness could he weave?

Jesus once asked in lament, “when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?” (Luke 18:8 ESV) I ask, when he returns, will he find a faith in God among the church that he even recognizes? Is what we teach in the church even remotely associated with what he taught in either content or intent? And will the Gentile Christian church even recognize a fully Jewish Rabbi and Messiah when he returns looking for some remnant of his people among Israel and even in the nations? I wonder if we’ll just miss each other in the crowd? Jesus will be too Jewish for the church and Christians will be too anti-Judaism to be recognized as disciples of the Jewish Messiah. “And then will I declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from me, you workers of lawlessness.” (Matthew 7:23 ESV)

I suppose my big problem is that I need to open myself up to the infinite God and become a living Temple for His Presence. Then I must learn to recognize that Presence within this marred and imperfect man of flesh and blood. It sounds simple, but it is enormously complex. I have to disagree with the Christian “marketing department” and say that Christianity is a religion, but it is one whose face is unrecognizable to me. The face of the church looks imperfect, or even sometimes absent altogether, as I search for the face of my Master on its walls and in its sanctuaries. Thus, as a self-professed Christian, I too am a man without a face, searching in the mirror for something I recognize as human and more than human.

Religion is the interface by which we encounter God. Put in terms that might be a little more “Christian-friendly,” it’s the interface by which we build our relationship with God. It’s the lessons and the conditions and rituals and theologies that create the structure in which we can live out a life of faith. Most people don’t climb a mountain through uncharted territory. Instead, we follow the trails that have been created by those who went before us. In some cases, we create our own trails, but we must be careful that they lead up into the light rather than down into the thousand, thousand pits of darkness that are waiting to accept the unwary and the foolish.

I am following what I believe is the right trail for me, but I am alone. Few, if any, have used this particular path. I suppose I could allow myself the small conceit of believing that I am progressing through the narrow gate. The wide gate is easy and many travel through it, but that’s not the course the Master has recommended. (Matthew 7:13-14)

But then, that could just be a conceit and an excuse as to why I find no companions with me on my journey. It is said that, in all of our roles as disciples, one happens to be as “living sacrifices.” (Romans 12:1) But aren’t sacrifices supposed to be without blemish? I feel anything but unblemished.

The Rav of Tchechnov taught a very practical lesson from a halachic principle brought on today’s daf. “Our sages explain from the verse that only a sacrifice which is unblemished may be offered on the altar.” The rebbe began to weep as he said, “It would appear that we do not fulfill the mitzvah of selfsacrifice while saying shema yisrael each day. Clearly if a person sins he is likened to a blemished sacrifice which is not accepted on high.”

But a moment later the rebbe strengthened himself and joyously exclaimed, “But a temporary blemish does not disqualify a sacrifice. Clearly, when it comes to a Jew, a sin is no more than a temporary blemish since he can do teshuvah. In Kiddushin we find that if a wicked person marries a woman on condition that he is righteous, there is a doubt whether the marriage takes effect. Perhaps he repented for a moment, in which case he was a tzaddik and they are married. We see that one who repents is immediately considered to be a tzaddik.”

The Meor Einayim, zt”l, writes similarly, that one who does not believe that he can become a baal teshuvah by doing teshuvah in an instant hasn’t yet done a true teshuvah!

Daf Yomi Digest
Stories Off the Daf
“A Temporary Blemish”
Temurah 7

I’ve had it pointed out to me before, that it is uncertain at best, just how far a Christian can apply the teachings of the Jewish sages to a life of faith in Christ, but I have to try, even if I fail completely. There’s just too much “overlap” between Jewish and Christian concepts, in spite of what I said earlier, to ignore the possibility that we who are Gentile disciples can learn from a Jewish template. After all, it is from an ancient version of that template that men such as the Roman Cornelius first learned to love the God of Israel. If he could find a place for himself in that world, then why can’t I? Because the church forbids it? Because the synagogue won’t accept it? If the original Messianic faith of those like Cornelius is lost, then so am I. But I can’t give up trying to become, even momentarily, unblemished. For only in that state, may I be allowed to seek to touch, however briefly, the hem of the garment of the lover of my soul. Without that hope, I have nothing and I am nothing. And when I look in the mirror, the man I see has no face and he, and I, am no one.

For my world is hollow, but I must touch the sky.

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Losing My Faith in Religious People

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Normally, I build my blog posts around one or two interesting or inspiring quotes I’ve found during my studies, but today there’s nothing that applies, or at least nothing that applies to how I feel. “Christian marketing” is fond of advertising “Christianity: It’s not a religion, it’s a relationship.” That’s bunk. It’s a religion. That’s not a bad thing, but as I read recently (albeit from a non-Christian source), “…This phrase sets up a classical logical fallacy, called a false dichotomy (more specifically, it’s black-and-white thinking, a sub-class of the false dichotomy)…The phrase implies that there are two choices. It’s either religion, or a relationship.”

There’s nothing wrong with a religion. I’ve said many times before (and I will again in tomorrow’s morning meditation) that religion is the interface by which we learn to understand God. Religion is the structure in which we comprehend the specifics of our faith, including how to interpret the Bible, the nature of prayer, and any traditions (yes, Christianity has traditions) and rituals that help us to operationalize and express our faithfulness behaviorally. The problem is, I’m losing my faith in religion.

Actually, I’m losing my faith in the human beings who are involved in religion. Well, no, not all of them. I have very high regard for most of the people I communicate with (primarily over the Internet) in the world of faith, but others can be a royal pain. Maybe it’s not their fault. I mean, we all have our moods, and our needs, and our insecurities. Whenever you add religion or “righteousness” to that mix though, you usually get something that’s bent and twisted just a little bit (and occasionally by quite a bit).

What started this rant? I was “rebuked” on an online social venue earlier today. You see, I have this thing about “experts” or maybe I have “authority issues.” It’s not that I don’t recognize and submit to authority. I have a job and I have a boss and what he says goes. There are religious authorities I respect and consider very knowledgable and wise, and I defer to their judgment. I know they know a whole lot more than I do, and more than I will probably ever know.

My problem is with the sort of person who really wants and needs to be called by a title, and who is continually telling everyone, “I’m an authority!” The interesting thing is, the person really is an authority and I can certainly recognize that, but by always saying “call me by such-and-thus title,” and “I’m an expert,” and “don’t question my judgment,” I keep getting the impression that they’ve got something to prove beyond their education and experience (I wouldn’t really care except I really do respect and like this person…otherwise, I’d just ignore him). I know that some people are insecure but not always for personality reasons. Sometimes, the person’s field of study, or where they got their education isn’t considered “mainstream,” and they aren’t always given the respect that is their due. In such cases, I suppose they need to compel the world around them to give them what they deserve.

But it still rubs me the wrong way. I’ve known too many people, particularly in the world of religion, who adopted roles, and titles, and authority that they certainly did not earn by education, experience, or temperament. They just “needed” to be a big shot and by inference, they needed everyone around them to be “little shots,” if that makes any sort of sense. So when someone who is genuine comes along and really has earned what they have, and they aren’t given respect by everyone around them, they have two choices: blow it off, or push back.

It’s the pushing back that bothers me. It’s the pushing back that seems to say, “I need to be big, and to meet my needs, you need to be little.” It’s the pushing back in a religious world where even the Master we all follow valued humility above blatant honors. It’s not like Jesus doesn’t deserve honors and it’s not like he doesn’t receive them. Yet the first time he was here, he set them aside, even to the degree that he washed the feet of his disciples. Even to the degree that he died for an unworthy humanity, including me.

The authorities who I have respected the most didn’t need to tell me they were in charge. They didn’t need to tell me to respect their knowledge. Just by being who they were, I learned to respect them. They didn’t have to make it a command. It’s ironic that people who God has given great gifts and who use those gifts in His Name, can still push back and push away those of us who are just trying to keep our heads above water. If the pushing keeps up, I’m going to be pushed out, and down, and I’ll drown in a sea of someone else’s religious authority and personal requirements.

I’m losing my faith in religion. I’m losing my faith in some of the people in religion. God is good, and great, and pure, but what human emotion does to faith and religion is anything but. It takes a great deal of energy to be patient sometimes and you know how lousy I am at keeping my (virtual) mouth shut. So I need to be able to push back as well, or let myself be pushed out of the body of faith altogether. I’m already isolated enough without someone, even a well-deserving someone, saying, “you’re not good enough.” I guess that’s what I hear when someone says, “I’m an authority,” or “you should respect me,” or “call me such-and-thus and not my first name.”

But as annoying as people like this are at times, they aren’t the real problem. I am (I suppose it always comes back to that). People like this are everywhere and sometimes they just can’t be avoided. They are in the world of religion and if I want to learn from them, I can’t avoid them…or I avoid them and avoid learning the lessons they are very good at teaching (the intentional lessons…not the unintentional one I’m talking about). Here’s what I need to learn:

“Education is the ability to listen to almost anything without losing your temper or your self-confidence.”

-Robert Frost, American poet

I suppose if I had learned that lesson well, I wouldn’t be writing this “extra meditation.” I suppose if the “authority” had learned that lesson well, the event that triggered my unfortunate little missive would never have occurred. It’s not the first time I’ve wanted to push back and it won’t be the last. Maybe someday, I’ll start listening to Mr. Frost (who has my respect and my attention) and learn the lesson he teaches so well. Then I will be able to listen to almost anything…and I’ll still be fine.

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The Long Flight Home

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There are two places to find the divine presence in all Her glory.

One: In the most holy of chambers, beyond the place of light and heavenly incense. There She is found by the most perfect of beings at the most sublime apexes of time.

The other: Beyond catacombs and convoluted mazes deep within the earth’s bowels. There She is found by those whose faces are charred with the ashes of failure, their hands bloody from scraping through dirt and stone, their garments torn from falling again and again and their hearts ripped by bitter tears.

There, in that subterranean darkness, they are blinded by the light of the hidden things of G-d, until that Presence will shine for all of us, forever.

So it is for the human spirit, and so it was in Solomon’s temple. There are two places for the Holy Ark: One in the chamber of the Holy of Holies; and one deep beneath that chamber, for us to find now.

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

We should expect holiness in the most holy of places, in the midst of the Heavenly Temple of God. But how can we expect to find holiness in the darkest and most dismal abyss under the earth or in the darkest heart of man? Of course, if holiness is present there, then the darkness can no longer be dark.

Or can it?

In Judaism and particularly through the philosophy of the Chabad, each of us contains a spark of the divine; of heaven come down to earth, which gives us our own unique identity and purpose. This spark is forever seeking its heavenly source, which is probably why, often against our human will, we find ourselves inexorably searching for God, so that our spark may return to Him.

I’ve recently been exploring the humanity of Jesus and have encountered some occasional resistance to my considering the “flesh” along with the spirit, but if God is One and we are, in some sense, part of God, even as Jesus was and is, then can we always separate the physical and the ethereal? Rabbi Freeman comments:

Yes, G-d is one. But, to share an analogy from the Maharal of Prague, from a simple point an infinite number of lines may be drawn through infinite dimensions.

So, too, with that divine spark within: On the one hand it is the same simple point within each one of us. Yet how that point expresses itself within you—another facet of the diamond, another ray of the light—that is unique. Both aspects, the point and its expression, are equally divine.

There’s no way to resolve this in some sort of mechanical sense or by use of a formula or diagram. This relationship within our human existence that connects to God exists, otherwise I would hardly be so obsessed with discussing it, yet I have no ability to explain the connection. The light is there in my inner darkness and it’s doing something, but I don’t know what it is, because I can’t clearly see it.

As I review my recent “meditations,” I find I’ve been writing about this a lot in one way or another. I have written of our human limits in exploring knowledge of God and how, though we are holy, can desecrate not only God, but ourselves.

Recently, I discovered that my original purpose and goal in creating this specific blog was completely in vain, and now I turn to God not knowing what to expect, and wondering if I should expect anything at all. I’ve even gone so far as to ask, in a completely Christian venue, if it’s possible for someone like me to find a church in which I, with all of my theological idiosyncrasies, could ever be at home (so far, it hasn’t worked out very well).

For many years, I called myself “Messianic,” but found that many Jews in the Messianic Jewish movement, to which I had once thought myself attached, objected to a non-Jew identifying himself as such. The Jews in Messianic Judaism saw me as a Christian, and my Jewish wife and children see me as Christian, in spite of my atypical beliefs. When I created this blog, I was determined to honor how they see me and to distance myself from anything that might cause them discomfort, and I agreed to call myself a Christian. I also felt that, if I wanted to reach a wider audience, which is part of the goal of this blog, I should attempt to reconnect with the larger body of Gentiles who call upon the name of Jesus.

So I’m a Christian.

But I wonder now if any of that matters. No, I’m not going back to calling myself “Messianic” or any variation on that theme. If indeed, it is a designation that is uniquely Jewish, I am content to leave it in that place and for those people who were called to the Creator and chosen at Sinai. But in leaving that behind, (if it was ever truly mine in the first place) I find, like fictional author George Webber (in Thomas Wolfe’s novel), you can’t go home again. I have no choice but to proceed forward into the dark unknown and seek a future to which I am blind.

And yet, if I dare the conceit of believing that the divine spark exists in me too, then the light must be there illuminating my darkness, though I can see nary a glimmer. If the spark exists, then does it conclude within me as Rabbi Freeman describes?

These two facets of the divine spark are expressed in every mitzvah: On the one hand, the act of the mitzvah is the same for each person–corresponding to the simple, essence-point of the soul. But the mental focus and passion you invest into the mitzvah, that is uniquely yours, expressing the unique mission of your soul.

Spiritual or “fleshly” (the latter being considered with disdain by many disciples of Christ) seem to be interchangeable in Jewish thought, like matter and energy in the realm of physics. In Judaism, you connect to the holy by performing “worldly” charity. I suppose it’s not as noble as prayer, laying tefillin (though this is a physical act), or singing the ancient Hebrew prayers, but it is something that is as accessible to me as to any of you reading this, or to any person who really can see only their holy light and nothing of their darkness.

Part of this blog, and my previous writing attempt, was to reinvent myself to be more consistent with how my understanding in God was being reinvented. Now I find that there is no rest for the “legless bird” and I must still continue to soar and search and continue to reinvent and reconfigure who I am and who I am in Him.

But to reverse causality, I’m going to ask the question that Rabbi Freeman already (supposedly) answered:

If the core of my being is a “spark of G-d,” then where is the me in me?

Is there a “me” in my or, as Rabbi Freeman also has said, there is only a “me” in the doing of mitzvot?

What is divine wisdom?
Divine wisdom is the inner delight of the Infinite, condensed and crystallized until fit for human consumption.

What is a mitzvah?
A mitzvah is divine wisdom condensed and crystallized until it can be performed as a physical action.

That is why in the study of Torah there is infinite delight.
That is why in the act of a mitzvah there is unlimited joy.

—Maamar Arbaah Rashei Shanim Heim, 5731

Somewhere in each of us, there is a spark of holiness. Somewhere in the holiness, is a lost human being, struggling in the glare and the abyss, trying to find his way, his face, and his name.

Somewhere in the sky, there is a bird, like the dove of Noah, soaring over an endless sea searching for a place to land and rest. Does the bird search in vain, as do I?

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Expectant

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Rabbi Yisrael Reisman describes on a tape entitled “Great Expectations” his recollections of an incident that occurred when he was yet a young Yeshiva student. He had positioned himself in his dorm room so his bed would be adjacent to the sink for some strategic purpose. The sink, he soon discovered, had a constant drip which he promptly reported to the powers that be. Understanding that it was just a matter of a washer or some such nickel or dime item he assumed it would be taken care of pronto. The next few nights he lay awake tossing and turning to the dripping faucet becoming more upset, frustrated and resentful.

Finally after a couple of days, the janitor arrived. It was a loose washer. The whole thing took a few moments and cost next to nothing. The dripping was finally was over. That very evening there was huge rain storm and as he lay there in bed ready for a good night’s sleep he became aware of the dripping from the roof to the window sill below- the same constant drip- drip and it didn’t bother him a bit.

He wondered why one drip sound stirred him so and the other had zero effect. He concluded that the dripping sound was not what was actually annoying him. The proof is that the water from the rain didn’t wrinkle his psyche at all. What bothered him about the sink? The answer is that he assumed somebody would do something about it, it would be done right away, that his request would be fulfilled and honored swiftly etc. And it wasn’t…it wasn’t true!

I once heard from Rabbi Yitzchok Kirzner ztl two words that he called “the secret to happiness”. Admittedly, at the time I felt it sounded rather negative. Over many years, though, I have grown in appreciation for the wisdom of his insight. I share it often with my children and myself too. It’s a hard pill, “Expect Nothing!”

-Rabbi Label Lam
“Expect Nothing!”
Parashas Mishpatim
Torah.org

It is true that expectations can lead to unhappiness, especially if those expectations are unrealistic or simply mistaken. A few days ago, I commented on my own expectations in a blog post called Nothing’s Perfect. Over the past year or two, I set a series of actions into motion based, in part, on what I felt was the right thing to do and what I expected should happen as a result of those actions. What I did was rather dramatic in the sense that, after many years at one congregation, serving on the board of elders and doing some writing and teaching, I gave my resignation, not only from my formal leadership position, but from membership within the congregation.

This horrified just about everyone, including my wife (her response kind of surprised me), since I was generally well-regarded in the congregation and many in the community of faith felt that difficult things would happen to me if I had no fellowship among the body of believers.

Needless to say, I felt I had compelling reasons to make such a decision and still believe my reasoning was sound. I also had expectations about what was to happen next, maybe not in the immediate sense, but over a period of weeks and months.

Guess what?

My expectations did not pan out. Like young Yisrael Reisman enduring the dripping faucet, I had an expectation about what was supposed to happen after a while. He expected someone to come fairly quickly and to fix the leak. I expected a certain response from my spouse and from God. Both of us didn’t get what we wanted in the way or the time frame that we expected.

But Rabbi Lam’s story (actually, Rabbi Reisman’s) story missed something. Here’s a clue.

Understanding that it was just a matter of a washer or some such nickel or dime item he assumed it would be taken care of pronto.

Rabbi Reisman, as a young Yeshiva student, knew the problem with the faucet could probably be fixed by replacing a cheap washer. All he needed to do, if he was tired of waiting, was to purchase this inexpensive item and repair the faucet himself. Maybe he was concerned that he shouldn’t perform this task it was supposed to be done by the janitor, but it was within his abilities (apparently) to fix the drip if he really wanted to do so.

What about me?

Fulfilling my expectation isn’t that simple, but it isn’t that difficult either, at least in principle. It depends on how I choose to look at my situation. If I feel that I have the ability to fix my own “dripping faucet,” I can choose to seek fellowship within a community of faith. It would be a matter of generating the effort to seek one out (which might involve visiting a fair number of Christian communities) and begin attending. This isn’t without its problems, as I’ve already stated in another of my “meditations,” Why I Don’t Go to Church. Nevertheless, it’s not like I am without options.

On the other hand, I could choose to look at my situation as Rabbi Reisman did when the rain started falling and dripping noises came from the window sill of his room. I can decide that there is nothing to be done. The rain is the rain and it makes all sorts of sounds, some of which are quite soothing. I could simply follow Rabbi Reisman’s example, allow the situation to be what it is, and do nothing. Here though, Rabbi Reisman did not explain the whole story. It won’t rain forever. True, we never really know how long a rain storm will last, (barring a report from the weatherman) but we know it will end at some point. We also know that God knows when the rain will end.

When Rabbi Kirzner advises “expect nothing,” it is true that if you expect nothing, you will be disappointed by nothing that happens or doesn’t happen. On the other hand, it’s difficult for most people to plan out even a trip to the grocery store without some small set of expectations. If such is true for a small task like shopping, how much more so should we have expectations when we plan out our walk on a lifelong path of faith?

It is unreasonable expectations and inflexible expectations that often get us in trouble one way or another. We expect a raise so we can afford to go on vacation, and we don’t get it. We expect our spouse to cook dinner one night and she decides to go out to see a friend instead. The result of these inflexible expectations is usually feeling resentment toward the person who disappointed us. Rabbi Reisman felt resentful toward the janitor for taking so long to fix his faucet. There are people who are very resentful of God for also not meeting expectations.

But it’s not like we can’t expect to depend on God. If we could not rely on God for our daily food, our shelter, our livelihood, and our comfort in distress, we would truly feel lost in a chaotic and random world. Fortunately, such is not the case.

He is my God, my living Redeemer,
Rock of my pain in time of distress.
He is my banner, a refuge for me,
the portion in my cup on the day I call.
Into His hand I shall entrust my spirit
when I go to sleep — and I shall awaken!
With my spirit shall my body remain.
HASHEM is with me, I shall not fear.

-from Adon Olam

Adon Olam or “Master of the Universe” is a blessing sung in synagogues all over the world on every Shabbat. It is also the last blessing recited during the bedtime Shema by a Jew right before he retires. It is an expectation that when he goes to sleep and in some small sense, enters the realm of “death,” that he will awaken the next morning, with his spirit returned to him by God. It is true that some people go to sleep and do not awaken and ultimately, as mortal beings, that awaits us all. However, we rely on God and depend on Him to preserve us and to protect us. This is why, upon awakening, a Jew recites Modeh Ani.

I gratefully thank You,
living and existing King,
for returning my soul to me with compassion;
abundant is Your faithfulness.

While I have no idea what will actually happen after I go to sleep or what each day will bring when I first wake up, I expect that God will be there during my sleeping and waking. Near the end of his life, David composed a final Psalm in which he expects that the work he has left unfinished as King will be continued by his son Solomon. It could also be read as a prophesy of the Messiah’s coming and how he will finish the work of tikkun olam; repairing our broken world.

My his name endure forever, may his name connote mastery as long as the sun endures; and all the nations will bless themselves by him; they will praise him. Blessed is Hashem, God, the God of Israel, Who alone does wondrous things. Blessed is His glorious Name forever; and may all the earth be filled with His glory. Amen and Amen.

–Psalm 72:17-19 (Stone Edition Tanakh)

I don’t know what is going to happen, today, tomorrow, or next week, but I do know that whatever happens, God will be present in my life. If I were to expect nothing, I would have no reason to be disappointed, but I would also have nothing to hope for, and without hope, what is life? The future is a great mystery to human beings but it is not an entirely dark unknown. I know that God is there, my rock and my redeemer and regardless of the direction my path of faith takes, around each bend, at the bottom of each ravine, and at the top of each height, I expect God.