Menu   

Off the Pulpit

Archives

2023  |  2022  |  2021  |  2020  |  2019  |  2018  |  2017  |  2016  |  2015  |  2014  |  2013  |  2012  |  2011  |  2010  |  2009  |  2008  |  2007  |  2006  |  2005


March


Five Minutes Longer


In years of watching people accomplish remarkable things, I have seen affirmed what my father told me when I was a child – the secret of success is stamina.

It is wonderful to have gifts, but I have known extravagantly gifted people who cannot lift their legs out of the mud. There are many explanations for the greatness of Moses, but surely central is that for forty years, each day, he lifted the burden of a people on his shoulders and bore them through the desert. Think of the mornings he arose and wished to cast off the task; he complained to God about it, but he did not give up.

No area of life is immune from the rule that determination in difficulty will yield results: in parenting, in work, in friendship and in love.

Even at crucial moments in history, it is the extra helping of stamina that makes the difference. After winning the world historical battle of Waterloo, the Duke of Wellington famously said that his soldiers were not braver than Napoleon’s, but they were braver five minutes longer.

What You Have – Who You Are


It is common to take pride in possessions, but perhaps that is why the Jewish people started out with nothing, as slaves. For the essence of Judaism is not possession but action. We are taught to take pride not in what we have but who we are. The goods of this world move from person to person, but our attributes shape our essence. The great English essayist Hazlitt says the following in his piece “On Personal Identity”:

“I have the love of power, but not of property. I should like to be able to outstrip a greyhound in speed; but I should be ashamed to take any merit to myself from possessing the fleetest greyhound in the world. I cannot transfer my personal identity from myself to what I merely call mine. The generality of mankind are contented to be estimated by what they possess, instead of what they are.”

Moses has nothing, but is everything. When the great Chofetz Chaim was visited by tourists and they saw the bareness of his possessions, one asked: “Where are your things?” The Rabbi said in turn, “Where are yours?” The startled visitor answered, “But we are just passing through.”

“Yes,” said the sage with a smile, “me too.”

February


Tell Me A Story


Scheherazade in One Thousand and One Nights tells stories that keep her alive. So long as the king is enchanted by what comes next, night after night, he will ensure her safety.

When contemplating the astonishing survival of the Jewish people I sometimes think of Scheherazade. There is a great deal of emphasis on Jewish law and interpretation and text and ritual. But history — the Jewish story — is an ever branching tree that has flourished for thousands of years. “And you shall tell your children” we are admonished over and over again. Our story sustains us.

The story is always changing. We uncover new bits and change some old ones. A fragment is unearthed, a memory recalled, a new angle lends freshness to a familiar tale. At times popular recounting and historical accuracy do not precisely mesh. Yet through it all the thread of narrative — these things happened, you should remember them, you should repeat them to those who come after — wraps itself around the hearts of generations.

As the British writer Philip Pullman said; “’Thou shalt not’ might reach the head but it takes ‘Once upon a time’ to reach the heart.” We are the Jewish people — let us tell you a story.

Older and Wiser?


When I was young I made an astonishing discovery about Jewish daily prayer. Each morning service had a confessional. I remember wondering, do we really sin each day?

When I paid attention to my own conduct and that of my classmates, I realized the prescience of the tradition. We hit each other, hurt each other and often said cruel things. We were kids. The confessional gave us a moment in each service to think about what we had done and to face up to it before God.

But I do remember thinking – surely when I get older I will get better at this! I did not like all my teachers equally but I could not imagine that they would do the sorts of things I did, so I assumed that the confessional when you got older would be pro forma – something one did because it was part of the service, but not as essential as when one was young.

Now I am the same age, and in some cases older, than the teachers I had back then. The daily confession is still in the service – and once more I tip my hat (or unclip my kippah) to the tradition, which was far wiser than I.

Marking Time


Before the final plague, the Torah sets out the calendar, announcing the first month in Spring. In slavery there is no distinction between days; each is a grueling succession of labor and harshness. But to be free means to mark time and shape it.

At the very beginning of our journey as a people, God teaches us to create sacred time. The desert may seem eternally the same, but the days themselves will not be. We count by the moon, which changes, waxing and waning, hinting at the fullness to come.

“This is the first month to you (Ex. 12:2).” Why “to you”? People who are truly free are not controlled by time. Their watches do not become handcuffs. Their lives are not dominated by the frosty ideal of efficiency. They live according to the rhythm of the seasons and the cycle of celebrations. From our first steps to freedom Jews learned that the secret is not to save time, but to sanctify it.

The Laughing Philosopher


Each of us has witnessed things that if unshared, the world will never know. I would like to tell you of a remarkable event I once saw, so that the image will live on.

There is a custom in Israel on Independence Day, Yom Ha’atzmaut, for children, sometimes carried on the shoulders of their parents, to walk around the streets with plastic hammers, bopping people on the head. I don’t know its origin, but everyone who has been there has witnessed the glee.

Many years ago on this day I was walking on Ben Yehuda Street in Jerusalem and I spotted the tall, stately figure of philosopher Emil Fackenheim. Fackenheim, most famous for his declaration after the Holocaust that we must practice Judaism to deny Hitler a posthumous victory, was walking toward my direction and I could see him clearly. A young boy on his father’s shoulders came up behind him and whacked him on the head with a plastic hammer. Fackenheim’s face darkened. He turned around and saw the boy, who was laughing hysterically. The philosopher at first smiled and then he too began to laugh. I will never forget that unique snapshot from modern Israel. I repeat it here because the story of the laughing philosopher should not be lost.

January


A Life Of Balance


Spirituality in modern teachings often emphasizes self-actualization. As a unique human being, you are called to develop your potential, your spark of godliness.

The second side of this is the call of the ‘other.’A truly ethical life, in this view, is lived less by developing your own capacities than by devoting yourself to developing the capacities of other people.

Sometimes the two are made into one – how do you awaken your own gifts? Through giving to others.

While that is partly true, the simple solution is too simple. There are areas of cultivation that require solitude and even selfishness. You cannot study, pray, think deeply, draw your family close while simultaneously doling out food to those in need, or providing comfort to the bereaved.

So among competing claims we seek balance. Each has to decide how much of life is devoted to others and how much is a cultivation of self. To everything, Koheleth reminds us, there is a season. For oneself, for others. To rest and to give. To grow your soul and to offer that grown soul to a world in need.

Poetry Of Our People


I spent my junior year abroad in Edinburgh, Scotland. There I studied literature and wrote a letter to my parents about how deeply I was enamored of the great British poets – Wordsworth, Burns, Byron and others. I will never forget my father’s reply.

He told me he was glad I was getting so much out of the year. But then he reminded me that English literature became the literature of the world “on the backs of British soldiers.” Jews, he wrote, had poets but no armies; I should not neglect Yehuda Halevy and Ibn Gabirol and Bialik and Tzernikovsky. For they too were great, he said, and moreover, “they are yours.”

Literature belongs to all humanity of course, but just as Burns has a special weight for the Scots, and Pushkin for Russians, so the Psalmist and Alterman and Amichai speak in a special way to Jewish history. Their voices, and those of other Jewish poets, were born in the synagogue, the study hall, the shtetl and the state. There is poetry in our prayers but there is also prayer in our poetry. Read it and learn who we have been and who we might become.

What Makes A Congregation


In the book of Numbers, we are told that silver trumpets will summon the congregation and set the camps to march (10:2). In a beautiful comment, Rabbi Soloveitchik delineates the difference:

“An encampment is created out of a desire for self-defense and thrives on fear. A Congregation is fashioned out of longing for the realization of an exalted moral idea and thrives on love.”

People and nations often band together out of fear. But closeness that has roots in fear will dissolve when the threat passes. More than that, there is often a residual shame in caring for one another only because we were frightened.

A true edah, a congregation, is bound by love in pursuit of something higher than themselves. The connection is more powerful and lasting than fear. The survival of the Jews is often foolishly attributed to being hated or to fear. Many groups have been hated throughout history and most are gone. The Jewish people survives because we are animated by the highest of ideals and bound together by love. From its earliest days, Israel has been far more than a camp. We are a congregation. 

5 Spiritual New Year’s Resolutions


The best resolutions are elastic—they cannot be broken with a single act. If you swear never to touch red meat, one burger ruins the resolution. If, on the other hand, you pledge to eat healthier food, each day you have a chance to fulfill the resolution anew. Below are five elastic spiritual resolutions that can carry you throughout the year.

1. Engage with people more than pixels.
Looking at a phone is quick and undemanding. Texting is easier than talking—it gives you intimacy without danger. This year, resolve to spend more time looking into someone’s eyes when you communicate with them. Replace an extended exchange on text with a meeting for coffee. Make a promise of presence.

2. Take your soul seriously.
It is easy to pretend that what we watch and how we speak have no effects on us. But the constant pounding of hatreds and dehumanization that marks so much of our media have consequences for our character. Part of who you are is the sum of the influences you choose: what you watch, who you associate with, how you speak about others both publicly and privately. Life is a continuous journey of soul shaping, and this year, resolve to keep your deep journey in mind. Turn away from something seductive but corrosive—Twitter rants full of bile, or people who continually insult those around them, or depictions of violence that take savage delight in suffering. You only get one soul; don’t squander it in things unworthy of its majesty.

3. Increase your kindness.
If you wish to feel kind, do something good. The great secret of moral growth is that it often begins from the outside. Rather than your joy leading you to smile, your smile can lead you to joy. Behave generously even when you do not feel like it and the habit will grow as will your innate quality of kindness. The act can be small or large; it can be a charitable contribution or a gentle word or help with a heavy bag on an airplane. Do it. 

4. Choose someone to forgive.
All of us have legitimate grievances in our lives. Some people are very hard to forgive but you need not begin with the toughest cases. Small acts of grace will grow. Forgive the guy who cut you off in the street; after all, you have cut people off as well, on purpose or inadvertently. Forgive the person who made an unkind remark about you. Choose a place to begin. The more you forgive, the less the world can injure you; forgiveness is a soft shield for your soul.

5. In forgiving, include yourself.
Fight against perfectionism. Leave a dropped stitch in the knitting of your life. There will always be more possibilities to get something wrong than to get it right. Allow yourself the latitude of mistakes, without self-punishing. God is supposed to be perfect, not human beings. Have expectations of yourself, but don’t enforce them with a hammer.

The New Year is here. You have not wasted a single day of the future. So here is your chance to live purposefully. Will you achieve this every day? Of course not (see #5 above). The key resolution is not to triumph or to always succeed. Resolutions of the spirit come down to one thing: in this New Year, grow.