Broad Strokes & Big Pictures: Moses, the Exodus and Israel Today

D'var Torah for Chai Minyan at Shaare Zedek, Jan 4, 2013
 
Here we are, at the start of Shemot, the second book of the Torah.  We're immediately concerned with the naming of the generations, the tribes, and their plentiful offspring, but our main focus is really Moses.  Moses has his fair share of difficulty with identity development and in his relationship with God, but eventually he gathers the Israelites for the culmination of Shemot's story--the act for which the Greek speaking Jews of Alexandria, Egypt named this book-- the Exodus Aigyptous.  Which generations of Jews have shortened to what we call Exodus.  

Ok- for those of you that missed it - there’s my crazy cool fact straight from Nahum Sarna - The name Exodus is derived from Jews whose vernacular was Greek. I like the notion that even the non-hebraicized name evolved from our people, who lived within Egypt at the time. And even though that leaves us considering two different types of Jews, in two different places, using different languages, I really want *us* to focus tonight on the broadest strokes we can imagine for Jews, no matter time or their location.

You see, recently I attended an event where David Ben Gurion’s grandson told stories of David’s experiences as the Prime Minister of Israel. In 1954, he traveled to the United States to meet with President Eisenhower and seek the help and support for difficult moments of the fledgling Israel. During that trip, in a meeting with the then State Secretary of Administration, John Foster Dulles, Ben Gurion was confronted with a high degree of arrogance:
Tell me, Prime Minister –  Dulles said - Who are the people you and your country really represent?” How is it that Jews are really the same? Being that they are Jews of Yemen, Poland, Romania, Morocco, Iraq, the Soviet Union or Brazil ”? After 2000 years of exile, can we really be talking about one nation, one culture, one legacy of Jewish tradition?

Now, for those of you knowledgeable about Israeli immigration waves and even current policies, you might be inclined to agree with Dulles at least to some extent.

But Ben-Gurion replied:
“See, Mr. Secretary, and only 200 years ago the ship Mayflower sailed from England with the first settlers who settled in what is now is the great democratic powers called the United States of America. Please, walk out on the streets and ask ten North American children the following:
What was the name captain of the ship? How long was the journey? What did the passengers eat during the Journey, and how did the sea behave? Probably , you will not get many accurate answers,” he surmised.
But “Please see now it’s been 3,000 years since the Jews left Egypt. I ask you that in one your travels around the world, try and meet ten Jewish children in different countries; asked them what was the travel called?
What was the name captain of the group?
How long was the journey?
What were the passengers eating during the journey, and finally ask how did the sea behave?
“When you have the answers, and wonder again about Israel, try to remember and appreciate the question you just asked me”.

Lately, the media has focused a lot on what separates one type of Jew from another. Whether it’s so called “Jewish garb,” economic standing, Israeli politics, women of the wall - or larger issues of gender segregation - color of skin, country of origin,  issues surrounding right of return,  or more complicated still, right to identify as a Jew, or marriage rights, it is so easy to get caught up in the disparate  and often disheartening reality. Sometimes, these are issues relevant to American society or global Jewish issues, sometimes Israel takes an American idea and translates it for it’s own cultural impact. This spring, for instance, a production of Hairspray will be performed with the Ethiopian cultural center in Jerusalem, in an effort to raise awareness about race relations in Israel. But for now, I’d like to set aside the dirty differences that may frustrate us. To acknowledge that “claims” on Torah are difficult, complicated, and understanding of Torah is ever evolving. I’d like to suggest that while this particular book of Torah emphasizes the difficult necessity of the Israelite journey from Egypt to Israel, this Parsha focuses on the hardship at home. It provides space for dissenting opinions. Moses is critical of himself and questioning of God. He doesn’t trust that he can convey God’s message to the “elders of Israel,” so much so he allows his brother to speak for him even after being given the rod that will allow him to conduct miracles to imbue the elders with faith. He’s run out of Egypt once and his confidence is shot.

I have to say - if the path of righteousness isn’t inherent or natural or even direct for the leader whom we give as the gold standard, all the moreso it doesn’t have to be for us. I am hoping we can all find more compassion where we differ from one another and when we approach the other, as well as when we approach Torah.

May we all be blessed to loosen our bounds on Torah, to listen to others understanding, reading, interpretation and incarnation. May we know a Torah that has endless life and endless meaning. May we not be limited by a search for proof, for evidence, for our own hand prints on the building bricks of the Egypt that remains today. But may we also build communities of Torah that reflect our values, our understanding, our interpretations, and may we learn to teach one another when we hear the voice of God and when we raise our voices in prayer.

(One final thought) Just over the holiday season there was a two part series entitled “Back to the Beginning” which was Christiane Amanpour’s search, along with her son, for the root of the three major monotheistic religions - in a scene where she was attempting to find where Noah’s Ark rests. One commentator, the author of Walking the Bible pointed out - We’re not going to find some lost voice of God, like a Beatles recording, that we can digitally remaster and put out for all to experience on the internet,” … many people believe that “if you can prove that one screw existed, you can prove that the entire machine existed” … 3000 years of our story and we’re still telling it in exciting, enlivening ways. We're gathering to hear it, to repeat it, to celebrate it. For me, that’s enough to prove the entire machine exists… although God as a Beatles album sure would be sweet.

Bargaining (a Tactic for Children, and Children of God)

Oh, that tactical aspect of negotiation. I've heard a lot of it lately.
Maybe it's because I've been taking public transit while I recover (at break neck speeds thanks to my extraordinary physical therapist and support system!). Maybe it's the fact I have a handful of friends who are currently grieving. Perhaps it's just the appropriate time of year, so I'm attuned to it.

Never mind the reason. When, over the course of two days, I overhear three conversations where kids are bargaining with a parent, I know something particularly cosmic is going on. Young boys, in most of these instances, pleading for a dog, or a delayed bed time. Bargaining with a mom, it seems, is not entirely different than the rituals we participate in, bargaining for our own freedoms in the coming year with our ever present parent, God.

These sons' pleas reminded me of the promises we all make, to take care of something or someone outside of ourselves (with the likes of "I'll walk the dog!" and "can my younger brother stay up too?") , the type of promises we have to disavow ourselves of as we are seated at the table of "who shall live and who shall die" this Friday night.

What I most understood from the familiar banter, stereotypical though it seemed, "I will never ask for anything again" and a "please" that held enough extra vowels to fill all the seats on the M104, was that the negotiation between parent and child is one of unique compassion, patience and attentiveness. One mother allowed her child to go through the entire argument without interruption. She let him put all of his explanations out on the table. Another said no to each sentence. Our parent is one who does not always answer right away. One who's answer we don't always agree with or want to hear. Sometimes we find God silent for too long. Long enough to wonder whether God is an absence rather than a divine presence.

May we all come to prayer this holiday season knowing that God is everything or anything we need. God may even be what we don't know we need. Our strength is in knowing how to share ourselves, our motivations, our desires, our dreams. It helps to be aware that God may not answer us right away, or in the way that we'd hoped. Because while God may not have limitations, we all do. Like a child begging to stay up late, I cannot always see the ramifications my desires might have in tomorrow's light. I hope we can each break through walls that need to be broken and identify the patterns that no longer serve us, and most importantly, I hope that we learn to better serve one another in the coming year.

May you be inscribed in the book of life, and may we all help write our own books this year.

What I'm Hiding

It's weird to get ready for the Jewish New Year, a time of soul searching, opening up, letting go, letting in, self-awareness, and reflection realizing that I've been doing myself a disservice in keeping a secret, which has, in turn, made me feel unfulfilled, frustrated and generally, resentful of those closest to me. At least, I hope that I can blame my lack of honesty and not the people.

Why have I been hesitant to disclose? For the most part, I think it's that I don't want to be a burden, because asking others to do things for me doesn't match my personality. I'm a 'do it yourself' kind of girl, independent and self-sufficient, and admitting that doing it myself is impossible is ... well... darn near impossible. So, more often than not, I have been putting on a happy face, and when I can't muster that, a blank expression. I've been ignoring my budget by taking advantage of soap.com and fresh direct. I had no clue that 3 blocks from my apartment was a drugstore clearing everything out for 50% off. And, I've been eating beans straight from the can.

Now, if you follow my food blog, you know that while I may consume chickpeas straight from a can, that wouldn't happen with anything else. Well, these were black beans. I've eaten cheese straight from a package, cereal dry, and I've stared at beautiful food on the brink in my fridge, and reached for yogurt instead ... in the last week I managed to make myself one meal, and, while delicious, I haven't touched a dirtied dish from that or the two weeks prior.

What I've been reticent to share over the past five weeks is that I've been in agonizing pain. Not just minor injury pain, which is, likely, how people perceive it. Laying down hurts. All the more so, standing hurts. A hot shower is the closest I've come to feeling good - but if that lasts longer than about 7 minutes, it's all fruitless and I'm back in pain. I have the tiniest of injuries causing all this pain, of course, just a little torn cartilage, and I've been sticking my knee brace under leggings and quietly using the chair next to me to keep it elevated.

And I've been hiding it by attempting to be social, where I can have alcohol in excess to disguise the pain, or by taking drugs that make me feel loopy and disconnected from what is going on around me. I've managed to get through my workdays, strained. Sitting up with my leg elevated for nearly 8 hours is completely exhausting ... but what I've most come to understand is that while I resent my body plenty for making me endure this - I really resent that amongst the community and the friends I boast as amongst my dearest and closest, I haven't gotten much of the support I need. All I can do is hope that it is my fault for not expressing my needs clearly. I want to believe this is true despite the fact that a number of friends have reached out, have delivered food, have come over for meals, have been tremendously, wonderfully accommodating. So I do wonder how much it's been me, and how much I must reevaluate my relationships to understand that not all of them are what I thought they were.

But then I realize, I am so profoundly grateful for the people who have been understanding, who have been supportive, who have offered me genuine well wishes, and I acknowledge that the resentment doesn't serve me. But when I'm crying on my 3 block walk home from the subway station, all I can think about is whether it's my own fault I'm not being fully supported through this.

In my heart I know that I will get through this, that I will return to my truest self with a smile, and, I hope, dancing and heels and yoga, too. What I'm unsure of is the relationships that don't emanate support now, especially the ones that don't offer as much as a "get well" sentiment, and whether I will be able or willing to foster those relationships in the future. It feels easy now to conflate the two types of pain, that of the physical and that of the soul, and I wonder whether it will wash away in this season of new beginnings, or serve to open my eyes and clear out wasted energies and fruitless friendships.

Apocolyptic News ..

Whether or not you've been bitten by the Twitter bug, my take on this media tool is mixed. Lately, more than anything else, this steam serves to remind me why I wasn't watching the TV news in the first place. I joined this particular variant strain of social and educational media for the great discounts it gave me access to. Once registered, I found even more bits of value in it. Thanks to twitter I know what's going on in the world without skimming news websites for headlines. If it's important, a news agency will send it right to me, without clogging my inbox, then I can decide to read further or not. I need to keep current on a lot of newsworthy topics for work, so what a convenient way to do so.

Besides, how dreadful could the news get if it's condensed to 140 characters?

Pretty damn dreadful.

Since the start of 2010, I've learned about natural disasters hitting the globe: earthquakes, avalanches, a terrible heatwave, a tsunami. Just today in Haiti an earthquake that has warranted another tsunami warning. Beyond the planet doing as it does, it is always painful to see reports of people inflicting pain on one another. 2010 has already brought it hard. In the form of bombs (hitting military bases, tourist sites, transit, religious institutions, and private homes), shootings, road rage, theft, sexual abuse and kidnapping. I've read about war and the threat of it, and the death of soldiers that inherently comes with military incursions and just having bases in other countries. The word "terror" or "terrorist" keeps reappearing in the feed. Hostage situations. Huge layoffs, the remnants of a country's floundering economic infrastructure. That's a lot of demolition for one optimist to handle.

Plus there are the unexplained. A 30 year old dying of 'natural' causes. Government's inability to consider gay marriage equal to heterosexual marriage. The news items that hurt my heart.

Don't get me wrong, there are the human interest headlines too, and I subscribe to zagat and others that sprinkle happiness into this stream of dismal. Or I'll come across a piece that is community service or social justice oriented, or highlights eco-friendly practices. It makes me remember that something is right with this world. Somewhere things are in place.

Despite the occasional story of valor, heroism or worth, I can't just let go of the concern raised by the countless disasters that I learn of. At best, I am drawn toward prayer - for peace, for serenity, for an understanding that will help me return to that sense of gratitude I have every night I go to bed, and every day I wake up.

This spring I will have the opportunity to get to know a few journalists closely. I wonder what I should ask them about what it means for them to be in the trenches with the kinds of events that make me realize the world is a little bit crazy. I also can't help but question what is the value of much of this news? In what ways does knowing about all this dread; crimes, dysfunction, terror help me live a better life?

I can't help but wonder. And exhale. And realize that in order to accomplish it all, I may not need to know it all.

Flying High

I don't know if this is a common sentiment, but I am most grateful for the things I don't understand... like flying safely - or really, flying at all.

I love to travel. Which you'd expect from someone who prides themselves on seeing, doing, tasting and experiencing all that life has to offer. I think it's pretty hunky dory that in Judaism, there's a prayer for distance travel (no matter the means - the point is if you're going from the 'gates' of one city to another) and even more than all of that, I love that I'm privileged enough to be able to carry this prayer with me as part of my travel. It's called the prayer of (being on) the path. Tefilat Haderech. It thanks God for protecting and keeping us, and our wares safe.

In particular, I realized how important this prayer was when I recently flew to Ottawa, Canada for the wedding of two close friends (another story of blessings, which I will share soon). I packed items for the wedding celebration that included "poppers." You know, those new year's items that spew confetti. They're marked flammable and probably contain a small amount of some explosive or other...

Why it didn't occur to me this might not be good a good item to transport in my luggage until mid-flight is beyond me, but luckily my over-active imagination is all that got charged in transit. My wares, along with me, arrived safely and just in time for a wonderful, unforgettable wedding weekend.

So, knowing that I made it through customs and security just fine, my moment of zen is pictured above. I was flying in a small plane and sat in seat 12 a which overlooked the propellers and the landing gear. I didn't know I was holding my breath in our descent until I saw the landing gear come down.

I guess we don't always realize what takes our breath away or what keeps it away until it comes back. In yoga and reiki there is a lot of talk of acknowledging where we are holding. Of the importance breath. Of awareness. It has been a few months since I thought about all three of those things in one idea, but certainly seeing the sun in alignment with the plane wheel as we pulled into the (Toronto - stop over) airport helped bring me that clarity.

I will share more about Ottawa in an upcoming post, the great accommodations and more importantly the two weddings which kicked off November. Just wanted to share my moment of gratitude and the gorgeous shot I captured as we went from being in flight to being grounded, air to earth, safely, soundly and in one piece.

Best Question of the Week: "How is your Heart?"

If a doctor had asked the question, I would be in a gown, spouting my symptoms from rise to sleep. But I'm 28. I go to the doctor for unexplained symptoms, stomach problems, and most recently, an ear infection. We haven't discussed my heart beyond Cheerios. That is, how to keep my cholesterol in check in order to keep me heart-healthy.

Instead, the question came from a Rabbi. Well, a mentor, confidant, and friend, who is a Rabbi, teacher and a spiritual guide. He asked, "How is your heart?" and the completely honest answer is "... still not quite ready." The answer I wanted to give, the place I want to be is someplace still far off. Though not as far as when he and I sat down just over a year ago for coffee. I'm closer to that answer I want to give - "My heart is open and available, it is ready, it is healed, it is waiting ..." So the answer I gave continued, and I'd like partial credit for it. "I'm working on it... I'm learning ... I'm still having difficulty opening it to the right person..." many disjointed thoughts. Much reason for pause.

Since the season for renewal hit (some people call it fall, I call it the high holidays), I can tell you that I have been hyper-aware of my heart. I know it is still so tightly wrapped, protected. I keep trying to open up, and I know I do it only slightly, and rarely. Usually to "safe" people. That's been going on nearly eight years this December. People who can't possibly stay in my life long, or people who have been here forever. I can't manage the in between.

If I imagine my heart - right now - it is as a diver. Certainly not Olympic grade - probably not even competitive. A leisurely diver, toes over the board wavering about whether to take the plunge. I think a year ago, when I met with this friend my heart and I were on a high board - hardly able to see the pool below. Now, I can smell it, see it - I'm resting on this regular diving board - but I don't know what the temperature will be and I know I'm scared to just dive in. I want it to be graceful, I want it to garner applause. This is when I hate the perfectionist in me. I can be an amateur in love. Isn't everyone at first? I have to remind myself, I'm the only one watching and I need to get past the fear to recognize the fun. It's really going to be worthwhile. And if I fail somehow, I can get back out and dive again.

But diving isn't a sport I know. I'm not confident here - and I am typically a fountain of confidence. I've gotten back on a horse who has thrown me into a fence. I am stubborn and strong just like the animal who spooked and reared and couldn't wait to be rid of me. If I can have faith that the horse will be there for me, why can I not have the same trust in man? The universe has a way of working things out. Trust it. Sit with it.

I'm ready to dive. I'm ready to ride. I'm ready to see what all this hype is about.

Now, if only my words could be as effective as action.