November 5, 2010

Jacob and Esau. Better known as Yaakov and Eisav in their mother's tongue. Their names tell the whole story. As we've learned before, a Jewish name is not just a name, but rather the essence of the thing. שם Shem means name and sham שם means there - right there's where you'll find it. And a thing is not just a thing, but rather only an emanation from God. דבר Davar means thing. Davar means spoken word. And we know how God creates - with His word. So His word is the thing and the thing gets a name and that name is the essence of God's word in this world. These are the portals through which we crawl in from our end down here and reach into the recesses of the spiritual source. Knowing the name, or rather naming the name is at the heart of the named. For example:

Everything in the world was created with its counterpart. Male and Female mimic the Heavens and the Earth, and everything down below has its very own significant other (everything has a male and female component in creation, everything), signifying the process of e pluribus unum, division becoming One. Adam didn't have it yet and he searched the expanse of creation. Every animal passed before him and he knew it (even in the biblical sense of knowing, you know?), he knew its essence and by so doing gave it its name. So someone who really understands an elephant, Hebrew, and a specific smattering of Kabala will understand why a פיל (piel) is an elephant. Got it? Can you see it?

Also, when we're born or have children, parents get Ruach HaKodesh (holy spirit, but that has really terrible connotations for Jews in a Christian world - doesn't mean anywhere near the same thing). Meaning, the Almighty puts the thought and affinity for the name in your head because He knows the essence of the soul, and its name needs to be its name. No joke. This is normative Judaism. Now, of course, this probably only works for parents who are anyways looking for the kid's essence in the name and using the soul's language (not modern Hebrew, sorry) where Roderick and Winifred are not really options. But nonetheless, the name is achieved through Divine intervention. If you don't know your Hebrew name, it's high time figure it out. If you don't have one, got to get one.

So too with Yaakov and Eisav. Our Sages tell us that Eisav's name עשו comes from נעשה na'ase which means done/completed. He was born with so much hair, red hair no less, that he appeared several years older. Why? Because hair grows where we are expressed out in the world. Eisav's whole existence was as a warrior, conqueror, trapper and man of earthly conquest. His entire being was in the world of action. He was meant to be Yaakov's partner, to actualize all of his worldliness for good and for God, but once he chose his heretical ways, Yaakov was left with the task of absorbing Eisav's earthly prowess, poetically played out in his disguising himself with woolen hands as Eisav before his blind father Yitzhok.

Yaakov, on the other hand, is a construct of two ideas. יעקב Yaakov means taking the yud י , the letter representing the most refined spiritual presence in the physical dimension (the least amount of ink and suspended well above ground level), down to the עקב the heel, the bottom and final point of the creation of man, the central figure in and purpose of creation. He was created to bring out the spiritual source and purpose in all of creation, even to the thickened and trodden "heels" of this world, and accomplish total self-perfection.

The battle between Yaakov and Eisav is the essential battle between Jew and pure physicality. While Art Garfinke and Woody Allen sing pagan praises to Manhattan, we might just shudder at the hairy hands of Eisav and the seeming nonexistence of the underlying mystical truths of creation. And that's from a former fan of Art and Woody's, NYU film school, all things Yankee, and the Staten Island Ferry.

Wishing you all a very holy Shabbos.

Rabbi Lynn

October 29, 2010

Have you ever seen a ches up close? What's a ches? One of these: ח in Hebrew. This one doesn't do it justice because the one I'm really looking for is the Torah one (that font has escaped the standard Word collection). In the Torah, the ches is written with two zions זז attached with a tiny chuppah on top (a wedding canopy). Chuppah begins with a ches. The Chuppah makes the ches. A Chuppah is a ches. You see, zion is the seventh letter of the aleph beis. Seven always represents completion in the physical realm - six sides/dimensions to everything corporeal and the seventh dimension correlates to its spiritual source/purpose. For example, a table is the wood in the physical -6- and its use in the spiritual -7. Ches is the eighth letter. The next dimension. That which connects the seven to its spiritual mirror image above. Seven is the spiritual manifest in the physical. Eight is spiritual at its source.

A Chuppah, a Jewish wedding, enjoins two complete and separate entities (man and woman who are physically mature and spiritually whole - if you're not sure of either of those qualifications, see me another time). Miraculously - meaning beyond the laws of nature - they become one, and that "one" is greater than the sum total of its parts, well beyond what either could ever have achieved independently. "One" becomes doubled. Two "sevens" turn to eight - above and beyond the limits of the natural order. This week's Torah portion overflows with ches.

Abraham mourns his beloved Sarah, purchases from the people of CHES the Kever Hamachpaylah (the "doubled cave", otherwise known as the Tomb of the Patriarchs in the heavily contested Hebron) where she is to be buried, and in turn sets the stage for other couples as well, (as it happens, Adam and Eve were already there) Isaac and Rivka, Jacob and Leah. Quite the romantic resting place, no?

The Torah then turns to the journey of Eliezer, Abraham's trusted servant entrusted with finding a wife for Isaac. Rivka's kindness and flawlessness of character win her the role with miraculous fanfare, and Isaac is thus consoled from the death of his mother. A new Ches is born, in place of the old. The Chuppah of the Jewish people continues its legacy intact.

The Cave itself represents more doubling, more "ches". It was the place towards which our patriarchs and matriarchs prayed. It was there where they calibrated their physical existence with their spiritual source. Each of us has an eighth dimension - a purely spiritual "double" which never tars from our physical blemishes. It lays above us in perfection, representing ourselves having achieved 100% of our spiritual potential. Those who achieved their own perfection and simultaneously their marital perfection are forever entombed beneath the earth of the "doubling cave".

Those of us still on the journey can draw strength from the cave's inhabitants - Adam & Eve, Abraham & Sara, Isaac & Rebecca, Jacob & Leah - and can thus try to calibrate our own lives with our spiritual double. We can strive for our own fluid synthesis of body and soul, and hope to find refuge in a marriage of similar caliber, where we finally stand the chance of catapulting ourselves towards transcendence and purpose of being. It ain't easy, I know. But a valiant effort will be well rewarded, and to not try is a crying shame.

Good Shabbos,
Rabbi Lynn

October 22, 2010

Seven years ago during the intifada, the tragedy which seemed to trump all others occurred. Dr. David Applebaum and his daughter, Nava, were killed by a suicide bomber in a Jerusalem café, as they stole a few moments together over coffee the night before her wedding. Her fiancé is someone I know. We lived in his building in Har Nof. They were 'sweethearts' since childhood. Her wedding dress adorned his wall, amidst the tapestry of photos hiding any trace of anything else, until it was moved to the holy burial site of our matriarch, Rachel. David Applebaum, a pious, brilliant, learned Jew and doctor - famous in Israel for having revolutionized emergency room/trauma medicine and himself the head of Sharei Tzedek Hospital - was as righteous and beautiful a person as you could find. A student of the great Yeshivos of Brisk. I can still remember the clock standing still when I heard their names over the radio.

An outrage. Anger at God. How could He? Not like this! Not them! I remember an article published by a colleague of his who bore his existential and philosophical crisis to the public. "We must protest to the Almighty, for when the Almighty does wrong, it is incumbent upon us to rebuke", he cried. And his proof - Abraham arguing with God over the destruction of Sodom, which we will be reading this Shabbos. Abraham, though with great humility and caution, "argued" the Almighty down from 50 to 10, the number of "righteous" that could thus save the entire city from destruction. While the ten were never found and the city destroyed, Abraham's stance was successful. However, this columnist raised the following question himself, "Why didn't Abraham protest when asked to sacrifice his only son?" He left it unanswered.

Rav Naftoli Tzvi Berlin answers the question very poignantly. Before the Almighty announces His plan to destroy Sodom, He pontificates, as it were, and asks rhetorically, "Should I hide my ways from Abraham?" As if to say, "If he's meant to be the father of the Jewish nation, he must learn how I work in the world." And what follows is not at all an argument, but rather an intimate lesson on understanding the parameters of God's judgment and providence. This is born out very clearly in the verses. However, by the Akeida (the binding of Isaac, also found in this week's Torah reading), there was no such discourse, but rather a call to action. In my own humble opinion, were Abraham not to have been beckoned to probe and understand the Almighty's ways, he may not have had the resolve and conviction required to stand the greatest test of all. Protest, we don't. Accomplish, we do. Learn, we must. Anger? It's often an understandable reaction. But to understand and internalize God's ways, this is most critical of all. All we have to do then is live it.

We question to understand, to strengthen our resolve. And we stay steadfastly committed to carrying it out.

Good Shabbos,

Rabbi Lynn

October 15, 2010

There's a very strange occurrence in this week's Torah portion, לך לך, which describes the first war recorded in the Bible. While the details of each nation and its ruler and the ins and outs of the battles are themselves fascinating, the Torah clearly describes the end of the battle, pillaging of spoils, and the "departure" of the marauding, victorious army. Then, in the very next verse, it says, "and they captured Lot and his possessions - Abraham's nephew - and they left." But they had already "departed"? Why did they come back? Why weren't the victory and the spoils enough to have justified the war? What did they want with Lot?

The word for war in Hebrew is milchomah, מלחמה, which really means - to make bread. People fight for sustenance and survival. One may think it's merely physical, but underneath, the true threat is spiritual. The first recorded war focused on capturing Lot, Abraham's nephew. The Sages tell us Lot was made of the mettle of Moshiach - the redeemer: he had the essential mix of spiritual connection (through Abraham) and worldly prowess (as evidenced by his subsequent political positions in Sodom). In a sense, he was an almost perfect fusion of the spiritual and physical, that which the eventual Messiah will be. His whole being was antithetical to the pagan nations who battled for dominance. Their temporary conquest was incomplete with mere territorial victory and excess wealth. They came back for Lot. When Abraham heard that this war had escalated to the spiritual realm as well, that Lot had been seized, then and only then did he get involved and single-handedly turned the tide, returning Lot once again to his family.

You see, the other nations fought a war confused as to why they were truly fighting. The wars being fought today are likewise confused. What we do see, however, is that the concept of conventional war is dead and gone. The physical manifestations of the wars being waged, namely terrorism, are deeply indicative of their spiritual qualities. In this same Torah portion, Ishmael, the patriarch and embodiment of our Arabic cousins, is named and born, in that order. A tanaic collection called Pirkei D'Rebbe Eliezar, written some 1500 years ago, describes in detail the meaning behind five people who were named by God before their birth (and then "coincidentally" given that name by the parents). Ishmael, ישמעאל , technically means, "God will hear", and is explained as follows: In the end of days, God will hear the cries of the children of Israel at the hand of the children of Ishmael. The traditional and historical approach to the battle with Ishmael is deeply spiritual at its core. What the world is facing these days is an ideological battle of spiritual dominion. At least one side views it as such.

What an interesting turn of events that the conversation in the Middle East in now hinged on semantics. A two state solution is no longer the key issue. Neither are 'settlements'. Rather the focus is the JEWISH state of Israel. Will Israel be recognized as a "Jewish" state - that is the issue Israel is pushing, that is the issue the PA is fighting, and that is the issue everyone else is trying to ignore.

We are always hopeful that things will work out without conflict. Either way, the goal is to strengthen our resolve, strengthen our spirit, strengthen our connection to our roots and strive to perfect ourselves and the world around us. The rest is in Someone else's hands.

Wishing you all a good shabbos.

Rabbi Lynn

October 8, 2010

The dove and the olive branch. Ever wondered from where it originated? Not Picasso. But rather from this week's Torah reading, the story of Noah. After previous unsuccessful attempts to find land, the dove returned with the famous branch showing God's flood had begun to subside. Life would be renewed. A world of peace could be built upon the ruins of a world already ruined before the first raindrop. The evil, debauchery, thievery and ungodliness which prevailed was no more, and the olive branch was the first to raise it's head above water and declare victory for God, Noah, righteousness, morality and humankind. Beautiful.

So why was the dove punished? That's right, something it did was so consequential that its eternal Blessing was forever compromised (so says our tradition). In fact, the language, rather word choice of the Torah seems to describe the branch not as plucked, but rather killed - עלה זית טרף בפיה the olive branch was 'killed' in its mouth. Says our sensitive and exacting tradition in the Midrash, "if it were not killed, how many tress may have grown." It didn't need the olive, the seed, per se to bring the message of salvation and hope to a desolate world. It should not have been over exuberant in its announcement of success. Rather it should have understood, especially considering the circumstances of potential environmental genocide, the potential of life, its value and its sacredness.

A branch in the dove's mouth would have been enough of a sign for peace. The olive would have populated the world one by one by one by one, and perhaps we'd be tasting the offspring-oil of the very first fruit that was granted a peaceful world. Our sages teach of exacting care and precision, even when performing a mitzvoh, and appreciation for all of God's creation. Now I know it doesn't seem right giving the proverbial messenger of peace and good tidings such a raking over the coals, and we must certainly appreciate all the dove's efforts and its timeless message. But when we're discussing 'peace', we Jews know the word Shalom is rooted in the word Shaleim - meaning complete. Completion is our goal, peace the result. We should be wary of over-exuberant gestures of Peace in place of critical and careful consideration, no matter how exciting they are and how anti-climactic the opposite.

Good Shabbos,

Rabbi Lynn

Sukkot 2010

Hello my friends and Chag Sameach!

Yesterday I had a wisdom tooth pulled. 'Pulling' may be a bit too soft a description. Obviously I'm very appreciated of novocain, but the image of the dentist with his foot on my shoulder for leverage as he sweated and grunted trying to dislodge this bastard tooth might just send me to therapy. At the end of it all, he scolded me. "In the Dental world, you're a great disappointment. Only 2% of the country has their mother's teeth and father's jaw to allow perfect placement of wisdom teeth, and you blew it through sheer negligence." I admit, there was a candy a year ago on purim that dislodged my filling back there and I did nothing about it. And now here I am on vicodin and ibuprofen and loving it ;-). But that wisdom tooth is now relegated to the realm of 'missed opportunities'. I let it slide and have paid the price. In a world of consequence (Divinely orchestrated as such), we need to take advantage of what we have and the messages life sends us. We need to internalize the truths we capture with our brains, bring them into our hearts and take them out into action. That's what Sukkot is all about and it begins tonight.

So we've presented our plan for the coming year on Rosh Hashanah, we've spent ten days auditing our naughty and nice lists, and finally a Yom Kippur of heart-wrenching atonement and tears. Now what? Now we have to put our money where our mouth is, or rather put it all to the test. The head and heart are on board - now to the body. The Mitzvoh right after Yom Kippur is to build the Sukkah. Here comes a holiday where the whole experience is physical. The Mitzvoh is really just to live in the Sukkah - eat, sleep, drink, breathe - whatever one does, he does it in the Sukkah. Our home becomes a flimsy, temporary dwelling which cannot on its own stand strong without Divine support. And that's precisely where we put ourselves. If we believe in everything we've done until now, the only place we should want to live is with the Almighty. The schach (okay, there's really no way in English to make this Hebrew word happen - try both "ch"s as guttural as you can get them and you'll be halfway there), or the palm frond roof, is called in Kabbalistic writings the Tzaila D'hemnusa - the Shade of Faith. We leave the brilliance of Rosh Hashahah and Yom Kippur by leaving our homes which feign stability and human accomplishment and live as one with the real Master of Ceremony.

If there's one message we're getting clear these days - it's that nothing you thought was stable truly is, especially the value of your home (who knows, at the rate mortgages are crumbling and the markets nosedive we may all be living permanently in straw huts). Jews live in their Sukkah for an entire week, just long enough that when you return to your home, you're basically still living in the Sukkah. You've been acclimated to a Divine existence and try very hard not to lose sight of it until next year. This was basically one of the intentions of 40 years 'wandering' the desert - to turn the lessons learned on Mt. Sinai into internalized instinct. And if that analogy doesn't work, think of all the phantom blackberry vibrations you still feel in your hip well after you've put the blackberry away. The Sukkah is there to keep the 'holiday spirit' with us for another 11.5 months. My family used to play a game after Yom Kippur growing up (wasn't the most religious household then) - who will sin last. Since we were all brothers, it usually flipped itself around and became who can sin first. But that's because we didn't have a Sukkah to go to. Try to make your spiritual achievements of Yom Kippur really count. Live them. Infuse your very being with them. Eat, sleep and drink them if you can. If you need a Sukkah's help, and we all do, we'll be happy to help you find one (ours is always open)! Have a lovely Chag (another guttural "ch" please)

Chag Sameach,
Rabbi Lynn

September 17, 2010

There's a famous case illustrated in the Talmud of a superbly non-pious man who marries a woman on condition that he is righteous. The Rabbis insist that we must proceed as if the marriage was binding in Heaven, because no matter how wayward a person may be, it only takes one momentary thought of regret or repentance to change one's status from wicked to righteous. Therefore, it's entirely possible that despite all his actions to the contrary, at that point in time he may, in fact, have become truly righteous, with a Divine stamp of approval, thereby rendering the marriage valid. But can it really be that such a momentary 'lapse' can count for so much?

Maimonides, in his treatise on repentance (chapter 3), writes, "Just as one's merits and sins are weighed at death, so too are they every year for every person on Rosh Hashana. He who is found completely righteous is sealed for life, he who is found completely wicked is sealed for death, and the 'middle-ones' (all of us) await judgement until Yom Kippur - if they repent they are sealed for life, and if not, for death." What Maimonides doesn't leave as an option is for the middle-one to remain simply a middle-one. At the same time, the Arizal (the purveyor of the Kabbalistic tradition) writes that the day of Yom Kippur alone has the exalted spiritual status capable of sealing even a middle-one for life. Maimonides seems to require teshuvah (repentance) for the middle-one to become righteous, while the Arizal seems to ascribe the power to the day itself.

The discrepancy is rectified by viewing two sides of the same coin. It's ultimately the combination of Yom Kippur and the heartfelt, honest sentiment of teshuvah, which brings atonement. Maimonides doesn't leave any option for remaining in the middle because the nature of Yom Kippur is such that there is no other option; one who can truly muster up an earnest repentance - one who can tap into the spiritual truth and power of the day, one who is at the core sensitive enough to realize what's at stake - that person is called 'righteous'. And he, who, despite the reverence and power of Yom Kippur, cannot find within himself any residue of regret, is undeniably the opposite. Our tradition teaches that in the Almighty's kindness, Yom Kippur was created - a moment in time with atomic spiritual energy to wipe the slate clean, or rather re-create the already created. An opportunity to calibrate our being to His. A 26 hour period of spiritual pyrotechnics to pull us from our shells and draw us upward, to inspire us to great heights which can only be grasped from a heartfelt moment of lowness. We need to make the first move. We need to dig deep. There's no greater time.

Wishing you all a complete and good 'seal',

Rabbi Lynn

September 3, 2010

Hello my dear friends.

Season's greetings ;-). It's been quite a summer and this post has been on hiatus too long - while it may seem silly, I often get the profound feeling that I'm sitting with all of you (well over 400 MLF alumni) as I type. Delusional, I know, but a very warm feeling nonetheless. Nice to see you again....

This Shabbat, Jews around the world will be reading the Torah portion called Netzavim, named for the first verse which reads, "You are all standing (netzavim) today before the Almighty, your God: your leaders, your tribal heads, your elders, your judges - every person of Israel." Moses, on the last day of his life, had gathered the nation to deliver his final message, to review the covenant which God had offered and we accepted. In Kabalistic writings, the word today, hayom, in the Torah always refers to THE day, Rosh Hashanah. In fact, this portion of the Torah always coincides with the Shabbat before Rosh Hashanah and, in a sense, is alluding to our impending approach to the coming days of judgment where we, as a nation in utter unity, will present ourselves to our Creator for the ultimate accounting. We are 'standing' to answer for our part of the deal.

There's an apparent contradiction of sorts, however, in our sentiment towards this holy day of reckoning. Rosh Hashanah is, after all, the day of judgment, followed 10 days later by the day of atonement, and yet the tone of the day is surprisingly jubilant - there's no mention of confession, guilt, sin, there's no heaviness to the service, the liturgy is full of the Almighty and Israel's praise, the meals are festive and lavish - have we forgotten this is the day of reckoning? Which books are opened? That here we confront our own accountability and the unspeakable finitude of life itself? Have we missed our cue?

While it is true that the prospects are menacing, "judgment" is merely a minor theme of the day - we'll save the trembling for the next 10 days and Yom Kippur. Rosh Hashanah however, a day when the entire nation presents itself for judgment, bespeaks a far greater message; one where all joy surpasses fear. We stand as one with the Almighty in fulfilling His will and bringing the world to its completion. This is the mission we accepted and, more importantly, for which we were accepted. Yes, we have fallen short, and yes, there is much to repair. But the covenant itself, the mission and intimate partnership with God, is tremendous cause for celebration. It is precisely at the time of reckoning, when we realize the extent of our responsibility, with Whom we partner, the mission in all its grandeur, and the privilege of participation, no matter how difficult.

It is said that the biggest blow to all our spiritual enemies - those which tempt our resolve and subpoena our every move in the Heavenly tribunal - is the very fact that we walk into the courtroom on our own volition, in perfect acceptance and appreciation of what judgment really means. They've been trying to put us on trial, but we beat them to it and volunteered ourselves. The Jewish People rises well above its simple, fallible, and ultimately forgivable humanity. Rosh Hashanah is the joy of getting into the night club of all night clubs, and even though what lies beyond the great velvet ropes upstairs may be daunting, critical, punishing and painful, the entry is so sweet. Praiseworthy are we who stand in judgment, for the privilege of being chosen for the job.

Wishing you all a good writing and signing and a very sweet new year!

Rabbi Lynn