KEEPING THE BALANCE
When to break the boundaries and when to keep them up
Solicitations for charity are compelling and emotionally demanding than they used to be.
Sharp graphics, and moving writing keep us from relegating the letters to the infamous
“circular file”. We are kinder and more openhearted than we might have been without them.
The speakers at dinners, who often are the “Who’s Who” of the Torah world, often inspire us
and change our perceptions of who we are and what we want to be part of.
I still remember the heartfelt “appeals” that characterized charity raising circa 1960-70.
The Rabbi would plead, sometimes shout, and sometimes (to our great shame) weep. The
“bag man” made the word “aggressive” far too low key to express his guilt-provoking
fist in the face tactics. There is still one vestige of raising funds that has
not changed with time. The classical charity box is still as much part of what
makes us ourselves as the books in the bookcase and the portraits of the people
we wish we could be like on the walls .Our Haftorah gives us an insight into
why “pushkas” work.
Yehoash, King of Yehuda lived in difficult times. When his grandfather, King
Yehoram died, his father, Achazia assumed the throne of King David. Soon afterwards
King Yehu of the Northern Kingdom killed him leaving Yehoash an orphan at the age of one.
Yehoram’s wife, his grandmother, Atalia (who was the daughter of Achav and Jezabel) usurped
the throne. She solidified her claim to the throne by executing every living
member of King David’s descendants. Her cold-blooded calculations ultimately
didn’t get her the absolute unquestioned power that she was after. Yehoash
survived. Yehoyada, the Kohen Gadol, and his wife Yehosheva, (who was Atalia’s
sister in law) had the courage to abduct him and hid him in the Holy of Holies
for six years. When Yehoash reached the age of seven, his uncle, the Kohen gadol,
presented Yehoash as king. Atalia was soon killed and a new era began.
Yehoash, the child king grew into
a man of rare spiritual beauty and piety, succeeding in almost bringing idolatry
to an end. He never managed to eradicate the private altars that were so much
part of the scene at that time. Their appeal lay in the way they presented people
with what they thought of as an opportunity to bring offerings to Hashem spontaneously
–in their homes- whenever they felt inspired. The undisciplined religious
passion that they had (and that so often led step by step to idol worship) far
from our 21st century reality, but the desire to write the script the way we
want it, is tragically not. There is a place for ardor and spur-of-the-moment
acts of devotion. There are also dangers that become more and more pronounced
when we perceive halachah as “limiting” rather than “liberating”.
This is the invariable result of confusing ego (the desire to feel connected
on ones own terms), with selflessness, which is what authentic devotion is all
about.
The same man, who turned a blind eye
to the proliferation of bamos, went to the other extreme of demanding structure
where the tradition demanded spontaneity. He established a new system to organize
and formalize charity for the Bais HaMikdash. He would go beyond the half shekels
were used for public offerings (thus giving every Jew an equal portion in the
sacrifices), which up to that point only, structured way of donating. Yehoash
decided that he would make the procedure more “orderly” by making
it mandatory for the kohanim to take this burden upon themselves. They would
have to make up any missing money from their own funds. Yehoash came to his
senses when he observed that the plan just didn’t work. Giving to the
Bais HaMikdash is an act that by its nature is best left as spontaneous, devotional
and individual. He put a chest, which resembled a large “pushka”
near the alter and day after day it was full.
There are halachos regarding tzedaka. Whether or not the Halacha requires an
individual to contribute a tenth of their net earnings, or whether they should
look at their circumstances and give more substantial amount or conversely realize
that in their situation it is time to donate lesser amount is not the focus
of this article. Regardless of our bottom line obligations, there is always
a place for a pushka. When we open our eyes and see the sky, or hear a child
say a blessing, or look at our paycheck and realize that G-d has given us the
opportunity to work and sustain ourselves, there is a moment in which we can
move beyond our bookkeeping and put something inside. The balance between spontaneity
and halachah is one that is real and precious and something to treasure. May
we be worthy of walking the narrow bridge and never lose balance.
When to break the boundaries and when to keep them up
Solicitations for charity are compelling and emotionally demanding than they used to be.
Sharp graphics, and moving writing keep us from relegating the letters to the infamous
“circular file”. We are kinder and more openhearted than we might have been without them.
The speakers at dinners, who often are the “Who’s Who” of the Torah world, often inspire us
and change our perceptions of who we are and what we want to be part of.
I still remember the heartfelt “appeals” that characterized charity raising circa 1960-70.
The Rabbi would plead, sometimes shout, and sometimes (to our great shame) weep. The
“bag man” made the word “aggressive” far too low key to express his guilt-provoking
fist in the face tactics. There is still one vestige of raising funds that has
not changed with time. The classical charity box is still as much part of what
makes us ourselves as the books in the bookcase and the portraits of the people
we wish we could be like on the walls .Our Haftorah gives us an insight into
why “pushkas” work.
Yehoash, King of Yehuda lived in difficult times. When his grandfather, King
Yehoram died, his father, Achazia assumed the throne of King David. Soon afterwards
King Yehu of the Northern Kingdom killed him leaving Yehoash an orphan at the age of one.
Yehoram’s wife, his grandmother, Atalia (who was the daughter of Achav and Jezabel) usurped
the throne. She solidified her claim to the throne by executing every living
member of King David’s descendants. Her cold-blooded calculations ultimately
didn’t get her the absolute unquestioned power that she was after. Yehoash
survived. Yehoyada, the Kohen Gadol, and his wife Yehosheva, (who was Atalia’s
sister in law) had the courage to abduct him and hid him in the Holy of Holies
for six years. When Yehoash reached the age of seven, his uncle, the Kohen gadol,
presented Yehoash as king. Atalia was soon killed and a new era began.
Yehoash, the child king grew into
a man of rare spiritual beauty and piety, succeeding in almost bringing idolatry
to an end. He never managed to eradicate the private altars that were so much
part of the scene at that time. Their appeal lay in the way they presented people
with what they thought of as an opportunity to bring offerings to Hashem spontaneously
–in their homes- whenever they felt inspired. The undisciplined religious
passion that they had (and that so often led step by step to idol worship) far
from our 21st century reality, but the desire to write the script the way we
want it, is tragically not. There is a place for ardor and spur-of-the-moment
acts of devotion. There are also dangers that become more and more pronounced
when we perceive halachah as “limiting” rather than “liberating”.
This is the invariable result of confusing ego (the desire to feel connected
on ones own terms), with selflessness, which is what authentic devotion is all
about.
The same man, who turned a blind eye
to the proliferation of bamos, went to the other extreme of demanding structure
where the tradition demanded spontaneity. He established a new system to organize
and formalize charity for the Bais HaMikdash. He would go beyond the half shekels
were used for public offerings (thus giving every Jew an equal portion in the
sacrifices), which up to that point only, structured way of donating. Yehoash
decided that he would make the procedure more “orderly” by making
it mandatory for the kohanim to take this burden upon themselves. They would
have to make up any missing money from their own funds. Yehoash came to his
senses when he observed that the plan just didn’t work. Giving to the
Bais HaMikdash is an act that by its nature is best left as spontaneous, devotional
and individual. He put a chest, which resembled a large “pushka”
near the alter and day after day it was full.
There are halachos regarding tzedaka. Whether or not the Halacha requires an
individual to contribute a tenth of their net earnings, or whether they should
look at their circumstances and give more substantial amount or conversely realize
that in their situation it is time to donate lesser amount is not the focus
of this article. Regardless of our bottom line obligations, there is always
a place for a pushka. When we open our eyes and see the sky, or hear a child
say a blessing, or look at our paycheck and realize that G-d has given us the
opportunity to work and sustain ourselves, there is a moment in which we can
move beyond our bookkeeping and put something inside. The balance between spontaneity
and halachah is one that is real and precious and something to treasure. May
we be worthy of walking the narrow bridge and never lose balance.
THE PATH OF TSHUVAH (Where to Begin)
Teshuvah is an awesomely open-ended experience.
The literal meaning of tshuvah is “return” to G-d, to His infinity, which means that there is
never an end to where tshuvah takes us—we can never be “too close” to G-d.
But, paradoxically, this realization creates an obstacle. When the end is not in sight because
the goal is not within our grasp, we are sometimes afraid to begin. We anticipate giving up
or being distracted by life itself.
This obstacle is an illusion. Tshuvah is a mitzvah, and as such, it really is within our capacity to
fulfill—G-d would not have commanded us to do this if it was mission impossible. The way to
overcome this illusory obstacle is to change the way we think. There are seven thoughts that
we can integrate to change our own thought patterns and as a consequence change our
behavior. Let us focus on the first one:
“Over the years, I have adopted patterns of thought and behavior in order to get through life. Some
are constructive, some are not. My personality feels ‘at home’ when I go with the flow and don’t try to
change these patterns even when they are unhealthy and self-destructive. Therefore, I will no longer
just go on automatic pilot. I will stop incessantly ‘forgiving’ myself my mistakes and try to correct them
instead.”
Let us now consider two examples of unhealthy and self-destructive patterns.
Example A: Jerry taught himself to take revenge when he was still in grade school.
He didn’t call it taking revenge, he called it “teaching them a lesson.” He is now thirty-four.
Nothing is ever forgiven and nothing is ever forgotten. He spends most of his
emotional energy “teaching lessons.” If he integrates the above
thought, Jerry will be forced to ask himself—for the first time in his
adult life—whether this is how he wants to spend the rest of his life.
Example B: Anita has been coming closer
to Torah for the last two years. She knows what she wants for herself and is
sincere in her commitment to move forward. But she has negative speech patterns
that she often confuses with honesty. Although she has learned the Torah laws
concerning careful speech, attends classes and makes resolutions, she still
both thinks and speaks negatively. Unlike Jerry, who is fully aware that many
of the things that he does when teaching people a lesson are forbidden by Torah
law, Anita’s case is more difficult as she takes refuge in thinking that
there is no commandment that says “don’t be negative.” As a result, she readily
forgives herself for the actual transgressions that inevitably follow negativity. But if
she integrates the above thought, she can reverse even this.
CHANGE OR DIE
A well-known story is attributed to the Arizal. During the time that he lived in Tzfat (which
was barely two years, although he accomplished more in that short time than most of us do
in a lifetime) word spread that he was a man of great spiritual power, and that his prayers
were heard on high. At this time, there was a young man who was taken ill, and his condition
worsened day by day. His distraught family pleaded with the Arizal to pray for him. The brilliant
mystic scholar, who could see past the veil that separates this life from the earlier ones, went to
see the young man and told him, “I can see that in your previous life, you were cruel to the poor.
You didn’t really see them as human beings. This is what has brought about your suffering. But
you can still rectify the damage. To do so, you must change how you see. If you do not look at
women for one week, you will live.”
Willing to try anything that might save his life, the dying man agreed. At the end of the week,
however, when a female relative came to see him, he looked at her and died soon afterwards.
He couldn’t break his lifelong habit of seeing people as objects—this is what caused him to not
see the poor who were of no use to him and to look at women for the pleasure that their beauty
gave him.
None of us wants to end up like this man from Tzfat. So how can we identify old habits that are
keeping us from moving on? The Mussar masters have devised a method that makes it possible to
spotlight the traits that are out of control. It requires us to spend some time on self-discovery,
which may at first feel foreign to anyone who is used to working on more tangible goals. Nonetheless,
it will be the best investment that we can make on the path to tshuvah.
IDENTIFYING OLD HABITS
To begin, review your life, dividing it into segments (early childhood, grade school etc.) As you review
through each segment, ask yourself the following questions:
· What were the most significant things that took place in my life at this time?
· How did I respond?
· In hindsight, which responses were most constructive, and which least constructive?
· When I made non-constructive choices, what was my real motivation?
(For some people the answer may be “selfishness” for others “fear of rejection” and for others)
“Laziness.”
Each one of us is unique, and the motivations are not going to be the same for any two people although
there may be similarities.)
You now know your negative traits, which in turn are the root of the negative patterns of response that you
have developed.
It is now up to you to notice when you are falling into the familiar patterns and to do something about it, not
just externally, but by finding new responses to the traits that are the source of your patterns. The road before
your is clear, though beware of the trap of complacency which may keep you from moving forward.
THE TRAP OF COMPLACENCY
I was once talking to my friend Naomi before Rosh HaShanah. We were both young women then in seminary, and
we had just heard a Rabbi’s lecture on preparing ourselves for the Days of Awe.
Her response to the lecture was rather sanguine. “I don’t think that I really have to take this so intensely,” she said
looking at me with some skepticism. “I think that I’m doing pretty well with my life all things considered.” At the time,
I wondered whether I was being masochistic at worst or unrealistic at best when I took the words of the Rabbi to heart.
What I know now that I didn’t know then is that complacency is a death sentence. Life is all about movement and change.
How do you break through the prison of complacency?
Here are some tips that can help you do so:
· Start to see your life as a process. If you are living the same year over and over, you are barely alive at all.
· Notice what keeps you from moving on. Is it fear of what other people will say? Is it fear of walking uncharted ground?
(You may discover that you have mixed feelings about things that you know are self-destructive.
For example, you might be telling yourself, “It sure feels good to put people in their place.”
On one hand you recognize the damage, on the other hand you have nostalgia for the feelings
of victory that you had at the time.)
· Remember that you can’t do teshuvah unless you really want to.
· Remember that we are accountable for what we do and don’t do. Every choice we
make has an effect on ourselves and on others. There is no such thing as an insignificant choice.
(When the manager of the bookstorein Machaneh Yehudah market of Jerusalem decided to lend books
for one night at a time to the earnest young Sephardic yeshiva student, he had no idea what
the choice meant for the Jewish people’s future. The young man was none other than Rav Ovadia Yosef.
Today countless lives have been touched by the Sepharadic genius. Among his many accomplishments, he
founded the El HaMaayan school network which has brought Torah to thousands of children who
otherwise would have attended public schools.)
· Remember that nothing is forgotten. G-d is above time, and for Him past present and future are
undivided. We are products of our choices whether or not we remember what triggered those choices.
· Remember that you can’t cure yourself if you don’t believe that you can be healed. Unlike physical illness
where a doctor can administer treatment without the agreement of the patient, in spiritual illness you must ask
for G-d’s help.
· Let your mind take you to the many times in which G-d provided you freely and lovingly with all the things
that give you pleasure. This will give you the realization of how small and how beloved you really are.
· Be mentally prepared to make tradeoffs.
(You can’t fill a cup with wine if it is already full of water and you are unwilling to spill the
water out. You may have to sacrifice some of your personal freedom, money, or prestige. You will not be the
first one or the last one to do so. The important thing to remember is that what you “spill out” is less precious
than what you want to “pour in.” You are your own vessel, you must decide what your content will be.)
In Elul, the gates of tshuvah are open more than at ever! Walk through!
See videos of Rebbetzin Heller on Naaleh.com
WE LIVE IN A STORMY WORLD — Stories and Allegories
I never liked sci-fi. The more fantastic the flight of the imagination,
the more two-dimensional the characters. The action was too fast
(Look! He radiates! Aaagh!!) for any authentic introspection. I
must admit, however, that the speed of events kept me obsessively
turning the pages to find out what would finally happen.
This is how it feels to read the news in Israel. The episodes leave
us breathless. Just yesterday we were buying sheet plastic to make
sealed rooms. Today we find ourselves a month after Baghdad’s fall,
facing the worst recession in Israel’s history, with a general strike
paralyzing the whole country. We are all breathlessly waiting for
the next chapter of "As the World Turns." Every so often
I stop for breath, so that I don’t leave myself behind.
In the journey of life, as in any journey, it is easier to walk
when we know where we are heading. If you have ever had the experience
of looking for a particular address in a half-built neighborhood,
you know exactly what I mean. Before there are identifying features
such as street signs, trees, or stores, trying to find Rehov HaKablan
67/52 can leave us feeling that we have embarked on an unguided
tour of Kafka’s castle. Once the features are in place, we have
points of reference that provide us with orientation.
Similarly, the Talmud occasionally provides markers that give us
orientation and keep us from being swept up in the speed and drama
of the turbulent tides of our unfolding history. In general, Talmudic
information comes in two "packages." One is halachach,
which literally means "the way to walk." The other is
agaddah, which literally means, "that which was told."
Agaddah includes every aspect of Jewish thought (history, philosophy,
ethics, and mysticism) other than law. Its function is not to tell
us where to walk, but rather to provide us with a map and a frame
of reference.
One of the most fascinating features of agaddah is its use of stories.
Some of the stories are literally true, and are meant to present
us with moral lessons. An example of this is the well-known chronicle
of Abraham’s search for G-d as a child. Abraham asked about the
source of everything he saw until he recognized a singular creator.
This is not a "tale" or "legend." It is a story
of inner exploration and discovery.
THE WAVES AND THE STAFF
Other stories are allegorical. Their aim is to expand our inner
vision and to give us the means of looking beyond the narrow borders
of time, space, and personal experience. One of the greatest Talmudic
master of allegory was Rabbah Bar Bar Channa. Let us look at one
of his stories (presented in Baba Batra 63) and use it as a guide,
so that we will not be swept off our feet by events and lose our
sense of direction.
The agaddah records: "I once saw waves about to break a boat.
There was a white fire on the wave’s tip. A staff with the words
"I am that I am" "Lord of Hosts" appeared and
beat it down.
What does this cryptic allegory mean? Maharsha, one of the most
famous Talmudic commentators, tells us that this story discloses
to us in symbolic language what our future will be. Rabbah Bar Bar
Channa lived in the time of the second Temple. He foresaw that the
exile would be long, brutal, and frightening. He thus described
the experience of life in exile as being analogous to a storm at
sea. As soon as the winds stop, it seems that everything is at peace,
but new winds soon blow. The white fire symbolizes the angel of
death, whom we see lurking as the waves encompass us and threaten
our faith in our ability to survive. There is only one way that
the angel of death can be defeated: by remembering that death itself
is only a servant of the King.
At the burning bush, Moses, our greatest leader and national redeemer,
asked G-d how to identify Him to the Israelites suffering in Egyptian
bondage: "Who should I say sent me?" G-d replied: "I
will be Who I will be. Thus you will say to the Children of Israel,
‘I will be’ sent me to you." (Exodus 3:14)
What does this mean? On the simplest level, G-d was telling Moses
that I am the same One Who always was and always will be. In other
words, G-d is the universal constant. Whenever the storm blows,
He is with us.
Rebbe Nachman of Breslov (in Lekutei Moraran 1) points out that
the storm and the fury live within us as well. It is not only the
Jews as a people who face the tempest. Each one of us experiences
inner conflicts that threaten to tear us apart. The person who we
are is sometimes not the person who we would like to be. We adapt
by wearing masks, often so skillfully that we ourselves can no longer
see the face behind the disguise. We feel anxious, depressed, cheated,
and always afraid that the mask will slip off and we will be revealed
and despised.
What we fail to see is that G-d is with us in our inner struggles
just as much as He is with us in our national battles. We can turn
to Him and experience His love and compassion as the one constant
factor in our lives. In Rabba bar bar Channa’s allegory, the staff
with G-d’s Name can defeat the angel of death, the self-destructive
illusions that threaten to drown us.
A MODERN STORY
Mayer Leibowitz, a successful Hasidic businessman, lived through
a week that no one born in the second half of the 20th century can
even imagine. The nightmare that only later would be given the name
Holocaust reached his city. When he went to work on Monday, he discovered
that he had suddenly become a persona-non-grata. The Germans informed
him that the business that he had built over decades was no longer
his. "How will I support my family?" was his horrified,
but short-lived, question. On Tuesday he was assigned to a work
brigade. The backbreaking labor was designed to shake lose any sense
of humanity that had survived the storm thus far. By Wednesday his
worries for his family’s economic survival were no longer relevant.
They were packed into a truck. He never saw them again. On Thursday
he made the journey that his family had made the previous day. He
was deloused, shaven, given ill-fitting clothing, and tattooed.
If he had seen himself in the mirror, he would not have recognized
the image facing him as the well-dressed, established Chassid of
only a few days before. That night he was assigned a place in the
third tier of a bunk bed. He shared the bed with another man and
a corpse. "Don’t tell them he died," his bedmate warned.
"They’ll send up someone else." There was nothing he could
say.
The months passed in banal horror. His work partner Yankel filled
their days with an unceasing litany of curses. Mayer remained silent
in the midst of the tempest. At the end of the war, their paths
separated.
Almost half a century passed. One day Mayer was walking through
the canyons of Manhattan with his son-in-law, who happens to be
my neighbor. Suddenly Mayer let go of his son-in-law’s arm and ran
across the street, barely looking at the midtown traffic
"Yankel! Is it you?" he called out.
The man was indeed his former work partner. The two survivors embraced,
and wept for themselves, their families, and the horrors they had
shared. In thick Yiddish they exchanged biographies. Mayer had remarried,
succeeded in real estate, and enjoyed a respected place in his community.
Yankel was a barren tree living in a moonscape.
"Mayer, Mayer," Yankel implored him, "how did you
do it? How did you start again? How did you find the courage?"
Mayer divulged his secret: "I never argued with you in the
camps. It was too hard. You were so bitter. But I will tell you
what I thought. No matter what happened, I would look up at the
sun, and say to myself, ‘As long as the sun shines, I must thank
G-d for life.’"
Mayer had caught hold of the staff Rabba bar bar Channa had seen
in the tempest. He used it to beat back the Angel of Death.
When Rebbe Nachman was dying at the age of thirty-eight, he looked
around him at his devoted followers and said, "In the end,
all you will have left is stories."
Stories can enlighten us on the deepest level, because we let them
in underneath the barrier of the intellect. The secret of the transformative
power of stories is to apply them to ourselves. When I read the
news these days, I think of Mayer, holding on to the staff of G-d’s
name throughout the hurricane of the Holocaust.
See videos of Rebbetzin Heller on Naaleh.com