The Glue that Holds Us Together- Why was half of Menashe chosen to go with Reuven, and Gad?

In this week’s shiur, we look at the decision of the tribes of Reuven and Gad to stay on the eastern side of the Jordan. Why did they want to stay there, and what does that say about them? Additionally why did Moshe Rabbeinu put half of the tribe of Menashe with them? What made Menashe the glue that could keep Bnei Yisrael together? In the course of the shiur, we discuss the challenges of wealth, how you bring about unity, and the importance of aliyah.

Running Time- 51 minutes

Open the Book- Do we know as much as we think we do?

I really appreciate the thought of Rav Kook and study his sefarim as often as I can. It’s hard to imagine that I went more than 15 years without doing so. All because I thought I knew what he believed without having read a word of what he wrote.

19 years ago, I spent the year in a right-wing- Zionist Kollel in Israel. At the beginning, I did what I could to fit in. I started going by my Hebrew name, wore the right kind of kippah, and shared many of the religious and political views of my peers. Over time, for reasons that I will not discuss here, I stopped seeing eye to eye with many in the kollel. I wasn’t exactly sure what I believed, but I knew this was not my world. Along with that realization, I knew that Rav Kook was not for me. After all, if his writings had produced the philosophy of many of those in the kollel, it had nothing to teach me. I remember the moment when I made the decision to give up on Rav Kook. One of my friends, who was particularly strident in his views, called Rav Kook’s collective writings the “Shas HaLavan”, literally the white shas. In a somewhat joking manner, he was suggesting that in addition to the regular “Shas”, as the talmud is often called, there was the white Shas, the writings of Rav Kook, which have been published in Israel with a white cover with green print. If Rav Kook was for them, I knew it was not for me. It did not concern me that I had never read a single word of Rav Kook.

Over the past several years, I have had the opportunity to meet all sorts of Jews from outside of my little world. I have spoken with Toledos Aharon Chassidim, and with Reform Jews. I have attended the chag hasemicha at Yehivat Chovevei HaTorah, a secular kabbalat Shabbat in Jerusalem, and davened with Breslov in Tzefat. I have met people who love learning Torah, who have blue hair and multiple piercings, conversions that are not halachic, or are members of the LGBT community. I have met all sorts of people who are different from me. At times I have felt more comfortable and at times less, but always I have come away with a sense that I  better understood someone who is different from me. I have frequently left certain assumptions behind.

One of the best things about these meetings and interactions is that they forced me to leave my little world, where everyone thinks the same, and is sure who is in God’s good graces, and thinks they know who is sincere in their beliefs and actions. While it can be flattering to meet someone new and have them recognize my name from my blog, I have gained much more from the recognition that the vast majority have no clue who I am when we meet. While in my corner of the shul, or on my Facebook wall my opinion might matter, for most people out there, my thoughts are irrelevant.

Why do I write about this now? There seems to be a lot of opining, posturing, and arguing going on in the Jewish world right now. Many people and groups seem certain that they know who is on the right side, who should be teaching Torah, and what the world needs. Me? I’m confused. I have my opinions, but the more I meet people, and listen to them, the less I think I know. A lot of opinions I had in the past have fallen away as I’ve discovered the complexities of people and their situation.

There is one things that unites almost everyone with whom I’ve spoken. They are sick of the fighting. They don’t want leaders who posture and play politics. They are sick of the unnecessary divisions. I am not suggesting some mystical Shangri La where we all pretend that there are no issues to discuss, debate, and disagree. I am suggesting that we need to think really carefully before we introduce a new machlokes, something else to divide an all too divided people. While our comments and posts might score “likes” on Facebook amongst our friends, there are thousands of people who are looking for something else. Are we willing to listen to them?

[While I don't get into specifics, I hope that what follows encourages some thoughtful discussion and reflection on some...

Posted by Pesach Sommer on Monday, July 6, 2015

Olam HaBa B'Olam HaZeh- Thoughts from the first Project Makom Shabbaton

A few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to meet Shulem Deen, and spend a few minutes speaking. I had read his book, and we had interacted a bit on Facebook, and I was anxious to see if my positive perception of him would be confirmed. It was. During our brief conversation, I saw the sensitivity, intelligence, and warmth that I had expected. Towards the end of our conversation, I asked him about his thoughts about Project Makom, a new organization set up in order to help those charedim who were looking for a more open community, find their place. I had read Shulem’s essay about why Charedim  who leave observance, don’t check out the Modern Orthodox world before leaving, and I was curious to hear his thoughts. In response, Shulem shared a story with me.

When he was 14 years-old, he spent Shabbos at the house of a chassidish family. When he woke up Shabbos morning, his host asked him if he’d like some cake and tea. When his host noticed that Shulem had a surprised look on his face, he asked what was the matter. Shulem pointed out that it is assur to eat before davening. His host replied “I don’t eat before davening, but I thought you might be hungry and thirsty. I worry about your Olam HaZeh, not your Olam HaBa”. Shulem used this story to explain his concern with what Project Makom was doing. When a person is leaving their community, and needs help of all kinds, which might include job training, education, counseling, or the like, you need to worry about their Olam HaZeh, rather than their Olam HaBa. He worried that Project Makom was more concerned with its members Olam HaBa than their Olam Hazeh.  As I drove home that evening, I spent a lot of time thinking about Shulem’s words, and it was only the next day that I came to a deeper understanding.

This past Shabbos, I took part in the first Project Makom shabbaton. As one of the speakers I was nervous. Not due to stage fright, or a lack of words (as if that’s ever a problem), but because I was unsure if I could find the right words to connect with the people who would be attending the shabbaton. Truth is, I was concerned about the whole weekend. Given this opportunity to help our fellow Jews, would we meet with success?

I’m not going to try and sum up the entire weekend, or even what I spoke about (although at the request of some friends, I hope to do a brief writeup about my speech). Instead, I’d like to share some thoughts about what I saw. While the programming was varied, creative, and thoughtful, there were several parts that stood out.

On Friday night, there was a panel discussion where five people spoke of their experience transitioning from the charedi world to a more modern Orthodoxy. What struck me the most was the honesty of the words that they shared. Nothing was sugar-coated. There was no effort to promise that things were easy, or that transitions were linear and without pain. When the shabbaton participants asked tough questions of the panelists, the panelists responded with honesty, rather than trite cliches.

We also heard a schmooze from Rav Moshe Weinbereger, at his shul Aish Kodesh. Rav Weinberger’s shul is for people from the Modern Orthodox community who are looking to incorporate chassidus into their lives. Here too, I wondered whether the rav would be able to share words that would be meaningful to the shabbaton participants, some of whom were anxious to move on from the chassidic world. Once again, I was not disappointed. Rav Weinberger’s words showed that he understood the pain that many people were going through, and that he was not trying to pull the wool over their eyes.

The most important part of the shabbaton, at least in my eyes, and it is here that I come back to my conversation with Shulem, took part in between the programming. About 60-70 people, chassidic and Modern Orthodox sat and talked, and smiled, joked, and reached across the gulf that some people think ought to divide us. I met some of the bravest people I’ve ever met, people who refuse to accept the status quo of their lives, or that the most important aspects of their personal lives should be decided by others. I fought back tears, tears that now begin to fall, as I spoke with a couple who are not on the same page religiously, but are working on things because they are so madly in love with each other. I met a chassidish man whose desire to be himself has come at a big cost, but who chose to attend a shabbaton where he knew nobody. I watched people from different parts of the charedi world meet others like themselves and discover that they are not freaks, and that even if they have lost the support of some family members and their communities, that they have a new community that understands them and welcomes them with open arms.

So what’s my response to Shulem? At Project Makom, we are not trying to save anyone’s Olam HaBa. We are fully focused on helping people find a better Olam HaZeh. It’s just that for some people finding a new and better religious existence is part of creating a better Olam Hazeh.

Project 929 America- Bringing American Jews together through Jewish literacy

It’s a fairly familiar trope. How many  American Jews know the name of Jesus’ mother and how many know Moshe’s mother's name? Of course, to be fair, the two women do not have equally significant roles in the respective religions, but there is still an important point being made here. Far too many American Jews are ignorant of Tanach, and this includes the Orthodox community. How many American Jews know the names of the books of Trei Asar, let alone have studied any of them? How many people in our communities are familiar with the book of Melachim?  It is for that reason that I would like to make an immodest proposal.

Project 929 was recently started in Israel. The project, which began at the home of Israel’s president, is based on the idea that all Israeli Jews should study the 929 chapters of Tanach, by studying one chapter each day. With an attractive website, and articles from all segments of the Jewish-Israeli population, it is off to a very promising start. Even as some features of the program have attracted some controversy (click here if you can read modern Hebrew), there is still a lot of excitement about the project.

It is time for a similar program to be started in America. It is past the time for "The people of the book" to study the book. While most American Jews are not fluent enough in Hebrew to read Tanach in its original language, there are a number of excellent translations available (of course, I can not avoid noting the irony of making this suggestion one day after the date that the rabbis say the Torah was translated into Greek). As with the Israeli edition, there could be articles contributed by scholars and laymen on the various chapters. Imagine an article by Leon Wieseltier about the sale of Joseph by the brothers, or the chance for the average American Jew to be exposed to Rav Soloveitchik’s Adam I and II. Also similar to the Israeli program, there would be articles shared  from across the Jewish spectrum of all the denominations, as well as secular Jews. Not only would such a program help generate American Jews who are more Jewishly literate, but it would also be a project which could lead to much unity, as Jews from all walks of life would be studying the same chapter together. Imagine the discussion groups that could be started that could be open to all Jews regardless of affiliation. Consider the thoughtful discussions and debates that might occur between Jews who until now lacked a common religious language.

I don’t know the cost of the Israeli program, or how much it would cost to start Project 929 America, but whatever the cost, there are things that are important enough that money should not be an obstacle. Truly, this project would be priceless.

Sukkot Shiur- forgiveness, unity, humility and hope

Here’s a recording of my latest shiur/class. This one is about Sukkot, it’s connection to the Yamim Noraim, wealth, hope and more.

Symbolism, forgiveness, king and queen, messianic figures, unity. This shiur has it all.

Torah Tziva LANU Moshe- Torah as the means to bring the Jewish people together

Although Racheli Fraenkel’s new Rosh Hashana video and the Scottish election for independence, which is taking place today, seemingly have no connection, they have me thinking about peoplehood. Are we still one people? If so, based on what, and will that continue to be enough in the future?

In the video, Fraenkel speaks of the tremendous outpouring of unity and love that occurred after her son and two other yeshiva boys (ZTVKL) were kidnapped and murdered. She implores us to hold onto that feeling. Can we? Are we capable of showing unity without tragedy to connect us? While sorrow and pain can unite us, national mourning is, thankfully, too rare to serve as the glue to hold us together. Still, she is correct in asking us to remember the connection and to search for a way to keep it moving forward.

The Scottish independence movement also gives us a chance to think about what peoplehood means. The fact that a people might trade greater wealth and prosperity for full self-determination, reminds us that there are things more basic to our existence and happiness than money. Our Chachamim note this when they said that a person prefers a kav (measure of grain) that is his, more than 9 kabim given to him by (controlled by?) others. While, in some circles, nationalism has become a dirty word, in a world where individuality is forever being stressed, there is a strong desire to unite and connect with those around us, and discover what we share with others.

So where does that leave us? It has been said that we are a nation by virtue of the Torah. While there might be some truth in that, the pre-exilic books of Tanach seem to suggest that, even when the people are divorced from Torah, that a degree of national unity can exist. Additionally, in our day and many times in the past, Torah, what it means, and how it should be applied, has served to divide us. Even within religious communities, religious and theological terms, even when commonly used, seem to have very different meanings, meanings which often seem to divide and emphasize our differences, reinforcing a sense of loneliness. Israel and the communities outside of Israel seem in many ways to be moving in different directions, and friction between and within denominations show no signs of weakening. If Torah is to unite us, a different focus needs to be found.

I believe that the answer can be found within a phenomena that already exists, and is slowly gaining strength. The Torah can serve to unite us, if we stop insisting on our particular understanding of Torah to serve as the meeting point. The text of Torah, and not its particular application can be that which unites us if we will only allow it. Programs like Limmud outside of Israel, and secular and non-denominational batei midrash in Israel show that a new model of studying Torah is a real possibility. As leaders like MK Ruth Calderon continue to teach Torah in new and creative ways, and people like Rav Shmuel Pappenheim show that open dialogue, where we learn from each other with no strings attached, can take place, we are reminded of what can be.  

As we approach the Yamim Noraim, the high holidays of Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, holidays that are among the most observed in one form or another by the Jewish people, let us return to the Torah which was given on Yom Kippur, so that we might merit a good judgement, and unity based on celebration rather than tragedy.

Children of HaShem- Seeing every Jew as family

There is a palpable sense of achdut in Israel, that has not been felt in many decades. While one might be tempted to suggest it is tied into the war, previous wars have not led to this kind of unity. What is the basis of our unity?

בָּנִים אַתֶּם לה' אֱלֹהֵיכֶם לֹא תִתְגֹּדְדוּ וְלֹא תָשִׂימוּ קָרְחָה בֵּין עֵינֵיכֶם לָמֵת 

You are children of HaShem. Do not make any cuts on yourself, and do make a bald spot between your eyes, because of the dead. (Loose translation of Devarim 14:1).

Let's examine this passuk, both in terms of drush and peshat.

On the words “ לֹא תִתְגֹּדְדוּ", Chazal teach "לא תעשו אגודות אגודות " Do not split yourselves into separate groups, or cliques. (One place where this comes into play is when people within the same shul or community, have different practices with putting on tefillin on Chol HaMoed). Rashi explains that the reason for this prohibition is that if we split up our practice of Torah, it will appear, God forbid, as if there are two Torahs. Rambam, on the other hand suggests that the reason for the prohibition is to prevent fighting. What this understanding of the words לֹא תִתְגֹּדְדוּ seems to lack is a connection to the beginning of the pasuk בָּנִים אַתֶּם לה' אֱלֹהֵיכֶם. We will see that there is, in fact, a connection.

On the level of peshat, several explanations are given for the connection between the two parts of the passuk.

The Ibn Ezra explains that because we are children of HaShem, we should recognize that even when tragedy occurs, it from the same loving father who always take care of us. Even though death is difficult to accept, particularly when a person was murdered, our reaction should be tempered with the realization that our loving father rules the world, and that nothing happens unless He allows it.

The Ramban connects it to the concept of Olam HaBa. Do not respond to death as if it is the end, Recognize that, as children of God, there is another world, in which true reward will be given to the person who died.

I would suggest that the midrash, and the two explanations of it, do, in fact, tie into the beginning of the passuk.

The fact that we were given one Torah is an indication that we are all connected. Hashem asks us to live by the same rules. It is only as a nation can we observe all 613 mitzvos. As children of HaShem, we should be careful not to let supercial differences of appearance or approach of worship, lead to a sense that we do not share one Torah.

Similarly, a father is always pained where there is fighting and division among his children. He wants them to live together and realize that they are interconnected. We need to recognize that intra-religious fighting is an indication that we do not sufficiently see our fellow Jews as brothers and sisters.

The war started with the unbearable tragedy of the kidnapping and murder of three precious yeshiva boys. Although, we dare not claim to understand why, we follow in the lead of the Fraenkel, Yifrach and Shaar families and accept what happened as a decree from Above. We can derive at least a small amount of comfort knowing that these three precious boys, and those who have died during this war, are being treated as heroes in the world of Truth. Amongst ourselves, our reaction can only be that of unity, as we recognize that we are all truly children of HaShem, and that KOL Yisrael yeish lahem cheilek l'Olam Haba. After the end of the war, which should come soon, please God, let us remember this lesson and show that we do not need tragedy to bring us together as one.

Achdus 2.0- My attempt to get real with achdut

It is difficult to admit that I have not been honest with myself. For a long time, I have spoken about achdus/achdut, Jewish unity. I have written about it, made efforts to pursue it and thought I was really living it, despite occasional objections from friends. When I read the op-ed by Rabbi Zev Shendalov, about his being menachem avel (making a shiva-call) to the Walles family, after the murder of Avraham Walles z”l H’YD by a terrorist, I realized I’d been lying to myself. I finally came to realize that my efforts at creating unity, and connecting with those from other worlds, only went in one direction. I was comfortable speaking at a Reform Temple, being part of a non-halachic (pre-Shabbos) Kabbalat Shabbat, and attending a non-denominational Beit Midrash, but I made no effort to connect with the charedi (yeshiva and chassidish) world.

As I thought about the Walles family, I was filled with shame. When Naftali Fraenkel, Eyal Yifrach and Gilad Sheer z”l H’YD were murdered, I was devastated. I attended Eyal’s funeral, and was menachem avel at the Fraenkel home. These were my people. They lived in communities with which I identified, came from the “right” camp and lived in places where I could imagine living. I felt a visceral need to connect and offer at least some comfort.

When Avraham Walles was murdered, I felt sad, but had no thought of being menachem avel. After all, he was a Toldos Ahron chossid. Toldos Ahron are strongly anti-Zionist, and insular, even by the standards of Meah Shearim. Like Shendalov, I had very rarely been off the main street of that charedi neighborhood. Walles was different from me and had an approach to Judaism that made me very uncomfortable. More to the point, it’s not just Toldos Ahron that makes me uncomfortable. The charedi world with which I once felt a stronger connection, no longer speaks to me. More than that, some its values and approaches bother me greatly.

Shendalov’s op-ed hit me like a ton of bricks. I recognized that my disconnect from the charedi world had crossed from disagreement to something far more insidious. I realized how I had ignored the very real connection that Walles, his family and I, share. We are Jews. Period. Avraham was killed in an act of terror. End of story. A true attempt at achdut needs to go in both directions.

On Friday, I started to make things right. I left Rechov Meah Shearim, and went to the Walles home. I gave a small donation to help the orphans and widow, and sat with Walles’ father and brothers. I felt like crying. Just as I was pained when I heard Eyal Yifrach’s father sing “Tefillah L’Ani” at the funeral, and was filled with sadness when I met the Fraenkels, the thought of a father (and mother)  losing a son devastated me.

I don’t know whether my visit and meager words gave the Walles family any comfort. I know that I have finally begun to take achdus seriously. Friday was just the beginning.

Building a Common Home- a hopeful close to Tisha B'Av

About 15 of us sat in a circle listening to a thought-provoking presentation. Although I was the only non-Israeli, I was not the one who stood out the most in the group. That distinction would have to go Shmuel Pappenheim, a Toldos Ahron chassid. Toldos Ahron, for those who don't know, is staunchly anti-Zionist, and one of the more insular chassidic communities in Israel. Not only was Pappenheim a participant, but he was the one leading the session for a mixed group of dati, mesorati, and chiloni Jews, on the topic of building one's home into a mikdash mi'at, a figurative miniature version of the Beit HaMikdash. This session was part of a Tisha B'Av event sponsored by Reshut HaRabim, an Israeli organization which is trying to promote openness, dialogue and unity among the Jewish community of Jerusalem, as well as Gesher and the Hartman Institute.

After Pappenheim finished his presentation which included quotes from the Chasam Sofer, Seforno, Shelah and Rav Shimshon Rephael Hirsch, a spirited but warm conversation ensued. Among the topics discussed were a film about a chiloni couple where the husband became a ba'al teshuva, that had been shown before the session, Pappenheim's personal background, the challenges faced by families when one member becomes more or less religious than the rest of the family, and the changes that are being faced by the charedi community. Throughout the discussion, Pappenheim was open, engaging, introspective and thought-provoking. Not once did he appear uncomfortable, whether speaking with women who were dressed in a decidedly non-chassidic matter, or being asked about how his Yekish family became chassidic. He discussed his non-chassidic grandmother, whose open-minded personality and home opened Pappenheim up to a more open approach to the world. He undid a lot of stereotypes, and taught us about a community that none of us had previously understood.

I can't think of a better way to have ended Tisha B'Av. It is one thing to speak of achdus and ahavat chinam, it is entirely something else to see it in action, and be a part of it. As I led maariv on a porch looking out onto the Old City, I was filled with hope. Hope that the unity that I and others witnessed this summer, was not just an aberration caused by the war, but was the beginning of something bigger. Hope that after too many years of divisiveness, we are finally beginning to join together as one.

Tears of Hope and Faith- Learning the lessons from Tisha B'Avs past

Although there have been years where I shed tears on Tisha B’Av, they were few and far between. I struggle to fully connect with the loss of the Beis Hamikdash, and even when I do, I feel it more in my head than in my heart. This Tisha B’Av is different in this regard and in many other ways as well.

It has been a summer of tears. Tears shed upon hearing sad and tragic news, tears shed at funerals, tears of pain and loss. Paradoxically it has also been a summer of hope, faith and achdut. In mourning “our” boys, we have joined together and connected over what unites us. Through Rachely Fraenkel’s powerful words, we have learned to have emunah, even as it is mixed with pain. Soldiers have been embraced, literally, and with words and gifts of love. Although there is still work to be done, Ahavat chinam, and not sinat chinam seems, for the first time in a while, to be winning. Those who are old enough to remember, say that they have not seen such unity since the Six-Day War.

Last night, after Maariv and Eichah, Sdei Chemed, the camp for which I am head counselor, went to the kotel. We sat down to sing slow songs in the plaza by the Kotel. Within moments, we were joined by others and the circle continued to grow. We sang songs (singing begins at 34 seconds and Meir and I can be seen later on) about Yerushalayim, song about Achdus, and songs asking HaShem to return to us and allow us to return to Him. Hundreds of Jews of every type sang with us, some in our circle, some in the circle that surrounded us, as if in embrace. I sat next to my son watching chassidim sing with soldiers, mothers embracing their daughters, and young and old singing in beautiful harmony.

I cried last night, but for the first time ever, there were tears of hope and faith, mixed in with tears of sadness. Perhaps we are beginning to learn the lesson of Tisha B'Avs past.

Now Is the Time- Stand with Israel IN Israel

I’m not brave. I hate the sight of blood. I lock my car door when I drive through dangerous neighborhoods. I write these words of introduction so that you understand the words that follow do not come from someone with real or fake bravado.

The United States State Department has issued a an advisory against travelling to Israel. I don’t know the protocols that lead to these advisories, but I do know the facts on the ground. I have spent more than three weeks as the head counselor for Camp Sdei Chemed, a touring program for Anglo teens. We have travelled from the north to south, and from east to west. I am using my laptop a short drive away from Eilat. We are careful and risk averse. We have more than 40 young men (there is also a separate girl’s program) whose safety is in our hands, and we take that very seriously. At the same time, we are here to experience Israel. To give our boys a love for this great land, and the chance to see it in an organic and real way. We have been to the Fraenkel shiva house, put on a free carnival for children who were scared of the sirens, visited hospitals to sing and play music for the patients, and prepared packages for soldiers and people in the south. We have also gone on stunning hikes, interacted with the locals, gone biking around the Kinneret, scuba diving in Eilat and more. I have heard a grand total of three sirens in my time here, and at no moment have I felt that I was in danger.

I’ve spent more than three years of my life in this wonderful country and here’s the thing. I’ve never felt happier to be here. My presence tells my friends and their fellow citizens that they are not alone. That Americans don’t just come here when it is easy. Being here at this time has increased my desire to live here once again. The achdus I have witnessed, the joy I have experienced watching our campers dance with Israeli soldiers at the kotel, and the strong, proud resolve I have witnessed from Israel’s citizens, reminds me how much I belong here.

I know that Israelis appreciate the rallies that are taking place throughout the world in support of the Jewish State, particularly when there are so many hate filled-rallies going on at the same time. Still, what they really want, what they really deserve is to see as many people here as possible. To see how much support they have throughout the world. Now is the time to visit, to book plane tickets for Succos, to make sure that your next vacation is here. If you are worried about travelling to dangerous areas, I’d advise you to stay out of Chicago. I hear it’s a war-zone over there.

One Heart- Unity through Torah

So much has been written about Jewish unity. How do we get there? Perhaps if we examine a midrash more deeply, we might gain a few insights.

Thanks, in part, to Rashi, it is one of the most well known midrashim. As Bnei Yisrael get to Har Sinai, the pasuk says וַיִּסְע֣וּ מֵֽרְפִידִ֗ים וַיָּבֹ֨אוּ֙ מִדְבַּ֣ר סִינַ֔י וַֽיַּֽחֲנ֖וּ בַּמִּדְבָּ֑ר וַיִּֽחַן־ שָׁ֥ם יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל נֶ֥גֶד הָהָֽר – "And they travelled from Rephidim and they came to the Sinai Desert, and they camped in the desert, and they camped there, facing the mountain". Commenting on the fact that the second time it mentions Bnei Yisrael camping, it uses the term וַיִּֽחַן, which is singular, the midrash explains that this refers to their level of unity, כּאיש אחד בּלב אחד "Like one man, with one heart". Why does the midrash have to say the words "with one heart"? If they were like "one man", is it not obvious that it was like they had "one heart"?

Actually, it is not. In a mishna in Berachos the words בּכל לבבך are understood to mean that you should love God with both of your hearts, the yetzer hatov and the yetzer hara. We have competing drives. We sometimes behave with duplicity. We are pulled in two very different directions. Ordinarily, the best we can hope for is to channel it all into the service of God. Somehow, by Har Sinai, our two hearts became one. How did that happen?

In Jewish thought, God is described as a יושב, one who stays put, and does not change (as an extension, only a king from the house of David may sit in the Beis HaMikdash). Angels are called עומדים, creatures who stand, who have only one leg (we imitate this each time we say the amidah). They do not change, but are, of course, less permanent than God. Man is a הולך one who moves. While we sometimes move in the right direction, often we do not. We are constantly moving, striving, changing. While this movement is necessary, it comes with a cost. We can be at odds with ourselves. Certainly, one who has an internal civil war, can not easily love another person. We often work against each other, seeing success as a zero sum game, where another's success comes at a cost to me. It is during the six days of the week during which we strive, that we often strive against one another. Shabbos gives us a chance to rest, to be at peace. When Bnei Yisrael camped at Har Sinai, they too came to rest. They were no longer going somewhere. They had arrived. They could camp and rest.

By camping around Har Sinai, they had a common focal point (Rav Tzadok explains the idea of tzaddikim in olam haba encircling the shecina as suggesting equal value before God). God and His Torah became the unifying factor for all of them. While each person had all sorts of physical, emotional and personal differences, before God, they were equal. While there were 12 shevatim, composed of millions of people, they became more than one nation. They became one person, with one common heart.

As we again receive the Torah, may we be mekabel it with love, and again join together with one heart. Chag Sameach.

Accepting the Other- The Precursor to Unity

Before my trip to Israel in March, I spoke a lot about Achdus/t, unity. Seeing a fractured Jewish world, my initial response was that unity was the answer. While I still very much believe in Achdus, and continue to try to work with individuals who share this view, on a communal level, I no longer believe that achdus is currently achievable between the Modern Orthodox and Charedi worlds. Instead, I'd like to pivot and suggest a new communal goal, which might be a step towards ultimate unity.

When one speaks of unity, it is between people who see themselves as part of the same group. The more homogeneous, and the smaller the group, the easier it is to have unity. As the group becomes more heterogeneous, and larger, it is harder to keep everyone together. Over time, this usually leads to infighting, and ultimately, a split.

Comedian Emo Phillips has a great routine that highlights this point. He tells of an encounter with a man who is about to jump off of the Golden Gate Bridge. In trying to talk him down, Phillips starts to discuss religion. He asks the man whether he is Christian or Jewish. The man answers Christian. Emo responds “Me too”. He continues by asking Catholic or Protestant, and when told the latter, he once again responds “Me too”. The questions continue, with the same response of “Me too”, until, upon discovering that they are members of slightly different sects, Phillips says “Die Heathen!” and pushes him off the bridge.

Unity involves more than being part of the same people. No one, on either side of the divide, denies the Jewishness of the other. Where communal unity becomes impossible is when we turn to theology and halacha. The modern Orthodox (and for the point of this post, I'll be a little less nuanced, and include the dati leumi community under that title) and charedi worlds, have too many differences over what we believe God asks of us, relating to the outside world, the State of Israel, secular Jews, non-Jews and more. Regardless of who is correct, or even whether many of these issues have a single “right” answer, there is too much that divides us. The differences are so strong that we are unable to agree to disagree. I do not wish to deal with whose fault it is. Let's leave it that each group too often seeks to demonize the other. Let's ignore the question of fault or blame.

So, what is the alternative? Is there a way to move from the status quo? I believe there is. One, is less than ideal, but might just be the best that we can hope for. The other is far more ideal, and far harder to achieve.

In the Kuzari, Rabbi Yehuda HaLevi tells the fictional story of a king who has a dream, where God informs him that he is on the wrong path. The words that God says are instructive. “Your intentions are good. Your actions are not good”. God acknowledges that the king means well. He is trying to do what is right. The problem is that he has chosen the wrong path. The king has good and noble goals, he's simply not doing the right things to achieve them. It is one thing for God to say this. After all, He knows that which is objectively. When a person uses these words, there is a bit on condescension in them. “Now, now” he says, sounding a bit like a scolding parent or school marm. “I know that you meant well, but let me tell you how it's done”. It is this connotation that makes it less than ideal. Implicit in the message is that we are right and you are not.

The second possibility is to recognize that our “objective” knowledge is, with few (possible) exceptions, subjective. Everything that each of us sees, we see through our own eyes, and understand through our own minds and biases. With this perspective, we can recognize that the person who sees things differently can have the same goal, but think the way to achieve it is different (Of course, we can and should extend this to people with other goals). Here, the goal is not agreement, or necessarily interaction. The goal is simply to understand that the other group is not anti-Torah or anti-God. It is much more difficult to achieve because we often fail to recognize that we are inherently subjective.

This new goal is much less noble sounding than a call for unity. It is however a necessary precursor to unity within our community. Before we can love our fellow like ourselves, we first need to stop demonizing him. This is the longer shorter way.

Post by Pesach Sommer.