Leaving Har Sinai- On the challenges of taking Matan Torah Into life

Thanks to a wonderful shiur I listened to on Friday, I headed into Shabbos and Yom Tov with strong expectations. Rav Ami Silver gave over a derasha from Derech HaMelech, which the Piaseczna Rebbe first delivered nearly 90 years ago. I went into Shabbos wanting to learn through the rebbe’s words on my own, as I strongly wanted to internalize the message. It took a few times going over it, but eventually I was able to reconnect with the message of the derasha. I was deeply moved by the idea that Kabbalas HaTorah is something which re-occurs throughout time, and that we need to see ourselves as having something worthy to merge with the Torah, rather than accepting it passively. The part which touched me the most was the idea that we must dig down within ourselves, in our own “dirt” to discover that even there, we connect with the Ribbono Shel Olam.

Over the chag, I continued to learn from the Derech HaMelech, as well as from Rav Kook’s Midbar Shur. Combined with the time I spent with family, and the learning I did with several of our children, Shavuos was a deeply meaningful experience. I truly felt that it was a personal Z’man Matan Toraseinu.

Just as suddenly, as I went from Yom Tov to chol, the experience disappeared. I remember the words, and the ideas they conveyed, but I can no longer access them. Even as today is Iseru Chag, the day when we are to bind the experiences of the yom tov to our lives, the switch from kodesh to chol is too dramatic. While I try and pass it off as being a product of physical and mental exhaustion, it seems to me that something else is going on. As I stood at the base of Har Sinai, I could imagine finding the holy within dirt, even within my own. Now, having traveled on, my imagination fails, and this profound teaching has reverted to just an intellectual concept.

I better understand how 40 days after Kabbalas HaTorah there can be a Cheit HaEigel. To receive the Torah is an avodah, but to bring it with you from Har Sinai is a greater one, and right now I don’t know how to do that.

Highs and Lows- A message to a bar mitzvah boy and all of us

Dear Caleb,

Although I don’t know you, I know your dad and rather than give a plain-old Mazal Tov, I want to share some thoughts with you as you approach your big day.

It seems so appropriate that you are celebrating your Bar Mitzvah in Israel, right by Shavuos, and as we begin Sefer Bamidbar. I’d like to suggest a connection between the three.

Perhaps the most famous words from Mattan Torah are the words Na’aseh V’Nishmah. There are many questions that can be asked on these words, but I will just ask one. Why do we need two words to say we accept the Torah and mitzvot? I’d like to share a beautiful idea I saw in the Nesivos Shalom. He points out that for everyone, not just the regular people, but the greatest tzaddikim as well, there are times we feel close to HaShem and times we feel distant. During the times of closeness, it is easy to attach to HaShem. When everything feels great, it’s easy to daven. When tefillin are new, it’s easy to be excited to put them on. Those moments are the “Nishmah” part of life. The part of life when we get it. There are also “Naaseh” moments. Moments of sadness and difficulty when we feel distant from HaShem. There too, we commit to attach to HaShem, even though it’s hard. The Slonimer Rebbe is sharing something important. The high moments are great, but for all of us, they are followed by lows. We can attach to HaShem during both.

This very much connects to Megillas Rus. A student at my shiur last night, pointed out that the term Davak, to attach, is used multiple times in Rus, highlighting this point of attaching to God during the good and bad times. Perhaps that is why we read this megillah on Shavuos.

We also see this in Sefer Bamidbar. The first half of the Sefer reads like a plan. Here’s how we get to Israel. All details. No worries about what might go wrong. Then real life happens and... kablooey!!! Everything falls apart, and all of a sudden there is a 40 year detour. Again, it’s easy to feel close to God when everything goes as planned. Bnei Yisrael had to stay in the Midbar to learn to trust and stay close to HaShem, even when things are dark.

Which brings us to Israel. There are so many wonderful things going on there. I told your father how jealous I am of you for having your bar mitzvah there. So much better than any party you could have in the US. Israel however has lots of challenges too. Even in the holiest place in the world, the good and the bad, the easy and the hard, the light and the dark mix. There, we have the greatest opportunity to stay close to HaShem through it all.

As I said, I don’t know you, but I know your dad. I know that I am not the only one inspired by his passion for Torah, and the efforts he makes to stay close to God through all of life’s challenges. You couldn’t ask for a better role model.

Mazal tov and enjoy!

Pesach Sommer

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.