Reaching Out- God, Avraham and choice (Audio shiur)

In Lech Lecha, God commanded Avraham (Avram at that point) to leave his land to go to Canaan. Absent from the story is any reason for Avraham being selected for his special role.

In the shiur, we explore various possibilities as to whether God chose Avraham or Avraham chose God. In the process, we explore the concept of what it means to be chosen, and the relationship between God and mankind.

Below are the links (the shiur is in two parts due to technical reasons)

Running time 1:10

Part I

Part II

The Middle Ground- Finding the balance in our relationship with God

“Yedid Nefesh, Av Ha Rachaman…”

The other night after my shiur on parshat Noach, I got into an interesting conversation with a student. We somehow ended up discussing the danger of viewing God as one who can be manipulated through things like davening, Tehillim and baking challah. I pointed out to him, that the rationalist side, a side that has become very common within the world of modern-orthodoxy, has its dangers as well. He asked what they were, and I responded off the cuff with a quick answer. What follows is an attempt to give a more complete answer to the question.

Rav Eliezer Berkovits zt”l wrote about the fact that the God of Aristotle is not the God of the Torah. Aristotle spoke of the Unmoved Mover, a God with whom man can not truly engage. On the other hand, the Torah speaks of a God who listens, commands and gives rewards and punishments. In short, a God who cares. While Rambam attempted to somehow merge the two ideas, for many he created a supercomputer of sorts with whom it is difficult for us to relate. While he moved Judaism away from a God who could be seen as too human, he left us with a God with whom it is hard to connect.

Rav Shimshon Raphael  Hirsch in his commentary on Bereishis, took note of this difficulty. On the pesukim found at the end of parshas Bereishis (6:6), God, in advance of the flood, is described as regretting the creation of man and feeling sad.

וַיִּנָּחֶם ה' כִּי־עָשָׂה אֶת־הָאָדָם בָּאָרֶץ וַיִּתְעַצֵּב אֶל־לִבּוֹ:

Rav Hirsch notes:

Let us here make a general remark about anthropomorphic expressions in Scripture. Scholars have philosophized about these expressions, in order to keep us far from ascribing to God material features.

He continues by noting:

This gives rise, however, to the danger that the Personality of God will become increasingly blurred and indistinct to our perception. Had that been the Torah's intention, it could easily have avoided such expressions. Rather, the second danger (that of blurring the Creator's Personality) is greater than the first (that of anthropomorphizing the Creator). (Emphasis added)

...All this affirms the Personality and freedom of God and preserves the purity of faith. This is also the view of the ראב''ד, the distinctively Jewish thinker: Belief in the Personality of God is more important than the speculations of those who reject the attribution of material features to God.

While it can be argued that in Rambam’s time the greater danger might have been in the opposite direction, it seems to me that Rav Hirsch is correct in noting that the pendulum has swung too far in our community. Why daven when God is unchanging and uncaring? How can we relate to His mitzvos when we can’t relate to Him at all? If all we know is what he is not, how can that be enough for the basis of a relationship?

It is time to think about finding a proper balance. While the God of the Torah is not a gumball machine from which we can receive what we want whenever we want, he is also not a supercomputer running the world. It is time to return to language that speaks not only of God’s perfection, but also of His concern, and for us to not see him as merely the creator, but also as a God who loves and cares about us.

Ayeka- A Poem

I could not find you today,

in the three times that I prayed,

or in the bright autumn leaves,

or even in my wife's smile.

Perhaps, alone, late at night,

I might yet find you,

deep within myself.

Teshuva for Turbulent Souls

I can’t imagine testing potential medicines and chemicals on myself, yet in the 19th century, it was not so rare for scientists to use themselves as their own guinea pigs. In one of the chapters in  “A Short History of Nearly Everything”, Bill Bryson tells the fascinating and often humorous stories about those who did so.

Of the philosophers, both general and Jewish, whose works I have read, I have seen two approaches. The first is what I would call clinical. Their discussions of various topics are logically arranged and scientific, or at least, as scientific as philosophy can get. The second group is made up of turbulent souls, to borrow a phrase from Stephen J. Dubner. They study philosophy, not as dispassionate analysts, but as if there very existence depends on it. They are not just trying to understand things. They are seeking to know God and themselves.

As Yom Kippur gets closer, I have been doing quite a bit of reading and studying. As I read some of Heschel’s “Man is Not Alone” on Rosh Hashana, I had to put it down. This was no rationalist discussion of proofs of God. Heschel’s words gave me the discomfort of standing in the presence of God, as opposed to merely thinking about Him. Rav Shagar’s “Shuvi Nafshi” is nothing if not penetrating, intimate and revealing. Coupled with the viewing of a documentary about Rav Shagar, I was left with the sad yearning to sit and study at the feet of this open and honest man, who left the world before his time.

What is teshuva and do I even aspire to understand, let alone to act on that understanding? As I force myself to remember to add the words “HaMelech HaKadosh” to the Amidah, I have not sufficiently looked for Him inside of it. Late at night, as I prepare for a shiur I will be delivering on teshuva, I am, alternatively challenged and pained by Rav Shagar’s words, and the need to pull back and distract myself by checking Facebook. Dare I discuss and try to explain teshuva, when it is only in my mind, and, I fear, likely to go no further?

I have (I am?) a turbulent soul. How do I cross from the clinical understanding of teshuva, the almost voyeuristic experience of seeing Rav Shagar’s exposed soul, to looking inside myself? I don’t know what scares me the most; what I might see, that I might fail, or that I might succeed. The door of this dark room is open before me, showing a glimpse of the light outside. Dare I exit, or will I, once again, merely wonder about the Source of the light?

We Just Don't Know- Accepting the Pain of Uncertainty

I’m scared to write, but I struggle to hold back. I’m sad and hurting and angry, but mostly just numb. I keep thinking about what to tell my children who are here in Israel with me, but that implies that I know what to tell myself.

At moments like this, the usual answers of theology feel cheap. They are not enough. In some ways they feel more like a defense mechanism to push off the pain than like answers. We live in a society where, too often, the answer to sadness is an attempt to divert ones attention, by joking, by giving “answers”, by changing the subject, and, yes, by writing. It is as if we think that feelings are not to be felt.

Even worse, is the misguided sense that we need to defend God. That somehow, He needs us to defend him. When a child is hurting and angry, does a good father need his child to hold back his feelings? Do we do God and the cause of religion any favor by pretending we know why this happened? When our education leads us to think that we can give a meaningful answer, or even worse, the answer to a question that has plagued man since the beginning of time, we show just how poor that education was. A good parent or teacher knows that sometimes, the only answer is “I don’t know”. When it comes to God, how much more so should we not pretend to have an answer?

Sometimes it is best to let our children to see our tears flow down our cheeks, to feel that doubt and struggle are not bad and wrong, to give them the comfort of seeing their role-models struggle. If we learn texts that deal with this question, we must reinforce the idea that it is just one approach, rather than a definitive answer. If we want to turn to Torah, it should be to Tehillim or Iyov, and not some book which claims to know the Jewish view of… well, anything. There are almost no cases where there is a unified answer.

Our belief is most real if we treat God as God, as being beyond the understanding of man, as big enough to not be hurt by our anger or doubts, as One whose ways are not our ways. Let us give our children and ourselves the education of being real with ourselves, of dealing with our human emotions, of admitting the scary truth that we just don’t know.

Dirt and Ashes- Is there anything more?

This past Shabbos, I found myself thinking of the conversation that goes on between HaShem and Avraham, when HaShem is about to destroy Sedom. Although I read this story many times, I thought of something new, which might be worth exploring.

It is HaShem who initiates the conversation:

יז וַֽיהוָֹ֖ה אָמָ֑ר הַֽמֲכַסֶּ֤ה אֲנִי֙ מֵֽאַבְרָהָ֔ם אֲשֶׁ֖ר אֲנִ֥י עֹשֶֽׂה: יח וְאַ֨בְרָהָ֔ם הָי֧וֹ יִֽהְיֶ֛ה לְג֥וֹי גָּד֖וֹל וְעָצ֑וּם וְנִ֨בְרְכוּ־ב֔וֹ כֹּ֖ל גּוֹיֵ֥י הָאָֽרֶץ: יט כִּ֣י יְדַעְתִּ֗יו לְמַ֩עַן֩ אֲשֶׁ֨ר יְצַוֶּ֜ה אֶת־בָּנָ֤יו וְאֶת־בֵּיתוֹ֙ אַֽחֲרָ֔יו וְשָֽׁמְרוּ֙ דֶּ֣רֶךְ יְהֹוָ֔ה לַֽעֲשׂ֥וֹת צְדָקָ֖ה וּמִשְׁפָּ֑ט לְמַ֗עַן הָבִ֤יא יְהוָֹה֙ עַל־אַבְרָהָ֔ם

אֵ֥ת אֲשֶׁר־דִּבֶּ֖ר עָלָֽיו

HaShem rhetorically asks whether he can hold back from Avraham that which he is about to do. After all, it is through Avraham that the whole world will be blessed. Additionally, Avraham is the one who will teach his family and descendants about righteousness and justice.

Immediately upon being told of the impending destruction, Avraham starts to argue, saying:

כג וַיִּגַּ֥שׁ אַבְרָהָ֖ם וַיֹּאמַ֑ר הַאַ֣ף תִּסְפֶּ֔ה צַדִּ֖יק עִם־רָשָֽׁע: כד אוּלַ֥י יֵ֛שׁ חֲמִשִּׁ֥ים צַדִּיקִ֖ם בְּת֣וֹךְ הָעִ֑יר הַאַ֤ף תִּסְפֶּה֙ וְלֹא־תִשָּׂ֣א לַמָּק֔וֹם לְמַ֛עַן חֲמִשִּׁ֥ים הַצַּדִּיקִ֖ם אֲשֶׁ֥ר בְּקִרְבָּֽהּ: כה חָלִ֨לָה לְּךָ֜ מֵֽעֲשׂ֣ת ׀ כַּדָּבָ֣ר הַזֶּ֗ה לְהָמִ֤ית צַדִּיק֙ עִם־רָשָׁ֔ע וְהָיָ֥ה כַצַּדִּ֖יק כָּֽרָשָׁ֑ע חָלִ֣לָה לָּ֔ךְ הֲשֹׁפֵט֙ כָּל־הָאָ֔רֶץ לֹ֥א יַֽעֲשֶׂ֖ה מִשְׁפָּֽט:

Using the very same terms that HaShem used to describe Avraham, Avraham asks God how he can punish the righteous along with those who are evil. Surely the city should be saved if there enough righteous people within its borders. "Will The Judge of the whole earth not do justice!?!". At that point Avraham begins to negotiate, starting off with the possibility that there might be 50 righteous people in Sedom. Ultimately he gets God to agree to spare the city provided there are at least 10 righteous people in the city.

What struck me was the way Avraham describes himself:

כז וַיַּ֥עַן אַבְרָהָ֖ם וַיֹּאמַ֑ר הִנֵּה־נָ֤א הוֹאַ֨לְתִּי֙ לְדַבֵּ֣ר אֶל־אֲדֹנָ֔י וְאָֽנֹכִ֖י עָפָ֥ר וָאֵֽפֶר

He says of himself "I am (but?) dirt and ashes".

I had several questions pop to mind when I thought of this phrase:

1. If Avraham wants to say that he is insignificant, why you use these descriptors? Why not simply say "I am nothing"?
2. How can Avraham describe himself in this manner when he is in the midst of talking to God? What greater proof is there of his significance and value?

It seems to me that dirt and ashes refer to two separate aspects of being human. Dirt (symbolically) refers to the substance from which he was created. He is a creature, and not just a creature, but one who is made up of inorganic material. In some ways, he shares certain qualities with inanimate objects. Ashes refers to that which will occur to him, and all life forms; death. Although he is not an inanimate object, he shares certain similarities with animals. Although he is alive, his end and the animal's end are similar (echoes of Koheles?).

Avraham is noting the paradox of man. On the one hand, we are finite, and similar in makeup to objects and in form to animals. On the other hand, we have significance in the eyes of the creator. There is a relationship that we enjoy with him, which is different from His connection to all other creatures. He cares about us not just as a species, but as individuals. God values our prayers, and asks us to imitate His ways, however imperfectly we may do so. Avraham anticipates the Psalmist's cry of "Mah enosh ki tizkerenu?".

Modern science and philosophy sometimes seem very reductionist. Materialists and Positivists suggest that we are nothing more than our chemical and physical makeup. Camus wondered, if this is true, why one should go on living. Although we can not prove it or quantify it, we have what religion calls a soul, which marks us as unique in the physical world. The very tools of the scientist and philosopher, mark us as unique. Is the importance and value we see in ourselves, nothing but a conceit? We are finite, and destined to die. At the same time, our Creator calls out to us, and asks us to be his partner in creating a just and righteous world. Dare we conceal ourselves from Him?

Amidah Lifnei HaMakom- how I ditched the daf, rediscovered tefillah, and remembered what relationships are really about

When I was in my twenties, I came up with the goal of “finishing” Shas by the time I was 40. Although I had a long way to go, I had finally reached the point where I could make a leining on my own, and I had discovered the joys of bekiyus. I am nearly 43 years old and I failed to reach my goal. Sure I made progress, completing a number of masechtos of gemara, with chavrusas and through Daf Yomi, but I reached my 40^th birthday having gone through less than half of Shas.

Although it was too late to reach my arbitrary goal, I started doing Daf Yomi again, nearly two years ago. Despite the philosophical struggles with which I was dealing at the time, or maybe because of them, I kept up with the schedule on a nearly perfect basis, falling behind less than a handful of times. I enjoyed the learning, picked up a lot of ideas and insights, and started to imagine that I could attend the next Siyum HaShas, as a misayem, and not just a spectator, as I had been at the last one. Then, during my recent trip to Israel, I stopped doing the daf. Not a temporary break, and maybe not forever, but certainly for the foreseeable future. Although I was sorry to stop, I knew it had to be done.

For a long time, I've struggled with davening. Although part of the struggle was due to my difficulty keeping my mind from wandering, I sensed however, that that was a result of my lack of connecting with tefillah, rather than the reason for my struggles. I couldn't make sense of what tefillah was supposed to be about. It seemed silly and superficial to believe that davening was a way to “get stuff” from God, but I had a hard time getting past that. Besides, if that was the goal, I was either really bad at achieving it, or God just really didn't like me. I came across those who suggested other ideas, most commonly, that fefillah was a form of self-judgement. Although that made some sense to me, it just didn't click with me. Davening became a greater and greater burden in my life. I started learning during davening, not out of piety, but as an attempt to pass the time without thinking about my inability to connect to prayer. Nearly every morning, I completed the Daf during Shacharis. It wasn't that I thought this would help me daven better. Essentially, I was giving up. Then, with the help of some friends and some self-reflection, I realized I was approaching things the wrong way.

What is the goal of spending time with your spouse? What does your friend give you that makes it worthwhile to spend time with them? Intuitively, we recognize the shallow absurdity of these questions. Still, in my mind, I had been asking the same sort of question about God. What do I get for davening? What's in it for me?

The main part of each tefillah, the part we call the Shemoneh Esrei, is more properly called the Amidah, or even better yet, Amidah Lifnei HaMakom, standing before God (interestingly called The Place). Many of the ritual parts of the Amidah are to help us feel that it is just the two of us, me and God, me in God's presence, God, as a presence in my life. Included in this, is how we stand, our posture, bowing and so much more. The goal is to just be there in a Shir HaShirim-lovers sort of way. Not out of compunction, habit or law, but out of love. Sometimes of course that's difficult if not impossible. Sometimes we feel so angry, frustrated or sad, that we hardly want to talk. Surely we've experienced the same feelings in the midst of our most important relationships. We are still asked not to, and are hopefully unable to, negate the one we love, our spouse, and friend. Tefillah at that moment takes on a different tone, but still, we stand together, and communicate, however imperfectly.

I miss the constancy and companionship of doing the daf and I don't know whether I will ever finish Shas, but I do know that I have no desire to so at the expense of my davening. While learning Torah connects my intellect to God, it is through davening that I most closely feel His presence.

Post by Pesach Sommer.

Post by Pesach Sommer.

Gemara, God and Goals

“If you want to know the One who spoke and the world came into being, study aggada”.

Sifrei Devarim 49

“Where can God be found? Wherever we let Him in”.

Kotzker Rebbe

I remember the day well. I was teaching gemara to one of the strongest classes I had ever taught. It was going extremely well. One student, of whom I was very fond, who was not always involved, was really into it. Still, I was dissatisfied. Braking the page (to borrow a term from theater), I turned to him and asked “Does this feel at all like a religious experience?”. He said that it did not, and we went back to learning. It is one thing to be unhappy when a class is not going well, but here I was suddenly unhappy with one that was quite good.

For a long time, it has seemed to me that rabbeim mistake successful learning of gemara, as a sign that the student has been motivated religiously. If we think about it, learning gemara well and religious motivation are two totally separate things. The possibly apocryphal tales of the maskil who sat learning gemara on Shabbos, while smoking a cigarette, highlights this idea. For those with an analytical bent, learning gemara is very engaging. A judge once told my father OB”M that the best preparation he had for a career in law, was learning gemara. One can get lost in the brilliance of the page without thinking of God even once. She can be so engaged in the details of the mitzvah, that she never thinks of the Metzaveh.

So what is the solution?

Strangely, it's right there in the very text of the gemara. Sifrei, a halachic work, tells us that if one wants to encounter God (interestingly, described as “the One who spoke and the world came into being”), should study the non-halachic, philosophical teachings of the gemara called “aggada”. This is not to deny that for some God is in the halachic details. It is saying that there is a second side that must be learned to encounter the Divine.

Of course, as anyone who has ever been in a gemara shiur from beginners level to the highest beit midrash knows, aggada is either skipped, or read through perfunctorally, without any attempt at a deeper understanding. Even if one would seek to justify this approach, by an appeal to tradition, it is not a very satisfying answer. Historically, those who learned gemara were highly motivated religiously, and often lived in a world that challenged their beliefs much less than ours does today.

It seems to me that a big reason for the lack of systematic study of aggada is a lack of knowledge and thus, comfort. Most teachers of gemara have never learned aggada in a sophisticated manner. As such, it's hard to imagine them teaching it to their students. Fortunately, there are many great resources available. Rav Kook has a peirush on the aggadot of Masechtos Berachos and Shabbos called “Ain Ayah”. It is deep and beautiful, and unlike some of his other writings, it is not flowery and is thus, more easily understood. Rabbi Yitzchak Blau has written deeply, in English, about many aggadot, some of which can be found online.

We can not bemoan the lack of religious motivation among our students and children (or ourselves ), if we do not work to change the situation. There are those who bemoan the lack of God's presence in public school. We must be sure that the same can not be said about our yeshivahs. It is time to learn aggada.