I Still Got It

While I on my morning walk last week, I pushed the stroller with one hand and kept my cell in the other. 

Luke and I had somehow ended up going from light chit chat to a fierce Biblical debate. He was of the opinion that if Moshe had not hit the rock, history could have been different. If the Jews had his leadership in the Land, he argued, instead of Yehoshua's, things could have gone another way.  

I was of the belief that the punishment was merely that he could not be buried in Eretz Yisroel, as he was not supposed to lead them into the Land in any case. Moshe was the leader of miracles, who had to teach a nation to cast off the shackles of slavery and become free men. Now, with their liberated mindset, they had to leave the miraculous existence and fight for the land. Because one only cherishes that which is fought for. The way we fight for the Land today and cherish it all the more for it.

Luke kept insisting I was denying bechira, while I countered that Moshe was punished with burial outside the Land, not death. Prior, he could have been buried in the Land, but now he could not.

I walked amongst the newly sprung vegetation, everything vibrant and green, the way it was supposedly on Har Sinai. 

I'm guessing he finally, begrudgingly, heard my argument because after a motley of somewhat incoherent voice notes, he ceased on that topic, and started quoting Lord of the Rings instead. 

I felt a rush of exhilaration during this exchange, and bounced along cheerfully as I headed home.  

This past year has been rather sleep-deprived, and I haven't been able to read dvar Torahs without nodding off. I can't really listen to shiurim; Ben insists on nursery songs. 

But now I know that I haven't lost it, and that I can reclaim it again when I am allowed to do so.  

A few hours later I was talking to Ta, and told him over my conversation with Luke. Of course he corrected me, that Moshe was punished that he could not enter the Land. 

But Ta was able to add the reason why Moshe was not buried in the Land. When the daughters of Yisro are rescued by him, they identify him as an "Ish Mitzri" to their father. Yosef, however, was described as an "Eved Ivri" by the Saar HaMashkim. Yosef identified himself as a Jew, while Moshe was perceived as an Egyptian. Yosef was zoche to be buried in the Land; Moshe was not allowed. 

Ah, geshmack. 

Dating Like a Peacock, Revisited

Han, a fellow animal lover, was showing me a video of a male clownfish attempting to woo the larger female. The way he goes about it is by shivering. 

"Look at these poor guys knocking themselves out," I said. "Why is it so different in the animal world than in the human? Here, women kill themselves in makeup and heels to get a man. Everything about the animal world is the other way around. The males are pretty, the males do the pursuing." I even wrote about it a number of years back.

But then, a dvar Torah by Rabbi Noson Weisz explained the disparity to me: It's because of the chet. 

When Adam and Chava were created, Chava called the shots in terms of interacting with the outside world. That's why the Nachash approached her, as opposed to Adam; she was the one in charge. 

But after she messed up, she lost her leadership role. Additionally, the ensuing curse physically diminished her, causing her to rely on male protection for survival.

In the wild, females rarely need protection from males. If the males stick around to raise the offspring, it's an equal-ish role (he may do more). 

However, in these days leading up to Mashiach, the curses are lessening. Men can sit in a climate controlled office to earn their bread, rather than by the "sweat of his brow." The Industrial Revolution created a means for a woman to support herself if needed, rather than by entering in potentially unfulfilling yet financially beneficial marriages. While childbirth is still unpleasant, women are much less likely to die from it anymore. 

In these days, where the original equality is within sight, perhaps women can stop trying so hard. You want us, fellas? 

Let's get you some peacock feathers to try on.  

Too Above, Too Beyond

I've become rather attached to a Jewish cooking group on social media. They've been very helpful, really. While the majority of posted recipes do not pass my self-defined "healthy" criteria, they've provided plenty of inspiration and options. 

As the "fun" parshios have swung back, the feed is cluttered now with women posting their "parsha desserts." Cakes covered in blue fondant and animal crackers. Rainbow blondies. Star cookies. Some breathtakingly elaborate. 

Group members tend to post what they made, which can give others much-needed ideas when they're tired of making the same chicken for supper three nights in a row. But there was some backlash to all the parsha postings, to the point that the administrator gave everyone a scolding. If you don't want to make it, then don't make it!, she said. That doesn't mean you have to be snarky and disapproving!  

Am I the sort of gal who'll spend my Friday carefully crafting a "mabul cake"? (I still don't know what that is). No. Not me. 

I do think it's an excellent idea to get children excited about the parsha. However. However: 

I'm pretty stressed on Fridays. I pride myself in not overdoing things, but after hitting the stories at 7:30, cleaning chicken, and praying I don't burn the broccoli again, I can get pretty busy. I'm also unwilling to do certain things, like stay up past my bedtime, to make a special something for Shabbos that, chances are, will not get the reception I was expecting for so much effort. 

Cooking for Shabbos can be overwhelming. When one is overwhelmed, one can get . . . testy. Maybe a little yell-y. So if any wife, mother, or daughter lost it because of the complicated desserts that are being made in the name of Torah, IT WASN'T WORTH IT. Because no matter how "ooh, aah" that confection is, people would rather not get their heads taken off. 

 

So if all of those mothers made multi-colored challahs with a smile on their faces and a song in their hearts, kol ha'kavod! You are amazing. But if one cross word was uttered, one irritated look flashed, because they took on more than they should have—

It missed the point. Buy the cookies instead.  

The Decorators of the Soul

To get myself in the proper yuntiff state of mind, I've been hearkening to various shiurim; one, by Rabbi Stauber, was addressing the difficulties some have with the concept of "hiddur mitzvah."

I was puzzled. Why should anyone feel pompous by practicing hiddur mitzvah? Then I realized: I'm Hungarian. Our whole lives are hiddur.

As my social studies teacher in 6th grade (a frum woman of Polish heritage) taught my class, an example of a stereotype is, for instance, that Hungarians have chandeliers in their bathrooms.

Darn tootin'. We matter-of-factly beautify the mundane. How much more so the sacred? 

I was once listening to an Esther Wein shiur, and she brings an Arizal: Hashem created the whole world, and within every culture and nation there is an aspect that Jews can learn to better serve Hashem. 

As the granddaughter of Rabbi Schwab, she mentioned the German meticulousness, which can be applied in how mitzvos are kept—in careful detail. 

Well, Hungarians decorate. 

Setting the table for Shabbos, for instance. My father's cousin came for a visit, and he and Ma had a passionate discussion on the art of tablecloths. (His wife, while a fellow Magyar, was not concerned with such matters.) He eagerly soaked up Ma's prowess of ideal weight and measurements. 

While I do share a house with the best cook I have ever come across (I have had much exposure to other chefs, and she has yet to be outclassed), the success of a Shabbos meal, is, oddly, less in the food, more in the presentation.

As Ma decrees, three factors: 

1)   Beautiful dishes.

2)  Beautiful flowers. 

 

3)  Gracious hostess. 

Couldn't resist.

There's a reason why I'm currently sitting on a trousseaux of Lenox, snatched up piece by discounted piece in Homegoods. Dishes are a long-term investment, and if one buys a reliable brand that doesn't chip they will be around—looking pretty—for years to come. (Cutting back on a few food items from takeout or the deli section will cover the cost quite quickly.)

As for flowers, they don't have to be expensive to be lovely. Carnations, for instance, aren't pricey and can last as long as two weeks. But then, it is also imperative to own a lovely glass vase to put them into.

 

Ta's esrog this year? The fairest of them all.    

Inchy Squinchy

Parshas Mase'e opens by listing the 42 stations where Be'ne Yisrael encamped during their 40 years of journeying from Egypt to the Land of Israel. . . The obvious question arises: Why would the Torah find it necessary to list these stations? 

When Be'ne Yisrael left Egypt, they were far from the spiritual stature they would need to achieve before they could enter the Land of Israel. . . The 40 years of travel from Egypt to Israel served to prepare the nation spiritually for their entry into the Land. The 42 stations represent the 42 stages of spiritual growth. The events that transpired at each location served as a learning experience upon which the the nation would build in the subsequent station, such that they were constantly improving and developing. Stage by stage, Be'ne Yisrael grew and elevated themselves . . . 

The Torah thus recorded these locations to impress upon us the importance of gradual, incremental growth. A person cannot leap to the highest levels of piety overnight; spiritual growth entails a long, gradual process of small, incremental steps. 

Every so often, I am approached by someone who has recently decided to become observant, and now expresses an interest in studying Kabala. I tell him that before studying Kabala, one must first master the entire Tanach, Talmud and Shulhan Aruch—which is itself a lifelong project. One cannot skip to the top step; he must ascend one step at a time. More often than not, those who try jumping to the highest levels of spirituality will succeed in maintaining these levels for only a brief period, after which they experience a "systems crash" and fall lower than where they had begun. 

Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski, the renowned Rabbi and addiction psychiatrist, has a sign in his office that reads, "The elevator to recovery is out of order; please use the stairs." The same applies to religious observance: we must take the stairs, not the elevator. The Torah does not demand what we live perfect religious lives, but only that we continuously grow, one step at a time, that at every stage we can look back at our conduct a year earlier and see how we have progressed. 

—Rabbi Eli Mansour 

TGIF

• "Making Marriage Work";
• "Naso, Relationships of All Sorts";
• "Dating While Introverted";
  
• "Introvert's First Date"; and
• Grumpy Introvert on Privacy and Dating. 

Consequence

Rabbi Jeremy Kagan: 

It says in Parshas Noach: 

 וַתִּשָּׁחֵת הָאָרֶץ, לִפְנֵי ה

and

וַיַּרְא אֱלֹהִים אֶת-הָאָרֶץ, וְהִנֵּה נִשְׁחָתָה:  כִּי-הִשְׁחִית כָּל-בָּשָׂר אֶת-דַּרְכּוֹ, עַל-הָאָרֶץ

Then:

וְהִנְנִי מַשְׁחִיתָם, אֶת-הָאָרֶץ

"The world was destroyed before Hashem"; "Hashem saw the earth, and it was destroyed, for all flesh destroyed His ways on earth." Then Hashem says, "And behold, I shall destroy them with the earth." 

Rabbi Kagan continued, "Any good seminary girl will say,"—at which point he squeaked in a feminine falsetto—"'The world was destroyed spiritually!' But it is more than that."

The sins of that generation were theft, immoral relationships, and idol worship. What all these three sins have in common (he didn't have time to explain how idol worship works into it, but it does tie up) is "What is mine is mine, and what is yours is mine." Which means the world was without boundaries. 

Hashem then said, "You want to live a life without boundaries? So to the world will be without boundaries!" And water was released from its bonds, flooding the earth. 

I heard a similar concept from Rabbi Daniel Glatstein. The Churban wasn't a punishment, it was a consequence (in general, there is no schar v'onesh in this world, by the way). We were goofing off on the avodah. We weren't respecting it. Hashem says, "Look, if you don't want to serve Me, don't do Me any favors! You think I need your service? Don't bother!" And so destroyed the Bais HaMikdosh.  

 

I think we forget to what extent we shape our reality. We can create those consequences that we find so bewildering. Like I previously posted: 

. . . one Shabbos in shul, my brain activity went into hyperdrive. 

It is a repetitive message of Rabbi Yisroel Reisman that "Bishvi li nivra haolam": "For my sake, this world was created." Meaning, even if one has been shoved into a seemingly "unfair" position, one has to analyze her own behavior. 

For instance, it is a constant aggravation of mine that shul attendees tow along underage children who are incapable of maintaining the necessary silence to permit others meaningful prayer. Usually I would be mentally cursing out the parents as they halfheartedly shush the high-pitched squeaks and squeals of their young. 

But then, that fateful day, I recalled Rabbi Reisman's point. If I did not choose to discipline myself sufficiently to devote true kavana to my davening, why would Hashem provide me with ideal praying surroundings? I have idly daydreamed through many a shacharis; am I deserving of a shriek-free environment?

Do we self-sabotage by not giving our all in the first place?   

Reunion

Rabbi Tzvi Hersh Weinrib:

I picked him up at the airport. He was arriving in Baltimore, where I was then a rabbi, to deliver an address and then return home to New York. 

The plane was late, so that when he came, I told him that we would have to hurry to be at our destination on time. He was already showing signs of age, so that walking quickly was hard for him. We moved rapidly past the gates, at which other flights were disembarking, including one at which the arriving passengers were being welcomed warmly by friends and family. 

That is where he stopped, transfixed. He could not take his eyes off the scene of the small crowds embracing and kissing each other tearfully and emotionally. 

Reluctantly, he responded to my rude insistence that we move on, and together we rushed to his appointment. 

He was Rav Avrohom Pam, of blessed memory, the late lamented sage, Yeshiva dean, mentor to hundreds of rabbis and scholars, and above all, gentle soul. When we finally were in the car and on our way, I asked him what it was about the airport scene that so fascinated him. 

His response was the greatest lesson of the many I learned from him. "The saddest of all human happenings is separation," he said. "And the most wonderful of all is reunion. Whenever I see people, of whatever background, who are joyfully coming together after a long separation, I feel spellbound, and I must stand by and witness that pure innocent joy as long as I can."  

No Yams

"No. No way. I could never, ever do that." 

Ma had been explaining to her the Rambam method, which decrees no fruit after meals. 

"You won't believe the results!" 

"Nada. Niet. NEVER." 

But a few months later, Ma gets a call: "I want you to know," she said, "I'm doing the Rambam diet, the one you told me about." 

When Hashem introduces Himself to Moshe, He says, "I AM that I AM." 

Upon consideration, this description is quite apt. Hashem is One. He is Unchanging. What He was, He is, He will be are all the same. He IS what He IS.

If the most supreme Being describes Himself thusly, then us puny humans cannot claim that same title, bound by time and change as we are. 

As yoga claims (and as my aching muscles testify), micro-movements lead to colossal change. Rabbi Akiva, as yet unlearned and unlettered, gazed upon water and stone comprehended his own potential at 40.

Or, to quote Mustafa's admonishment to Simba: "You are more than what you have become." 

Hashem has no unrealized capabilities. Pop-Eye, even after spinach, could become much, much more.    

Go For Your Own Sake

For most of my life, I was plagued with questions about why I do or don't do certain things, mostly because it wasn't the same as anyone else. 

I didn't like camp, or sleepovers, or floor length denim skirts that prevent movement.  

I liked long words, animals, and history class. 

Every once in a while, someone would ask why I was weird.  

Blessed with a strong ego, I felt no need to change. I just accepted that I was a freak, and left it at that. 

I then attended college after opting out of seminary (my principal wasn't happy, obviously) and spent quite some time (five years) defending that choice as well. Then I find myself explaining my choice of degree, and now my job. 

One day I looked around and noticed: We are free to do what we like. And plenty of people do just that. Then it hit me: We don't have to be the same. 

It's not that I am a single, solitary nutjob; the majority prefer to herd together into indistinguishable mass, but there are others who make their own choices and feel no need to defend themselves.

Rabbi Tvi Hersch Weinreb discussed this. His class was analyzing Avrohom's leaving of Charan. 

. . . a fascinating epigram attributed to the mid-19th century Hassidic sage, Rabbi Mendel of Kotzk:

If I am I because you are you,
And you are you because I am I,
Then, I am not I
And you are not you.

But, if I am I because I am I
And you are you because you are you
Then I am I
And you are you.

I cannot be myself if I am merely imitating you. That's just blind conformity. I have to find what is unique in me, what are my God-given gifts and talents, and I must express them. Then, I am I and can achieve my life's mission.

This is not a teaching with which all Jewish leaders would agree. But this was the view of the very creative Rabbi of Kotzk, and he was neither the first nor the last to assert this teaching.

We are supposed to do our own thing. 

. . . Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, and this is a quotation drawn from his extensive and erudite commentary on the Five Books of Moses:

"Lech Lecha literally means, ‘Go to yourself.’ Find your own path. Be ready to choose the lonely path which will separate you from your land, your birthplace, your father's home. Be ready to separate yourself from all the connections that you have formed to this point. Lech Lecha, go at it alone. If the ideology of the multitude is not true, be prepared to worship God alone. How would we, the Jewish people, have been able to exist, and how can we possibly continue to exist, had we not inherited from Abraham our father the courage to be in the minority, even in a minority of one?"