I have been feeling “out of sync” with the High Holidays this year, feeling that I am going in to them unresolved about many aspects of life. I do not at all feel ready to start a new year due to not being finished with the old one. The reading of the Ten Commandments in Deuteronomy brought all this on. The very end of the Commandments says, “not to desire…” and “not to covet…” How can we be commanded not to feel something? A feeling arises spontaneously! One can become aware of it, acknowledge it, and decline to act on it. But we can’t honestly not feel it. That insight brought me to the larger picture of being not ready to engage in teshuvah or the High Holidays in a real way.
As I thought about all this, I realized that there are many places in the Torah where an action is prescribed or proscribed. Some of those commandments we can follow just because they are the correct thing to do. Others must be held as an ideal that we may not be entirely able to do. This includes the “not to desire/covet” commandments and the High Holiday tradition of reflection on the old year and going on to a new and improved one. I now am seeing these commandments as statements that these things are potentially available to a human being. We can work toward not coveting and not desiring. And maybe that is enough to give us hope that things may not always be unresolved. Even if it is not possible never to covet or desire, it is helpful to acknowledge the possibility, the potential.
Lois Rosenthal is affiliated with Temple Tifereth Israel in Winthrop. She particularly enjoys teaching bar and bat mitzah students there, to transfer to them her appreciation of Judaism.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Earth Etude for 4 Elul
For six weeks beginning in Elul, Jews engage in introspection. “Elul” - taken as an acronym: I and my beloved - introduces the principle that teshuva is about relationships: with self, others, God, and as well the Earth. The season is not completed until we return in the Torah cycle to the beginning, Beresheit (Genesis), and the story of Creation.
Understanding and coming to grips with the physical universe in which we live is an integral part of the process of teshuva. It gives us perspective on who we are, where we came from, where we are going, and God’s plan. This is why the Torah begins with what, as Rashi astutely notes, is a seemingly irrelevant story. But if we cannot appreciate the Earth and cosmos in which we live, then we cannot fully understand the web of relationships and obligations that bind us.
About 13.7 billion years ago the universe as we know it exploded from an infinitesimally small point in a creative event dubbed “the big bang,” and has been expanding ever since. The original description was the cumulative result of decades of mathematical thinking and meticulous observations that culminated with Edwin Hubble’s 1929 observation that other galaxies were systematically moving away from us, in accord with Einstein’s then recent theory of relativity. Four hundred years after Rashi, the Kabbalists of Tzefat offered their own perspective on the lessons of the Torah’s beginning. The Kabbalists weave an intricate account of an expanding universe, layers of light emanating from a primal point, but with a reason beyond the simple physics: humanity has a role to play in this cosmic drama. Tikkun olam is humanity’s task – to heal the breaches and injustices of our society, imperfections that were reflected in the very fabric of the newly formed cosmos. Caring for the Earth is one of these tasks. G’mar Chatimah Tova.
Howard Smith is a senior astrophysicist at Harvard and the author of “Let There Be Light: Modern Cosmology and Kabbalah, a New Conversation between Science and Religion.” He lives and in Newton with his family and davens at the Newton Centre Minyan and Shaarei Tefilla.
Understanding and coming to grips with the physical universe in which we live is an integral part of the process of teshuva. It gives us perspective on who we are, where we came from, where we are going, and God’s plan. This is why the Torah begins with what, as Rashi astutely notes, is a seemingly irrelevant story. But if we cannot appreciate the Earth and cosmos in which we live, then we cannot fully understand the web of relationships and obligations that bind us.
About 13.7 billion years ago the universe as we know it exploded from an infinitesimally small point in a creative event dubbed “the big bang,” and has been expanding ever since. The original description was the cumulative result of decades of mathematical thinking and meticulous observations that culminated with Edwin Hubble’s 1929 observation that other galaxies were systematically moving away from us, in accord with Einstein’s then recent theory of relativity. Four hundred years after Rashi, the Kabbalists of Tzefat offered their own perspective on the lessons of the Torah’s beginning. The Kabbalists weave an intricate account of an expanding universe, layers of light emanating from a primal point, but with a reason beyond the simple physics: humanity has a role to play in this cosmic drama. Tikkun olam is humanity’s task – to heal the breaches and injustices of our society, imperfections that were reflected in the very fabric of the newly formed cosmos. Caring for the Earth is one of these tasks. G’mar Chatimah Tova.
Howard Smith is a senior astrophysicist at Harvard and the author of “Let There Be Light: Modern Cosmology and Kabbalah, a New Conversation between Science and Religion.” He lives and in Newton with his family and davens at the Newton Centre Minyan and Shaarei Tefilla.
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Earth Etude for 3 Elul
Makom
On Yom Kippur when I was a little girl, my family didn’t always go to synagogue. We went to a place called High Rollaway, along M-82, a two-lane highway north of Grand Rapids, MI with beautiful fall foliage and views of the Muskegon River. There we would have a picnic lunch. Yes, really, a picnic on Yom Kippur. We would hike into the forest until we found the steps down to the river and we would sit and talk. There was a review of the past year, with the questions “What did you like? What didn’t you like? What was the best part? What would you have liked to change? What did you not get to do that you want to this year?”
We would look up at the leaves and appreciate the dappled sunlight through the maples’ fiery reds and the birches’ brilliant yellows, feeling the gentle breeze, hearing the birds sing and appreciating each other’s company. I loved these trips to a river that I thought was mine—having mastered it on overnight canoe trips. But wait, what about Avinu Malkenu and Kol Nidre? What about God? What about the Jewish community?
My parents were medical school researchers. My father worked for Dr. Barry Commoner, a biologist at Washington University in Saint Louis who coined the term “ecology.” That makes my father one of the first “ecologists.” He was passionate about Jewish ethics and saving the earth for the next generations. My father had a hard time reconciling what he knew about ecology and biology, with what he could see through a microscope, with what the Bible said about Creation. He wasn’t sure about God. But every year, on Yom Kippur we returned to High Rollaway to experience the beauty of Creation and recommit to preserving this place. He may not have been sure but I was. This was a very special place—a Makom filled with the presence of God. It was our own personal form of t’shuvah.
Rabbi Margaret Frisch Klein is the principal of Congregation Beth Israel in Andover, MA. She is also the president of Starpoint Consulting providing marketing strategy for technology companies. When she is not working she can be found outdoors in nature, hiking, biking, walking near the water with her husband. She blogs at the "Energizer Rabbi."
On Yom Kippur when I was a little girl, my family didn’t always go to synagogue. We went to a place called High Rollaway, along M-82, a two-lane highway north of Grand Rapids, MI with beautiful fall foliage and views of the Muskegon River. There we would have a picnic lunch. Yes, really, a picnic on Yom Kippur. We would hike into the forest until we found the steps down to the river and we would sit and talk. There was a review of the past year, with the questions “What did you like? What didn’t you like? What was the best part? What would you have liked to change? What did you not get to do that you want to this year?”
We would look up at the leaves and appreciate the dappled sunlight through the maples’ fiery reds and the birches’ brilliant yellows, feeling the gentle breeze, hearing the birds sing and appreciating each other’s company. I loved these trips to a river that I thought was mine—having mastered it on overnight canoe trips. But wait, what about Avinu Malkenu and Kol Nidre? What about God? What about the Jewish community?
My parents were medical school researchers. My father worked for Dr. Barry Commoner, a biologist at Washington University in Saint Louis who coined the term “ecology.” That makes my father one of the first “ecologists.” He was passionate about Jewish ethics and saving the earth for the next generations. My father had a hard time reconciling what he knew about ecology and biology, with what he could see through a microscope, with what the Bible said about Creation. He wasn’t sure about God. But every year, on Yom Kippur we returned to High Rollaway to experience the beauty of Creation and recommit to preserving this place. He may not have been sure but I was. This was a very special place—a Makom filled with the presence of God. It was our own personal form of t’shuvah.
Rabbi Margaret Frisch Klein is the principal of Congregation Beth Israel in Andover, MA. She is also the president of Starpoint Consulting providing marketing strategy for technology companies. When she is not working she can be found outdoors in nature, hiking, biking, walking near the water with her husband. She blogs at the "Energizer Rabbi."
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Earth Etude for 2 Elul
Teshuvah/return: the still small voice
What does it mean to return? Elijah the prophet, angered at the intransigence of the Jewish people, returns to the desert to complain to G!d. How can I be a prophet when my people won’t listen? The desert is sagebrush, stillness, silence. Then the whirlwind descends: a stinging of sand and dust. G!d, says the angel to Elijah, will not be in the whirlwind. G!d will be after, in the still small voice. When the dust clears, the landscape is different; the light is the amber and rose of sunrise.
After the whirlwind Irene has left, the neighbors gather in our front yard. A linden tree has fallen, shallow roots hemmed in too far by sidewalk to buttress it for the storm. We are vulnerable; we are alive. We offer each other, in still small voices, matches, ice, the majesty of trees.
In Elul, I, angered at my own intransigence, return to the desert to complain to G!d. How can I become good when I won’t even listen to myself? The whirlwind of guilt descends. G!d, says the angel patiently to me, will not be in the whirlwind. G!d will be after, in the still small voice. After Irene, my sister and I walk to Malibu beach. The tide is out; the water quiet. The marsh grass, waving, is starting to brown for winter. Teshuvah, says Rabbi Victor, was created before humans, because G!d knew we would have need of return. I remember that I am human. The great blue heron wades in the water, fishing and grooming his feathers, then standing very small and still.
Lisa J. Greber is nature chaplain intern at Ma'yan Tikvah.
What does it mean to return? Elijah the prophet, angered at the intransigence of the Jewish people, returns to the desert to complain to G!d. How can I be a prophet when my people won’t listen? The desert is sagebrush, stillness, silence. Then the whirlwind descends: a stinging of sand and dust. G!d, says the angel to Elijah, will not be in the whirlwind. G!d will be after, in the still small voice. When the dust clears, the landscape is different; the light is the amber and rose of sunrise.
After the whirlwind Irene has left, the neighbors gather in our front yard. A linden tree has fallen, shallow roots hemmed in too far by sidewalk to buttress it for the storm. We are vulnerable; we are alive. We offer each other, in still small voices, matches, ice, the majesty of trees.
In Elul, I, angered at my own intransigence, return to the desert to complain to G!d. How can I become good when I won’t even listen to myself? The whirlwind of guilt descends. G!d, says the angel patiently to me, will not be in the whirlwind. G!d will be after, in the still small voice. After Irene, my sister and I walk to Malibu beach. The tide is out; the water quiet. The marsh grass, waving, is starting to brown for winter. Teshuvah, says Rabbi Victor, was created before humans, because G!d knew we would have need of return. I remember that I am human. The great blue heron wades in the water, fishing and grooming his feathers, then standing very small and still.
Lisa J. Greber is nature chaplain intern at Ma'yan Tikvah.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Earth Etude for 1 Elul
Welcome to Elul
Elul. It is here. Now. Tonight. Tomorrow, the sound of the shofar will be heard for the first time since the end of Yom Kippur last year. We are once again on the countdown to the holiest day of the Jewish year, when we bare our souls before the Holy One of Blessing and ask for forgiveness as we try once again to begin anew.
Where are you tonight? Where am I? Where are we physically? Where are we spiritually? Where do we hope to go, in body and in spirit? What is our connection to the solid Earth beneath our feet? What is our connection to the Sun and the Moon and the stars? What is our connection to each other? What is our connection to the Infinite Source?
We may not know the answers right now. We may not know them tomorrow. But we can search. And as you travel through the days of Elul, this very special month, this time of reflection and preparation for the New Year, this time of more focused searching, Ma’yan Tikvah – A Wellspring of Hope is here to travel with you. During the coming 29 days we will post each regular day on our new blog ….. an Earth Etude for Elul. Each of these short pieces has been written by a member or friend of Ma’yan Tikvah. Each deals with the issue of teshuvah – return to G!d – in a way that is personal, but also connected in some way to the Earth. Each represents the voice of a separate searching individual. They are written out of love for all of our beloveds, including our beloved Earth.
Rosh HaShanah is one month away. May these Earth Etudes for Elul give you strength, insight, guidance, inspiration, and a recognition that you are not alone on your journey toward spiritual and physical wholeness and connection to your loved ones, to the Universe, and to G!d.
Kol tuv v’nisia tovah – wishing you all the best on your journey,
Elul. It is here. Now. Tonight. Tomorrow, the sound of the shofar will be heard for the first time since the end of Yom Kippur last year. We are once again on the countdown to the holiest day of the Jewish year, when we bare our souls before the Holy One of Blessing and ask for forgiveness as we try once again to begin anew.
Where are you tonight? Where am I? Where are we physically? Where are we spiritually? Where do we hope to go, in body and in spirit? What is our connection to the solid Earth beneath our feet? What is our connection to the Sun and the Moon and the stars? What is our connection to each other? What is our connection to the Infinite Source?
We may not know the answers right now. We may not know them tomorrow. But we can search. And as you travel through the days of Elul, this very special month, this time of reflection and preparation for the New Year, this time of more focused searching, Ma’yan Tikvah – A Wellspring of Hope is here to travel with you. During the coming 29 days we will post each regular day on our new blog ….. an Earth Etude for Elul. Each of these short pieces has been written by a member or friend of Ma’yan Tikvah. Each deals with the issue of teshuvah – return to G!d – in a way that is personal, but also connected in some way to the Earth. Each represents the voice of a separate searching individual. They are written out of love for all of our beloveds, including our beloved Earth.
Rosh HaShanah is one month away. May these Earth Etudes for Elul give you strength, insight, guidance, inspiration, and a recognition that you are not alone on your journey toward spiritual and physical wholeness and connection to your loved ones, to the Universe, and to G!d.
Kol tuv v’nisia tovah – wishing you all the best on your journey,
Katy
Katy Z. Allen is the rabbi and spiritual leader of Ma'yan Tikvah.
Friday, August 26, 2011
Earth Etudes for Elul - coming soon!
Elul is a time of reflection and preparation for the New Year.
This year, we at Ma’yan Tikvah are putting together a series of divrei Earth – teachings that connect Earth and Torah – which we are calling “Earth Etudes for Elul,” one for each day of the month of Elul.
Please join us here for this month long journey, beginning Monday, August 29, 2011.
This year, we at Ma’yan Tikvah are putting together a series of divrei Earth – teachings that connect Earth and Torah – which we are calling “Earth Etudes for Elul,” one for each day of the month of Elul.
Please join us here for this month long journey, beginning Monday, August 29, 2011.
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