Uncommon Ground, Holy Ground

Uncommon Ground, Holy Ground

D’var Torah for Parashat Ki Teitzei

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

Derech eretz (“the way of the world”) is a Hebrew idiom that covers a broad spectrum of behavior.  It is about common courtesy and decency, but it’s also about showing a bit of extra consideration, about going out of your way to do the right thing.  This week’s Torah portion (Ki Teitzei, Deuteronomy 21:10—25:19), gives a number of examples—72 to be exact. 

Yet, these examples are often far from common occurrences.  They describe events that take us out of the realm of the ordinary.  It’s easy, for example, to return a lost object (Deut. 22:1), but the next verse demands that, if we can’t immediately find the rightful owner we must make extensive inquiries to find him.  Throughout the portion we are taught—and even warned—that in doing the right thing we must often go out of our way and take the extra step, despite the possible inconvenience.

Why should derech eretz be sanctified as a mitzvah—a commandment—from God?  Isn’t it enough to teach it as the decent thing to do?  Must we bring God into it?

A part of answer is that the Torah makes derech eretz a mitzvah so as to reinforce the lesson.  After all, it’s so much easier to just keep the find, to try to get away with the easy way out.  But doing better than what’s simple and easy—that’s what the Torah is all about.  Yes, God is found everywhere, but when we take the extra step to be considerate of another person’s (or even an animal’s) feelings, we make sure that God is present there too.

There are many ways to bring God into our everyday life.  Simple acts of kindness, prayers and blessings do enrich our lives with spiritual light.  What this week’s Torah portion talks about, however, is more complicated.  It’s about acts that that take us out of our comfort zone beyond the ordinary.  That, after all, is the meaning of the title Ki Teitzei:  “When you go out.”

The commandments given in this portion are part of a bigger lesson that God wants us to learn:  Recognition that sometimes we have to go out of our way to find God.

Human relationships are complex and complicated.  Temptation often stands in the way; greed and anger often divert us from the proper path; prejudice blinds our better judgment.  Civilization has (arguably) progressed in the past 3000 years, but every step along this path came about only after great deliberation, debate and, in some cases, even wars.  One of the latest of these debates is the issue of same-sex marriage.

When I first began my rabbinic studies in 1995, same sex marriages were illegal in all 50 states.  Today, it is legal in six states and in Washington D.C.  Bringing God into a marriage is simple; bringing God into a same-sex marriage—not so simple.  Just listen to speakers at the Republican National Convention, including Ann Romney, who claimed the other night that she and her husband “have a real marriage.”  God bless them—they do; but does that mean that God’s presence cannot be present at a same-sex wedding?  Would that be because they aren’t children of God?  Or because they don’t love one another?  Because they can’t build a home together or raise children together, or be productive members of society, churches and temples? 

This weekend, Sally and I will be walking our son, Yoni, down the aisle to be married to his partner, Trevor.  The two have known one another for several years now.  It was love at first sight for them both, and they have been there for one another all along, supportive of one another at times of happiness and sadness, health and illness, joy and despondence.  They hope to have a family somewhere down the road, and meanwhile are both enrolled in school programs that are training them to be teachers and caretakers of our youth.  They are both loving, moral, good and generous people, true and loyal to one another, to their family and to their friends. 

Yes, there are many in this country and elsewhere who claim that their love cannot be recognized, that their marriage cannot be sanctified by either society’s or God’s laws.  Yet what this week’s Torah portion asks us to do is exactly that:  To go beyond our comfort zone, to bring God’s presence into all of our relationship, not only those we may feel comfortable in.

It isn’t God’s laws that prevent some of us from sanctioning same-sex weddings; it’s our own prejudices and ignorance.  Ki Teitzei recognizes the complexity of human behavior.  In each of us, tradition and innovation struggle on a daily basis.  Within us, instinct and impulsive behavior vie with a higher calling of morals and ethics.   Ki Teitzei would have us examine our motives and long-held beliefs and restructure our everyday behavior along the lines of generosity and understanding, acceptance and love.  No matter how difficult that may be.

Yes, it’s easier to find God within our reach—but so much harder to grasp that God exists out there, too, beyond us.  We must recognize that God exists not only in what is, but also in what may come to be.  And it is toward that goal that we must reach—not for God’s sake, but for our own.

©2012 by Boaz D. Heilman

Pillars of Strength

Pillars of Strength

D’var Torah for Parashat Eikev

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

There’s something magic about that dusty, ancient land they call Israel.  It casts its spell on you even as you complain about the heat and the humidity and about the impassioned people who live on it.  It’s not easy to live there, taking it all in day after day, year after year, and yet the energy never lags.  The children grow up secure about themselves, knowing they’re loved, knowing they can freely love back.  For all the disgruntled people that recall better, more idyllic days, there are also those willing to take on the task and carry it forward.  And for all the pushy people who don’t believe in standing in line, there are those for whom courtesy is natural, who are willing to extend a helping hand with a smile, for whom doing what is right comes easily, simply.

The food, quite frankly, is amazing.  Fruit, vegetable, fowl, fish, meat of all sorts, colors and varieties.  The baked goods are incredible.  Truly a land flowing with milk and honey.  Cooking is the latest passion in Israel, and chefs are the new superstars.  And though, for the first time since 1992, none of the Israel Olympics team won a medal in this year’s games, Israel is crazy about sports.  Especially soccer.

Yes, Israel does have its problems, both internal and external.  All are vital, even existential.  There’s the widening social and economic gulf between the poor and the super rich.  There’s the deep divide between the ultra-Orthodox and the secularists.  Israelis pay 8 dollars a gallon for gas, and there’s a growing Africa refugee problem and an ever-growing illegal immigrant quandary.

And of course there’s the enemy at the gate:  Hamas, Hezbollah, the Moslem Brotherhood.  Iran.

You wake up in the morning and don’t even know where to look first.  Maybe that’s why so many Jews start the day with prayers.  Focus.  Breathe.  Center yourself.

For many—both in Israel and abroad—this miracle of Israel’s rebirth and surge is something they take for granted.  For the older generation, however, it is nothing of the sort.  They remember what the Jews looked like before there was Israel. 

It’s hard to comprehend what a huge transformation has taken place here.  Yet this isn’t the first time, it’s happened, only the latest.  This week’s Torah portion, Eikev (Deuteronomy 7:12—11:25), is one of the earliest descriptions of Israel’s makeover. 

In the title of the portion, the Hebrew word eikev means “as a consequence.”  The root letters of the word, however, denote several other meanings.   They also constitute Jacob’s Hebrew name, Ya’akov.  In the book of Genesis, the explanation for the name is that at birth, Jacob was holding on to the heel (‘akeiv) of his twin brother, Esau.  Later in the story, Esau complains that Jacob had supplanted him (va-ya’ak’veini), jumping from follower to leader.  It’s an accurate description of the change in the brothers’ relationship, and Esau is right to protest:  this head-over-heels swap came about as a result of guile and cheating.

One could rationalize Jacob’s actions as those of a survivalist.  He had plenty of time to observe the relationship between Esau and their father, Isaac.  Jacob was Rebecca’s favorite, but Esau was Isaac’s.  Jacob understood what that meant:  Esau would receive the primogeniture, the right of the first-born to inherit the father’s entire estate.  It wasn’t so much that Esau was a hunter—a killer by nature.  There would, at least, be food.  However, Jacob was keenly aware of Esau’s fatal flaw:  his brother wasn’t in the least concerned with the future.  In fact, Esau couldn’t see past his own instant gratification.  In agreeing to sell his entire birthright for a cup of soup, Esau proved that he was incapable of taking care of the estate—and of his brother.  And so Jacob did what he had to:  He plotted and won—by subterfuge and dishonesty.  Jacob, at this point in the story, is less than an honorable person.

Yet a different route to victory and success is presented in this week’s parasha, Eikev.  “Upon the heels” becomes “as a consequence.”  It will be as a result of following God’s laws that Jacob—Israel—will assure its survival.  Esau’s strength was dependant on physical food—the soup that Jacob cooked.  This week, in Deuteronomy 8:3, we read, “Man does not live by bread alone.”  It’s God’s words that determine our life and its outcome, that instill within us honor, content and meaning. 

In our cyclical reading of the Torah, the story of Israel’s ancient past is about to conclude, and it’s time for the lesson, for the moral of the story.  The real difference between a follower and a leader isn’t so much a factor of physical strength.  It’s in the understanding that actions have consequences.  As a youth, Jacob understood that intrinsically, but he needed the rest of his life to appreciate the full meaning of the concept.  In this week’s portion, it’s our turn—Jacob’s progeny—to be taught this moral.  Our history of survival proves that we internalized it.

Though physical strength is not to be discounted, it’s our spiritual might that keeps us surging ahead.  Parashat Eikev teaches us that, if nothing else, our tests and trials have strengthened us by teaching us to rely on God.  Maybe we pray not only to stay focused, but to keep this connection going.  Maybe we follow God’s commandments not only because they make us better, but because they are the true source of Israel’s strength.  Through them, we are taught to understand that actions have consequences, and that success in life depends on our thinking ahead, on our looking beyond our daily bread and immediate gratification, on being ten steps ahead of anyone else.

The dangers that Israel faces today are enough to make a strong man’s knees quake.  But what I fear is not the threats of bombs and missiles, but rather that we take our strength for granted, that we forget to learn—and teach—the lesson of this week’s portion:  That prayer, acts of kindness and the study of Torah are the real pillars of Israel’s strength, since they are the way to God’s heart.

© 2012 by Boaz D. Heilman

The Rules of the Game--Va-et'chanan

The Rules of the Game

D’var Torah for Parashat Va-et’chanan

By Rabbi Boaz D. Heilman

 As we watch the 2012 London Olympics, it’s hard not to be amazed by the feats of strength, grace and agility displayed by the athletes.  The broken records and other accomplishments are hardly accidental.  You can see the focus in the athletes’ eyes, registered on their taut faces. Noise from other parts of the arena is filtered out and visual distractions disappear.  Pain doesn’t count.  Mistakes are unforgiveable.  

It’s obvious that years of exclusive dedication and training are behind every step and move. 

Some moments from the games enter history.  Jesse Owens in the 1936 Berlin Olympics, defying Hitler; Greg Louganis in Seoul, 1988, who went on to win the gold shortly after hitting the back of his head against the springboard and suffering a concussion; the gymnast Nadia Comaneci; the great Michael Phelps—these are just some of the stars whose light continues to shine in the Olympic heavens.

Among the winners were several Jews, too.  Aly Raisman, of course, is still fresh in our minds. There are several others in this year’s Olympics, but a moment that will forever remain etched in Jewish memory and history is Munich, 1972.  It was at those games that the swimmer Mark Spitz won seven gold medals before quickly being whisked out following the massacre of the 11 Israeli athletes at the hands of PLO terrorists.  This was a high point and a low point at once.

Israel has fielded many participants since it first participated in 1952.  To date, it has won 7 medals—one gold, one silver and 5 bronze.

Israel’s strength in sports and athletics has never been legendary.  In the United States, sports was one way for Jewish immigrants to integrate, and many excelled in boxing and baseball, among other sports.  In Europe, as Jewish nationalism and pride gained momentum, so did the focus on physical strength.  

Jewish strength—at least in the last 2,000 years—has been our heart and mind.  Philosophy, literature, art, music, science and medicine, these were the fields where the Jew traditionally excelled.  Of course there were also business and commerce:  it was Jewish money that funded Columbus’s discovery of the New World, and many Jews (hidden as well as open) followed in the establishment and development of the global trade routes.

The secret of Jewish success in these fields has stymied all those who have sought our destruction throughout the eons.  But it isn’t a secret at all.  It’s as open and clear as can be, available to anyone who could read for nearly 2800 years.  The formula is found in this week’s Torah portion, Va-et’chanan (Deut. 3:23-7:11):  “And you shall keep [God’s laws and ordinances] and do [them], for that is your wisdom and your understanding” (Deut. 4:6). 

In this portion, Moses repeats over and over the importance of keeping alive our values and traditions.  It’s a little bit like listening to your coach reminding you time and time again—sometimes patiently, sometimes less so—to stay focused and, should you falter, to get up and try again.  The Jewish people has been training for centuries, and that’s part of the secret of our success.

Like much of the book of Deuteronomy, Parashat Va-et’chanan repeats and elaborates upon past teachings.  Va-et’chanan reiterates the most important of these: the Sh’ma, the prayer we call V’ahavta, and the Ten Commandments.  Among other essential teachings, we are instructed to remain loyal to our God, to our people, to our history and to our traditions.  Moreover, Moses cautions us that we also must be diligent in teaching these lessons to our children.  Holding fast to these laws throughout the generations is the reason we are here today.

In a seemingly random world and universe, our strength is our steadfast constancy, in our loyalty to the values we subscribed to so long ago.

It is no coincidence that the book of Deuteronomy is read during the summer months.  As the weeks disappear and the year wanes, this book reminds us that the sacred work our ancestors undertook nearly four thousand years ago still awaits our contribution.  It’s all too easy to sit back and count our past accomplishments like so many medals.  Whether our strengths be physical or intellectual, our gifts are the tools we use to carve out the future.  How we use them will determine the measure of our success.  Like Olympic athletes, undaunted determination, straight-forward gaze and sharp focus on our target will lead us to our goals.

With God’s help.

 

©2012 by Boaz D. Heilman