By Sam Glaser
A turning point in the life of any individual that gets serious about his or her Jewish heritage is the moment that they find a rabbi. Everyone needs to have someone they call “my rabbi.” Someone with whom they can relate, someone with whom the buck stops, whose advice they respect and “hold by.” You can blame your rabbi, i.e. “My rabbi told me this is what I have to do,” until you’re ready to initiate your own momentum. The famous line is that “a good rabbi comforts the afflicted and afflicts the comfortable.” At times in your life you will be in either situation, and your rabbi must have the sensitivity to know how to respond in each instance. Effective rabbis gently coax you on a path of growth. They introduce you to mitzvah options and help you choose a direction that is unique for you. Rabbis serve to connect us with our history; they are a link to the written Torah and also embody the oral, less structured Torah that confronts modernity and the idiosyncrasies of the individual.
You will know you have found your rabbi when you feel confident that you can relinquish control. You allow your rabbi to be the arbiter of Torah philosophy and best practices. In the secular realm you have to figure out the game of life on your own, shopping around for a mix and match world-view and hedging your bets with whatever combination seems advantageous at that moment. Unfortunately, having your foot in many doors means that you eventually have no leg to stand on. Choosing a path requires closing doors! The term “decide” has the root “cide,” in other words, we have to kill off options in order to commit to one. Some go their whole lives trying to keep all options on the table; it’s no mystery that this indecision wreaks havoc on relationships, employment and spiritual progress. My friends, I can testify that God springs into action to help you realize your dreams as soon as you close the loop and commit to the calling of your Jewish heritage, whatever that may require. Yes, taking a plunge down the Jewish “rabbit hole” is scary but your journey through this wonderland will be guided with personalized rabbinic wisdom. So find a rabbi and get on with the life you were meant to live!
Your newfound rabbi will have spent countless years training to learn the craft of spiritual leadership and deserves the utmost respect. Rabbis have to wear many hats. They are often the chief fundraisers for their organizations. They have to shmooze with both the power players and the meek. They represent the synagogue in the greater Jewish community and also among the clergy of other faiths. They are the top dogs in the synagogue corporate structure and interface with the educational, administrative and governing teams. Rabbis are also the pastoral leaders of the congregation, dispensing words of solace in times of individual, communal and international strife. Rabbis are usually authors of inspiring text and are counted upon as orators to express that text with originality and spontaneity. It’s not a job for the faint of heart!
On the flip side, rabbis are subject to intense scrutiny and can’t help but ruffle feathers. They have to guide the community on a path of wisdom and growth but be careful not leave
constituents behind. Rabbis don’t ever get time off. Even when they are enjoying a vacation, the congregation expects them to remain at their beck and call. Rabbis don’t experience the essential weekly release of Shabbat to the same degree as the laity. In fact, the Sabbath and holidays are the times that they are most in demand! Their families tend to be somewhat mutant. After all, rabbis are typically workaholics with precious little time for family matters. Rabbi’s kids are scrutinized only slightly less than their parents. Of course, rabbi’s spouses are criticized if they don’t become part of synagogue life, or conversely if they are too involved. Said spouses often become unpaid employees of the synagogue, like it or not.
Furthermore, rabbis have to walk a consistent path of holiness and grace in public and in private. This is especially challenging in an era of invasive social media and ubiquitous cameras/cell phones. There is no teshuva for rabbis. Rabbis that fall short of living up to the immense ethical expectations are left to crash and burn. They cannot kiss and make up. Their transgressions are discussed with a hush and a wagging finger or worse, exposed on the pages of the local paper for all to enjoy. When any given rabbi blows it, their contracts are promptly voided; they are shipped off to another locale or have to leave the rabbinate in shame. I’ve even seen situations where the body that issued semicha (ordination) denied ever having done so. Chilul Hashem (desecration of God’s Name) by the official communal representative of morality is such a shanda (grievous error) that for many of my friends in the rabbinate there has been no second chance. Make sure you have your act together if you are aspiring to the rabbinate!
When shopping for a rabbi there are several factors to consider. First and foremost, you have to find the rabbi inspiring. They have to touch you deeply and give you enlightened perspective both on our ancient texts and current issues. One person’s inspiration is another person’s ennui…finding YOUR rabbi is based on your unique needs and perceptions. For this reason you may find that your rabbi is not your spouse’s rabbi. Next, they have to be humble and approachable. A rabbi must exude love and concern and make you feel like an important part of the synagogue family. They must model ethical living and be fluent in the language of both the Judaic and secular world. After all, that’s where you live, and your rabbi has to be able to intuit what you are going through. Most importantly, your rabbi must have the chutzpah to nudge you to grow. We need rabbis to get us out of complacency, to help us take on spiritual challenges, to increase our mitzvot. Your rabbi should give you impetus to say Hineni, calling on you to make a verifiable difference for your family, your community and the world.
The next question in this process is where to look. For many of us, that’s a moot point. We live where we live, and only have so many local options. That’s OK. We also live in an era where you can affiliate with your local congregation but look to another more distant rabbi for Torah guidance. We have the miracle of high-speed internet and nearly free long distance phone calls. If you have a great rabbi for you in your hometown, consider yourself blessed. But if not, it’s time to activate your personal search engine! All the gifts of 24/7 Jewish living can be yours…the only thing stopping you from “rabbi shopping” is you. Read books and articles written by influential rabbis. I’m confident you will find some that speak to you. Yes, most of those rabbis, even the famous ones, will welcome a relationship. While I think it’s best to have only one official rabbi, in absence of that one perfect personality you can subdivide your spiritual guidance. Whatever it takes to get you on a sanctified path and stick with it.
Some of us are raised with a certain set of customs, with Jewish practices that we are comfortable doing and others in which we’re not so 
interested. I’m writing this essay to beg you to consider getting out of the comfort zone…to take on new challenges and stretch. If your local rabbi is not going to push you into connecting with your Creator via taking on new mitzvot, then that rabbi isn’t for you! That rabbi can still be a friend, a resource, a tennis partner, but it’s not your rabbi. Your rabbi approaches our traditions with joy and makes a relationship with God palpable. Your rabbi makes Jewish living look so good, like a sumptuous banquet! As I’ve said, the book of Jewish law is called the Shulchan Aruch, the set table. An ethical, loving, deeply connected rabbi will inevitably make Judaism so attractive that you can’t help but want some of that for yourself.
There are treasures and obstacles in all the Jewish denominations. It’s hard to be both politically correct and honest but I’m throwing caution to the wind. What matters more than whether your rabbi trained at HUC, JTS or YU is if they have both heart and gumption. There are rabbis that I deeply respect in all movements in Judaism. I work with Reform through Chassidic institutions and I can verify that all denominations have something to offer the k’lal (whole group.) That’s why there are twelve tribes in our ancient heritage…as the Talmud says, “these and these are the words of the Living God.” As long as a respect for halacha is maintained, I think there is something to be said for a “post-denominational” outlook. In other words, when shopping for a rabbi, don’t accept a denominational ceiling to growth. If you hear the statement: “well, we don’t have to do this because we are _______ Jews,” run for the exit. For example, Orthodox can’t desist from acts of loving-kindness to gentiles and Reform can’t overtly cast off the commandments (they are commandments, not “suggestions” after all!) The key here is finding guidance that will help you grow while remaining balanced, open-minded and without losing yourself in the process.
At the risk of generalizing, when choosing a denomination there are good and bad points to each of our major movements and I’m going to go out on a limb and list some caveats. Some may think that the Yeshivish and Chassidic worlds offer a panacea for all society ills but they are grappling with losing their youth and finding it harder avoid the lure of mass media and manage technology. The lack of a Western-style education can paralyze individuals that are striving to interface with the “real world.” The Modern Orthodox are smug in their rootedness in Jewish wisdom and embrace of modernity but arrogance and inward focus is often the result. As you may have guessed, I’m a big proponent of Orthodox-style mitzvah observance but I warn that it can devolve into obsession-compulsion, peer pressure-induced one upmanship and the lifestyle is financially draining. Many love to bash the halachic waffling of the Conservative movement and prognosticate timetables for its demise. That said, there are Conservative communities where Judaism is flourishing with a dedicated core of congregants that are Sabbath observant and mitzvah focused. Lastly, Reform takes a beating from the right wing but is the bastion of appreciation for Jewish art and culture, social justice and simple, spiritual joy. Some may assume that the lack of true “informed choice” and the “freedom” from the divine imperative of Torah renders Reform obsolete; let me state for the record that I know several Reform rabbis that perform epic roles of leadership in the spiritual well-being of their congregants.
One of the biggest criticisms leveled at “liberal” Judaism is the comparative weakness of
communal structure. In fact I’ve heard from Conservative leadership that the movement’s failings are due to the consistent shedding of the right wing. In other words, if you get excited about your Judaism and seek daily practice, in most Conservative synagogues (but not all) you will be very lonely. Unfortunately, the rule seems to be that the clergy may be on the “derech” (path) but the congregation for the most part only shows up on High Holidays and for friend’s bar/bat mitzvahs. If you suddenly get interested in keeping kosher you are going to be eating alone. If you want to ramp up your Shabbat observance you will have a hard time relating to the chevra that assembles every week, especially if you are under forty years old. Those with heightened Judaic enthusiasm usually find their way to a Modern Orthodox or Chabad shul and never look back. It’s less an indictment of any given philosophy and more about the astounding impact of a dedicated community. It was the presence of my dynamic learning and chesed (kindness) focused community that made my growth possible. Or at least a lot more fun. I write this with pain in my heart since my Jewish memories are Conservative memories, from amazing summers at Camp Ramah and Israel programs, to Sinai Temple’s dedicated Hebrew School teachers and clergy.
The crucial role of community cannot beoverstated. Rabbi Hillel in Ethics of the Fathers states “Al tifrosh min hatzibur,” don’t distance yourself from the community. As I’ve mentioned in my parenting essays, a Jewish community sets certain expectations of all members and therefore the parents don’t have to work quite as hard to educate their progeny. It’s so much easier to thrive in mitzvot when it’s simply the way everyone lives. To go it alone can be harsh and is certainly less fulfilling. Even the coolest Mac cannot substitute for a flesh and blood chevra (peer group.) As frail humans we usually don’t have the degree of resolve required to “run up the downward escalator” of spiritual life. Moving to the epicenter of a Jewish community can make all the difference. That’s easy in a big city; you just need to be able to afford the “shtetl tax,” referring to typically inflated Jewish neighborhood property values. Those in smaller towns can still find (or build) minyans of like-minded individuals and will likely have to put time into their learning on the web and traveling to Torah centers from time to time.
Choosing a rabbi can be the single most important move one makes in initiating a powerful Jewish journey, second only to finding a great spouse. I want to take this moment to thank my amazing rav, Rabbi Moshe Cohen for all the patience, generosity and wisdom that he has shared with my family. Yes, it takes dedication and powerful intention to find your own rabbi. With the guidance of your newfound Jewish “guru” anything is possible for you in your life. Hopefully your own exponential growth will inspire others to attempt the same path, to partake in our perpetual feast from the “set table” of Jewish life. B’hatzlacha on your journey.
In order for the Jewish People to have a fighting chance at survival we need to connect with nachas. Nachas is the simple feeling of satisfaction when connecting Jewishly. It is a uniquely Jewish sensation and is therefore tough to define for those outside of the tribe. All Jews have had nachas moments. Usually at lifecycle events when we perceive that thanks to this event, all will be well for the Jewish future. Brises, baby-namings, Bar/Bat mitzvahs and Jewish weddings are all nachas moments. Nachas isn’t quite pride, although that’s a big part of it. All parents swell up with pride when a kid has an accomplishment in the world. But a pride moment is an A on an algebra test or passing the Bar Exam. A nachas moment is when that kid can read Hebrew well enough to be called to the Torah. Or when a bride and groom exchange vows under a chuppah. Nachas involves continuity. When the synagogues and federations around the world worry about connecting with the next generation, what they are really saying is that they are concerned about nachas.
concierge tour of Israel who seemed to have the best of everything. He had recently been divorced from his non-Jewish wife and was rediscovering his roots. I sensed there was an emptiness that he was trying to fill with this short visit to the Holy Land. My rabbi brother turned to me and said, “He has everything except nachas.” Money can’t buy nachas. It’s a human pleasure on a higher plateau, up there with love, power, divine connection. Nachas takes investment, sacrifice and wisdom. In Jewish life, it’s not “he who dies with the most toys wins.” Go to any Jewish funeral; we don’t do roasts or talk about real estate acquisitions. Those properly eulogizing the dead are talking about nachas moments, the impact he or she had on loved ones, acts of charity and loving-kindness.
we make are a small price to pay for the rewards of nurturing Jewishly alive offspring. We’re “paying it forward,” laying the seeds for the future joy of our own kid’s Jewish grandchildren, God willing. Thanks to my prodigious frequent flyer miles we just returned from a two-week family vacation in Israel to visit our oldest son Max who is spending a year learning in yeshiva. He showed up at Ben Gurion airport to pick us up on a Friday afternoon already decked out in his form-fitting Shabbas suit. Clean cut, tanned, in top shape (thanks to the yeshiva gym) and with tzitzit dangling. Can you imagine my slack-jawed, overwhelming rush of nachas?
to spiritual Jewish music! In your car, on your ipod, on your couch. There are hundreds of amazing artists out there with songs that will nourish your soul and connect you deeply with your own Jewish journey. Jewish music bolsters feelings of unity with the Jewish People and our Creator. Music can make you sing and dance…it is the antidote to lethargy and hopelessness. In fact, music is often the transport medium of nachas. At my own wedding, one of my friends helped settle my nerves by advising me to sum up all my needs and concerns with one simple prayer under the chuppah: that I be able to give God nachas. May we all have lifecycle events filled with sweet song and abundant nachas. May we all serve God with joy and merit a speedy redemption for our troubled world.
I am both a music lover and music maker. I’ve learned that the two are mutually exclusive; I have composer friends that minimize exposure to anyone else’s music in order to avoid being unduly influenced. I, on the other hand, regularly thank God for the gift of listening to music…any kind of music! Particularly when driving in LA traffic jams. I’m a fan of many local, US and international bands and I try to be a good groupie and sit in the front row whenever I can sneak out to their shows. I’m a regular at the LA Phil and LA Opera. I’m obsessed with jazz. I have over 3000 CDs of all genres in my collection and I still have my ear out for new sounds. My wife and I share in the Top 40 fun with our three kids and keep abreast of The Voice, Idol and America’s Got Talent. We admit to being both Beliebers and Gleeks. I used to brag that I like every style of music except Country. Well, thanks to dedicated honky-tonk friends I have been converted to the best of southern pedal steel, hillbilly, bluegrass, gospel and even yodeling.
apply. The festival includes side show distractions like yoga on the hour, a kids play area, continuous Frisbee and hula hoops, (go Wham-o!) impromptu jam sessions and a delicious public swimming pool. Incredible alpine hikes are just down the road. And did I mention fifty of the hottest touring acts in the world?
housed the most raucous bands. This tennis court sized space is surrounded by a grassy field on one side and on the other, the tents of a dozen lucky campers that must have run FAST to secure these prime locations. Their “chill” areas are shaded with canopies and tapestries and they abut the concert space so all they have to do is hang out on their lounge chairs.
night. But where would I nap? Now I understood why I saw countless people throughout the fairgrounds passed out on the grass, in hammocks, and some, face down in the dust on the edges of the concert venues. Remarkably, no one bothered these people, save for the occasional Samaritan trying to carry them to safety. I realized that one of the crucial elements of this utopian festival is the fact that in spite of arduous conditions, everyone is smiling, peaceful and looking out for one another.
Houndmouth is a youthful quartet of “easy on the eye” musicians that were having a tough time winning over the ambivalent crowd. Something switched on during their set. I think the initial bias against these seeming pretty boy (and girl) posers disappeared in the light of their excellent material, great vocals and competent musicianship. I have never seen a band overcome indifference to this degree; by the last several songs the audience was SCREAMING for more.
out backstage passes to the Vaudeville tent, allowing the whole Shabbat Tent staff to enjoy the festivities during Lee Field and the Expressions electrifying old-school set. Before I left however, a family that missed Havdalah insisted that I walk with them back to their RV to include the rest of their group. Some high school musicians were leading a full bore jam session in front of their RV next door and it seemed impossible to lead a service amidst the din. I tried another tactic: during a blues number I simply chanted the Havdalah prayer in the form of a blues tune and grooved everyone along to a shavua tov.
focused efforts in the Shabbat Tent to serve as a light onto nations, spreading a compassionate Jewish presence in this alpine love fest. Just like the connections I make when I lead a Shabbaton weekend and really can “get” everyone that I meet, I feel similarly present in this milieu.
As a teenager I remember the call as I walked down Kikar Tziyon (Zion Square) in Jerusalem. The call of “Mincha, Mincha,” rang out from the entrance of a small storefront shul. I would do my best to avoid the squat elderly man with a thick Sephardic accent that beckoned in the doorway. God forbid I have my afternoon fun interrupted with 10 minutes of boredom as I stood there pretending to pray. As a young traveler I did not have any tradition of the afternoon prayer ritual. At that point in my life I was aware of Shachrit, the morning service which I avoided since I saw it as far too long and inconvenient. I was familiar with Ma’ariv, the evening service from Friday nights at Camp Ramah. But Mincha? No, Mincha was a foreign word to me, lost in the same summertime wasteland that claimed Shavuot, S’firat Ha’Omer and the “Three Weeks.” If it was left out of our annual Hebrew School lexicon it couldn’t be something I needed to worry about.
centerpiece of my day. The first is my limited attention span. I’m a believer in “living by the mitzvot,” in other words, if I feel a certain mitzvah is “killing” me, I feel no remorse in minimizing it. Shachrit takes a long time and when I’m davening on my own, I take liberties with shortening the Pseukei D’zimra (opening prayers of praise,) for example. Mincha fits in this perfect 5-10 minute window of opportunity where I can dive in and then re-enter the workday.
Our thrice daily prayer ritual reflects the contributions of each of our three forefathers. Avraham gave us the custom of Shachrit due to his early morning service reported in the Torah. Yaakov gave us Ma’ariv due to his intense nighttime experience on Har HaMoriah dreaming of ladders stretching up to heaven. We have Yitzchak to thank for Mincha. He is described as “conversing in the field” before the sun set when his besheret Rivka gets a glimpse of him for the first time. Likely this 30-something young man was praying hard for a wife. It’s no wonder that we too are “in the field” when we daven Mincha, either in the agricultural sense toiling the ground by the “sweat of our brow” or in whatever “field” we are engaged.
God satisfies the desire of those with “chai ratzon,” in other words, those who have a will that is alive. So much of our day is often spent in repetitive tasks and drudgery. We take the same way to work every day, eat the same lunch, see the same faces. Our fire is slowly extinguished by the repetition of the “daily grind” and that ennui can soon turn into hopelessness. The idea of this line of the Ashrei is that YOU must take responsibility for keeping your will alive. Only you can change things around. Take a different way to work, get together with old friends, rediscover activities you enjoy, get physical rather than passive in front of a TV screen or a Facebook feed. Being truly alive requires more than just food, water and an occasional jaunt on a treadmill.
Everybody knows about the famous ones: bris, baby naming, bar/bat mitzvah, marriage and funerals. This month’s column is a segue from last month’s report on the miraculous nature of the bris and is dedicated to certain overlooked milestones that are equally a part of life. All cultures celebrate rites of passage. In the US we have graduations, sweet 16’s, getting a driver’s license, and the holy grail, reaching drinking age. As a parent I’ve noticed that once you have kids there are a few other significant transitions that are rarely discussed.
“reproductively irrelevant.” I always envisioned having four kids. Four is a nice, round number, I grew up in a family with four boys and I felt like four meant you were a real parent. Also, one of our favorite rebbetzins used to lecture us on the importance of Jews having large families to undo the damage of Hitler’s taking 1.5 Million of our kinderlach. I love the sweet adventure and mystery of pregnancy and birth. Of course that’s easy for me to say. I tried to participate in everything, from birth coaching to feeding and the changing diapers. I even got to dispense the milk my wife would laboriously pump.
The next lifecycle event came on the heels of our last child becoming a Bat Mitzvah. Sarah turning 12 means that Max is a senior in high school. Yes, my friends, the empty nest phase is approaching. We are now in the midst of SAT’s, college applications and researching yeshivot in Israel. Last month he went on his senior trip in which the class goes to Israel to see firsthand the top fifteen academies that are recommended for their gap year of study. This is all very exciting for Max. But it’s a bit heartbreaking for me. Our official annual vacation this last January was our last as a whole family, at least for the foreseeable future. Next year he won’t be with us for Pesach. Or High Holidays or Chanukah for that matter. We won’t enjoy his brief appearance at dinner every night. And Jesse, who is only a year-and-a-half younger soon will be following in his footsteps. I’m getting weepy writing this. I know I should be stoic and matter of fact. But I will leave that for my wife, who wears the pants in the family. (Actually I wear the pants, but she tells me which pair.)
What did the moel bring to the bris?
Two days later came the fancy bris of the month. All of the neighborhood big shots were assembled and it was anyone’s guess which bearded sage would be graced with the highest honor of sandek, the person who holds the baby in his lap during the ceremony. It was the father’s fourth child but he was as touched as if it were his first. His beautiful wife sobbed as she looked on. Amidst the pomp and circumstance of this first class affair there was still a simple presence of the Shechina and sure enough I found myself getting misty eyed once again. I was still wearing my tallis and tefillin from Shachrit and even though I had prayed in rote fashion, the power of the words I had already uttered somehow landed in my atria at the moment of the incision. One lesson learned: most attendees come for the mitzvah and not the meal. The ample delicacies were artfully displayed in stations across the vaulted lobby of the Museum of Tolerance and yet about 10% was eaten by the time the room cleared out.
There is special significance in the fact that we are commanded to carry out this holy procedure on the eighth day. Kabbalah teaches that seven is the number associated with the intersection of the human sphere and the divine. That is why our weekly communion with our Creator and Redeemer, the Sabbath, is every seventh day. Eight is one step beyond, entirely metaphysical, the realm of the supernatural. It is interesting that eight is simply the vertical representation of the universal symbol for infinity. Eight is also the number associated with Chanukah where we celebrate the miraculous victory of the Maccabees and the length of time that the single cruse of oil burned. Some say that the miracle of Chanukah is the fact that we bothered to try to light the menorah or fight the Syrian-Greeks in the first place. After all, isn’t it wiser to surrender when all the chips are down, when defeat is inevitable? NO, says Jewish tradition. That is precisely when we must remember that we are a supernatural people that defies all laws of conventional sociology and, with God’s help, we are invincible.
My wife buys the smallest packages of food in order to conserve space in our three-shelf pantry. When I open it on any given morning and find one of those 10oz. boxes of Cheerios I cringe and dream of a time when we can shop at Costco. Furthermore, I insist on having a plethora of cereal options so that I can mix and match my breakfast. She retaliates by buying the mini jars of peanut butter. I get the same grief when it comes to my closet full of clothes. She argues that I have more than she does and calls me a pack rat. I respond that I like lots of choices and see no reason to throw my old favorites away, as long as they still fit. So too with my CD collection, the gear in my music studio, my library. Am I too attached to material things? Yes. But I prefer to give my obsession another name.
correctness. We live at a time when conscientious Americans are trying to reduce our carbon footprints, bringing canvas bags to the supermarket, driving hybrids and recycling. I’m not suggesting that we abandon these astute practices, God forbid! I am suggesting that we distinguish between minimizing our consumption and maximizing our joy.
“magnets”; if we prove that we know how to do the right thing in any situation, clearly God can trust us with abundance. God aches to give us more, but we have to CHOOSE the relationship, we have to ASK for what we want and we have to BUILD ourselves into individuals who can handle abundance.
and should use our Jewish institutions to enhance our connection rather than provide a glass ceiling to our growth. My friend David Suissa comments that in religious life we decide, “that’s not what I do” and then defend that stance religiously! We argue: why try a mitzvah one time if it makes us a “hypocrite” for not sticking with it? As Jews, our access to shefa is closely aligned with the mitzvot that we take on. Take a chance! Be a hypocrite once in a while. Suissa quotes Rabbi Shlomo Schwartz as saying “God counts only the mitzvahs you do, not the ones you don’t.”
I just returned from my distant cousin Gene Samson’s funeral. I must admit I left my home this morning a bit frustrated that I was going to “lose” half my day and had to wear a black suit on a 90 degree LA scorcher. But as soon as I entered the mortuary I was immediately uplifted by the faces of my extended family and felt the soul-satisfaction of performing the ancient and powerful mitzvah of participating in the burial of a loved one.
couple married for over 50 years, wearing white, exploring the verdant burial ground of our extended family. I got to cry simply because I love my parents so much, because I miss the relatives that have left us, because I’m human and have a God-given need to open my heart and just have a “good cry.”
Isaac says “Hineni,” (here I am) and seems to be complicit in his own demise. Avraham is asked to destroy everything he has worked for. The midrash tells us that the angels were crying tears of disbelief and awe at the commitment of our patriarchs and that these tears fell into Isaac’s eyes and led to his blindness. These angelic tears are the tears of injury, tears that are real and damaging and stay with us forever. We have all experienced crises, trauma and tragedy. The question is if we let the damage sabotage us or if we rise from the ashes stronger and more deeply connected to our Creator.
alone. This is the time to make a written accounting of who we are, who we want to be, who we’ve wronged and need to ask for forgiveness. Only when we are at peace with our friends and relatives and in touch with our personal mission can we let the cries of the shofar enter our hearts and tear down the walls of complacency.
is completely open and there is no one imposing deadlines except you. Being a self-employed musician is even harder. The craft is vastly time consuming, goals are difficult to quantify, and the quality of the final product is entirely subjective and resides in the ether. Most of my peers survive from gig to gig, no grand schemes or business plans. All of my kids are becoming musicians in their own right and while I am gushing with pride at their accomplishments, I am not pushing them into the field as a profession. It’s so easy to flake, to get distracted, to start projects and never finish. If by some miracle you manage to get that masterpiece shrink-wrapped, you then have to put on the businessman’s hat to bring your product to market. Musicians don’t like switching hats; they feel it isn’t part of the job description.
attention save for the furtive glance at his iPhone every few seconds in case a text has arrived. Jesse is a joy to behold unless he’s on headphones mid-battle in his World of Warcraft universe. Sarah plays Mindjolt and Super Mario via Facebook while watching the Food Channel on YouTube. Did I mention we don’t have a TV? We don’t! But everyone has a computer (for homework, of course.) When I get a word in about the importance of self-mastery or using time wisely, I get that look that tells me “you are the ultimate curmudgeon on the planet!” I feel like I’m in a desperate race against the clock to get my kids to appreciate and use their free will wisely while they are still living in my home.
best in his unconventional description of hell in “If You Were God.” According to our sages, we are constantly being measured on how we are maximizing our potential. We are not judged against our peers. Instead, at the end of 120 years, we face the distinction between our potential and actual selves. The degree of difference between them is a source of tremendous humiliation, the “fires of hell,” if you will. Were you the best you that you could be? By maximizing “choose life” moments, we have a better chance of finishing the game in alignment with our greatest potential. According to author Leo Buscaglia, “Who you are is God’s gift to you, who you become is your gift to God.”
So what are we going to do with the kids this summer? Well, for starters, the ultimate Jewish pride builder: a month at Jewish summer camp. The rest of the time we’ll try to keep them away from screens as much as possible. Yes, we have to intervene…for most kids, time management is bigger than them. We will use the remaining six weeks to nurture existing hobbies and jumpstart new ones. Double up on instrument lessons, lots of Krav Maga, a filmmaking workshop. I am taking my oldest son into the wilderness for a week and will take lots of pictures so that he can look back and see that his old man cared enough to do something about it rather than just complain. And yes, we’ll see some 3D movies, visit the waterslides and go to Ben and Jerry’s. We may be strict but we’re not crazy.
This Rosh Chodesh Nissan I had the pleasure of culminating my eight-day tour of Florida with a Shabbaton in Cooper City, just north of Miami. Just before launching into Kabbalat Shabbat services I sang Auld Lang Syne. After all, we just concluded Adar, the final month of year in terms of the biblical count. That makes the transition into Nissan the true New Year’s Eve. As soon as the moon is full, on the eve of the fifteenth night of the first month, we celebrate our annual birthday as a nation. Some 3000 years ago we were a nation enslaved by a decadent tyrant, yearning for freedom. At the stroke of midnight that first Passover, after nine months of plagues, we emerged from the womb of Egypt to our destiny of freedom. The concealment of Adar gives way to open revelation at the Sea of Reeds and Sinai, and thanks to our remarkable custom of making an annual Seder, we still relish in the birth of the unbreakable soul of our nation.
insists that this body is no more than a meat-jacket that we must maintain with food, water and exercise so that it can continue to shlep the precious, divine soul on it’s mission. Throughout the year we indulge in petty material concerns and accumulations. Come Pesach, along with our physical spring-cleaning we have the opportunity to get down to the soul level in our worldview and interpersonal connections. Kabbalah has given us a window into the soul that is a perfect user manual that engenders pride in ownership. For those empirical types that must see it to believe it, our tradition teaches a “five levels of the soul paradigm” that clarifies the outlines of the ephemeral self. In the interest of having a wide-eyed, openhearted Pesach, allow me to take you through the journey of these five levels, based on the teachings of Rabbi David Aaron and Rabbi Tom Meyer.
during the Holocaust was meaningless manual labor. Without meaning, our lives become living agony. Also, the nefesh is being expressed when we hear the voice of the conscience speaking, that fundamental, cross-cultural concept of good and evil. We know it’s inherently wrong to punch an elderly stranger in the street. Hollywood movies with heroes and villains sell worldwide because all humans share certain internal ethics. That’s our nefesh speaking. Darwinian evolutionists and physicists can’t quite explain why it’s there. But it is. And we know its voice like we know we have five fingers on our hand.
unique, in spite of the fact that we are one among billions of similarly entitled beings. It’s our neshama speaking when we pursue happiness. I’m sure scientists might have convincing theories about why we strive to feel in sync, on a mission, why we feel we are deserving of happiness. But any true pleasure seeker does not need science to explain this universal drive. When we stop to think about it, it’s clear we have a neshama, a divine force informing our every motivation.
idea of being separate, alone with another. The yichud room at a traditional Jewish wedding is when the bride and groom are secluded in an intimate space just after the ceremony. We’ve all felt yechida: those times when we are deeply connected and empowered and totally blown away. For some of us, it was the birth of our child. For others, a perfect ski run on the back bowls of Vail. Some find it in Yosemite or surfing a glassy, overhead, bowling wave. Ask anyone who feels they were saved from a potential harrowing accident by a miracle. The Seder is a fifteen-step opportunity to spend an entire night in yechida. We say the Sh’ma twice a day to remind ourselves of the possibility, just for that moment, to love God with all our heart, soul and might.
field, Raymond Moody, interviewed thousands of individuals that “flat-lined” for over twenty minutes and then came back to life. Many report a multi-stage chain of events that parallel the description of death in Kabbalah. Commonly experienced phenomena are seeing their body from above, hearing everything that was going on and enduring a rapid review of their lives (much like the great James Brooks movie Defending Your Life.) Some are met by loved ones and are then sent back or feel they must return to their corporeal existence to complete a task. Nearly all see or feel a powerful light that is loving and comforting. Our rabbis tell us that this is the “ziv hashechina,” the light of God, of creation. After all, the sun wasn’t formed until the fourth day…could this be the light that God stated was “good” on the first?