Author: Sue Gurland

We are in the middle of Sukkot, Z’man Simchateinu, the Season of our Rejoicing. In Deuteronomy 16, we are COMMANDED to rejoice on Sukkot.

In verses 14 and 15 we read, “You shall rejoice in your festival”

and “You shall have nothing but joy.”

Amid all the heartbreak and brokenness we feel this year, this mitzvah is particularly difficult to fulfill.  Can we really rejoice for seven days – or even one?

Yet, we Jews are practiced in holding paradox. 

• Hassidic Rebbe Simcha Bunim famously taught that we need two pockets, one with a note that reads, “For my sake was the world created.”  The other with a note that reads, “I am but dust and ashes.”

• We just recited in the Unetaneh Tokef, “who shall live and who shall die.”   And chapter 3 of Kohelet teaches, among many other dualities, that there is “A time to be born and a time to die.” 

• During Shiva, we interrupt our grief to celebrate Shabbat and Festivals.

• And Psalm 126, set to music by Debbie Friedman, asserts that, “Those who sow in tears will reap in joy.”

Going beyond paradox, Rebbe Nachman wrote, “If you don’t feel happy, pretend to be. Even if you are depressed, put on a smile. Act happy. Genuine joy will follow.” 

For many of us, the advice to “Fake it till you make it,” feels inauthentic.

However, another of Rebbe Nachman’s suggestions, validated by  cognitive behavioral research, is more promising.  The Rebbe writes:

“Sometimes a group of people happily dancing together take hold of someone who is standing miserable and depressed on the outside. They pull him into the dance circle despite himself, forcing him to rejoice with them.”

Or as the Nike slogan says, “JUST DO IT.”

Following the Rebbe’s advice, three Sukkot mitzvot provide an opportunity to metaphorically join the dance that can bring us to joy.

First and foremost, we are commanded to dwell in booths.  From Leviticus 23:43

“You shall live in booths seven days; all citizens in Israel shall live in booths…”

While dwelling in a sukkah reminds us of the fragility of life, it also puts us in touch with the holiness of the natural world.  At night, we view the stars and wonder at our place in the Universe. During the day, we can simply sit quietly and observe Nature around us—glorious this time of year.   

To quote Anne Frank in Diary of a Young Girl:

“The best remedy for those who are afraid, lonely or unhappy is to go outside, somewhere where they can be quite alone with the heavens, nature and God.” 

There is also joy to be experienced in the simplicity of our booths. We don’t take much out with us, some food and drink and something to read or study.  But during the time in a sukkah we are separated from our material world — from emails, messages, and breaking news.

Metaphorically, the sukkah has been likened to a comforting embrace, a big hug.  With its three walls close to us, we can sense the joy of being lovingly held.  Rabbi Akiva likened the booths to the supernatural clouds of glory with which G-d enveloped the Israelites in the desert. (Sifra, rabbinical commentary on Leviticus)

The second Sukkot mitzvah that fosters joy is that we welcome guests.  Deuteronomy 16:14 commands:

“You shall rejoice in your festival with your son and daughter, your male and female slave, the Levite, the stranger, the fatherless and the widow in your communities. “

We invite our friends and family to share a meal in our sukkah.  Tradition has it that we also welcome Ushpizin, seven supernal guests delineated in the Zohar. These are our patriarchs plus Moses, Aaron, Joseph and David.

In recent years, feminists have paired our matriarchs and other Biblical women with the men:  Sara, Rebecca, Rachel and Leah plus Miriam, Avigal and Esther.  Other lists include Devorah, Hannah and Huldah.  (This also helps compensate for the striking omission of wives and other female relatives from the Torah text!)

Today we often include deceased relatives or other historical or contemporary figures who represent our core values.  In this gathering of spirits, present and absent, we can sense the joy of connection to preceding generations.   L’dor v’dor.

The third and last Sukkot ritual I’ll mention is holding the lulav and etrog.  In Leviticus 23:40 we read:

“On the first day you shall take the product of hadar trees, branches of palm trees, boughs of leafy trees, and willows of the brook, and you shall rejoice before your God יהוה seven days.”

We bring together these four species and wave them in the six directions.  This physical act is also ascribed symbolic meaning.  The arba’a minim, the four species, symbolize variously the four letters of G-d’s name; the limbs of our bodies; and the masculine and feminine. Thus we unite the transcendent and the immanent, experiencing the joy of connecting to the Divine through our bodies. 

Throughout this difficult year, I have been struck by how our ritual observances and mitzvot can touch and uplift us. We read Kohelet on Sukkot and its final message to us is “Revere G-d and observe His commandments.”  Even amidst the brokenness, we can turn to our tradition to provide a way to genuinely experience joy and celebrate Sukkot’s Z’man Simchateinu.

For the past four weeks, we have been reading about the laws the Israelites – and their descendants– are to follow.  The list includes the blessings and curses that will befall them—and us–if we don’t follow these laws.  These warnings culminate in this week’s parasha with the Tokhehah, warnings that are so loathsome that they’re read sotto voce.

I am bothered, especially in this polarizing year, by the black-and-white nature of these pronouncements:  obey and you’ll be rewarded; disobey and you’ll be punished.  As we’re being encouraged in public discourse to look beyond binaries—beyond Us and Them, Good and Bad—I find myself looking for some middle ground between blessings and curses.  

In reading Ki Tavo this year, two images jumped out at me that offer possible middle ground options. 

The first option is the image found in chapter 27, verses 2-3 when Moses says, “As soon as you have crossed the Jordan…, you shall set up large stones.  Coat them with plaster and inscribe upon them all the words of this Teaching.”

Imagine the dark inscribed letters starkly standing out against the white plaster.  The image that comes to mind is that of the Torah scroll’s black ink letters on white parchment. The white spaces highlight the black letters, much as the negative space in a painting allows the image to come forward.

In the Talmud Yerushalmi, the Torah is described as “Black fire written on White fire.” Among the many interpretations of this description is the concept that the black letters are the pshat, the simple meaning of the Torah, and the white spaces are the sod, the secret meanings.   The white spaces allow for all the midrashim that offer rich interpretations of the text.  The white spaces open up the possibility of a way to live beyond the black letters of the text.

The second middle-ground option is found in chapter 27 verses 12-13.  Moses instructs the tribes, when they enter the land, to stand on one of two facing mountains, Mt. Ebal or Mt. Gerizim to hear the blessings and curses.

Herein lies the possibility of a middle ground. If you imagine the two mountains opposite each other, they form a valley between them.  It’s MY midrash, that the valley between the mountains opens the possibility of living somewhere in between the blessings and the curses, just as the white spaces in the Torah allow for a more nuanced understanding of the black letters.

We’re all imperfect human beings.  While it may be easy to avoid many of the curses, is there any one of us who has not transgressed the laws of the Torah in some way, or performed all the mitzvot that we could?  As Conservative Jews, we live in this middle space, in the valley between the two mountains.  There we find fertile ground to grow our contemporary understandings of Torah.

There is precedent for this middle ground.  In Exodus 32, after the incident of the Golden Calf, Moses implores G-d to temper G-d’s anger with G-d’s attribute of mercy.  On the Kabbalistic Tree of Life, Chesed/lovingkindness balances G-d’s attribute of Din/Judgment, with the middle point being called Tiferet or Rachamim/Compassion.  In the black fire/white fire metaphor, black fire represents Judgment and white fire represents Mercy. 

The High Holy Days liturgy sets up another binary choice in the Unetanah Tokef piyyut, “who will Live and who will Die.” However, this text also provides us with a middle way, a way to act to merit G-d’s compassion and invoke G-d’s mercy.  According to our machzor, “Teshuvah, tefilla and tzedakah have the power to transform the harshness of our destiny.” As we begin the New Year, may we live so that our prayers and actions bring us closer to G-d’s blessings and inspire G-d’s compassion and mercy.

Ben Bag Bag famously declared, “Turn it, turn it for everything is in it.”  I’m sure this first century sage never imagined that a twenty-first century rabbi would turn over the words of Shir HaShirim to reveal a paean to deep ecology and an antidote to the perils of climate change. 

Rabbi Ellen Bernstein, zichrona livracha, who passed away two months ago at the age of 70, had just published a new translation of Shir HaShirim entitled Toward a Holy Ecology: Reading the Song of Songs in the Age of Climate Crisis. 

Rabbi Bernstein was considered the “Mother” of the Jewish Ecology Movement.  Her earlier books, including her Passover Haggadah, The Promise of the Land, poetically articulate the connection between humans and all of Creation.   

The Song of Songs has traditionally been interpreted as an allegory of the love between G-d and Israel or between a human couple.  Bernstein reinterprets the text to bring out its nature imagery and themes. She calls it “a meditation on our relationship with nature animated by love.” The inter-relationship between the lovers, the land and its creatures leads her to a vision of interdependence and wholeness that is an expression of the oneness and holiness of G-d. 

How does she arrive there? 

Bernstein points out that more than half the verses of the Song convey images of nature and the land of Israel.  The lovers compare themselves to plants, animals, minerals, mountains and cities.  They inhabit a garden reminiscent of the Garden of Eden.  

The Song also reflects the natural cycles of time.  It begins at the end of Summer with reference to the woman’s sun-darkened skin, proceeds through the rainy Winter, to the flowering of Spring, to the blissful days of Summer.  

Nature and seasonal imagery predominate in this familiar passage from Chapter 2: 

up, my friend, my beauty, 

And come away. 

For now the winter is past, 

The rain is over and gone. 

The scarlet blossoms have appeared in the land, 

The time of the songbird has come, 

The voice of the turtledove is heard in our land. 

The green figs form on the fig tree, 

The flowering vines give off their fragrance. 

Get up my friend, my beauty, 

And come away. 

Bernstein’s translation heightens the nature imagery in the Song.  She often chooses more literal meanings for the Hebrew rather than the widely used Jewish Publication Society version. 

For example, in Chapter 7 JPS translates ha-sadeh as “into the open.” Bernstein, however, keeps the literal meaning of “into the field.” Where the JPS version says “our couch,” Bernstein writes “our leafy bed.”  Her translations are all legitimate definitions of the Hebrew and deepen the nature imagery of the text. 

Another aspect of Rabbi Bernstein’s translation is her choice of relationship vocabulary to emphasize the inter-relational aspects of the people and the land.  For example, “O maidens of Jerusalem” in the JPS version becomes “O daughters of Jerusalem” in Bernstein’s text. 

When the male in the JPS translation describes his lover as “My own,” Bernstein translates achoti as “My sister,” the more literal meaning.  In Chapter 8, the JPS version says “A lover is listening.” Bernstein writes, “Our friends [chaverim] are listening,” emphasizing a wider relationship. 

Through her translation and her commentary, Rabbi Bernstein points us toward, in her words, the “interbeing of all life.” Nature, humans, flora and fauna form one wholeness that is a manifestation of Divinity.  

For Bernstein, the Shema, our central declaration of faith, is not limited to the theological conception that there is only “One G-d.”  Rather she understands the Oneness of G-d in the broadest possible way as, in her words, “a testimony to the inter-relatedness of all being.”  She continues, “If G-d is one, that oneness must encompass the whole of Creation.  Then we and all creatures of the world are related—kin—bound together in oneness.” 

Finally, Bernstein notes that two individuals bookend Shir HaShirim: King Solomon and the Shulamite woman.  The Hebrew root of both names is shin-lamed-mem, the root of “Shalom” and also “Shalem”, meaning Peace and Wholeness.  These two transcendental values undergird the Song of Songs.   

In the conclusion to her commentary, Bernstein writes, “The Song’s deeply ecological perspective and its ability to evoke the sacred through a vocabulary of wholeness offers a vitally important message for our age.”  As you read this poem on Pesach, experience it as Rabbi Bernstein does in her provocative and very relevant Toward a Holy Ecology. 

Art: Genesis 2:10 by Sue Gurland

Originally published at https://ritualwell.org/blog/an-ecological-perspective-on-the-song-of-songs/

G-d is not hidden in the Purim story—She’s there!

Our tradition teaches that G-d does not appear in the Book of Esther, the Megillah that we read on Purim.  G-d’s name does not occur even once in the 10 chapters of the book.  The story revolves around what’s concealed/revealed—names, identities, relationships.  And the heroes of the story are WOMEN!

Queen Esther, who saves the Jews, is a hidden Jew herself. Her name comes from the Hebrew word “Hester” meaning concealed.  It is also related to the Persian meaning “star” or “myrtle leaf.”  Etymologists relate it to Ishtar, the Persian goddess of love, beauty and justice.

Esther’s birth name was Hadassah (Esther 2:7), which also means “myrtle tree.”  The Rabbis dispute whether Hadassah was Esther’s first or second name.  Rabbinic literature calls the righteous “myrtles,” and notes Esther’s resemblance to those trees.  She is also compared to the moon, a female symbol, which shone for the Jews in the darkness of night.

Queen Vashti’s name also has a Persian origin and means beautiful.  However it means “thread” in Hebrew, perhaps symbolizing the hidden thread between Vashti and Esther.  Vashti’s fate is also hidden.  Vashti is banished for refusing to obey the King’s command and possibly instigate a rebellion in all the households in the land.

So where is G-d in all this?

In Kabbalah, Shekhinah, the female in-dwelling presence of G-d, is represented by the 10th sephira, Malkhut, often translated as “kingship,” although “queenship” would work as well.   A gender-neutral translation is “majesty” or “sovereignty.”  The word “malkhut” appears in the Megillah 17 times. (1)  The Shekhinah’s presence, however, has often been “hidden” in our tradition.

We are told in Midrash that the Shekhinah went into exile with the Israelites to Babylonia (Persia), that she is the Sabbath Queen, is present at weddings and through all the struggles of the Jewish people.  As an aspect of G-d’s “presence” she manifests through moments of insight, through spiritual connection and through the wisdom of our female prophets and Biblical women.

The presence of Shekhinah in the Megillah is apparent in the female protagonists.  Queens Esther and Vashti embody the courage, insight and wisdom of Shechina, as well as the hiddenness that characterizes Divinity.  One modern commentator notes that Esther “is a concealment of the Shekhinah, of the Divine Presence Itself.” (2)

Feminists have reclaimed the voice of the Shekhinah speaking through Esther and Vashti by bringing flags and bells to Megillah readings.  In addition to drowning out the name of Haman, they hail the names of the female voices of Shekhinah with joyful noise.

It is time to update the teaching that G-d doesn’t appear in the Book of Esther.

G-d/Shekhinah is fully present through Her human partners, Queens Vashti and Esther.

References:

• Sophiastreet.com Laura Duhan-Kaplan, “Kabbalistic Secrets of Esther,” 3/13/24
• planetaryjudaism.org/purim 5771 ,“Purim and the Positive Power of Concealment”

Originally published at https://ritualwell.org/ritual/g-ds-not-hidden-in-the-purim-story-shes-there/

Hukkat/Tammuz

Shabbat Shalom.

We’re in the month of Tammuz, the beginning of Summer. According to the
Kabbalists, each month in the Hebrew calendar has an energy associated with it and every season relates to one of the four elements—EARTH. AIR, WATER and FIRE. The energy of Tammuz is that of heat and expansion, and the element associated with it is FIRE. Think about the joy, fun and excitement of our childhood summers; feel the warmth of the heart-connection with a loved one, and you’ll have an embodied sense of the FIRE element.

FIRE, and the other three seasonal elements take us back to the very beginning of Genesis: the EARTH was void; a WIND swept over the WATER and there was light/FIRE. All of Creation was formed from these 4 elements.
So when I read the beginning of the parasha today, I was struck with how the ritual of the Red Heifer—and, in fact, all the sacrificial rites– incorporate these 4 elements: the cow is burned in FIRE, incense sweetens the AIR, the altar is STONE and the High Priest washes his garments and body in WATER. The 4 elements embedded in these rites helped the Israelites draw closer to G-d by catalyzing an embodied experience of the primordial Creation story.

What’s more, these 4 elements reappear throughout the parasha: Miriam and Aaron die and presumably are buried in the EARTH. The wells dry up and there is no WATER. The Israelites’ wailing fills the air and Moses in his FIREY impatience strikes the ROCK to bring forth WATER.

In Torah, FIRE manifests in both its life-affirming and destructive aspects. On the positive side we have Moses’ introduction to G-d at the burning bush; the pillar of FIRE that kept watch over the camp at night; the Aish Tamid, the FIRE that was kept burning on the altar to remind the Israelites of G-d’s presence. The Torah is even described as “white FIRE inscribed by black FIRE.” And we’re enjoined to study Torah “with FIRE,” with burning enthusiasm.

We also have examples of the negative consequences of unbridled fire: Aaron’s sons bringing “alien FIRE and are destroyed by it;” Korach from last week’s parasha and his followers are consumed by FIRE for challenging Moses’ leadership. Next week the 17 th of Tammuz commemorates the breaching of the walls of Jerusalem leading up to the destruction of the 2 nd temple on Tisha b’Av.
And in our contemporary world, we have wildfires, record heat waves, war and gun violence all around us.

So what can this teach us about how to thrive during the FIRE season? How to not “burnout” but rather profit from the life-affirming benefits of FIRE? Our sages’ advice aligns remarkably well with that of our wellness experts today. The Kabbalists counseled keeping all our G-d-given attributes in balance. Maimonides advocated “maintaining a healthy body is among the ways of G-d for it is impossible to know anything about the Creator if one is sick.” And Rebbe Nachman, putting our spiritual life first, instructs, “When summer begins to approach, it is very good to meditate in the fields. Go to a grassy field, for the grass will awaken your heart.” So summer allows us to take advantage of all the things that nurture our body, mind and spirit while being in Nature: exercising, eating fresh healthy food, enjoying the arts, connecting with friends and with G-d.

Our parasha ends with the Israelites camped on the steppes of Moab. Moab calls to mind the Moabite Ruth whom we just studied on Shavuot. Ruth’s love for Naomi and Boaz’ compassion for Ruth remind us of the heart-opening power of appropriate FIRE.

There’s a line from Leviticus that instructs us in the role of Fire in our lives: Aish Tamid Tukad al HaMizbayach, Lo Tichbeh—keep the fire on the altar and the flame in our hearts burning at all times. This Summer energy can illuminate our lives and our hearts throughout the year!

Chag Sameach!

Sometimes, the simplest questions are the most profound

The question that came to me recently was, “Why do we read the book of Ruth on Shavuot?”  Rabbi Google gave me familiar answers:  Shavuot is a Spring harvest holiday and the story of Ruth takes place during that time.  Also, Ruth personifies Chesed or Lovingkindness, and Shavuot celebrates G-d’s great love for Israel in giving us the Torah.  

However, there’s another way to link the Book of Ruth to Shavuot. Shavuot is also called the holiday of Receiving the Torah, and the Hebrew word for “receive” or “accept” is Kabal.  This is the root of the word Kabbalah, which refers to the Jewish mystical tradition, so I want to look at the Book of Ruth through this mystical lens.

As you know, we’ve just finished counting the Omer.  The Omer was the sheaf of grain brought to the Temple on Shavuot. The 49 days from the second night of Passover to Shavuot represented a period of transformation from the barley harvest to the wheat harvest. In Exodus, it represented our forebears’ transformation from slaves to a people ready to receive the Torah.   Today, counting the Omer also presents us with an opportunity for transformation, for refining our character as we prepare to metaphorically receive the Torah anew.   

Each of the 7 weeks between Passover and Shavuot corresponds to a particular trait which is said to be an aspect of the Divine.  Since we are created in G-d’s image, we seek to embody these traits in our own lives.  In Jewish Mysticism, these aspects of the Divine are known as the Tree of Life.

So, you may be asking, what’s this got to do with the Book of Ruth?  When I read that Ruth personifies Chesed or Lovingkindness, the Divine characteristic we study during the first week of the Omer, I wondered about the other traits. To my surprise, and, I admit, delight, the remaining 6 traits all appear in the story of Ruth, in the order in which they appear on the Tree of Life! 

Ruth’s Chesed is apparent in her caring for her mother-in-law, Naomi.  Boaz also remarks on Ruth’s Chesed in explaining why he is acting kindly toward her.

The next trait on the Tree of Life is Gevurah.  Gevurah means strength or setting limits. Naomi exercises Gevurah by setting boundaries when she sends Orpah and Ruth away. 

Ruth’s response, however, in pledging her loyalty to Naomi represents the third trait, Tiferet.  Tiferet represents beauty, balance and harmony.  Ruth accepts the limits Naomi places on their relationship with open-hearted love, saying, “Wherever you go, I will go; wherever you lodge, I will lodge; your people shall be my people and your God my God.”

Once back in Bethlehem, Ruth perseveres, gleaning the fields behind the reapers.  She works tirelessly, drawing on the quality of Netzach or endurance.  She also exhibits the next spiritual quality of Hod.  Hod represents humility and underlies Ruth’s action of prostrating herself before Boaz as she asks, “Why are you so kind to me when I am a foreigner?”

The two last character traits on the Kabbalistic Tree of Life are Yesod and Malchut.  Yesod expresses itself in our foundational values or identity.  Ruth stands on a firm foundation of caring and loyalty, endurance and humility.  In manifesting these values, she becomes the conduit for nobility, the definition of Malchut.  Malchut is the aspect of kingship or queenship represented by the Shekhinah.  When we welcome the Sabbath Queen on Shabbat, we are bringing the Shekhinah present into the world.

Moreover, at the end of the Book of Ruth, Ruth gives birth to Obed, grandfather of King David.  Ruth is compared to Rachel and Leah, our Matriarchs and to Tamar, another Mother of the Davidic line.  David himself represents Malchut as King and as the progenitor of the Mashiach.  Ruth brings nobility into the world both by her actions and by the lineage she births.

So the Book of Ruth presents us with a human analog to a mystical construct.  It turns the simple story of a virtuous woman into a template for emulating the Divine.

When we remove the Torah from the Ark we sing, “L’ha Adonai, ha gedulah, v’ha-g’vurah v’ha-tiferet, v’ha-netzach v’ha-hod,” invoking G-d’s aspects or traits.  As we read the Book of Ruth, think of it not only as the story of a woman of valor, but also as a guide for our personal transformation in our journey to receive the Torah today.

Chag Sameach!

Introduction to Shir HaShirim, Pesach 2018
Chag Sameach!

In the introduction to parasha Mishpatim in the Etz Chaim chumash, there is a line that caught my eye. It reads, “Our standards for how we treat others must be based … on the recognition of the image of God in every person and the presence of God in every relationship.”

It struck me that we talk a lot about b’tzelem Elohim, being MADE in the image of God, but little about the PRESENCE of God in every relationship. What would it be like if we considered God to be present in every relationship? What would our lives be like if we took b’tzelem Elohim seriously; that in every interaction with people we are looking at a face of God?

We have only to open Shir HaShirim, the Song of Songs, to find a paradigm of the presence of God in relationship. The evocative poetry attributed to King Solomon paints sensuous images of an idyllic couple powerfully connected through their love for each other. Whether this work refers to a particular couple or the allegorical relationship between God and Israel, it beautifully illustrates what Martin Buber called the I-Thou relationship.

For Buber, a 20th century German philosopher, the I-Thou relationship is characterized by “total presentness” and concern for the other person. God is the “Eternal Thou” and our relationship with God serves as the foundation for our relationships with all others. According to Buber, we encounter God through our encounters with other human beings.
He wrote, “Meet the world with the fullness of your being and you shall meet God.” What a powerful message! “Meet the world with the fullness of your being and you shall meet God.” God is portrayed as immanent, a felt presence in every encounter if only we bring our whole selves to the experience. Buber’s promise is simple but not easy: Bring our whole selves to every encounter and we will experience God.

What would our world be like if we encountered every person with “total presentness,” from the fullness of our being? How would it change the experience of our day? Our family life? The culture of our synagogue?

In the yoga world, “Namaste” means “The Divine within me bows to the Divine within you.” Christians quote a verse from Matthew that states, “When two or more are gathered in My name, there am I.”
What do WE have? We say “Shalom.” Shalom is one of the attributes of God. Shalom shares the same root as shalem meaning whole, complete, full. The new Conservative siddur and Machzor are called Lev Shalem—Full heart. When we wish someone a “refuah shleima,” we wish them a full, complete recovery, a return to wholeness.
What if, everytime we greeted someone, or before starting a conversation or meeting, we said ”Shalom,” meaning “I see you in your fullness, your completeness, as who you fully are. I bring my full self to this interaction.” Would we not then become aware of God’s presence in every relationship? Would we not then treat each person as they truly are, created in the image of God?

May we be inspired by the words of this megillah to bring ourselves present to all our encounters and to see God in each person we meet.
I wish you a Chag Sameach and a heartfelt Shalom.

When I told my husband I was preparing this introduction to Kohelet, he asked me a simple question.  “Why do we read Kohelet on Sukkot?”  Simple questions are often the most profound.

My first response—which may have come to your mind, too—is that dwelling in a sukkah puts us in touch with the fragility of life, and that is the message of Kohelet.  However, the more I studied the text, the more I appreciated the elegant way the author of Kohelet, said to be King Solomon, creates a “virtual” sukkah in which we can dwell.  Let me explain.

When we sit in our sukkahs in South Florida, which can be blown over in a good wind, we experience in our own     bodies the vulnerability of our ancestors’ journey through the desert, as well as the vulnerability of our lives.  That vulnerability also appears in the final chapter of Kohelet which puts us in touch with our physical body in barely-veiled allusions to our declining faculties.  We read, “When the guards of the house become shaky,” referring to our arms; “And the men of valor are bent,” referring to our legs,” and “the maids that grind, grown few, are idle,” referring to our teeth.  You get the picture–and it’s not a pretty one.

Dwelling in a sukkah also locates us firmly in the realm of Nature, observing the predictable movements of G-d’s Creation, of which we are an inextricable part.  One of the joys of this holiday is sitting quietly, under the stars, contemplating the Heavens.  We rarely give ourselves permission to just “stop” and immerse ourselves in our surroundings.  Sukkot gives us that opportunity.

Kohelet is full of references to the natural world:  the opening chapter evokes the sun, the wind and the sea.  The well-known third chapter reminds us of the natural order of our world—a time for living and dying; for planting and reaping, for building up and tearing down.  Sukkot, as a harvest festival, celebrates Nature’s bounty and the abundance of G-d’s gifts in our lives.  Kohelet also exhorts us to enjoy Nature’s bounty, from the vineyard, the fruit trees and the garden, however transitory these pleasures may be.

In Kohelet, we are also placed in Nature and in the Creation story through the vocabulary of the text.  “Hevel”, which appears 38 times in the text, is usually translated as futility.  It also means a “shallow breath”, so Kohelet reminds us that life is short, that the “breath” or “vapor” that G-d breathed into Adam also flows through us.

Kohelet admonishes us that pursuing material pleasures is like “chasing the wind.”  “Wind” in Hebrew is “Ruach”, another connection to Bereishit, v. 2, “a wind from G-d sweeping over the water.”  “Ruach” also means breath or Spirit.  Perhaps Kohelet is suggesting that rather than chasing Spirit, we can receive Spirit by sitting quietly in our sukkahs.  We can welcome Spirit in, just as we receive our Ushpizin, our ancestors and invited guests.

Kohelet’s advice, to fully enjoy our pleasures because everything passes away, reminds us that the only time we truly can count on is the present.  Rather than a pessimistic approach to life, this message presages the current emphasis on mindfulness—being aware of our breath and coming to life fully in the present moment.

With these themes of vulnerability, the natural world and the cycles of time,  Kohelet conjures up a “virtual” sukkah that surrounds and protects us.  Sukkot is called “zeman simchateinu”, the season of our joy.  At the end of Kohelet, we are reminded to Revere G-d and to observe G-d’s commandments.  We do just that by dwelling in our sukkahs and celebrating the holiday with joy and gratitude.

 

 

Healing Through Remembrance

November, which includes the Jewish months of Cheshvan and Kislev, contains three holidays of remembrance. On the 9^th, Kristallnacht recalls the destruction which presaged the Holocaust. On the 11th, Veterans’ Day honors our military personnel who made the ultimate sacrifice. On the 26^th, Thanksgiving not only celebrates our blessings but also recalls the collaboration between the Native Americans and the Pilgrims.

Remembrance is a core Jewish value. We remember our departed loved ones four times during the year at Yizkor and at every service with the Mourners’ Kaddish. We are commanded to “Remember the Sabbath, to keep it holy.” We read stories of our ancestors in the Torah weekly. We invite our matriarchs and patriarchs into our sukkahs. We pass our traditions down, L’d’or v’ d’or , so that they will be remembered and practiced by our progeny for generations to come.

Memories often bring up sadness, but brain science teaches that we can retrain our brains to transform those memories into positive ones. Proust wrote of the pleasant memories evoked by the taste of a madeleine. The recent movie, “Inside/Out,” depicted core memories which neuroscience reveals to be core consciousness colored by emotions. We can choose to remember the happy times, even if the sad ones come up first. If we can increase our focus on joyous memories and experiences, we can heal the past and carry forward positive expectations.

How do we do that?

The recently completed High Holy Days offer some possibilities. Rosh Hashanah itself is called Yom Ha-zikaron, the Day of Remembrance. In the biblical readings for that day, we are told that G-d “remembered” both Sarah and Hannah, granting them each a child. Heart-felt prayer was the vehicle for their healing/wholeness (shleimut).

In the Zikhronot/Remembrance verses of the Rosh Hashanah Amidah, we ask G-d to “Remember us for life,” and that “we may be remembered and inscribed before You …for life and peace.” We also “remember” our own sins, ask for forgiveness and resolve to do better in the New Year. This reawakened mindfulness can help us act from our highest selves and heal destructive patterns in our lives.

A ritual for healing through remembrance called “Making Caring Visible” is described by Rachel Naomi Remen, MD, in her book, Kitchen Table Wisdom. Friends gather at the home of a loved one facing surgery or illness and pass a stone chosen by the hostess in their hands. While holding the stone, each person speaks of a quality that helped them get through a crisis. After all participants have spoken, the stone, imbued with all the healing qualities, is returned to the person needing support. She can carry it as a remembrance of the qualities and people she can call on to help her heal.

Finally, healing inevitably leads us to feelings of gratitude. Every Jewish celebration includes a shehecheyanu for having reached this day. Miriam led the women in dance and praise after all the trauma of leaving Egypt and crossing the Sea of Reeds. We bench gomel, blessing G-d after emerging from a dangerous situation. We thank G-d every morning for awakening us to a new day and for restoring our soul.

Authorities as diverse as Albert Einstein, Rabbi Harold Kushner and Deepak Chopra, MD attest to the healing power of gratitude, of remembering our blessings, of giving thanks. In this month of November, as we celebrate our heritage, both Jewish and American, may we receive the many blessings of healing through remembrance.

 

Healing Through Uncertainty: Lessons From Sukkot

The celebration of Sukkot incorporates two paradoxical elements: the uncertainty and vulnerability of the Israelites living in booths in the wilderness, and the harvest and abundance of the agricultural festival described in the Torah (Exod.23:16). Healing from illness or waiting for a medical diagnosis reflects that same paradox: living with uncertainty even while living in the midst of plenty.

What can we learn from Sukkot to help us through those uncertain times?

Dwell in Nature On Sukkot, we dwell in huts, as our ancestors did; simple structures open to the elements. We are instructed to eat, sleep and live amidst nature, to experience the movement of light and darkness, night and day. The Torah tells us to “gather in your labors out of the field” (Exod.23:16), evoking the image of being out in nature, working under the sun. Healing traditions from Hippocrates to modern day cite the beneficial effects of being in nature. What better way to feel healed, connected to the Oneness of God and the Universe than by taking a walk, observing a flower, resting under a tree?

Simplify When we live in our sukkah, we bring with us the mere essentials of our lives: food to eat, candles to bless, a place to rest. When we are sick or healing, we also reduce our lives to the essentials: rest, good food, our favorite pastimes, companionship. Through uncertain times, while we wait for the path to unfold, we can soothe ourselves with stillness, prayer, meditation and nourishing habits.

Presence and Gratitude Sukkot invites us to live more fully present lives. We reduce our distractions. We leave our computers and cell phones in the house. We play with our kids, entertain friends, become aware of and grateful for the many blessings and abundance in our lives.

Illness also forces us into the present moment. There is nothing like a pain in our body to make us acutely aware of our physical existence. Mind-body medicine teaches us that if we stay present to the pain, breathing into it instead of trying to push it away, we can lessen the severity of the experience. Acknowledging the discomfort of waiting for test results, the phone call from the doctor or the next procedure can help us stay present to our lives. Gratitude for all we have received up to this point can give us strength to take the next step forward.

Hospitality On Sukkot, we welcome friends into our sukkah, including our ancestral “guests” (Learn more about Ushpizin/Ushpizot at http://www.ritualwell.org/ritual/ushpizot-guide ) We share a meal, snack or dessert. We make a blessing and socialize for a few hours.

When we are ill, we tend to isolate ourselves. We may not be ready to share our anxiety or have our privacy invaded. Sukkot offers us a different model. We can engage one friend at a time, for a limited conversation. We can invite email wishes but not phone calls. We can unburden ourselves of the anxiety of keeping a secret and open to receive the prayers and blessings for healing from our friends. We can deepen our relationships by allowing our “guests” to share our sorrows as well as our joys.

Protection and Surrender Sukkahs have been called “hugs” from the Holy One in that they embrace us like a hug with their three walls. From Elul through Hoshana Rabba, the 7th day of Sukkot, we recite Psalm 27 which includes the verse “Hiding me in His shrine, safe from peril, God will shelter me beyond the reach of disaster.”(Siddur Sim Shalom, p.80) In times of uncertainty, many of us turn to prayer. We find comfort in our faith in whatever ways we practice it.

The sukkahs in the wilderness were surrounded and protected by the Clouds of Glory. When the Clouds lifted, the Israelites moved on; when the Clouds settled, our ancestors stopped. Perhaps the final lesson we can learn from Sukkot in dealing with illness and uncertainty is to surrender. We are not ultimately in charge. We are to take as active a role in our healing as we can, and then just follow the path that unfolds in front of us.

The Talmud tells us, “There is no greater joy than the resolution of doubt.” While we’re waiting for that definitive answer, the lessons of Sukkot, the “Season of our Joy,” can help us heal.