Tear Open Your Hearts – Shabbat Shuva 2015

(Originally delivered at Finchley Partnership Minyan on 19th Sepetmber 2015) 

It’s hard to feel like we’re in the right place at this time of year.  The Yamim Noraim – the days of awe – always seem to come out of nowhere.  However conscious we are of the passing days of Ellul, Rosh Hashana seems to always find us unprepared.

The Ba’al HaTanya says that at this time of year the King is in the field – Hamelekh Basadeh.  The King leaves his secure and aloof  residence in the palace and comes out to be closer to his people, allowing them to encounter him, to get to know him a little better.

But still, we must leave our homes and go out into the field, the King is not in our lounge or our kitchen. He is closer but it still requires an effort.

The Rambam in Hilkhot Teshuva opens with a fascinating formulation:

א  כָּל הַמִּצְווֹת שֶׁבַּתּוֹרָה, בֵּין עֲשֵׂה בֵּין לֹא תַעֲשֶׂה–אִם עָבַר אָדָם עַל אַחַת מֵהֶן, בֵּין בְּזָדוֹן בֵּין בִּשְׁגָגָה–כְּשֶׁיַּעֲשֶׂה תְּשׁוּבָה וְיָשׁוּב מֵחֶטְאוֹ

‘Every mitzva in the Torah, whether a positive commandment or a negative prohibition, if a person passed over one of them’ – if one missed the opportunity for growth inherent in that mitzva, this is the meaning of aveira – ‘whether deliberately or accidentally’ – whether he maliciously set out to self destruct, to distance himself from the source of his wellbeing, or whether he was simply lax and lazy, he lost focus and temporarily forgot himself, had a moment of weakness and doubt – ‘when he does Teshuva and returns from his sin he is obligated to confess and articulate it in front of God, blessed be he.’

When he does Teshuva’.  The Rambam sounds like he is describing a law of nature, a person will sin, will miss out on opportunities, but he will return, he will always return, there is only so long that he can stay away for.  It’s like a young child, who gets angry with his parents, who stomps off in a huff, maybe tells them he hates them, and the parent bears it, doesn’t laugh it off, but knows inside that the child will return shortly, will want to be close again, will want to be hugged and caressed,   will want to feel the love and intimacy once more.

The child will return, because he knows that his true state is union, that the separation is only temporary, that really he can’t survive on his own.  His mother gives him his sense of who he is, connects him to the world, and there’s only so long that he can bear to be without her presence.

The Rambam continues ‘and he returns from his sin’.  Sin does not sound here like an action, a misdeed, but more like a place, a distant country, a state of mind.  The Talmud in Sotah 3a tells us that a person does not sin unless a spirit of madness enters him.  Sin is not something we would choose to do if we were fully conscious of ourselves, if we grasped at the deepest levels how our actions were affecting our psyche, how our selfishness and hard heartedness, our rational self interest, were actually causing us tremendous distress, were alienating ourselves from our truer selves, were building up a storehouse of sludge and muck that we will one day need to drag ourselves through in order to get back on track.

Many of us have families, we are raising young children, we must do battle with the world to protect them, to ensure they have everything that they need, and this is noble and right and how things should be.

But then we see it, the picture of the child washed up on the beach, the helpless toddler who has become victim to the world’s latest madness, and our hearts are pierced.  Suddenly we’re not so sure about the everyday order we inhabit, suddenly the world’s problems have crashed into our lives.  Suddenly we’re forced into a new state of questioning, into pondering the insoluble mysteries of how 7 billion people are supposed to inhabit this planet without killing each other, without killing our children.

We can’t easily fix these problems – לא עליך המלאכה לגמור - the task is not for us to complete – but we cannot ignore them either – ולא אתה בן חורין לבטל ממנה – we are not permitted to desist from them either.  Again, the language is key, we are not Bnei Chorin – free and unburdened – libatel mimenah – to disown the problems, to distance oursleves, to fundamentally separate ourselves from what is going on in our world.  We may not say ‘that is their problem, but I’m ok and it’s really not my fault so let them get on with it, let them sort their own problems out.’  At the very very least we must identify, retain solidarity, we must not succumb to the temptations of hardening our hearts and forgetting.

I don’t know if we can build a better world, there are plenty of reasons to feel gloomy.  But if faith means anything it means not giving it up, not being seduced by fatalism and helplessness, not retreating into our own petty kingdoms.

וְקִרְעוּ לְבַבְכֶם וְאַל-בִּגְדֵיכֶם, וְשׁוּבוּ אֶל-יְהוָה אֱלֹהֵיכֶם

‘Tear your hearts, and not your clothing’ says the prophet Yoel, in the verses just before today’s haftara.  ‘Tear your heart’, let it open, let it feel, let it empathise, let the world’s troubles in.  Don’t imagine that you can be better off through dissociating from them, by pretending that they aren’t going on.

Tearing our clothing is cathartic, but perhaps limited, we’ve done our bit, it’s part of moving on.

Tearing our hearts is an opening, a beginning, something new can grow, something can begin to happen.

We’ll say on Tuesday night in the famous piyut,‘for here we are, like a stone in the hands of the cutter, at his mercy to grasp it, at his mercy to smash it’.

The usual reading is that we don’t want him to smash it, but to save the stone, to leave it be.

I’m not so sure, maybe our hearts have become stone, and maybe exactly what we want from Yom Kippur is that they should be smashed, that their impenetrable hardness be shattered, that our emotional numbness be penetrated.

Ve’initem et nafshoteikhem is the essence of the day, you shall put pressure on your souls, you shall try to change them, to jolt them back to life, to starve them into sensitivity.

And where does it get us to, this fasting, this tearing of our hearts, this rending of our souls?  Isaiah offers us guidance in Chapter 58:

ו הֲלוֹא זֶה, צוֹם אֶבְחָרֵהוּ–פַּתֵּחַ חַרְצֻבּוֹת רֶשַׁע, הַתֵּר אֲגֻדּוֹת מוֹטָה; וְשַׁלַּח רְצוּצִים חָפְשִׁים, וְכָל-מוֹטָה תְּנַתֵּקוּ.  ז הֲלוֹא פָרֹס לָרָעֵב לַחְמֶךָ, וַעֲנִיִּים מְרוּדִים תָּבִיא בָיִת:  כִּי-תִרְאֶה עָרֹם וְכִסִּיתוֹ, וּמִבְּשָׂרְךָ לֹא תִתְעַלָּם.  ח אָז יִבָּקַע כַּשַּׁחַר אוֹרֶךָ, וַאֲרֻכָתְךָ מְהֵרָה תִצְמָח; וְהָלַךְ לְפָנֶיךָ צִדְקֶךָ, כְּבוֹד יְהוָה יַאַסְפֶךָ.  ט אָז תִּקְרָא וַיהוָה יַעֲנֶה, תְּשַׁוַּע וְיֹאמַר הִנֵּנִי:

6   “Is not this the kind of fasting I have chosen: to loosen the chains of injustice    and untie the cords of the yoke, to set the oppressed free    and break every yoke?

7   Is it not to share your food with the hungry    and to bring the poor wanderer to your house— when you see the naked, to clothe them,  and not to turn away from your own flesh?

8   Then your light will break forth like the dawn, and your healing will quickly appear; then your righteousness will go before you, and the glory of the Lord will gather you up.

9    Then you will call, and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help, and he will say: Here am I.

From a broken heart, an open heart, our light will erupt like the dawn, a new light, a hidden light, with the power to transform our own lives as well as those around us.

At that moment we will find the King, we will cry for help, and we will experience the warm embrace of his presence.

We begin on Tuesday night with this light:   אוֹר, זָרֻעַ לַצַּדִּיק;    וּלְיִשְׁרֵי-לֵב שִׂמְחָה.

Light is planted, buried deep, for the righteous, and joy for those of straight heart, of honesty and openness.

This is what we are seeking out, this is the purpose of this period, to re-open our hearts, not in a withdrawn and narcissistic way, not as part of our own ‘personal journey’, but as part of remembering our linkages to the world, our obligations to justice, our inability to flee from truth.

And where is God in this, what function does he serve?  Our haftora in Hoshea provides an answer:   אֶהְיֶה כַטַּל לְיִשְׂרָאֵל, יִפְרַח כַּשּׁוֹשַׁנָּה; וְיַךְ שָׁרָשָׁיו, כַּלְּבָנוֹן

I will be like the dew to Israel;    he will blossom like a lily.  Like a cedar of Lebanon    he will send down his roots.

God’s presence provides the catalyst, the nutrients, the hydration, and if we are able to make use of It, then our roots will become deeper and stronger, and our capacity to live well will become greatly enhanced.

May we all be torn and smashed, and may we be blessed to see the light at the end of it, to flourish in its radiance, and emerge into the new year as people of renewed purpose.

Being Open – The History of Purity Shabbat 15, 16, 17

The pages we’ve been looking at lately have been particularly rich for the historically minded reader of the Talmud.  Some days everything is anonymous, and we’re left with the feeling that we’re being presented with the recorded discussions from a Babylonian study hall in the 5th Century.  Not that we should knock that, that’s still going pretty far back.

But when we start hearing today from Yosei Ben Yo’ezer and Yosei ben Yohanan, the first of the Zugot, who were around in the times of the Maccabee Dynasty, c.170 BCE, it feels like we are taking things to a whole new level.  We are no longer simply immersed in Rabbinic Judaism, we are going way back into its pre-history, into the realm of myth, to the point where scholars fear to tread.

And the thing that I find particularly endearing is that I have the sense that those participating in the Talmud’s discussion, fledgling early Amoraim such as Shmuel and Rav Huna, were also particularly awed by the historical weight of the discussion.  It’s not something we often see much self-consciousness of in the text, the richness of the history we are dealing with.  We certainly see people from the past being treated with respect, as voices of authority, but this is something different.  This is pure reverence, almost giddiness;  a genuine response to the experience of reaching about as far back into the recesses of Rabbinic Judaism as is possible.

What I’m trying to say is that the Rabbis rarely exhibit a historical sensibility or consciousness; or at least that’s how it generally strikes me.  Perhaps in their attempts to establish continuity, to preserve the tradition, they fail to emphasise the extent to which people living seven hundred years apart are simply separate, different, other.  And it’s only maybe only once that is granted, once the reality of difference is acknowledged, that the significance of any continuity we might share with these people is really felt, is really appreciated.

It’s a powerful thing history, and our ability to be open to it is an important mark of where we are with ourselves, of how comfortable we are in our lives.  I had a great conversation with an old friend tonight, someone I haven’t spoken to in a long time.  Something had come between us, and whilst the thing itself had faded, the distance had set in, a block had arisen.  We both acknowledged that this blockage was tiring, exhausting, that it needed energy to maintain itself which neither of us wanted to put in.  What we wanted was to be able to be open, to the rich history we’d shared, to each other as real beings, and to whatever the future might hold.

And it felt good to begin to fix that, to do some work towards opening ourselves up again.

I remember a drug induced experience once when I was able to actually feel my anger towards someone solidify and freeze up into hatred, where this transition from a live emotion into a dead attitude was sensorily palpable.  I became aware of how locked and stuck it made me feel, how suddenly other parts of my mind were forced to switch off, to join in the deadness.  It simply made me closed; somewhat closed off from the outside world, but, more importantly, closed off to myself.  And in that closed state, I sensed that I could neither be nor perceive, that my thinking was clouded and limited, that things were not revealed to me in the way that they usually are.

I was angry, and I turned the anger into hatred.  And whilst the object of my wrath was completely unaware of any of this – I don’t think they were even present – I was left to suffer, it was me who ended up paying the price.  To be full of hate is its own curse, it needs no further punishment or consequence.

We were discussing Heidegger in a seminar last night, and, inevitably, someone asked the seminar leader what was meant by Dasein, by Being, a term that sits at the core of Heidegger’s philosophy.

It struck me that in the sections we’d been reading Heidegger’s main concern was with whether or not we were open to Being, to a situation, to an emergent reality.  He was less concerned with what Being might actually be.  Being alive meant being open, and if one was open, one’s possibilities for inspiration and relationship were significantly enhanced.

With all of this in mind, it seems very interesting that one of the things we hear of Yosei Ben Yo’ezer and Yosei ben Yohanan is their decree that glass has the potential to become impure.

Glass is a symbol of transparency, of openness, and they are warning us, reminding us, that whilst it is essential to be open and receptive like glass, that there are also risks involved.  To be that clear, to be so apparently unprotected from life means that one is susceptible to being corrupted, that one is liable to be led astray from time to time.

So we are warned.  Openness is still the ideal, but we do not surrender to it totally, unthinkingly.

This is made explicit by Rav Ashi:

And regarding your concern that a glass vessel should not become entirely impure simply by touching an impure object, you should understand that glass is different, and does become impure more easily, because its inside looks like its outside. 

Its transparent nature makes it particularly susceptible to impurity; its thoroughgoing integrity, its honest authenticity leave it exposed to perversion.

Their decree, however, has its limits, it does not go quite as far as other decrees with regard to impurity.  When an impure metal vessel is broken, it temporarily loses its impure status.  But if it is reassembled it regains that impure status: the change in status was only temporary.

With glass we rule differently.  Glass doesn’t just fall apart in the way that a metal object does.  Glass tends to properly break, to shatter, and in that intense fragmentation it is hard to see that impurity could be maintained.

When a person is properly broken, when life has torn them to pieces, when they are in need of serious rebuilding, at that point we may assume that however bad their distress, they have rediscovered something of their original purity.  The collapse of a certain configuration of the ego, of a certain rigidity, allows life to flow once more, allows openness to be rekindled.

Through shattering, rebirth; through dissolution, regeneration.

We pray regularly for openness; at the end of every Amida we say the following:

Open my heart with your Instruction (Torah), and my soul will eagerly follow your commandments. 

When we are open we see what is right, what is good; we grasp it more easily and we respond to it more quickly, more naturally perhaps.

And this ties in with one of the few other things we knew about Yosei ben Yoezer, from all those years ago:

May your house be an open door to the wise; may you cleave to the dust of their feet and may you drink thirstily of their words.  (Avot 1:4)

In being open we are able to connect with more, to reach across history more readily and to allow the wisdom of ancient times to flow more easily into our lives.  We must be wary of the impurities that might come in the wake of this, of the dangers in being so free of spirit, of living with so little anxiety.  But this awareness must not bear on us too heavily, we must be able to carry it at the same time as remaining firmly open.

May our hearts be opened not just to the Torah, but by the Torah too; and may our goodness burst forth brightly as a result.