Nachamu Ami-Be comforted my nation. Two days ago we just observed the darkest day of the Jewish calendar, Tisha B’Av. We are now asked to feel comfort. Yet comfort cannot be felt on demand. The question for today is what is our role in comforting one another?

Why does the Mourners Kaddish require a minyan? When we mourn we do so as a community, as part of a family. We don’t ask what your politics are-when we say Kaddish, we do so with trust that we are all existing under one God, and that brings us strength.

The communal also becomes the personal. When someone loses a loved one, we say to them HaMakom Yinachem, may God comfort you. Yet is this what Yinachem really means? We see at the end of Parshat Bereshit וַיִּנָּ֣חֶם יְהֹוָ֔ה כִּֽי־עָשָׂ֥ה אֶת־הָֽאָדָ֖ם בָּאָ֑רֶץ וַיִּתְעַצֵּ֖ב אֶל־לִבּֽוֹ[1]

“And God was nahem because He made humanity and was saddened in his heart.” It certainly does not mean that God was comforted by making humanity as God’s about to create the flood! Rather what this means is that we recognize the chaos in people’s lives. By saying HaMakom Yinachem with the passing of a loved one, we recognize that your world will never be the same again but we are here to comfort you and help you walk on this very difficult path.

          The same can be said about Moses begging God to enter the Land of Israel. He is asking God to do an act of grace, חן and let him enter the land of Israel even though he has nothing to offer in return.[2] The answer he received from God is רַב־לָ֔ךְ אַל־תּ֗וֹסֶף דַּבֵּ֥ר אֵלַ֛י ע֖וֹד בַּדָּבָ֥ר הַזֶּֽה׃[3]

“Enough! Never speak to me of this matter again!” Not only that but he is told to look into the land that he will not be able to enter; which must have been torturous for him. Moses had led his people to the land flowing with milk and honey, a land which remains just out of his reach.

          I look at Monday’s vote in Israel on the Reasonableness Clause in light of this emotional story in the Torah. This bill is relatively minor in the greater scheme of things; this is about emotions. I have spoken with those who have felt a betrayal of trust, feeling sucker punched with the passage of an amendment on which no one had campaigned, some of whom feel that this will be the end of democracy in Israel. I have watched the protesters, the reservists and fighter pilots who didn’t show up for work and the doctors who went on strike except in emergency and critical care situations. I had a friend tell me, “I can’t imagine not coming into the Navy-I took an oath” and I had another say “I understand not being able to serve a government that does not accept the role of reason in making decisions.” I have spoken with celebrants who have felt this is a long time coming. I can identify with both yet only as one living outside of Israel and not facing the real-world implications of this decision. It is not over-the Supreme Court will hear arguments on it in September-but it is a major step in trying to take power away from the courts and put it in the Knesset.

          For many ויהפכו-things are upside down and topsy turvy. It is in the emotional lens as well as where we are in the Jewish calendar that leads to my framing of this situation. Sometimes one can pray, beg and entreat, as Moses did, and things do not go your way. Decisions can be made that you are powerless to stop that make it feel as if your world has come crumbling down, where you can find no comfort. What one can do, however, is to be present with what you feeling and honor your concerns. One needs to be able to fight for what s/he believes in while recognizing that there is so much beyond our control. We can entreat, protest, pour out our hearts, stand in solidarity with others. In the end, we are all inheritors of a history that goes back thousands of years whose future is unwritten. If there’s one thing we can agree on, it is that we cannot allow this to be the end.

          Maksim Smelchak sent me a video of someone asking passersby about their stance on the “judicial reform.” If they said they were against, he said “I’m in favor.” If they were in favor, he said “I’m against.” Each time he asked for a hug and each person gave him a hug. The message of this was to show that regardless of how we stand we need to remain united together. It’s easy to say that when things go your way, yet when they don’t we need to strengthen our bond with one another, to understand even when we vehemently disagree.

          Mosaic Law Congregation has been successful the past 123 years, and at the same time there is always room for improvement. Here at MLC we have an opportunity to model what it means to get to know the other, to listen to others’ stories, their hopes and dreams. By getting to know one another on a human level, we create a community where everyone is valued and appreciated for who s/he is regardless of his/her opinion on any given issue. I challenge each of us to set up a time to have a 1-on-1 meeting with a congregant we do not know or who we perceive as being on the “other side” of an issue of great importance to us. I ask us to first get to know the other as s/he is, listening carefully to him/her. Over the course of time and building trust, I hope that the two of you will be able to bring up difficult issues and listen to what the other is truly saying. In so doing, as a congregation we can be an example for others to emulate, and we can do a better job of bringing each other comfort in life’s difficult moments.

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[1] Genesis 6:6

[2] Rashi on Deuteronomy 3:23 ואתחנן

[3] Deuteronomy 3:26

I am delighted that my Shul President when I began in Jericho, Mark Wilkow, and his wife Beth are here this Shabbat. In honor of their visit I am going to share a story I have told previously as a way to connect with this double portion.

In Tucson I had a congregant who was a pilot and was going to take me out on a Wednesday flight. He called me Tuesday evening to cancel because it was too windy. Impulsively, I thought, “What a great day for me to climb The Window,” a 4,200-foot elevation change climb in Ventana Canyon. I was trail running and made it up to the window (7.2 miles) in record time. I stopped to take pictures of the gorgeous view and then made my way back down. Upon commencing the descent, I realized I was heading in a loop, and I stubbornly turned around to go back the way I came. Big mistake: I became completely lost. I tried using a hiking GPS, but as someone who is spatially challenged, all it did was kill my phone battery. With 5 percent battery remaining, I phoned a friend and said I needed help. Then I called 911 and attempted to give my coordinates as my phone died.

I waited by a ledge overlooking the mountain, realizing I was completely underdressed, up in the mountains wearing just running clothes, with cold wind permeating every bone in my body. Finally, I saw a helicopter patrolling the area. Excited, I began waving a stick in the air like that scene in The Life of Pi. The chopper didn’t see me and kept on going. The winds picked up, and I became colder and colder. My water and energy bars began running out.

The wind subsided and I did what one is not supposed to do: bushwhacking through brush to a clearing to become more visible. As soon as I reached it, a second helicopter came. I waved frantically, and it saw me. The chopper couldn’t get close enough to me and I heard someone radio in “the Blackhawk.” Half an hour later a Blackhawk helicopter arrived. What noise it made! What dust it kicked up! A rescuer hung down from the helicopter with a rope, reached me, put his legs around mine and then we were pulled up by the rope. We were brought to a base where my vitals were taken. I was told, “You were only 100 yards from the trail.” Go figure. That evening I went to see a play, as if nothing had happened.

I learned three lessons from this story. One is to never hike alone. Second is that I can never complain again about paying state income taxes. Between three helicopters, one of which cost $1,300 an hour, and two groups of hiker rescuers, my rescue attempt must have cost over $10,000 in taxpayer money.

 The third lesson is most important. As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “Life is a journey, not a destination.” There is an eternal truth to his message: we do not know what the coming week will bring, let alone where life will take us. This sums up today’s double portion.

Parshat Matot is about guarding the words that we say, ensuring that they are not said hastily or recklessly. Just like we do not know where our life will take us, the trials and tribulations as well as the great pleasure, we do not know the impact that our words will have. The Hasidic commentator Noam Elimelech demonstrates that even the words for vows and oaths respectfully have an impact. He connects the word נדר, a vow to do something, to דירה, a dwelling place.[1] The rabbis teach that a home sale needed to be for a minimum of 30 days.[2] Why 30 days? Because one month, from one Rosh Hodesh to the next, is the Jewish cycle for striving to be the best version of ourselves while concurrently working to refine our actions (לפשפש במעשיו), fix mistakes and try again. The sages mandated that the last day of every month is one for fasting and introspection, called Yom Kippur Katan, a mini Yom Kippur. It was created so that at the end of each month one could review his/her behavior, determine ways to make positive changes and work to fix problematic habits. Students would review their learning every 30 days[3] just as everyone would review their behavior, a monthly Mussar reset. Rather than waiting for Rosh Hashanah, people would constantly be in the process of self-refinement.

Noam Elimelech goes on to talk about שבועה, an oath to refrain from doing something. The word שבועה is connected to שבע, the 7 day cycle. Whereas the 30 day cycle is for self-improvement, the 7 day cycle is about being industrious and creative followed by Shabbat on which we appreciate things as they are. Taking an oath is like Shabbat on which we say, “I have everything I need and I don’t need to do anything particular on this day, just be present.”

Now we come to Parshat Masei, recounting the 42 stops that the Israelites made on their journey from Egypt to the Promised Land. Whereas the 30 and 7 day cycles focus us in small, reocurring segments of our lives, the 42 stops represent the 42 stages of one’s lifetime. These stages are not linear but rather circuitous. Occasionally we take a wrong turn and go off the path (יציעה) that we meant to walk on. In those situations, we do not turn around but rather course correct, going back to our intention. Often before we can do so we need to reset ourselves-we encamp (יחנו) where we are and only when ready do we go back on the path. That is what repentance, or תשובה, is all about-returning to who we are meant to be after we get distracted or go astray.

As we continue in בין המיצרים, a period of great sadness in our history leading up to Tisha B’Av, I hope we take time to reflect on where we are at in this moment, both what’s going well and how we can improve. Recognizing our limitations, as I’ve had to do with my being spatially challenged, is a crucial step towards working on self-refinement. All we have is this moment-let’s utilize it as best we can in this journey we call life.

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[1] Noam Elimelech, Parshat Matot, Comment 1

[2] Arukh HaShulchan, Choshen Mishpat 312:12

 

[3] See Berachot 38b on Rabbi Yehoshua ben Levi