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Rabbi Mendy Herson's Blog

Thoughts from, and conversations with, Rabbi Herson

Do G-d A Favor

What does a Divine, Infinite Being do on a regular Thursday afternoon? If One has everything, literally, wouldn’t life be boring? What aspirations, ambitions or feelings of satisfaction or attainment could there possibly be?

G-d creates us with the hope that we each choose (at least occasionally?) to peer beyond the haze of stress and the gleam of desire, to acknowledge that we’re created to live a life of meaning.  He wonders, “Will they or won’t they remember Me?”

So G-d must be happy when we start the day with prayer, with introspective thoughts of how we need to align our day with a meaning-centered life. And G-d must be satisfied when we take some time at night to revisit the day’s choices and whether they reflect a purpose-driven life.

At the same time, morning, before the day begins and nighttime, after the day has wound down, are relatively easier times to be conscious and thoughtful. How about taking time in middle of the day? Can you imagine making time for G-d between Zoom meetings, as your mind is racing to keep all the balls in the air? Is that even realistic?

Jewish tradition says it is.

If we find G-d-consciousness when it isn’t easy, we give G-d His greatest ‘thrill.’

In fact, the Talmud teaches that our afternoon service (known as Mincha) has unique value. In the middle of our afternoon, it takes more proactive effort to focus on G-d and on our purpose in life. And that makes it all the more beautiful.

This idea gives us insight into a cryptic Talmudic teaching. The Talmud – which is primarily an exposition of Jewish Law, but also an exploration of spiritual and ethical ideas, often through cryptic stories and metaphors - asks the question:

What does G-d do all day? As part of the Talmud’s metaphoric answer, it says, “in the last three hours of the afternoon, G-d frolics with the Leviathan.”

Huh?

Chassidic thought points out that the [root of the] Hebrew word for Leviathan means connectedness; ‘Leviathan’ thus represents the awesome beauty that human beings create when they rise above their egos to find connectedness with something Higher ‑‑ the Divine. 

So every afternoon, as millions of people choose to put their respective days on pause, to contemplate their priorities and behaviors and connect with the Divine, G-d ‘frolics.’

Think about the metaphoric word that the Talmud chooses.

It’s not just a smile.

Not just happy.

Frolicking.

Exuberant.

Sounds like a good time to pray.

Getting Off The Island

 

 

 

A rock feels no pain and an island never cries. 

Sound appealing?

When we feel like our world is hurting us, and we want to protect ourselves from the agony, we might consider coping through erecting thick psychological walls, hearing without listening and speaking without communicating anything beyond the superficial.  We shut others out, and sequester ourselves within.

When a person isn’t feeling safe and secure vis-à-vis one’s environment, they might say: “Why should I allow myself to feel someone else's pain when I'm not feeling too great myself? Why should I share my personal struggles, fears, aspirations or ambitions, laying bare my vulnerabilities? The world isn’t safe for me to open myself up.”

The problem with that approach is that insulation from the world's heartaches and unwillingness to share our own troubles inevitably means self-imposed exile. It means cheating ourselves out of the beauty in human relationships.
In the Torah's portrait of a meaningful life, we certainly protect ourselves and our property, maintaining healthy borders. But we also brighten our lives with deep and substantive connections. We create meaningful bonds, with the Divine and with each other. We create bridges with people we trust, so that we can each share in the other’s life -- ups and downs.
True, that isn’t always easy.  It's difficult enough to be honest with G-d; it can be much more challenging and intimidating to truly bare one’s soul to another human. When I speak with G-d, I’m never afraid that He doesn't understand me, that He'll think less of me or that He'll use my revealed information against me.
But with people, it sometimes seems safer to be a rock or an island.
True as that may be, the Torah wants us to take the risk. Because sharing our life, at whatever level, enriches our life.
If I have a friendly acquaintance, I'm not going to expose my deepest self. But I can get beyond meaningless chatter and share something of my inner self.  And I can care enough to listen attentively and authentically.
Two people - even if not the closest of friends – can invite each other into their lives.  And when they do, they're no longer islands.  Covid has made it unwise to visit other’s homes, but this is – G-d willing – a temporary circumstance.  Inviting friends into one’s personal habitat is a precious Torah value that dates back to Abraham and Sara.

Even during Covid, you can pick up the phone and open your heart.
Keep your eye on the post-Covid freedom to open your home.
A deserted island may be a nice place to visit, but it’s no place to live. 


 

 

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