Yizkor, Iran & the Secret of Joy
- September 23, 2013
- |
- 19 Tishrei 5774
Rabbi YY Jacobson
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Yizkor, Iran & the Secret of Joy
Rabbi YY Jacobson
- September 23, 2013
The Meat Shipment
You know the joke about the meat shipment from Odessa.
On a lacerating cold and relentlessly snowy morning in Moscow, Soviet citizens are lined up for five blocks awaiting a shipment of meat from Odessa. After an hour, a loudspeaker announces that the shipment is rather smaller than expected, so all Jews are asked to leave the line. An hour later, there is an announcement that the meat shipment has been further curtailed, so anyone who is not a member of the Communist party must leave the line. Two hours later, there is a further announcement that a large quantity of the meat in the shipment turns out to have been spoiled, so everyone is asked to leave the line except members of the Politburo. Three hours after that, the snow falling continuously all this time, there is an announcement that the meat shipment from Odessa has been cancelled.
“Those Jews,” says one member of the Politburo to another as they shuffle off toward home, “they always have it easy.”
Iran’s Changing?
Has Iran decided to do Teshuvah? Can we trust Iran? Iran’s new president Hassan Rohani delivered his address at the UN General Assembly on Tuesday, insisting that his country posed no threat to the region or to the world.
The Iranian president listed what he did consider a threat, saying that the Israeli occupation of the West Bank is a form of “structural violence” in which Palestinians are “deprived of the right of return” and in which “institutional aggression” is implemented against the Palestinian people. But, the new Iranian President insisted, his country has no plans of creating a nuclear bomb, and really wants to negotiate with the US.
What strikes me, in fact, is that for all the gushing attention paid to Rouhani’s charm offensive, nothing has really changed—and I’m not just referring to Iran’s state doctrine of Holocaust denial, about which Rouhani, when asked by NBC’s Ann Curry whether he believed that the slaughter of six million Jews was a myth, replied, “I’m not a historian.”
Really Mr. Rohhani? You need to be a historian to know about Auschwitz?
Indeed, Israel is warning that Iran may be weaving a trap—Iran’s clever way of buying more time, so that they can finish the bomb while removing the sanctions and world pressure.
In recent history we have two tragic precedents. In 1938, British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain appeased Adolf Hitler by allowing the German Fuhrer to occupy the Sudetenland for a mere promise of peace. Chamberlain then returned to England and announced that he had brought "Peace in our time." Winston Churchill denounced him as a naive appeaser who believed that he could buy Hitler's good will by giving in to his immoral demands: "You were given a choice between war and dishonor. You chose dishonor and you will have war." We all know the rest of the story: the world experienced its most hellish years following “peace in our time.”
Then, again in February 1945, Joseph Stalin hosted Franklin Roosevelt and Winston Churchill in Yalta, Ukraine to negotiate the political map of postwar Europe. Roosevelt was under the impression that Stalin was being a “good boy” cooperating with the allies and gave in to many of his demands. Stalin cynically manipulated both leaders to further his evil agendas. Historians of the Yalta conference have often noted that the Russians had every room in the palace bugged, and that Stalin was provided every morning with transcripts of Roosevelt's and Churchill's private discussions with their staffs. We all know the rest of the story: 50 years of cold war and endless brutality in the countries occupied by the Soviet Union.
The fundamental problem in encounters between democrats and despots is that despots are masters of the arts of deceit and domination. Democratic leaders are often clueless as to the depth of moral depravity in the hearts of despots and how much they are carless about the values of truth, integrity, human rights, and human dignity. Millions of Americans wept for FDR when he died in 1945 because he had given them hope. Millions of Russians wept for Stalin when he died in 1953 because he had given them terror. The human heart can be a dark place, even if people born in the happy countries rarely know it.
Democratic leaders, it seems, are so easily suckered and rolled by dictators when it comes to diplomacy. Did you notice how the Obama administration, fresh from getting rolled by Russia over Syria's chemical weapons, now tempts getting suckered by Iranian President Hasan Rouhani over his country's nuclear ambitions?
Part of the answer to this enigma lay in the unique nature of the holiday of Shmini Atzeres.
Hybrid Holiday
Shemini Atzeret (and Simchat Torah) is a unique holiday. On one hand it is the day when the joy of Sukkot reaches its peak, with Jews dancing in ecstasy with the Torah. Yet on the very same joyous day we recite Yizkor, the morbid moments when we remember our loved ones who have passed on. How do the two themes co-exist in a single day? Especially in Israel, where Shmini Atzeres, when we say Yizkor, combines also Simchat Torah—one of the most joyous days of the year?
The answer to this required a profound meditation. The last two days of Sukkot, Shmini Atzeres and Simchas Torah, constitute a strange hybrid in Jewish law, unlike any other Jewish holiday. In one sense, Shmini Atzeret (and its partner, Simchat Torah) is merely a continuation of the Sukkot holiday, of which it is the eighth day. In another sense, it is an independent and autonomous holiday in its own right. Thus, the Talmud states that in many ways it is part of Sukkot, except for six laws (represented by the acrostic “Pazer Keshev”) in which it is a separate holiday.[1] Hence, like the eighth day of Passover, there is no special mitzvah of appearing in the Temple, as there is on the three pilgrim festivals. In this sense it is merely the end of Sukkot. But unlike Passover, we recite the Shehecheyanu on Shemini Atzeret, because it is a holiday in its own right. We do not shake the Lulav, because it is separate from Sukkot.[2]
Shemini Atzeret, then, symbolizes the tension between continuity and autonomy, between the unbroken continuum of the past and the bold assertion of independence into the future.
And this is both the secret of Yizkor, the secret of joy—and the secret of Iran.
Sorry, It’s Holland
One of the most powerful things I ever read was written by a woman who gave birth to and was raising a child with a disability. She was asked what it was like and how it felt. And this is what she wrote:
When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guidebooks and make your wonderful plans. You will see the Coliseum, the Michelangelo, David, the gondolas in Venice. You may even learn a handy phrase in Italian.
It's all very exciting.
After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."
''Holland?" you say. "What do you mean, Holland? I signed up for Italy! All my life I've dreamt of going to Italy."
But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay. The important thing to remember is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place. It's just a different place.
So, you must go out and buy new guidebooks. And, you must learn a whole new language. And, you will meet a whole new group of people you never would have met.
It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy. It's less flashy than Italy. But, after you have been there awhile and you catch your breath, you begin to look around and notice that Holland has windmills, Holland has tulips, Holland even has Rembrandts.
But, everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy, and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And, for the rest of your life, you might say: "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned..." The pain of that will never, never, ever go away because the loss of that dream is a very significant loss. But, if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't go to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things about Holland.”
A New Person
A story:[3]
Mrs. Gitty Lipsius teaches in Shevach High School in Queens. She had a number of children, and then it was a few years before she was expecting another child. She went through a full-term uneventful pregnancy, but tragically, the child was stillborn. She was devastated and sank into depression.
Mrs. Lipsius related that her father, Gershon Yankelowitz, had lost his entire family in the Holocaust, and after the war, he and his wife had trouble having children. After years, they had their first child, a little girl -- who died only four months later. He had suffered so much. Eventually, he and his wife had a family. Now, years later, he called his daughter Gitty and asked her how she was doing. She replied that she was doing terribly; she could not find herself and did not know how she would ever be the same again.
Her father Gershon Yankelowitz said: “My dear daughter, you will never be the same. You are a new person. Find your newness. Get used to it, and live with it. When you accept your new situation, you will be able to go on.”
When her father gave her that insight and direction, Mrs. Lipsius realized how right he was. She related that once she accepted her new reality, she felt liberated. From that point on, she was able to return to being a functioning, accomplishing person.
Never the Same
There is a profound message here. Life brings changes upon changes, some small and some drastic. Too often we expect from ourselves to “catch the flying curve balls” and then go back to being the same person we always were. But sometimes we can’t go back. Once I watched the earth swallow up my father, I can never go back to be the same again. Once you have to say goodbye to your life-partner, you can never be the same again. Once you have to bid farewell to a child you can never ever ever be the same again. It is ridiculous to say and even to think, “Why can’t she just go back to being her old self again.”
Never try being the same person as before. That is impossible. You are not the same. A piece of you has been torn away—you can never be the same. You are a new person. Let go of your old image of what life looked like once upon a time and what it needs to look like. You are now in a new life. Your plane took you to Holland, not to Italy. What I have to do now is have the courage to embrace the “new person” I have become.
Two Israeli soldiers were murdered over the past week. Sgt. Gabriel Koby, 20, was shot and killed on Sunday by an Arab sniper while standing guard in the Jews of Hebron in middle of the holiday of Sukkot. He was hit by direct gunfire aimed at a group of soldiers who were guarding the Jewish presence in Hebron and the thousands of civilians visiting the city for the Jewish holiday of Sukkot.
Barely two hours before the Hebron shooting, another Israeli soldier, Sgt. Tomer Hazan, 20, was buried in a military cemetery near the Tel Aviv suburb of Bat Yam. Sergeant Hazan was killed Friday by a Palestinian man with whom the sergeant worked at a restaurant and who lured him to the West Bank where he murdered him in cold blood.
The precious families of these two soldiers will never be the same. The wound is so deep, so surreal, and so devastating. There is no turning back—going back to the “old family unit” the way it was. It will just never be the same. Sadly and tragically, till Moshiach comes, the void will remain. As we say Yizkor today, we will remember these two holy soldiers—may G-d avenge their blood.
The Dual Holiday
This is the deep life-lesson behind the hybrid nature of Shmini Atzeres, which is both a continuum of the past, but also a new beginning. On one hand, our life is a bundle of memories of the past; we are always continuing the past and looking to reclaim the past. But if we try doing only that, we may remain paralyzed because we are trying to be something we are no longer. With loss, we have lost something of our past; we can’t go on searching for an obsolete existence.
Comes Shmini Atzeres and teaches us that while we are a continuation too all that comes before us, we must also realize that this is a new, novel and independent holiday—in many ways a break-away of the previous holiday. When you can embrace your newness, you can begin dancing again.
Seven Stops
Our people have a tradition that when we come to a cemetery for the burial of a loved one, as we carry the casket to its final resting place, we pause and make seven stops along the way. There is a beautiful and relevant explanation for this. The seven stops are meant to represent the seven stages in life that we pass through from birth till death (childhood, adulthood, marriage, children, grandchildren, growing old, and concluding our journey on earth), and for each one of these stages we are being taught that we have to learn to stop and let go before we can move on to the next stage in life.
From childhood to adolescence, to early adulthood to middle age, to old age … to all points in between there come moments in life where we must face up to the fact that time moves on, and so must we. And in order to do this in a well-adjusted manner we’ve got to let go of that previous stage in life that is no more.
It’s hard to let go of that picture of ourselves that we had in our youth. Indeed, it’s hard to let go of the dreams that we had for ourselves in our youth, but there comes a time in life when we have to accept that they’re not going to come true anymore—at least not in the way we once hoped. We all start out with dreams of what our life is going to be like – dreams of love and beauty, fame and fortune, happiness and achievement – but in case you haven’t noticed, not all of our dreams come true. Some people are shattered by that because they can never let go of their old selves. Others learn to change their dreams for new ones. They learn to accept that they are new people. They are not who they once were—nor can they be.
Golde Meir
Golda Meir was called lots of things in life, but no one ever called her “good looking.” That must have been very hard for her in her youth. But she writes in her autobiography, “I was never a beauty. There was a time when I was sorry about that. When I was old enough to understand the importance of it and looking in the mirror I realized it was something I was never going to have … it was much later that I realized that not being beautiful was a blessing in disguise. It forced me to develop my inner resources; I came to understand that women who cannot lean on their beauty and need to make something on their own have an advantage.”
It wasn’t a matter of Golda Meir learning to “settle” with what she was, it was a question of Golda Meir learning to be happy with what she was.
Continuity Vs. Change
Shmini Atzeres captures the secret of the duality necessary in life: Sometimes you have to know how to let go of the old and embrace the new; sometimes you have to know that the old is still here. Sometimes you have to appreciate that the person that was is no longer; a new self has emerged. But sometimes you have to know, in the words of Ecclesiastes (1:9) “What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun.”
Or as in the lyrics of the song The Gambler:
You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away and know when to run.Genuine Teshuvah and authentic joy and dancing require from us to let go of the old and create space for the new. Rabbi Moses Maimonides, or the Rambam (1135–1204), outlines in his laws of repentance a three-stage process as the core of repentance: (1) recognition of wrongdoing, (2) regret, and (3) commitment to change. These steps require a combination of rigorous honesty and courage in order for one to take responsibility for wrongdoing and its consequences and make amends. As a result of this undertaking, Maimonides writes that one can truly claim, "I am someone else and not the same person who committed those acts.”[4]
But when dealing with despots who have not done Teshuvah, we have to recall the second side of life: “What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun.” People and cultures do not change when we want them to change; they change when they are ready and committed to change.
You know the anecdote: A busload of politicians was driving down a country road in an old hick town, when the bus suddenly ran off the road and crashed into an old farmer's field. The old farmer heard the tragic crash so he rushed over to investigate. He then began digging a large grave to bury the politicians.
A few hours later, the local sheriff was driving past the farmer's field and noticed the bus wreck. He approached the old farmer and asked what happened. The old farmer shared the tragic story of the bus accident which killed scores of passengers.
“Where are all the politicians?” asked the sheriff.
The old farmer explained that he'd gone ahead and buried all of them.
"Were they ALL dead?" asked the puzzled sheriff.
"Well, some of them said they weren't," said the old farmer, "but you know how politicians always lie….”
Winston Churchill once said: "Appeasement is feeding the sharks in the hope that you will be eaten last." That occurs when you delude yourself that your foe has become a new person.
You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away and know when to run.Yes, sometimes you have to look at life and say: Nothing has changed. Sometimes you have to look at life and say: So much has changed.
[1] Talmud Sukkah 48a
[2] We sit in a Sukkah on Shmini Atzeres since it may be the seventh day of Sukkos, and not the 8th day (See Sukkah 47a). Yet we do not shake Lulav, since the entire mitzvah of Lulav for the seven days is Rabbinic, so they did not institute it on a day which may or may not be the seventh day (Ran to Sukkah ibid.) The point is clear: As far as the 8th day is concerned in and of itself, there is no Sukkah or Lulav.
[4] Hilchot Teshuvah 2:4.
- Comment
Class Summary:
Has Iran decided to do Teshuvah? Can we trust Iran? Iran’s new president Hassan Rohani delivered his address at the UN General Assembly on Tuesday, insisting that his country posed no threat to the region or to the world. Indeed, Israel is warning that Iran may be weaving a trap—Iran’s clever way of buying more time, so that they can finish the bomb while removing the sanctions and world pressure.
In recent history we have two tragic precedents. In 1938, British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain appeased Adolf Hitler. Chamberlain then returned to England and announced that he had brought "Peace in our time." In 1945 Stalin manipulated Roosevelt and Churchill.
Why are Democratic leaders so easily suckered and rolled by dictators when it comes to diplomacy? Part of the answer to this enigma lay in the unique nature of the holiday of Shmini Atzeres.
Shemini Atzeret (and Simchat Torah) is a unique holiday. On one hand it is the day when the joy of Sukkot reaches its peak, with Jews dancing in ecstasy with the Torah. Yet on the very same joyous day we recite Yizkor, the morbid moments when we remember our loved ones who have passed on. How do the two themes co-exist in a single day? Especially in Israel, where Shmini Atzeres, when we say Yizkor, combines also Simchat Torah—one of the most joyous days of the year?
The answer to this required a profound meditation. The last two days of Sukkot, Shmini Atzeres and Simchas Torah, constitute a strange hybrid in Jewish law, unlike any other Jewish holiday. In one sense, Shmini Atzeret (and its partner, Simchat Torah) is merely a continuation of the Sukkot holiday, of which it is the eighth day. In another sense, it is an independent and autonomous holiday in its own right. Shemini Atzeret, then, symbolizes the tension between continuity and autonomy, between the unbroken continuum of the past and the bold assertion of independence into the future.
And this is both the secret of Yizkor, the secret of joy—and the secret of Iran.
A story of two mothers whose world was turned over by personal tragedy, and how they learnt to move on—by stopping to tell themselves to “go back to themselves,” but rather, by realizing that they have indeed become new human beings.
The Meat Shipment
You know the joke about the meat shipment from Odessa.
On a lacerating cold and relentlessly snowy morning in Moscow, Soviet citizens are lined up for five blocks awaiting a shipment of meat from Odessa. After an hour, a loudspeaker announces that the shipment is rather smaller than expected, so all Jews are asked to leave the line. An hour later, there is an announcement that the meat shipment has been further curtailed, so anyone who is not a member of the Communist party must leave the line. Two hours later, there is a further announcement that a large quantity of the meat in the shipment turns out to have been spoiled, so everyone is asked to leave the line except members of the Politburo. Three hours after that, the snow falling continuously all this time, there is an announcement that the meat shipment from Odessa has been cancelled.
“Those Jews,” says one member of the Politburo to another as they shuffle off toward home, “they always have it easy.”
Iran’s Changing?
Has Iran decided to do Teshuvah? Can we trust Iran? Iran’s new president Hassan Rohani delivered his address at the UN General Assembly on Tuesday, insisting that his country posed no threat to the region or to the world.
The Iranian president listed what he did consider a threat, saying that the Israeli occupation of the West Bank is a form of “structural violence” in which Palestinians are “deprived of the right of return” and in which “institutional aggression” is implemented against the Palestinian people. But, the new Iranian President insisted, his country has no plans of creating a nuclear bomb, and really wants to negotiate with the US.
What strikes me, in fact, is that for all the gushing attention paid to Rouhani’s charm offensive, nothing has really changed—and I’m not just referring to Iran’s state doctrine of Holocaust denial, about which Rouhani, when asked by NBC’s Ann Curry whether he believed that the slaughter of six million Jews was a myth, replied, “I’m not a historian.”
Really Mr. Rohhani? You need to be a historian to know about Auschwitz?
Indeed, Israel is warning that Iran may be weaving a trap—Iran’s clever way of buying more time, so that they can finish the bomb while removing the sanctions and world pressure.
In recent history we have two tragic precedents. In 1938, British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain appeased Adolf Hitler by allowing the German Fuhrer to occupy the Sudetenland for a mere promise of peace. Chamberlain then returned to England and announced that he had brought "Peace in our time." Winston Churchill denounced him as a naive appeaser who believed that he could buy Hitler's good will by giving in to his immoral demands: "You were given a choice between war and dishonor. You chose dishonor and you will have war." We all know the rest of the story: the world experienced its most hellish years following “peace in our time.”
Then, again in February 1945, Joseph Stalin hosted Franklin Roosevelt and Winston Churchill in Yalta, Ukraine to negotiate the political map of postwar Europe. Roosevelt was under the impression that Stalin was being a “good boy” cooperating with the allies and gave in to many of his demands. Stalin cynically manipulated both leaders to further his evil agendas. Historians of the Yalta conference have often noted that the Russians had every room in the palace bugged, and that Stalin was provided every morning with transcripts of Roosevelt's and Churchill's private discussions with their staffs. We all know the rest of the story: 50 years of cold war and endless brutality in the countries occupied by the Soviet Union.
The fundamental problem in encounters between democrats and despots is that despots are masters of the arts of deceit and domination. Democratic leaders are often clueless as to the depth of moral depravity in the hearts of despots and how much they are carless about the values of truth, integrity, human rights, and human dignity. Millions of Americans wept for FDR when he died in 1945 because he had given them hope. Millions of Russians wept for Stalin when he died in 1953 because he had given them terror. The human heart can be a dark place, even if people born in the happy countries rarely know it.
Democratic leaders, it seems, are so easily suckered and rolled by dictators when it comes to diplomacy. Did you notice how the Obama administration, fresh from getting rolled by Russia over Syria's chemical weapons, now tempts getting suckered by Iranian President Hasan Rouhani over his country's nuclear ambitions?
Part of the answer to this enigma lay in the unique nature of the holiday of Shmini Atzeres.
Hybrid Holiday
Shemini Atzeret (and Simchat Torah) is a unique holiday. On one hand it is the day when the joy of Sukkot reaches its peak, with Jews dancing in ecstasy with the Torah. Yet on the very same joyous day we recite Yizkor, the morbid moments when we remember our loved ones who have passed on. How do the two themes co-exist in a single day? Especially in Israel, where Shmini Atzeres, when we say Yizkor, combines also Simchat Torah—one of the most joyous days of the year?
The answer to this required a profound meditation. The last two days of Sukkot, Shmini Atzeres and Simchas Torah, constitute a strange hybrid in Jewish law, unlike any other Jewish holiday. In one sense, Shmini Atzeret (and its partner, Simchat Torah) is merely a continuation of the Sukkot holiday, of which it is the eighth day. In another sense, it is an independent and autonomous holiday in its own right. Thus, the Talmud states that in many ways it is part of Sukkot, except for six laws (represented by the acrostic “Pazer Keshev”) in which it is a separate holiday.[1] Hence, like the eighth day of Passover, there is no special mitzvah of appearing in the Temple, as there is on the three pilgrim festivals. In this sense it is merely the end of Sukkot. But unlike Passover, we recite the Shehecheyanu on Shemini Atzeret, because it is a holiday in its own right. We do not shake the Lulav, because it is separate from Sukkot.[2]
Shemini Atzeret, then, symbolizes the tension between continuity and autonomy, between the unbroken continuum of the past and the bold assertion of independence into the future.
And this is both the secret of Yizkor, the secret of joy—and the secret of Iran.
Sorry, It’s Holland
One of the most powerful things I ever read was written by a woman who gave birth to and was raising a child with a disability. She was asked what it was like and how it felt. And this is what she wrote:
When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guidebooks and make your wonderful plans. You will see the Coliseum, the Michelangelo, David, the gondolas in Venice. You may even learn a handy phrase in Italian.
It's all very exciting.
After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."
''Holland?" you say. "What do you mean, Holland? I signed up for Italy! All my life I've dreamt of going to Italy."
But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay. The important thing to remember is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place. It's just a different place.
So, you must go out and buy new guidebooks. And, you must learn a whole new language. And, you will meet a whole new group of people you never would have met.
It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy. It's less flashy than Italy. But, after you have been there awhile and you catch your breath, you begin to look around and notice that Holland has windmills, Holland has tulips, Holland even has Rembrandts.
But, everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy, and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And, for the rest of your life, you might say: "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned..." The pain of that will never, never, ever go away because the loss of that dream is a very significant loss. But, if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't go to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things about Holland.”
A New Person
A story:[3]
Mrs. Gitty Lipsius teaches in Shevach High School in Queens. She had a number of children, and then it was a few years before she was expecting another child. She went through a full-term uneventful pregnancy, but tragically, the child was stillborn. She was devastated and sank into depression.
Mrs. Lipsius related that her father, Gershon Yankelowitz, had lost his entire family in the Holocaust, and after the war, he and his wife had trouble having children. After years, they had their first child, a little girl -- who died only four months later. He had suffered so much. Eventually, he and his wife had a family. Now, years later, he called his daughter Gitty and asked her how she was doing. She replied that she was doing terribly; she could not find herself and did not know how she would ever be the same again.
Her father Gershon Yankelowitz said: “My dear daughter, you will never be the same. You are a new person. Find your newness. Get used to it, and live with it. When you accept your new situation, you will be able to go on.”
When her father gave her that insight and direction, Mrs. Lipsius realized how right he was. She related that once she accepted her new reality, she felt liberated. From that point on, she was able to return to being a functioning, accomplishing person.
Never the Same
There is a profound message here. Life brings changes upon changes, some small and some drastic. Too often we expect from ourselves to “catch the flying curve balls” and then go back to being the same person we always were. But sometimes we can’t go back. Once I watched the earth swallow up my father, I can never go back to be the same again. Once you have to say goodbye to your life-partner, you can never be the same again. Once you have to bid farewell to a child you can never ever ever be the same again. It is ridiculous to say and even to think, “Why can’t she just go back to being her old self again.”
Never try being the same person as before. That is impossible. You are not the same. A piece of you has been torn away—you can never be the same. You are a new person. Let go of your old image of what life looked like once upon a time and what it needs to look like. You are now in a new life. Your plane took you to Holland, not to Italy. What I have to do now is have the courage to embrace the “new person” I have become.
Two Israeli soldiers were murdered over the past week. Sgt. Gabriel Koby, 20, was shot and killed on Sunday by an Arab sniper while standing guard in the Jews of Hebron in middle of the holiday of Sukkot. He was hit by direct gunfire aimed at a group of soldiers who were guarding the Jewish presence in Hebron and the thousands of civilians visiting the city for the Jewish holiday of Sukkot.
Barely two hours before the Hebron shooting, another Israeli soldier, Sgt. Tomer Hazan, 20, was buried in a military cemetery near the Tel Aviv suburb of Bat Yam. Sergeant Hazan was killed Friday by a Palestinian man with whom the sergeant worked at a restaurant and who lured him to the West Bank where he murdered him in cold blood.
The precious families of these two soldiers will never be the same. The wound is so deep, so surreal, and so devastating. There is no turning back—going back to the “old family unit” the way it was. It will just never be the same. Sadly and tragically, till Moshiach comes, the void will remain. As we say Yizkor today, we will remember these two holy soldiers—may G-d avenge their blood.
The Dual Holiday
This is the deep life-lesson behind the hybrid nature of Shmini Atzeres, which is both a continuum of the past, but also a new beginning. On one hand, our life is a bundle of memories of the past; we are always continuing the past and looking to reclaim the past. But if we try doing only that, we may remain paralyzed because we are trying to be something we are no longer. With loss, we have lost something of our past; we can’t go on searching for an obsolete existence.
Comes Shmini Atzeres and teaches us that while we are a continuation too all that comes before us, we must also realize that this is a new, novel and independent holiday—in many ways a break-away of the previous holiday. When you can embrace your newness, you can begin dancing again.
Seven Stops
Our people have a tradition that when we come to a cemetery for the burial of a loved one, as we carry the casket to its final resting place, we pause and make seven stops along the way. There is a beautiful and relevant explanation for this. The seven stops are meant to represent the seven stages in life that we pass through from birth till death (childhood, adulthood, marriage, children, grandchildren, growing old, and concluding our journey on earth), and for each one of these stages we are being taught that we have to learn to stop and let go before we can move on to the next stage in life.
From childhood to adolescence, to early adulthood to middle age, to old age … to all points in between there come moments in life where we must face up to the fact that time moves on, and so must we. And in order to do this in a well-adjusted manner we’ve got to let go of that previous stage in life that is no more.
It’s hard to let go of that picture of ourselves that we had in our youth. Indeed, it’s hard to let go of the dreams that we had for ourselves in our youth, but there comes a time in life when we have to accept that they’re not going to come true anymore—at least not in the way we once hoped. We all start out with dreams of what our life is going to be like – dreams of love and beauty, fame and fortune, happiness and achievement – but in case you haven’t noticed, not all of our dreams come true. Some people are shattered by that because they can never let go of their old selves. Others learn to change their dreams for new ones. They learn to accept that they are new people. They are not who they once were—nor can they be.
Golde Meir
Golda Meir was called lots of things in life, but no one ever called her “good looking.” That must have been very hard for her in her youth. But she writes in her autobiography, “I was never a beauty. There was a time when I was sorry about that. When I was old enough to understand the importance of it and looking in the mirror I realized it was something I was never going to have … it was much later that I realized that not being beautiful was a blessing in disguise. It forced me to develop my inner resources; I came to understand that women who cannot lean on their beauty and need to make something on their own have an advantage.”
It wasn’t a matter of Golda Meir learning to “settle” with what she was, it was a question of Golda Meir learning to be happy with what she was.
Continuity Vs. Change
Shmini Atzeres captures the secret of the duality necessary in life: Sometimes you have to know how to let go of the old and embrace the new; sometimes you have to know that the old is still here. Sometimes you have to appreciate that the person that was is no longer; a new self has emerged. But sometimes you have to know, in the words of Ecclesiastes (1:9) “What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun.”
Or as in the lyrics of the song The Gambler:
You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away and know when to run.
Genuine Teshuvah and authentic joy and dancing require from us to let go of the old and create space for the new. Rabbi Moses Maimonides, or the Rambam (1135–1204), outlines in his laws of repentance a three-stage process as the core of repentance: (1) recognition of wrongdoing, (2) regret, and (3) commitment to change. These steps require a combination of rigorous honesty and courage in order for one to take responsibility for wrongdoing and its consequences and make amends. As a result of this undertaking, Maimonides writes that one can truly claim, "I am someone else and not the same person who committed those acts.”[4]
But when dealing with despots who have not done Teshuvah, we have to recall the second side of life: “What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun.” People and cultures do not change when we want them to change; they change when they are ready and committed to change.
You know the anecdote: A busload of politicians was driving down a country road in an old hick town, when the bus suddenly ran off the road and crashed into an old farmer's field. The old farmer heard the tragic crash so he rushed over to investigate. He then began digging a large grave to bury the politicians.
A few hours later, the local sheriff was driving past the farmer's field and noticed the bus wreck. He approached the old farmer and asked what happened. The old farmer shared the tragic story of the bus accident which killed scores of passengers.
“Where are all the politicians?” asked the sheriff.
The old farmer explained that he'd gone ahead and buried all of them.
"Were they ALL dead?" asked the puzzled sheriff.
"Well, some of them said they weren't," said the old farmer, "but you know how politicians always lie….”
Winston Churchill once said: "Appeasement is feeding the sharks in the hope that you will be eaten last." That occurs when you delude yourself that your foe has become a new person.
You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away and know when to run.
Yes, sometimes you have to look at life and say: Nothing has changed. Sometimes you have to look at life and say: So much has changed.
[1] Talmud Sukkah 48a
[2] We sit in a Sukkah on Shmini Atzeres since it may be the seventh day of Sukkos, and not the 8th day (See Sukkah 47a). Yet we do not shake Lulav, since the entire mitzvah of Lulav for the seven days is Rabbinic, so they did not institute it on a day which may or may not be the seventh day (Ran to Sukkah ibid.) The point is clear: As far as the 8th day is concerned in and of itself, there is no Sukkah or Lulav.
[4] Hilchot Teshuvah 2:4.
Categories
Shemini Atzeres/Simchas Torah 5774
Rabbi YY Jacobson
- September 23, 2013
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- 19 Tishrei 5774
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- 30 views
Yizkor, Iran & the Secret of Joy
Rabbi YY Jacobson
- September 23, 2013
The Meat Shipment
You know the joke about the meat shipment from Odessa.
On a lacerating cold and relentlessly snowy morning in Moscow, Soviet citizens are lined up for five blocks awaiting a shipment of meat from Odessa. After an hour, a loudspeaker announces that the shipment is rather smaller than expected, so all Jews are asked to leave the line. An hour later, there is an announcement that the meat shipment has been further curtailed, so anyone who is not a member of the Communist party must leave the line. Two hours later, there is a further announcement that a large quantity of the meat in the shipment turns out to have been spoiled, so everyone is asked to leave the line except members of the Politburo. Three hours after that, the snow falling continuously all this time, there is an announcement that the meat shipment from Odessa has been cancelled.
“Those Jews,” says one member of the Politburo to another as they shuffle off toward home, “they always have it easy.”
Iran’s Changing?
Has Iran decided to do Teshuvah? Can we trust Iran? Iran’s new president Hassan Rohani delivered his address at the UN General Assembly on Tuesday, insisting that his country posed no threat to the region or to the world.
The Iranian president listed what he did consider a threat, saying that the Israeli occupation of the West Bank is a form of “structural violence” in which Palestinians are “deprived of the right of return” and in which “institutional aggression” is implemented against the Palestinian people. But, the new Iranian President insisted, his country has no plans of creating a nuclear bomb, and really wants to negotiate with the US.
What strikes me, in fact, is that for all the gushing attention paid to Rouhani’s charm offensive, nothing has really changed—and I’m not just referring to Iran’s state doctrine of Holocaust denial, about which Rouhani, when asked by NBC’s Ann Curry whether he believed that the slaughter of six million Jews was a myth, replied, “I’m not a historian.”
Really Mr. Rohhani? You need to be a historian to know about Auschwitz?
Indeed, Israel is warning that Iran may be weaving a trap—Iran’s clever way of buying more time, so that they can finish the bomb while removing the sanctions and world pressure.
In recent history we have two tragic precedents. In 1938, British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain appeased Adolf Hitler by allowing the German Fuhrer to occupy the Sudetenland for a mere promise of peace. Chamberlain then returned to England and announced that he had brought "Peace in our time." Winston Churchill denounced him as a naive appeaser who believed that he could buy Hitler's good will by giving in to his immoral demands: "You were given a choice between war and dishonor. You chose dishonor and you will have war." We all know the rest of the story: the world experienced its most hellish years following “peace in our time.”
Then, again in February 1945, Joseph Stalin hosted Franklin Roosevelt and Winston Churchill in Yalta, Ukraine to negotiate the political map of postwar Europe. Roosevelt was under the impression that Stalin was being a “good boy” cooperating with the allies and gave in to many of his demands. Stalin cynically manipulated both leaders to further his evil agendas. Historians of the Yalta conference have often noted that the Russians had every room in the palace bugged, and that Stalin was provided every morning with transcripts of Roosevelt's and Churchill's private discussions with their staffs. We all know the rest of the story: 50 years of cold war and endless brutality in the countries occupied by the Soviet Union.
The fundamental problem in encounters between democrats and despots is that despots are masters of the arts of deceit and domination. Democratic leaders are often clueless as to the depth of moral depravity in the hearts of despots and how much they are carless about the values of truth, integrity, human rights, and human dignity. Millions of Americans wept for FDR when he died in 1945 because he had given them hope. Millions of Russians wept for Stalin when he died in 1953 because he had given them terror. The human heart can be a dark place, even if people born in the happy countries rarely know it.
Democratic leaders, it seems, are so easily suckered and rolled by dictators when it comes to diplomacy. Did you notice how the Obama administration, fresh from getting rolled by Russia over Syria's chemical weapons, now tempts getting suckered by Iranian President Hasan Rouhani over his country's nuclear ambitions?
Part of the answer to this enigma lay in the unique nature of the holiday of Shmini Atzeres.
Hybrid Holiday
Shemini Atzeret (and Simchat Torah) is a unique holiday. On one hand it is the day when the joy of Sukkot reaches its peak, with Jews dancing in ecstasy with the Torah. Yet on the very same joyous day we recite Yizkor, the morbid moments when we remember our loved ones who have passed on. How do the two themes co-exist in a single day? Especially in Israel, where Shmini Atzeres, when we say Yizkor, combines also Simchat Torah—one of the most joyous days of the year?
The answer to this required a profound meditation. The last two days of Sukkot, Shmini Atzeres and Simchas Torah, constitute a strange hybrid in Jewish law, unlike any other Jewish holiday. In one sense, Shmini Atzeret (and its partner, Simchat Torah) is merely a continuation of the Sukkot holiday, of which it is the eighth day. In another sense, it is an independent and autonomous holiday in its own right. Thus, the Talmud states that in many ways it is part of Sukkot, except for six laws (represented by the acrostic “Pazer Keshev”) in which it is a separate holiday.[1] Hence, like the eighth day of Passover, there is no special mitzvah of appearing in the Temple, as there is on the three pilgrim festivals. In this sense it is merely the end of Sukkot. But unlike Passover, we recite the Shehecheyanu on Shemini Atzeret, because it is a holiday in its own right. We do not shake the Lulav, because it is separate from Sukkot.[2]
Shemini Atzeret, then, symbolizes the tension between continuity and autonomy, between the unbroken continuum of the past and the bold assertion of independence into the future.
And this is both the secret of Yizkor, the secret of joy—and the secret of Iran.
Sorry, It’s Holland
One of the most powerful things I ever read was written by a woman who gave birth to and was raising a child with a disability. She was asked what it was like and how it felt. And this is what she wrote:
When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guidebooks and make your wonderful plans. You will see the Coliseum, the Michelangelo, David, the gondolas in Venice. You may even learn a handy phrase in Italian.
It's all very exciting.
After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."
''Holland?" you say. "What do you mean, Holland? I signed up for Italy! All my life I've dreamt of going to Italy."
But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay. The important thing to remember is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place. It's just a different place.
So, you must go out and buy new guidebooks. And, you must learn a whole new language. And, you will meet a whole new group of people you never would have met.
It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy. It's less flashy than Italy. But, after you have been there awhile and you catch your breath, you begin to look around and notice that Holland has windmills, Holland has tulips, Holland even has Rembrandts.
But, everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy, and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And, for the rest of your life, you might say: "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned..." The pain of that will never, never, ever go away because the loss of that dream is a very significant loss. But, if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't go to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things about Holland.”
A New Person
A story:[3]
Mrs. Gitty Lipsius teaches in Shevach High School in Queens. She had a number of children, and then it was a few years before she was expecting another child. She went through a full-term uneventful pregnancy, but tragically, the child was stillborn. She was devastated and sank into depression.
Mrs. Lipsius related that her father, Gershon Yankelowitz, had lost his entire family in the Holocaust, and after the war, he and his wife had trouble having children. After years, they had their first child, a little girl -- who died only four months later. He had suffered so much. Eventually, he and his wife had a family. Now, years later, he called his daughter Gitty and asked her how she was doing. She replied that she was doing terribly; she could not find herself and did not know how she would ever be the same again.
Her father Gershon Yankelowitz said: “My dear daughter, you will never be the same. You are a new person. Find your newness. Get used to it, and live with it. When you accept your new situation, you will be able to go on.”
When her father gave her that insight and direction, Mrs. Lipsius realized how right he was. She related that once she accepted her new reality, she felt liberated. From that point on, she was able to return to being a functioning, accomplishing person.
Never the Same
There is a profound message here. Life brings changes upon changes, some small and some drastic. Too often we expect from ourselves to “catch the flying curve balls” and then go back to being the same person we always were. But sometimes we can’t go back. Once I watched the earth swallow up my father, I can never go back to be the same again. Once you have to say goodbye to your life-partner, you can never be the same again. Once you have to bid farewell to a child you can never ever ever be the same again. It is ridiculous to say and even to think, “Why can’t she just go back to being her old self again.”
Never try being the same person as before. That is impossible. You are not the same. A piece of you has been torn away—you can never be the same. You are a new person. Let go of your old image of what life looked like once upon a time and what it needs to look like. You are now in a new life. Your plane took you to Holland, not to Italy. What I have to do now is have the courage to embrace the “new person” I have become.
Two Israeli soldiers were murdered over the past week. Sgt. Gabriel Koby, 20, was shot and killed on Sunday by an Arab sniper while standing guard in the Jews of Hebron in middle of the holiday of Sukkot. He was hit by direct gunfire aimed at a group of soldiers who were guarding the Jewish presence in Hebron and the thousands of civilians visiting the city for the Jewish holiday of Sukkot.
Barely two hours before the Hebron shooting, another Israeli soldier, Sgt. Tomer Hazan, 20, was buried in a military cemetery near the Tel Aviv suburb of Bat Yam. Sergeant Hazan was killed Friday by a Palestinian man with whom the sergeant worked at a restaurant and who lured him to the West Bank where he murdered him in cold blood.
The precious families of these two soldiers will never be the same. The wound is so deep, so surreal, and so devastating. There is no turning back—going back to the “old family unit” the way it was. It will just never be the same. Sadly and tragically, till Moshiach comes, the void will remain. As we say Yizkor today, we will remember these two holy soldiers—may G-d avenge their blood.
The Dual Holiday
This is the deep life-lesson behind the hybrid nature of Shmini Atzeres, which is both a continuum of the past, but also a new beginning. On one hand, our life is a bundle of memories of the past; we are always continuing the past and looking to reclaim the past. But if we try doing only that, we may remain paralyzed because we are trying to be something we are no longer. With loss, we have lost something of our past; we can’t go on searching for an obsolete existence.
Comes Shmini Atzeres and teaches us that while we are a continuation too all that comes before us, we must also realize that this is a new, novel and independent holiday—in many ways a break-away of the previous holiday. When you can embrace your newness, you can begin dancing again.
Seven Stops
Our people have a tradition that when we come to a cemetery for the burial of a loved one, as we carry the casket to its final resting place, we pause and make seven stops along the way. There is a beautiful and relevant explanation for this. The seven stops are meant to represent the seven stages in life that we pass through from birth till death (childhood, adulthood, marriage, children, grandchildren, growing old, and concluding our journey on earth), and for each one of these stages we are being taught that we have to learn to stop and let go before we can move on to the next stage in life.
From childhood to adolescence, to early adulthood to middle age, to old age … to all points in between there come moments in life where we must face up to the fact that time moves on, and so must we. And in order to do this in a well-adjusted manner we’ve got to let go of that previous stage in life that is no more.
It’s hard to let go of that picture of ourselves that we had in our youth. Indeed, it’s hard to let go of the dreams that we had for ourselves in our youth, but there comes a time in life when we have to accept that they’re not going to come true anymore—at least not in the way we once hoped. We all start out with dreams of what our life is going to be like – dreams of love and beauty, fame and fortune, happiness and achievement – but in case you haven’t noticed, not all of our dreams come true. Some people are shattered by that because they can never let go of their old selves. Others learn to change their dreams for new ones. They learn to accept that they are new people. They are not who they once were—nor can they be.
Golde Meir
Golda Meir was called lots of things in life, but no one ever called her “good looking.” That must have been very hard for her in her youth. But she writes in her autobiography, “I was never a beauty. There was a time when I was sorry about that. When I was old enough to understand the importance of it and looking in the mirror I realized it was something I was never going to have … it was much later that I realized that not being beautiful was a blessing in disguise. It forced me to develop my inner resources; I came to understand that women who cannot lean on their beauty and need to make something on their own have an advantage.”
It wasn’t a matter of Golda Meir learning to “settle” with what she was, it was a question of Golda Meir learning to be happy with what she was.
Continuity Vs. Change
Shmini Atzeres captures the secret of the duality necessary in life: Sometimes you have to know how to let go of the old and embrace the new; sometimes you have to know that the old is still here. Sometimes you have to appreciate that the person that was is no longer; a new self has emerged. But sometimes you have to know, in the words of Ecclesiastes (1:9) “What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun.”
Or as in the lyrics of the song The Gambler:
You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away and know when to run.Genuine Teshuvah and authentic joy and dancing require from us to let go of the old and create space for the new. Rabbi Moses Maimonides, or the Rambam (1135–1204), outlines in his laws of repentance a three-stage process as the core of repentance: (1) recognition of wrongdoing, (2) regret, and (3) commitment to change. These steps require a combination of rigorous honesty and courage in order for one to take responsibility for wrongdoing and its consequences and make amends. As a result of this undertaking, Maimonides writes that one can truly claim, "I am someone else and not the same person who committed those acts.”[4]
But when dealing with despots who have not done Teshuvah, we have to recall the second side of life: “What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun.” People and cultures do not change when we want them to change; they change when they are ready and committed to change.
You know the anecdote: A busload of politicians was driving down a country road in an old hick town, when the bus suddenly ran off the road and crashed into an old farmer's field. The old farmer heard the tragic crash so he rushed over to investigate. He then began digging a large grave to bury the politicians.
A few hours later, the local sheriff was driving past the farmer's field and noticed the bus wreck. He approached the old farmer and asked what happened. The old farmer shared the tragic story of the bus accident which killed scores of passengers.
“Where are all the politicians?” asked the sheriff.
The old farmer explained that he'd gone ahead and buried all of them.
"Were they ALL dead?" asked the puzzled sheriff.
"Well, some of them said they weren't," said the old farmer, "but you know how politicians always lie….”
Winston Churchill once said: "Appeasement is feeding the sharks in the hope that you will be eaten last." That occurs when you delude yourself that your foe has become a new person.
You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em
Know when to walk away and know when to run.Yes, sometimes you have to look at life and say: Nothing has changed. Sometimes you have to look at life and say: So much has changed.
[1] Talmud Sukkah 48a
[2] We sit in a Sukkah on Shmini Atzeres since it may be the seventh day of Sukkos, and not the 8th day (See Sukkah 47a). Yet we do not shake Lulav, since the entire mitzvah of Lulav for the seven days is Rabbinic, so they did not institute it on a day which may or may not be the seventh day (Ran to Sukkah ibid.) The point is clear: As far as the 8th day is concerned in and of itself, there is no Sukkah or Lulav.
[4] Hilchot Teshuvah 2:4.
- Comment
Class Summary:
Has Iran decided to do Teshuvah? Can we trust Iran? Iran’s new president Hassan Rohani delivered his address at the UN General Assembly on Tuesday, insisting that his country posed no threat to the region or to the world. Indeed, Israel is warning that Iran may be weaving a trap—Iran’s clever way of buying more time, so that they can finish the bomb while removing the sanctions and world pressure.
In recent history we have two tragic precedents. In 1938, British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain appeased Adolf Hitler. Chamberlain then returned to England and announced that he had brought "Peace in our time." In 1945 Stalin manipulated Roosevelt and Churchill.
Why are Democratic leaders so easily suckered and rolled by dictators when it comes to diplomacy? Part of the answer to this enigma lay in the unique nature of the holiday of Shmini Atzeres.
Shemini Atzeret (and Simchat Torah) is a unique holiday. On one hand it is the day when the joy of Sukkot reaches its peak, with Jews dancing in ecstasy with the Torah. Yet on the very same joyous day we recite Yizkor, the morbid moments when we remember our loved ones who have passed on. How do the two themes co-exist in a single day? Especially in Israel, where Shmini Atzeres, when we say Yizkor, combines also Simchat Torah—one of the most joyous days of the year?
The answer to this required a profound meditation. The last two days of Sukkot, Shmini Atzeres and Simchas Torah, constitute a strange hybrid in Jewish law, unlike any other Jewish holiday. In one sense, Shmini Atzeret (and its partner, Simchat Torah) is merely a continuation of the Sukkot holiday, of which it is the eighth day. In another sense, it is an independent and autonomous holiday in its own right. Shemini Atzeret, then, symbolizes the tension between continuity and autonomy, between the unbroken continuum of the past and the bold assertion of independence into the future.
And this is both the secret of Yizkor, the secret of joy—and the secret of Iran.
A story of two mothers whose world was turned over by personal tragedy, and how they learnt to move on—by stopping to tell themselves to “go back to themselves,” but rather, by realizing that they have indeed become new human beings.
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