Some Folks Would Be Happy Just To Have One Dream Come True (Robert Hunter & Jerry Garcia- "Mission In The Rain")

          Every year at this time my son and I get to bond while we assemble our Sukkah. As he has grown older, his help evolved from sitting and talking, to tightening bolts on the bottom, to carrying supplies, to tightening bolts above, to helping put up the skach (the sukkah’s roof), and now he as a point where he offers suggestions to improve and expedite the entire operation.  While we were putting the Sukkah together he shared with me something he learned in school. He explained that one of the commandments associated with Sukkot is to be happy. As a brooding, 17-year-old 12th grader who cannot leave high school quick enough,  our son thought that commanding joy and happiness or any emotion for that matter,  violate the idea of “free will”. He suggested that perhaps we can engage in behavior that causes joy and such as those associated with Sukkot: eating in the Sukkah and waving the Lulav and Etrog. He then asked a very poignant question. “Abba how can you be commanded to ‘be happy’ if you are in mourning?” I asked him what he meant. He explained that there must be so many aveilim - mourners since Covid, how can the Aveilim be happy?” I stopped what I was doing and told him that I wonder the same thing. It is hard to be happy when you have suffered a loss. How do we do resolve the tension between how we feel due to a loss and the feeling associated with Chag Sukkot?

          Among the most spiritually difficult texts is Sefer Kohelet the Book of Ecclesiastes. We read it in its entirety once a year on Shabbat Chol HaMoed Sukkot, the Intermediate Sabbath of Sukkot. According to the tradition, Shlomo HaMelech, King Solomon, towards the end of his life, wrote this Megillah, this scroll. Tradition has this perspective because the language is not one of optimism but rather realism. This is a person who has “seen it all” – Ein Kol Chadash Tachat HaShemesh – There is nothing new under the sun! And yet there is a certain harsh realism and a certain sense of harsh optimism. The author provides us with a cold, clinical sense of comfort. He does not coddle us. He does not baby us. Rather the author shoves our faces in this “reality” and gives us a perspective on how to deal with a world that is not as wonderful a place as we might have thought of in our youth, or even a few weeks ago. The question that so many of our sages have asked, is why is such a text, a text that does not offer such explicit hope, a text that does not offer explicit comfort, and is universally recognized as a “downer” of a text, why is such a text read on the holiday that is commonly regarded as Zman Simchateinu – the time of our joy?

        In Eretz Yisroel, the Autumn Harvest is complete. We unabashedly celebrate our joy on a physical level because of a successful harvest. We also unabashedly celebrate our joy for having been judged favorably by God, (Rosh HaShanah), having been the recipients of God’s mercy (Yom Kippur). On Sukkot, we are commanded to Samachta b’Chagecha – celebrate in your holiday. Yet, this text seems to diminish our celebration. While the nature of the Sukkot holiday is to celebrate our unrestrained joy in receiving God’s blessing, we also know that very often it is human nature to forget God and celebrate our achievements and ourselves. Kohelet reminds us that, like the fragile nature of the Sukkah itself, not everything is as much in our control as we think. V’Zerach HaShemesh U’Vah HaShemesh – the sun rises and the sun sets- no matter what we do, no matter how much control we may perceive that we have, at the end of the day, we are ultimately powerless. God is the ultimate cause of all things. The sun rises and sets because of God, not mankind. Kohelet helps us maintain our perspective. Kohelet reminds us that we are not the center of the world. Kohelet reminds us that for all the physical pleasures we seek, for all the material comforts we work hard to afford, such things are fleeting.

        So how can such a text offer us comfort? Well if we have the perspective of Kohelet, then we can understand how an elderly person, who has seen everything: man’s goodness, man’s evil, the joy of life, and the futility of life, offers us comfort.  Kohelet reminds us that there is only the Here and Now. The harvest and Thanksgiving that is associated with Sukkot reminds us that there is only the Here and Now.  The next cycle of planting, pruning, and harvesting is not in our control so why bother. Rather we celebrate that we arrived at Now. Yes, we may be scarred. Yes, we might have suffered horrible losses, perhaps devastating types of losses. Be we are here, sitting in the sukkah, shaking a lulav and etrog, and that might be worth celebrating. Being in the Now just might be reason enough to be happy.

          As we finished putting up our Sukkah, I finally figured out an answer for our son. Maybe the lesson of Sukkot and the commandment to be happy, “VeSamachata v’Chagecha”, is to remind ourselves to be happy with what we have, and not focus upon what we don’t have.  Indeed,  so many people have died from Covid, and yes, there are so many people who have mourned this past year and continue to mourn. Perhaps these Aveilim and anyone who has experienced the loss of a loved one is supposed to find joy and comfort in the blessings of wonderful memories, and the laughter that results when sharing stories about our loved ones.

Peace,
Rav Yitz

So Come Walking In The Sun With Me My Little One (Dave Parker & Jerry Garcia - "The Only Time Is Now")

One of the things we parents vow is to avoid repeating the negative experiences of our childhood with our children. The other thing we parents vow is to share our positive childhood experiences with our children. Perhaps that is why I have taken my kids to see my favorite band. Perhaps that is why I enjoy playing golf with my son, after all, I have many positive memories and experiences playing golf with my father and grandfather. Among the other positive experiences, I had with my father was walking to Shul with him on Shabbat. From the time of my Bar Mitzvah until I was in my mid-thirties when my parents lived near their shul when I was in their home, I walked to shul with my father. Sometimes we talked, sometimes we didn’t. However, just walking with him was my time with my dad; not having to share the time with my mother or sister, was a special time. As a parent, I wanted to share that with my children.  Living 4 ¼ miles from shul makes walking with my son an infrequent event. However, when the opportunity presents itself, and my son and I can walk to shul, it is a moment that I cherish. When he was little, I wrapped my pinkie finger and thumb around his wrist and wrapped my hand all around his. When he was little, I whistled or felt the need to keep him entertained while we walked to shul. Now, at fifteen, he is nearly as tall as me, his hands are as big as mine and he put his arm around me, sometimes protectively, sometimes just affectionately. Sometimes we speak, sometimes we don’t. While he walks with his eyes ahead, I catch myself looking at this maturing young man; I look at him and I am transported to a Shabbat when I was fifteen walking with my father, sometimes talking and sometimes not.

This Shabbat we read from Parsha VaYeira. The narrative and adventures of Avraham the Patriarch continue. While healing from his ritual circumcision, he fulfills the mitzvah of Hachnasat Orchim, (hospitality). He negotiates with God and reduces the number of righteous people that must be found in Sodom and Gomorrah in order to prevent its destruction. The narrative of Avraham is interrupted as we read the narrative of Lot, the two Angels (the same two that had visited Avraham at the beginning of the Parsha), the destruction of the city, and the impure relationship that results when the survivors think that the world has been destroyed. The narrative returns to Avraham as its focus and he and his wife Sarah give birth to a son (Yitzchak), the banishment of Hagar and Ishmael (Avraham’s firstborn son and his concubine) and the final test of his belief, the Akeidat Yitzchak – the Offering of Isaac.

The Akeidat Yitzchak, the Binding of Isaac, a narrative that is considered to be among the most important if not the most important passage in the entire Torah, encompasses 19 verses. The language is terse and the details are sparse. So when a word or a derivative of a word appears six times in a sparsely worded, minimally detailed narrative, perhaps the text is teaching us something.  The word YaChDaV, or a form of of the word, such as YaChiD, or YaChiDecha (Yod, Chet, Dalet), appears six times: 22:2, 22:6, 22:8, 22:12; 22:16; 22:19 ) Yachadav in verses 22: 6, 22:8, and 22:19 means together, as in “they walked together”. Yachidcha, in 22:2, 22:12 and 22:16 “your only son. The Or HaChayim (Rabbi Chaim Attar, 18^th century Morroco) explains Yechidcha –Your only (son) as tantamount to the sanctity of loving one’s own soul.  In singling out Yitzchak to Avraham, God describes Yitzchak as Bincha – Your son (God speaking to Avraham). However, a Ben, a son will one day become his own man. However, God also describes Yitzchak as Yechidcha – he is your only, that is to say, joined with and part of your soul.  Yechidcha suggests there is no separation or distinction between father and son between the soul of the father and the soul of the son. By using the word Yachdav as a way to describe the fact that Avraham and Yitzchak walked together, we get an idea of how they walked together. When reading the text, we might want to ask, “What did father and son talk about for three days?”  The text ignores the first two days of the journey and only picks up the narrative once Avraham sees the mountain. But because the Torah uses the word YaChDav, we know that father and son walked in harmony, united, as one soul. There would be no reason to speak. Father and son know each other’s thoughts, they are kindred spirits. Rashi, the 11th Century French commentator explains that they walk together with a singular purpose.  Isaac is Avraham’s entire world and he understands Yitzchak’s pain is his father’s pain, Yitzchak’s anxiety is his father’s anxiety, and Yitzchak’s faith is his father’s faith. As much as Yitzchak is about to be bound to the altar in preparation for the offering, Yitzchak and Avraham are already bound together. 

So a father and son walk together, quietly. Certainly, each one is aware of what is before them. One will make the offering and one will be the offering. Yet, both are bound “together” with a singular purpose. A father and son walk together. Inevitably, the father and son glance at each other, knowing each other role. They are so spiritually close that with each glance they see themselves. Avraham sees what he used to be: young, idealistic, and pure; pure enough to be an offering. Yitzchak sees an old man (the Midrash teaches that there was no such thing as looking elderly until Avraham), who carries the spiritual scars of numerous triumphs, tribulations, and numerous spiritual tests. Yitzchak sees an old man girded in the armor of his faith in God. Hopefully, when my son and I walk together to shul, he doesn’t see such an “old man” just an “older man”. Maybe when he glances upon me he looks upon me the same way I looked upon my dad.  I know that when I look upon him, I wistfully think of myself at fifteen, coming into my own physically, formulating my own ideas about the world and wanting to challenge my father. However, I am also reassured that my father was just happy and content walking together when I was fifteen. So, I glance at my son and hope that he understands that just how content my soul is walking with him to shul.

Peace,

Rav Yitz