A few years ago, I took up rappelling, the art of descending sheer cliffs by rope and harness, so that we could explore the red-rock canyons of Southern Utah. After I had begun to learn the basics, Steve, our guide, said to me, “You’re one of those people who wants to speed up when your adrenaline starts to flow.”
Some things in life have to be earned, and some things cannot be. We can earn respect and reputation by our behavior, but sometimes we need help, or forgiveness, or just a break, that we haven’t earned and don’t deserve. And we can also give to others gifts they don’t deserve and don’t have to earn. That sort of undeserved kindness is captured by the word Hesed, often translated as lovingkindness.
The other day I had coffee with Hal, the father of one of our chavurah members. He had just written his second novel, this one based on his amazing experiences as a Jewish-American soldier fighting the Nazis in World War II. We got together to talk about his book.
One of the current terms of religious discussion that I’ve grown to suspect is “spirituality.” I’m tired of hearing people say, “I’m not religious; I’m spiritual,” which often means I don’t have any outward signs of religious or transcendent life, but, trust me, I possess many lofty sentiments.
Chesed or loving-kindness is an essential human attribute, but it’s first of all a divine attribute. If we want to cultivate chesed, we should pay attention to how Hashem exercises it. And God’s chesed is on display at the conclusion of the Haftarot of Comfort, the passages from Isaiah that we read during this period between Tisha B’av and Rosh Hashanah.
Do you like to make choices? Whether you do or not, it seems as though for each of us there is a never-ending stream of options that place demands upon our time and threaten the normal and easy flow of our lives. With the blessings of the information age, come even more options, more choices and a still greater demand upon our lives.
During the last half of December through the month of January, I was recuperating from surgery and was, for the most part, bedridden. To pass the time, I played an online game called cityville. The point of the game was to build a city from scratch. Since I had time on my hands, I started out with a one horse town I named Michaelville.
I’ve heard Patience defined, not as the ability to wait, but as the ability to wait with a good attitude. Patience is a wonderful thing, but no one wants to have it for themselves. We want other people to be patient. The value in patience is that we get to see events unfold and we can gain deeper understandings. Patience is something that is learned. It doesn’t come naturally.
Munuchat ha-nefesh (equanimity) is a middah that strengthens one’s ability to live out of a general sense of peace and well-being, regardless of external circumstances. Rabbi Nachman’s observation and encouragement point to this middah. We decide the kind of world we are living in based on the mindset we have. At the same time, challenges do come our way. This is where equanimity becomes crucial.
Forget about it! Just get over it! How does one achieve equanimity? Certainly not by ignoring those issues in our lives that create anxiety, fear and imbalance. Such a philosophy is akin to pretending that the check engine light on our dashboard is not lit. Anxiety can be a valuable warning signal indicative of issues that need to be considered and perhaps confronted. If nothing else, awareness is often half the battle.
For my first few years as a follower of Yeshua I suffered from what one of my colleagues later diagnosed as end-times fever. And I wasn’t alone. Friends, mentors, voices on the radio or cassette tapes—we were all convinced that Messiah’s return was so near that we should devote all our energies to being ready and helping everyone we knew to get ready too, before it was too late.
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rav rafael speaks from the end of the book of Exodus as the Shechina takes residence on the Tabernacle. The Shechina is the embodiment of Hashem's word. We learn of the nature of our words and speech as vessels, both in speech and in silence. We turn to John 6 where Yeshua teaches his disciples about Hashem's word as manna from Heaven. From this we learn the value of our words as they abide in Torah's eternal words which descend from Heaven.
In the fall of 1985 Hurricane Gloria worked its way up the eastern coast of the United States, eventually crossing the Long Island Sound and passing over Milford, Connecticut where I resided with my family. To the best of my knowledge, I had never before seen a category 4 hurricane or anything close to it.
“Death and life are in the power of the tongue” (Pr. 18:21); we can abuse it both by speaking and by withholding. Indeed, I have had more regret in my life over things I should have said and didn’t—positive, affirming, healing things—than over things I did say and shouldn’t have. The tongue has great power, life-giving power, when our speech is gracious and seasoned with salt.
The contents of the siddur powerfully address the reality of uniqueness in the world. God is unique. The Jewish people are unique. Shabbat is unique. Holy days are unique. Different types of fruit are unique…the list goes on.
