Recent Posts — A Tree with Roots

I thought I would share with you the message that I sent on Monday to my college students at Babson College. It doesn’t reflect everything I’m feeling after these intense few days, but it does convey the message that I wanted them to hear. I’d be glad to hear your responses. —Neal

Dear Friends,

Following up on my email from yesterday, as more information emerges from the antisemitic assault on Congregation Beth Israel in Colleyville, Texas.

This morning I saw a rather inspiring interview with the Rabbi Charlie Cytron-Walker, who was one of the hostages and, as it becomes clear in this video, is really quite a hero. I know Rabbi Cytron-Walker, and can testify that he is as humble, honest, and deeply committed to social justice as he seems—do check it out:

And speaking of social justice, let's dwell on a few details from this powerful video.

First: He thought the terrorist was a hurting individual in need of shelter; he brought in him in to the synagogue on Shabbat and made him a cup of hot tea and talked kindly to him. I recognize that he was put in grave danger because of this. Indeed, this is the latest in a series of attacks over the past three years that makes Jews wonder how safe we really are in America, even in our synagogues (and even on our college campuses).

But: G-d forbid that we ever let our fear turn against the people who are most vulnerable and hurting. We need to put safeguards in place, for sure, because there are people in the world who do want to harm us. But I suspect that the rabbi does not regret being a person who acts on his kindness and empathy and compassion, even though there are times when our compassion makes us vulnerable.

Second: His gratitude. Surely, he has much to be grateful for. We can learn from this: When someone walks away from near-disaster and can clearheadedly give a voice of gratitude to the law enforcement officers who rescued them, and the friends who sent love and prayers, and to G-d, well... we can, too. It's a reminder that when we encounter the (by comparison) petty annoyances and obstacles in our day, that we can embrace postures of gratitude for all the blessings that we are also perpetually all around us. And we can say thank you.

Third: His human values. It's not lost on me or anyone that today is Dr. Martin Luther King Day, a day when we honor one of America's greatest voices of justice, liberation, and hope. At the end of the video, Rabbi Cytron-Walker goes out of his way to acknowledge the Muslim, Christian, and Jewish ("my people") voices who stood with him, who prayed for him, and who expressed their hopes and fears and gratitude. My understanding of Dr. King is that he spoke profoundly from his own tradition—the African-American church— but recognized that, in order to be realized, his message was contingent on a great multifaith and multicultural coalition of likeminded people, people who genuinely were motivated by the recognition that every human being is made in the image of G-d. The rabbi seems to be giving voice to that vision at the end of the video.

All in all, it's been a harrowing few days—but one, thank G-d, that has ended with the hostages finding safety.

I remind you of my offer from yesterday: If you feel unsafe or unresolved or afraid about what's been going on—I'd be glad to speak with you. Please feel free to be in touch; I'm here for you.

Shalom,

Neal

Each chapter of the Talmud ends with some beautiful words from the editor: הדרן עלך / Hadran Alakh / “We will return to you.” It’s a reminder that the massive volumes of the Talmud are not read like any other books, but rather are something to be reviewed and revisited. When you come back to a certain chapter, you discover insights that you never noticed the first time around, because you’ve presumably grown and changed and are reading the words in new and different ways.

So with the tradition of Hadran in mind, I often write notes to myself in the margins as reminders for the next time I’ll be back on this page.

All of which is to say, this morning, I found a note to myself that was a sobering signpost of where we are in the world.

Some context: I learn the Talmud in two ways. I’m one of tens of thousands who are doing Daf Yomi, the one-page-a-day cycle of reading the Talmud which takes 7+ years to navigate (we just marked the two-year anniversary of this cycle!). I approach Daf Yomi as a spiritual discipline each morning, before I read the news or email or the day’s responsibilities; I give it 45-60 minutes and often simply plow through sections that are especially dense or obscure.

I also have been learning Talmud with a chevruta (study partner), Rabbi Ben Levy, which we’ve been doing for over 20 years! And our approach is the exact opposite of Daf Yomi: we read closely and meticulously, and give ourselves plenty of opportunity for reflection and free association. It sometimes takes us years to finish a single volume of the Talmud.

So, this morning I’m reading the Daf Yomi, Megillah 31, which Ben and I studied more intensively in the past. The page discusses the liturgical readings from the Torah that the Rabbis selected for the various holidays throughout the year. And in that discussion, we find this paragraph:

תַּנְיָא, רַבִּי שִׁמְעוֹן בֶּן אֶלְעָזָר אוֹמֵר: עֶזְרָא תִּיקֵּן לָהֶן לְיִשְׂרָאֵל שֶׁיְּהוּ קוֹרִין קְלָלוֹת שֶׁבְּתוֹרַת כֹּהֲנִים קוֹדֶם עֲצֶרֶת, וְשֶׁבְּמִשְׁנֵה תוֹרָה קוֹדֶם רֹאשׁ הַשָּׁנָה. מַאי טַעְמָא? אָמַר אַבָּיֵי וְאִיתֵּימָא רֵישׁ לָקִישׁ: כְּדֵי שֶׁתִּכְלֶה הַשָּׁנָה וְקִלְלוֹתֶיהָ

It was taught: Rabbi Shimon ben Elazar said: Ezra enacted for the Jewish people that they should read the Torah portion of the curses that are recorded in Leviticus (Lev. 26:14-46) before Shavuot, and the Torah portion of the curses that are recorded in Deuteronomy (Deut. 28:15-69) before Rosh Hashanah.

Why? Abbaye (4th C sage in Babylonia) said—and some say it was Resh Lakish (3rd C sage in the Land of Israel) who said it: In order that the year, and its curses, should come to an end!

(The next paragraph explains that Shavuot, at the beginning of the summer, can also be considered a “New Year,” just like Rosh Hashanah.)

There’s lots to say about those words. But what leapt out at me was a note that I had written in the margins when I last read this page with Ben. There I wrote: “I’m reading this on 12/30/2020, the year of the Covid-19 pandemic.” Look how naïve I was! I figured that it was unique that I was studying this text on the cusp of a New (secular) Year, and it resonated with me. Because surely when I would return to this page in the future, the curse of the pandemic would be a sorrowful memory of a lousy time.

My own voice from the past, in a private message to my future self.

Like so many others, I’m so tired of all of this—of irresponsible responses to the virus, of the stupid politicization of public health policies which should be one thing all of us have in common, of these frigging masks, and of people I care about being sick or dying or in mourning. Tired of it—but trudging forward and determined to do the right and responsible behaviors, for the sake fo those who are most vulnerable.

Today I wrote another note in the margin of Megillah 31b: “And again, on Daf Yomi 1/12/22, while Covid still endures.”

I will return to you, Megillah 31. And, G-d willing, when I return to you, the curses of this damned pandemic will have come to an end, a distant memory.