This teaching appeared on the Inside Out Wisdom and Action (IOWA) blog. Spiritual Response To Roe V Wade
Torah From A Mussar Perspective Mishpatim
January 28, 2022 by
This piece originally was published as part of Torah From a Mussar Perspective in 5781/2021.
During this pandemic time, I have found myself frequently moving between periods of normal energy and periods of considerable fatigue. I note that the latter is not unexpected, given all that has occurred in our world and in my own life this past year. Yet, I yearn to emerge from this tiredness back to how I was pre-pandemic, knowing, ultimately that I, like all of us, have been forever changed by this experience. I am cognizant of the reality that to skillfully approach the coming months and years will require a new way of understanding ourselves in the world. The desire is ever-present to move forward as if we have not lived through unconscionable loss, upheaval, polarization, and strife. To do so, however, is not to allow ourselves to confront in our own experiences the traumas we have endured this year, hoping that by merely moving forward, all will be made right. This is a deeply human and understandable experience, one with which our ancient ancestors would have surely resonated. How do we move between worlds, between modes of being? How did our ancestors move from the degradation of slavery, through the redemption that came at the splitting of the Yam-Suf,[1] to receiving revelation on Har Sinai?[2] How is a formerly enslaved people supposed to integrate all of these experiences such that their and our enduring covenant with The Divine will lead to us leading lives of holiness?
Our parsha this week, Mishpatim is largely concerned with providing us the beginnings of an answer. We are given laws governing interpersonal disputes, property conflicts and so much more. It is one thing to stand as a collective at Sinai to receive the Torah in all of its richness. That, indeed, is another-worldly experience. It is another to come down the mountain, as it were, and begin to integrate that experience into the messy, complex, challenging reality of what it means to be human.
In Exodus/Shmot 23:1-2, we learn:
“You must not carry false rumors; you shall not join hands with the guilty to act as a malicious witness. You shall neither side with the mighty to do wrong—you shall not give perverse testimony in a dispute so as to pervert it in favor of the mighty.” (JPS Translation).
We are to act truthfully and righteously in all of our interactions, being sure neither to perpetuate false and malicious rumors nor to side with those who act wrongly in service of their own power and prestige. We might understand the Torah’s command in a number of ways. Many of us are experiencing heightened tension with those in our “pods,” given that we have spent many months with just them. In a time, such as ours, when our bandwidth for disagreement and conflict is short, and when our external culture rewards polarization and strife in service of the ego and personal power, it is tempting to opt for falsehood and rumor over truth and messiness. Too many of us lack skillful means for managing emotional upheaval and personal conflict. I imagine that our ancestors who, for so long, lived lives lacking in personal agency, found themselves learning as they went how to establish what we would today call boundaries with others as a means of managing interpersonal conflict as they established themselves as a nation. Our rabbis teach that the Torah is eternally relevant, speaking to each generation in its own way. So, too, does the Torah speak in the language of human beings. Our Mussar practice encourages us to do daily cheshbon hanefesh, soul accounting, as a vehicle for encountering our own soul curriculum and areas for growth.
My teacher, Rabbi David Jaffe of the Inside Out Wisdom and Action Project,[3] which is a space for Jewish social changemakers to engage with Mussar practice as a means of building a deeply rooted spiritual practice to sustain them in their work, teaches often about the middah of savlanut, frequently but imperfectly translated as patience. In our Western cultural context, so consumed by the need for instant gratification, savlanut can feel unattainable. In a society so beset by systems of inequity and structural oppression, savlanut can ring hollow at best and feel deeply alienating at worst. Yet, Rabbi Jaffe reminds me that savlanut is, at its core, the capacity for us to respond with equanimity to conditions that arise which might elicit strong responses such as anger and frustration. Neither of these emotions are negative inherently—indeed, anger can be quite productive—and when accessed and utilized skillfully, can lead to much-needed change. When we find ourselves in conflict with another, be it interpersonally or politically, we can utilize a teaching from the Tomer Devorah, a classic Mussar text written in the Land of Israel in the 16th century. Rabbi Moshe Cordovero, its author, notes that the Divine is not separate from us but indeed endures the insults, the trials and tribulations that we do. Nothing is hidden from G-d’s watch. There is not a single moment, Rabbi Cordovero teaches, in which a human being is not sustained by the flow of Divine abundance. When a human being uses this Divine sustaining power to commit a wrongdoing, G-d suffers along with the one who was wronged and bears the inequity of the transgression. Therefore, G-d yearns for human beings, as the Prophet Micah teaches, to do teshuvah.[4] The middah of savlanut, then, allows us to remain hopeful that true teshuvah is possible. Rabbi Cordovero reminds us that we must always keep our goodness flowing to the other, even and especially when we are not sure that the other will do teshuvah.
I readily admit that it can be hard to wrap our hearts around this in a time in which many feel so much wrongdoing is occurring with impunity. Indeed, our Mussar teachers emphasize that free will is bestowed to every human being by the Divine and that we are responsible for our choices and actions. When we find ourselves experiencing conflict with another, we might adopt a kabbalah[5] that derives from this source, a mantra of sorts. Here is an example:
Take your seat. Focus on your meditation anchor, be that the breath, sound, or something else. Call to mind the one with whom you are experiencing conflict. Repeat softly to yourself, “I keep my goodness flowing to you”. Keep repeating this phrase for five minutes or for however long you have. Notice what arises for you, physical sensations, emotions, feelings in the body.
I recommend anchoring your practice in a single interpersonal conflict at first. You might later expand this to send goodness out to those outside of your circle, to the world, etc. This practice is one I have found to be quite centering.
Our Torah reminds us to always act with truthfulness and equanimity. Let us extend that outward, so that as we change our own souls, we might impact those of others in our midst.
FOR FOCUS:
- What is one conflict that I am experiencing presently? When I call that conflict to mind, how does it land with me?
- How does the idea of being sustained by the Divine at all times, even amidst transgression, resonate with me? What might I draw from this idea?
[1] The Sea of Reeds
[2] Mount Sinai
[3] https://www.insideoutwisdomandaction.org/
[4] Return, or repentance.
[5] Mussar practice
Torah From A Mussar Perspective Shmot 5782
January 19, 2022 by
This commentary originally appeared as part of Torah From A Mussar Perspective from the Mussar Institute.
The Mussar tradition understands that we aren’t meant to simply read the parasha of the week but are instead invited to live deeply with and into it. This accords with the idea that the Torah speaks to every generation. Put another way, in Pirkei Avot, Ben Bag Bag reminds us to “turn it, turn it, for everything is in it.”[1]
Shemot, the opening parasha of Sefer Shemot—”the book of names”—tells the story of the enslavement of the Children of Israel. A new Pharaoh ascends to the throne who knew not Yosef, the former Viceroy of Egypt and beloved son of Jacob and Rachel. The Children of Israel are subject to brutal, back-breaking forced labor. Ours is the beginning of a narrative of oppression and liberation that continues to reverberate throughout the world. It forms the core of our national story—we are reminded to recall the Exodus from Egypt twice a day in our prayers and particularly recount the story in all its detail at the Passover seder. During the hundreds of years of degradation and horror, there are some extraordinary incidents of moral courage or as we would refer to it in our Mussar work, ometz lev—strength of heart.
In her beautiful commentary to Parshat Shemot in The Mussar Torah Commentary, Rabbi Amy Eilberg[2] highlights in particular the moral courage of the Egyptian midwives, Shifra and Puah. Pharaoh issues a decree instructing all Israelite baby boys to be killed straight away, while baby girls are permitted to live. Shifra and Puah do not obey the decree and claim that the Jewish women who are laboring and giving birth do so quickly that the baby is already delivered by the time they arrive, making it impossible to act in accordance with Pharaoh’s evil proclamation. This is also why Yocheved, in another act of tremendous moral courage and with a level of Bitachon and Emunah that is unfathomable, places Moshe in a basket and sets it on the Nile River. Blessedly, Batya, Pharaoh’s daughter, finds the basket and adopts Moshe as her own. Yet a third act of ometz lev by an incredibly righteous woman. Batya’s actions deserve even greater esteem given her social status and the incredible risk she no doubt took.
It is safe to say that no matter where you are in the world, these past few years have been immensely trying. The pandemic, political unrest, personal and familial hardship, professional upheaval, we’re all holding a lot. At times like this, I find it is easy to go in one of two directions. We can lean towards righteous anger and indignation, or we can disconnect and find ourselves in a comfortable complacency of apathy and lack of care.
Middah comes from the Hebrew for “measure,” a poignant reminder to us that middot are neither entirely bad nor entirely good. Rather, each middah has a spectrum. We can strengthen our hearts towards hardening them, as Pharaoh does many times throughout our sefer or we can strengthen our hearts towards “spiritual audacity,” in the words of the late Rabbi Dr. Abraham Joshua Heschel. This latter approach is a supreme Jewish value and one that the Mussar tradition has long advocated.
At times, it can feel like the brokenness in the world is so tremendous that we simply don’t know how or where to begin. Worse still, we might feel so trapped in narratives we tell ourselves—that we’re not good enough, not deserving enough, not experienced enough to act. Perhaps we find ourselves entering a mindset of scarcity. If I give an inch, you’ll take a mile. Conversely, we might find ourselves leaning towards moral courage but find that we are so frustrated and filled with shame at the state of the world and the ways we may be participating in that that we feel emotionally dysregulated. Brene Brown, the noted sociologist and shame researcher speaks often about the difference between shame and guilt. When we feel guilt, we are aware that we have acted badly. Shame, by contrast, is an emotion that hits us at our very core and tells us, falsely of course, that we are inherently bad and undeserving of love and compassion.
I imagine that Shifra, Puah and Batya were deeply aware of the ways in which slavery morally stained their society. They could not just sit by. They had to risk it all to do what they could to effect change. The Torah memorializes their bravery and acts of justice for eternity to remind us that we have the power, each and every one of us, to act righteously and from our deeply rooted convictions. We’re not Shifra, Puah or Batya. Despite this, we all find ourselves in situations, large and small, when strengthening our hearts towards acting morally courageous is available to us. May our parasha inspire us to act with deep moral courage when we are called upon to do so.
[1] Avot 5:22
[2] Rabbi Amy Eilberg is the first woman ordained as a Conservative rabbi by the Jewish Theological Seminary of America. She serves as a spiritual director, peace and justice educator, and teacher of Mussar. Her current communal work includes leadership positions with Congregation Etz Chayim Anti-Racism Impact Team, Islamic Networks Group and Sisterhood of Salaam/Shalom.
Torah From A Mussar Perspective Vayeshev 5782
November 25, 2021 by
The below commentary first appeared as part of Torah From A Mussar Perspective through the Mussar Institute.
Parshat Vayeshev contains within it the multi-faceted story of Judah and Tamar. Judah, Jacob and Leah’s fourth son, has journeyed away from his brothers and has married a woman named Shua with whom he has three sons. In time, Tamar marries Judah’s eldest son, Er. Er’s actions are displeasing to God, and he dies shortly thereafter—the Torah does not explore this further, and we are left with many unanswered questions. Though we have not been introduced to this practice in the Torah before now, the Torah makes it clear that to continue Er’s lineage, Tamar must marry his brother, Onan. The Torah does not explore Tamar’s interiority, but instead takes this union for granted. Onan soon dies, and Judah tells Tamar that she should return to her father’s house and live as a widow there.
For many of us, this destabilizing time has felt devoid of agency and choice. We are living on autopilot, unable to redirect our habitual cognitive patterns, tossed and turned about by life. Add to this the reality that the world is filled with systemic and structural inequities, and at times, cultivating a sense of choice and agency can feel nearly impossible.
In his book, Changing the World from the Inside Out, Rabbi David Jaffe discusses Rav Eliyahu Dessler’s bechirah or choice point, an important practice in our Mussar work. Choice points appear in all spheres of human life, from interpersonal interactions to wider social involvement. In his classic discussion of the bechirah point, Rav Dessler notes that free will is a cornerstone of traditional Jewish belief. The Divine does not predestine the course of our lives. Yet, our free will manifests most immediately at our bechirah or choice point. We are constantly confronted with choice points. It’s nearly midnight, I know I need to get to sleep. But can’t I just listen to one more podcast episode? I’ll be better tomorrow and get the requisite sleep I need.
Of course, we know that the moment when we listened to the voice that told us that one more episode would be simply fine, we fell into the well-worn pattern we’ve created. We know how the story ends. A bechirah point presented itself and we made a choice, though we told ourselves it was no choice at all.
Rav Dessler reminds us to take account of those moments and reroute, as it were. Yet, we also understand that choice is not infinite. Inequities persist, unfortunately, and many of us are limited by systems and structures we did not create. Despite this, Rabbi Jaffe reminds us that the practice of recognizing the bechirah point and doing a cheshbon hanefesh, soul accounting, is a way for us to notice the manifold opportunities presented to us to be subjects in our own lives. This is so even when internal and external conditions tell us otherwise.
Returning to Tamar, who has lived for many years in her father’s home as a widow, on the promise that she will marry Judah’s third son upon his reaching maturity, she realizes that he has in fact grown and she remains unmarried. At this point, Tamar faces a bechirah point. The patriarchal reality she finds herself in is unforgiving. Even so, Tamar chooses to act, deceiving her father-in-law by disguising herself as a prostitute and requiring him to leave collateral. When word gets out that she is pregnant, Judah orders her to be brought out and burned. Just as the horrific punishment is about to be meted out, Tamar sends a message to Judah, informing him that the children she carries belong to the man whose collateral she is presenting. Judah, realizing immediately that the items are his, proclaims that Tamar is far more righteous than he.
Tamar is presented with an impossible reality. Married and widowed twice, she is cast out, in a liminal time and space, waiting for the third of Judah’s sons to marry her. Unwilling to accept the status quo, even in such an unforgiving environment, Tamar takes her fate into her own hands in the only way her social station allows. The choice point presents itself. Will Tamar continue to wait for a life she must know subconsciously will not materialize? Or will she direct the course of her life as best as she can?
We are none of us entirely free agents, of course. There are so many factors that impact the course of our lives, the choices available to us, how well resourced we are. Those of us who are trauma survivors understand that residual trauma can have a lasting impact. In my own life, I have found that recounting the bechirah points presented to me each day fills me with a sense of empowerment. I am not merely an object but am in fact able to make numerous decisions every day, even and especially when the external landscape is limited. As we continue to journey forward, may we cultivate an ability to recognize and utilize the bechirah points we are faced with every day to be co-creators with The Divine in the world we yearn to bring into being.
Torah From A Mussar Perspective Mishpatim 5781
Our parsha this week, Mishpatim is largely concerned with providing us the beginnings of an answer. We are given laws governing interpersonal disputes, property conflicts and so much more. It is one thing to stand as a collective at Sinai to receive the Torah in all of its richness. That, indeed, is another-worldly experience. It is another to come down the mountain, as it were, and begin to integrate that experience into the messy, complex, challenging reality of what it means to be human.
In Exodus/Shmot 23:1-2, we learn:
“You must not carry false rumors; you shall not join hands with the guilty to act as a malicious witness. You shall neither side with the mighty to do wrong—you shall not give perverse testimony in a dispute so as to pervert it in favor of the mighty.” (JPS Translation).
We are to act truthfully and righteously in all of our interactions, being sure neither to perpetuate false and malicious rumors nor to side with those who act wrongly in service of their own power and prestige. We might understand the Torah’s command in a number of ways. Many of us are experiencing heightened tension with those in our pods, given that we have spent many months with just them. In a time, such as ours, when our bandwidth for disagreement and conflict is short, and when our external culture rewards polarization and strife in service of the ego and personal power, it is tempting to opt for falsehood and rumor over truth and messiness. Too many of us lack skillful means for managing emotional upheaval and personal conflict. I imagine that our ancestors who, for so long, lived lives lacking in personal agency, found themselves learning as they went how to establish what we would today call boundaries with others as a means of managing interpersonal conflict as they established themselves as a nation. Our rabbis teach that the Torah is eternally relevant, speaking to each generation in its own way. So, too, does the Torah speak in the language of human beings. Our Mussar practice encourages us to do daily cheshbon hanefesh, soul accounting, as a vehicle for encountering our own soul curriculum and areas for growth.
My teacher, Rabbi David Jaffe of the Inside Out Wisdom and Action Project, which is a space for Jewish social changemakers to engage with Mussar practice as a means of building a deeply rooted spiritual practice to sustain them in their work, teaches often about the middah of savlanut, frequently but imperfectly translated as patience. In our Western cultural context, so consumed by the need for instant gratification, savlanut can feel unattainable. In a society so beset by systems of inequity and structural oppression, savlanut can ring hollow at best and feel deeply alienating at worst. Yet, Rabbi Jaffe reminds me that Savlanut is, at its core, the capacity for us to respond with equanimity to conditions that arise which might elicit strong responses such as anger and frustration. Neither of these emotions are negative inherently—indeed, anger can be quite productive—and when accessed and utilized skillfully, can lead to much-needed change. When we find ourselves in conflict with another, be it interpersonally or politically, we can utilize a teaching from the Tomar Devorah, a classic Mussar text written in the Land of Israel in the 16th century. Rabbi Moshe Cordovero, its author, notes that the Divine is not separate from us but indeed endures the insults, the trials and tribulations that we do. Nothing is hidden from G-d’s watch. There is not a single moment, Rabbi Cordovero teaches, in which a human being is not sustained by the flow of Divine abundance. When a human being uses this Divine sustaining power to commit a wrongdoing, G-d suffers along with the one who was wronged. Therefore, G-d yearns for human beings, as the Prophet Micah teaches, to do teshuvah. The middah of savlanut, then, allows us to remain hopeful that true teshuvah is possible. We must always keep our goodness flowing to the other, even and especially when we are not sure that the other will do teshuvah.
I readily admit that it can be hard to wrap our hearts around this in a time in which so much wrongdoing is occurring with impunity. Indeed, our Mussar teachers emphasize that free will is bestowed to every human being by the Divine and that we are responsible for our choices and actions. When we find ourselves experiencing conflict with another, we might adopt a kabbalah that derives from this source, a mantra of sorts.
Take your seat. Focus on your meditation anchor, be that the breath, sound, or something else. Call to mind the one with whom you are experiencing conflict. Repeat softly to yourself, “I keep my goodness flowing to you”. Keep repeating this phrase for five minutes or for however long you have. Notice what arises for you, physical sensations, emotions, feelings in the body.
I recommend anchoring your practice in a single interpersonal conflict at first. You might later expand this to send goodness out to those outside of your circle, to the world, etc. This practice is one I have found to be quite centering.
Our Torah reminds us to always act with truthfulness and equanimity. Let us extend that outward, so that as we change our own souls, we might impact those of others in our midst.
For focus:
What is one conflict that I am experiencing presently? When I call that conflict to mind, how does it land with me?
How does the idea of being sustained by the Divine at all times resonate with me?