Angel for Shabbat

My wife and I recently went out with friends to a new kasher restaurant in New York City. Although the food we ate was not memorable, the noise level in the restaurant still has my ears ringing! Aside from the ongoing talking of the many customers, the restaurant featured loud music blasting in the background. It was difficult for us to carry on a conversation at our table, since we could hardly hear each other in the midst of the din.

When we looked around, though, it was evident that the other customers—mostly on the young side—were having a great time! The louder the background music played, the louder the people raised their voices. No problem. Noise is good, noise is fun. Right?

Here are two views on fairness; with which one do you agree more?

A. It is only fair that those who are wealthier should share with those who have less. The essential health of a society is based on compassion and caring, a spirit of responsibility for all members of society.

B. It is only fair that people should be allowed to keep what they earn through their own hard work. The essential health of a society is based on respect for individual rights and individual choices.

Those who opt for A are most likely to be political liberals. Those who choose B are most likely to be conservatives.

The Talmud (Taanit 4a) cites the opinion of Rav Ashi that any rabbinic scholar who is not hard as iron is no rabbinic scholar! A Talmid Hakham must hold strong convictions and must not bend under pressure. Yet, a few lines later, the Talmud reports the opinion of Ravina: “even so, a person must teach himself the quality of gentleness.” Yes, commitment to principles is very important; but so is maintaining a compassionate and loving attitude.

The ideal religious personality strives to harmonize both of these qualities. One must be courageous in upholding Torah and mitzvoth, must be hard as iron to resist improper compromises. At the same time, one needs to maintain a gentle, non-confrontational attitude; one must not be overly rigid and inflexible.

One of the burning issues in contemporary Israeli political/religious life relates to widespread exemptions from military service granted to Hareidim (“ultra” Orthodox Jews). The Hareidi leadership insists that all men who study Torah in their yeshivot are thereby serving the nation, and must not be asked to do anything more. While other young Israeli men and women are required to serve in the military or national social services, Hareidi young men and women have generally been allowed to be exempted by dint of their religious commitments.

Rabbi Akabia ben Mahalel lived in the generation before the destruction of the Temple by the Romans in 70 CE. He was known for his piety and profound erudition. The Talmud reports (Mishnah Eduyot 5:6) that he disputed with the other rabbis on various issues of Jewish law.

Although we popularly refer to the upcoming fast day as Yom Kippur, the Torah calls it Yom haKippurim—the day of atonements (in the plural). The plural form reminds us that there are many roads to atonement. Each person is different and is on a unique spiritual level; each comes with different insights, experiences, memories. The roads to atonement are plural, because no two of us have identical needs.

This season of Teshuvah and Kapparah—repentance and atonement—provides us with a special challenge and opportunity. We are granted a yearly period of time for intense evaluation of our lives. This period should serve as a springboard to deeper understanding and personal growth.

In this week’s parasha, the Torah describes the rainbow as a sign of God’s covenant with His earthly creations. It is a testimony that He will never again cause a flood to destroy humanity. It is significant that God chose the rainbow as a sign of His permanent covenant with humans.

A rainbow, after all, is intangible, unreachable and ephemeral. God rested His covenant not in something solid and unshakable, but in a bodiless, colorful bow of vapor refracted in the sunlight. By choosing the rainbow, God conveyed to humanity that His power can be seen not only in great mountains and mighty oceans—but also in something as insubstantial and transient as a rainbow.

In his classic work, “The Lonely Man of Faith,” Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik writes of two aspirations of human beings: dignity and redemption.

Dignity results whenever we triumph over nature, e.g., when we make scientific and technological advances, when we control our environment, when we achieve social or economic success. In these instances, we see ourselves as masters, not as victims. This is dignity.

Redemption, though, is something quite different. It stems not from our feeling of being in control but from our feeling of being entirely dependent upon God. We are vulnerable. We are afraid. We recognize deeply and without reservation that our lives are in God’s hands, not our own. No matter how successful we may appear to be, only God has full control.

Many years ago, when I was a new young rabbi, an unkempt hippie walked into our synagogue on a Shabbat morning. He was wearing dirty jeans, a gaudy plaid shirt, and long hair with a pony tail. He wasn’t wearing a jacket and tie as is the proper male attire for our synagogue.

This hippie was quickly ushered out of the synagogue, to the relief of a number of veteran congregants. After all, who would want such a disrespectful person to be at our prayer services?