If Judaism is devoid of purpose, it cannot last
Teaching in the old city of Jerusalem, one develops a certain awareness of the different types of people who can wander in off the street. Many of the people who frequent the old alleyways and ancient stones of Jerusalem are incredible people with incredible stories, but sometimes you get real characters walking through your door.
We once had a fellow wander in who was absolutely convinced that he was King David. (In fact, there is a medical term for a specific mental disorder that affects people who may visit Jerusalem and have too intense a spiritual experience, resulting in the conviction that they are prophets or the like — Jerusalem Syndrome.)
One day, a few minutes after my class had begun, the fellow sat down in the last remaining seat, right next to mine. Something about him seemed a bit “off,” so I kept my eye on him, obviously not wanting to react in any way that might embarrass him, yet aware of a responsibility to the rest of the participants in the program and their right to remain focused on the study they were pursuing.
I soon noticed he was staring at my coffee mug, bringing his face really close to it, with what seemed like a mad look in his eye. Not wanting to break the flow of the class, I stood up as I spoke gradually moved towards the other side of the room, figuring this way people wouldn’t notice him.
Then he did a really odd thing: he picked up my mug, half full of coffee, continuing to stare at it. Now that’s just not normal; and then he placed his lips over the edge of my mug and took a sip of the coffee!
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By this time, of course, no one was paying attention to my lecture, so there was nothing left but to make light of it: “Enjoy!” I said, “and feel free to help yourself to more coffee in the back!”
Everyone laughed, and this fellow’s pleased look changed to one of embarrassment, as he seemed to come out of his reverie.
“You don’t understand,” he said, “I just wanted to see if this was a coffee mug. You see, I’ve never seen one before.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not an idiot, I know what a coffee mug is,” he continued, “but I was born blind, and three days ago, they did experimental laser surgery on my left eye, and now I can see. So I decided to take some time to ‘see’ all the things I have seen, but never really seen!
“I was looking at this, and realized this must be what a coffee mug looks like, and just wanted to see if I was right.”
Can you imagine? Here I am thinking this fellow had completely lost it, but in truth, he was the sanest person in the room, because for that moment, he was in the process of appreciating the gift of sight.
We are not really capable of being in a constant state of appreciation for all the gifts we have in this world. In fact, if we really did succeed in maintaining that level of awe and joy, probably no one else would be able to talk to us.
In truth, that may well be the theme of this week’s portion, Ki Savo, which begins with a rather strange ceremony, proscribed to all of us as a ritual, which occurs once a year, beginning on the festival of Shavuot.
• • •
Once a year, every Jew was meant to come to the Temple in Jerusalem with the first fruits of harvest in a basket for the Temple.
And you shall come to the priest [Kohen] who will be in those days. … And the priest shall take the basket from your hands, and place it before the altar of G-d, your G-d. … And you shall rejoice in all the good Hashem your G-d has given you. (Devarim 26:1-11)
The Torah appears to be introducing a commandment to rejoice in all the good we have been given. But how can we be commanded to rejoice? Further, this verse itself is part of what is certainly one of the most painful and challenging chapters in the entire Torah.
This week, we will read what has come to be known as the chapter of Tochachah, or Curses, which delineate what will happen to the Jewish people when they do not hearken unto the word of G-d, abandoning the ethical recipe for a better world laid out in the Torah. And for 54 verses in the 28th chapter of Devarim, G-d tells us what will happen to us, in all of its unfolding horror.
These verses are so painful that our custom is to read them in a lower voice, almost as if the Torah reader is expressing the pain of the congregation at the implication of this reading.
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The Torah here speaks of exile and destruction, full of pain and suffering. But there is one verse in the midst of all of this pain and destruction which causes all the others to pale in comparison. It is best introduced by way of Maimonides.
Maimonides, at the end of his Hilchot Sukkah Ve’Lulav (the laws of the festival of Sukkot 8:15), describes the special mitzvah to rejoice and cautions that “whomsoever keeps himself from this joy is worthy of punishment [consequence], as it says: ‘…because you did not serve Hashem your G-d with joy and goodness of heart…” (The verse which Maimonides is referring to occurs in this very same of Devarim!)
In other words, according to Maimonides’ understanding of this verse, the reason the Jewish people will undergo so much suffering and endure such pain for so long is not simply because they did not listen to the word of G-d and fulfill His commandments. It is, rather, because they did not fulfill Hashem’s Torah with joy.
When Maimonides suggests that all of the pain of the 28th chapter of Devarim was a punishment for not serving G-d with joy, perhaps he is not saying this is the reason for our difficulties but rather it is the cause. In which case the Torah is not describing the punishment for not serving Hashem with joy, but making note of the consequence.
Joy is all about purpose (which is why a person who is depressed has no joy, because he feels he has no purpose). And a Judaism devoid of purpose, and thus of joy, will not last.
The Jew who serves G-d simply out of obligation, or fear, but without any joy, really does not understand the purpose of what he is doing, and ultimately his relationship with Judaism will fail, and all the unfortunate series of events described in our portion will ultimately unfold.
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If we do not find a way to fill our synagogues and study halls with the sense of joy that comes with an imbuing of purpose, then all that we have built since the destruction of the Holocaust will be for naught.
For Sukkot, the Torah is not saying that because of the first fruits I am obligated to rejoice, rather it is suggesting that during this period of the year, when I have this opportunity to tap into the purpose of it all, I should rejoice in my newfound sense of purpose. I can go one step further and rejoice in the joy of having a sense of purpose.
And this may explain why this portion is always read in the weeks preceding Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. Because the real challenge is to reconnect with our purpose, with why we are here, and how we are meant to make a difference in this world.
There are so many Jews today, from all backgrounds and all walks of life, who seem to have lost the sense of joy and the gift of purpose that Judaism has to offer. And in the end, it is this lack of mission, this loss of inspiration, which is at the root of so much of the pain that we are experiencing today, both as a people, and as a world.
May Hashem bless us all, with the coming of a new year, with the wisdom to re-connect with all the fruits in our basket that we have to be thankful for, and may we be blessed with a renewed sense of purpose and joy.
