May 23rd: Behar/Bechukotai
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
Faith, Emunah in Hebrew, has many dimensions. What do we believe? What does God want of us? How do we approach and know the Divine? What does it mean to trust in God?
In this week’s Torah portions, the faith questions get seriously practical when we are presented with the laws of the Sh’mitah/Sabbatical Year. Every seven years, our ancient ancestors are instructed to let their fields lie fallow: no plowing, no cultivation, no harvesting. It is okay to pick enough for each day’s needs, but the whole year is to be one of non-production. The environmentalists among us can see the benefits of this practice for the land, but for the farm families who depend on the land for sustenance, this mitzvah requires great trust in God. Will enough food grow? Will the farm survive? Will we survive? How much faith must one have in order to give up a year of your livelihood?
God tries to be reassuring:
“Should you ask, ‘What are we to eat in the seventh year, if we may neither sow nor gather in our crops?’ I will ordain My blessings for you in the sixth year, so that it shall yield a crop sufficient for three years. When you sow in the eighth year, you will still be eating old grain of that crop; you will be eating the old until the ninth year, until the eighth year’s crops can be harvested.” (Leviticus 25.20-22)
Perhaps. But does the anxiety ever depart? How can one simply let go of things for a year? What if the big crop does not come in? What if we follow the rules and are then reduced to poverty and starvation?
One might think that those who live in plenty may not understand such anxiety, but I disagree. The dread of not having enough lives and breathes and strikes fear in every human heart, even those of us who are privileged. Whether we come from impoverished backgrounds or have heard the stories of deep poverty in the Great Depression, the shtetls of Europe, and various other moments of desperation—and even though our problems are nothing in comparison to the starvation and hopelessness of refugees in places like Darfur, we all share in the ubiquitous and transgenerational human fear that we too could one day be without.
The novelist Tom Wolfe approaches this troubling reality in his book The Bonfire of the Vanities in which a very wealthy and powerful man is reduced very quickly. For the main character, a Wall Street type who considers himself a Master of the Universe, it only takes a few karmic happenstances to completely destroy his status and wealth, turning him from a master to a helpless victim. If we consider him arrogant—and he is, his downfall is perhaps poetic justice, but he is remarkably typical for middle and upper-middle class people whose personal safety nets are very limited. Lurking beneath our affluent skin is the fear that we could lose it all. Even though many of us live with abundance—abundance for which we should thank God every day(!), there is in the back of our minds and in the realm of possibility a chance that things could go terribly wrong.
Why else would the Torah so frequently speak of God’s faithfulness? People are obviously worried about the future, and thus we need the assurance of Heaven’s love and care.
“If you follow My laws and faithfully observe My commandments, I will grant your rains in their season, so that the earth shall yield its produce and the trees of the field their fruit. Your threshing shall overtake the vintage, and your vintage shall overtake the sowing; you shall eat your fill of bread and dwell securely in your land.” (Leviticus 26.3-5)
While there is some comfort in God’s Word, anxiety may still lurk within our hearts, and our Tradition tries to help us with it—helps us hold the anxiety and examine it, helps us understand the fear and learn to live with it, helps us not to be mastered by the concerns that we inevitably and naturally share. Here are some of our Jewish insights:
(1) Living with this constant fear can ruin the blessings we have. Thus, we are taught to pray for and attempt to learn satisfaction. “Sab’aynu mituvecha: Help us to learn satisfaction, and delight in the blessings we are given.” Or as Rabbi Shefa Gold interprets Psalm 145.16, “You open Your hand; we open our hearts to this abundance.” One aspect of a relationship with God is keeping our eyes open enough to perceive abundance.
(2) God has plenty of blessings to go around. When we “count our blessings,” we can feel a measure of tranquility and enough confidence to be generous with others.
(3) There is a state of being in which other forms of abundance predominate. This is the point of Rabbi Judah in Pirke Avot: “Better is one hour of repentance and good deeds than all the life of the world-to-com. And, better is one hour of the world-to-come than all of the pleasures of this world.” (Avot 4.17) We can open our spiritual eyes and learn to see blessings that were formerly hidden.
(4) Focusing on God’s abundance—both in this world and in the World-to-Come—can help us revel in the health and happiness of everyone, can help us find enjoyment when others are blessed too. While we each possess the inclination for self-preservation and assertiveness, we also have the equally powerful and holy urge for altruism and sharing the wealth. Both are important, and both can be sources of fulfillment.
It is possible to put our hope in God, and our Tradition reminds of this fact constantly. One inspiring reminder is in Psalm 126—the psalm often chanted before Birkat Hamazon/The Grace After Meals:
“Shir Hama’alot: Beshuv Adonai…
When the Lord restores the fortunes of Zion—we see it as in a dream—
Our mouths shall be filled with laughter,
Our tongues with songs of joy.
Then shall they say among the nations,
‘The Lord has done great things for them!’
The Lord will do great things for us, and we shall rejoice.
Restore our fortunes, O Lord,
Like watercourses in the Negeb.
They who sow in tears shall reap with songs of joy.
Though he goes out weeping, carrying the seed-bag,
He shall come back with songs of joy,
Carrying his sheaves.”