Our choices

 Deut. 3:26 “Enough from you; do not speak to me of this matter again.”

In our reading for Simchat Torah, we see once again Moses’ pleas rejected  to be allowed to enter the land, in this case in the most emphatic terms. As Jonathan Sacks noted in Covenant and Conversation (9/26/18), Moses is described no fewer than 18 times as “God’s servant,” a title no other individual in the Tanach is provided even twice. Why could Moses not appeal to a Heavenly Court and seek mercy over justice for just a few days?  As stated in Deut. 34:10, the Torah reads: “Never again did there arise in Israel a prophet like Moses.” Where was the compassion?

Sacks suggests that the hint of an answer lies in the following reading, from Bereshit: “In the beginning God created Heaven and Earth.” There is Heaven and there is Earth, and they are not the same. Sacks goes on to quote what he calls one of the most important questions of our tradition: “What is man that you are mindful of him?” (Ps. 8). In all of the known universe, we are the only beings who can ask this question.

            While many human civilizations have attempted to harmonize the human and the Divine, Judaism has steadfastly refused to do so. Modern science has tended to eliminate the Divine altogether, and instead suggest that humans are no more than a collection of living cells. Judaism rejects this position as well: we are neither Gods nor are we mere collections of random cells. Our tradition teaches that we may be the dust of the earth, but we were animated by God’s breath.

            For us, humanity, even at its most enlightened level, is still humanity. We live, we achieve, but we also die. Sacks suggests, “None of us should feel guilty or frustrated or angry or defeated that there are things we hoped to achieve but did not. That is what it is to be human.” Moses was human, and his frustration with the rock led to his inability to enter the Land.

            Yet, Maimonides states that despite the fact that there was only one Moses, we can all be like him: while not prophetically, at least humanly. He died, failing to see the culmination of his greatest act of righteous behavior.

            Our Torah reading ends with a profound lesson: we are all human, we all die, and so we must make the most of each day we live. We all make mistakes, and perhaps we can learn from them. That’s what being a human is all about. God is God, and God’s choices are God’s. We are human beings, and our choices are ours.

Faith and hope

 Sukkot   As I’ve mentioned before, on Sukkot, we are commanded to be happy (the Hebrew phrase is “u’smach-tem”). While all holidays have commandments associated with them, this is the only one for which happiness is a requirement.

            For some, the command to “be happy” is extraordinarily difficult. Many of us face difficulties which are so hard to bear that being happy is close to impossible. Thinking globally, how can those who have suffered from floods, earthquakes and epidemics be happy? How can the Jews being persecuted in many lands be happy?” How can the Jewish People, so divided amongst ourselves, be happy?

            On a more individual level, how can those who prayed less than a week ago with sincerity for security, peace, atonement, health, or success be happy when their prayers appear to have been unanswered? Some of us are angry at God for being deaf to our righteous and sincere prayers. This anger makes some doubt whether such prayers can be efficacious, or even doubt that there is a God who listens to our supplications. Faith is a fragile thing.

            And yet.

We need to be happy, even for a moment. Those who face the bleakest of challenges need to understand and accept that there must be something about which to be happy. Happiness can be found  in things we love, be they people, nature, or family. Perhaps we should be happy because we can support others, and in turn be supported by them. Perhaps we should be happy even when it appears that hope is lost, because hope is never totally lost. It may, however, be difficult to hold onto, because hope, like faith, is a fragile thing.

            Because faith and hope are both fragile, we can discern a suitable metaphor for this holiday, when we are commanded to live in flimsy, fragile structures. Let us find the strength to keep hoping, and in that hoping, find happiness.