לֹך לך spiritual journey

לך לך מארצך ממלדתך ומבית אביך אל הארץ אשר אראך –בראשית יב:א
(Go, go* forth from your land, from your homeland, from your father's house, to the land which I shall show you. -Genesis 12:1
*the second "go" (forth) is also the word for "to yourself")


Indeed, the journey toward oneself- that is, the whole enterprise of לך לך (Lech lecha), of Avraham's archetypal religious journey, which leads to the ברית (covenant), also leads to tzedaka u'mishpat (justice and righteousness). Rav Hutner casts some light onto the notion of ברית, explaining that we might conceive of all the מצוות עשה (positive commandments) as expressions of ahavat Hashem (love of Gd) and all מצוות לא תעשה (negative commandments) as expressions of yirat Hashem (awe/respect/fear of Gd). He compares our relationship with Hashem to our relationship with a bat-zug (partner in a romantic relationship), noting how one performs certain acts to foster the sanctity of the relationship (ahava) and likewise one refrains from certain acts out of concern for its well-being and fear of what would result were it disregarded (yirah). The kesher (connection) with one's partner nourishes and graces one's life even when he leaves the immediacy of his partner. (Happier, Tal ben Shachar, p. 111?) Likewise do we aspire to live with the grace that comes from the constant awareness of relationship with the Other, affecting everything we do, which affects our becoming, and therefore, our relating. In order to feel a sense of togetherness with Hashem, we must first find Him in our lives. This is not so different from a man's relationship with a woman- he must first find the appropriate bat-zug before he can cultivate a zugiut (loving partnership) with her, as it says in the Gemara (Kiddushin ג:א),

דרכו של איש לחזר על אשה...משל לאדם שאבדה לו אבידה...(ו)בעל אבידה מחזר על אבידתו
(It is the way of man to court woman...as a man who lost something...he goes out in search of that which he is missing.)
for as we learn in בראשית
’לזאת יקרא אשה כי מאיש לקחה–זאת.' (בראשית ב:כג
(This one will be called woman, for from man was she taken.)
Adam, the archetypal human, begins thus and moves toward his purpose, completeness,
described in the very next pasuk,
"על כן יעזב איש את אביב ואת אמו ודבק באשתו והיו לבשר אחד.''
(Therefore will man leave his father and his mother and cleave to his wife, and they will become one flesh.)

Note the parallel between Avraham leaving home (לך לך...מבית אביך...Go...leave your father's house) in order to heed the call of Hashem, and Adam leaving his father and mother in order to unite with that which completes him. Analogous and in addition to the human companionship and completion, the fullness of life requires also relationship with Hashem/the Divine, which we attain in the process of responding to His call.

Paul Tillich adds, "the first duty of love is to listen." (Callings: Finding and Following an Authentic Life, 18) If we, like Avraham, are to hear the call, we must listen with the sensitivity and keenness of a lover, for Hashem calls to us in a still, small voice (1 Kings, 19:12) discernible only via the cultivation of emunah, as Abraham Joshua Heschel describes it, "not assent to a proposition but an attitude of the whole person, of sensitivity, understanding, engagement, and attachment." (Between God and Man, p. 17) For as Rav Soloveitchik has explained to us, Avraham did not comprehend God (i.e. cerebrally), but rather he apprehended God (i.e. through his refined sensitivity to the Divine suffused throughout the world).

How fascinating the suggestion that the journey towards oneself, emanating from לך לך, seems to lead to togetherness with the Divine; likewise, how fascinating that the journey of becoming oneself is connected to achieving tzedaka u'mishpat (as suggested in the association of Avraham's journey with his covenant with Hashem, for which this is the express purpose). This means that if we earnestly desire and aspire to a society of tzedaka u'mishpat, then we ought just as earnestly foster the individual's spiritual journey. Of course, when we understand that לך לך is actually a matter of personal spiritual journey and self-discovery/actualization, the absence of detail regarding the journey's destination, "הארץ אשר אראך,'' makes sense in that one cannot be told how one is to turn out before the fact, because this identity evolves davka from the process.

We have a need for a personal encounter with the Divine, a personal experience of the spark within us, a personal experience powerful enough to warrant the investment and risk of embarking on a spiritual journey. Undertaking such must come as a response, for all the kindling in the world serves naught without a spark to light it. We must be aware, however, that it will be just a spark and our refined sensitivity and loyalty, our emunah, is the conductor which connects the spark to kindling and also the tenant who nourishes the flame. For many of us, in order to apprehend the Divine, we have to embark on that path of personal exploration, for as explains theologian Frederic Beuchner, "The atheisms within us...are not so much denials of whatever is godly in the world, but denials of people telling us what to believe, what to do, what to think." (Callings, p. ?) Abraham Joshua Heschel elaborates similarly, "Responsiveness to God cannot be copied; it must be original with every soul. Even the meaning of the divine is not grasped when imposed by a doctrine, when accepted by hearsay. It only enters our vision when leaping like a spark from the anvil of the mind, hammered and beaten upon by trembling awe." (Man is Not Alone, p. 91)

Though we ought imitate Avraham, we should not fall into the trap of confusing leaving "בית אביך,'' (my parents' house) with a necessity to reject or disregard one's parents' way of life. I need not disdain my parents in order to recognize that my spiritual fulfillment, and accordingly, the best realization of my potential to contribute to tzedaka u'mishpat necessitates a journey beyond the boundaries of my childhood. I will always be nourished by the roots my parents gave me and I include in this even the awareness that I needed to grow beyond the household and community in which I grew up. In nature, it is davka breaking into the above ground world which marks the healthy maturation of a plant, growing away from its roots (and toward the light), yet nourished by them at the same time– why should it be any different with people? Only with such a combination of courage and respect will we actually be able to "stand on the shoulders of giants" without falling down.

It is striking that those of us who engage earnestly in spiritual seeking actually have a degree of "religious" authenticity lacking in those who just tow the line, for we are continuing the path of Avraham towards that hazy place of promise, faithful to Hashem's call as we each discern it and with the prerequisite faith that its/His promise will be worthwhile. This is the faith(fulness) required to realize the promise. It is simultaneously and perhaps even indistinguishably a faithfulness to Hashem and a faithfulness/integrity to oneself. Further, we have seen the undeniable beneficence and the corresponding danger inherent in following or neglecting one's spiritual calling. "Whence solace comes?" asked Thomas Hardy, answering himself, "In cleaving to the Dream." (Callings, 323) Gregg Levoy elaborates, "Our personal voice and the Larger Voice that wants to speak through us...also speak as one. Where the personal voice and the transpersonal voice coincide...life-giving energy pours through us into the world." (Callings, 324)
Levoy explains the danger of neglecting the call,
"Thomas Moore, author of Care of the Soul, wrote, that "repression of the life-force" is the most common reason he sees people in therapy. By ignoring our passions, we dam up our energies and cut ourselves off from a vigorous source of calls, and rather than demonstrating our passions in the world, we put them in the position of having to demon-strate themselves to us. Passions become needs, and if those needs are not met, they become symptoms of one sort or another." (Callings: Finding and Following an Authentic Life, 71)

In listening out for that calling, for that vocation which will sustain and nourish our souls, Frederick Buechner advises, "The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet." This is where you will find the missing part to complete you, this is where you will feel the presence of Hashem, where you can tune in to His soft, small voice, where as a lover you are acutely attuned to the needs of the other and as a faithful lover you are actively responsive to them.

The challenge for us is to understand that Heschel's claim that "life is a work of art," is not a description but an imperative to be always painting. Our task is to discover our unique hue and hone its application, for without it the spectrum, ie Hashem's painting, will be lacking. Just as we are seeking to acquire those as yet unactualized aspects of our personality, so Reb Tzadok suggests that Hashem too, קונה הכל, is, in the the Creating and noursing of the world, seeking the as yet unactualized aspects of His Divine personality. Each of us plays a role in elaborating this for .אם אתם עדיי, אני א–ל. ואם אתם לא עדיי, כביכול, אני לא א–ל (You are my witnesses and I am God, if you are not my witnesses, I am not God) (ישעיהו מג, יב). She who really lives leaves a trace of her paint on everything she touches- because she is really engaged with it, she touches it. The touch is in the involvement, the engagement, the investment. As Buber said, "All real life is meeting."

It takes significant courage to venture out on the journey of becoming oneself. In fact, one clue as to which direction to go is to consider that place or engagement where we are most afraid of failing, of being exposed, the place where we are most vulnerable. The fear comes because that place is nearest to our heart, where a challenge means a threat to our very legitimacy, yet at the same time, being so close to our heart it also provides the best channel to birth our inner selves into embodied living. The courage to make this push is tied up in the faith of the Divine promise that it will all be worthwhile. In a deep sense, we know that this is the only way we can be really alive, the only way we can hope to approach fulfillment, completion, wholeness, the only way we can really be faithful.

This vulnerable opening of oneself cultivates the sensitivity inherent in spirituality, which is needed to hear the voice calling you. Its development sensitizes you to the other- human, natural, Divine- around you and to your interdependence in hearing, honing, and painting, imbuing an understanding that the others around us are our canvas as we are theirs, and inhering in our highest self-actualization the realization of the interpersonal ethic of tzedaka u'mishpat promised to us as a result of the ברית and as a result of our personal spiritual journeys.
It is no surprise then, that as we put on tefillin in the morning we say,
וארשתיך לי לעולם, וארשתיך לי בצדק ובמשפט, ובחסד וברחמים. וארשתיך לי באמונה, וידעת את ה'.
(I will betroth you to Me forever, I will betroth you to me in righteousness and in justice, in kindness, and in mercy. I will betroth you to Me faithfully, and you shall know Hashem.)
We see that the Divine approach towards man, which man is to imitate (imitatio dei), reflects a loving relationship manifested in ethical and loving relation, through which faithful relation Gd is made known and relationable to man.

the complimentary postive side of teshuva

With the progression of the period of Teshuva and recently begun slichot, we find ourselves in a period of Cheshbon haNefesh, literally an accounting of the soul, a period of introspection, reflection on how we have been compared to how we could have been and how we could be. As one friend advised me, "Imagine the perfect Danny coming to you, what would he tell you? How would he be different from the current you?"

And yet, the process of reflection and teshuva can be difficult. Without neglecting the sincerity and intensity of teshuva, of seeking direction and forgiveness, I've been reminded of the importance of thinking positively in this period, recognizing the good, the accomplishments, the strengths. To quote Farid Esack's insights,

"this opening of our bosoms and struggling to come to grips with who we are must be
accompanied by a loving and compassionate gentleness. We need to promise ourselves
kindness, irrespective of what is uncovered in our journey of self-discovery. I am like a gift
unto myself from someone whom I hold in high regard. This gift may have become dirtied
in a lot of muck and I shall struggle to cleanse it. I shall enjoy the struggle but I shall not be
impatient and destroy it with self-hatred. I am I, inadequate and with lots of hang-ups, but
there is only one me, and so I must be gentle with myself."*

Teshuva is really about orienting yourself and making forward progress on the journey of becoming the best person you can be. Beyond just remembering that as important as it is to be kind to others, and so also to be kind to yourself (after all, that sets the standard for "loving your fellow as yourself), I think that we have to balance the tendency to think of teshuva as a process considering what we did wrong with consideration of what we did right. Ask not only, "Who and how have I hurt in the past year? Where did I go astray?" but also, "Where did I manifest my Godly potential?" In your process of heshbon hanefesh, consider who you are in terms of what are your strengths, your positive qualities. Did you engage them for your own good and the greater good? When? When did you miss an opportunity to do so? What can you do in the coming year to make sure you make the most of yourself? Ideally, the process of teshuva helps us along the path to where we are growing and living out of our strengths and positive traits, and that they are shaping the development and interactions in our lives, not just the distancing from the negatives. This is the difference between just removing weeds vs cultivating a beautiful garden.

We did good
I want to share an acrostic affirming the good we might have achieved over the past year, not to replace, but rather to complement the review of our sins (אשמנו, בגדנו...). Try it yourself, think about the good things you did, and those you might have done, and resolve to continue such into the coming year.

Credit to my friend Zvi Friedlander for penning these words. Think about the positivity, and feel free to pat yourself on the back for each one.

"אהבנו, בטחנו, גידלנו, דיברנו טוב, התחדשנו, והסתקרנו, חידשנו, טעינו, ייעצנו, כיבדנו, למדנו, מרדנו, נתנו, סמכנו, עזרנו, פרצנו דרך. צירפנו, קירבנו, רצינו, שמרנו, שכחנו, תרמנו, תירצנו**, תיקנו."

**בשביל אחרים, במובן של לדון לכף זכות
We loved, we trusted, we helped people grow, we spoke words of goodness, we renewed ourselves, we were curious, we innovated, we erred, we shared advice, we respected, we learned, we rebelled, we gave, we supported, we helped, we explored new territory. We combined, we brought closer, we desired, we protected/did guard duty, we forgot, we contributed, we made excuses*, we fixed the broken.

*made excuses for others, in the sense of giving others the benefit of the doubt

and my own version
איחדנו, בירכנו, גדלנו, דיברנו בכנות, התפתחנו, וואונו, זכרנו, חייכנו, טיהרנו, התיחסנו, כללנו, למדנו, התמודדנו, נאבקנו, סמכנו, עזרנו, ועשינו חיים. התפשטנו***, צחקנו, הקשבנו, ריגשנו, שיתפנו תובנות.

***באופן מטאפורי

We united, we blessed, we grew, we spoke with sincerity, we developed ourselves, we wowed, we remembered, we smiled, we purified, we related to others, we included, we learned, we reckoned, we struggled, we supported, we helped, we enjoyed life. We stripped ourselves of encumbering layers, we laughed, we listened, we enthused, we shared insights.

and now your turn...

*p.54, On Being a Muslim

Man Will Not Live on Bread Alone

We find in the midst of this week's parsha, parshat Ekev, the statement

"כל-הַמִּצְוָה, אֲשֶׁר אָנֹכִי מְצַוְּךָ הַיּוֹם--תִּשְׁמְרוּן לַעֲשׂוֹת: לְמַעַן תִּחְיוּן וּרְבִיתֶם, וּבָאתֶם וִירִשְׁתֶּם אֶת-הָאָרֶץ, אֲשֶׁר-נִשְׁבַּע ה' לַאֲבֹתֵיכֶם
דברים ח:א

If we are to succeed as a people, that is, to live and multiply and inherit the land as was promised to our forefathers, then we must keep every mitzvah commanded by Hashem. Elaborating on the texture of such a lifestyle, pasuk ג reads:

וַיְעַנְּךָ, וַיַּרְעִבֶךָ, וַיַּאֲכִלְךָ אֶת-הַמָּן אֲשֶׁר לֹא-יָדַעְתָּ, וְלֹא יָדְעוּן אֲבֹתֶיךָ: לְמַעַן הוֹדִיעֲךָ, כִּי לֹא עַל-הַלֶּחֶם לְבַדּוֹ יִחְיֶה הָאָדָם--כִּי עַל-כָּל-מוֹצָא פִי-ה' , יִחְיֶה הָאָדָם ...


Hashem afflicted us, made us hungry, AND fed us manna... Why? "In order that He would make known to you that man shall not live upon bread alone..."

Life, real living, is not just about physical sustenance, not just about working for material reward. Sefer Devarim, the book of Deuteronomy, emphasizes the covenant between Hashem and Bnei Yisrael. The covenant is about being part of something larger than yourself, about living in relationship with GD, inviting in the שכינה, infusing even mundane living with "the grace of great things."

The verse "Man shall not live upon bread alone," finishes with: "but upon everything that issues from the mouth of Hashem shall he live." 'Real' living, the kind that is infused with a sense of purpose and of the sublime means standing up to encounter the Eternal, and living a life where threads of sensitivity, passion, perseverance, and faithfulness support the cross-threads of life's vicissitudes, weaving Divinity into the texture of life.

It is of note that in testing the mettle of Bnei Yisrael, Hashem both afflicts and makes us hungry, as well as feeding us. The reality of life is that it's not always a picnic, that our lot, aka everything issuing from the mouth of Hashem, is not always pleasant. As such, we are instructed with mitzvot aseh and mitzvot lo ta'aseh, both positive and negative commandments. We know, for instance, that for children to grown into health, compassionate, responsible adults, they need both love and boundaries. So we have both. Our faithfulness to engage the Divine via restraint, to sanctify that relationship with self-limitation, means that there is more to our lives than just ourselves. With such a commitment we empower ourselves to bring to the dark valleys of our journey the same engagement of the Divine which we feel at the peaks.
'גם כי אלך בגיא צלמות לא אירא רע, כי אתה עמדי.'

May we all have the strength and prescience to immerse ourselves in real living.

Dialogue in Darkness

[From my entry for the Counterpoint Israel blog after our visit to the Dialogue of Darkness exhibit ('the Blind Museum') on the 17th of Tammuz/July 20.]

Yesterday our Counterpoint group had the privilege of going to the Blind Museum in Holon, and participating in the "Dialogue in Darkness" experience. It is called dialogue because it engages one's self with the other, but whose particular insight comes from the darkness, as the subtitle of this participatory museum reads, "Ain ma liroat, aval yesh ma legalot" or "there's naught to be seen, but there is what to be revealed."

It's interesting that sometimes it is only through deprivation of something that we really learn to appreciate its value. The experience entailed a tour along a pitch black route including sightless experience of a forest, a boat ride, a bedroom, music, a street in Manhattan, and a restaurant, all led by a guide who was himself blind. Always led by the self-assured and reassuring voice of our guide in an exploration of our surroundings and a simultaneous tour of introspection, we learned to see in a different light and gained a new perspective on our usual way of experiencing. How much we depend on what we see and how we fumble when rendered sightless!

Rav Yitzhak Hutner, in his collection of articles Pachad Yitzhak, draws a similar lesson from the holiday of Purim and the way it teaches us to view our reality in a new light. Rav Hutner compares the experience in Megillat Esther, a world comparable to our own in their quality of Hester Panim (Hidden Face) - where Divinity does not operate as obviously and explicitly as in much of Tanakh - to the experience of two men in a forest in the middle of the night, tasked with reaching friends on the other side. One is equipped with a candle by whose light he easily navigates the dark forest to reach the people. The other, however, must develop his aural (hearing) sense, and find his way by listening to the voice beyond the darkness. While the first person arrives faster, Rav Hutner cites the question from the Gemara, "What's a candle worth at noontime?" In other words, once day breaks and everything is clear, the person with the candle has gained nothing, but the person who developed his hearing maintains his aural sensitivity, doubly capable of navigating the obstacles of life.

As our guide, blind from birth, pointed out, there are different kinds of blindness. After following his voice in the dark for over an hour, depending on his confident and assured guidance, he spoke a bit about being blind, of particular note, how he is liberated from the trap of judging people superficially, instead able to access their inner persona more directly. I'm reminded of the arch-goal of Judaism, as Rabbi Akiva explains it, "v'ahavta l'reacha comocha," "Love your fellow as yourself," and the insight Erich Fromm brings in The Art of Loving as he elaborates on this manner of relation, that when we relate to people's periphery, we focus on what is different between us, but when we relate to people's core, we realize our common humanity and shared essence, which in the Jewish tradition we understand to be the Tzelem Elokim, the likeness of the Divine.

How can we preserve the insight from the wisdom of our guide and our experience in darkness and let it inform our daily experience? In fact, we recreate that experience every day when we cover our eyes as we say the Shema, escaping from the illusion of discreteness and separation and learning to hear the voice of connectedness, a reminder of greater Unity. As we begin the three-week mourning period marking the destruction of the Temple, whose traditional cause is attributed baseless hatred, the message and insight into our greater G-dly Unity is timely. At first it seemed ironic that our guide's name was Meir, meaning One who illuminates, but at the end of the day, there was no irony at all; it was by the merit of his experience, and our Dialogue in Darkness, that we can appreciate our life experience and mutual connection in a more pervasive light.