Me & Mr. Lulav - Chol HaMoed Sukkot 5772

Entertaining a baby for a moment is not necessarily the most difficult thing in the world to do. Keeping a baby entertained, however, is more often than not an incredibly challenging project. While I was clearly too young to remember, my mom tells the story of my first airplane flight. Desperate to occupy my attention and prevent my screaming and freaking out, my mom was resourceful, working with what was at hand. She grabbed the first thing she saw and quickly drew a smiley face on the paper bag in front of me. Thus was the birth and creation of Mr. Barf Bag. Somehow, some way, that dumb little character held my attention, and Mom’s goal of placating me was achieved. So to this day, in my family, Mr. Barf Bag is a lesson in necessity being the mother of invention, in resourcefulness being a key—not only to parenthood, but life as well.

This past Wednesday evening, we ushered in 5772’s version of Sukkot. I always feel bad for Sukkot. Worse than being overlooked, Sukkot is all-too-often intentionally neglected, something we’re not interested in doing because it’s just days after Yom Kippur and, frankly, we’re all “holidayed out.” Which is just a shame, because that’s exactly what Sukkot is supposed to be a release from. We’re supposed to be chillin’ in huts, eating meals together, enjoying nature, sleeping out under the stars if the weather isn’t too bad. It’s basically a week-long tailgate party, commanded by God, and who couldn’t use that after the intensity of the High Holy Days? Instead, we blow it off, we lament the bunching up of Jewish holidays in one month while having none the next, and we start the countdown to Chanukah.  

So, on this Shabbat Sukkot, as we take a look at the lulav and the etrog, ritual items somewhat more sacred than Mr. Barf Bag, we wonder: what do they teach us? What can we learn from the lulav and etrog that we can take with us long after we take down our respective sukkot?

Many of us know that the lulav’s three parts plus the etrog are known as the Four Species, representing all of the growth and vegetation we thank God for on this joyous occasion, the Festival of Ingathering, celebrating the harvest and the miracles of the natural world. Tonight I want to look at a midrash, a rabbinic interpretation, that likens each of the Four Species to one of our own body parts, and share something we can learn from each. Because, to quote the midrash directly, “There are none among all the limbs greater than these, for they outweigh the whole body in importance.”

First, the lulav. While the term lulav is used to refer to all three branches together, the lulav is actually the palm frond that forms the center. This, the rabbis say, is like the spine. If you look it at, the lulav branch is strong and powerful. In this aspect, the lulav teaches us how important it is to stand up for our principles, to straighten our backs and stand tall for what is right and good, even in—especially in—the face of challenges and obstacles that lie in our way. And yet, the lulav is also surprisingly fluid in its motions, in its shaking, considering how rigid it seems to be at rest. This teaches us that, as significant and essential it is to stand up for what we believe in, when there are things in our lives—in our relationships, our work environments, wherever—that aren’t such issues of principle, aren’t matters of life and death no matter how much they may seem to be in the moment, we need to be flexible and go with however the wind shakes us.

Second, the hadas, the myrtle. The leaf of the myrtle, the rabbis say, is like the eye. It reminds us that having eyes that are truly open is so much more than a physical act, and so much more easily said than done. Tali and I have noticed that Jonah, now almost 17 months old, just does not fall asleep in his stroller. And that’s cause when he sits in it, he’s staring at everyone and everything, waving and smiling at passersby, trying to drink in every ounce of the world with his eyes. And to sleep, to close his eyes, would be to miss all of that. When our eyes are wide open to all of the wonder and mystery of the world and everyone in it, open to just some of the infinite experiences it can offer us, then it becomes a powerful, spiritual experience.

Third, the aravah, the willow. The rabbis say the leaf of the willow is like a mouth. And this teaches us the tremendous power of our words. The harsh word—the insult, the lie, the deriding joke, the gossip, the inciting to violence—all of these remind us of the terrible destruction and utter devastation our speech can engender. But the kind word—considerate and thought-out, heartfelt and genuine and well-delivered—can make all of the difference in the world to someone, no matter what they’re going through.

And lastly, the etrog, the sweet-smelling citron. The etrog, the rabbis say, represents the heart. Our hearts, like our eyes, need to be open to all of the possibilities this world has to offer, to the personal encounters and relationships that can change our lives for the better. They are there, waiting for us to initiate them, to take hold of those moments and create new ones, to make each of our destinies not only an unending work-in-progress, but more importantly, a work of our own making. And those moments can only happen when our hearts are truly open, ready to receive the bounty of blessings and gifts that God has made available to each and every one of us.

May the lulav and the etrog inspire each of us—through our principles and flexibility, through the power of our words, through open eyes and open hearts, to be the best people we know how to be, and to make 5772 a happy, healthy, sweet, meaningful, and successful year for ourselves and each other.

AMEN.            

I Don't Give A Darn - Yom Kippur Afternoon - The Holiness Code

SHANAH TOVAH UM’TOOKAH, a healthy, happy, and sweet new year to you.

It’s actually amazing that, almost 75 years after its debut, Abbott and Costello’s “Who’s On First?” has held up as a brilliant and hysterical piece of comedy. Though I have listened to it probably hundreds of times, I still refuse to skip past it when it comes up on my iPod, and I still laugh just as hard, if not harder, than the first time I heard it when I wasn’t yet 10 years old.

Towards the end of the bit, when Costello is, maybe, finally getting it, he says, “I throw the ball to Who. Whoever it is drops the ball, and the guy runs to second. Who picks up the ball and throws it to What, What throws it to I Don’t Know, I Don’t Know throws it back to Tomorrow—triple play! Another batter gets up and it’s a long fly ball to Because. Why? I Don’t Know, he’s on third, and I don’t give a darn.” Abbot says, “What?” Costello says, “I said, I—don’t—give—a darn!” And Abbott says, “Oh, that’s our shortstop!”  

With this year’s opportunity to take a closer look at the Holiness Code, the portion from Leviticus we read on Yom Kippur afternoon, two verses in particular stood out to me, and called to mind the conclusion of “Who’s On First?”:

“When you reap the harvest of your land, you shall not reap all the way to the edges of your field, or gather the gleanings of your harvest. You shall not pick your vineyard bare, or gather the fallen fruit of your vineyard; le’ani, v’la-ger ta’azov otam, ani Adonai Eloheichem, you shall leave them for the poor and the stranger: I the Eternal am your God.”

Here it is, literally commanded of us to give up some of what is technically ours for those in the community who need it more than we do. And, unfortunately, when we look at what we have, all that is in our figurative harvests and vineyards, all too many of us look away and say, “I don’t give a darn.”

There is no doubt that the slumping economy has impacted all of us, some more than others. But we absolutely, unequivocally, in no uncertain terms, have to give something. Simply put, there is always something we can give. We all have our indulgences—the things we do spend money on for ourselves because we want to—iPads, clothes, concerts, drinks with friends. And that’s not an indictment of anyone. Because life is to be enjoyed, and there’s nothing wrong with making ourselves happy.

But, my friends, the challenge—amid the High Holy Day themes of sacrifice and doing without—is to see where each of us could do just a little less of those things—one less gadget, one less concert, one less dinner or round of drinks, or pair of designer jeans, and put something—anything—away to give to charity. See if you can make one more contribution this year than you did last year. Even if it’s $18 or $36 or $72—whatever it is. Certainly the thought is not complete on its own, and certainly the amount of the contribution does matter, but it’s like any other human behavior—it’s something we learn by teaching ourselves, by getting ourselves into the regular habit, the custom of giving. The Sages teach that mitzvah goreret mitzvah, that one good deed leads to another, and another and another.            

Give a darn. Give a little now to one charity, next year give a little more, or give the same to two, and so on. And I bet you’ll find over time that you actually enjoy it; not only that it makes you feel good, but it makes you feel holy as well.

SHANAH TOVAH UM’TOOKAH, G’MAR CHATIMAH TOVAH.