Trees and other signs of creation

Elul 22

I think that I shall never see

A poem lovely as a tree.       

 

A tree whose hungry mouth is prest           

Against the sweet earth's flowing breast;   

 

A tree that looks at God all day,     

And lifts her leafy arms to pray;    

 

A tree that may in summer wear    

A nest of robins in her hair;

 

Upon whose bosom snow has lain; 

Who intimately lives with rain.         

 

Poems are made by fools like me,   

But only God can make a tree.

(Joyce Kilmer)

My earliest memories of poetry and of gratitude for nature live in this poem. Kilmer’s observations and simple appreciation touched mine; I have, ever since, been moved by the very presence of trees. To me trees are constant reminders and symbols of pure creation.

e.e. cummings communicates this and more when he writes:

i thank You God for most this amazing

day: for the leaping greenly spirits of trees

and a blue dream of sky;and for everything

which is natural which is infinite which is yes

(i who have died am alive again today,

and this is the sun's birthday;this is the birth

day of life and love and wings;and of the gay

great happening ilimitably earth)

how should tasting touching hearing seeing

breathing any - lifted from the no

of all nothing - human merely being

doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and

now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

These words, themselves, and the encounter with the grandeur of creation they suggest, are a meditation for these days of Elul.  This, alone, can return us with gratitude to a sense of appreciation and gratitude for everything.

The prayer of Reb Nachman offers another lovely way to pause, reflect, and be grateful as we return - to nature, to creation, to God:

God, grant me the ability to be alone!

May it be my custom to go outdoors each day among the trees and grass

among all growing things,

and there may I be alone,

and enter into prayer,

to talk with the One to whom I belong.

May I express there everything in my heart,

and may all the foliage of the field

all grasses, trees and plants awaken at my coming,

to send the powers of their life into the words of my prayer

so that my prayer and speech are made whole

through the life and the spirit of all growing things,

which are made as one by their transcendent Source.

May I then pour out the words of my heart

before your Presence like water, God,

and lift up my hands to You in song,

(Adapted from Likutey Moharan, Part I, # 52)

Rabbi Jim Bennett

Teshuvah, Tefilah, Tzedakah

Elul 21

The three tenets of the High Holy Days can be described as Teshuvah (repentance), Tefillah (prayer) and Tzedakah (charity).  We know these Hebrew words are important, for they are at the center of the worship services for both Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur - the two holiest days of the year.

If those ideals are at the center of our thoughts, then I'd like to challenge their English translations - for they are difficult to understand and somewhat childish, if looked at too literally, but more on that in a minute.

The place where these three words are present come at the end of Unetaneh Tokef prayer.  Unetaneh Tokef  and its surrounding liturgy discuss in pretty serious detail that "on Rosh Hashanah it is written and on Yom Kippur it is sealed: who will live and who will die; who will be rich and who will be poor..." and what method of death those who die will suffer. The end of the section exclaims: "But repentance, prayer and charity will temper judgement's severe decree," insinuating that if you repent, pray and give charity you can rest a little easier.  I don't about you, but I'm theologically and ideologically challenged by the notion of predestined fate, especially based on how much someone prayers or gives in charity.

Therefore, I'd like to suggest the following more palatable way of looking at the words Teshuvah, Tefillah and Tzedakah.

• Teshuvah means literally to return. It can be interpreted as repent as in wiping a slate clean.  Teshuvah is about recognizing your true and honest essence, without all the baggage and extra self-imposed expectations, successes and failures.  Returning to a clean, true essence of who you are is the only way to understand transgressions, fears, accomplishments and threats.  
• Tefillah literally means prayer.  In Hebrew, the verb is reflexive, indicating that it is something that has to oneself. By the very nature of the word, it's turning us inward, asking us to examine ourselves. God doesn't need our prayers, we need to offer them. 
• Tzedakah is often erroneously translated simply as charity.  The root is tzedek meaning just and right.  Completely acts of charity are surely just and right, but they don't define the word. Doing what is needed in this world for those who need it most might be charity, but it is what is commanded of us to be just. 

Who will live and who will die - this is a tough thing for us to think about.  But actually, it's fairly normal.  For better or for worse, there are people who will die between this Yom Kippur and next.  Some will be of an old age and have lived a full life.  Some will be young and taken from us way too soon.  Some will die quickly and quietly without suffering; and others, unfortunately, will see pain and suffering before their death.  There is no rhyme or reason for this - illness, for the most part is purely random.  To suggest that there is a magical Book of Life that records who's been "naughty or nice" is folklore and scary that action or inaction can predispose someone to life or death, painful or painless.  That is not the Judaism that I signed up for. 

Rather, consider that giving yourself the space to be a person that searches for your essence is an important aspect of Teshuvah. Praying inwardly for peace inside yourself and then for the world is Tefillah. And,  Tzedakah means using that true essence and prayerful/intentional space for good in the world through acts of justice and righteousness is completing a circuit of goodness in your life.  Thus, when we die - and we all will - we will not fear death, but rather reflect on a life with the dignity and courage of a life lived with true essence, prayerfulness and justice.  

The clincher for me, is that all of this possibility - every bit of it - lies completely within each of us.  

Cantor Seth Warner

Listen

Listen

The craving for distraction –

maybe you should open

four different social networks

in four adjacent tabs –

is a messenger.

Some part of you

wants to pretend

you’re not feeling tender.

Your beating heart is too big,

too vulnerable.  You've stretched

until your skin’s too thin,

your knobby places exposed.

Offer a gentle greeting

to the little girl who hopes

that if she spurs the acrobats

and keeps the sparks flashing

no one will notice

the smudges on her knees

or the circles beneath her eyes.

Let her stop performing.

Ask your aches to gather round

and teach you what they know.

Then they can go, gentle

as a hair drawn out of milk.

This poem, by Rabbi Rachel Barenblatt, has always moved me.  I think of how often we put on a façade or a smile or some sort of show for the world around us – trying to distract others and ourselves from some of the struggle and pain of living. 

What would happen instead, if we welcomed those struggles or mistakes as our teachers, reminding us that we are all vulnerable, that we all suffer, that it is OK to sometimes feel broken or lonely or scared.  Now is the time to begin dismantling the walls that we have built around our hearts.  For maybe, in doing so, we can let go of some of the anger or resentment or cynicism we feel.  And maybe, in doing so, we can create a space within …

for compassion,

for understanding,

and for forgiveness of ourselves and those we love.

Patience

Elul 19

Remember when we would call someone and leave a message on their answering machine, hoping to hear back within a few days?  Today, we send an instant message and expect a response within seconds.  If we don't hear back, we become frustrated, worried, or angry.  We live in an age of instant gratification and expectations of instantaneous communication and immediate response.  We have been conditioned to believe that we should never be out of touch, and it is increasingly unreasonable if we don't get what we want, when we want it.  When someone is going to be out of touch, out of the reach of electronic communication, we call it going "off the grid," as if they are odd, out of sync with the rest of society.

I am as guilty of this impatience as anyone, if not more.  I cannot stand getting stuck in traffic, I become frustrated when I have to stand in a line at a store, I become impatient when I have to deal with someone's incompetence or lack of concern for the time of others.

Our Jewish tradition recognizes this challenge when it holds up the virtue of "savlanut," the Hebrew word for patience, as an aspiration for us all.  To be patient is to learn to be at peace with what is, even as we hope for more.  To be patient is to be gentle, with ourselves and others.  To be patient is to forgive, to slow down, to recognize and respect the needs and time of others as much as our own.  To be patient means to be more in touch with the present and less in a rush to get to the future.

We may particularly recognize our own impatience in conversations.  It is so easy to interrupt others, to think we know how they will finish their sentences before they do, and to finish them ourselves.  I struggle with this challenge, as do many of us.  To exercise patience is to also practice self-respect, and respect for the other.

During Elul, perhaps we can become more aware of the virtue of patience, and begin to practice the gentle art of listening, waiting, respecting and being present in our relationships. We can become more patient with ourselves, forgiving ourselves our shortcomings and allowing ourselves to be conscious of each moment.  We can be more patient with others, more respectful of their strengths, and more grateful for the blessings they offer.  And we can become more patient with the Divine, more willing to see the amazing miracles around us every moment.

Rabbi Jim Bennett

Returning to True Essence

Elul 18

As you probably know, the Hebrew word for repentance is "teshuvah."  I've written about how repentance and return a little here before, but there are yet more interpretations and yes, even additions to things that I had already closed the door on.  One of the beauties of Elul for me is the reality that I'm never done, it's never enough and that there's rarely a stopping point - and that's all expected and okay! The sense of the continuation of self-discovery is critical - I wish there was a way to make it so obvious all year long. 

Teshuvah literally means RETURN - but, as I've eluded to before in this posts, I'm not sure I want to go back to where I've been - I want to move FORWARD!  In doing more reading, I am not alone.  

This is not to suggest that there is anything inappropriate in repentance.  Before you can embrace the right path, you must leave the wrong path, you must regret having taken it, you must go away from it.  

 But return is much more profound.  It's not just going away from bad behavior, it is going back to your true self, your Divine soul... it's returning to the essence that was always pure - it is returning to God.  

There are two levels of Teshuvah.  The first level involves cleaning up the mess in your room, so to speak... this is step one - making order and repairing that which was broken.  But step two, the critical step, is connecting to your essence.    [above from: 60 Days: A Spiritual Guide to the High Holidays , by Simon Jacobson. 

What is your essence? 

Where are we truly RE-turning to?  

What about who you are now is true to your essence? 

What about who you are now is not true to your essence? 


interesting tip, no extra charge :) This is the CHAI, 18th day of Elul.  As you know, chai represents the letters chet and yud which spell out the Hebrew word for LIFE.  

Cantor Seth Warner

The Sounds of Silence

Elul 17

The other night, after taking the dog out to burn off a little energy, I sat down in one of the big orange chairs in our front yard for a few moments.  It was a dark, but clear night.  I didn't see stars, but the moon, that had been growing bigger night by night, was hanging low in the sky, looming so beautiful and large.  I had this strange sensation of feeling both insignificant and small … and at the same time feeling more connected to the natural world than I had in a very long time.

It was quiet.  Even Baxter had settled down in the grass next to me, and for a moment all I could hear was his quiet panting and the rustling of the wind through the leaves in the branches above.   

For a moment, I was open to stillness.  
For a moment, I was present to the world just as it was.  
For a moment, there was peace. 

Then a car came barreling down the road, lights shining, music blaring – and the moment was gone.

For most of us, it is rare to sit in silence - open and present to whatever lies before us.  It is rare, and it is a gift.  As noted earlier, one of the traditional practices of Elul is setting aside time for silent reflection each day.  Even sitting in silence for just ten minutes on a daily basis allows our racing minds to settle a bit, and this settling of the mind allows us to see our lives more clearly.  In true silence we might finally be able to listen to what our hearts are yearning to say to us about where we are in our lives and why we sometimes feel so lost or so far from our deepest aspirations.  

These moments are actually moments of awakening.  
They are the stirrings of teshuvah.  
And they begin with silence.   

Gratitude

Have you said "thank you" today yet? During this month of Elul I have been trying to make sure to say thank you as often as I am able.  Gratitude is such a basic attribute, yet incorporating a sense of appreciation and thankfulness into our lives often eludes us.  Our Jewish tradition offers us a simple way to do so:  As the morning arrives each day, we are encouraged to say these words:

“I give thanks before Your Presence, eternal and living God who returns my soul within me with compassion. Abundant is Your faithfulness.”	מוֹדֶה אֲנִי לְפָנֶיךָ | מֶלֶךְ חַי וְקַיָּם | שֶׁהֶחֱזַרְתָּ בִּי נִשְׁמָתִי | בְּחֶמְלָה. | רַבָּה אֱמוּנָתֶךָ: |
Modeh ani lifanecha melech chai v’kayam shehechezarta bee nishmahti b’chemlah. Rabah emunatecha.

I remember having to be reminded to write thank you notes and say thanks as a child.  When I was a college student, my grandfather, of blessed memory, even resorted once to including, with a gift he and my grandmother sent me, a self-addressed, stamped envelope and a note for me to sign that said "Dear Grandma and Grandpa, Thanks so much for the gift.  Love, Jimmy."  I learned the lesson and never forgot to write them a thank you note again.  Ever since, I have striven to remember to say thank you, to be grateful, each day.  Some days it is easier than others. But there is so much, so very much, for which to be grateful.

While in Israel this summer I heard the music of an Israeli folk singer and poet named Meir Ariel, whose short life ended tragically in 1999.  The impact of his music and lyrics remains, however, and one of his most haunting melodies is entitled "Modeh Ani - I give thanks."  Discovered by a friend of Meir Ariel's on a homemade recording and in handwritten notes after his death, Ariel's words and music inspire me.  I hope they do for you as well:

 

"Modeh Ani" by Meir Ariel

מודה אני

לפניך ולך

על כל החסד והאמת

והטובה והרעה והטובה

שעשית עמדי

ועם ביתי

ועם קרובי וידידי ועם בני עמי

ועם ארצי, ועם כל העולם והאדם

אשר בראת.

בלאט, חרש חרש

אט אט, טופפות

עתידות עתידות לקראתנו,

ואת מחייכת אלי מתוך השינה.

יהיה לנו טוב, טוב מטוב, טוב מאוד,

זה מתחיל כבר בבוקר בבוקר

את צוחקת אלי

מתוך מתוך השינה.

I'm grateful

Before You

For all Your truth and grace

and the good, and the bad, and the good

That You've done with me and with my household

And with my relatives, friends and fellow citizens

And with the whole world and its people

That You've created

Slowly, and silently

Walking mincingly

Is our future to come

And You, are smiling, to me from your sleep

Things will get better, much better, you'll see

It starts early in the morning

And You, are laughing

To me, from your sleep.

Thanks for reading and listening,

Rabbi Jim Bennett