The Bells We Need
From the Kaddish, by Joey Weisenberg. For the kids and their teachers z"l.
Dear friends,
The question is how do we respond to such a devastating week? One answer is: with a bell. (If you have one nearby grab it, it might come in handy.)
A few weeks ago, I spent a couple days on a Zen monastery in the Catskills. Every time a bell sounds there, everything stops. Conversations pause, movement, thoughts, chewing. Instead, people breathe. We can practice that useful, grounding Zen way during the next few minutes.
B e l l
That’s only part of the answer, but if we can do that it can protect us from the spiraling emotions and fears. It can remind us that our lives are right here where we are and not over there, in the headlines. It can remind us to look around and see what is in front of us, to listen to what’s around us and to know that the leaves are still growing on the trees and the cabs are still speeding around the city even if most of them are now called Ubers.
Yesterday I met with a young Trans person thinking about their upcoming B Mitzvah. They were trying to make sense of taking on this ancient tradition whose holy book commands the execution of homosexuals and the harsh punishment of cross dressers. Part of our job as Jews, I told them, is to define which parts of the Torah may have come from a divine source that cuts through time, and which came from a limited human source. This is what it means when we say that we were given the Torah. “But why is it in there,” they ask. Because the Torah represents reality, not just the ideal. So, things like that must be in there. When we accept the Torah we accept reality, we say yes to life with all its faults.
B e l l
The bell, like the Torah is about both acceptance and the fight.
When the Temple was destroyed 2000 years ago our tradition adapted by radically transforming Jewish practice. No more single place of gathering. No more pilgrimage to Jerusalem three times a year. And most importantly, no more animal or harvest sacrifices. Instead of sacrifices came prayers.
In the morning prayers, after the early morning reciting of the verses detailing the sacrificial service in the Temple, we find the following sentence:
“May it be Your will that the speaking of these words be accepted by You as if we offered the daily sacrifice at its proper time, its right place and according to rule.”
I always considered this move the salvation of Judaism, when it turned from the concrete to the abstract, from place to time, from physicality to spirit. It democratized the entire practice, wresting it out of the hands of the priests and into the interpreting bodies and minds of the people. But this week, when I watched Steve Kerr respond to the horrific mass murder in Texas, I saw it differently.
“No more moments of silence,” he said, and I wondered: where is the sacrifice? Where is my sacrifice, the concrete action, the stepping out of my life to solve a problem that keeps getting closer and closer, that could steal the greatest gift I have, my life and the life of those I love? What am I giving up for sanity, for justice, for safety, for community? What happened to the sacrifices we are commanded to give every day, every holiday, every year?
My instinct to understand modern sacrifice as action is another piece of that radical first century transformation:
"Rabban Yohanan ben Zakkai once was walking with his disciple Rabbi Joshua near Jerusalem after the destruction of the Temple. Rabbi Joshua looked at the Temple ruins and said: “Alas for us! The place which atoned for the sins of the people Israel through the ritual of animal sacrifice lies in ruins!” Then Rabban Yochanan ben Zakkai spoke to him these words of comfort: “Be not grieved, my son. There is another way of gaining atonement even though the Temple is destroyed. We must now gain atonement through deeds of loving-kindness.” For it is written: “Loving-kindness I desire, not sacrifice.” (Hosea 6:6)”
B e l l
In the final poem of the Book of Psalms, in the line before last, we hear two types of bells:
הַלְל֥וּהוּ בְצִלְצְלֵי־שָׁ֑מַע הַֽ֝לְל֗וּהוּ בְּֽצִלְצְלֵ֥י תְרוּעָֽה׃
Praise Her with resounding bells;
praise Her with loud-clashing bells.
What’s translated here as “resounding” is the Hebrew word Shama, like Sh'ma – to hear. Bells of hearing. This is the first type of bell we need. The one that brings us into the present and reminds us that what is happening in the world is simply human beings being themselves. Nothing unique about it. Like the buzzing of the flies.
What’s translated as “loud-clashing” is the Hebrew word T'ruah – loud cries. This is a word often associated with battle, the call of the warriors as they run into the battle field, or the cries of jubilation that welcome them after a victory. It is a sound related to action, to doing what needs to be done despite the danger, despair and pain. This is Hemingway’s bell that tells us: “Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.”
These are the two bells we need. Let’s find our center this Shabbat, and then let’s get to work.
B e l l
Before I sign off I want to make sure you know you are all invited to our final night of the Kumah Festival on Shavuot night, June 4th on a rooftop in Chelsea. It will be a special evening of re-interpreted Psalms, wonderful music, learning and wine. All the info HERE.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Misha