A few years ago, I took up rappelling, the art of descending sheer cliffs by rope and harness, so that we could explore the red-rock canyons of Southern Utah. After I had begun to learn the basics, Steve, our guide, said to me, “You’re one of those people who wants to speed up when your adrenaline starts to flow.”
Some things in life have to be earned, and some things cannot be. We can earn respect and reputation by our behavior, but sometimes we need help, or forgiveness, or just a break, that we haven’t earned and don’t deserve. And we can also give to others gifts they don’t deserve and don’t have to earn. That sort of undeserved kindness is captured by the word Hesed, often translated as lovingkindness.
The other day I had coffee with Hal, the father of one of our chavurah members. He had just written his second novel, this one based on his amazing experiences as a Jewish-American soldier fighting the Nazis in World War II. We got together to talk about his book.
One of the current terms of religious discussion that I’ve grown to suspect is “spirituality.” I’m tired of hearing people say, “I’m not religious; I’m spiritual,” which often means I don’t have any outward signs of religious or transcendent life, but, trust me, I possess many lofty sentiments.
Chesed or loving-kindness is an essential human attribute, but it’s first of all a divine attribute. If we want to cultivate chesed, we should pay attention to how Hashem exercises it. And God’s chesed is on display at the conclusion of the Haftarot of Comfort, the passages from Isaiah that we read during this period between Tisha B’av and Rosh Hashanah.
“Enthusiasm,” for most of its history as an English word, has had a mixed connotation. The word literally means “being possessed by a god” and by the 18th century had come to mean “ill-regulated religious emotion or speculation.” The Oxford Universal Dictionary gives a 19th century example: “Everywhere the history of religion betrays a tendency to enthusiasm.”
During the month of Elul and throughout the Days of Awe, our tradition recommends reading Psalm 27 twice each day. In this Psalm, David stirs us up to hope, courage, bold confidence in HaShem, and one other trait that is especially relevant for the High Holy Days, and for the middah of simplicity as well.
The REI catalogue arrived in the mail the other day and I discovered all kinds of things that I really needed, which I didn’t even know existed the day before. I got some relief after I sent the catalogue to the recycling bin, but later that day in a conversation with a friend I learned about several books that I absolutely had to read and a new movie I should definitely see while it was still in the local theaters.
As the presidential race heats up, I’m struck—and troubled—by how invested in one candidate or party many believers seem to be. It’s good to be involved in the political process, but the passion with which some believers demonize the opposition and line up with one party line or another suggests that they really believe the political system holds the key to life’s toughest problems.
Yeshua seems to have this same ethical stretching in mind when he tells us to not only love our neighbor, but to love our enemy. If there’s anything that will push us beyond the comfort zone it’s this. And the demand is only heightened when we remember that Messiah links “love your neighbor as yourself” with the greatest commandment of all, “love Hashem your God with all your heart, soul, and might.”
I think I’m a pretty patient guy, but I saw something this week that put my patience to shame.
