A new dream

                

There are many things that people dream about, from fame and riches to far simpler things like a stable job or even a juicy steak.  But one dream rarely inspires us- to be holy.  To the modern ear, the word holy is dry and heavy, even stifling.  And what does it mean?  Does it mean to pray a lot, to keep quiet a lot, to fast a lot, and to wear a toga a lot?  Or is holy best used to describe a place where we talk in whispers and don’t make any jokes?

 From the Jewish perspective, holiness should be at the top, or at least near it, for our list of ‘dreams’ because that is what is ultimately mandated to us, ‘you shall be holy’[1].  This directive begins the portion that stands alone in the Torah as the only one where every single person was required to be there to listen to it directly.[2]  Other portions of the Torah were taught to the elders and slowly trickled down to the rest of the people.  So what is the Jewish vision of holiness and why should it inspire us?

                The common idea is that to be holy means to be set apart.  The image of an isolated mountain peak with a solitary human sitting in contemplation fits.  The problem with this conception is that the word ‘holy’ in Hebrew is Kadosh, whose variation Kedushin, is the first step towards marriage.  At a Jewish wedding we say the words, ‘behold you are ‘mekudeshet’ to me.   If we understand that holiness means to be ‘set apart’, then how could we say to our wife to be, ‘behold, you are set apart to me’.  The medieval commentators, therefore, state that it means that a wife is separate apart only for me.  [3] In other words, holiness is used to describe the most intense and fiery bond there is- between husband and wife at the peak of inspiration, the wedding.  It takes a relationship and makes it exclusive, thereby, creating passion.  And that is just the beginning.

                We find holiness every Friday night when we take a cup of wine and call it Kiddush, or holiness.  Why?  We are connecting all aspects of our self to an exclusive higher purpose, the Sabbath.  We intellectually think about what the day is all about as we testify to the Sabbath, and then we bring the connection to Sabbath into our emotions with the wine.  And lastly, this Kiddush can only be done at a place where we will eat a festive meal so that our body also connects to the Sabbath.  So not only is holiness a passionate connection as we see by marriage, but it implies a complete connection to a higher purpose. 

               

                Finally, the uniqueness of Jewish holiness is best expressed by the first commandment given to the Jewish nation, to sanctify time.[5]  We determine when the new month begins.  Why did this merit to be the first commandment? Unlike the scientific conception that links time with movement, Jewish time is linked with purpose and holiness.  The word for time in Hebrew is ‘zman’, which at its root means an invitation, as in a ‘zimmun’ or ‘hazmana’.  Each moment of time is an invitation for development- it demands of us something unique, namely, that we take the moment and connect it to purpose. 

                Now that we know what holiness is all about, an unwavering, complete, and exclusive connection to a higher purpose, we need to know how to get there.  Holiness comes about when we focus on a cause, or in other words, we separate from the trivial in order that our connection to that which is purposeful is strengthened.  Again, the separation is a tool, but not a goal.  And even then, it should be temporary.   Ultimately, our connection to purpose should become so electric that, rather than separate from the mundane, our holiness should transform the mundane into part of the connection. That is the ultimate in holiness, and that is only achieved after much toil and after all behavior expresses the purpose to some degree.  When that happens, the gift of holiness descends upon us along with the complete joy it brings. 

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[1] Exodus 19:2

[2] See Rashi to verse 19:1

[3] See Tosafos to Kedushin 2b

[4] Ethics of our Fathers 5:8

[5] Exodus 12:2

A dramatic night

For a long while, my life lacked major drama.  What drama could there be in a dry, academic environment? Granted, compared to most academia, Yeshiva is comparably rambunctious, but dramatic it is not.  Food prepared every night, my only real responsibility was to make my bed and be an astute roommate.   Marriage ups the ante a bit.  Here, another adult is living with you in close quarters and between the two a home needs to run.  At times dramatic, but at other times life flows without a hitch; each person learns what their responsibilities are, and complies with their best.   Then, a child comes along, and suddenly, everything is dramatic.  A bath, no! A bit overtired, watch out.  Food is not tasty, on the floor it goes.  Too full, too hot, too thirsty, too bored- what is going to blow next?  A child lives in the body, and then shouts from the heart with little filter to stop it.  But, they may be on to something.  When a child emotes, the whole world moves.  We spring to action to douse the fire, when appropriate of course.   Obviously, too much movement makes for a spoiled tyke and who wants that.  But, the beauty of that expressive heart is that it moves people so wonderfully- who else can make you spring out of a bed after a few hours’ sleep? 

                This is what Seder night is supposed to be, a call to action.  There is a silent epidemic of boring Seders across the world.  People regurgitate the story, or talk about intellectual points. But Seder night needs to be the most exciting day of the year.  It is heart across the board, inspiration to the umpteenth. By the end of the night, if you are not itching to change the world in dramatic fashion, something didn’t go right.  You were just saved from destruction, and that does not come for free, but for a responsibility.  There is something you are supposed to do for that dramatic rescue; there is a reason why you are here.  And if you haven’t felt saved in your gut, and ready to pounce to action, then another year has been wasted.  

                Everywhere we turn in the Jewish religion, Egypt follows us.  Like a shadow we can’t escape, Egypt lurks.  Before we step into our silent prayers, the last thing on our mind is that G-d redeemed me from Egypt.  Wait, if we are constantly, thinking about Egypt, why do we need Seder night?  We know the story- we said it last year and thought about it every day since then.  Because on Seder night, we are not ‘remembering’, זכירה, Egypt as we do every day, but we are ‘recounting’ םיפור, telling the story in dramatic fashion.  And just like a holocaust survivor’s story tugs at our heart each time we hear it, so too Seder night.  It does not matter that we’ve heard it time and again, because a story form is powerful. It uses details and the art of the question to tug us along.  Our goal on Seder night is to make drama, and the Haggadah is the dramatic child that moves us.