D’var B’reshit, 5775

Professor Ido Kantor, of Bar-Ilan University, teaches such things as condensed matter physics, phase transitions, theory of neural networks, and quantum spin systems.

These are all things which deal with Bereshit. From the explosion of creation of the light and dark from the Big Bang to the creating and trickery of how we think. From the G-d’s voice creating everything, to how something may appear out of seemingly nothing.

Professor Kantor wrote, in 2003, about the missing samekh in Bereshit. Every letter of our aleph-bet is accounted for in B’reshit’s first chapter except for the samekh, which doesn’t show up until Chapter 2, in verse 11.

Of this interesting phenomenon, he wrote:

The samekh is a geometrically closed letter,[3] as hinted by the word sagur, “closed”, which itself is spelled with samekh and by its first appearance in the Torah, in the word ha-sovev, “surrounding”.

As we know today, based on cosmological studies, the universe is spreading, expanding in all directions at every moment, and it may even continue to expand forever.[4] Therefore the world created by G-d could not have been created in an enclosed space, and this is hinted at by the absence of the letter samekh in the text of the creation.

I will conclude with the somewhat obscure words of the Sforno, which, however, seem to allude to a similar idea about an expanding universe:[5]

And the earth was desolate and void – That earth, which was created, was an amalgam of primeval matter called tohu and primeval form called bohu, for it would not be suitable (possible) for primeval matter to exist without being clothed in some form. This, then, was the first amalgam perforce [or necessity], of matter and substance (form). The Torah is explaining that primeval matter was a totally new creation (there being no matter preceding the world’s creation). The matter in this initial amalgam is called tohu for it only possesses potential but no actuality, as it says ki tohu hema “for they are vain” (I Sam. 12:21) that is, something not existing in reality, only in the imagination. The form of that initial amalgam is called bohu for in it the tohu is found, in actuality.[6] The prophet calls avne bohu “stones sunk in the primeval mire” (Is. 34:11), any object which does not remain in a given form for an appreciable period of time, just as we call the initial form bohu which immediately clothed itself in a variety of forms (namely the four elements).

Wow. That’s pretty thick for three paragraphs, but I’ll sum it up.

Obadiah ben Jacob Sforno says we have tohu and bohu. Tohu is the potential of something. Bohu is the realization of it.

Traditional Chinese thought sees matter and energy as the same element, the same stuff. Matter, to Chinese traditionalists, is just the corporeal, solid version of energy.

In other words, tohu is G-d’s intentions manifested through what we come to think of as his voice. Bohu is what we are walking on, what we are breathing, what we swim in, and what we cook with. Bohu is the elements which we use, tohu is the inspiration which we fashion with.

Moving on, one beautiful thing we have in our religion is the knowledge that we will never fully understand Torah. Even so, Torah and science must not contradict each other. Science is truth, as is Torah. Our understanding of each is limited, but as we proceed with either, new avenues of thought, knowledge, and opportunity open up to us.

We ate from the tree, yes. Perhaps, as I believe, we were always supposed to. We suddenly gained knowledge of our own mortality and the workings of the world. We suddenly gained knowledge of right and wrong. We gained knowledge of vulnerability.

Our own Etz Hayim, in the commentary for Chapter 3: verse 22, on page 23, says that “it has been suggested that the tree of life represents the force of instinct, whereas the tree of knowledge of good and evil represents the force of conscience. Once our ancestors acquired a conscience, they could no longer eat of the tree of life, that is, live instinctively, doing whatever felt good to them. People ever since have sought … to return to the days of childhood before they knew that certain things were wrong; but the way is barred.”

This brings me to my final point.

I don’t believe Adam and Eve’s sudden discomfort with nakedness was of the flesh. I think it was something far deeper than that. Nakedness of the flesh is one level, but we always delve deeper than one level.

To be naked is to be vulnerable. It is to have no shielding or shell outside of your skin. It is to be exposed, literally to the elements. Psychologically, though, nakedness is to have your vulnerabilities on display.

In 2011 Wired magazine wrote an article on how nakedness changes our perceptions. They cited a study from the American Psychological Association, published in the Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, and crafted from researchers from the University of Maryland, Northeastern University, and Harvard Medical School. This was a big study from big minds, which confirmed something many of us already know.

That something: people’s perceptions of what others are capable of or how well others should be treated are altered by how much skin the one being judged is showing. A woman in a bikini or a man shirtless was viewed as being capable of more licentious acts than they are of mindful acts. Conversely, cutting their body out of the photo made viewers see them as capable of more agency, or mindfulness, than experience, those aforementioned licentious acts.

Adam and Eve had thoughts they hadn’t had before. They suddenly knew that they were capable of more than just existing and eating what was provided. They were capable of creation, themselves; certainly not on the scale of Hashem, but on a scale which is not insignificant. They were capable of fashioning tohu, their visions, into tangible things with bohu.

They suddenly saw themselves and each other as beings who could enjoy things, whether the wonderful crispy yet pulpy texture of a persimmon, or the flavor of a leaf of mint. Whether the touch of your other half’s fingers on the nape of your neck, to the fullness of emotion that a loving, sexual relationship can bring.

Adam and Eve suddenly saw these nuances and this potential. They became embarrassed, not because of what they were or were not wearing, but because they were exposed and had not yet accepted each other for these new, glorious potentials. The potential to enjoy art, to enjoy food, to enjoy company, to enjoy creation, to enjoy movement, to enjoy companionship…to just enjoy.

Fig leafs created a cover for them. Fig leafs were the bohu for the tohu of reflexively wanting protection in this new state. True protection, though, comes not from what we wear, not a bow tie, suit, dress, or coat, but how we act. Accepting each other for what we are, all we are, and who we are is the best fig leaf for our mind and heart.

Torah and science both confirm it.



Devarim, 5774

This is the text of the d’var Torah I gave for Shabbat Chazon on 8/2/14.

Rabbi Levi Yitzchak says of Shabbat Chazon, the “Shabbat of Vision”, each and every one of us is granted a vision of the third temple.

Both temples were destroyed on Tisha b’Av and, this year, it looks like our enemies are still at it.

Devarim is an extremely interesting parsha, as it is the very text where G-d commands us to take our domain which he has promised.  We journeyed in the last parsha and found our land, now we need to take it.

It’s also interesting that, in Chapter 2, verse 23, we are commanded to take control of Gaza.  It reads “and the Avvim, that dwelt in villages as far as Gaza, the Caphtorim, that came forth out of Caphtor, destroyed them, and dwelt in their stead.”  We have another important and telling link to the number 23: Psalm 23 which is one of the most famous of David’s songs.

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

Yet twice, we rejected his gift to us.  His gift was a divine presence here on earth.  A place where he could live.  A place where we could transcend ourselves; a place where we could experience his glory as best as our mortal bodies were able to.

His temples were destroyed because we turned our backs on the prophets he gave us.  We rejected the tenets He put forth and He could not dwell among us anymore.  Prophet after prophet warned us, most notably Jeremiah.

He makes me lie down in green pastures: he leads me beside still waters.

We journeyed from camp to camp, across desert climes, through valleys, rocks, dirt, and grass.  Floors were the ground, and the best floor we would have had then was grass.  Even more than that, He promised us fertile land.  Land which we could inhabit and which would support our fledgeling, but blessed, nation.

He restores my soul:

Even though we neglected and continue to neglect Him.  Even though we neglect ourselves.  Even though we continue to transgress, hurt, and distress others.

Why would he restore our souls when we do so much bad?

Because we can do so much good.  Because we love.  We are able to build, learn, and teach.  We are able to nurture things large and small, from a single cell up to restoring an entire endangered group of animals.

Shabbat Chazon is traditionally the “black Sabbath.”  The darkest, saddest Shabbat because we are about to relive the destruction of two temples.  Hold onto this particular Mizmor l’David, though, and see that we can make it to Shabbat Shuvah, the “white Sabbath,” right before Yom Kippur.

He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.

He helps and guides us for his reputation.  He promised us that he would take care of us, and gosh-darnit, he’s doing his best.  We complained about being taken out of Egypt, we complained about the giants the spies reported to us, we even had the chutzpah to complain about manna.  I mean, manna.  You could starve out here and davka you complain about being nourished?!

Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death.

We constantly walk through this valley.  Sometimes the walls are higher than others.  Sometimes the shadows stretch farther than others.  Occasionally, the sun dips below the lips of the valley and we are entrenched in darkness.

Somehow, we have always come out stronger and more resilient.  Perhaps us Jews are the rubber of religions: trials by fire harden our resolve and make us bounce back just as sulphur and heat vulcanize rubber.  Perhaps we are the result of a promise someone who loves us made.

I will fear no evil, for you are with me.  Your rod and your staff comfort me.

Why should we fear evil?

Hashem gave us tools to defend ourselves.  He gave us our hands to build tools, our world to supply our needs, and our minds to conceive and plan.  Whether it was a pillar of cloud defending us from the encroaching Egyptians or Operation Pillar of Defense defending us from Hamas rockets, Hashem needs us for his reputation just as we need him for our survival.

He isn’t content with just our survival, though.  He wants us to be taken care of.  We have some of the smartest minds, whether they’re shomer, non-practicing, or anywhere inbetween.  We have created fabrics, machines, and chemicals which help us live better.

Without Hashem’s backing, we would not be able to do this.

You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.

This, for me, is the strongest part of the shepherd metaphor.

If Hashem were sadistic, he would only let us eat when we were among enemies.  Sheep, however, are always surrounded by predators.  They are essentially walking, baa-ing hulks of delicious meat.

Hashem knows that the land, technology, and culture we have are constantly threatened.  Even just the past two weeks we have seen previously hidden anti-Semitism rage back into the spotlight.

We, indeed, have a table prepared for us, in the presence of our enemies.

You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.

We are the chosen people of Hashem.  We have been anointed.  The problem is that it’s often lonely at the top and, once at the top, it’s really easy to fall.

Today’s haftarah talks about that fall.  Isaiah condemns the Jewish people for violating everything good that was set out for them.  Everything that was given to us and everything we worked for was thrown away by neglecting our own communities and G-d.

Hashem has been shocked by his people just as a parent would be shocked when it is exposed that their child is a criminal.  We are told that we’re on the same level as Sodom and Gomorrah, that our nation has become like a harlot, and that we are dumber than an ass.  He tells us that our sacrifices mean nothing to him if they are performed out of habit and not with intent to show gratitude.  He tells us that we can still do better.

He tells us our crimson sins can be washed clean as snow and that the red tapestry of our iniquities can be unspun into fleece.

We are living in a red tapestry right now.  The blood of our own and the blood we are forced to spill defending ourselves thickens every day.

Hamas, is an organization named for the Arabic word meaning “zealotry.”  What are they zealous of?  Destroying us.  Destroying G-d’s promise.  Destroying not just the country Israel, but the people.  Me and you.

Likely not coincidentally, “hamas” is a Hebrew word meaning “violence.”

We are walking through a new valley with the shadow of death enveloping us.  Yet we fear no evil.  We know what we must do and our enemy continues to, literally and figuratively, dig themselves into a hole.  Even just yesterday, our own president finally unequivocally condemned Hamas for violating a cease fire that ended up lasting 90 minutes.  It is a welcome reprieve from the constant condemnation.

This parsha is right on time.  It reminds us that Gaza is not something we should be walking gingerly around but is a territory that has been through the hands of countless conquerors and needs the right tenants, just as a shelter dog is looking for his “forever home.”  Gaza, since biblical times, has been no stranger to conflict, both internal and external.

We, however, need not be afraid of our conflicts, for justice and peace are on our side, though they may seem fleeting.

Back to Rabbi Levi Yitzchak of Berdichev for a minute.  He shared a story about a father and his son.  This father prepared a beautiful suit for his son to wear.  The son, however, neglected to take care of this suit and it soon was in pieces.  The father made his son a second suit which quickly suffered the same fate.  After some thought, the father decided to make his son a third suit, but he never gave it to his son.  On special occasions he would show the suit to his son and remind him that once he learned to appreciate it, it would be given to him.  The son was inspired to improve his behavior little by little, anticipating the day he would be worthy of that suit.

That suit is the third temple.  The place where Hashem can dwell among us.  The arrival of Moshiach.  Shabbat Chazon is the time when we’re called to action not to be afraid of this valley of the shadow of death.  We are assured that as long as we keep doing what we know is right our cunning, our strength, and our compassion will finally bring the subject of Chapter 2, verse 23 in line with the ending of Psalm 23.

May only goodness and kindness follow me all the days of my life.
May I return to the house of the L-rd, forever.

Shabbat Shalom.