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Yom Kippur - September 2002 Mitzvah and Commandedness by Brett Krichiver, Student Rabbi What does it mean to be a Jew? Is it enough to be born Jewish, or is there some sort of belief system we must embrace? What if you're born Jewish, but don't embrace a particular belief system. What if you don't believe that Moses actually parted the Red Sea with a staff of wood? Still Jewish? What if you don't believe that God wanted us to conquer and destroy the inhabitants of Canaan, the biblical Promised Land, when we eventually achieved our freedom in the Torah? Still Jewish? What if you don't really know if there is an omnipotent, omnipresent God who controls the universe? Still Jewish? These are questions which have radically altered what it means to be a Jew over the past 100 years. One hundred years ago, these questions had simple answers. But we no longer live in closed, shtetl communities. As Reform Jews we no longer dress or speak differently from our non-Jewish neighbors. Unlike our people three generations ago, we enjoy personal, often intimate relationships with non-Jews. America has offered Jews the opportunity to fully and forcefully assimilate, that is: equalize, with our fellow citizens. We now have access to more information every single day than our relatives four generations ago could have imagined in their lifetime. Now, more than ever, we are torn between our connectedness to our country, and to the Jewish people. So, in this new world, what does it mean to be a Jew? We could debate this issue for hours - it appears in various forms throughout rabbinic texts, and makes its way into just about every Religious School lesson I've ever taught. But sometimes, the simplest answers are the most important. What does it mean to be a Jew? When do we feel the most Jewish? When we are doing Jewish things. We go to services, we come to Jewish programming, we eat Jewish foods, we celebrate Jewish times of the year, of the week and of the day. We feel even more Jewish when we do these things with other Jews! The rabbis have a word for all of these activities, and it is definitely a word we still use today. Those things that we do that make us feel Jewish, the Jewish activities in our lives, we call Mitzvot. Each one is a Mitzvah. Mitzvot are what make us Jews, the things we do, not necessarily the things we believe. At Mac Cerceo's Bar Mitzvah last month, he discussed the word Mitzvah in his speech. Mac explained that Judaism is built of Mitzvot, which may be translated as, "good deeds," "commandments," or even, "holy deeds." As we worked on Mac's speech we discussed each of these translations. Whatever the word means, the concept is central to what it has meant to be a Jew for the past 2000 years. But what is a Mitzvah? Is it enough to simply say that anything we do together as Jews is a Mitzvah? Growing up in my own religious school, I learned that Mitzvot were when God spent time thinking up things for us to do, and then punishing us if we didn't do them. It didn't matter whether or not we understood the reasons behind why we were supposed to do these things, God knew we loved God when we did the things that God wanted us to do. My teachers were obviously fond of translating Mitzvah as a "commandment," which makes some literary sense. The word comes from the Hebrew verb Tzivah, which means command. But from where do we get this notion of Mitzvah is a good deed? From the very beginning of rabbinic thought, we find the notion that all the Mitzvot as they are traditionally understood, can be boiled down, reduced, simplified, prioritized into a list of ethical behaviors. Maimonides declared in the 12th century that there are 613 commandments in the Torah, although when he got around to actually counting them all is not quite clear. In response, King David supposedly wrote the 15th Psalm, which identifies eleven: "one who walks uprightly, and does righteousness, and speaks truth in their heart, who has no slander on their tongue, and does no evil to their friend, and doesn't pass on gossip about their neighbor, who despises vile people but honors those who fear God, who may lose by their oath but won't renege, who does not lend money at interest, who won't take a bribe against the innocent." There follows the suggestion that Isaiah reduced those to six commandments (33:15), Micah suggests three: "Do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly with God. (6:8)" Isaiah responds with two: "Keep justice and do righteousness." (56:1) and Amos has the final word with one commandment: "Seek God and live!" (5:4) So, the rabbis did translate Mitzvah as Good Deed. They wrote over and over again that keeping Kosher, lighting candles on Shabbat, and all the other details, merely helped us sketch in a vast portrait of an ethical world. They can all boil down to justice, mercy, and truth. We are supposed to strive to make this world a better place - that is the ultimate purpose for Mitzvot, and that is the light we are to shine upon the rest of the world. The Torah only contains one example of a commandment which does not include an action. That is the very first commandment of the Top Ten - "I am the Eternal, Your God. You shall have no other Gods before Me." We must believe in God, but the text is rather vague about how to know whether or not we are following it correctly. Must we believe that God physically alters our lifes' events, or can we recognize God in the small miracles of daily life, in the birth of new life, in the cycles of our world, in the passing of time, in the still small voice inside of ourselves? "You shall have no other Gods before Me." I have no trouble understanding and adhering to this commandment. Unfortunately, the many other Mitzvot found in Torah are not as simple to follow. When presented with the entire spectrum of Rabbinic Law, most liberal Jews I have worked with simply recoil. "We live in the modern world," they say, "surely these rules are no longer relevant," assuming of course that they once were. The problem with understanding the word Mitzvah as a commandment from the heavens is that we are left with a litany of laws with no explanations given. Could God possibly care if I wear linen with wool, or if I sacrifice a Red Cow in order to purify myself for Temple service? While I must allow for the possibility, I have to tell you that I am unimpressed by those laws, if indeed they are laws from God. On the other hand, let us look for a moment at another translation for Mitzvah, an ethical act, a good deed, which somehow fits into a larger concept of justice, of creating a better world for ourselves. In a sense, this concept reverses the direction of the activity. Instead of God commanding me to perform acts of love and kindness, I perform acts of love and kindness in order to create community, to make the world a better place. I cannot accept or believe in a God who commands such specific actions from me as a Jew. But I can and do believe that my specific actions bring me closer to God. I obligate myself to perform Jewish actions in order to facilitate my own spiritual journey. I obligate myself to perform Godly Mitzvot. There is a huge theological division between feeling obligated to do Mitzvot, and obligating myself to do them. In our most recent platform statement, the Reform movement has tried to emphasize this same paradigm. There is value in the traditional Mitzvot not because they are commanded by a conscious and physical God, but because they help guide us on our spiritual path. We must learn to embrace the ethical commandments of Tzedakah and social justice, and we must learn to embrace the ritual commandments as well, because as the rabbis understood, one leads to the other. We must obligate ourselves to become the Jewish individuals we know we can be. Judaism has always been based on this concept that we are defined by what we obligate ourselves to do, not by what we think or belief. As a Reform Jew, I struggle every day to recognize the spiritual path in the active choices I make. Do I give Tzedakah THIS time to the homeless person I pass on the street. I obligate myself to give. Do I tell the truth? I obligate myself to tell the truth. So my challenge to you on this Yom Kippur, as we evaluate the year that has past, and the year that is to come, is to make your own list of Jewish commitments, and commit yourself to them, and struggle to find yourself on that spiritual path. A young boy was walking through the woods when he came upon a large clearing filled with sunlight. The ground of this clearing was covered with layers upon layers of brightly colored jewels. Some of the jewels were quite heavy, and could not be carried, but as he made his way across the clearing, the young boy managed to collect many of the precious stones. He opted to carry several large ones, but also found smaller ones which fit more easily into his pocket. Each of us is walking through that clearing in this lifetime, and our opportunities to perform Mitzvot: good deeds, ethical, spiritual, Jewish actions are endless. Some may seem to heavy for us to bear their burden. Others are more accessible, more easily carried around. As we make our way through the clearing of life, all of these jewels lay at our feet. Looking backwards, we have not picked up enough of them. Looking forwards, there are so many waited to be lifted. (pause) From a small group of friends meeting in the basement of a Church, Temple Bat Yam has arrived in this beautiful space, surrounded by so many wonderful friends and family. Our spiritual journey, facilitated by so much of your energy, your funds, and your devotion, allows us to raise our children in a Jewish school, to come together and welcome guests to Holy Day celebrations, to grieve together, to grow together, to search for God together. So many Mitzvot come from this place, so many Mitzvot are possible with the combined energies of all of us. As a part of this Lake Tahoe community, there are many opportunities to find these Mitzvot, these spiritual nuggets. On this Yom Kippur, we evaluate our actions, not our thoughts. Have we acted according to our own list of Mitzvot, our own list of what we feel obligated to do? Of course, we have not done enough. This year may we obligate ourselves to treat others as we would have them treat us. We have not done enough. This year may we obligate ourselves to give to others in need. We have not given enough. For some of us, we may obligate ourselves to make Judaism a part of the way we eat, and of what we wear, and of our weekly schedules. We have not done enough to share our priorities with our children. Those things we embrace as Mitzvot are commandments: ethical, moral, substantial. Become a member; give a contribution. Volunteer your time and energy. Teach in the religious school, host a Shabbat dinner, answer phones, sell tickets, organize a Channukah carnival booth, start a Torah study group, or join one, or share a Jewish book with others. There are hundreds of ways to get involved, but only one way to make sure you'll do it. Obligate yourself. Make a family covenant describing your Jewish values and how you will live them out. Start a Tzedakah box in your home, and put spare change in it once a week. Spend Friday night with each other, sharing and reflecting on the week that has past. There are hundreds of ways to make Judaism more integral to our lives, but only if we obligate ourselves. Take on a new Mitzvah this year, and define your personal Judaism by what you do, for yourself and for your community, this year. This is what it means to be a Jew, to find a spiritual, personal path, through helping others, through building community, and to use our community to bring ourselves closer to God. |