Parashat Ekev: Mindfulness

 Mindfulness

Thoughts on Parashat Ekev 2020

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It is told that on one Friday night, the Hafess Hayim (R. Yisrael Meir Kagan) reflected upon a well-known midrash regarding the taste of the man which fell in the desert. The Rabbis taught that the taste of the man was dependent upon each person’s individual thoughts or wishes.[1] “What would happen if you weren’t thinking anything?” the rabbi wondered aloud. After a few minutes of silence, he answered the question himself: “If you don’t think, there is no taste.”[2]

 

An important pasuk at the beginning of Parashat Ekev teaches that mindfulness was in fact the essential purpose of the man:

 

And He afflicted you and made you hunger and fed you the man…in order to make you know that not on bread alone does the human live, but on every utterance of God’s mouth does the human live. (Devarim 8:3)

 

Moshe explained that the man was more than just a source of nourishment. By setting the people of Am Yisrael in a context of hunger and discomfort, God forced them to recognize Him as the true source of their life. They were compelled to think about the appearance of each next meal. And the heavenly descent of the man made them mindful of its divine origin.

 

For the past several months I’ve commiserated with family and friends about the many annoyances of coronavirus. We’ve all complained about how the changes to social life, dining venues and travel habits have caused major distractions to our lives. Consider for a minute, though, that we’ve had it wrong all along. Maybe it was actually the life we knew before this pandemic which was more distracting! Think about it. Isn’t the current pace of our slowed-down days more conducive to focus than those of the past? And where better to notice what truly matters than in the natural confines of our homes, together with family?

Shifting our perspective, then, let’s appreciate this difficult time as a rare challenge of mindful “affliction.” It’s our modern-day reality of man.

 

Many of the superficialities which once dominated life are absent for the foreseeable future. The distractions which filled our hours and days have all but disappeared. So, seize this opportunity to become mindful. Use the time to focus on matters of essence. Clear your spiritual lenses to think deeply about yourself. Consider your connection to God. Reevaluate your values and reassess your mission in life.

 

Remembering that “If you don’t think, there is no taste,” commit yourself to discovering the true flavors of life.

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[1] See Commentary of Rashi to Bemidbar 1:8, s.v. leshad.

[2] Cited by R. Shimon Schwab, Maayan Bet HaShoevah (Brooklyn, NY, 1994), pg. 175, and translated in Jonathan Feiner, Mindfulness: A Jewish Approach (New York, NY, 2020), pg. 114.

Parashat Ekev: Presence

Presence

A Message for Parashat Ekev 2018

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Addressing Am Yisrael during the final days of his life, Moshe remembered the events of het ha-egel. He recalled God’s indication to him at the time that the people had sinned:

“And God said to me: ‘Arise, go down quickly from here, for your people that you brought out of Egypt have acted ruinously…’” (Devarim 9:12)

Removing himself from involvement in Am Yisrael’s redemption from Egypt, God seemingly rebranded Moshe as their sole leader. And when Moshe petitioned on their behalf, he responded to God’s claim by deflecting that role and declaring:

“…And they are Your people and Your estate that you brought out with Your great power and Your outstretched arm.” (9:29)

It appears at first glance as if God and Moshe were taking turns at refusing the responsibility of the nation and its sins. I believe that in reality, however, this conversation represented God’s attempt to redirect Moshe’s approach to leadership at that time.

Interestingly, God was not the first to attribute Moshe with the role of singularly “bringing the nation out of Egypt.” The people of Am Yisrael were. In the moments that led up to het ha-egel, they panicked and turned to Aharon, saying:

“Rise up, make us gods that will go before us, for this man Moshe who brought us up from the land of Egypt, we do not know what has happened to him.” (Shemot 32:1)

God’s reference to Moshe in this manner, then, was merely a reference to the nation’s own misperception. And it was precisely that mistake which had inspired their sin. They had, after all, sought “gods” to replace Moshe because his presence as their leader appeared to them as “a god.” What may have caused this misunderstanding?

Consider a particular detail that Moshe repeatedly mentioned in his retelling of this story:

“When I went up the mountain to take the stone tablets…And I stayed on the mountain forty days and forty nights, no bread did I eat nor water did I drink…” (9:9)

“And I threw myself before God as at first, forty days and forty nights – no bread did I eat nor water did I drink…” (9:18)

“And I threw myself before God the forty days and the forty nights that I threw myself…” (9:25)

A forty-day spiritual rendezvous with God is impossible for the simple man. Moshe – and only Moshe “the man of God” – could engage in that experience. And as he reflected on that time forty years later, Moshe stressed that specific detail in order to signify the rift that had grown between him and the people. Indeed, R. Zvi Grumet described Moshe in this context: “He is no longer merely a man, but someone endowed with near God-like capabilities…This cannot have gone unnoticed by the people.”[1]

Returning to the dialogue with which we began, God’s intended message to Moshe may now take full form. His description of Am Yisrael as “your people that you brought out of Egypt” hinted at the distance that had grown between Moshe and the nation. Moshe was no longer seen by them as “one of us,” but rather as a separate and distant “god.” And the tragic outcome of his failed connection to the nation as a “man of the people” was het ha-egel, when they declared: “Rise up, make us gods that will go before us, for this man Moshe who brought us up from the land of Egypt, we do not know what has happened to him.” God’s demand of Moshe after the sin, then, was to undergo a significant change in his approach to leadership. He tasked Moshe with mending his disconnect from the people by making his presence felt and emerging as a “man of the people.”

Leadership expert John P. Kotter distinguished between “management” and “leadership.” He explained that whereas managers organize, leaders align. The potential roles of a football quarterback may demonstrate the difference: A quarterback who describes to his team the next two or three plays is managing. One who explains a totally new approach to the game for the second half of the season, however, is leading. Managers look for the right fit between people and the jobs, by setting up systems to ensure that plans are implemented precisely and efficiently. And management works best in short-term projects. Leadership, in contrast, is involved in long-term projects. A leader searches for the proper fit between people and the vision. He or she communicates the new direction to the individuals who can create coalitions that understand the vision and are committed to its achievement.[2]

Matan Torah had cast Moshe in the distant and limited role of a “national manager.” Consider his descent from the mountain from the vantage point of the nation: He approached them upon return from the superhuman feat of forty days and nights without food or drink while clutching a large set of laws and instructions that he would now transmit to them. He was operating from a distance – almost like a god – as he played out the role of “organizing manager” of the nation.

Reflecting back on that event during the final days of his life, however, Moshe was determined to learn from his experience. He segued from the story of het ha-egel to a demand that displayed his empathetic role as a leader. He addressed the people:

“And now, Yisrael, what does Hashem your God ask of you but to fear Hashem your God in all his ways, to love Him, and to worship Hashem your God with all your heart and with all your being, to keep God’s commands and His statutes that I charge you today for your own good?” … Only your fathers did God desire to love them, and He chose their seed after them, chose you from all the peoples as on this day. (10:12-15)

Stripping away the cold demeanor of a distant pedagogue, Moshe appealed to their emotions. By invoking God’s love of the forefathers and them he was speaking to the people’s hearts – as one of them. Moshe no longer addressed them as a manager who conveyed performance demands, but as a leader who was laying out the broad vision for the future of God’s nation.

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[1] R. Zvi Grumet, Moses and the Path to Leadership (Jerusalem, IS, 2014), pg. 75.

[2] John P. Kotter, “What Leaders Really Do, in Harvard Business Review’s Ten Must-Reads on Leadership (Boston, MA, 2011), pg. 46-8.

Parashat Ekev: The Dangers of 'Too Much" Unity

The Dangers of 'Too Much' Unity

A Message for Parashat Ekev 2017

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Moshe recounted the tragic aftermath of Ma’amad Har Sinai in Parashat Ekev. He remembered the stone tablets that God presented to him “on the day of the assembly” (9:10), the sudden demand that he descend the mountain and contend with the sinning nation at Het ha-Egel (12), and God’s will to destroy them and “wipe out their name” (14). Turning to the people who had gathered in his midst, Moshe beckoned them to examine their past. He urged them to grow from the failure and to make sure to never repeat it.

Moshe’s choice to retell the story of Het ha-Egel in full detail indicates a lesson beyond the sole prohibition of idolatry. He was seemingly urging the people to carefully analyze the story in search of the underlying flaws that led to catastrophe. Moshe was teaching that true growth means uncovering the mistakes that lay at the core of past actions. But he never revealed that secret. He left open the question of “What caused Het ha-Egel?” I believe that the responsibility to answer that question remains as important today as it did back then.

* * * *

Rashi famously cited the Hakhamim’s description of Am Yisrael’s unity as they approached Har Sinai. He wrote that they encamped “as one person with one heart.”[1] The Rabbis’ description of national unity as the prerequisite to receiving the Torah highlights its importance. The Torah’s precise wording in the ensuing episode of Het ha-Egel, however, seems to hint at an ironic threat that was present in that very unity.

As Moshe retold the story of Het ha-Egel, he curiously referenced Matan Torah as “the day of the assembly” (9:10). Indeed, the imagery of an “assembled nation” was a relevant theme to their subsequent sin, as initially told in Parashat Ki Tisa:

And the people saw that Moshe lagged in coming down from the mountain, and the people assembled against Aharon and said to him, “Rise and make us gods that will go before us…” (Shemot 32:1)

Possessed by a common goal, the people banded together in unity to demand the creation of a calf. It appears, then, that the nation’s unity aided their sin. Did it cause it? To answer this question, we must first distinguish between “appropriate” unity, and “too much” unity.

* * * *

And God said, ‘As one people with one language for all, if this is what they begin to do.’ (Bereshit 11:6)

The Torah’s early history provided a cautionary tale regarding “too much” unity, at the Tower of Bavel. The story began with unity: “And all the earth was one language, one set of words” (1). It proceeded with the stated goal: “And they said, come let us build us a city and a tower with its top in the heavens,” and a purpose that was inspired by unity: “That we may make us a name, lest we be scattered over all the earth” (4). Discerning evil in their endeavor, God foiled the plan by baffling their languages and scattering them all over the earth (8). The tale of Migdal Bavel thus exists as the Torah’s stern warning about the dangers of “too much” unity.

In what way was the unity of the people at that time “too much”? R. Naftali Sevi Yehudah Berlin, widely known as Nessiv, described this episode as the world’s first totalitarianism. The people’s “one language and one set of words” represented a suppressed freedom of expression whose purpose was to preserve the masses as a single entity – to “make a name for themselves.”[2]

God’s description of Het ha-Egel represented the chilling repetition of Migdal Bavel in a new context. He first told Moshe how the people had gathered together to create a structure that would rival the true God. He then added a seemingly irrelevant detail. God revealed the words that the people were chanting:

“These are your gods, Yisrael, who brought you up from the land of Egypt.” (Shemot 32:8)

Shifting the attention from the broader theme of the statement and focusing instead on its specific wording, the people’s description of themselves in the third-person – Yisrael – seems odd. It appears, however, that they were now invoking their national name, and declaring its significance. The story of Migdal Bavel had returned! A unified nation had now succeeded in the mission to build a structure which strengthened “their name.”

Moshe recalled God’s immediate reaction to the sin:

Leave me be, that I may destroy them and wipe out their name from under the heavens.” (Devarim 9:14)

God stated that destruction of the people’s physical traces would not suffice. The nation had reached the unhealthy state of “too much” unity, wherein they would sacrifice their individual rights and existence for the realization of a single entity – “a national name.” God therefore told Moshe that he sought more than destruction of the people – he was determined to “wipe out their name.”

* * * *

It is hardly possible to overrate the value, in the present low state of human improvement, of placing human beings in contact with persons dissimilar to themselves and with modes of thought and action unlike those with which they are familiar…Such communication has always been, and is peculiarly in the present age, one of the primary sources of progress. (John Stuart Mill)[3]

Best-selling author and legal-scholar Cass Sunstein highlighted the novelty of America’s founding fathers. He explained:

The Constitution’s framers made a substantial break with conventional republican thought, focusing on the potential benefits of diversity for democratic debate. Indeed, it is here that we can find the framers’ greatest and most original contribution to political theory. For them, heterogeneity, far from being an obstacle, would be a creative force, improving deliberation and producing better outcomes.[4]

Indeed, the United States of America was built on the grounds of “appropriate” unity. It was purposed to set forth a healthy blend of a shared vision and common goals with the freedom of individual expression.

* * * *

Het ha-Egel was born out of a national unity that had grown unhealthy. Individual thought and rationality were suspended in the national effort to solidify “Yisrael” as a single entity. It became impossible to hear the individual voices of dissent above the deafening roar of “These are your gods, Yisrael!”

Standing on the heels of Tisha be-Av, many of us have set our minds upon building national and communal unity. The broader storyline of Ma’amad Har Sinai – viewed from its initial beginnings through its ultimate aftermath – must guide us in this endeavor. It must encourage us to come together as a nation and community by embracing common goals and objectives, but to always leave space for the diversity of thought and opinion.

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[1] Commentary of Rashi to Shemot 19:2, s.v. va-yihan.

[2] HaAmek Davar to Bereshit 11:1-9. See, as well, R. Jonathan Sacks, Covenant and Conversation: A Weekly Reading of the Jewish Bible vol. 1 (New Milford, CT, 2009), pg. 53-5.

[3] John Stuart Mill, Principles of Political Economy with Some of Their Applications to Social Philosophy, 7^th ed. (London, UK, 1909), bk., 3, ch. 17.

[4] Cass R. Sunstein, #Republic: Divided Democracy in the Age of Social Media (Princeton, NJ, 2017), Pg. 49-50