This is part 10 of 12 sections of a new course in Jewish Spirituality. If you have not read Parts 1 through 9 send us an email click here and we'll get them right out to you. The demand for spirituality has grown dramatically in recent years as a solution to the increasing dissatisfaction of pressure and tension from the modern social and economic environment. A new section will be added every month for one full year. Please be sure to come back to us again next month.


Chapter 10 –  Getting High on the Holidays

As the world awakens from it’s long winter slumber, the Rabbis saw fit to celebrate the coming of spring, the start of the agricultural year, with the first in the Festival cycle—Pesach. Two more, each commemorating a seasonal solstice or equinox follows this significant eight-day holiday. Shavuot was designated as the summer festival and Succot represents the abundant harvest of autumn.

According to the Torah each Festival was indicative to some aspect of the agricultural year, which was  later translated into the human life cycle of birth, growth and maturity. At some time in our history, the Rabbis realized that one season was omitted, so they instituted Chanukah, a non-biblical eight day holiday to commemorate winter, symbolic of the final stage of life, decay. These four holidays represent great spiritual significance for us all. They escort us through the major spiritual concepts of redemption (at Passover), revelation (at Shavuot) and salvation (at Succot). It is our intent that these monographs arranged in seasonal order and which are by no means complete, can serve to open your mind to  deeper, more humanistic insights into these hopeful seasons of the year. We hope that you bookmark this section where you can return at each season for further inspiration.

Topics: (click on any link)
Spring
Pesach Is Not Over Yet
Reflections After Passover
The Computation of Days
Summer
At The Foot Of Sinai
Tisha B'Av: 9th of Av
Fall
Getting High on the Holidays
Facing the New Year
Sealed in the Book of Life
A Day of Awe
Awakening on Succot
Winter
A Gift for Chanukah
The New Year for Trees
Purim  Shpiel


Pesach Is Not Over Yet                              [back]
If you think that since you already went through the Seder, drank four cups of wine and consumed a sumptuous dinner than you did Passover. You're wrong! There's much more to it than that. This holiday and it's linkage to Shabbat and Rosh HaShanah is truly a mystic journey. The excursion begins, as in all spiritual travels, in a state of bondage; a circumstance by which one is enslaved to a number of contents of consciousness-thoughts, desires, and emotions. If we focus on the bondage of, let's say, the Jews in the Soviet Union, the Jews of Ethiopia, the blacks in America, the rights of women and minorities, we than pay homage only to the outer value of these issues. Spiritual work dictates that we concern ourselves with the inner values. One can be a slave to desires such as money, possessions, relationships, and the lack of which tends to generate emotional issues. We can be enslaved to our thoughts or beliefs as, say, one whose political affiliations or scientific theories become his master.  

We go through the first step of the process at Passover with the attentive reading of the story, and the focus upon the Pascal sacrifice. The Jewish sacrificial laws are an instrument of spiritual growth, personal change and transformation. On Passover, it's the sacrifice of the Pascal lamb, represented by the Matzot and the roasted lamb shank that's symbolized in our imagination as the redemptive sacrifice.  

The work that began at the Passover Seder needs to be completed during the rest of the Festival year. In the Shabbat evening kiddush we encounter the reference to "recalling the Exodus from Egypt" and a "remembrance of the work of creation." Shabbat links Pesach (the Exodus from Egypt) and Rosh HaShanah (creation) together. Interestingly, the Haggadah explains that the Exodus is to be remembered not only on Pesach, but twice every day, as well.  On Shabbat we are freed of our everyday activities to experience the freedom of Redemption and to the primordial experience of the Garden of Eden.

That period between  Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur is commonly referred to as the Ten Days of Repentence (T'shuvah). As we are bound to begin redemption on Pesach, we now continue the work of repentence which culminates on the High Holy days.

The question of T'shuvah or coming out of Egypt centers on what's going wrong in our lives. Traditional sources regarding T'shuvah seem to oversimplify the matter. They suggest that all that is necessary is to recognize the offending behavior and vow not to repeat it. The problem really is that we don't see our own failings, but others observe them clearly. To identify with what's going wrong in our lives is to detect where our lives are not working. Take, for example, a person who just got married for the third time. He believes his previous mates were at fault, not seeing how he contributed to the failed marriages. Other self-defeating behaviors are often a result of some kind of fear. This would be like a person who has to please everyone for fear he wouldn't be liked or accepted. What in your life isn't working and what holds you back from living life to its fullest? The answer to these questions is the next step in completing the Passover process.

Reflections After Passover                              [back]
We never got to a seder this year. My wife came down with what we first thought was a flu, but a few days later diagnosed as pneumonia. This was just a few days before Pesach so we spent the week eating sick foods and matzot, by ourselves. That, of course, didn't stop me from preparing for the seder because whether we were there or not, we still needed to regard ourselves as if we had personally gone forth from Egypt. Perhaps it was because I knew we wouldn't participate those nights that I became all the more conscientious about delving into the Haggadah and its Talmudic references. What emerged for me were more questions: can we really ever come out of bondage? It struck me-to my amazement-that maybe we can't and maybe it's OK not to be redeemed, at least not all at once. And that's why we tell the story over and over again, year after year so that we might eventually become liberated.

As I got past the four questions at the seder in my mind, I got to the tale of Rabbi Eliezer, Rabbi Joshua, Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah, Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Tarphon who spoke all night about the Exodus from Egypt until a disciple showed up and reminded them that it's time to say the morning prayers. I guess I felt a little like  Rabbi Elazar ben Azariah who was amazed that he finally understood Ben Zoma's explanation of why the Exodus story needs to be recalled at night as well as by day. I too realized it's not only at the seder table, but it's twice a day, every day and on Shabbat too that we are to recall the Exodus from Egypt. The footnote in my Artscroll siddur to the phrase "I am the Lord your G-d, who brought you out of the land of Egypt to be your G-d" specifically requests that we intensely concentrate on these words, as we conclude the Sh'ma.  This work is not just for Pesach it's continual and that's why we can't be redeemed at the seder table.

Then more questions arose. What actually is bondage? Can we be enslaved to beliefs, to possessions, to thoughts, to relationships?   Boy, was my mind on fire.  Then another insight!  Aha, the secret of Pesach is in the Afikomen which represents the paschal sacrifice. That's why the father tells the wise son the laws of Pesach and intentionally explains the Afikomen. How then would you help yourself or someone to come out of bondage? I then came up with these notions. First recognize we're not free and then identify what part of us needs to be redeemed. We need to also become responsible for what's not working in our lives which means that we need to stop blaming others or outside events for our predicament.

Next we need to sacrifice our enslavement; that's where the Afikomen or paschal sacrifice comes in. To sacrifice means to give something up.  Could this be the deeper meaning of tsedakah (righteous giving); I wondered? If I could learn the feeling of giving up prized possessions-and in biblical days livestock was certainly a valued commodity-then I could learn to give up core beliefs that keeps me in bondage.

Finally I remembered the line from the Haggadah "and the Lord brought us out of Egypt, not through an angel, not through a seraph, and not through a messenger, but the Holy One blessed be He, alone and in His glory."  Is the Haggadah really saying that what we need to do after the sacrifice is allow G-d to do the work of taking us out of bondage? So every day of the year that I remember the Exodus, remember my own enslavement and do my part then slowly as each seder rolls by, I will eventually be redeemed. It's a kind of pact we have with the Holy One; we do our part and He does His. What a seder that was even if we couldn't be there.

The Computation of Days                              [back]
Have you ever seeded a lawn? The best time to do it is around Pesach, in early spring. First you rake the soil smooth, spread the fertilizer, sow the seed and start to water each day. Soon afterwards you start to worry: after all the hard work, will the seeds ever germinate. What do you do in the meantime? You count the days. "Let's see" you think to yourself, "I sowed the seeds on the tenth; it takes about two weeks for the seedlings to sprout, so about the twenty fourth I should have grass". Meanwhile you just water and count the days while you anxiously await the little green sprouts to pop through the ground. Perhaps that's the kind of anxiety the ancient Israelites went through as they  patiently counted the Omer and awaited the spring wheat harvest that held answer to whether there will be enough food for the year.

This is precisely what the Torah had in mind for the period between Pesach and Shavuot, when it said, "you shall count off seven weeks (from the second day of Pesach). Start to count the seven weeks when the sickle is first put to the standing grain. Then you shall observe the Feast of Weeks (Shavuot) for the Lord your God" (Deut. 16:9). The festival of Shavuot is decreed in Leviticus 23: "And from the day you bring the sheaf of elevation...you must count until the day after the seventh week--fifty days; then you shall bring an offering of the new grain to the Lord. Shavuot was originally an agricultural festival like all the festivals, but as agriculture became more remote, the counting of the Omer developed into a more spiritual observance.  With the destruction of the Temple this sacrificial offering along with so many others was abandoned and Shavuot became a token recollection of the revelation on Sinai.

Can you imagine the anxiety that must have overcome the Israelites each year, wondering if they'll have enough food for survival? We deal with anxieties--fears that may occur in the future--all the time but how can we cope with them? Perhaps one option is counting. Let's say I'm nervous about being unable to pay my bills at the end of the month. There's not much to do about it in the present; what remains is to count the days until the bills are due. Think of the joy you would experience if you find some extra money you overlooked and your worst fear is alleviated. Imagine the joy of observing the shade of new grass sprouting through the ground or the exultation the Israelites enjoyed as they beheld the wheat crop flourishing.

There's a certain tension going on during this seven week period that's motivated by the anticipation over the wheat harvest. We get a glimpse of this stress from the moderate mourning rules that go along with the period--no music, no weddings, no haircuts. Lag B'Omer, the thirty third day of counting provides a day of relief from the tension. Perhaps we, as American Jews living a life of relative luxury, can't appreciate the emotion of these days, but we can empathize with our ancient bretheren by acknowledging the stress we live with today.

The Kabbalists dealt with the anxiety of uncertainty by working on their inner character traits during the period of counting the Omer. They devised a rather complicated array of the Ten Sephirot in which pairs of sephirot were assigned to each of the forty nine days. They devoted some time each day meditating on and contemplating these paired qualities, with the intention of transforming their characters enough to receive the Torah at Sinai. How might we deal with our own anxieties today?

Shavuot is the culmination of the Omer period which is another opportunity to deeply explore within ourselves to determine what prevents us from receiving the Torah at Sinai. It's a chance to turn a seemingly insignificant part of Jewish tradition into a supernal moment worthy of receiving the Torah, the gift of higher consciousness. The seven weeks of counting and the two festivals provide yet another example of how Torah  concerns itself with the growth, development and well-being of the Jewish people.

While the giving of the Torah is what God does on Shavuot, our role is to receive it. During the Omer we prepare by shaping ourselves into vessels to receive the Torah. Each of us creates a receptacle made of our self-inquiries and desires. This process draws out of a universe saturated with blessings, just those that your vessel requires. This is the thirty sixth day, comprising five weeks and one day, for the Omer.

At The Foot Of Sinai                              [back]
Shavuot, one of the three major festivals, has a way of slipping by us almost unnoticed.  In the book of Exodus (chapter 23), God commands the Israelites to hold three festivals a year—Pesach, Succot and Shavuot—when all males shall appear before the Lord with sacrificial offerings. The festivals required long and tedious journeys by foot from all parts of ancient Israel to the Temple in Jerusalem, and on Shavuot the pilgrims were to offer the first fruits of the harvest.  What was originally an agricultural holiday evolved through the centuries to become a festival of great spiritual significance.

The sacrificial offerings enumerated in Leviticus 23:17 were specific: you shall bring from your settlements two loaves of leavened bread, as bikkurim (first fruits) and a designated number of bulls, goats and lambs. Then the tone of Shavuot is set in Deuteronomy with the mandate that each Israelite brings a freewill contribution according to the abundance of produce that God granted him. It was the leavened bread, however, that set Shavuot apart from the other holidays. Sacrifices had always consisted of domesticated animals, grains and fruits. But leavened bread, is the natural product from the land combined with man’s effort of mixing, kneading and baking; a cooperative venture between God and man.

The sages of the Talmud, during the compilation of the Mishnah, sought a special occasion in which to honor the awe-inspiring event of receiving the Torah on Sinai. Since the Revelation seemed to coincide with the seven-week period of counting the Omer after the exodus from Egypt, the “Giving of the Torah” was assigned to Shavuot. Without the opportunity for further agricultural celebrations after the destruction of the Temple, Shavuot came to be identified primarily with  “Matan Torah” the giving of the Law on Sinai.

How do we account for the majestic awe attributed to the events at Sina, with thunder and lightening, with smoke engulfing the mountain and the voice of God breaking through the blast of the horns?  What does it mean to us in this day and age?  Rabbi Zalman Schacter once put it this way, “While the giving of the Torah is what God does on Shavuot, our role is to receive it. During the Omer we prepare by forming ourselves into vessels to receive the Torah. Each of us creates a receptacle made of our needs and questions. This process precipitates the drawing down out of a universe saturated with blessings just those things that your vessel requires. This is each persons Torah”.

Rabbi Schacter prevails upon us to realize that each one of us is a unique individual with unlimited possibilities for spiritual growth. Just as Pesach ushered in springtime accompanied by the rebirth of nature, Shavuot, analogous to summer’s ripening produce, suggests our own personal growth. Pesach is not the culmination of our liberation; but it’s the inception, to be fostered every day of the year. By the same token, Shavuot expresses our on-going potential for spiritual fulfillment.  

After the Shavuot evening services, especially among the more observant communities, there is a custom of sitting up all night to study passages of the Torah and its related writings.  This ritual, developed by the 16th Century mystics of Safed, is known as Tikkun Leyl Shavuot, the repair of the night of Shavuot.  It speaks to us of healing, repair and how it is to come about. Shavuot means “weeks” or the Feast of Weeks; it falls out just seven weeks after the second day of Passover. The morning services proceed according to the order any other festival liturgy including the recitation of Hallel, specified songs of praise to God. Sometime during the service, a period is reserved for the chanting of the book of Ruth, much like Song of Songs is recited on Pesach. No one is certain of the reason why we include “Ruth” on Shavuot.  Some say that King David was both born and died on Shavuot, and he was a descendent of Ruth.

What we need now to emphasize the significance of this festival is some new meaningful approach, in which we can all participate. Not many would sit all night immersed in intellectual analysis, but all of us could select several relevant verses of Torah, and bring some personal meaning into it as our way of receiving the Torah on Sinai. The source of Jewish inspiration is to be found in the Torah. In one view, Torah is the mediation point between God and the Jewish people. “The Pentateuch”, writes Rabbi Lawrence Kushner, “is God’s Torah; each one of us is our own Torah whose purpose in life is to align our Torah to His Torah. The reading for the first morning of Shavuot is Exodus 19 and 20, which encompasses the drama portraying the Giving of the Law. We could create such scenarios, for example, as—imagine yourself as one of the Israelites at the foot of Mount Sinai at the moment of the revelation. How do you picture the scene at the foot of the mountain? What sounds can you hear?  What does this all mean to you? In the second Commandment, God tells you not to worship sculptured images. Why is He so concerned about this injunction? Why does idolatry seem to have such a negative connotation in Jewish tradition? What do you think sculptured images represent? Have you ever made sculptured images in the past? Will you make them again? From some of our responses, we could hopefully envision just what it means to receive the Torah

One final note of interest: the festivals and holidays debated in the Talmud are probed in the second of its Six Orders, Mo’ed (Appointed Times) that deal with the laws of Sabbath and the Festivals. Shavuot is the only festival included in the first order, Zera’im (Seeds), that deals with the laws of agriculture. There is something uniquely different about Shavuot, something that we should perhaps pay closer attention to.

Tisha B’Av: 9th of Av                              [back]
Tisha B'Av means "the ninth (day) of Av." usually occurs in the English Calendar during July or August. The Fast of the Ninth of Av, is a day of mourning to commemorate the many tragedies that have befallen the Jewish people, many of which coincidentally have occurred on this ninth of Av. The worst of Jewish tragedies occurred on the 9th of Av, most notably the destruction of both Temples. (the first by the Babylonians in 586 B.C.E.; the second by the Romans in 70 C.E.).

Although this holiday is primarily meant to commemorate the destruction of the Temple, it is appropriate to consider on this day the many other tragedies of the Jewish people. In chronological order it's source began with the sin of the spies whom spoke negatively about the land of Israel to the Jewish nation (noted in the book of Bamidbar of the Torah). That same night the Jews mourned for lack of faith. Ever since, G_d had given the nation a real reason to mourn in correction of this lack of faith. Throughout history, the Temples burned, the Jews were expelled from Spain in 1492, Pogroms and World War I and II have all occurred on this momentous day. In the future this day of mourning will completely turn into a day of rejoicing as the true Moshiach will be born on this day removing the yoke of the nations around us.

Tisha B'Av is the culmination of a three-week period of increasing mourning, beginning with the fast of the 17th of Tammuz, which commemorates the first breach in the walls of Jerusalem, before the First Temple was destroyed. During this three-week period, weddings and other parties are not permitted, and people refrain from cutting their hair. From the first to the ninth of Av, it is customary to refrain from eating meat or drinking wine (except on the Shabbat) and from wearing new clothing.

Tisha B'Av is an appropriate time for all Jews to mourn what we have lost.  Many of the customs of mourning are in effect during this period, which gives us the opportunity to look deeply into our lives and mourn for what we once had. Mourning requires that we attentively observe our feelings of what has departed from our lives. There’s not much else to do but observe the feelings as they arise without fleeing from them. The more diligently we’re willing to face the feelings, the sooner they will depart from your life. The feelings that accompany loss are often painful, but the effort of making full use of these weeks of grieving is highly cathartic and purifying. Tisha B'Av is an ideal opportunity for us to complete the process of healing as an entire community.

The restrictions on Tisha B'Av are similar to those on Yom Kippur: to refrain from eating and drinking (even water); washing, bathing, shaving or wearing cosmetics; wearing leather shoes; engaging in sexual relations; and studying Torah. Work in the ordinary sense of the word is also restricted. People who are ill need not fast on this day. Many of the traditional mourning practices are observed: people refrain from smiles, laughter and idle conversation, and sit on low stools.In synagogue, the book of Lamentations is read and mourning prayers are recited. The ark (cabinet where the Torah is kept) is draped in black.

The physical connection of the entire Jewish people to Jerusalem comes to the fore, obviously, when King David conquered it from the Jebusites, paid for the holy site on the Temple Mount and made the city his capital. After the destruction of the First Temple, the majority of the Jewish population was swept into exile in Babylon, by whose rivers they swore to weep for Zion, "If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, may my right hand forget its cunning. May my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I do not remember you, if I do not place Jerusalem above all my joy."

In the Maccabean era, the very essence of the fight for Jerusalem was to establish the Jewish nature of the city and drive out pagan practices from Temple ritual and Hellenism from public life. Under other circumstances, there would have been no national uprising against Jewish subordination to the Greeks. The importance of Jerusalem as a national symbol grew with subsequent periods of foreign domination: during the Great Rebellion and the Bar Kochba Rebellion,coins were minted in memory of Jerusalem.It is, however, only after the destruction of the Second Temple that the significance of Jerusalem is transformed into that which we know today - a focal point, around which Jewish life turns and towards which the entire Jewish people's national aspirations and messianic hopes are directed.

Thus, we find that not only is this a spiritual connection, but also a physical one: all synagogue interiors around the world are built facing Jerusalem. Indeed, the daily and festival prayers abound in references to Jerusalem- in terms referring to the city and in lengthier text; the liturgy contains five major blessings relating to Jerusalem, while many other community and home rituals also describe and commemorate the Holy City. Jerusalem is the major topic of pre-modern Hebrew poetry, and the Kinot - the mediaeval and subsequent mourning lituurgy of Tisha Be'av - focus time and again on Jerusalem as they lament the trials of the Jewish people throughout its history of exile.
As the inevitable cycle of life continues and repeats, traditions connected with Jerusalem have been enshrined to remind us that even joy is not complete without Jerusalem: a plate is broken at the signing of an engagement contract; a groom breaks a glass under the bridal canopy after the ceremony; one small section of the wall in every new house is left unplastered or unpainted - incomplete.

For generations, it was impossible for most Jews to dream of living in Jerusalem themselves, but they participated by supporting those communities which resided there, hosting guests who had travelled from Jerusalem to raise funds. This was more than a form of charity: it brought Jerusalem to everyone and everyone to Jerusalem - a way of life. Diaspora Jewish life would be incomplete without Jerusalem: the hope for redemption and for the return of the people to Eretz Yisrael has always focused on Jerusalem. It is a longing and a hope which are most poignantly felt and expressed on Tisha B' Av.


Getting High on the Holidays                              [back]              
As we enter Elul, the last month of the Jewish calendar year, we are requested to critique our behavior for the previous eleven months in preparation for the process of repentance and forgiveness.  The theme of forgiveness, at this time each year, is probably based on a Midrashic legend that tells of Moses ascending Mt Sinai, on the first of Elul. He remained there for forty day to plead for forgiveness for the quintessential sin of the Golden Calf. Intense prayer dominates these days beginning with the recitation of Selichot (penitential prayers) during Elul and continues towards the two prayerful days of Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur, the day Moses triumphantly descended the mountain with the tablets of commandments in hand.

As the High Holidays come closer I recall my frustration that I had never been properly taught to davven (pray); it was just never taught in my Hebrew school and my guess is that it's not skillfully taught anywhere. The most instruction I ever had was a siddur placed in my hands with an admonishing finger pointing to the place. I can only assume that we all received the same instruction. It's a shame because prayer is such a natural, instinctive and inherent activity--communing with God--that somehow got lost.  Most of us will make our annual pilgrimage to the synagogue on these days but many of us won't see the inside of a synagogue again, unless invited to a bar/bat Mitzvah, until next year this time. Many of us dutifully show up in the synagogue, where we mechanically go through the rituals and impatiently await the final Shofar blasts. For those who decide to make the best of it, why not learn to make the most of it.

For my own spiritual development, I ultimately needed to master the art of prayer, not only for the high holidays, but for all services including Shabbat as well.  At first I came to realize that Jewish services are not ceremonies, like graduations or inaugurations; this is not a time to sit back and be entertained by the rabbi or the hazzan, but a time to participate as a member of the congregation. A gym is a place to stretch our physical muscles; the synagogue is where we 'work out' our spiritual muscles and build our spiritual practice, our avodah.

Getting high is intimately related to being mindful of God at all times; the closer to God we get the higher we go and the prayer services provide that opportunity. Later in my quest I discovered that the efficacy of Jewish prayer comes from two sources-- silence and singing--something you won't find it in the responsive readings, the sermon or even the Torah reading. The silence is the reconnection to our higher selves and to God. The music sets your heart soaring to new heights. In a manuscript entitled  Bnai Machshavah, Children of Thought, which was buried and later found after World War II, Rabbi Kalonymus Kalman Shapira, the Rebbe of the Warsaw Ghetto wrote, "music is a key to the soul, it opens us to our spiritual feelings and potential". The prayer service is a love song, like all love songs, from all traditions; they're about praise from lover to beloved, God and His people. The words and the melodies may take some time to learn but the effort is well worth the while for the sheer delight of prayer.

I found that getting acquainted with the prayer books--Machzor for the High Holidays and Siddur for all other occasions-- while learning to pray was extremely helpful. With a little scrutiny, I soon realized that the order of Sabbath, holiday and festival services is basically the same. They all contain one or more warm-up Psalms, blessings before and after the Sh’ma followed by the Amidah, the standing prayer which is the essence of all Jewish prayer. What differs is the mussaf (additional) service that follows the Torah service. It's here in the Mussaf that the meaning of the holiday is extensively elaborated; mussaf is the time to really listen up. The Jewish prayer book is not to be viewed as a book of information, of uplifting thoughts or a book to be studied.  It is a handbook for spiritual practice. The three principal motifs throughout prayer, those of praise, petition, and thanksgiving—cherished words of endearment—serve the main purpose of Jewish prayer: korbannot (drawing closer to God).

Getting high on the holidays is opening to the spirit of God. Prayer which functions through the power of the imagination enabled me to express, as I became a more proficient in davvening, all the emotions that I felt in the synagogue—love, joy, humility, connection. It is when we get more emotionally involved with prayer, rather than relying on our rational minds, that we can experience joyous feelings and know we have come closer to God and His blessings.


Facing the New Year                              [back]
When does the year begin?  The Talmud tells us that there are four New Year observances: the first of Nisan is the Rosh Hashanah for Kings and pilgrimage festivals. The first of Elul is the Rosh Hashanah for tithing cattle. The first of Tishrei is the Rosh Hashanah for the computation of years and the 15th of Shevat is the Rosh Hashanah for fruit trees. (Rosh Hashanah 1:1). One theory suggests that the Rosh Hashanah which is about to occur may have been rooted in an old Babylonian custom which took place about this time of the year to celebrate the bountiful harvest and in gratitude renewed obedience to the throne. The Jews, who were exiled there at that time, returned to Israel borrowing the custom but transformed the obedience to the throne into obedience to God, the true King. The Rabbis of the Mishnah concluded that the first of Tishrei is when God again is crowned as King and when God again passes judgment on the world either by renewing life or sentencing death. The Rabbis decided that this judgment day was the head of the year and from there went on to establish the Jewish calendar.
As the seventh month, Tishrei also becomes the Sabbath of months with its concern for rest and renewal; as we read in the prayer book "and on the seventh day He ceased from work and refreshed (va'yinafash) Himself". So the motif of Rosh Hashanah is one of spiritual renewal rather then merely a new year.

We commemorate renewal through the mitzvah of T'shuvah-repentance. We take an inventory of our behavior during the past year, determine what is inappropriate and vow to make changes for the New Year. We also celebrate Rosh Hashanah by hearing the blasts of the Shofar, the wake up call to repent. Guess what? It doesn’t work. The reason is that most unbefitting behaviors, we’re not aware of. ……..Let's take a little deeper look. The Hebrew root of T'shuvah means to turn or to return; it implies turning toward God. We have to rule out the notion of God as an old man in the sky looking down and judging our actions. To be a bit more sophisticated, turning toward God is turning inward; into consciousness—our sensations, emotions and thoughts. The deeper we go the closer to God we get.
How do we attempt to do battle with the negative qualities of our personalities? The answer lies in attending to the three themes of the Rosh HaShanah mussaf service: Kingship—the recognition of God as King; Remembrance—exploring our consciousness to acquire self-knowledge; and the Shofar-the ram’s horn that connects us with awe inspiring events as at Sinai.
Kingship: We have to decide for ourselves the source of the strength we will need to make the necessary changes in our lives. It’s not an easy task. There is always the great struggle between what the mind (the storehouse of past memories) dictates, and what the soul (the source of love and healing) requires. The Kingship motif helps us to realize what the Torah, in so many ways, conveys that the “outstretched arm” of God is our source of overcoming every obstacle.
Remembrance: The Torah, from its historical perspective, gives us the opportunity to actually look back, as far back as Sinai if necessary, and remember the pivotal moments in our lives. To the extent that we could recall those traumatic experiences, our lives will benefit, as such memories stir the soul to finding its rightful equilibrium.  We don’t need scientific studies to tell us how “Remembrance”, a very spiritual practice, puts the broken pieces back where they belong.
Shofar: We cannot engage in that battle between the mind and the soul, unless we can advance against our enemy with the blasts of trumpets, as troops did in bygone days. The Shofar sounds the wake up call to action. Furthermore, we accepted God as our King, on Sinai, amidst the Shofar blasts ushering the covenant of holiness.

 From the Talmud Rosh HaShanah 3:8 we read "And it came to pass when Moses held up his hand that Israel prevailed, and when he let down his hand Amalek prevailed." (Exodus 17:11). But could the hands of Moses encourage or hinder the battle? The verse means to teach that when ever the Israelites directed their thoughts on high and kept their hearts in subjection to their Father in heaven, they prevailed; otherwise they suffered defeat."
Changing wrongful behavior is not simply a matter of choice. It takes deep introspection into the depths of ones personality—the acquisition of self-knowledge and the recognition of God as the true King and healer.

The new year is typically the time that we make resolutions. What areas in your life do you think needs change? Should you be eating less fattening foods? How about choosing to start an exercise program? Or perhaps getting rid of excess stuff around the house? Such meritorious choices are fine for January first, but on Rosh HaShanah Jews resolve to do tshuvah. Then, and only then, will the New Years eve resolutions fall into place.
Le-shanah tovah tikatevu.  May you be inscribed for a good year.

Sealed in the Book of Life                              [back]
Yom Kippur, the most solemn day of the Jewish calendar year is a time when I  think seriously whether our self denial on that day actually secures our inscription in the Book of Life. We greet each other with l'shanah tovah tichatemu, may you be sealed for a good year. Is it just a matter of sitting passively in shul all day, denying vital needs, or is there something that we can actively do to assure inscription?
In the Rosh Hashanah liturgy, we find the moving prayer Untane Tokef that asks,"who shall live and who shall die" and answers,"repentance, prayer and charity remove the evil of the decree". I can understand repentance and prayer, but how come charity? Charity means giving or for-giving--in favor of giving. To forgive another is being in favor of giving something to yourself.
T'shuvah, returning to the presence of God, which in some imprecise way became defined as repentance, is the hallmark of the High Holidays. Somehow repentance is connected to forgiveness. We pray for forgiveness for our sins against God; created in the image of God, we have to forgive those who hurt us and we have to ask forgiveness of those we knowingly hurt. There must be things we do wrong, even though at the time, we're not aware of it, for which we have to make amends, atone--an eye for an eye.

Atoning for sins is the first step in the process of making T'shuvah, of becoming constantly mindful of God, a process that began at Rosh Hashanah. Atonement centers around the sacrifices that the high priest performed in the days of the Temple. Sacrifices, like the ritual of the  scapegoat, elaborated in the Yom Kippur liturgy, contain the same sort of magic as those sacrifice that took us out of Egypt at Passover. The first atonement took place on Yom Kippur when Moses prayed on Mt. Sinai for forgiveness of the sin of the Golden Calf, the archetypal sin. Like Moses we are expected to expiate our sins, to pay for our misdeeds through prayer and sacrifice. We sin unknowingly and unwittingly against God because we are spiritually insensitive to His plan for the universe and our individual role in it.
When I first came to comprehend Yom Kippur on a deeper level, I realized I had to reflect on prayer and fasting more seriously, rather than just behaving spartan for the entire day. I began to listen more carefully and to visualize as the hazzan portrayed the role of the high priest, ritually reenacting the drama of making expiation for the House of Israel with his entry into the Holy of Holies and ordained sacrifices. It was then that I knew that the mystery of atonement lay hidden in the mussaf amidah.

I probed into the nature of sin. I found that cheyt, the Hebrew term for sin, finds its roots in the idea of missing the mark, like an archer inaccurately releasing his arrow.  If we think of our relationship with God as our target, a sin is missing the mark, pointing to something other than God. I used to think that sin is an action morally condemned like cheating or lying. Now I know sin as being out of tune with the universe, not hearing the subtle Divine messages that are constantly impinging upon us or worshipping other gods like money, for instance, for what it can buy.

Then I wondered whether I am confessing my personal sins or are we confessing the sins for all Israel like the high priest? It seems as if confession and the other forms of self denial make us more humble and vulnerable to the possibility of starting the new year with a clean slate. Maybe that's what being sealed into the Book of Life actually means. The Al Cheyt confession, the catalog of sins we admit even if we have no knowledge of doing wrong, is our way of making the sacrifice that compensates for the sins we sinned.
The Mishnah on Yom Kippur offers some discussion on fasting; the Torah requires that we practice self denial but mentions nothing about fasting; somehow the later sages concluded that the two were synonymous. I found that food deprivation brought me to altered states of consciousness--not hunger--which rendered me more receptive to Divine intervention and a clarity that atonement was immanent.
Throughout the Torah and the writings of the Prophets, we are constantly reminded to keep God's commandments and we're duly warned of the repercussion if we fail to heed those words. The greater part of Jewish law, particularly the laws we classify as mishpatim, the everyday laws, concern themselves with righting a wrong, with paying for damages. From this, we might surmise that atonement is an on-going process and not necessarily a once-a-year event. If we start with Yom Kippur to become more attentive to our daily actions, perhaps then we can keep that slate clean and be sealed in the Book of Life.

A Day of Awe                              [back]
On the eve of this past Yom Kippur, my six-year-old granddaughter, Moriah, eagerly came along with me to the synagogue for the Kol Nidre service. As we walked, I was wondering how I could best explain the holiday to a child. I began by telling her that God wants us to be the best people we can be, so if we make mistakes, which we call sins, we can ask for forgiveness on Yom Kippur. I tried to make it clear that sins were not terrible transgressions that demand severe punishment, but rather small things or errors that we inadvertently do to hurt others or ourselves. I came up with a few makeshift examples. "If you don't share your things with others and make them cry or if you exclude a friend from a game and hurt her feelings", I explained. She quickly responded, as a six year old would, "actually I didn't do anything wrong this year; I actually did something good!" "What was that, I asked. "Well, when my friend Claire's dad died I spent the whole day with her", she told me and I replied, "that's so special and that's what God wants us to do but we sometimes do make mistakes and we can be forgiven on Yom Kippur.

I intentionally wore sneakers that evening, as the custom commands. She noticed them and asked, "Pampa, she couldn't say grandpa as a baby and the nickname stuck, "why aren't you wearing regular shoes?" So I went on to explain the Mitzvot of the day. "Just like when you play a game, there are rules to obey; the same for Jewish holidays. On Yom Kippur, the first rule is that we have to fast." What's fasting?” she promptly asked. "Fasting is not eating for the whole day". Since Moriah is a picky eater she quickly replied, "couldn't I fast too?" "No, honey, fasting is for adults. We also can't bathe or perfume ourselves and, of course, she was hoping that it would apply to her too. And, of course, we're not supposed to wear leather shoes. I thought it wise not to mention the fourth rule.

Flashbacks of Yom Kippurs past flashed before my eyes, as the cantor chanted the Kol Nidre. I recalled many twilight afternoons at the Neilah (closing) service with its musty aroma of stale breath and the awesome glow of serenity that arose after the hunger withered. Fasting provides us with another kind of nourishment, a spiritual nurturing. The exclusion of food induces both physical cleansing and spiritual purification. I remembered how, with their last ounce of strength, the entire community stood and pleaded; some in tears, throughout the confession of sins for forgiveness. Somehow we knew that with the light of God shining upon us we will learn to see our shattered conduct more clearly. We will receive the guidance necessary to rectify our wrongdoings and the will to make the right choices in the year ahead. I reminisced how the entire congregation "afflicted their souls" by denying their physical needs in order to turn away from the their everyday concerns and towards the dimension of spirit. It was clear that we made T'shuvah, that we turned in the direction of the Source of, not only for forgiveness, but healing, creativity and love.
I couldn't exactly tell Moriah the version from the Machzor (the High Holiday prayerbook) that God sits on a heavenly throne and looks down upon us, appraises our behavior and decides "who shall live and who shall die." How can I make this Yom Kippur meaningful, I pondered, to my six-year-old granddaughter? You can't explain to little kids what adults have experienced, so I continued as we returned from the synagogue, "We don't have to wait for another whole year to pass before we celebrate Yom Kippur again. Many people, before going to bed, say prayers and some take some time to review the events of the day, thinking about those they may have hurt or who hurt them. They, then, forgive and also ask for forgiveness."
It's hard to tell a little girl the meaning of a holiday that's stripped of any biblical narrative with only a Torah commandment to go by. I didn't think she would get the midrash that on Yom Kippur, Moses descended from Mt. Sinai with two tablets in hand after spending forty days there praying for the forgiveness of the sin of the Golden Calf. I didn't think she would grasp the Mishnah's account of the arduous preparation of the High Priest before his awesome entrance into the Holy of Holies to make expiation for the Israelites.  But I tell her about Yom Kippur anyway; and as the year’s progress, I'll keep on telling it. Someday she'll get it.

Awakening on Succot                              [back]
At Sukkot, we rejoice in the harvest that we reaped from what we first sowed at Pesach and we  fulfil the verse from the Psalm "he who sows in tears reaps in joy (hazorim b'dimah b'rina yik'tzaru). We have put in much work in seven months from Pesach to Sukkot - from our prayers and preparation for redemption to the work of T'shuvah, and now we can reap and enjoy the harvest.

But what did we really reap? Certainly in this day and age, the harvest comes to us from the supermarket, but Judaism has a deeper meaning. All of the sowing, the cultivating, the harvesting and the celebrating is merely symbolic of what you accomplish spiritually. Jewish tradition expects us to grow a little each year, to become a better person in the sense of awakening from the slumber of our everyday experience to the clarity of spiritual existence. We live in some sort of trance or illusion characterized by struggling for material wealth, for status, for recognition, for power, yet this is all contrary for what we as Jews were destined. Our dream is to reach the Land of Canaan, that dreamland where we can experience genuine peace, shalom, the purity of Shabbat, the Garden of Eden.

Awakening is the process of becoming conscious of the contents of our bodies, our emotions, and our thoughts. Prayer and meditation can attain this. The great adversary to awakening is our ego: the function of mind that keeps us focused on ourselves rather than on others and on what's real. The spiritual harvest for which we rejoice on Sukkot is the awakening from our everyday slumber to a realization of the God-like nature within us. The great Shofar has sounded; were you stirred into awakening? Or will the year 5764 be the same as before?

The Siddur (prayer book) refers to Sukkot as Zman Simchateinu, "the Time of Our Joy." Sukkot is designed as a one-week workshop on joy. For seven days, we move out of our carpeted, air-conditioned homes, into a little hut called a Sukkah. But how is this supposed to make us joyful? The key to joy is success in our relationship with God.
The Torah commands us to rejoice with the Four Species, a ritual  adapted by the Talmud, during the holiday week, by waving the Lulav (a bundled bouquet of willow, myrtle and date palm) and the Etrog (the citron) in the synagogue and in the Sukkah. The Four Species  represent the holy Names of God. Aravah (willow), Hadas (myrtle), Lulav (date palm) and Esrog represent the Yud and Heh and Vav and Heh of the four-letter Name of God.  The key here is unifying God's name, which is accomplished by the ritual of waving. As we say everyday in the Shema prayer: "God is One." Whether things may appear to us as good or evil, we must realize that it all comes from God. We deal with various pleasant or unpleasant circumstances -- ultimately for one's maximal growth, but at the root everything comes from God.

Being aware of this keeps our focus and helps us to deal with the issues of life. When we relate to God's unity, we come closer to achieving joy in the world. Sukkot is a one-week opportunity to build these relationships and incorporate them into our lives.Now is your chance to make the New Year different. With Simchat Torah upon us, we can utilize the beginning of the new Torah cycle to examine those areas that keep us numb to the realities of life. Consider not becoming lured by commercial advertising with its promises of glamour and status. Come to realize how shopping at malls as a pastime may not really gratify your needs. Find ways of spending more quality time with friends and family or engaging in good music or literature, particularly Jewish texts as an alternative. Consider the barriers that prevent you from behaving in an honest and loving way at all times. Is it fear of some kind that's holding you back. Are you participating enough in Jewish ritual activities-holidays, prayer, etc. Think about the time you spend in the synagogue. Is it meaningful or spiritually uplifting?

These are just a few suggestions; there are many more you'll think of. The question is always to ask yourself is what you do is  real or is it driven by ego. What's real is usually natural, supports life and is selflessness; what's egoistic is motivated by personal gain and selfishness.  The answers to these and many other issues that hinder you from awakening can be found right in Jewish tradition.

A Gift for Chanukah
When I was growing up in Brooklyn, rabbis preached Torah and Mitzvot with "fire and brimstone." Rabbis are much more easy-going these days. They don't scream at us any longer. I can remember one tirade about why we should not exchange Chanukah gifts. In those days our parents didn't want to hear the 'shoulds' and 'should nots'. They wanted homes in the suburbs, Florida vacations, and college tuition. Maybe rabbis turned us off so we tuned them out. Now I realize that the rabbis were pointing to a way that we didn't hear.  

Later in life I discovered some of the absolute wisdom that the rabbis of old professed. They pointed to a way of life and a wisdom that I have yet to find in other religious traditions. Behind their fiery words hid an awareness—a realization of a deep spirituality that without, encourage Jews to seek other religions and secular philosophies. The exchange of Chanukah gifts is not part of Jewish tradition. This holiday commemorates the rebellion of the Maccabees against the Syrian Greeks, who wished to forcefully impose their culture on the Jewish nation, the subsequent military victory and the rededication of the defiled Temple. Chanukah means rededication. To instill the Chanukah spirit, we need not observe the customs of our non-Jewish neighbors who exchange gifts this time of the year.

We do, however, receive a special gift on Chanukah. This gift comes to us from the prominent Mitzvah of the holiday - to light the menorah each night. After we light the wicks, recite the proper blessings, we sing two melodies: Ha'Nayrot Ha'lalu (These Lights) and Ma'otsur (Mighty Stronghold). In “These Lights”, we hear the following words, "these lights, they are holy; and we are not permitted to use them, only to look at them." The Mitzvah is clear about not using the lights for any purpose but to look at them, to gaze upon them. There lies the wrapping of the gift. The gift itself is what may emerge for you from the flickering flame. On first glance you may just see the flame. With a little reflection, you realize that the light represents the light and holiness of G-d. If you than focus your attention on the light for part of the half-hour that the candles burn, and reflect on such questions as what does my soul truly desire, how can I stay in touch with my inner self, or how can I express the deepest part of who I am - you can find your gift. As the number of lights increase each day, we increase the light that enters our consciousness as our special gift unfolds.

We celebrate a miracle that took place about 2500 years ago. A miracle that caused a flask filled with enough oil to burn for one day, to burn for eight days.  Why should a miracle, an event that defies the natural order and disobeys the law of cause and effect take place, if not for the will of G-d? Within that thought lies the seed of transcendence, the potential for healing and a promise of new possibilities. Let the chanukia (the Chanukah menorah) respond to your heartfelt needs and permit changes to occur for joyous living. It is said that miracles are not necessarily supernatural happenings. All of life is a miracle.  Every person we know—our friends and our family—are truly miraculous but the light of Chanukah allows us to see our miracles more clearly.

There are some that feel that we should not endorse the military victory of the Maccabees; they say only the miracle of the oil properly confirms God’s glory. But if we understand that the Selucid Greeks are merely metaphors for the real enemy that lurks in our souls, who defile our inner Temple, we then fight for a more noble cause.

Chanukah takes place at a time when the days are shortest and darkness prevails over light, when the sap rests in the roots, and animals sleep for the winter. Now the soul is at the depths of its annual cycle and our intuition, our feminine, receptive attribute is at its peak. Perhaps this is why the female motif of Chanukah, with its tales of Jewish heroines and the restriction of women performing work while the candles glow only at night is prevalent. Only in a setting like this can the true gift of Chanukah come alive.
At this particular Chanukah when the dark clouds of September 11th loom overhead, we need as much light as we can get. If every one of us would light one candle on each of the eight nights perhaps we can pave the way for a bright new future.

The New Year for Trees                              [back]
Tu B'Shvat (the fifteenth day in the month of Shvat) has always been one of the most beloved minor Jewish holidays. It is a celebration of the relationship of God with His people as expressed by the blessings that  He bestowed on the land. Today, when so many Jewish people seek to heighten the spirituality of their lives, by deepening their bonds with Israel, this holiday assumes renewed purpose.

Unfortunately, in spite of the fact that Tu B’Shvat is discussed in both the Mishna and the Talmud, comparatively little information is available about the holiday.  The origin of Tu B’shvat is elucidated in the Mishna (the six orders of the Oral Tradition), tractate Rosh Hashana.  The very first verse says, “There are four New Years: On the first of the month of Nissan is the New Year for kings and for festivals; on the first of Elul is the New Year for the tithe of animals; on the first of Tishrei (Rosh HaShanah) is the New Year for the counting of the years, for Shmitta (sabbatical years), for the Jubilee; and on the first of Shevat is the New Year for Trees, according to the view of the School of Shammai. But the School of Hillel says, on the fifteenth of Shevat.

Tu B'Shvat is the New Year for trees. A special Tu B’Shvat Seder was formulated in the mid 1500’s by the
students of the Holy Ari - Rabbi Isaac Luria.  They saw the seder as an opportunity to restore their spiritual connection with the Four Worlds of the Kabbalah. It was set up along the lines of the Passover Seder. White tablecloths were placed on the tables with light of candles glowing. Incense, preferably myrtle, which is harvested during Succot, is placed on the tables. Similarly, flowers were used to decorate the tables and to give the air a pleasant fragrance.

What does that mean, a "New Year" for the trees? Do trees make resolutions on that day? Do trees dip their
apples in honey and ask for a sweet year? This New Year for Trees is related to the biblical tithe on fruits. Fruits which ripen and are picked from the trees up until the 15th of Shevat get counted for tithing that year, and the fruit picked from the trees after Tu Bishvat get counted for the following year. These two groups must be kept separate - one must not take fruit of the previous year and pass it off as tithes for the following year.
Today, Tu B’Shvat is celebrated in numerous ways: By planting trees, by eating fruit, especially fruit that is
indigenous to Israel, , by doing some special project for the environment,  by collecting funds to plant trees in Israel or by observing the day with a "Tu B’Shvat Seder

The mystical Seder of Tu B'shvat revolves around the Four Worlds of the Kabbalah. These worlds are the mystic’s conception of the structure of reality— descending in stages from the spiritual to the material.  Not unlike the Passover seder, four cups of wine are consumed to recognize each of the four worlds. Fruits of the trees are to be eaten, and designated according to each world. For Atzilut, the world of emanation, the completely nonphysical aspect of the universe, no fruit is consumed; for Briah, the world of creation, fruits that have neither a pit on the inside nor shells on the outside are chosen (grapes, fig, apples, citrons, lemons, pears, blueberries, raspberries, quinces, carobs). The world of Yetzirah, the world of formation, is signified by fruits that have a pit on the inside, but the outside can be eaten (olives, dates, cherries, jujubes, persimmons, apricots, peaches, loquats, plums, hackberries) Finally Assiah, the world of action, the tangible world, encompasses fruits that  have a shell which must be discarded, but the inside may be eaten (pomegranates, walnuts, almonds, pine nuts, chestnuts, hazelnuts, coconuts, Brazil nuts, pistachios, pecans).
Families most often compose their own versions of Tu B’shvat seders. They generally follow the format of four cups of wine beginning with white wine (the most spiritual of colors) for the first cup and gradating, by adding bits of red wine, to shades on pink, with a ruby pink (a color representing earth) for the last cup. A minimum of four appropriate fruits is selected based on the verse in Deuteronomy 8:8:  “A land of wheat, and barley, and vines, and fig trees, and pomegranates; a land of oil olive, and honey”. Following the pouring of each cup of wine, a biblical verse is read appropriate to the fruit. The fruit is eaten followed by the proper blessing. The blessing for wine is recited and the cup is consumed. Some families choose to  insert the “she’hechianu” into their seders, the prayer to thank God for keeping us alive and together at this season.
Regardless of how you choose to celebrate Tu B’shvat, this lovely little holiday in the middle of winter brings with it the promise of renewal at just the time when the sap in the trees is roused to awaken before spring.  Happy Jewish Arbor Day!

Purim  Shpiel                              [back]
It was on a Monday, March 19, 1984, that I arrived in Jerusalem on my first trip to Israel. The smell of spring was in the air and the streets were littered with the remains of holiday parades. It was the conclusion of Purim, a strange, yet joyous holiday. One couldn't help feeling that everyone had been out having a grand old time. There were posters and banners still hanging from lampposts, even my hotel room had a holiday greeting with the story of Purim. This year it falls out on Friday, March 9, the fourteenth day of Adar. We celebrate with the mitzvot of a Purim seudah, a grand family feast; mishloah manot, giving food gifts to friends and relatives; mattanot le'evyonim, money to the poor and the grand mitzvah of all—hearing the Megillah, the Book of Esther read. Purim means lots; it was Haman, the evil advisor to King Ahasuerus who drew lots that was to decide which day the Jews exiled in Persia were to be killed.

Purim is truly Mardi Gras, but what is it about this cherished story that invites such frivolity as masquerades, parodies, parades? The Rabbis stated, mi'shenikhnas adar marbim be'simchah -with the start of the month of Adar we greatly increase joy. It's an exalted joy that calls for letting loose, feeling good and consuming sufficient amounts of liquor as not to be able to tell the difference between "Blessed be Mordechai and Cursed be Haman."
The Book of Esther a farce in the most literal sense of the word with men issuing decrees that their wives must be obedient to them. It smacks of the Jewish people’s experience in exile. We listen to the story, some of us in outlandish costumes, patiently awaiting  "Haman" to be uttered so we can drown out the name with our gragers and noise makers to fulfill the curse, yimach shmo-may his name be erased. What fun!
From a deeper perspective, Purim consummates the cycle of Jewish festivals. The cycle begins with Pesach, where God is the principal player. Pesach is intimately connected with the Giving of Law at Shavuot. Moses went up to Mt. Sinai on Shavuot to receive the Tablets; he remained there for forty days and as the people grew impatient for his return they began to worship the golden calf. This marks the beginning of three weeks of mourning culminating on Tisha B'av. What follows is the ascent to Elul (the period of Repentance); Yom Kippur when Moses descends with the second set of tablets, then on to rejoice on Succot to conclude the festival cycle with Purim. A midrash tells us that on Purim, the Children of Israel having gone through the experience of all these festivals, fully accepted Torah (a higher spiritual level), even if for a brief moment before beginning the holiday cycle again. A joyousness of endings like New Years Eve. The Book of Esther teaches that since God is not mentioned in the story, Israel is now fully matured, capable of handling their own destiny. Through this story, we can all experience our maturity. Isn't that worth celebrating?

Purim also gives us free rein to that part of our personalities signified by the phrase-ad de'lo'yada-the state of not knowing the difference between Mordechai and Haman. It is not a primitive state of stupor, but rather a higher degree of consciousness. A mystical moment, a spiritual maturity where there is no difference between Mordechai and Haman, between good and evil, for both are found in the Holy One "who created light and darkness, made peace and created evil (Isaiah 45:7)