Shabbat Shoftim
As we enter the sixth month of this pandemic, every day feels more or less the same. It’s hard to recall how many weeks have passed since we gathered in the chapel to bring in Shabbat together. But the Jewish calendar tells us something unique is happening now – has been happening for hundreds of years at this time, and will happen – God willing -- for centuries to come.
If you’ve joined me for the rich discussions we’ve had as part of our special “Return Again” study and conversation series, you know day-by-day, we are living through a precious time that began 4 weeks ago with Tisha B’av, a period of mourning, and the 7 weeks of consolation that followed, with a cycle of special weekly readings from the prophet Isaiah and that accompany us as we approach the Days of Awe, Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.
Our sacred texts remind us we are not alone. On Tisha B’av, we may have felt deeper resonance with our ancestor’s words as recorded in Lamentations (1:16):
Far from me is any comforter /
Who might revive my spirit; /
My children are forlorn, /
For the foe has prevailed.
They knew -- we know -- desolation, divine absence, loss.
Just so, this week’s haftarah addressed our ancestors after the destruction of Zion and exile of Judah -- as it addresses us now, during this unprecedented time. Against our perception of absence and loss, Isaiah proclaims God’s words to us: Anochi, anochi m’nachemkhem / “I, I am the One who comforts you!” (Isa. 51:12). With this phrase, the prophet announces a time we will again feel joy and hope.
Our sages, looking at this text, pick up on the peculiar phrasing here: Anochi, anochi -- “I, I…” Why does is this word repeated two times? And why does this repetition show up in a sentence about hope and joy?
The Kedushat Levi, a founder of the popular Jewish spiritual movement, Hasidism, posits this repetition is an invitation to pay attention to how we are connecting with our Source.
In our ordinary experience we perceive ourselves to be discrete beings, separate from others: I am over here, and you are over there. In this world of separation, Kedushat Levi explains, it is as if we break God into parts.
When we are indifferent towards the suffering of another, anochi, anochi: there is my “self” here and other “selves” separate from my reality, and capacity to care.
By contrast, we all know the sense of wholeness that comes from being truly present to another person. This feeling, Kedushat Levi claims, moves us -- if only for a moment -- from the world of separation, into the world of wholeness, and unifies God, makes God echad, one.
So may we be blessed this month to feel ourselves -- even in our apparent separateness – meaningfully connected to something larger than us: perhaps another person, a creative endeavor, a process of self-reflection and growth.
As we engage in tikkun ha-nefesh – bringing together the pieces of our lives during the sacred month of Elul, may we bring about tikkun olam – the healing of our fragmented world.
Chodesh tov! Wishing you all a reflective and comforting Elul.