As we reach the end of another pandemic Pesach, spent in distance and quarantine, I reflect on my year of Jewish discovery.
“Shamor vezachor bedibur echad,” we sang last night in kabbalat shabbat. To guard and remember in a single utterance is the commandment we are given for shabbat. It is said that the double commandment represents the negative laws (restrictions against performing labor on shabbat) and the positive laws (obligations to celebrate shabbat). Shabbat is a moment of uniting these - and perhaps all - dualities. Shabbat is a moment of reflection, a time to detach from the physical world in order to focus on the spiritual. This shabbat I hosted an atypical Pesach seder with friends. For one, we celebrated on the 7th night of the holiday, rather than the 1st and 2nd as is traditional. For another, it was a virtual seder. I violated the Orthodox restriction against using technology on shabbat in order to celebrate a holiday. Hard to say whether that makes me a better or worse Jew. But perhaps that is not a thing that needs to be measured.
I think about the unifying nature of the shabbat commandments and wonder if it could not be taken as a guide for our own lives. So often we think of the divisions in our lives, of what differentiates us from others. We ask at seder, “ma nishtana” what differentiates this night from all others? I recall the famous commentary on Vayikra, “kedoshim tihiyu – perushim tihiyu.” To be holy is to be separate. Holiness is built on this them vs us mentality which has been the cause of so much suffering.
Sanctified separation is the reason provided for several mitzvot, such as keeping kosher. Jews were chosen from among all nations to be Hashem’s people and this separates us from all the others. We are different, and our difference makes us special. Yet on a personal level I cannot agree with this. Politically I believe that all people are equal. I doubt the existence of any God and do not believe any religion can claim definite knowledge of cosmic truths. All any of us have is faith. Furthermore, as someone who has been in interfaith relationships, the notion of separation serves only to hurt me and my loved ones. I know there are relatives who will not welcome my partner to chagim unless they convert. I know just as well that conversion may not be the right path for them and their own relation to faith.
Shabbat serves as a liminal space - an in between and transition - never more so than to a modern Jew. With the five day work week, followed by shabbbat, followed by Sunday, we cycle through work, spiritual relaxation, and hedonistic relaxation. Shabbat is a day to go to shul, to host family dinners, spend time talking with friends, time to study or read a book. Sunday is the day for video games, watching television, going to the movies. I wonder if a childhood spent observing shabbat is what makes the second category of relaxation feels so hollow to me. Those are ways to pass the time, but do they recharge my mind or soul? Not so much.
We are all editing religion to suit our own needs. Rewriting and revising. I wonder what we can salvage out of all these old traditions. I wonder what we lose when we do. A friend sent me a Haggadah which described Eliyahu Hanavi as the champion of the oppressed. I remember studying Kings I and II in eighth grade and learning that Eliyahu called upon bears to kill a group of children who made fun of his bald head. Who could reasonably describe such a figure as a champion? Studying Eliyahu had always been a tale of disillusionment to me, a prophet with powers to parallel Moses but who (unlike Moses) never prayed on behalf of his people. Eliyahu would chastise, lament, and punish the Jews for their idolatry. Never did he speak up. Never fought Hashem as Abraham did in opposing the destruction of Sodom and Gemorah. Never cared that the innocent might suffer along with the guilty. Eliyahu’s rare acts of kindness seem so often self-serving, providing a widow with unending manna on the condition she feed and house him, resurrecting her son to prove Hashem’s power. Yet this is the one figure from the Torah who never dies. Instead, he is brough to Shamayim in a flaming chariot, and still remains alive enough to visit us every year on Pesach. This is the man who will usher is the coming of the Mashiach. I have no simple answers, for I hate to simplify. But I wonder if Eliyahu did arrive tomorrow, whether we might not be underwhelmed.
There is a reason people say that you should never meet your heroes. There is a reason I hate to build up ancient prophets as heroes.
Glossary
Hashem=the Jewish word used to refer to God, translates literally as “the name”
Chag/im=holiday/s
Mitzvah=religious commandment
Shamayim=the afterlife (literally "sky")
Maschiach=messiah
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