This coming Shabbat morning, I will get to do one of my favorite things to do as a rabbi. I will hold a baby in my hands and pronounce blessings giving the child a name and entering the child into the covenant of the Jewish people. 

It is one of my favorite things, I should say, because I love holding babies (who doesn't?), and also because there is something indescribably powerful about gazing into the face of new life and thinking about what the future has in store. 

We love the birth of babies because the moment carries with it such amazing potential. We think, either out loud or quietly in our minds: Will this child grow up to be a link in the chain to carry forward our tradition? Will this one grow up to invent or discover something that makes the world a better place? Will this baby, someday, think thoughts that will change the world? I am awed by the infinite possibilities contained within the tiny package of a newborn and delight in the opportunity to bring blessing upon new life.

This week's Torah portion includes an important list of blessings that I will remark upon for the occasion. In the portion Bechukotai (which is the second half of the Torah double-header read this week outside the land of Israel), the Torah introduces the blessings in this way:

If you follow My laws and observe My commandments to do them, I will grant you rains in their season… 
–Leviticus 26:3-4

Commentators have long asked why the opening condition is stated in two different ways. Why does the text have to say both "follow My laws" and "observe My commandments"? Wouldn't either phrase alone suffice? Why both? 

Rashi says that both phrases are necessary because, if only one phrase were present, a person might think that God is asking only that we do what is written in the Torah. That, according to Rashi, is not enough. In addition to observing the mitzvot, we also are asked to exert ourselves ("follow") in the study of Torah. Every commandment and every law in Torah has a dual identity – it is an act for us to perform in the physical realm, and it is a thought for us to engage in the realm of ideas and spirituality.

To me, that suggests a wonderful way of thinking about the blessings we wish upon a newborn. Certainly, we wish the baby a life that is free of unnecessary hardship and mishaps. We want the baby to grow up physically secure. But that is not enough.

When we wish blessings upon a child, we want more than physical health and material security. We want to wish for a life of peace within the mind, a life of understanding of self and the world, a life of wonder, excitement, love, and participation in community.

The blessing that we wish for a child – one who represents all of the infinite possibilities of the future – is the blessing of Torah. It is not just the obligation to perform mitzvot, but the blessing of engagement with the world, the experience of God, and the discovery of meaning.


Other Posts on This Topic:
Bechukotai: Being Commanded, Choosing Joy
Nine Students, a Baby and a Wedding

The 24th day of the Counting of the Omer begins on Thursday night. Tonight we count three weeks and three days of the Omer. This day falls during the week of the Torah portion that introduces the term "Sabbatical Year" and the laws of resting the land every seven years.

This is the day of Tiferet within Netzach, balance within endurance. On this day, I think about how I have to balance my life with restoring rest in order to achieve my long-term goals. I know there have been times in my life when I have confused dedication with self-abuse. Being persistent and devoted – even for a very good cause – will not succeed without good self-care.

This is a lesson that seems well-suited to this week's Torah portion (Behar), which teaches, "Every seven years the land shall have a sabbath of complete rest, a sabbath of Adonai. You shall not sow your field or prune your vineyard" (Leviticus 25:4). Everything requires rest and renewal. Just as the productivity of the land must be balanced with the need to rest it, so do we need to make long-term choices that allow us to balance our lives with restoring rest. We all need time for our families, for letting go, for learning, and for renewal. 

As I think about the journey of my life, with all of the goals and promises I have set for myself, I remember that there is no objective more worthy of being called, "holy to Adonai," than to give myself the time and space I need for my own renewal. On this 24th day of the Counting of the Omer, I commit to balancing my life, each day and throughout the years, with time to absorb the nutrients of learning, to be strengthened by connecting with family and community, and to allow myself to be healed with mental, physical and spiritual rest.

May this be a day in which you prepare yourself for the long journey of life by setting a practice of healing and restoring rest.


For the introduction to the Counting of the Omer, click on this link:
The First Day of the Counting of the Omer

There was a long process before I could be approved to volunteer at the Center. I made my first trip to visit its residents during Passover last month. I visited again today, meeting with three adult Jewish men who have been found "not guilty by reason of insanity" (NGRI) by a Florida State Court.

There is a lot of misunderstanding about the insanity defense and what happens to people who are determined to be not responsible for their actions due to mental illness. Many people believe  that  defendants who are found NGRI are allowed to walk out of the courtroom and reenter normal society. Nothing could be further from the truth.

The three men I met with today all have been charged with violent crimes. After being found NGRI, they were sent to the Treatment Center, or other similar facilities. Technically, the Center is not a prison, but it might as well be one. It is a maximum security facility with lots of guards, lots of tall fences with razor wire, and lots of heavy metal doors that can only be opened by a security guard watching over a video monitor. Trying to escape is a bad idea. The facility is surrounded by nothing but miles of flat land with little cover, and plenty of alligators and poisonous snakes. 

The biggest difference between this facility and a prison is that the residents (that's what they call them) receive psychotherapy and medications to treat their illnesses. They also receive training on how the legal system works. This is especially important for residents who have been determined to be "not competent to proceed to trial" (NCP). The goal of the Treatment Center is to make them competent, so the Center teaches them about the charges they face in court, what those charges mean, and how the court system will deal with them. 

It is understandable that the three Jewish men with whom I met today are not very happy about being in the Treatment Center. They are glad not to be in a state prison, where there is more violence and where their mental health problems would go mostly untreated. Their fondest hope is to be transferred to a lower security facility, or, even better, to a halfway house where they could begin a transition to freedom. That day could come in a few years for some of them, maybe sooner, or maybe never. Not knowing how long they will have to wait for freedom is very difficult for them.

I spent about an hour with the men today. We talked about this week's Torah portion (Behar-Bechukotai), especially the part about how all Hebrew slaves in ancient Israel were released during the jubilee, which came every fifty years. The idea of having a definite date of liberation, even one many years in the future, would be appealing to these men.

I also answered their questions about Judaism. For the most part, they asked the same types of questions I hear all the time from people who want to know more about Judaism. One resident asked me if the tattoo on his shoulder would prevent his body from being buried in a Jewish cemetery. (No, that's a myth.) Another resident asked, "When did Israel last have a Jewish king?" (First century c.e.). "Could there ever be another king of Israel?" (Depends on whom you ask).

The conversation got to be the most interesting when we talked about divine reward and punishment. It is not surprising that these men wanted to know what Judaism teaches about God's punishment for sin. Does Judaism teach that sinners are punished with hellfire? Why do good people suffer in this lifetime? Do we live in a just universe? Does God not care about the suffering of the innocent?

If you are sitting in a prison after the state has told you that you are not guilty and that you are not responsible for your actions, these questions become rather poignant, wouldn't you say? People with mental health problems often feel like they live in a metaphoric prison—held captive by a mind that inhibits normal interaction with other people, distrusted and scorned by people who fear them. In addition to that, these men live in a  real live realty of razor wire and locked doors. Well, it's enough to make anyone crazy. 

Clearly, the Treatment Center is the right place for these men, even if it is depressing for them to be confined without much freedom. They are receiving treatment for their illnesses. They are safe. They are being cared for by a professional staff that treats them with courtesy and all the dignity possible under the circumstances. They even get visits from local clergy, if that helps. 

Still, no one would volunteer or choose to live in the Treatment Center. According to the state of Florida, these men did not willfully choose to do the things that got them here. Yet, here they are. And, I have to add, it's a good thing, too.

Do we live in a just universe? I'm not sure anyone can answer that question for these men. I'm just grateful for the opportunity to help people who could really use some. 


Other Posts on This Topic:
Ekev: Deuteronomy vs. Job
Behar-Bechukotai: Cycles of Time
Tazria: Newborn Spirituality

In last week's Torah portion, Emor, we learned about a larger cycle, also built on the number seven, that we are experiencing right now. The Counting of the Omer is a "a week of weeks" (seven times seven days) that connects the festivals of Passover and Shavuot. In this week's Torah portion, Behar-Bechukotai, the number seven radiates into an even larger cycle, the cycle of seven years that culminates in the Sabbatical Year. 

For six years you plant your field and six years you prune your vineyard and harvest their produce. But in the seventh year there will be a complete rest for the land, a Shabbat for Adonai. You shall not plant your field or prune your vineyard. You shall not reap the aftergrowth of your harvest or gather the grapes of your untrimmed vines. It shall be a year of complete rest for the land. (Leviticus 25:3-5)

Seven years is a long time. In our society, which seems to have a short attention span, we do not really have any major institutions that run on that long of a cycle. Our presidential elections and the Olympic Games run on four-year cycles, which seems to be about as long as we can focus on anything. We do have a national census on a ten-year cycle, but that does not command the attention of an entire society the way that elections do…and certainly not the way that a society would be focused on a national commitment to refrain from planting and harvesting food for a full year.

There is a scholarly debate about whether the cycle of the Sabbatical Year was ever observed in ancient Israel the way it is described in Leviticus. It does seem dangerous. The Torah promises that a year of extra abundance would proceed the Sabbatical year to provide enough food. But what of the surrounding nations that could take advantage of the Sabbatical Year to attack the nation while it is vulnerable? There are those who say that the Torah presents the practice more for its ideals than for practical implementation. What is that ideal? The point of the Sabbatical year is stated plainly in the text. God says, "The land is Mine, and you are foreigners residing with Me" (Leviticus 25:23). 

This idea is stretched even further in another cycle, seven times as long, also presented in this week's Torah portion. In the year that followed the end of seven Sabbatical Years (a total of 49 years) there was an extra year added to the cycle (a fiftieth year) that was called the Yovel (usually translated as "Jubilee Year"). In that year, not only were the fields left fallow for a second year in a row, all the fields that had been sold in the previous fifty years were returned to the original owner. All Hebrew slaves were freed in the Yovel.

As a side note, one cannot help notice the common theme in the Torah of cycles of time in the pattern of "seven plus one." The seven-day festival of Sukkot is followed by the one-day festival of Sh'mini Atzeret on the eighth day. The Counting of the Omer is seven weeks followed by an extra day to reach the festival of Shavuot on the fiftieth day. The Yovel is the largest "seven plus one" pattern, with an extra, fiftieth year to cap off the cycle of seven seven-year cycles. There must be a reason…

The words from this week's Torah portion that introduce the Yovel also are of interest for their connection to American history. "Proclaim liberty throughout all the land unto all the inhabitants thereof" (Leviticus 25:10), is the biblical quotation engraved upon the Liberty Bell that announced American independence from the British Monarchy in 1776. 

Ironically, though, we think of the Liberty Bell as a symbol of autonomy—the right to live as we choose to live. In the Torah, it is clear that the message of the Yovel year is, again, just the opposite. All of the earth is God's and God makes the rules; we cannot permanently own anything.

There is something quite beautiful about these large cycles in time, whether or not they were ever observed exactly as they are described in the Torah. They acknowledge that the earth has its own integrity and its own need for rest. "Owning" a piece of land does not entitle any human being to use it however he or she wishes. At best, we may have a piece of land temporarily assigned to us, but even that cannot undermine our obligation to treat the land with respect and give it the year of rest that is sacred to God. 

The same, of course, is true of human lives. We cannot be owned. We do not even own our own lives. In a cycle that takes up most of a typical human lifespan, we are reminded that our existence is temporary and beyond our control. Our highest aspiration in life, therefore, should not be to amass wealth or power, but rather to do joyfully all that we can to serve the higher purpose for which we were made. 

Our lives do not belong to us. We belong to God. Perhaps that is the lesson that we rehearse in small and large cycles throughout our lives. Yet, it requires a lifetime to learn it completely.


Other Posts on This Topic:
Behar: Do Not Wrong One Another
Bechukotai: Being Commanded, Choosing Joy