New ohros and matching keilim

Someone bought me a new pair of shoes the other day. I put them on and they looked fantastic, but then I noticed that my pants looked somewhat scruffy next to the shiny new shoes. So I went out and bought some new pants. They looked great with the new shoes, but wouldn't you know it - my shirt really didn't do the new shoes and pants justice. There was only one option - to go get a new shirt.

Was this a case of the cart leading the horse? Perhaps. So what really happened here? I was actually fine with the old shoes. But getting a new pair disrupted things, and made everything else I was wearing suddenly look relatively bad. The other new items were 'required' to restore the equilibrium and consistency of my clothes.

Shavuos - returning to Echod

Some people pine for the simple life – a ‘sea-change’ from the hustle and bustle of modern living. On one hand, you might say that we are living in a ‘golden age’ for Judaism: there are many countries in the world where Jews can enjoy religious freedom of expression, there is a wealth of scholarship available in both nigleh and chassidus, and in general humankind has more leisure time than ever before. And yet, with all this opportunity before us, modern life is just so ‘full’ and busy it’s often a challenge to find the time to feed our souls.

Does it make sense to pine for an earlier time, when live was simple and Chassidim would spend hours learning or meditating before an even longer time davening? But would anyone want to live in those times, when Jews were persecuted and poverty was rife?

The power of the moment

Is it a dark conspiracy or perhaps part of some vast eternal plan that we spend weeks preparing for the physical aspect of Pesach - cleaning, cooking, running errands - to the point where we reach the Seder and are so exhausted that we can barely enjoy the experience?

How much time do we spend on the spiritual preparation? Whether it's the avoda of bedikas chometz, or learning the Haggadah so that our Seder can be more meaningful. Or do we sit back, conk out from exhaustion and wine, and attempt to pay attention as our children expound and affirm our decision to send them to good Jewish schools?

We *really* want Moshiach now

Slogans are all very good, but if we are bombarded by them, or just with the passage of time, they can turn into clichés that no longer serve their original purpose. Other things can happen, like they can start to mean different things to different people (e.g. insiders vs outsiders), which again cause them to be ineffective or worse.

We sing "We want Moshiach now" and put slogans on yarmulkes and elsewhere but what does it really mean? Indeed, we mention it so often in shmone esrei that most people just rush through it without thinking twice, and others need convincing that the desire for Moshiach is not exclusively Chabad's. Certainly saying something (different) about Moshiach & Geula on a regular basis can help break the rote patterns and actually get us thinking.

Beyond the Call

You just can't buy the sort of publicity that the Call of the Shofar program has received in recent weeks within the Chabad community. Many people have come up to me and asked me about it, and I've found myself having to explain what COTS is, and what LGAT is to people who otherwise would not know (or need to know) about either. But while the article itself had some useful analysis and insights into ourselves and at other groups and programs through a lens of 'cult-like markers', that is not the key issue here.

It's not about what specific external programs are or aren't kosher or suitable for us, nor about whether our mashpi'im have been unduly influenced, nor about the knee-jerk reactions of Rabbonim and others, nor about the way this issue has polarised the community and how that may continue to play out.

We need to take a deep breath (no meditation required), step back for a bit, and consider the real issue: the challenge of how we as a community deals with our mental and emotional health.

Call of the Shofar

Several people have asked my opinion of the Call of the Shofar program ("COTS"), and given its popularity (or notoriety) in the Chabad community, this site seemed an appropriate place to write an analysis.

Important disclaimer: I've never been to one of their courses, nor communicated directly with someone who did. The research I've done includes reading several different perspectives that I found about them online, watching the interview with the founder, and reading some of Rabbi Shea Hecht's comments and related material.

Lots of strong things have been said about COTS - in particular the use of the term "cult". The bad news is: we are also a cult.

Leverage, Diversity and Unity

I was sitting at the kotel recently on Shabbos morning (OK, very late morning) thinking about saying hareini mekabel. Davening at the kotel is always a treat - besides being as physically close as possible to the holiest place on earth, I love Yerushalayim and just walking around soaking in the atmosphere.

The kotel is magnet for all sorts - sefardim & ashkenazim, chassidim & misnagdim, Jews of every affiliation and plenty of non-Jews too. The person next to me is a tourist - no idea if he's Jewish or not - and approaches the wall with arms outstretched and immerses himself in whatever engagement with God works for him. Next to him is another who is writing a note - again I have no idea if he is Jewish or not. But what they all have in common is a sincerity and respect and a desire to commune with the Divine - with something greater than themselves.

Ohr Chodosh 5774

Chassidus describes the truly amazing process that happens each Rosh Hashanah. On the first night Hashem’s desire to continue the existence of the world is ‘paused’ k’viyachol, and then renewed through our blowing of the shofar, at which time an ‘ohr chodosh’ comes into the world.

How can we understand this ‘ohr chodosh’ – this new spiritual energy that has until now never manifested in the world?

Coping with the pace of life

After my last post, a few people suggested that I write for every Shabbos mevorchim, which sounded like a reasonable frequency to me. And the next one approached, I thought about what to write, and didn't really come up with anything that good, and before I knew it, it was Rosh Chodesh, and now we are already blowing shofar, and if I blink, Rosh Hashanah will be upon us. So at this time of year, it's only appropriate to reflect on the pace of life and what to do about it.

I have this theory about why the older we get, the faster time seems to pass. If someone is 20, then one year represents 1/20th or 5% of their life so far. But if they are 40, then a year represents just 2.5% of their life, so a year might appear to pass twice as quickly. Having passed both of those milestones, I'm often asking myself: "where did the time go?" as week blends into week, month into month, and so on. I put things in my diary well in advance thinking they are not going to happen for a while, and before I look around, they are upon me.

A Brave New post-Gimmel Tammuz World

It's a bit of a cliche - the youngsters gathering around an alter chossid at a farbrengen hearing stories of how things were in the "olden days". These recollections become all the more precious as the older people in the community move on from this world, which is why projects that collect this history are so important. As the older generation pass on, the role of alter chossid also shifts forward a generation, which sometimes seems odd to people of my vintage.

What was even more strange was the discussion that came up last Simchas Torah at the kiddush/farbrengen we traditionally hold in our home.