Gratitude / Hakarat Hatov

Gratitude comes so easily to us . . . when things are going well. It is the rest of the day that can be a challenge!

The term "gratitude" in Hebrew is translated as "recognizing the good / Hakarat Hatov." Some of us tend to take "the good" for granted. We might pay little notice to our good health until we get sick. We might give little time to a relationship until we experience a loss. We might not think twice about a purchase until we get a call from our bank.

Of course, none of these events need to be so dramatic. We know that we should count our blessings and sometimes it is just a quick reminder that gets us back on track. Seeing the plight of others might remind us of the goodness in our lives. Taking a moment to watch the sunset might clue us in to the blessings that we experience on a regular basis. Even an inspirational bumper sticker can bring a smile to our faces.

Once we have a grasp of paying attention to the good in our lives, we have the challenge of taking the next step -- recognizing the good even when things are not so good. Finding the goodness in traffic or a long line, counting our blessings when our body hurts, being thankful when we are hungry, cold, or lonely.

These might seem like insurmountable obstacles. However, our sages teach us that we can find a glimmer of light even in tragedy. The key is to build up our "gratitude muscles" little by little. An exercise for gratitude could be: Smiling at friends and strangers alike, thanking others for even the smallest act, reciting "this too is for the good" when we catch the red light, the market goes down, or when our children are texting at the dinner table.

Thanksgiving is quickly approaching, but if we can make hakarat hatov a regular practice, giving thanks will last for more than just a day.

Forgiveness / Slichah

At children's services for the High Holy Days, we often reduce the observance of the day to a practice of saying, "I'm sorry" and then offering forgiveness. With all of the liturgy and pageantry that become the "adult" services, I sometimes wonder if we would be better served by going back to the simpler message: This is a time to ask for and offer forgiveness. 

Jewish tradition teaches that repentance requires a real change in our behavior and an apology. I believe that offering and accepting an apology is one of the most profound human interactions. A true apology has the power to heal grudges and humiliations and to generate forgiveness for those who have wronged another. Apologies have the power to relieve guild and shame that can overpower us. The healing result of an apology process is the repair and reconnection of human relationships.

Forgiveness can be equally challenging and rewarding. How many of us forgive others, ourselves and/or God, and yet still keep score? How many of us seek forgiveness from others, ourselves and/or God, and yet still follow our accustomed patterns? If we are still holding on to a wrong done to us, we have not fully granted forgiveness. If we are still doing the same thing we were doing before, we have not earned forgiveness.

Forgiveness is the practice -- let go of the wrongs, let go of the ingrained patterns -- forgive and be forgiven.

Compassion / Rachamim

I spoke with an old friend tonight who was really struggling with his boss at work. "He is such a jerk! -- He belittles, he agitates, he's rude." I had to confess that although I often wish that I had some kind of magic dust to make it all better, I don't. Instead I suggested compassion.

The Hebrew language is generally built on three-letter roots. For instance, kodesh, k'dushah, kaddish, and kiddush all have the root letters koof, dalet,and shin and all relate to holiness or sanctity. Rachamim, the Hebrew word for "compassion" is built on the three letter root: resh, chet, mem, or "rechem," the Hebrew word for "womb." 

What's the connection between "compassion" and "womb"? One suggestion is that having compassion for others means being protective -- as a womb is protective of the fetus. Another idea is that compassion is an emotion rather than a thought process and we feel compassion for others as if it is coming from our kishkes (our gut). Or, since we were all in a womb before birth, we can somehow relate to others because we started from a similar place.

Compassion can be easy for a friend. We know their "back story," we've accompanied them on their journey, or we get their "bigger picture." Our challenge, however, is to develop compassion for those we don't know as well and for those we do not even respect or trust. Or, in the case of my friend's boss, we might think that we are getting to know them too well!

Compassion does not mean that we have to provide an excuse for others, but it does require that we come to a place of understanding, if not acceptance, of the root cause of their actions and words. Can we change them? No. Do we have to keep working for them? Also, no.

At the same time, I think that we're also called upon to have compassion for ourselves. Maybe this is the hardest one of all. Understanding our lives, our actions, and our words in context, and loving ourselves just the same. Or, for my friend, knowing when it's time to extricate himself from his situation and find a different job.

Compassion has the power to heal relationships and build new bridges. It can open doors that we once considered sealed. It can give us a sense of peace and can nurture our very being. And, as we inch toward the High Holy Days, it builds upon responsibility/achrayut and takes us one step closer to forgiveness.

Responsibility / Achrayut

With the passing this week of Tisha B’Av (the 9^th day of the Hebrew month Av), the Jewish calendar opens the High Holy Days season. I know, I know. . .I thought we had more time too. Granted, most of us look at Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur as only 2 days in our calendar or perhaps a 10 day period at most. But, there is a clear progression from Tisha B’Av through the end of Sukkot that beckons us, commands us even, to walk the path of teshuva/repentance.

But before we can get to repentance, our Sages teach us that we must first take responsibility for our words and actions. In Hebrew, the word “achrayut/responsibility” is derived from either the words “achar/after” or “acher/other.”

If “achar/after,” we are being reminded that we are responsible for what happens after our actions and words.

If “acher/other,” we are being taught that responsibility is most important in our relationships with others.

Either way, this season hammers home that the first steps toward repentance and reconciliation are taking responsibility for what we have said and done. Before we can ask for forgiveness, it’s up to us to own our actions by recognizing what happens “after” and to the “other.”

This can be a tough first step. Most of us would rather give lip service to forgiveness, dismiss a wrong that we committed, or offer excuses. We get defensive and arrogantly proclaim our innocence. We even have difficulty admitting our wrongs privately to ourselves. And yet, without taking responsibility, our apologies are empty or simply don’t get voiced. Either way, we end up exacerbating the pain of the other and our offenses pile on.

Our tradition does not give us a choice in this. If we are to really embrace the High Holy Day practice, taking responsibility is our first step. Luckily, the Mussar masters remind us that we don’t have to take a big leap with this middah/value (or any of our other values). Instead, if we even take small but consistent steps, we will eventually reach our destination. As this season begins, it’s time to look at the smaller ripples we caused in the world and own them. From there, we can graduate to the bigger and bigger waves that we created.

As we begin our journey toward the High Holy Days, I wish us all clarity, courage, and strength to take responsibility now for any pain that we have created “after” and to the “other.”

Joy / Simchah

The Book of Proverbs teaches: "A joyful heart makes for good health; despondency dries up the bones." 

Thank you for your recommendation, Dr. Proverbs! Would you like to see me for a follow-up appointment?

On some level, we all recognize that good health and happiness are interrelated. And yet. . .achieving a level of "joy" can seem illusive." Tempering this notion, the sage Ben Zoma taught, "Who is rich? The one who is joyous (sameach) with what he/she has." In this context, joy/simchah (a derivative of joyous/sameach) is understood as being "content" with our life. 

"But wait, good doctor! 'Contentment' doesn't feel anything like 'joy'." Contentment is serenity not celebration. It is peace rather than parties. It is. . . sustained.  Hmmmm.

Simchah as "joy" may come in brief bursts, but simchah as "contentment" eases into and enriches our lives.

Honor / Kavod

How many of us love to "people watch?" Airports, malls, maybe even synagogues become viewing centers. We take on the role of expert observer and cast unsuspecting souls as our research subjects. And we judge, and we judge, and we judge. Wow! Who are we to do this? And yet, we make sport of it!

Our Sages teach us that each of us is a holy soul. It is not that we have holy souls, but that we are holy souls. So, rather than judging, we are directed to recognize the holiness in others and treat them in honorable ways. But how do we do this? We may not know many of the people we run into on a day-to-day basis and others we may think we know too well. And yet, it's still our sacred obligation to picture others in their holiness, even if they hide it well!

Does this mean that we should honor the person who dresses in an outlandish outfit? Yes. 

Does this mean we should honor the salesperson who ignores us at the store? Yes.

Does this mean we should honor the person guilty of a crime? Yes. Even this person is understood to be a holy soul!

Honoring others is, for some, one of the most challenging Jewish values. And yet, it is at the core of who we are as Jews and it is essential to our own spiritual growth. Seeing the holiness in others is what makes it possible to engage in tikkun olam (social action/ healing the world). Acknowledging the holiness in others is what allows us to celebrate life cycle events together. Honoring the holiness of others is what brings us together as a community.

For the next two weeks, I'm focusing on recognizing the "holiness" of other people. No doubt, I'll have to remind myself of this goal daily (perhaps hourly), but I realize the possibilities that this opens for me as well.

Courage / Ometz Lev

In her book, The Art of Blessing the Day, poet Marge Piercy writes:

The courage to let go of the door, the handle.

The courage to leave the place whose language you learned as early as your own.

The courage to walk out of the pain that is known

into the pain that cannot be imagined, mapless, walking

into the wilderness, going barefoot with a canteen into the desert.

Tonight, 24 hours before Passover begins, I am about to walk into the desert. Actually . . . I'm going to drive. But when I'm there, I'm sure that I'll do plenty of walking.

I spent my teen years in West Texas and have always loved the stark landscape, dry air, and beautiful sunsets of the desert. The desert can be unrelenting, sometimes harsh, and almost always transformative. And, as I pack my bags for this week of camping with Wilderness Torah, I have to admit that I'm a little bit nervous. 

I've camped, but I'm not sure that I would call myself a "camper." I've camped for a couple of nights in a row, but never for an entire week. I've camped with friends and family, but never with an entire group of people I've never met. The consolations for me are that: 

1) I don’t have an army of slave masters chasing me like our ancient ancestors experienced leaving Egypt, AND 

2) Anyone meshugenah enough or courageous enough to spend the week of Pesach near Death Valley without running water and electricty is my kind of Jew!

In all seriousness, this Pesach, I'm thinking about the middah of courage, ometz lev. The Israelites must have had amazing courage to follow Moses into the desert. Moses must have had amazing courage to follow God for 40 years. And, I'm hoping that I'll have enough courage to make it through this next week in my only-set-up-once-in-my-living-room tent.

As with all Jewish values, the middah of courage is found on a spectrum. On one extreme are those who have no courage to try something new, to raise their hands to ask a question, to venture into the unknown. Most of us would agree that these people might struggle to find fulfillment in life. On the other extreme are those who know no fear, and strangely enough, because they never feel like they are pushing their own boundaries, are inhibiting their own growth. Our growing edges are often at that point between comfort and fear. 

The ideal, of course, is to find the balance: Having enough courage to take a first step but not so much courage that we fail to feel accomplished, learn, and grow.

Pesach is such a great time for us to work on courage. Perhaps it’s the courage to recite the 4 questions for the first time on our own, or the courage to host the first Seder, or the courage to sleep in the desert, or the courage to start a new personal journey.

This week, I'll be exercising my "courage muscle" by trying new things, meeting new people, and walking mapless with a canteen in the desert.

May we all have a Pesach of happiness, meaning, and courage.