This week we read of the splitting of the Red Sea and the Manna that fell from Heaven.

Pretty heady, wild stuff.

Just so that we can look at ourselves in the twin mirrors of rationality and magic, let’s remind ourselves of some important words:

A miracle is a noticed moment that blasts apart our ideas of what is and what can be.

Science is the endeavor to figure out what lies before us based on what is already known.

Or more accurately, assumed to be known.

As one who loves science and the scientific method, all I can have is humility before the Cosmos.

That’s because in between the lines of what I know, is that which I have no idea of.

Is it possible that a gigantic body of water split open just at the right time?

Is it possible that Manna, that magical sustenance that fell from the Heaven each day of the journey through the desert?

Sure! Why not?

As of this moment, come this Saturday night many of us will be sitting on the floors of synagogues reciting kinot. Someone long ago translated kinot as elegies for the tragedies that have shaped and punctuated the unfolding of Jewish history. While the word elegy seems about right as translations go i think it obscures the deeper meaning of kinot.

Kinot (or kina in singular) is a word repeated throughout the book of Jeremiah. That’s Jeremiah the prophet (not the frog) who tried and tried valiantly to get us to clean up our act only to watch us spectacularly blow it.

It’s a unique word for a prophetic vision or speech especially when so many other words are available to describe what Jeremiah had to say. So it’s introduction begs the question of what does it mean? What idea does it introduce?

The word kina derives of root letters, koof nun. Those two letters make up a lot of basic words in Hebrew. Two examples jump up: My Hebrew speaking friends know that if they wish to buy something at the store they must take those two letters, make a verb form out of them which sounds like koneh. Those of us who spend time in the company of nature know that a bird lays her eggs in a nest made up of koof noon, spelling the word ‘kan’.

This brings me to the sneaking suspicion that kinah, koneh, and kan emerge from one root which for us English speakers would best be described as ‘deep association’* (The fancy word is nesting). And when we speak of kinah we are speaking of a poem of deep association. Deep association to the point of wallowing in our past, in our missed opportunities, in the losses and in the catastrophes of our people.

But like so much else in Hebrew the pain also contains the comfort. The wallowing of kinah can give way to renewal of kniah, a deepened, perhaps even the deepest of the deep, connection with Divinity, Holiness, and Beauty, when peace and kindness will reign.

Soon. In our days.

*By ‘deep’ I’m speaking to the implications of the association. When i purchase something, koneh, it is mine. As in ‘mine! mine! mine!!!!’ If you take it from me then you will go to jail.

That’s a pretty deep association.

Everyone wants to be the hero. 

Not just a hero; 

The hero. 

We look at the horrors of the world and there isn’t one of us who doesn’t wish for a second for super-human abilities to rescue, to save, to right the wrongs and make everything ok. 

There’s nothing wrong with that impulse.

After all, heroism is an expression of our Godly nature.

The thing is though there are other factors to be considered. We cannot fly or through bolts of fire. That’s why Superman, Thor, and Wonder Woman (how could I leave her out?!) are heroes only in our imagination. 

But don’t worry; real heroism is still attainable for us. It isn’t flashy and it’s certainly much more subtle. Human heroism is in the moments of decision when the hero makes the tiniest of choices to do the hardest things possible: to act with grandeur in spite of lethargy and impulse. Working with the depressed and the addicted, I’m fortunate to spend my days in the company of such heroes; people who fight mighty battles that no one ever knows of.

While the rough outlines are innate to us, human heroism needs grooming. We need people to cheer us, to celebrate with us, to say ‘keep up the good work’, etc. There are, of course, some of us whose heroics will be unknown and unacknowledged except by those us who realize that we stand today on the shoulders of the anonymous heroes who came before us. But all of us need a pat on the back and the respect of those whose opinions matter to us.

Chief among those bequeathers of respect are our parents. I’ve listened to the storied and the famous, who’ve received award and recognition from world wide authorities, bemoan (and often cry) that they wish their mom and dad could see them, that they could say, ‘Wow! That’s an impressive achievement. I’m humbled. I could have never done that.’ 

Because there’s nothing like a pat on the back from mom or dad.

That to me is the lesson Jacob’s blessing and testimony of Joseph. In the middle of the beautiful Biblical poetry is a cryptic expression, ‘his bow was firmly established’ (Genesis 49:24). The Talmud comes to the rescue with a sensational interpolation: ‘But his bow was strongly established’ as referring to Joseph’s overcoming his temptation with his master’s wife. He calls it a bow because semen shoots like an arrow.’

Here’s a father, a Biblical patriarch no less, not only complementing his son but extolling a virtue that the vast majority of us would rather make believe doesn’t exist: his son’s sexual chastity.

Wow!

That totally rocks.

Jacob was saying to Joseph, ‘Joe, you’re a hero. You could have given into the seductions of Mrs. Potiphar (and who better portrays her than the great Joan Collins in Donnie Osmond’s Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat?) and no one would have known. But you kept it together; you stayed faithful to the mission. I’m humbled. You’re my hero.’

While I’d probably be mortified if my dad mentioned my sexuality, I know now that Jacob was really on to something. If we want real societal holiness (as opposed to repression which is the really-bad-for-you-margarine-imposter for holiness) then we need to celebrate chastity and menchlichkeit. We need to inculcate in our children and in ourselves that sexual temptation is an opportunity to manifest our heroic side. We need to tell them again and again that the moments of temptation are their moments to shine. The world may not give them medals or put them on the cover of magazines, but they are our heroes.

Because every one of us wants to be a  hero. 

Ancient tradition tells us that the Jewish month of Elul, coming just before Rosh Hashana, is a time of introspection. This tradition connects the introspection of Elul to the special love and mercy through which God relates to us during this month. The name of the month Elul spells an acronym forming the words, ‘I am for Beloved, and He is for me’ (Shir Hashirim 6:3). While His kindness is abundant at any time of the year, during the 30 days of Elul we feel it more urgently and are stirred to turn towards Him. 

The Chasidic master, the Baal HaTanya, expands on the uniqueness of Elul with a unique metaphor. He speaks of a great king, customarily seated in his castle, surrounded by ministers and servants, who once a year ventures out to see his subjects in their fields. Instead of trekking to the castle, the common folk may approach the king as he sees them go about their everyday lives.

This haunting metaphor is laden with mystical illusions. For me however it emphasizes spiritual simplicity and innocence. A field is in contrast to a building. A field is a place of mud and of growth. It is far from the safety and cleanliness of a home. A field is where life is dirty and unkempt. A home is a place of security, a field a place of vulnerability to the elements.

During the year I build a structure around myself to protect my self from the harsh realities of my existence. This mesh of ideas, agendas, and opinions gives me the illusion of identity, control, and false superiority. In Elul I’m invited to shed my shell, to meet my Creator, as is, in a field of vulnerability. We meet sans the armor of arrogance, status, snarkiness, indifference, intelligence, or wealth. He in His infinite and unknowable love; me with my fears, wounds, warts, and my simple, aching desires. The two of us together come to reconnect, to rebuild, to plan an even better coming year.

Far from embarrassing, this meeting in the field is liberating. Schlepping around the armor of everyday life is pretty taxing. I’ve gotta look good and be on my toes lest anyone see that I’m less than the image that I wish to project. The silliness is that we are all playing the same exhausting game. Even worse are the burdens of guilt, shame, and fears which tire me out. Elul gives me a break from all that: I can be myself without the B.S. of self.

The vulnerability of Elul gives us real power. We all love stories of heroes who transcended circumstance to make the save at the last moment. The soldier who carries his injured buddy for miles through an unspeakable battle. Or anyone who overcomes the impossible to change the course of human history even if that change is nothing more remarkable than a spark of kindness in the dark of the everyday.

And we are all those same heroes.

When we shed our armor we can go beyond our selves. We can access our God given super powers. Without the protective armor of self, without the opinions and shame of the past we can extend ourselves to those who need our honesty and love. By revealing our true unsullied innocence we give others permission to come out of their shells.

But best of all when we let go of our fears we are free to meet with God in a field laden with the promise of renewal, love, and a year full of goodness for all.

Shana Tova to all!