Shabbat Forshpeis
A Taste of Torah in Honor of Shabbat
PARSHAT NITZAVIM/VA-YELEKH
HIDDENNESS IS ONLY TEMPORARY
SEPTEMBER 19-20, 2003 / 22 ELUL 5763
In one of this week's portions, God declares
that the time will come when He will hide his face from the Jewish people. In the words of the Torah, "and I will certainly conceal my face on that day, (haster astir)." (Deuteronomy 31:18) What does this hiding and concealing actually mean?
After the Shoah, some suggested that the murder of six million Jews proves that God is dead. Martin Buber, the 20th century philosopher insisted, however, that the Shoah does not speak of the demise of God but of the eclipse of God. With death comes finality. Eclipse, on the other hand, like the eclipse of the sun, means that for a moment God may not be seen, but in the end He would be visible.
In reality, Buber was echoing a very traditional approach to this concept of haster astir. Consider the sweep of Jewish history. No doubt, there have been difficult moments, but when these moments are seen as part of a larger whole, these dark times are complemented by a far larger, more glorious history.
It, therefore, makes sense that our calendar is counted by the moon. The Zohar insists that the moon reflects the very essence of the Jewish people since it wanes, diminishes and vanishes. To the one who views the moon for the first time, it may appear as if all is lost. But the power of the moon is that it reemerges, it resurfaces. This is just like the Jewish people. Over and over, we've experienced low points only to extricate ourselves and rise up from the ashes.
What's true about our national existence is equally true in our personal lives. Setbacks can be devastating and life effecting, but it is still important to never lose hope, or become overly pessimistic. Rather, we should be alive and await renewal.
No wonder at the moment of greatest pain, the death of someone close, even as we rend our garments, we recite the blessing barukh dayan emet, blessed is the truthful and loving judge. Even then, we step back and as we cry out in pain, we remember the better times, the good times that God has given us.
The reverse is also true. At our moments of greatest celebration, at a wedding itself, we break the glass to remind ourselves that life has its highs but built into those great moments are the inevitable experiences of breakage, of pain.
As a young rabbi, I heard a wonderful tale of a young girl who had an amazingly deep faith. She told her friend that although her doll's hand was broken, she would pray to God, and God would hear her prayers. Her skeptic friend reacted with disbelief. God doesn't answer such prayers.
That night, before going to sleep, the believing girl offered deep prayers to God. Upon rising the next morning, she eagerly reached for her doll, only to find its hand still broken. "I told you" her skeptic friend said, "God wouldn't listen to your prayers." "No," said the believing girl, "God did listen, but his answer was no."
And so it is in life. Often, reflective of haster astir, God says no. May we, however, take note of the abundance of "yeses" in our lives and merit more in the future. This is especially fitting as Rosh Hashanah nears as it is the only holiday celebrated on the beginning of the month, as the moon appears as a mere sliver of light. And no wonder Rosh Hashanah is called Yom ha-Keseh, the holiday of concealment. This reminds us that even if God doesnt seem to be present, like the moon, his presence will one day be felt in its fullness.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Avi Weiss
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