Rabbi Ari lev: The season of sap
February 9, 2018
It is usually right around now,
mid February,
when I start to complain about winter.
I complain about the lack of sunlight.
I complain about the cold.
I complain about the short days and the long nights.
I actually enjoy snow, so that is one less thing to complain about.
By February, I have forgotten what it feels like to wear shorts and a t-shirt.
I have forgotten the sweetness of local peaches and spaciousness of long summer nights.
In The Jewish Book of Days, Rabbi Jill Hammer describes this time of year as the season of sap. She writes, “The sap in the trees begins to rise, and life runs through all the veins of the trees. The blood of the living creatures also begins to move faster as they awaken to seek food. Ice cracks and melts; water disperses over the land. Though there still may be a chill on the earth, it is an invigorating cold, one that inspires us to move.” Rabbi Hammer reminds us that the release of winter will make way for the new growth of spring. Not yet, but it will, soon enough. And the transition is beginning.
Next week is Rosh Hodesh Adar, this new moon comes and she says: “Get excited! Increase your joy. Because next month is Rosh Hodesh Nissan. And you know what is in Nissan? Passover! Freedom, sunshine, tree blossoms, flower buds, birth, growth.”
Somehow, what seems like the middle of winter can also be an opening towards spring. And that is where we are today, with Shabbat Shekalim. We are just beginning to wake up from hibernation. There is always that moment when I come in from playing in the snow (or standing at a protest, as the case may be) and I run my frozen fingers under hot water. At first, they are totally numb. And then they begin to thaw. It is always more painful that I expect. There is a certain numbness brought on by persistent cold, persistent struggle, followed by a painful thaw before the comfort of warmth. So for just a moment, close your eyes and imagine that we are soaking our winterized souls in some springtime sun. Sitting under a flowering fruit tree, soaking in the rays, softening your shoulders, relaxing the muscles in your face, and opening up chest. Bare the pain of this thaw. It is necessary to start the work of leaving Mitzrayim.
This Shabbat is the first of what are called the Arbah Parshiyot, the 4 Torah portions that lead up to Shabbat HaGadol, the Great Shabbat before Passover. The period marked by the Arbah Parshiyot can act as our liberation booster shot. Liberation does not come easy and it does not happen overnight. The flowing of sap is our reminder to begin.
During Passover, we will say: “In every generation it should be as if you personally when out from Mitzrayim, from a narrow place,”
which commands each of us to do the work every year of leaving our Mitzrayim, every year we must emerge from the dark days of winter into the new growth of spring. In a culture indoctrinated by the discourse of scarcity, one way we can prepare is by cultivating a sense of abundance. Our own personal relationship to abundance is one piece of our communal liberation.
This week’s Torah portion, Mishpatim, articulates communal practices related to lending money. Our Torah portion asserts, “אִם־כֶּ֣סֶף | תַּלְוֶ֣ה If you lend people money, specifically people living in poverty, do not act as a creditor; do not collect interest from them.”
At first glance, this reads like a hypothetical situation. But Rashi explains, that every time we see the word אִם meaning if, in the Torah, it is optional except for three time, and this is one of them. In this case, lending money to the poor is obligatory, and therefore, in this verse, אִם actually means “when.” אִם־כֶּ֣סֶף | תַּלְוֶ֣ה WHEN you lend people money, specifically people living in poverty, do not act as a creditor; do not collect interest from them.”
We see this sentiment confirmed in Deuteronomy: “When there is a poor person among you…You are not to toughen your heart…Open your hand to him.” Reading these verses together we are asked to emulate the God who opens up Her hands and sustains all living things. This verse jumped out at me this week. Repeatedly on my walk to work and throughout the day, I am asked for money. And I know that my experience is not unique. I am confident that every single one of us has experienced being asked for money in West Philly, maybe even on our walk to services tonight. Certainly this is a regular part of shopping at Mariposa Coop.
Personally, I find that a lot hangs in the balance of these rather routine, potentially uncomfortable interactions. While it is often a monetary exchange, I have found that even more so, what is at stake with each person who asks me for money is our dignity.
אִם־כֶּ֣סֶף | תַּלְוֶ֣ה WHEN you lend people money…
Many years ago I went to a friend’s wedding in Bangladesh. The poverty was overwhelming. I found it hard to walk around because as a white foreigner, every single person asked me for money. I could hardly take a step. I asked my rabbi for advice. And she suggested making it a practice to always have change and small bills in my pocket so I could always say yes. For the last decade or so, this has been my practice. To always find a way to say yes and fulfill this commandment in our Torah to open our hands and lend money to the poor among us.
With Rabbi Michelle’s inspiration, we took this teaching to the next level in our new office space. On MLK Day, about 20 families got together and created Tzedakah Bags, that include food, water, toiletries, socks, and gloves. And so it is now our practice to give a bag to anyone who knocks on our door. In the process we have met some of our neighbors, Terry, Denise and Dolores. There is something fundamentally humanizing about being able to say yes in this way. Somehow being generous in a given moment, finding our inner yes, can remedy a larger sense of scarcity.
When I was in seminary I shadowed a colleague who was doing street ministry. I asked her what she carried in her bag. She said she carried things that she could give to people, like water and snacks, but also brand new socks, so that the people she served could give them to someone else. She found that one of the most dehumanizing aspects of being homeless is not being able to be generous. Generosity is at the heart of our humanity. Lending is about opening up our hands and our hearts, and being in relationship with one another, with our shared needs and desires. Our capacity to lend enables our capacity to borrow. And it is precisely this exchange that awakens our hearts to the truth of our interdependence. To be in community is to be sharing our resources, our time, our care, our cooking, freely. This sense of shared resources and shared needs, creates a wellspring from which we can borrow and to which we can lend. This wellspring is the source of our abundance.
Abundance is an orientation to trust in the infiniteness of the Divine.
Abundance is an inclination that inspires openness.
Abundance is this constant giving and receiving of joy, of love, of sustenance, and support.
It is liberating to live in this place of abundance.
This is not the physical liberation that frees all political prisoners.
This is not the economic liberation that ensures all domestic workers are making a living wage.
This is a kind of spiritual liberation that opens us to the source of our humanity and enables us to take great risks towards freedom.
Theses words of Torah echoed inside me as I gathered with a group of 50+ people to show our love and support for Masjid Al-Jamia. During Jummah prayers, the Imam warned against being stingy. He talked about generosity as the root of blessing.
אִם־כֶּ֣סֶף | תַּלְוֶ֣ה WHEN you lend people money…
A midrash on this verse and the nature of lending begins:
“All of God’s creations lend to one another, and they ask for nothing in return.
The day lends to the night.
The moon lends to the stars.
The heavens lend to the earth and the earth lends to the heavens.”
From this midrash, we learn 4 things about lending from the natural world:
The natural world lends generously. I am always surprised by how short the winter days can shrink and how long the summer days can grow.
The natural world lends with a sense of reciprocity. There is a consistent give and take.
The natural world lends continuously, if only but for two days a year – the spring and fall equinox – the days and nights are always borrowing and lending, one to another.
And the natural world lends seamlessly, it is hard to even determine whether the heavens are borrowing from the earth or vice versa.
Then the midrash moves away from the natural world, to the human experience:
Hesed, loving kindness, lends to tzedek, justice.
At moments our primary responsibility is to pursue justice.
And then in another moment, tzedek lends to hesed.
Our task is to open our hearts as wide as we can and to love because we are taught “To pursue justice and acts of loving kindness.”
We learn that all of creation lend to one another, and they all return the favor. So why, me must ask, would a person lend money to a friend and charge interest?
The midrash explains:
“This interest-charging friend once asked God: “Don’t you charge interest to all of your creations? From the earth that you irrigate; From the flowers that you grow; From the luminaries that you cause to shine; From the person into whom you breathed life?”
God replies, “No, never! See how much I lend, and I never collect interest. The earth lends and she doesn’t collect interest. I lend to the source of all lending, and the earth renews herself in it.”
We live in a world of abundance, and yet we feel scarcity – so we charge interest. The banks charge interest to the government. And the government charges interest to the people. The people charge interest to each other. I do a favor to a friend, and I say, “You owe me one.” The voice of God in this midrash reminds us that there is enough to go around. The long nights will make way for long days. That which we composted in the fall will be fertilizer in the spring.
But how do we get there?
On this Shabbat Mevarchim Adar, I offer you my own personal practice for the next 4 weeks and invite you to you carry around a pocket full of change and lend money to every person who asks for the next 4 weeks? Not if, but when. To see yourself as obligated to open up your hands to those in need.
Will this redistribute wealth? Certainly not!
But maybe in opening your hand, you will also open your heart, and maybe this will cause you to act from a place of loving-kindness. Perhaps the yes inside us will ripple and if the midrash is right, this openness will be reciprocated.
The Sufi mystic Hafiz writes:
Even
After
All this time
The sun never says to the earth,
"You owe
Me."
Look
What happens
With a love like that,
It lights the
Whole
Sky.
This Shabbat Shekalim, we read about the ½ shekel tax that every person is required to contribute towards the building of the tabernacle. May we each have the faith to place our 50 cents in the spiritual hat and know that someone else will match us, will make us whole, will lend us the other half. May we have the courage to thaw our hearts and our hands, and allow the sap of liberation to flow through us. And may we go from strength to strength.
It is usually right around now,
mid February,
when I start to complain about winter.
I complain about the lack of sunlight.
I complain about the cold.
I complain about the short days and the long nights.
I actually enjoy snow, so that is one less thing to complain about.
By February, I have forgotten what it feels like to wear shorts and a t-shirt.
I have forgotten the sweetness of local peaches and spaciousness of long summer nights.
In The Jewish Book of Days, Rabbi Jill Hammer describes this time of year as the season of sap. She writes, “The sap in the trees begins to rise, and life runs through all the veins of the trees. The blood of the living creatures also begins to move faster as they awaken to seek food. Ice cracks and melts; water disperses over the land. Though there still may be a chill on the earth, it is an invigorating cold, one that inspires us to move.” Rabbi Hammer reminds us that the release of winter will make way for the new growth of spring. Not yet, but it will, soon enough. And the transition is beginning.
Next week is Rosh Hodesh Adar, this new moon comes and she says: “Get excited! Increase your joy. Because next month is Rosh Hodesh Nissan. And you know what is in Nissan? Passover! Freedom, sunshine, tree blossoms, flower buds, birth, growth.”
Somehow, what seems like the middle of winter can also be an opening towards spring. And that is where we are today, with Shabbat Shekalim. We are just beginning to wake up from hibernation. There is always that moment when I come in from playing in the snow (or standing at a protest, as the case may be) and I run my frozen fingers under hot water. At first, they are totally numb. And then they begin to thaw. It is always more painful that I expect. There is a certain numbness brought on by persistent cold, persistent struggle, followed by a painful thaw before the comfort of warmth. So for just a moment, close your eyes and imagine that we are soaking our winterized souls in some springtime sun. Sitting under a flowering fruit tree, soaking in the rays, softening your shoulders, relaxing the muscles in your face, and opening up chest. Bare the pain of this thaw. It is necessary to start the work of leaving Mitzrayim.
This Shabbat is the first of what are called the Arbah Parshiyot, the 4 Torah portions that lead up to Shabbat HaGadol, the Great Shabbat before Passover. The period marked by the Arbah Parshiyot can act as our liberation booster shot. Liberation does not come easy and it does not happen overnight. The flowing of sap is our reminder to begin.
During Passover, we will say: “In every generation it should be as if you personally when out from Mitzrayim, from a narrow place,”
which commands each of us to do the work every year of leaving our Mitzrayim, every year we must emerge from the dark days of winter into the new growth of spring. In a culture indoctrinated by the discourse of scarcity, one way we can prepare is by cultivating a sense of abundance. Our own personal relationship to abundance is one piece of our communal liberation.
This week’s Torah portion, Mishpatim, articulates communal practices related to lending money. Our Torah portion asserts, “אִם־כֶּ֣סֶף | תַּלְוֶ֣ה If you lend people money, specifically people living in poverty, do not act as a creditor; do not collect interest from them.”
At first glance, this reads like a hypothetical situation. But Rashi explains, that every time we see the word אִם meaning if, in the Torah, it is optional except for three time, and this is one of them. In this case, lending money to the poor is obligatory, and therefore, in this verse, אִם actually means “when.” אִם־כֶּ֣סֶף | תַּלְוֶ֣ה WHEN you lend people money, specifically people living in poverty, do not act as a creditor; do not collect interest from them.”
We see this sentiment confirmed in Deuteronomy: “When there is a poor person among you…You are not to toughen your heart…Open your hand to him.” Reading these verses together we are asked to emulate the God who opens up Her hands and sustains all living things. This verse jumped out at me this week. Repeatedly on my walk to work and throughout the day, I am asked for money. And I know that my experience is not unique. I am confident that every single one of us has experienced being asked for money in West Philly, maybe even on our walk to services tonight. Certainly this is a regular part of shopping at Mariposa Coop.
Personally, I find that a lot hangs in the balance of these rather routine, potentially uncomfortable interactions. While it is often a monetary exchange, I have found that even more so, what is at stake with each person who asks me for money is our dignity.
אִם־כֶּ֣סֶף | תַּלְוֶ֣ה WHEN you lend people money…
Many years ago I went to a friend’s wedding in Bangladesh. The poverty was overwhelming. I found it hard to walk around because as a white foreigner, every single person asked me for money. I could hardly take a step. I asked my rabbi for advice. And she suggested making it a practice to always have change and small bills in my pocket so I could always say yes. For the last decade or so, this has been my practice. To always find a way to say yes and fulfill this commandment in our Torah to open our hands and lend money to the poor among us.
With Rabbi Michelle’s inspiration, we took this teaching to the next level in our new office space. On MLK Day, about 20 families got together and created Tzedakah Bags, that include food, water, toiletries, socks, and gloves. And so it is now our practice to give a bag to anyone who knocks on our door. In the process we have met some of our neighbors, Terry, Denise and Dolores. There is something fundamentally humanizing about being able to say yes in this way. Somehow being generous in a given moment, finding our inner yes, can remedy a larger sense of scarcity.
When I was in seminary I shadowed a colleague who was doing street ministry. I asked her what she carried in her bag. She said she carried things that she could give to people, like water and snacks, but also brand new socks, so that the people she served could give them to someone else. She found that one of the most dehumanizing aspects of being homeless is not being able to be generous. Generosity is at the heart of our humanity. Lending is about opening up our hands and our hearts, and being in relationship with one another, with our shared needs and desires. Our capacity to lend enables our capacity to borrow. And it is precisely this exchange that awakens our hearts to the truth of our interdependence. To be in community is to be sharing our resources, our time, our care, our cooking, freely. This sense of shared resources and shared needs, creates a wellspring from which we can borrow and to which we can lend. This wellspring is the source of our abundance.
Abundance is an orientation to trust in the infiniteness of the Divine.
Abundance is an inclination that inspires openness.
Abundance is this constant giving and receiving of joy, of love, of sustenance, and support.
It is liberating to live in this place of abundance.
This is not the physical liberation that frees all political prisoners.
This is not the economic liberation that ensures all domestic workers are making a living wage.
This is a kind of spiritual liberation that opens us to the source of our humanity and enables us to take great risks towards freedom.
Theses words of Torah echoed inside me as I gathered with a group of 50+ people to show our love and support for Masjid Al-Jamia. During Jummah prayers, the Imam warned against being stingy. He talked about generosity as the root of blessing.
אִם־כֶּ֣סֶף | תַּלְוֶ֣ה WHEN you lend people money…
A midrash on this verse and the nature of lending begins:
“All of God’s creations lend to one another, and they ask for nothing in return.
The day lends to the night.
The moon lends to the stars.
The heavens lend to the earth and the earth lends to the heavens.”
From this midrash, we learn 4 things about lending from the natural world:
The natural world lends generously. I am always surprised by how short the winter days can shrink and how long the summer days can grow.
The natural world lends with a sense of reciprocity. There is a consistent give and take.
The natural world lends continuously, if only but for two days a year – the spring and fall equinox – the days and nights are always borrowing and lending, one to another.
And the natural world lends seamlessly, it is hard to even determine whether the heavens are borrowing from the earth or vice versa.
Then the midrash moves away from the natural world, to the human experience:
Hesed, loving kindness, lends to tzedek, justice.
At moments our primary responsibility is to pursue justice.
And then in another moment, tzedek lends to hesed.
Our task is to open our hearts as wide as we can and to love because we are taught “To pursue justice and acts of loving kindness.”
We learn that all of creation lend to one another, and they all return the favor. So why, me must ask, would a person lend money to a friend and charge interest?
The midrash explains:
“This interest-charging friend once asked God: “Don’t you charge interest to all of your creations? From the earth that you irrigate; From the flowers that you grow; From the luminaries that you cause to shine; From the person into whom you breathed life?”
God replies, “No, never! See how much I lend, and I never collect interest. The earth lends and she doesn’t collect interest. I lend to the source of all lending, and the earth renews herself in it.”
We live in a world of abundance, and yet we feel scarcity – so we charge interest. The banks charge interest to the government. And the government charges interest to the people. The people charge interest to each other. I do a favor to a friend, and I say, “You owe me one.” The voice of God in this midrash reminds us that there is enough to go around. The long nights will make way for long days. That which we composted in the fall will be fertilizer in the spring.
But how do we get there?
On this Shabbat Mevarchim Adar, I offer you my own personal practice for the next 4 weeks and invite you to you carry around a pocket full of change and lend money to every person who asks for the next 4 weeks? Not if, but when. To see yourself as obligated to open up your hands to those in need.
Will this redistribute wealth? Certainly not!
But maybe in opening your hand, you will also open your heart, and maybe this will cause you to act from a place of loving-kindness. Perhaps the yes inside us will ripple and if the midrash is right, this openness will be reciprocated.
The Sufi mystic Hafiz writes:
Even
After
All this time
The sun never says to the earth,
"You owe
Me."
Look
What happens
With a love like that,
It lights the
Whole
Sky.
This Shabbat Shekalim, we read about the ½ shekel tax that every person is required to contribute towards the building of the tabernacle. May we each have the faith to place our 50 cents in the spiritual hat and know that someone else will match us, will make us whole, will lend us the other half. May we have the courage to thaw our hearts and our hands, and allow the sap of liberation to flow through us. And may we go from strength to strength.