Rabbi Harold M. Schulweis Sermons

Passover Shabbat 2004

by Harold M. Schulweis

There are two ways to read the biblical text. One is external, exterior, historical ­ past tense. The other is internal, interior, existential ­ the present tense.

The text before us (Exodus 32) deals with a moment of crisis. Moses has descended from the mountain holding in his arms two tablets of the laws ­ the Ten Commandments - which he was to give to the people.

Now he confronts his recently liberated people, prancing and dancing around the golden calf. Either angry or depressed, or both, the tablets fall from his trembling hands because his morale has been shaken. The tablets are shattered. “What shall become of us?” That is the biblical text, seen externally.

Existentially, the question is “What do we do when our lives fall apart? What do we do when we fail, fall, transgress, when our lives are shattered?

Our sages deepened this event with psychological and religious imagination. They asked, “What happened to the tablets that were broken? How and where were they placed in the Holy of Holies, together with the whole tablets of the Law?”

“The broken and the whole tablets were placed in the Ark of Holiness.”

How does that Midrash apply to us? It teaches us that we are not to dismiss error, failure, mistakes, transgression, bury them in the graves of amnesia or consign them to the dust-bins of history. We are to confront our failings, because there is wisdom in folly, holiness in failure. In order to rise up, you must bend down. So the posture of the standard prayer “Baruch Atah,” calls for us to bend the knee, and when pronouncing the name of God, “Adonai,” stand up straight. Some Jewish mystics taught, “Yeridah l’tzorech aliyah,” “descend in order to ascend.” Before you leap high in the air, crouch low!

Another lesson the sages taught from the biblical text of the golden calf is not to wallow in regret, not to dwell on failure, but to emulate what Moses was commanded to do: “The Lord said to Moses, ‘Hew two tablets of stone like the first and I will inscribe upon the tablets the words that were on the first tablets which you shattered.’” Begin again, climb the mountain again, receive the Law again, trust again, believe again. “Again” is the most powerful word in Jewish faith.

“What,” some sages asked, however, “is the difference between the original first tablets of the Law, brought down by Moses, and the second tablets of the Law, brought to Moses?” They answered: “The first revelation came from God above to below. But the second revelation came as a result of a covenantal partnership between the Divine and the human, between God and Moses. With the second tablets of the Law, Moses carved out the tablets, Moses wrote it according to the command ­ “Write these words.” We are not passive recipients of the Word of God, we are not secretaries who take dictation - we are partners in discovering the truth and the good. To receive the wheat is a blessing, but that is not enough unless you take the raw sheaves, learn how to grind them, cook the flour, bake it, turn it into edible matzah. That is the uniqueness of the second tablets of the Law.

These B’not Mitzvah are what William James, the philosopher, called “twice born.” They come to the Torah not as passive children sent by the parents to school, and they have not come because someone ordered them to study. They have come out of their own free will and their own courageous choice, they have dared to learn, to study, to master. They have drawn upon their own potentiality and actualized it.

In the prophetic portion of Ezekiel, which they have read in the Haftorah, the prophet, in his vision, dreamt of “dry bones,” referring to those who have given up on life. Life has passed them by. The prophet hears the voice of God: “Hatichinah Ha-atzamot Ha-elah.”

“Mortal man, can these bones live again?” And the Lord said: “Prophesy over these bones and say to them, “‘Hear the Word of the Lord.’ The Lord God said to those bones, “I will cause breath to enter you and you shall live again. I will lay sinews upon you and cover you with flesh and form skin over you, and I will put breath into you and you shall live again.’”

The breath entered them and they came alive and stood up on their feet and God said, “These bones are the whole house of Israel. They say, “Our bones are dried up, our hope is gone, we are doomed.’ Prophesy, therefore, and say to them, “I am going to open your graves and lift you out of the graves. And I will put my breath into you and you shall live again and I will set you upon your own soil.’” This is a powerful image, the sacred myth of our people.

It is the great dream of this worldly resurrection. We can rise up out of our melancholy, out of the graves of our sadness and create a new heart and a new spirit. Resurrection is not for the literally dead. Resurrection is not for another world – resurrection is for those who want to live here and now, with greater significance, with greater authenticity, resurrected from staleness and paralysis. We can break the bondage of ignorance and the slavery of illiteracy. We can open our eyes and open our mouths. We can become “berioth chadoshot,” new creations.

It is not a small thing that we witness today. This ceremony and this occasion is hardly a trivial gesture. It is a public testimony to our capacity as individuals, and as a people, to become more than we are, to know more than we have learned, to realize more than we have dreamed. These B’not Mitzvah have each received an “aliyah,” which literally means “to ascend.” But that that is a reflexive act which derives from the word “Hitaluth,” which designates self-transcendence.

I know, and their families know, their determination to become more knowing, more feeling, more participatory in the life of Judaism. Theirs is a transforming choice and its message touches us all: We who listen, all of us, are to become Jews-by-Choice. It is not enough to be born a Jew. It is important to earn the title.

Passover celebrates “becoming.” Therefore the Haggadah reminds us that we were once slaves, our ancestors were once pagans, but look what we have become. We have transformed ourselves and resurrected our hopes.

These nine decided on their own to become B’not Mitzvah. They have spent days, weeks and months studying, and been taught by a great teacher, who teaches with “tough love.” For Yossi Dresner will not suffer excuses lightly. But his students know that beneath the feigned scowl and beneath the pretended chastisement, lies a deep and profound love and respect for each and every one of them. It is an honor and a pride for the rabbi to serve a congregation which includes such a courageous group of people.

We are blessed by them and we rise as a community to bless them and welcome them into our community

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