Learning from Everyday Objects

Rabbi Melanie Aron

August 12, 2001

A famous Hassidic rabbi, the Sadagorer rebbe, insisted that something can be learned from everything, even from the inventions of his time, which were suspect in his own ultra-Orthodox community.

"What can you learn from a train?" his students asked. He answered: "When you are late for your train, you learn that even a minute counts."

And from a telegraph? That every word counts.

And from the telephone? That what is said here, is heard there.

This Shabbat, when we are so fortunate as to be celebrating three simchot within our congregation, I would like to speak about what we can learn from some other ordinary objects.

This morning I would like to speak about doors, at noontime, about windows, and later this afternoon about the compass.

Doors

Making distinctions and drawing boundaries is very important in traditional Judaism. In the Torah, creation begins with making a distinction between light and darkness, day and night, and continues with God separating the upper waters and the lower waters. Creation in the first chapter of Genesis is the imposition of order upon chaos, so that a livable world might emerge. We are called upon to imitate God and to make our own distinctions between the holy and the profane, the ritually pure and the impure. Animals are divided into kosher, that is fit for consumption according to the laws of the Torah, and un-kosher, and our actions too are classified as fitting or not fitting. Much of the discussion of the Talmud is related to drawing lines and figuring out where something which is ambiguous fits into the already laid out categories of Jewish law.

A door is important, because it is part of the creation of defined space. On one side of the door you are inside and on the other outside. This becomes significant, as for example in the story of Lot and the two messengers, angels sent by God to destroy the city but rescue the righteous. Once these guests have come within his door, Lot feels obligated to protect them as part of the laws of hospitality. Doors and gates figure prominently in many Biblical stories. The elders of the community gathered at the city gates, and there Boaz found them when he wanted community witness to his assuming the role of goel, redeemer for his distant relative Ruth.

Doors however are more than dividing lines, in that they allow for the crossing of boundaries. Through a door, one passes from one domain to another, from private property and into the public arena. In general the transitory period in passing from one state to another takes on a religious significance. Dawn and dusk have special significance as we pass from darkness to light, light to darkness. The moment Shabbat begins and the moment it ends, as we pass from the world of the mundane into holiness and back again, are also marked by ritual.

Therefore we should not be surprised that doorways also require a special ritual. In this week's Torah portion, in Deuteronomy 11:20, in a passage that parallels the better known V'ahavta we are told "to inscribe the words of this teaching on the doorposts of our houses on our gates." As we pass from the street to our homes, and from our homes to the street, we need a reminder of God's teaching. As we enter our homes, the mezuzah reminds us of the mitzvot that relate to home, shalom bayit, creating peace in the home, kibbud av v'am honoring our parents, mikdash me'at, making our homes a small sanctuary dedicated to holiness. Similarly as we leave our homes, the mezuzah brings to mind the need to take our values with us wherever we go- to school, to work, and even to the marketplace.

Bat Mitzvah is itself like walking through a door. It is a moment of passage from one stage to another, marked by ritual.

On this special day I hope you will take with you what we can learn from doors. I hope you will be able to make distinctions, lehavdil, between right and wrong, good and evil, the holy and the profane. May you not be afraid to pass through the doorways with which life presents, remembering always to take your Jewish values along.

Windows

Those who have been to Shir Hadash before, may have noticed that we had some new stained glass windows installed at the end of last month. Installed on the northern and southern sides of the building, they pick up the themes of the windows in the front of the sanctuary, the tallit, the chuppah, the breastplate of the ancient high priest and the altar of stones commanded in the Torah. But if you look around carefully you will notice that they were not installed on the western wall. Why not? Well, it is not because no one but the rabbi and cantor would see them there, as one child suggested, nor is it because of a lack of generosity on the part of our benefactor. Rather the decision to leave those windows clear glass relates to an element of Jewish law relating to prayer.

In Jewish tradition a person may pray at home, or on the road, in a synagogue or even a roadside inn, but a person may not, according to Rabbi Hiyya bar Abba who taught in the name of Rabbi Johanan (Babylonian Talmud- Berachot 34b) pray in a room without windows. Why not? Well Rashi explains that this follows the example of Daniel who continued to worship God despite the decree of King Darius of Chaldea. Before beginning to pray, Daniel created an opening in the room in which he prayed, windows facing Jerusalem. This may in fact be the first record we have of Jewish prayer facing Jerusalem as is our custom today. We also know that the Temple that Solomon built had windows. They are described in I Kings chapter 6 verse 4, as recessed and latticed. According to later Rabbinic tradition, these windows were narrow within, widening outward, so that they might send forth the light of the Torah into the world. The Pesikta Kahana says that a place of prayer must have windows so that Jewish teachings go out into the world.

But there is another explanation and it relates to glass itself. The rabbis ask: What is the difference between a window and a mirror? Only a little bit of silver- a mirror is created by painting a piece of glass with a silver backing, but with that little bit of silver you cease to see others and see only yourself. When you pray you are not meant to be looking into silver. You are not meant to be thinking only of yourself. You must pray in a room with windows, so that even in your prayer, even in your personal spiritual quest, you remain aware of the world around you.

Windows allow, even require us to look out. They insist that we take note of the community within which we live, its needs, its concerns.

Sarah in your words this morning and in the readings you have chosen for you service, you showed interest in the world around you. In talking to us about women at the Wall, you brought to our attention issues that extend beyond our praying place. We hope you will be always like a sanctuary with windows, never closing yourself off to the outside world, always taking your Torah values out with you into the community.

The Compass

When I was a little kid, I remember finding a toy compass in the bottom of my Cracker-Jacks. Though I was excited with the toy, a toy was all it was. The little plastic compasses had no true north. For them North was always straight ahead, no matter which direction you faced. They were fun to play with but would have been useless in finding your way.

I thought about these toy compasses as I considered a verse in your Torah portion.

In Deuteronomy Chapter 12 verse 8 we read: You shall not act at all as we now act here- ish kol hayashar be-eynav- each man as seems right in his own eyes.

This verse has presented problems to commentators throughout the centuries. It was written in the context of worship and is referring to the custom of each person worshipping God where he sees fit rather than at a centralized location. But as even Rashi noted, that was not the practice of the Israelites in the desert, where we are told by the Torah, they worshipped God at the mishkan, the tabernacle that they had built. This verse seems more in keeping with the practice of the Israelites after they entered the land, especially as described in the book of Judges. In fact modern scholars use this verse as evidence that the first really successful centralization of worship in ancient Israel did not take place until the 7th century BCE in the time of the reformation of King Josiah.

All of that is very interesting, but it doesn't bring me to the issue of the compasses. Let's return to the verse itself.

What does this really mean, ish kol asher hayashar be-eynav, every man as seems right in his eyes. In some ways, isn't that what modern secular society wants- each person to do what seems right according to their own values and reasoning?

Perhaps here is the divide between religious and secular. Religious people have tended to be less optimistic about the outcome of ish kol asher hayshar be-eynav. We worry that people tend to rationalize and self-justify. When they experience cognitive dissonance at the thought of doing something they preciously viewed as wrong, as often as not, they will modify their interpretation of their action and their values, rather than changing their action. They are like my toy compasses- north shifts each time they take a step. To the Jewish religious sensibility, doing what seems right in our own eyes, may not be sufficient to the creation of a moral person.

The Torah offers another compass, found in the Torah portion we read the week after Tisha B'av. In that portion we are taught: veasitah hayashar vehatov be-eynay Adonai - You shall do what is right and good in the eyes of God. This goes beyond commanding us to follow Jewish Law. It covers those situations where there is no Law. It allows Jewish law to change, as we moderate the halachah according to this meta-halachic standard of the right and the good. Above all, by providing us with a standard outside ourselves, it gives us with a true north, a compass that can really provide direction. Ilyssa, we pray that you will always strive to find that standard and to apply it to your own behavior.