Yes, and… Shabbat D’varim/Hazon 5785
Shabbat Hazon, which always coincides with our starting the book of Deuteronomy, has a unique feeling. It’s a feeling of ambiguity, and of competing impulses. It’s a feeling that I like to call “Yes, and…”. This feeling, for me this year, feels especially resonant.
As many of you know, I just got back from two weeks at Camp Ramah in Palmer. It was a wonderful experience. I arrived nearly two weeks ago on a Sunday, and then two days later our elder daughter was dropped off for the second session. It was two fun, hot, tiring, at times rainy, but wonderful weeks I spent as part of the Jewish learning team with several other rabbis and colleagues. I taught some great Jewish texts, had a wonderful and grounding Shabbat last week, saw old friends and met new ones, and spoke a lot of Hebrew.
I’m feeling both grateful for the opportunity and exhausted after two weeks there, yes, and…there are still about two more weeks left in camp. We’ll be heading back there to pick our daughter up once camp is over.
While at camp, I heard a teaching from another rabbi that picks up on this “Yes, and…” feeling. He noted that in Psalm 29, which is part of our liturgy for Kabbalat Shabbat, the psalm includes the phrase:
יְ֭הֹוָה לַמַּבּ֣וּל יָשָׁ֑ב וַיֵּ֥שֶׁב יְ֝הֹוָ֗ה מֶ֣לֶךְ לְעוֹלָֽם׃
The LORD sat enthroned at the Flood; the LORD sits enthroned, king forever.
G-d both caused the destruction of the world as our supernal ruler in the story of Noah, and will remain so forever- even in the messianic age.
Our haftarah, from which Shabbat Hazon gets its name (“hazon” being the first word) is a rebuke and a vision of destruction for the Israelites, who have gone severely astray in myriad ways. Yes, and… there is a hint of hope at the very end of the haftarah:
וְאָשִׁ֤יבָה שֹׁפְטַ֙יִךְ֙ כְּבָרִ֣אשֹׁנָ֔ה וְיֹעֲצַ֖יִךְ כְּבַתְּחִלָּ֑ה אַֽחֲרֵי־כֵ֗ן יִקָּ֤רֵא לָךְ֙ עִ֣יר הַצֶּ֔דֶק קִרְיָ֖ה נֶאֱמָנָֽה׃
I will restore your magistrates as of old, and your counselors as of yore. After that you shall be called City of Righteousness, Faithful City.”
צִיּ֖וֹן בְּמִשְׁפָּ֣ט תִּפָּדֶ֑ה וְשָׁבֶ֖יהָ בִּצְדָקָֽה׃
Zion shall be saved in the judgment; her repentant ones, in the retribution.
This vision of destruction followed by restoration is mirrored in the observance of Tisha B’Av itself, which begins this evening after Shabbat ends. We begin Tisha B’Av in a posture of sadness- fasting, sitting on the floor in the dark, chanting Eicha, the book of Lamentations, in its mournful yet beautiful trope, reciting kinot (elegies) while bemoaning and bewailing the repeated destruction of our holy temple and other national tragedies.
This year I would add that our mourning is more acute than it should be- for the ongoing war in our holy land, for the death and destruction that it’s caused for all people in its path, for a worldwide spike in antisemitism, and our own Jewish community which, in my memory, has never seemed more splintered in my lifetime than it does now.
Yet in the afternoon of Tisha B’Av, our mourning begins to recede. At the afternoon mincha service we sit not on the floor but in our chairs as usual. Our tallit and tefillin, which we did not wear in the morning as usual, are put on. Now that Jerusalem itself is largely controlled by a sovereign Jewish state, many people (myself included) have the custom of breaking their fast after the mincha service. Many people, especially in Jerusalem, use the afternoon of Tisha B’Av to clean their homes in preparation for the coming of the Messiah, who the tradition holds is born on Tisha B’Av. It’s a day that encapsulates and represents both the lowest moments in our history, as well as the greatest future that we pray for every day. It really is a “Yes, and…” type of day.
This same “Yes, and…” feeling is found in our parsha as well. The book of Deuteronomy opens with Moses beginning his first lengthy valedictory speech after 40 years of wandering in the wilderness. He’s addressing not the Israelites whom he led out of Egypt, but their descendants, who have not known slavery in Egypt and are largely untainted by the mistakes made by their elders in their desert journeys. As such, his mission is twofold: to give them a history and recapitulation of their story and the mitzvot given to them…AND to give them his own vision of what will happen when they cross the Jordan to the promised land without him. There is both chastisement, and encouragement throughout the book that gives it an ambiguous feeling.
Holding two truths at once- existing in the “Yes, and…” space- is part and parcel of the tradition. It can be uncomfortable at times. We even have our own phrase for it. In one famous account of a disagreement begin the houses of Hillel and Shammai in the Talmud, the heavenly voice calls out and says Eilu v’eilu divrei Elohim chayyim- “both these and those are the words of the living G-d”. In that “Yes, and…”/Eilu v’eilu spirit, I want to unequivocally state some truths which are not contradictory, but equal.
Israel has a right to defend itself…AND the suffering of innocent Palestinians, no matter the cause, is unbearable to behold.
War is sadly necessary at times…AND there is no greater calamity, both personally and nationally.
The stated aims of the war in Gaza have largely been fulfilled…AND all of our hostages are not home yet.
The vast majority of Israelis, when polled, are in favor of a swift end to the war and the return of all hostages, living and dead…AND the government of Israel is not doing the country any favors, is largely self-serving, and sadly seems to have no concern for optics.
Judaism and the Jewish people, thank G-d, continue to flourish…AND the threat of antisemitism is real and unnerving.
I’ve been wrestling with my “Yes, and…” feelings at times. Remaining objective and seemingly in the middle, refusing to resolutely take a side, can be difficult. These are indeed difficult days for the Jewish community and for our homeland. Yet, in a trajectory similar to Tisha b’Av, I was shaken at least momentarily out of my difficult stupor by a lovely vision.
Last Shabbat at camp, after dinner, I joined the younger campers for their shirah (song session) after dinner. They were singing together, screaming in joy, the encouraging words of Rebbe Nachman of Bratslav:
Kol haolam kulo gesher tzar m’od, v’ha’ikar lo l’fached klal– “The whole world is a narrow bridge/And the main thing is to not be afraid at all”.
I had a vision while singing several rounds of the song with campers, both Americans and Israelis, that despite the difficulties of our moment, we’re going to be okay. To use an old phrase- “The kids are all right”. Judaism will thrive, and the world will be improved, by children who can acknowledge imperfections- in our country, in Israel, in Jewish life- while still believing wholeheartedly that we are destined for better days and greater things. This was reinforced for me last night, when under a large tent in the pouring rain before dinner I davened mincha and ma’ariv as part of a minyan made up of campers, the vast majority of whom identified as female (which, sadly, is still an uncommon site in many communities).
Both of these experiences at camp brought to mind the lyrics of a Debbie Friedman song you may now, who lyrics are based on Joel 3:1:
And the old shall dream dreams, and the youth shall see visions,
And our hopes shall rise up to the sky.
We must live for today; we must build for tomorrow.
Give us time, give us strength, give us life.
May we know no more heartache. May this war be brought to a close, may Zion be rebuilt, and may we merit to see the better days envisioned by our tradition.
