La energía es el impulso vital que motiva y mueve a los seres humanos. Cuando ésta es positiva, la gente vive mejor, cuando es negativa, todo se complica.
Hay personas que tienen una manera de ser ligera, son agradables y que además siempre ofrecen sonrisas y buenos consejos, son personas contentas con la vida. Viven en un mundo pacifico y se las reconoce porque parecen magnetos de la buena suerte y oportunidades. La energía que tienen y que dan es positiva y amena.
Desafortunadamente también hay personas que tienen una vibra pesada, que su energía es negativa, cargada de malestar, siempre viven culpando a todos por todo. Este tipo de personas es gente que no aporta nada bueno al mundo y cuando hablan son hirientes, están enojados y parece que todo les molesta o es un problema.
De igual forma están las personas que no pareciera que tienen energía ya que viven sin hacer ni ruido, no opinan y nunca tienen nada que ofrecer. Siempre están agotadas y prefieren dormir en lugar de interactuar con el mundo.
Así que la energía existe. Es como una fuerza invisible, pero se siente. No se puede tocar, pero se la reconoce. Puede ser medida en laboratorios y sus resultados son evidentes.
Una vez uno está consciente del poder de su propia energía, entonces puede aprender a dirigir y hasta transformarla para aprovechar los beneficios y enriquecerse de sus resultados.
Tener energía pulsante que se renueva y se incrementa es la llave del éxito, y esto se logra cuando uno puede visualizar claramente el tipo de vida, la calidad de relaciones que quiere tener y sobre todo, cuando tiene un propósito de vivir en armonía, paz y abundancia, sin limitarse o elegir con quién sí y a quien no.
Toda energía se invierte y cada persona elige si quiere cargar o prefiere fluir. Por este motivo uno tiene el poder propio para decidir si uno quiere ser positivo y vivir alrededor de gente linda y positiva o si prefiere el camino contrario, guardando su buen trato SÓLO para las personas que él elige, ya que no todos son merecedores de su respeto, ni su buena cara.
La energía negativa consume, agota y aísla a la persona de los demás, asimismo la energía positiva, se multiplica, nutre las relaciones personales, cultiva la armonía y mejora la calidad de vida.
Hay personas que eligen ser positivas en ciertas circunstancias y deciden ser negativas en otras, lamentablemente, el juego de las energías internamente consume y termina contaminando lo bueno con lo negativo.
Es una verdadera lástima saber lo mucho que se pierde cuando uno nutre su energía negativa. En realidad, cuesta lo mismo alimentar la energía positiva, sin embargo, la calidad de vida y el tipo de relaciones que se obtienen cuando uno fluye con paz y armonía es mucho mejor.
La receta: Tener energía positiva
Ingredientes:
Conciencia – reconocer que ser positivo es una virtud que se trabaja, no se nace.
Compromiso – elección sincera de la manera como quiere actuar, la energía se dirige.
Disciplina – rituales para actuar de la forma deseada con cuidado continuo.
Visualizaciones – declaraciones personales que eligen el tipo de actitudes a tomar.
Evaluaciones – revisiones continuas del sentir, actuar y pensar personal.
Afirmación positiva para tener energía efectiva:
Quiero ser una persona con energía positiva. Visualizo el lado amable, bueno y constructivo de lo que me sucede. Yo soy la única persona que puede trasformar mi energía para ser mejor. Atraigo a gente positiva, generosa y deseo con todo mi corazón vivir en plenitud. Nutro mi energía positiva, la renuevo y la comparto con el mundo.
Como nutrir la energía positiva:
Visualizar la vida con ‘retos’ es tener una actitud más positiva que visualizarla con ‘obstáculos’ o ‘dificultades’. La actitud con la que se percibe la vida nutre el tipo de energía que uno desarrolla.
La energía positiva promueve la felicidad y motiva a que cada uno se convierta en su mejor versión. Ser una persona positiva es una elección consciente, racional y absolutamente se puede aprender con un buen entrenamiento.
La energía negativa se nutre sola, la energía positiva se tiene que trabajar. El mecanismo que protege a las personas del peligro es una defensa nata para sobrevivir. Ser una persona positiva es una elección que se debe decidir y propiciar.
“La energía más poderosa es cuando se logra transformar la energía negativa en energía positiva. Ese debe de ser el motor que mueve todas las acciones”.
There is a mitzvah to rejoice on all of the holidays, yet there is special emphasis on being joyful during Sukkot. As the Midrash1 notes, the Torah highlights the command to rejoice on Sukkot three times (as opposed to Shavuot, when we are commanded once, and Passover, when we are not explicitly commanded to rejoice).2
Furthermore, in our holiday prayers, each holiday is given its own descriptive name: Passover is the “Season of Our Liberation,” Shavuot is the “Season of the Giving of Our Torah” and Sukkot is described simply as the “Season of Our Rejoicing!”
Why is Sukkot singled out?
Gathering the Produce From the Field
On the most basic level, the Torah itself gives the answer. We read: “You shall make yourself the festival of Sukkot for seven days, when you gather in [the produce] from your threshing floor and your wine pit. And you shall rejoice in your festival—you, and your son, and your daughter . . .”3 Apparently, this extra shot of joy is due to our stocked storehouses after the harvest.
Based on this, the Midrash4 explains why the Torah does not explicitly command us to rejoice on Passover, and only commands us one time regarding Sukkot. At Passover time, we are judged regarding the grain, but we don’t know yet what the crop will look like, since we only harvest it after Passover; on Shavuot we have gathered the grain and can now rejoice, but we didn’t yet gather the fruits from the trees so rejoicing is only mentioned once. But as the Midrash concludes, “On Sukkot, when the souls have received acquittal . . . and furthermore, we have already gathered not just the grain but the fruit as well, it mentions the imperative to rejoice three times.”
Look closely at the Midrash, and you’ll find that we’re not just happy because we have so much food in reserve—our souls have been acquitted. Viewed through this lens, the celebration of the harvest is much deeper than we originally thought.
Between Grain and Fruit
All that occurs in the natural order of the world is but a reflection of a deeper spiritual truth. Thus, by understanding the significance of the ingathering of the fruit, we can better understand the significance of the holiday of Sukkot.
The Rebbe teaches that we must first appreciate the difference between the gathering of the grain (which is celebrated by the holiday of Shavuot) and the ingathering of the fruit.5
For one, when it comes to grain, it doesn’t take that long—just a matter of weeks or months—from the time of planting until the crops ripen and you can enjoy the bounty. With fruit, however, it can sometimes take many years until you can finally enjoy the “fruits of your labor.” In addition, it takes much less labor to grow a stalk of wheat than it does to nurture a fruit tree to maturity.6
On the other hand, the amount of grain you harvest is commensurate with the number of seeds that were planted. A fruit tree, however, which was planted using a single seed, can produce an abundance of fruit for dozens of years. Thus, the fruit produced is incomparable to what was put into it.
Fruits From the Teshuvah Tree
The difference between grain and fruit can be compared to the difference between the divine service of the tzadik, the righteous individual, and that of the baal teshuvah, one who is repentant.
The righteous person travels on the straight and narrow path without too much concern or effort. Whenever he has a question of what to do, he turns to the Torah and follows it. He is therefore compared to grain, which can be harvested in a relatively short span of time with minimal effort.
The baal teshuvah, however, is compared to a fruit tree. It takes much effort and time, with many obstacles, twists and turns, to ultimately harvest the fruit. But it is precisely because of this that when he does finally harvest, he does so in abundance, and the yield is incomparable to the one single seed that was planted.
The divine service of the holidays of Passover and Shavuot is compared to the service of the righteous tzadik. He too celebrates, but it is with limitations, as whatever grows is only relative to what was planted.
However, shortly after the Giving of the Torah (on Shavuot), the Jews sinned with the Golden Calf, and it was not until the day of Yom Kippur that the Jews fully repented and G‑d forgave them for that sin. Thus, G‑d ordained that Yom Kippur be set aside as the Day of Atonement, a day dedicated to the Divine service of the baal teshuvah.
On Sukkot, which comes right after Yom Kippur, we celebrate the harvest of the baal teshuvah, which is compared to the fruit harvest. It takes lots of work, time and determination to get there, but the harvest of the delicious fruit is incomparable to what has been planted.
Thus, the Midrash tells us that we celebrate Sukkot because not only have “the souls received acquittal,” but we have gathered the fruits as well.
This is why the Torah uses the term “joy” three times. For according to Jewish law, when something is repeated three times, it is a chazakah, the halachic status of permanence. Thus, our job on Sukkot is to take this state of joy and happiness and carry it through the rest of the year!
For more on the Joy of Sukkot, as well as the joy of Simchat Beit Hashoeva, see here.
Parshat V’zot HaBerachah has two focuses: the blessing that Moses bestows on Israel before his death and the account of his death.
Moses’ blessing to Israel almost forces a comparison to the corresponding blessing in Genesis 49, the blessing that Jacob bestows on his sons before his death. These two blessings are not just a leader’s parting words before his death; they also contain an aspect of guidance and prophecy.
The main difference between the blessings is that Jacob’s blessing relates to all the tribes, whereas Moses’ blessing skips at least one tribe – the tribe of Simeon.
The reason for this is that Jacob’s blessing is primarily directed to his sons, and since he has twelve sons, each one merits attention. In Moses’ blessing, however, this is not the case. Although he relates to the existing units that are still based on the tribal division, he has before him another significant structure: the People of Israel. Indeed, a considerable part of Moses’ blessing – both its beginning and its end – relates not at all to individual tribes but to the People of Israel as a nation, in which the division into tribes, despite their significance, is becoming increasingly blurred.
Another difference between the blessings is their tone. Although Jacob’s blessing is a father’s parting blessing to his sons, Jacob tells his sons from the outset that he will not only relate to them as they are now, but will also prophesy future events. By contrast, in Moses’ blessing, although it, too, certainly contains allusions and references to future events, the main focus is on the tribes as they are in the present, not in the future. In short, Moses’ blessing is composed only of words of blessing, whereas Jacob’s blessing contains words of reproof and prophecy as well.
Jacob, alongside the prophecies for the future and the words of praise for some of his sons, does not spare his first three sons harsh words of reproof for their past mistakes and sins. By contrast, in Moses’ blessing, there are no words of condemnation at all.
The reason for this is that Moses is not the father of the tribes; he cannot act like Jacob, who, upon departing from this world, could address his sons’ sins. Hence, Moses does not mention the sins themselves at all.
Although it is reasonable to assume that his omission of the tribe of Simeon is not accidental but is a value judgment of the tribe, Moses does not spell this out. Additionally, although the Torah does not spell out the matter entirely, most of the sinners involved in Israel’s sin at Shittim were Simeonites. A hint of this can be detected in the killing of one of the tribe’s princes by Pinchas, and another hint emerges from the final census taken of Israel in the wilderness, in which the only tribe whose number has decreased drastically is Simeon.1 This numerical decrease corresponds more or less to the number of those who died or were killed after the sin at Shittim. Nevertheless, Moses does not censure the tribe, but merely ignores it, or, as several commentators suggest, subtly includes it within the tribe of Judah.
Moses and Joshua
Besides these contextual differences, whether in the nature of the one giving the blessing or in the purpose of the blessing, there are differences in the treatment of the tribes themselves.
Like Jacob’s blessing, Moses’ blessing features Judah and Joseph prominently. These two tribes serve important roles, not only in the present but also in the future of the Jewish people. However, whereas Jacob’s prophetic blessing, which relates both to the individual personality and the distant future, gives almost equal treatment to Judah and Joseph, Moses’ blessing of Joseph is greater and more detailed than that of Judah. Here, too, as in Jacob’s blessing, Joseph’s two sons, Ephraim and Menashe, are blessed independently.
Although the commentators have not discussed the matter comprehensively, the extraordinary emphasis on the tribes of Joseph in Moses’ blessing is not a vision for distant generations. In fact, over the generations, the position and significance of the tribe of Judah has been much more central than any other tribe, including the tribes of Joseph. Here, in Moses’ blessing, the focus is on the present and immediate future, and is probably connected with Joshua.
Joshua was not just a member of the tribe of Joseph; he had a direct familial connection to the tribe’s leadership.2 For this reason, Moses gives special attention to the tribe that is most closely connected to him, the tribe of his right-hand man Joshua.
Although in the blessing itself Joshua is not mentioned by name, in the final parashot his character grows in significance, for Joshua fulfills the complicated and difficult role of taking over the leadership of Israel after Moses.
Anyone who enters the shoes of a giant personality will inevitably suffer from the comparison, whether he is a disciple or a son. Indeed, in Jewish history throughout the generations, we see how people who, taken on their own merits, were supremely exalted individuals, yet did not attain the prominence they deserved because their predecessors were so great that no one could properly succeed them.
The Talmud’s characterization of Joshua demonstrates this clearly: “Moses’ countenance was like that of the sun; Joshua’s countenance was like that of the moon.”3 Although the moon is a great luminary as well, its light and intensity cannot be compared to those of the sun.
A less ancient historical example is the case of Rabbi Abraham the son of Maimonides, whose achievements were overshadowed by those of his great father. If Rabbi Abraham had lived in another context, he certainly would have received greater attention as one of the outstanding Torah leaders of the generation.
In addition to replacing Moses, Joshua is also given the responsibility of conquering the Land of Israel. An almost direct reference to this important task appears in Moses’ blessing to Joseph: “His firstling ox, majesty is his; and his horns are the horns of the wild ox. With them he will gore the peoples all of them, even the ends of the earth.”4
Many interpret that the special treatment accorded to the tribe of Gad, the length of whose blessing is disproportionate to the tribe’s historical importance, is because the blessing contains an allusion to Moses’ own personality. When Jacob blesses his sons, he is certainly aware that he is addressing the tribes of Israel, but his blessings still retain a personal aspect. Moses’ blessing, however, is addressed to the entire people, and thus there is no room for a personal element. Nevertheless, Moses seems to grant the tribe of Gad a special blessing because he knows that his burial site will be within their allotted territory. As he says, “for that is where the plot of the Lawgiver is hidden.”5
Simeon and Levi
The biggest difference between Jacob’s blessing and Moses’ blessing is how they relate to the tribe of Levi.
Levi the man, the son of Jacob, receives from his father both words of reproof and a dim prediction of his future as dispersed and scattered, without a hold in any specific point of settlement in the Land of Israel.6
By contrast, Moses’ blessing sets forth for the tribe of Levi the possibility of redefinition and rectification. By changing their ways, the Levites have the ability to gain a new awareness, which can not only rectify past faults but can also transform them from evil to good.
In addition, the tribe of Levi receives a lengthy and detailed blessing that relates to the tribe’s special status, which was granted to it not only by G‑d’s choice but also as a consequence of its deeds. During the wilderness years, the tribe of Levi distinguished itself as the tribe of loyalists, the personal guard of the Sanctuary and the sacred. In this regard, G‑d’s command and His choice of the tribe of Levi came as a result of the complete devotion and faithfulness of the tribe’s members to G‑d and His Torah.
The Midrash notes that Jacob’s blessing to Simeon and Levi, “I will disperse them in Jacob and scatter them in Israel,” took on different meanings over the generations.7 The tribe of Simeon, along with its territory, was absorbed almost entirely by the neighboring tribes over the course of its history, and it is mentioned sparingly throughout Tanach. Jacob’s prophecy was fulfilled also in regard to Levi, only that it assumed a different form: Although Levi was not given any portion or inheritance, “G‑d is his heritage.”8
The blessing here to Levi bears an important message, which becomes especially clear when compared to Jacob’s blessing. Apparently, the destiny of a person or of a whole community is predetermined and cannot be changed. Even after numerous efforts and changes in direction, life’s general outline remains unchanged. Nevertheless, there are ways in which inner changes, teshuvah, and good deeds can give a new aspect to one’s predetermined fate. Even though there is a certain outline that cannot be fundamentally changed, nevertheless, every person has the power to change the meaning of this outline.
Similarly, our sages say that every newborn infant already has, from the beginning of his existence, contours that determine his characteristics, his achievements, even the nature of his personal life, yet he nevertheless has the freedom to change all of these.9 This does not contradict what was preordained but, rather, changes its meaning.
Moses’ Departure
At end of the parshah, the Torah’s description of Moses’ death is quite obscure. On the one hand, G‑d fulfills His promise to Moses and shows him the Land of Israel. Our sages explain that He shows Moses not only the geography of the Land of Israel but also everything that is destined to take place in it.10 Moses gazes and sees not only the mountains and the sea but also the history, its rises and its majesty as well as its pains and its desolation.
Nevertheless, since Moses dies alone, his death is, in many respects, a mystery. From Israel’s point of view, Moses does not die; he returns to his own plane of existence. Moses is described as “a fish that leaves the sea and walks on dry land,”11 meaning that although he walked and lived his life within our reality, he belongs and exists in a different world entirely. For this reason, Maimonides, who was a great admirer of Moses, writes in the introduction to his Commentary on the Mishna, “This was his death for us, since he was lost to us, but [it was] life for him, in that he was elevated to Him. As [our sages], peace be upon them, said, ‘Moses our Master did not die; rather, he ascended and is serving on high.’12” Moses dies only from the standpoint of his absence from the world, the world of human beings, but not in the sense of coming to an end.
The Torah implies that Moses is buried by G‑d Himself; hence, Moses’ burial is itself a supernatural event. In addition, we read in Pirkei Avot that Moses’ burial is one of the physical creations that do not fully belong to the material world.13
We see, then, that Moses’ death was not a consequence of bodily deterioration and ruin, for “his eyes had not dimmed and his vigor had not departed.”14 Hence, Moses’ death was merely a “departure” – histalkut, in the lexicon of Kabbala: an uplift, an ascent.
The grand summary regarding Moses and his life’s work raises here what Maimonides counts among the major principles of our faith: that the prophecy of Moses is the highest prophecy of all; that there never was nor will there ever be anyone like Moses, whose prophecy is the last word, the final summation of G‑d’s word to the world.
It is certainly fitting to conclude the book with the following mysterious words, which we would not have believed had our sages not uttered them: “What is the meaning of ‘Moses, man of G‑d’15? From the middle of his [body] downward, [he was] a man; from the middle upward, [he was] of G‑d.”16
16. Deuteronomy Rabbah 11:4. By Adin Even-Israel (Steinsaltz) Rabbi Adin Even-Israel (Steinsaltz) (1937-2020) was internationally regarded as one of the leading rabbis of this century. The author of many books, he was best known for his monumental translation of and commentary on the Talmud. To learn more visit his website. Koren Publishers Jerusalem and Maggid Books have been publishing the works of Rav Even-Israel (Steinsaltz) zt”l for over a decade. To purchase the complete edition of Talks on the Parasha or any of Rav Even-Israel’s books, commentaries, or translations, visit www.korenpub.com.Art by Rivka Korf Studio, a Miami-based art design studio run by Rivka Korf, a coffee lover and mother. Rivka uses her expertise and creativity to run a team that creates masterful compositions and illustrations for corporate and large nonprofit organizations.
No celebres sólo las festividades judías típicas. Sucot y Simjat Torá nos muestran un lado feliz del judaísmo que sin duda deseas que tu familia experimente.
¿Acaso los padres judíos estamos celebrando las festividades judías erróneas? La mayoría de los padres judíos que conozco, incluso yo misma, quieren que sus hijos aprecien y amen nuestra religión. Queremos que nuestros hijos tengan un sentimiento de comunidad e historia. Queremos que amen ser judíos.
Muchos padres hacen todo lo posible para fomentar en sus familias un sentido de judaísmo durante las Altas Fiestas. Los llevamos a la sinagoga en Rosh HaShaná y Iom Kipur.
Pero al focalizarnos en Rosh HaShaná y Iom Kipur, perdemos de vista otras festividades judías alegres de esta estación y les damos a nuestros hijos una imagen engañosamente severa y cargada de culpas de lo que significa ser judío. Los niños necesitan experimentar la alegría del judaísmo para poder enamorarse de él.
Aquí hay cuatro razones por las cuales Sucot y Simjat Torá son celebraciones hechas “a medida” para las familias, y algunas formas en las que estas dos festividades pueden ayudar a que los niños amen ser judíos.
El tiempo de nuestra alegría
Sucot es llamado zman simjatenu, o el “tiempo de nuestra alegría”. Sentarse en una bella sucá, comer afuera, compartir las comidas festivas con amigos y familia… Muchas de las mitzvot de Sucot están diseñadas para despertar una sensación de bienestar y felicidad.
Construir una sucá es un gran emprendimiento y puede resultar abrumador. Pero la energía que los padres dedicamos a asegurar que nuestros hijos valoren Rosh HaShaná y Iom Kipur puede impulsarnos también en Sucot.
Si no tienes a mano una sucá, este año considera construir tu propia sucá. (Ahora hay disponibles en el mercado nuevas sucot listas para armar que pueden ser ensambladas por una sola persona).
Este puede ser un momento perfecto para disfrutar de una cena con la familia. Sentarse bajo las estrellas en una sucá bellamente decorada, compartir comida y canciones (otra parte integral de las comidas de Sucot) crea una sensación mágica tanto para los niños como para los adultos. Estoy segura que no querrás perdértelo.
Aprendizaje multisensorial
Sucot involucra a todos nuestros sentidos y provee una experiencia de aprendizaje multisensorial.
En Sucot nos sentamos en sucot bellamente decoradas, disfrutamos sentir el sol y la brisa en nuestros rostros. Sentimos la fragancia del etrog, sostenemos las cuatro especies de plantas que la Torá nos ordena reunir y sacudir en seis direcciones (lo que simboliza que Dios existe en todas partes, en todas las direcciones).
Como en tantas cosas del judaísmo, siempre hay nuevas capas para descubrir y bellos significados ocultos para explorar. Las cuatro especies que sacudimos en Sucot simbolizan las cuatro clases diferentes de judíos, desde los más justos y estudiosos hasta los más alejados. En Sucot unimos las cuatro especies para simbolizar que todos los judíos somos una sola familia. En la sucá, cada día se acostumbra a recordar a uno de nuestros ancestros de la Torá, a quien simbólicamente invitamos a nuestra comida. En Sucot hay canciones y plegarias especiales, todo esto ayuda a relacionarnos con la festividad de diferentes maneras.
La gratitud
Las sucot rememoran a las pequeñas chozas en las que vivieron nuestros ancestros tras el éxodo de Egipto, cuando vagaron durante 40 años por el desierto. Vivir en estas pequeñas cabañas, a la intemperie, nos recuerda de una forma visceral que dependemos de Dios. Durante el resto del año, cuando habitamos dentro de nuestros hogares con aire acondicionado, puede ser fácil caer en una falsa sensación de seguridad y sentir que somos responsables de nuestro propio bienestar.
La belleza de Sucot es que invierte esta idea. Durante ocho días (siete en Israel), pasamos el tiempo fuera de la casa, teniendo plena conciencia de las condiciones climáticas. Esto es un recordatorio de que en realidad cada aspecto de nuestras vidas depende de la Divinidad. En el mundo actual, donde es tan difícil inculcar un sentido de gratitud a nuestros hijos, Sucot puede ser una lección oportuna respecto a cuántas bendiciones recibimos diariamente. Experimentar este sentimiento al habitar la sucá nos ayuda a valorar de una manera completamente nueva la bendición de estar vivo.
Un sentido de la historia
Cuando le pregunto a los niños de la escuela donde enseño cuáles son las festividades judías más importantes, ellos nunca logran identificarlas correctamente. Además de Rosh HaShaná y Iom Kipur, y de la festividad semanal de Shabat, también hay tres grandes festividades: Sucot, Pésaj y Shavuot.
En la antigüedad, los judíos de toda la Tierra de Israel se congregaban en Jerusalem para estas tres festividades. Allí ofrecían sacrificios a Dios y compartían comidas festivas. Sucot era una festividad especialmente maravillosa: cada noche de Sucot, decenas de miles de personas celebraban en las calles de Jerusalem, entonaban cánticos de alabanza a Dios, bailaban y escuchaban música. Cuando despuntaba el alba, caminaban hacia un manantial en las afueras de la ciudad y regresaban al Templo trayendo agua como otra ofrenda a Dios, valorando el milagro de tener agua fresca para beber.
Incluso ahora, miles de años más tarde, los judíos acostumbran a tratar de hacer que la semana de Sucot sea un momento especialmente alegre y divertido. Al celebrar Sucot hoy en día, nos conectamos directamente con nuestros ancestros y aseguramos que nosotros y nuestros hijos seamos parte de una cadena inquebrantable que se remonta a muchas generaciones. Esta es una poderosa lección para nuestros hijos y los ayuda a comprender que ellos son el siguiente eslabón en la cadena del pueblo judío.
Simjat Torá
Sucot termina con otra maravillosa festividad, Simjat Torá, cuando completamos el ciclo anual de la lectura de la Torá e inmediatamente comenzamos un nuevo ciclo. Simjat Torá nos muestra cuánto podemos divertirnos dentro de la sinagoga. Es un momento de bailes energéticos y cánticos. Se corren las sillas y la gente baila con los Rollos de la Torá. También hay muchas golosinas tanto para los niños como para los adultos.
No es fácil prepararse para otra ronda de festividades judías justo después de Rosh HaShaná y Iom Kipur. Para muchos, faltar al trabajo y a la escuela es un verdadero desafío. Pero si queremos que nuestros hijos realmente amen ser judíos, Sucot y Simjat Torá son oportunidades increíbles.
Sukkot, the most aesthetic, welcoming and creative Jewish holiday, is my seven day antidote to Christmas envy.
Michael Ross | Dreamstime.com
I have a confession.
While most observant Jews spend this time every year shopping for the four species – carefully inspecting the etrog’s texture and building Sukkah walls – I do my own careful sifting…through online Christmas light listings. I order the most brilliant lights for the ultimate Sukkah ambience. Yes, I am a bit of a Christmas light connoisseur.
You see, as a Jewish kid living in suburban Maryland, around Christmas time each year I’d drive by houses decked in the warm glow of Christmas lights, shimmering on crisp winter nights. Something about those twinkling lights drew me, and I felt like an outsider looking in. I’d wonder who lived in those houses and what their holiday looked like.Illustrative: Spectators view an elaborately decorated home for the holidays in Brooklyn, New York. Dec. 4, 2012 (AP Photo/Seth Wenig)
The warm lights felt so… well… haimish. When I’d look at the melting candles of my humble Menorah, something about the understatement just didn’t do it for me. So began my very Jewish love of Christmas lights.
Naturally, being a proud Jewish family, we would never dream of having a Christmas tree or putting up blatantly Christian ornaments.
And so my Sukkot loophole came to be. Sukkot, in my view, is the most aesthetic, welcoming and creative Jewish holiday. It is the yearly pinnacle of my Jewish observance, and I take no shortcuts. For one week, you recreate an outdoor home, however you envision it. You can paint the walls, deck bamboo with multi-colored shiny decorations, cut out chains and pomegranates, sing kumbaya with neighbors…and relish in string lights. Lots of them. Of all shapes and sizes. We take holiday decor to a new level: we don’t just decorate a tree; we build incandescent shacks.
Sukkot is my seven day antidote to Christmas envy.
When I adorn that hut with string lights, I think back to those warm winter memories. I am no longer an outsider looking in, but an insider looking out, unbearably eager to welcome in guests and bask in the light. The Sukkah is built for hosting and sharing. As I sit back in a radiant bamboo shack on these warm summer nights I could burst with haimish holiday joy.
On a deeper level, every time I put up those lights, the act—from beginning to end—is filled with Jewish intent and pride. It is an act of taking a foreign object and elevating it to the center of a Mitzvah. It is, in fact, the ultimate Hiddur Mitzvah (beautification of the holiday) and fulfillment of Judaism’s fundamental tenets: elevating an object to its highest spiritual potential.
There is no doubt in my mind that our forefathers will be tripping over themselves to be this year’s ushpizin in my light-filled Sukkah.
And with that, amidst a crazy, upside-down world, I wish you a very merry (and leibedik) Sukkot.
So you want to pray. You sit down, you open your prayer book. You are ready to dive in and get your spiritual boost for the day. You want to climb the ladder of spiritual levels and feel a real, intimate connection to G‑d.
But wait.
There’s Step Zero. There is something to do before taking the plunge. Take a quick body check. Is your heart heavy? Are you holding onto any resentments? Because that is step zero. Remove the blockages; purge any hatred from your heart.
The Talmud teaches: Hashma l’aznecha ma ahe’atah motzi mipicha—“Make your ears hear what you utter from your mouth.”1 The Talmud literally refers to saying the Shema audibly, loud enough for your own ears to hear.
The holy Zohar explains this phrase deeper: Before one prays, one must make their ears hear. Truly hear. Hear in a way of internalizing, not repeating like a parrot.
Hear what? Hear what you utter from your mouth.
Who’s you? Atah (you) refers to the level that is the source of all Jewish souls, called Knesset Yisrael. Listen and internalize that at that level, all Jews are united, all souls are one. There is no me being angry at you because there is no me versus you. We are one.
You want to pray? You want to access deep levels of spirituality? Know that if you are disconnected from a fellow, your very being is disjointed. It’s like you’re missing a limb. Since his or her soul is part of yours, you are disconnected from a piece of your own soul. When you hate another Jew, you are hating a piece of your very self. Know that G‑d rests when there is unity, and His name is incomplete when we are divided. In order to connect to Him, you need to connect to all Jews for they complete you.
That is why we pray in the plural. In the Amidah, we say: Barcheinu avinu kulanu k’echad—“Bless us, our Father, all as one.”
And we even ask forgiveness in plural: Selach lanu avinu ki chatanu—“Forgive us, our Father, for we have sinned … ”
By joining forces, prayer won’t be fractured joining forces, prayer won’t be fractured, where each Jew sings to his or her own tune, with many “songs.” Rather, if every Jew tunes into the unity of our comprehensive, shared soul, then prayer becomes the song of songs—a singular, united song of all Jewish souls blended together.
That is why it is customary to say before praying: Hareini mekabel alai mitzvat aseh shel v’ahavta l’rei’acha kamocha—“Behold, I hereby take upon myself the positive commandment of ‘You shall love your fellow as yourself.’ ”
So take a deep breath. Release the pent-up frustrations and grudges. Let them go.
La sucá conmemora el milagro que Dios nos brindó en el desierto en la forma de los Ananei HaKavod, las ‘Nubes de Gloria’. Estas nubes milagrosas nos protegieron de los enemigos que nos rodeaban y nos brindaron refugio de los elementos negativos asociados con el hecho de vivir en un desierto.
Pero Dios también nos brindó otros milagros en el desierto, como el maná que caía directamente del cielo o el manantial de Miriam, una roca que le dio agua fresca al pueblo para que pudiera beber mientras estaba en el desierto. ¿Por qué entonces las Nubes de Gloria son el único milagro que mereció su propia festividad, Sucot? Y no sólo eso, ¿acaso esta festividad no debería tener lugar durante el mes de nisán, la época de Pésaj, cuando el pueblo judío recibió por primera vez el milagro de las Nubes de Gloria? ¿Por qué se celebra esta festividad en el otoño?
Para entender por completo la respuesta a esta pregunta vamos a detenernos un minuto para tratar de entender en profundidad por qué conmemoramos estas nubes especiales. Las Nubes de Gloria siguieron y protegieron al pueblo judío de los elementos negativos del desierto, desde el momento en que el pueblo judío salió de Egipto. Tras el pecado del Becerro de oro, Dios castigó al pueblo y le quitó la protección de las nubes. Después del terrible pecado del Becerro de oro, Moshé subió al cielo durante 40 días para suplicarle a Dios que perdonara al pueblo. Luego de esos 40 días, Moshé le transmitió al pueblo las tres cosas que había recibido de Dios:
Las segundas Tablas con los Diez mandamientos
Un mensaje de una sola palabra respecto al pecado del Becerro de oro: “Salajti” (“Los he perdonado”)
El retorno de las Nubes de Gloria, marcando la reconciliación entre Dios y el pueblo judío.
El Rav Eli Mansour dio una bella respuesta sobre por qué celebramos en particular a las Nubes de Gloria y no a todos los otros milagros que ocurrieron en el desierto. Rav Mansour explica que cuando Moshé regresó del cielo con la buena noticia de que el pueblo judío había sido perdonado por el pecado del Becerro de oro, el pueblo podría haberse preocupado de que la relación no sería la misma que tenían antes del pecado. Dios devolvió las nubes para enseñarnos un mensaje importante respecto al concepto del perdón. Como dijo elocuentemente el Rav Mansour: “Cuando Dios perdona nuestros pecados, es un perdón tan absoluto y completo que es como si el pecado nunca hubiera existido y permite que todo regrese exactamente a la forma en que era antes”. Por lo tanto, Sucot celebra la reconciliación completa entre Dios y el pueblo judío, representada por el retorno de las Nubes de Gloria, lo cual ocurrió el 15 de tishrei. Por eso Sucot se conmemora en el otoño.
Sí, hubo otros milagros en el desierto, pero sólo el retorno de las Nubes de Gloria representa la restauración de la cercanía entre Dios y el pueblo judío.
En nuestra vida, hay momentos desafortunados en los que otra persona nos provoca un daño. Ya sea en el hogar, en el trabajo o en la comunidad, alguien nos dice o nos hace algo incorrecto y muy doloroso como para perdonarlo. De alguna manera encontramos la forma de recoger los pedazos y seguir adelante, pero parece que nunca volveremos a ser tal como éramos antes. Nuestra reacción es la misma: “¿Tienes idea de lo que me ha hecho?” o “Supongo que en cierta forma lo perdoné, pero nunca podremos volver a ser amigos”.
Sucot nos recuerda perdonar a nuestros semejantes de la misma forma que Dios perdonó al pueblo judío. Tratemos de imitar el ejemplo de Dios respecto a cómo lidiar con el daño, el dolor y la traición con una sola palabra: “salajti”, ‘te he perdonado’. No nos limitemos a perdonar de forma superficial por el mal que nos provocaron. Tratemos de encontrar la fuerza emocional para perdonar por completo, al punto de que llegue a ser como si nunca nos hubieran agraviado.
Traveling through a desert is journeying through a lonely place, completely forsaken. There is neither food nor water, nor any other form of sustaining substance. There is only the unbearable sun and its heat. There is no grass and there are no trees. The only signs of life are deadly snakes and scorpions. In a desert, death stares you in the face. It is a dangerous and outrageous place.
But a desert is also a magnificent locale, filled with grandeur and full of life. It is an area where many things can happen that are impossible in any other location.
First and foremost, it is a place of authenticity; and therefore a place of miracles.
Because the desert is an area of devastating silence, there is no distraction and no competition. It is the desert’s thundering silence that allows a “still voice” within us to speak, and that cannot bear mediocrity. Instead, a desert seeks singular excellence, even when most of us cannot recognize it as such. It protests against those who are appeased when they find something old in the new, even though it is clear that this old could not have given birth to this new.
The Egyptian French poet Edmond Jabès noted the connection between the Hebrew words “dabar” (word) and “midbar” (desert). This, he claims, goes to the core of what it means to be a Jew:
With exemplary regularity the Jew chooses to set out for the desert, to go toward a renewed word that has become his origin… A wandering word is the word of God. It has for its echo the word of a wandering people. No oasis for it, no shadow, no peace. Only the immense, thirsty desert, only the book of this thirst… (From the Book to the Book: An Edmond Jabès Reader [Hanover, NH: Wesleyan University Press, 1991] pp. 166-7)
In the emptiness and silence of the desert, an authentic inner voice can be heard while sitting in the sukkah, a hut that existentially gives protection, but in no way physically shields. Its roof leaks and its walls fall apart the moment a wind blows. It is a place with no excuses. But it can only be experienced by a people of the wilderness; a people who are not rooted in a substance of physical limitations and borders; a people who are not entirely fixed by an earthly point, even while living in a homeland. Their spirit reaches far beyond restrictive borders. They are particularistic so as to be universalistic. They are never satisfied with their spiritual condition and are therefore always on the road, looking for more, even when they live in their homeland, which is nothing more than a feeble sukkah.
They are a wandering people that can never permanently land, because the runway is too narrow, and they cannot fit into any final destination. They are a people who always experience unrest because they carry a spiritual secret that doesn’t fit anywhere and wanders in the existential state of an unlimited desert. An existential experience that unnerves because it’s rooted in the desert, where it becomes deadly if not properly handled.
But a desert is even more. It is an area where nothing can be tangibly achieved. In a desert, people cannot prove themselves, at least not in the conventional sense. It doesn’t offer jobs that people can fight over and compete for. It has no factories, offices, or department stores. There are no bosses to order people around, and no fellow workers with whom to compete. It is “prestige deprived.” In a desert, there is no kavod (honor) to be received. It doesn’t have cities, homes, or fences. If it had these, it would no longer be a desert. Human achievements would end its desert status and would undermine and destroy the grandeur of its might and beauty. It has only a sukkah, a place that lacks all physical security.
In a desert, people can only “be,” but never “have” anything. There is no food to be eaten but the manna, the soul food, and one can easily walk in the same shoes for 40 years, because authenticity does not wear out. People’s garments grow with them and don’t need changing or cleaning, because they are as pure as can be (See Rashi’s commentary on Devarim 8:4). And that which is pure continues to grow and stays clean.
The desert is therefore a state of mind. It removes the walls in our subconscious, and even in our conscious way of thinking. It is an out-of-the-box realm. In a desert one can think unlimitedly. As such, one is open to the impossible and hears murmurs from another world, which can never be heard in the city or on a job. The desert allows for authentic thinking, without obstacles, and therefore is able to break through and remove from us any artificial thoughts that don’t identify with our deeper souls. Nothing spiritual gets lost, because the fences around our thoughts become neutralized and no longer bar the way to our inner lives. The desert is the ultimate liberty. It teaches us that openness doesn’t mean surrender to what is most “in” or powerful. The desert doesn’t consist of vulgar successes that have been made into major accomplishments.
And therefore it is a place of miracles.
The Sages say: “Anyone who does not make himself open to all (“hefker,” ownerless), like a wilderness, cannot gain wisdom and Torah” (Bamidbar Rabbah 1:7).
With this statement, the Sages introduce a most important insight concerning ourselves. We cannot bear artificial, unauthentic ideas that are sold in this world of superficiality.
And therefore, on Sukkot we sit in a sukkah, a place that has nothing to show for itself; only powerful simplicity. It is frail and unaccomplished, because it serves as a road sign for our lives and for what is really important: authenticity in all its nakedness.
Centro Estudios Judaicos del Sur de PR 