blogs/rabbi-huberman

Where Are You At Your Worst? 

I have a question for you..

In which room of your home -- or which public place -- are you at your worst?

The great comedian Louis CK asked himself this question once. His answer was: "I am the worst person I can be when I am behind the wheel."  Me too, Louis. Me too.

Something happens when I'm driving. My patience level is lowest when I'm hurrying from place to place, and the car in front of me doesn't go when the light turns green -- or, worst of all, edges into my lane.

At these moments, I sometimes think thoughts that are less than holy.

For some reason, it feels like the space within my Rav4 really is different to the way in which I like to think I live the rest of my life.

This is one reason why this week, I ordered a Mezuzah for my vehicle. For real.

Each of us perhaps has that one place, or one circumstance, in which we hope God is not watching or listening.

For some, it's the threshold of our home when we've just closed the door on a long day.  For others, it's workplace, navigating a difficult work assignment or a challenging interpersonal relationship.

Whatever the place or the circumstance, often we get the impression that it is okay to let our guard down, because we don't think that God is watching, and we're fairly sure no one else is, either.

A recent PBS documentary examining the history of Jews in America noted that, when European refugees came to America more than a century ago, many affiliated with a synagogue because they were Jewish. 

Now, too often, many join a synagogue in order to become Jewish.

And why not? So many of our rituals traditionally based in the home -- lighting candles, reciting blessings over wine and bread -- are now conducted at Temple.

Often, we enter a place of worship in order to find inspiration.

Yet, our Sages tell us, inspired in part by this week's Torah portion, that God is not only found in houses of prayer or religious sanctuaries. God is with us in any place where we engage with others -- or even confront ourselves.

This can be very comforting. But it can also be terribly unnerving.  Why -- as I'm sure we've all asked ourselves -- can't we block God out when we're at our worst, and make it up the next time we're at synagogue?

But Judaism, and its understanding of God, doesn't work that way.

In this week's Torah portion, Jacob learns that lesson. On the run after swindling the family birthright from his elder brother Essav, Jacob's strength begins to wane under the desert sun.

He places his head on a stone, closes his eyes, and enters a state of altered consciousness.

Says the Torah: "He has a dream; a stairway was set on the ground and its top reached to the sky, and angels of God were going up and down it. And the Lord was standing beside him..." (Genesis 28:12-13).

Jacob is blown away. Here he is, alone, within both a physical and spiritual wilderness.

He then awakes, and shares the life altering revelation of Jacob's Ladder.  "Wow," he says. "God was in this place and I didn't know it."(Genesis 28:16)

Jacob wasn't in Temple. He wasn't offering any sacrifices or prayers at that moment, either. But within his dream, he realized that everywhere we go, whatever we do, God is present.

Whether we're at home, or at work, driving, walking, laughing, or crying, indeed, we as Jews believe that a force higher than us presides over creation -- and that power is alive and present in everything we do.

During stressful times, we tend to ask, "Where is God?" It is human nature to lose our tempers, to become impatient, to blame others for our woes, even to exhibit signs of hate or prejudice. And we think God is not present.

Yet our tradition tells us that each of us possesses a spark of God within, and that we are made "in God's image."  Therefore, God is profoundly aware of everything we do -- and everything we feel.

None of us is meant or expected to be angelic.  But as the great Vilna Gaon (1720-1797) tells us, the purpose of life is to turn ourselves into something better.

We fail.  We lose our cool. We project our failings onto others. We take out our frustrations on family and friends. But this week's Torah portion teaches us: "God is everywhere. Sometimes we just don't notice it."

This is why the idea of hanging a Mezuzah in our house is so central to Judaism. When we place a Mezuzah on the doorposts of our homes, we are reminded that we possess the capacity to bring goodness and kindness within our domains. 

It can be intimidating to think of God as an entity following us and out of rooms. But the Talmud reminds us that while we can't be God, we can act in the way which God acts in the Torah.

That means clothing the naked, visiting the sick, comforting the mourner, and taking care of family and friends at the end of their days. The Torah, the Talmud teaches, "begins with kindness and ends with kindness."

Sometimes we just need a little reminder. We're only human.

This is the lesson that Jacob learns this week's Torah portion -- and it is a concept we need to consider within our own lives. God is not just found in synagogue. God is everywhere.

This should not frighten us, nor should it shame us into kindness and compassion.  This is an invitation to continual inspiration: not to be perfect -- no one asks that -- but to do better, to want to do better.

Jacob learns this week that even though he is on the run, has conducted himself in a dishonest manner, is avoiding his problems, that God is present.  

As Jacob wakes up from his dream, he realizes that in spite of his imperfections, he still surrounded by a remarkable world. 

We place Mezuzot on our doorposts to remind us to enter our homes with love. And, when we leave our homes, they prompt us to carry that love into the world.

So sometime, next week, as you pass me on Forest Avenue, you may perhaps find me driving a bit slower, or just a bit more patiently, as my new Mezuzah reminds me that a little patience and compassion can drive even our most challenging journeys.

As the Torah reminds this and every day, whether we are at home or away, God is with us.  Let us be comforted rather than threatened by that realization.

Sometimes each of us, in spite of a spiritual wilderness that often surrounds us, just needs a reminder that, in the words of Jacob:

"How awesome is this place."

We must remind ourselves how fortunate we are to be here.

Indeed, in our lives, and our interactions with others, "God is in this place."

Shabbat shalom, v'kol tuv (with all goodness).

Rabbi Irwin Huberman