As the sun set on Shabbat Parah at Young Israel Ohev
Zedek a few weeks ago, Ms. Shuli Taubes,
Machshevet Yisrael Chair here at SAR High School, was leading a discussion on faith with
our shul.
She taught the following selection from Chagiga 14b:
ארבעה נכנסו בפרדס
ואלו הן בן
עזאי ובן זומא
אחר ורבי עקיבא...בן עזאי הציץ ומת...בן זומא
הציץ ונפגע...אחר
קיצץ בנטיעות רבי
עקיבא יצא בשלום
The rabbis taught: Four entered Pardes (Paradise): Ben Azzai, Ben Zoma, Acher, and Rabbi Akiva. Ben Azzai gazed at the Divine Presence and died...Ben Zoma gazed and went mad... Acher "cut off his plantings" (i.e., he became a heretic). Rabbi Akiva departed in peace.
I have read and learned the words of many scholars on this
text over the years, yet the most powerful commentary I have ever heard on this
source came from a man sitting in shul during Ms. Taubes’ talk. He suggested
that maybe Rabbi Akiva was able to handle seeing the ultimate Truth of the
Divine Presence because of his life experience.
We all know that Rabbi Akiva had not studied Torah until the age of
40. Being open to, and transformed by,
new paradigms was something that he was used to. He had a strong muscle of openness and
receptivity. Because of this, he was able to leave Paradise unscathed, in
peace.
Certainly, the concept of openness is something often
discussed and debated in our society, our schools and our religious settings.
Are we not open minded enough? Are we
too open minded?
In order to answer those questions, we need to understand
what openness really means. Dialogue about openness typically centers around
being pluralistic and non-judgmental. However, I think being truly open means
something more than that. If we dig a bit deeper, we see that at its root,
openness is actually a manifestation of humility, and even more than that, a
willingness to even show vulnerability.
When I am receptive to new ideas, to new people and to new truths, I am
saying that I am not complete. My comfort
zone is not a totally safe, secure and perfect place. To be truly open, I need to feel strong
enough to leave my structures and be receptive to new voices and ideas that may
change and transform what I previously thought to be true. As Parker Palmer
writes in his incredible book, The Courage to Teach:
Openness to transcendence is what distinguishes the community of truth from both absolutism and relativism…..it is a complex and eternal dance of intimacy and distance, of speaking and listening, of knowing and not knowing….We must be involved in creating communities where we are willing to be upstaged by the grace of great things. (p.108)
Pesach is a night of questions. Many have said that this questioning is a
manifestation of freedom, for slaves cannot question, they must only obey. I
would take this a step further. Our questions at the Seder are an expression of
our freedom because they show our ability to be receptive to the new paradigms
and new realities that may emerge as those questions are answered. Questioning
is not just for our children to learn about the truths that we and our
tradition hold dear; it is an expression of our willingness to be fallible and
to be overwhelmed with truths that may come our way. Indeed, it is only with
the confidence and power of freedom that we are able to show our vulnerabilities.
Just as our most committed and strong human relationships are enhanced when we
are able to expose our vulnerabilities, so too our most committed and strong
intellectual and spiritual pursuits are most enriched when we utilize our
freedom to truly explore with receptivity and openness.
On Pesach, just the mere act of opening our doors and
inviting every family member and every type of child -- even the the wicked one
-- to our table and hearing his or her voice is an act of openness and
vulnerability. It may make us realize a truth that we, as individuals, as
families or as a Jewish community, may have been responsible for shutting out
differing voices in our personal, educational, religious or national
conversations.
On Pesach, just the mere act of opening our story and telling
of how once we were slaves is an act of openness and vulnerability. And while
it leads us to great feelings of salvation, it may also make us realize a truth
that we, too, as a people, may be complicit in the enslavement and deep pain of
others in our community and in our world.
While our daily commitments are the expressions of our
greatest aspirations, passions and beliefs, sometimes they can also bind,
shackle and shut out the new. Whether it is here at SAR with our incredible
students, through our ongoing conversations in Machshevet Yisrael, Beit Midrash
and History Socratic Seminars (just to name a few) or at our family Seder
tables, we need to not only question, but to practice receptivity.
Of course, practicing receptivity comes with certain dangers
and must be done carefully, thoughtfully and responsibly. When entering into these types of
conversations, we need the grounding of our mesorah, the voices of our teachers
and role models, and the valuable life lessons we have learned at home and in
school. It is essential that they act as a strong force as our guides and our
lights along the way.
However, in order to truly be as free as possible, we need
to enter into conversations that may not simply validate our preconceived
notions, but ones that may even be a bit risky and will allow us to be
vulnerable, open and receptive to being upstaged by truths that we otherwise
might never have encountered. This Pesach, let us embrace our freedom not only
by questioning -- but also by listening with an open ear to potentially
transformative answers.
