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visions — image of God, faith
in God, love of neighbor —
and turns them into patterns
of behavior. Halachah (Jewish
law) involves a set of routines
that — like those of the great
creative minds — reconfigures
the brain, giving discipline to
our lives and changing the way
we feel, think and act.
A PATTERN OF BEHAVIOR
Much of Judaism must seem
to outsiders, and sometimes to
insiders also, boring, prosaic,
mundane, repetitive, routine,
obsessed with details and bereft
for the most part of drama or
inspiration. Yet that is precisely
what writing the novel, com-
posing the symphony, directing
the film, perfecting the killer
app or building a billion-dollar
business is, most of the time.
It is a matter of hard work,
focused attention and daily rit-
uals. That is where all sustain-
able greatness comes from.
We have developed in the
West a strange view of religious
experience: that it’s what over-
whelms you when something
happens completely outside
the run of normal experience.
You climb a mountain and
look down. You are miracu-
lously saved from danger. You
find yourself part of a vast
and cheering crowd. It’s how
the German Lutheran theolo-
gian Rudolf Otto (1869-1937)
defined “the holy”: as a mystery
(mysterium) both terrifying
(tremendum) and fascinating
(fascinans). You are awed by
the presence of something vast.
We have all had such experi-
ences.
But that is all they are:
experiences. They linger in
the memory, but they are not
part of everyday life. They are
not woven into the texture of
our character. They do not
affect what we do or achieve
or become. Judaism is about
changing us so that we become
creative artists whose great-
est creation is our own life.
And that needs daily rituals:
Shacharit, Minchah, Maariv,
the food we eat, the way we
behave at work or in the home,
the choreography of holiness
that is the special contribution
of the priestly dimension of
Judaism, set out in this week’s
parshah and throughout the
Book of Vayikra (Leviticus).
These rituals have an effect.
We now know through PET
and fMRI scans that repeated
spiritual exercise reconfigures
the brain. It gives us inner
resilience. It makes us more
grateful. It gives us a sense of
basic trust in the Source of our
being. It shapes our identity,
the way we act and talk and
think. Ritual is to spiritual
greatness what practice is to
a tennis player, daily writing
disciplines are to a novelist and
reading company accounts are
to Warren Buffett. They are the
precondition of high achieve-
ment. Serving God is avodah,
which means hard work.
If you seek sudden inspira-
tion, then work at it every day
for a year or a lifetime. That
is how it comes. As a famous
golfer is said to have said when
asked for the secret of his suc-
cess: “I was just lucky. But the
funny thing is that the harder I
practice, the luckier I become.
”
The more you seek spiritual
heights, the more you need the
ritual and routine of Halachah,
the Jewish “way” to God.
The late Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks
served as the chief rabbi of the
United Hebrew Congregations of the
Commonwealth, 1991-2013. His teach-
ings have been made available to
all at rabbisacks.org. This essay was
written in 2016.
SPIRIT
Religion as Action
T
he Maharal (Prague,
1525-1609), in his
book Netivot Olam
(Netiv Ahavat Reia, 1), records
an iconic debate between
the rabbis of early rabbinic
Judaism over which is the
greatest, most encom-
passing verse of Torah.
Ben Zoma begins,
asserting it is the
Shemah, “Hear, Oh
Israel, Y-H-V-H — Our
God — Y-H-V-H is
One” (Deuteronomy 6:4).
Ask 10 Jews in the pews
what the central credo
of Judaism is, and at
least a few will prob-
ably say the Shemah.
So, Ben Zoma’s logic
is sound. God is One.
That’s pretty inclusive.
And important.
Ben Nannos is up next, and
he claims that there is an even
more important verse than
the Shemah: “You shall love
your neighbor as yourself”
(Leviticus 19:18). It’s not called
the “Golden Rule” for nothing,
right? And no matter what
you think about God, loving
your neighbor is an admirable
foundation for a religious life.
Again, the reasoning is solid.
Finally, Shimon ben Pazzi
joins the conversation and
offers his verse — a verse even
greater, even more inclusive
than the first two, which
comes from this week’s Torah
portion: “Now this is what
you shall offer upon the altar:
two yearling lambs each day,
consistently (tamid). You shall
offer the one lamb in the
morning, and you shall offer
the other lamb at twilight.
”
(Exodus 29:38-39). This makes
sense because … Wait, what?
The most important, most
inclusive verse in all of Torah
is about sacrificing lambs?
Counterintuitively, perhaps,
the correct ruling, according
to the text’s narrator, is ben
Pazzi’s.
Religion is made out to be
this mystical, spiritual,
esoteric experience. The
Mt. Sinais and parting
seas of the world. And,
of course, in some ways,
and in some instances,
it can be. We yearn for
it to be. But mostly,
Judaism cares about
doing Jewish, regularly.
Aligning ourselves with
Divine will every day.
The narrator sides
with ben Pazzi because
serving the Divine with
consistency, commit-
ment and regularity is
the key. For it’s that consis-
tency of practice that leads
to loving one’s neighbor, and
it’s loving one’s neighbor that
leads to marveling in God’s
Oneness. But we don’t start
with the abstract. We start
with the doing. Not so much
sacrificing lambs anymore,
but trying to live a life of
goodness, righteousness and
holiness.
According to this teaching,
being Jewish is a title that
must be earned through our
actions. A verb not a noun.
As Jews, our task is to live in
right relationships, in integri-
ty, aligning what we do with
what we believe, orienting our
actions with our values, day in
and day out.
That, says ben Pazzi, is the
greatest lesson in Torah.
Rabbi Nate DeGroot is the Hazon
Detroit associate director and
spiritual and program director.
TORAH PORTION
Rabbi Nate
DeGroot
Parshat
Tetzaveh:
Exodus
27:20-30:10;
Deuteronomy
25:17-19; I
Samuel
15:2-34.