One of my favorite lines from the Jewish tradition comes from the book of character development, The Path of the Just (Mesilat Yesharim). The author, Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto (1707-1746, Italy, Amsterdam, & Israel), writes in his introduction that what he is about to write is nothing new. If he were in a modern day professorship at a university, he would not be getting any funding for his work because there’s nothing groundbreaking about it. Rather, he explains, he will share what the reader may already know, but perhaps knows so well that it’s easy to forget:
...I have composed this work not to teach people what they do not know but to remind them of what they already know and which is very familiar to them. For you will find in most of my words only things which most people already know and do not have any doubt about.
In a similar vein, this Moishe Moment is more of a reminder of the importance of mindfulness, awareness, and possibility in this moment of Teshuvah (Repentance? Return? Sitting Still?).
There is some haunting stuff that happens in Parashat Ki Tavo. On the one hand, it details traditional gratitude rituals and lists the blessings that will come in Israel to those who are deserving of them. On the other hand, the parasha has a section called The Tochecha (or “The Rebuke), which includes all the bad things that will happen to those who break the rules – exile, poverty, illness, and more.
One of these curses, timhon levav, may sound familiar, as it's one of the sins Jews confess to on Yom Kippur. It is often translated as "dismay," as in the following verse from our Parasha:
יַכְּכָ֣ה ה' בְּשִׁגָּע֖וֹן וּבְעִוָּר֑וֹן וּבְתִמְה֖וֹן לֵבָֽב׃
The LORD will strike you with madness, blindness, and dismay.
Dismay isn't a great experience, but it's a far cry from the graphic images of other curses brought elsewhere in the parasha. (You can click the Deuteronomy 28:28 header above or here to explore the other curses - warning, it's graphic).
Rashi, the 11st Century commentator on the Torah (and Talmud, and author of responsa literature, and more) interprets timhon levav differently:
ובתמהון לבב. אֹטֶם הַלֵּב, אשטור"דישון בְּלַעַז:
ובתמהון לבב means “clogging of the heart”; etourdison in old French
A number of interpreters understand this "clogging of the heart" to mean some kind of feeling of being floored (like hitting rock bottom), emotionally paralyzed, hopeless, or even feeling asleep (hardama) or going through the motions of life mindlessly. Each of these forms of timhon levav leads to a sense of "I can't move," or "I'm stuck." Sometimes this is an ongoing conscious feeling, and other times, we are so entrenched that we don't even realize it - we are mindless to our dis-ease and the need to wake up and move forward.
If you pause for 30-45 seconds right now, try reflecting on one or two of the following questions:
- Am I awake?
- Where is my heart clogged?
- Where am I feeling stuck?
- Which parts of my life feel unmanageable?
- Where do I need to ask myself, "how on earth did I get here, and how much longer do I want to stay here?"
- What calls to action and justice am I missing because I am asleep?
Take a few second to really reflect on these questions.
Timhon levav, then, far from being a simple experience of dismay or distress, is actually much deeper, harmful, and paralyzing than we might have thought. Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe (20th C, Germany & Israel) notes that the confession of timhon levav on Yom Kippur is actually the last in the series of confessions because it's the nail in the coffin, as it were (makeh be-fatish). This is because "were it not for this asleep-ness, we could not stumble with all the others sins...We did not know, we did not sing - [rather] we sunk deep into the low depths of the world."
For this very reason, Maimonides explains, we blow the Shofar - to wake us up from our slumber, from our mindlessness, from our hopelessness, from our feeling of stuck-ness, to remind us that we can change.
רֶמֶז יֵשׁ בּוֹ כְּלוֹמַר עוּרוּ יְשֵׁנִים מִשְּׁנַתְכֶם וְנִרְדָּמִים הָקִיצוּ מִתַּרְדֵּמַתְכֶם וְחַפְּשׂוּ בְּמַעֲשֵׂיכֶם וְחִזְרוּ בִּתְשׁוּבָה וְזִכְרוּ בּוֹרַאֲכֶם. אֵלּוּ הַשּׁוֹכְחִים אֶת הָאֱמֶת בְּהַבְלֵי הַזְּמַן וְשׁוֹגִים כָּל שְׁנָתָם בְּהֶבֶל וָרִיק אֲשֶׁר לֹא יוֹעִיל וְלֹא יַצִּיל, הַבִּיטוּ לְנַפְשׁוֹתֵיכֶם וְהֵיטִיבוּ דַּרְכֵיכֶם וּמַעַלְלֵיכֶם וְיַעֲזֹב כָּל אֶחָד מִכֶּם דַּרְכּוֹ הָרָעָה וּמַחֲשַׁבְתּוֹ אֲשֶׁר לֹא טוֹבָה.
...its blast is symbolic, as if saying: "Ye that sleep, bestir yourselves from your sleep, and ye slumbering, emerge from your slumber, examine your conduct, turn in repentance, and remember your Creator! They that forget the truth because of the vanities of the times, who err all of their years by pursuing vanity and idleness, which are of neither benefit nor of salvation, care for your souls, improve your ways and your tendencies, let each one of you abandon his evil path and his thought which is not pure
If you haven't heard the Shofar yet this year, click play, close your eyes, take a listen, and allow the primal cry-sound of the shofar sink in. Don't rush through this Moishe Moment!
One reason we blow the Shofar at the beginning of the Jewish year, on Rosh HaShanah, in particular is because the echoes of the shofar and the questions it prompts us to ask are meant to reverberate year-round, not just once a year. As it is for me, I imagine that for you, the shofar's call to action, reflection, hope, and wakefulness happens once or twice a year, while the feeling of hopelessness, despair, and feeling stuck is the one that lasts year-round.
My blessing for us all is that we are able to take this High Holiday season to really reflect on where we have been feeling a clog in our hearts and to carry our challenge to unclog with us throughout the year. If we need a shofar blast to remind us, try to remember the sounds of the shofar from time to time. Chances are, though, that having a consistent and reliable community like Moishe House with whom we can share our imperfections and challenges should do the trick and keep us aligned.