"The King is in the Field."

“There is no end in sight”-- a father reflected on his kids’ quarantine school experience-- “What makes this all so hard is that there’s no end in sight”. I’ve heard the same sentiment from a couple who is pregnant and trying to plan their future, from a single person yearning for an end to Shabbos meals alone, from a grandparent who wants to meet a grandchild for the first time.

Coronavirus has shaken each of us, magnifying our struggles that already existed. It has also introduced new anxieties and sources of depression and hopelessness many of us feel powerless to change. Chillingly, we are living with sorrow, loneliness, and despondence that we fear we can’t see beyond. This is an existential crisis that challenges even the words ‘Shanah Tovah’. Can we welcome this year right now as good? In short, what is at stake is our ability to hope.

Let's look at a teaching from Aish Kodesh from which to draw wisdom and chizuk: During our slavery in Egypt, Moshe turned to God and said:

The Aish Kodesh asks-- how could it be that the people did not listen to Moshe? They were enslaved, and all they wanted was redemption-- and here it finally was. So why did they resist? The Torah responds:

Aish Kodesh teaches that there is a type of sorrow that makes a person lose the ability to look to the future, to be receptive to hope-- שאינם רואים את הקץ לחושך-- so they cannot see an end to the darkness. How do we overcome this crippling hopelessness? Aish Kodesh answers: והתחזק עם ה׳ אלקיך, כי יודע אתה שה׳ אלקיך עמך בצרה, “Draw strength from Hashem your God because you know that God is with you in your suffering.” לכן לא תחזור אחר עתידות לומר איני רואה קץ לחושך, “And so, do not attempt to project into the future, saying, ‘I cannot see an end to the darkness’”.

The only way out of the fire is through it. This may seem like passive faith, but it is far from it. Here, he is teaching a profound response to anxiety and depression-- that being present in the moment can take us out of the worries of our minds and make us aware of the very Divine support for which we pray. His words are reminiscent of Rebbe Nachman’s, who taught that in our deepest, darkest Hell, God is with us.

How do we begin to do this? A mashal, a parable from the Alter Rebbe in his Tanya: משל למלך שקודם בואו לעיר יוצאין אנשי העיר לקראתו ומקבלין פניו בשדה, “There once was a king who before he entered into his city, all of the people of the city would come to meet him face to face in the field,” “...and so all who wanted to meet him were permitted to do so, and the king received everyone with pleasantness”. In this parable, God is our King and He is in the field, ready to greet us at this time of year. The image of המלך בשדה (the king is in the field) reminds us that especially during the Chagim, God is not removed, but out in the field by our sides, ready to embrace us with love.

This year, with the words of the Aish Kodesh and Rebbe Nachman in mind, I hear this mashal as referring to a very specific field...the spiritual battlefield. God is with us in the field in which we fight for our hope and faith. In the field where we struggle to survive another day-- despite job loss, isolation, shalom bayit tensions, and our wit’s end. The field in which many have never felt less connected to observance and faith. In our machzor, we ask God to fight on our behalf against our accusers, sins, and despair. Yom HaDin, this day of judgement, is a day of battle-- where we fight now to shed anxiety, stress, and fear-- to be granted life.

I’m with you in that battlefield-- trying to keep going with hope, carrying a lot of fear and loss. Like many of you, I straddle being a parent and a child. I worry about Ella who has known this Covid reality for most of her life; and I worry about my father who is fighting for his health against kidney failure in terrifying circumstances. I so wish he could hold her…that I could help him in person, but he is in Michigan. This longing is a small taste of what we are living-- smachot curtailed, plans uprooted, loved ones alone for the chagim. And the heartbreak at times has been excruciating...Several in our community have lost loved ones during this time and not been able to bury them in person. As a BDJ family, we have lost shul leaders and not been able to cry on each other’s shoulders. I think of Steve Lowenstein z’’l and Colette Volvovic z’’l-- whom we will mourn this Yizkor.

Sometimes we stumble upon the King in the field, and it’s then that we realize the only thing in our power is how we face this battle. I think of a recent evening when my Zoom davening bumped up against a moment when Ella cried out for her ‘mama’. I realized that I could get lost in the frustration and stress of Akiva and I juggling it all during Covid, or I could recognize the blessings in front of me and embrace them.

We do not have control and we cannot predict the next year, let alone the next week. But we have the power to commit to our present and cultivate moments of gratitude at every chance we get. To bravely open our eyes in what Aish Kodesh calls darkness, in what Rebbe Nachman calls Hell, in what the Alter Rebbe calls the שדה-- our personal battlefield-- and allow ourselves to see God by our sides. The truth is that our relationship with God should speak for itself-- how many of our people’s stories have ended with redemption? So why not ours!? And perhaps putting one foot in front of the other with the strength to hope heralds redemption. I think of our “Elul Share the Happy” Whatsapp, where throughout Elul, BDJers posted pictures, texts, and ideas that brought them joy and laughter. Simcha grounds us with purpose and perspective. And “humour,” Rabbi Jonathan Sacks teaches, “ is the oldest form of cognitive therapy…humour is the first cousin to hope” (To Heal a Fractured World, p.186).

When we’re all back in this room, we will cherish those hours of davening as we never have before-- hours we missed this year. We will joyously hug each other at kiddush and tears will flow when we dance with b’nai mitzvah children and their parents in simcha. When it feels like there is no end in sight, when we need hope-- we have that image and commitment to cling to.

And in the battle for our ability to hope, we have much more to gain from this moment than just that return to normal...this year, when we are literally davening with our מלך בשדה-- in backyards and parking lots-- raising our voices and shofars to the open skies, will we access and hold onto a resilience and expansiveness that is unique to this present moment?

Years from now, I pray we can say: “We remember Rosh Hashanah 5781...that’s when we were transformed. We faced our deepest fears, קֹּ֣צֶר ר֔וּחַ ועֲבֹדָ֖ה קָשָֽׁה, and survived with greater faith than we thought possible. We found a way to connect with friends and family against all odds, and we actually met God in the field. It changed us because we chose to be present to ourselves, each other, and God-- by relinquishing control and finding gratitude, hope, and even joy in the darkness. We became better people and Jews. For in 5781, we found God fighting by our sides in the field-- and that gave us the strength to continue fighting for each other and our world.”

Sometimes it’s in the little moments, and sometimes it’s in the big ones...God offers us redemption and hope. Seizing them does not mean denying our suffering, just as when we do a mitzvah with hope and faith-- it’s still zecher leyetziyat Mitrayim-- informed by our experience in Egypt. In choosing to hope, we are still giving legacy and dignity to our pain and loss. With every ‘Shanah Tovah’ we utter this year, may we lift ourselves and each other up. In doing so, may we find that God is by our sides-- פנים אל פנים-- face to face, blessing us with life, health, joy, and hope.