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Everything Is NOT Going To Be OK (A Passover D’var)

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In the movie “The Princess Bride”, the heroine Buttercup negotiates what she believes is safety for her true love Wesley before she is whisked off as a prisoner. As she rides away, Wesley looks at his captors (who have no intention of honoring the bargain) with a calm that contradicts his situation and says “We are men of action, lies do not become us”. Whereupon they knock him senseless and drag him to his death. (For those who haven’t seen the movie: Don’t worry, eventually he gets better).

In his essay “No, Everything Is Not Going to Be OK”, author Seth Godin eschewes the trite (and often empty) offer of hope that people seek. We are told by everyone from parents to spouses to managers to people at the other end of the bar that “it’s going to be OK”, when it is obvious that they barely understand our situation; when it is clear to us that it really WON’T be OK. But we choose to accept and believe their words because sometimes we want reassurance more than we want honesty or clarity.

Don’t get me wrong, I know that sometimes – maybe a lot of times – it WILL be OK. Our moment of panic is just that, and once the stress has passed things really will return to the way they were before.

But, Seth posits, when people need to create, or innovate, or adapt – in those situations, honestly it’s not going to be OK.

It’s going to be different. Some things MIGHT be better, but there’s a good chance that at least some things won’t be better, that some things won’t be the same and that some things could get worse. In fact, when we introduce change, there’s a chance that everything will get worse, at least for a while.

Standing at the edge of the sea – with the vast expanse of water in front of them and the might of the Egyptian army bearing down on them from behind, the Israelites may have realized this.

In that moment of panic, the more analytically minded Israelites might have pondered how they were simply facing one of the many possible bad outcomes of their choices – they could have stayed in Egypt and been killed by harsh labor, they could have failed to follow Moses’ instructions and succumbed to one of the plagues. Heck, they could have stubbed their toe walking out their door on the morning of liberation, gotten an infection, and died on the road to this current predicament.

I’m not going to waste time on pediatric theology. I’m not going to ponder whether the waters really parted, or whether Moses was one historical figure or an amalgamation of many, or any of those “big idea” questions today.

If you spend all your energy trying to figure out how that guy built a great big boat and put all those animals on it, you are missing the point. If you are computing the probability that a tsunami caused a massive low tide, and calculating how long 600,000 people would take to cross the resulting land bridge, you are missing a whole level of thought

Because I think that often (and especially at points in the Torah narrative like this), our holiest of writings is NOT asking us to think so much about what happened, but rather to focus on what people DID about what happened.

So let’s consider how a group of people decided to put one foot in front of the other to leave an abusive situation, a situation that was not healthy for them to be in (even though it may have been “the way things are” or even if others were thriving in that same situation). Consider that they braved blood and vermin and disease and fire and darkness (whether literal or metaphorical) to change their place. They stood up to the powers-that-be and kept demanding what they needed until those powers relented.

And when they stood at the edge of something new and vast, but with Pharaoh ready to drag them back, they may have felt like Al Pacino’s character in “The Godfather” series, “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in!”

BUT… rather than sighing and hanging their head and going back to their codependent spouse or overly needy kids or their gang or their toxic workplace or whatever it was – instead of allowing everything to fall back into the status quo – they found that rare courage to keep creating, keep innovating, keep adapting to the REAL situation – not the one they wished it was, not the one they may have been sold. And it also wasn’t their worst fears come to life, either.

Seth states: “No, everything is not going to be okay. It never is. It isn’t okay now. Change, by definition, changes things. It makes some things better and some things worse. But everything is never okay. Finding the bravery to shun faux reassurance is a critical step in producing important change. Once you free yourself from the need for perfect acceptance, it’s a lot easier to launch work that matters”.

Looking at the big picture, Seth is wrong. Really, gigantically, monumentally wrong. It actually *is* going to be OK, at least from God’s perspective. It’s all going to come out just the way it is supposed to. It was OK, it is currently OK and it’s still going to be OK 5 minutes from now. But that’s the long view, the “when we look back on this tomorrow (or next week or maybe in 10 years) we’ll all have a good laugh” view. We can (and should) take comfort knowing that there is a plan and that we are all part of it.

But we should also recognize that feeling OK about things in each and every moment is not a guarantee. It may not even be something we should expect, especially if we want to live creative and energetic lives where we pursue dreams and push limits. If we want that, we should probably figure that this “not-OK” feeling is going to part of our day.

The other point that we can’t overlook – with regard to both our collective Jewish experience and with our individual creative ones – is that we aren’t alone. When we create, we are offering up the service of our heart to those around us and to God. It becomes part of the community. If our community really is OUR community then we and our creations will be accepted and honored and supported for what they are.

As Michael Walzer states in “Exodus and Revolution”,

“Standing on the parted shores of history
We still believe what we were taught
Before ever we stood at Sinai’s foot;
That wherever we go, it is eternally Egypt
That there is a better place, a promised land;
That the winding way to that promise
Passes through the wilderness.
That there is no way to get from here to there
Except by joining hands, marching together.”

This week’s d’var was written by Leon Adato from EdibleTorah.com

Passover: Where Do You Stop? (EdibleTorah)

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The other day I posted over at EdibleTorah about a Passover law found in Talmud – which essentially said that you can’t hope to control EVERYTHING. The specifics were that, if a weasel carried a piece of bread into your home, it wasn’t a violation of Passover kashrut. Likewise, if your dog dragged some chametz into a room where you had already cleaned, it wasn’t your responsibility.

Dogs will be dogs, weasels will be weasels.

The key point (for this conversation) was the final phrase: “There is [then] no end to the matter”

I am told that this phase, used to limit potential excesses in observant behavior, appears often in Talmud.

I find that deeply comforting.

BUT… this phrase is never used in the context of every-day (versus special Passover) kashrut. Never.

Now maybe it’s just where I am right now – struggling with whether I need a pareve (in addition to milk and meat) set of silverware. “Enough!” my mind shouts out. “Will we also need milk, meat and pareve toothpicks? Napkins? Seat cushions? Is there no end to the matter??”

I haven’t found out yet whether the lack of this phrase is

  • indicative that there is, in fact, no end to the matter. People need to go to whatever extent they can to feel that they are “in bounds” with regard to kashrut
  • a mere oversight and not significant of anything. In this case, the Talmudic intent is still that one should exercise reasonable restraint in pursuing this mitzvah.

I sincerely hope it’s the latter. Not just because I am currently feel tired and bedraggled and frazzled by the onslaught of hekshur and hagalah, of separating and then recombining my kitchen items, of kashering for everyday only to kasher for Pesach. No, that is a piece but not just because of that.

I hope reason has a place in this process because, especially at this time of year, I am painfully aware that my own Yetzer HaRa (often translated as “inclination to do evil” but more accurately as “inclination to unrestrained passions”) goads me to nit-pick every observance, to question the validity of the way I have performed it. Between my Yetzer and I, there is no “good enough” or even “good enough for this year”. My Yetzer HaRa gleefully  acknowledges “no end to the matter”, and I don’t want to be left standing without the protection of Rabbinic reason to keep myself in check.

This article comes from EdibleTorah @ NewKosher. Originally posted here.

Lessons From Pareve Chocolate Desserts (EdibleTorah)

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At the end of the day, early on during our month-long adventure in Israel, we’re walking down the street toward Machaneh Yehudah (one of our favorite places to end the day), we arrive at this inconspicuous little bakery.

Typically laid back in an Israeli kind of way, there’s no worry about making everything appear hermetically sealed and fresh. Huge trays of cookies and pastries are out on the counters. There’s a soft hum coming from a flight of bees floating lazily around honey-glazed crescents stuffed with cheese. Challahs the length of my arm are stacked like cord wood at the front of the store, their aroma wafting out onto the street and doing a better job of advertising than any 5th Avenue marketing firm every could.

We’ve stumbled into Marzipan. And while we don’t know it yet, this small store is famous. And I mean it in a completely viral, word-of-mouth kind of way that predates texting and YouTube by 40 years. People who haven’t been back to Israel for 30 years still wax rhapsodic about this store. It turns out Marzipan ranks fourth on almost everyone’s short-list of places you MUST see when visiting: The Kotel, Masada, the Dead Sea and Marzipan.

As we browse, trying to differentiate the borekas from berry-filled-pastries, our kids spot what appear to be chocolate cupcakes. “What are those?” they ask the owner.

“Chocolate souffle. Try one,” he gleefully coaxes. “it’s the best thing you’ve ever eaten.”

He pops one into a microwave and heats it for just a few seconds before handing it to my son with a spoon. At the last minute my wife remembers we ate schwarma for lunch. “Wait!” she says. “We’re fleishig!”

The owner looks at her quizzically for a minute, like this is the silliest thing he’s heard. “They’re pareve,” he says, waving to my children to dig in.

The world stops for a moment. I can hear my heart pounding in my ears. I feel like I’m having an out of body experience.

Pareve. Chocolate. Dessert.

For those who are unfamiliar with the vagaries of kosher rules, one of the most challenging (for me at least) is the need to wait a certain number of hours between eating meat and dairy. The waiting time between meals varies from one hour up to six. I’ll give you six guesses how long my darling wife (ever the dutiful rule follower) decided we ought to wait.
(for more of my opinion on this subject, check out this post)

This wait time necessitates a certain amount of culinary finageling for those such as myself with die-hard sweet tooths (sweet teeth?). You have to find something which is desert-y enough to satisfy our craving while also incorporating non-dairy (ie: pareve) ingredients. If you prefer your desserts to include chocolate, the level of difficulty rises several notches. You see, the words “Pareve Chocolate Desert” do not conjure images of gourmet delights for me. At it’s worst, the term is equivalent to “flavorless pastry dipped in melted brown crayon”. Even at it’s best, most pareve desserts leave me feeling I would have been happier if I just waited the 6 hours until I could have a real dessert.

Back to the moment (and dessert) at hand:

Pareve. Chocolate. Dessert.

The other 3 kids have joined my son in tasting. “Oh my G-d, Daddy. You have to try this!”

My kids never say G-d like that. They know it’s a pet peeve of mine. But they’re saying it now. Repeatedly.

I take a taste and immediately decide to do three things:

  1. Give the kids a pass on the OMG thing. These souffles are REALLY good.
  2. Accuse the owner of lying about them being pareve.
  3. Assuming he’s not lying (and I don’t think his business could last long in this area if he did) I’m going to buy every one of these things.

As our time in Israel continues, we visit Marzipan almost daily. I have a chance to talk with the owner in between customers.

Like all truly amazing companies, his success (both financial and culinary) isn’t an accident. He didn’t inherit one magical recipe from his grandmother and has been coasting ever since. He lives for what he does. And what he does – as we found in that first visit – is serve food so good that people forget themselves for a moment, get caught up in the experience. He serves food which provides a culinary counterpoint to the experiences of Israel that surround his store.

The Kotel. Masada. The Dead Sea. Marzipan.

I learned a few things that day at the edge of the Machane Yehudah market:

  • Bakers who love what they do are a blessing on humanity. I now understand why  the one food God commanded be ever-present in the Temple in Jersualem was baked bread.
  • “Pareve dessert” does not need to be synonymous with “cold comfort while you wait 6 hours so you can have what you really want”
  • At the end of a long day when you think you have seen all that is holy, and come face to face with the Divine, sometimes you find the greatest blessing in a spoonful of chocolate souffle

This post comes courtesy of EdibleTorah @ NewKosher.org. Originally posted here. Image from azcookbook.com.

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