A burning bush in the Wilderness

This past Shabbat's parsha was Sh'mot, the first book of Exodus. In services this week, we had a guest preacher give the drash. And he really was a preacher, from the Church across the street. He had something very powerful to say about how African Americans can relate readily to the story of the Exodus, because the memory of slavery is still a fresh one in many of their minds.

He had a lot of other interesting things to say, too. One comment had to do with the burning bush. He drew attention to that, and to the wilderness as a place in which to meet God - where God meets us, in fact, and speaks to us. And He uses signs to grab our attention. In this case, it was a bush, consumed by fire, but not being burned.

Here is the text from my copy of the JPS Tanakh:

An Angel of the LORD appeared to him in a blazing fire out of a bush. He gazed, and there was a bush all aflame, yet the bush was not consumed. Moses said, "I must turn aside to look at this marvelous sight; why doesn't the bush burn up?" When HaShem saw that he had turned aside to look, God called to him out of the bush: "Moses! Moses!" He answered, "Here I am."

And once I read the text more closely, I got a lot more out of it. For one thing, at the beginning of the section, it doesn't say that God is there - it says "An Angel of the LORD appeared." But we know that "Angel" means messenger. So in this case, the "messenger" is the blazing fire. This is like God's handwriting on the world. Or God sending a text message by way of his wireless, languageless device - the Universe. Or maybe, this wasn't the text just yet, but rather the beep, buzz or ring tone that lets you know you have one.

The thing is, with cell phones, pagers, emails or anything, you have the option to answer or not. You can ignore it. Save it for later. Maybe you're just too busy right now. You don't want to be bothered. But Moses says, Hey, what's this?

I love Torah - you have this ancient text, supposedly about people who have little in common with us, in terms of their daily lives, and yet, they're just people. This is basically how any of us would respond. Like rubberneckers on a highway. Whoa, what happened here? Only here is Moses, out in the wilderness, with no one to corroborate what he is seeing. He is the only one who can describe this vision, and who knows what he was really looking at? Was it a bush? Was it really on fire? Was it something else? Or does it even matter? Because, whatever it was, it got the message across.

So first, you have the bush. And presumably, this bush was not right in front of Moses, because he said, "I must turn aside to look at this marvelous sight." So Moses shifted his gaze. He saw something out of the corner of his eye, and he went out of his way to look. He didn't know that God was calling to him. In that moment, he was simply aware of his surroundings, and willing to give something a second look that didn't seem to jive with his usual understanding of the world, i.e. that when bushes are filled with fire, they normally burn up.

And then it says, "When God saw that Moses had turned aside, he called to him out of the bush." And that may seem like a throwaway line. It's what you expect. Moses sees the burning bush, and the next thing you know, God is calling to him out of it. Simple right? But that line is loaded. It says God saw. So what that line is really giving us is a glimpse into the Mind of God. And it also gives us a little kernel of doubt. God sees everything, right? So if Moses had NOT turned to look at the bush, He would have seen that, too. So God was sitting on pins and needles for a while there.

Here is this guy, Moses, out in the wilderness with a flock of sheep, and God wants to call to him and make him the liberator of the Jewish people enslaved in Egypt. So God has to figure out a way of getting Moses' attention, and when he does this, by way of the burning bush (you could make an argument for a better way, but maybe that's all God had at the time) He can't even be sure if Moses is going to look at it, never mind respond. God sends the text, and the beep goes off, but what if Moses doesn't hear it? So there is God, watching to see what Moses does. When he sees that Moses has turned to look at the burning bush, then He speaks to him out of it. Not before he gets Moses' attention. He doesn't speak to get his attention. He only does it after the attention is given.

He says, "Moses! Moses!" And he answers, "Here I am!"

Not, What do you want? Not, Who are you? Just, Here I am.

And I'm thinking, what does this say to me? What does this mean in my life, right now? The pastor, who gave the drash, made a good point that when we get a call from God, or from our neighbors, we should pay attention, and think about what it means to answer, and what it means to Act. I really appreciated him saying that, because action is important to me. It's one of the things I love about Judaism - that it's not a religion of passively sitting by and imbibing philosophy, knowledge or belief, but one, ultimately, of action, and preferably action that benefits an entire community, and/or one's own life and of those close to us.

But I also wondered, and thought about later, what are the burning bushes in my life? What are those things, items, phenomena, dancing in the periphery of my vision that I should be turning my gaze toward and saying, Hey, what's this? I'm going to check this out. What are those things that aren't happening the way they are supposed to that are demanding a closer look? And if I don't look, maybe I am going to miss an important message. If Moses hadn't looked at that burning bush, the entire story of Exodus wouldn't have happened. Or at least Moses wouldn't have been a part of it. Maybe Moses wasn't the first one. Maybe God had tried to reach dozens of other men, or even women, and all of them had been too caught up in their own lives to pay attention to the message God was sending.

So if we don't pay attention to the messages in our own lives - to those burning bushes, those outliers of experience that make us say, Hey, hang on a minute, that's not quite right - we're missing a big piece of the action. We're missing the opportunity to not only have a conversation with God, but to liberate ourselves and possibly many others from the negative forces that are enslaving them.

Shavuah tov.

Hanukkah Miracles

I am not supposed to write today, because it is the Sabbath, nor should I be using the computer. But it's the last day of Hanukkah, and before I get too busy doing other things, I want to share my experience of my own, personal Hanukkah miracle, or miracles, really.

This season was full of them. In fact, I could feel the miraculous energy swirling around me sometimes.

Miracle 1: My mother sent me a Hanukkah card. This is my mother, who had nothing to say when I told her and my father I was Jewish, except, "But...what about Christmas?" I told her she could have all the Christmas she wanted. I had every Sabbath, and I had Pesach and Shavuot, and Rosh Hashanah, and all the rest. So we said nothing else about my religion, and I thought she would avoid the topic altogether. Then, a few days before Hanukkah, a card arrived in the mail, which I was almost certain would be a "Holiday" card, or even a Christmas-themed card of some kind, with a cheesy saying she'd made up. It wasn't overly Hanukkah-y. It sported a watercolor of a dove on the front, with "Shalom" in Hebrew letters (a word I recognized, thanks to my Beginning Hebrew class). Inside was a message about hoping my season was filled with Miracles, and she wrote that she wished me a Happy Hanukkah underneath. So that was miracle one, that she sent it.

Miracle 2 was that the card was on time. My mom has never sent a card to me on time, I don't think, in her life. And she was never on time to pick me up from school or to drop me off at band/choir/theater practice my entire childhood. The message to me was: my life wasn't important to her. But she responded to something different this time. This time I chose what was important to me, and I didn't need her approval. I didn't even need her support. But for the first time, she was able to show for me, on time, for something that was important to me, even though it, literally, goes against her religion. Halleluia to that.

Then there was the miracle of the Latke party. Weeks ago, I volunteered to host a Monday - fourth night - Hanukkah party at my house, in which I would make my first-ever latkes for all the guests. This was through a new Minyan in the area, and many would be invited, though I knew it wouldn't be a huge crowd, it being Monday night, and my house being far from most people, in the remote town where I live.

My friend Jen had volunteered to make sufganiyot that night, and I was afraid (though I didn't say it) that if she decided to do that at a different place, then most people would go there, since she is more well-known in the community than I am. But that worked out when she decided to just cook them at my house, so that we could do a joint party.

Then, as the date approached, I had more worries. For one thing, it rained the week before Hanukkah, and where I live, rain means the ants all move indoors. That's exactly what happened, and my house was becoming steadily overrun by tiny ants marching through the bathroom, living room, and kitchen. I put out ant traps that did nothing to make them go away, and the more I tried to clean them up and destroy their ant trails, the more they seemed to invade. I nearly called the party off just because of that, because even the day before, they were everywhere, including in my kitchen drawers, where I kept tin foil and bags and tupperware containers. But I held off. I didn't pick up the phone. Instead, I went to the hardware store, and I got a liquid ant killer that I'd been eying before, and decided to try. The ants started to eat it, and I hoped that would do the trick. Then another friend came by with a different kind of ant trap, and so I put those down, too, for extra protection. Thankfully, when I woke up Monday morning, all but a few ants were gone. It was a miracle! I was ready to rejoice.

But I had another problem. Lack of work meant that cash was tight. I had bought a few supplies for the party ahead of time, but that morning I found myself without enough cash to buy potatoes. It was a sad state of affairs. But I still had to believe that the party needed to go on. I had committed to it. People were counting on me. But not only that, I was counting on me. I had a need to make this happen - to make potato latkes, and open my home to people of the Jewish community, as had been done for me the previous year. Thankfully, my friend stepped in to help again. He saw my need, and even though he'd been having some trouble of his own, he helped me out. We went to the grocery store and bought a few supplies on a very tight budget. But it all worked out well. I was even able to make a small deposit to my bank account, which prevented (just barely) an overdraft on my account that I was worried about.

So that was Miracle number 3, and 4.

But wait, there's more. When I went to make the latkes, I discovered that, of all the things I had remembered to buy, frying oil wasn't one of them. Plain oil isn't something I normally keep in my kitchen. I generally only use olive oil. So I looked, and all I had was about a half a cup of Extra Virgin Olive Oil. My friend Jen offered for me to use the leftover oil from the sufganiyot, which had only a small amount of sediment in it, but still smelled a bit like doughnuts. I decided I would try olive oil. Two nights before, I had enjoyed latkes that someone had cooked in olive oil, and I thought it could work, or perhaps a mixture of the two. It looked like I had enough, and when I checked the label, I saw that it was certified kosher.

So I cooked the latkes in olive oil, and they came out delicious. They were crispy on the edges, and not too brown, with just a hint of garlic, and few other spices for flavoring. Everyone loved them, including Roger, who had invited me to be on the planning committee for the Minyan in the first place. He waxed poetic about them, holding his hand up in the air with his fingers touching his thumb, and shook it in just that way that means what he ate was just so perfect, he couldn't even put his finger on it. He said, "See? You even made me talk like this!" And he did it again. It was all worth it.

And I found out later from a rabbi that, despite the doubt some people had expressed about the viability of cooking latkes in olive oil, it was probably the most authentic way to cook them, since olive oil is precisely the kind of oil the Maccabees had needed and had found and used in the Temple after they defeated the Assyrian Greeks.

And in a way, the way I found it was very similar. I found that I did not have what I thought I needed. The oil that my friend had brought was already "defiled" by having been used for the doughnuts, and so what I had left was a small amount of pure, unadulterated, kosher olive oil, which didn't look like enough to cook the huge batch of potato pancakes I had prepared. And yet, once I started cooking, I realized that I in fact did have enough, that it lasted as long as I needed it to, with even a little left over. And my pancakes were delicious, as perfect as I could have wanted them, and kosher.

It was all an amazing success, and even more so because I had not thought it possible that it could happen.

But Hashem does make the impossible possible. Where we see blockages and hurdles, G-d lifts us over and carries us through, if only we keep walking. Because that's what I did. I could have turned aside. I could have called the party off. But I had a vision for it that it was going to happen, and I didn't want to let that vision go. In the end, it became exactly as I had imagined it. But only because Hashem blessed me, over and over again, and made possibilities appear where I had only seen challenges.

And so I realized later that, just as it had said on the card my mother sent me, my Hanukkah was indeed filled with miracles.