ב"ה
Try to imagine life without the word "because". You got paid this
week because you came to work each workday morning. They let you walk out of the
store with a bag of food because you paid for it in coin, paper or plastic. As a
rule, you are loved by those whom you love, are cared for by those for whom you
care, are treated nicely by those whom you treat nicely.
Deuteronomy 7:12-11:25 Torah Reading for Week of August 5-11, 2001 
In which Moses describes a land of milk and honey, recalls our failings in
our first generation as a people, explains where bread comes from, and alludes
to the Messianic Age.
Philosophical profundity crops in up in funny places. Fiddler on the Roof
is a sentimental dollop of schmaltz that has warmed Jewish hearts for decades.
Its enormous popularity has nothing to do with metaphysical content.
Nonetheless, there it is, one of the most enigmatic and recondite issues in
religious thought, put into the mouth of Tevye the milkman by an unwitting
lyricist, garnished with "yubba buhs" and accompanied by an antic
little jig: "Would it spoil some vast eternal plan/ If I were a wealthy
man?"
It was bitterly cold and snowing heavily, and when we cleared the edge of the town the wind pushed me along. Though Reb Zalman was short and elderly he strode sturdily, whereas I stumbled at almost every step until we finally reached the ohel. Even before I opened the door my little heart leaped up within me and released rivers of tears.
First comes the sense of anticipation and slight frustration of struggling for the
pleasure that will shortly be mine. Then, slowly, finally, it begins. Attracted
like magnets -- sometimes
touching, sometimes not -- the lines become drawn to each other.There is the shape of the letters themselves. The dance of black and white on the page. The delight in having these strange lines take on sound. The surprise when, all at once four or five of these shapes group together to make a word with length, depth and dimension. And then, suddenly, a beat or pulse emerges from a series of what by now have become meaningless sounds -- sounds that, because of their lack of meaning, come from a place in me beyond the place that looks for meaning in words.
Isn’t everything predetermined by the mechanics of the universe? I’m just a programmed machine; how can I be blamed for being what I am?Since G-d knows the future, what choice do we have in it? Since there is nothing else but His Oneness, what room is left for us to make any difference? If G-d is the Primal Cause, doesn’t the buck stop there? |
 The Parshah in a Nutshell
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