Ki Tavo - You’re not supposed to know how to do all this Jewish stuff on your own
Deuteronomy 26:1 - 29:8 | Isaiah 60:1 - 22
Summary: the suggestion to “have a rabbi” should be taken very seriously, regardless of how old or learned you are. We need to be able to admit that we don’t know how to do some things - like pray deeply - and to connect with someone who can help.
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One of the most dangerous myths is that we are supposed to be able to succeed at life on our own - that just because we are 74, or 46, or 20, we are supposed to have figured out what to do and how to be and what to say and, from that point on, confessing our lack of capacity by asking for help should be a source of shame.
As a result of this ridiculous assumption, many people - of all ages, mind - are walking around thinking they are supposed to know, supposed to be able, supposed to win or succeed or accomplish without help. This creates all kinds of messes. Have you ever tried to talk to someone who thinks they should get it already, should be capable already, and with whom you therefore cannot discuss the fact that, clearly, they don’t fully get it, and are not fully capable? It is made so complicated by the fact that admitting anything less would arouse shame, and shame is to be avoided at all costs.
Clearly this is true in many areas of life - like exercise, or relationships - but I am particularly alert to how it manifests in Jewish life. Honestly - who among us has made good on that famous statement from Pirkei Avot to “make for yourself a rabbi”? Setting aside for the moment any kind of fancy reading of those words “make” and “for yourself”, do you “have” a rabbi? Yes, many of us “belong” (oy, that phrase nags at my conscience) to synagogues at which there is a clergyperson who is technically in my employ, such that were I to die or experience a loss or be in the hospital, this person would be under contract to provide necessary services. They might even be able to hack together some kind of cohesive eulogy at my funeral. But this is not “having” a rabbi.
Having a rabbi means having real and ongoing access to someone with experience and wisdom, someone who has studied, someone who has been through their own process, (I would add: someone who has a rabbi of their own), someone who is a part of a stream of knowledge from which they are able to draw and to which they are able to contribute. Having a rabbi takes time and honesty and inevitably requires vulnerability. It requires that we allow ourselves to be known, and to admit that we don’t know.
To offer a small but important example: How many people I see who (at least to my very trained eye) have the hardest time praying with any kind of sincerity, depth, intensity, realness, honesty, etc. Hell, I see all kinds of rabbis who (at least to my very trained eye) have the hardest time praying with any kind of sincerity, depth, intensity, realness, honesty, etc. But you’re supposed to know how to pray, because you’re, like, praying, right, and this should be natural and obvious, right? So pretty much everyone pretends they’ve got it (or has secretly given up on it being good and satisfying and real), and so few people go to someone else and say, “You know, I have a hard time praying. I just don’t know how to to tap into the real feelings and needs that I have and convey that in words, especially words in a foreign language written by someone else that I am supposed to repeat every day. In fact, I’m not even sure I believe that prayer is real, or important, or works. What do you do about that?”
How many more people are still stuck with juvenile readings of the Torah, juvenile relationships to “commandments” (and the very concept of commandment, as if it is a function of simple obedience and only requires that a person dispense with their obligations so that they can get on with living life!), unsatisfying experiences in many of the aspects of life that are addressed by Jewish frameworks (which is pretty much all of them). These are exactly the situations in which a person would go to a rabbi - “Rabbi! My shabbats are boring and frustrating. It feels too regimented - pray, eat, sleep, pray, eat, sleep, pray, eat. What do you do about that?” - and they are exactly the situations in which people try to figure it out on their own, come up short, and then either stop entirely, or turn off that part of their souls, or just remain miserable. Alas.
Granted, there is plenty to talk about in terms of how well our rabbis are trained, how good their answers actually are, and also in terms of how free they are from other, more pedestrian tasks (like fundraising!) in order to be available to those in need. But have you tried? Have you asked the rabbi in your community to take a walk with you, so you could unburden your soul and see what happens? If it’s not a good match for whatever reason, have you looked around to see who might fill the role? Before we fall into that dangerous misreading of that passage in Pirkei Avot that turns “make for yourself a rabbi” into “make yourself into your own rabbi”, have you opened the proverbial phonebook to see what’s available to you? Heck, there are some dead rabbis you can talk to if that’s your thing.
It’s so important that we allow ourselves to be genuinely nourished by the flowing stream of our tradition, as embodied in the people it has trained and educated and vested and invested in and provided for us. It is so important that we genuinely, actually realize that, not only are we not alone, but we are not meant to be alone. We are meant to be learning from other people. We are meant to ask. We are meant to not yet be fully capable.
With that in mind, I love the moment in this week’s Torah reading in which the farmer brings their first fruits to the Temple in a basket and presents them before the priest. There is a speech - this speech is found in the Passover Seder - in which the person says, basically, “we were slaves in Egypt, and it was bad, and God took us out and told us that God would take us to this place, and God in fact took us to this place, and here we are, and here are my first fruits.” That incredible journey - from slavery to freedom to provider. Look how capable I now am! I used to have no personal power, no capacity, no dignity. Now, I can provide. Now I work the soil and grow my own food. I can do so much.” But still, there is a gap. There is still further to go - and that is where the priest comes in. The basket is presented to priest who takes the fruit where the farmer cannot go - to the altar, to the next level. To the next dimension.
There is no shame in this. Maybe there is frustration. But it is built in to the system: you can go far, but not all the way. You will need others to bridge gaps and help you along on your journey.