Post by Rabbi Neil on Nov 4, 2022 21:03:33 GMT
Every once in a while, such as when there are horrific mass shootings or when elections bring into power individuals who would happily strip others of their rights, people ask me why I stay in the US. I often answer, “You have seen what’s happening in the UK, right?” It’s rather depressing that that answer has been easily understood for at least five years. Obviously, I stay in the US because I love this community, I love Santa Fe, I love being the Rabbi here. But I am reminded of the words of Rabbi Tony Bayfield who spoke of “dwellers” and “seekers.” He taught that Jewish communities are made up of both kinds of member, and a successful community has to cater to all. Dwellers are those who like things to remain the same, while seekers look to push the boundaries. Dwellers take comfort in the past and the present, seekers take comfort in exploring the future. Dwellers are happy where they are, seekers are happy in the search for more.
This consideration of dwellers and seekers is especially relevant this week, with the start of the Torah portion of Lech L’cha (Gen. 12). There, God calls to Avram to go forth from his country, his people and his ancestral home to a land that God will show him. After that, God promises to make him into a great nation and to be blessed. The blessing is a natural corollary of going forth, of being a seeker. The name Avram comes from the Hebrew root meaning “to cross over,” and we the Jewish people, the ivrim, are those who cross over. We are a journeying people.
For years, I’ve been a proud supporter of the seeker camp, although I have to acknowledge that as I journey through middle age, becoming a dweller is certainly becoming more appealing. Being a seeker all the time is exhausting. Being a seeker can be disorienting or ungrounding, ensuring that we live in a state of insecurity, because it seems that we do not know where that journey of seeking will take us. Being a seeker can mean missing what is right in front of us, the blessings in our lives right now which we need time to sit and appreciate. Dwellers might say that the act of dwelling is a moment of blessing, seekers might say that it is an act of privilege. Both are probably correct.
The journey of seeking in Genesis is not aimless and eternal, though. It is, in fact, directed toward a place of dwelling. Abraham isn’t commanded to be a seeker forever – he’s commanded to go up from one location so that he might seek out and travel to another specific location, a land in which he and his descendants will dwell and be blessed. Instead of a life of seeking, maybe we should be balancing seeking and dwelling.
How might we do that? To dwell is to appreciate everything in our lives, to live fully in the moment, to appreciate how lucky we are to have a roof over our heads, food on our table, in short, for us it means to live in privilege. To seek means to try to ensure that others are able to live in the same privilege. Dwelling and seeking together means, to quote Martin Luther King, to live in “creative maladjustment” with our society – essentially, with one foot in and one foot outside. It means to celebrate our riches and also to give to those in need. "There are some things concerning which we must always be maladjusted if we are to be people of goodwill,” said King. "Through such creative maladjustment, we may be able to emerge from the bleak and desolate midnight of man's inhumanity to man, into the bright and glittering daybreak of freedom and justice.” That is why King quoted the Biblical prophet Amos, who adjured us to “Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream.” “This is no refreshing stream,” said King, “This is a flash flood – this is a wall of water that will wipe out everything in its path – and specifically, the oppressive systems and structures that do so much harm.” Rabbi Bayfield said that at different times in people’s lives they were either dwellers or seekers, and I think there’s much truth to that. There needs to be a time to dwell and a time to seek, but we need to specifically carve out those times in our lives. “A time to plant and a time to uproot that which is planted,” (Ecc. 3:2) “a time to be silent and a time to speak” (Ecc. 3:7). That can be read as a time to plant ourselves, to enjoy the fruits of our labor, and also a time to uproot the injustice that allows some to relax while others cannot. A time to be silent, to quietly reflect on the luxuries of our lives, and a time to speak out against the systemic oppression that affects so many people in our society.
Being a seeker doesn’t always have to mean rejecting the present. Abraham is told to journey from before being told where he has to journey towards. The Rabbis took that as a firm rejection of everything in Abraham’s life, creating midrashim about how he was raised surrounded by idolatry. They even create narratives in which he teaches others of the problems of idolatry and leads them towards monotheism. We don’t need to totally reject our own society before moving seeking to reform it. We can appreciate that there is good and bad in everything, and we can praise the good and try to bring more of it to others. If we constantly denigrate the past and present, then we cannot appreciate what we have and we will live in a persistent state of misery, seeking pleasure in an illusory future that may never come to exist. Instead, we can say “the present is good but the future can be even better.” Or, to put it in Jewish terms, gam zu l’tovah – even this [difficult present] can be for good.
Judaism is, ultimately, an optimistic religion. It’s often very hard to be optimistic, and yet even through the harshest of expulsions, inquisitions, and anti-semitism, Judaism has always believed in a better future, one that only comes about through our actions. We say blessings to enjoy the gifts of the present, and we also recite Aleinu to set a vision of a better future. This Shabbat, then, we count our blessings, and we set a vision. We bask in the positive aspects of our lives, and we also consider how to help increase positive moments in the lives of others. This Shabbat, may we dwell and may we seek, so that we can all come to celebrate the wonderful gift of life, and let us say, Amen.
This consideration of dwellers and seekers is especially relevant this week, with the start of the Torah portion of Lech L’cha (Gen. 12). There, God calls to Avram to go forth from his country, his people and his ancestral home to a land that God will show him. After that, God promises to make him into a great nation and to be blessed. The blessing is a natural corollary of going forth, of being a seeker. The name Avram comes from the Hebrew root meaning “to cross over,” and we the Jewish people, the ivrim, are those who cross over. We are a journeying people.
For years, I’ve been a proud supporter of the seeker camp, although I have to acknowledge that as I journey through middle age, becoming a dweller is certainly becoming more appealing. Being a seeker all the time is exhausting. Being a seeker can be disorienting or ungrounding, ensuring that we live in a state of insecurity, because it seems that we do not know where that journey of seeking will take us. Being a seeker can mean missing what is right in front of us, the blessings in our lives right now which we need time to sit and appreciate. Dwellers might say that the act of dwelling is a moment of blessing, seekers might say that it is an act of privilege. Both are probably correct.
The journey of seeking in Genesis is not aimless and eternal, though. It is, in fact, directed toward a place of dwelling. Abraham isn’t commanded to be a seeker forever – he’s commanded to go up from one location so that he might seek out and travel to another specific location, a land in which he and his descendants will dwell and be blessed. Instead of a life of seeking, maybe we should be balancing seeking and dwelling.
How might we do that? To dwell is to appreciate everything in our lives, to live fully in the moment, to appreciate how lucky we are to have a roof over our heads, food on our table, in short, for us it means to live in privilege. To seek means to try to ensure that others are able to live in the same privilege. Dwelling and seeking together means, to quote Martin Luther King, to live in “creative maladjustment” with our society – essentially, with one foot in and one foot outside. It means to celebrate our riches and also to give to those in need. "There are some things concerning which we must always be maladjusted if we are to be people of goodwill,” said King. "Through such creative maladjustment, we may be able to emerge from the bleak and desolate midnight of man's inhumanity to man, into the bright and glittering daybreak of freedom and justice.” That is why King quoted the Biblical prophet Amos, who adjured us to “Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like a mighty stream.” “This is no refreshing stream,” said King, “This is a flash flood – this is a wall of water that will wipe out everything in its path – and specifically, the oppressive systems and structures that do so much harm.” Rabbi Bayfield said that at different times in people’s lives they were either dwellers or seekers, and I think there’s much truth to that. There needs to be a time to dwell and a time to seek, but we need to specifically carve out those times in our lives. “A time to plant and a time to uproot that which is planted,” (Ecc. 3:2) “a time to be silent and a time to speak” (Ecc. 3:7). That can be read as a time to plant ourselves, to enjoy the fruits of our labor, and also a time to uproot the injustice that allows some to relax while others cannot. A time to be silent, to quietly reflect on the luxuries of our lives, and a time to speak out against the systemic oppression that affects so many people in our society.
Being a seeker doesn’t always have to mean rejecting the present. Abraham is told to journey from before being told where he has to journey towards. The Rabbis took that as a firm rejection of everything in Abraham’s life, creating midrashim about how he was raised surrounded by idolatry. They even create narratives in which he teaches others of the problems of idolatry and leads them towards monotheism. We don’t need to totally reject our own society before moving seeking to reform it. We can appreciate that there is good and bad in everything, and we can praise the good and try to bring more of it to others. If we constantly denigrate the past and present, then we cannot appreciate what we have and we will live in a persistent state of misery, seeking pleasure in an illusory future that may never come to exist. Instead, we can say “the present is good but the future can be even better.” Or, to put it in Jewish terms, gam zu l’tovah – even this [difficult present] can be for good.
Judaism is, ultimately, an optimistic religion. It’s often very hard to be optimistic, and yet even through the harshest of expulsions, inquisitions, and anti-semitism, Judaism has always believed in a better future, one that only comes about through our actions. We say blessings to enjoy the gifts of the present, and we also recite Aleinu to set a vision of a better future. This Shabbat, then, we count our blessings, and we set a vision. We bask in the positive aspects of our lives, and we also consider how to help increase positive moments in the lives of others. This Shabbat, may we dwell and may we seek, so that we can all come to celebrate the wonderful gift of life, and let us say, Amen.