I'm relaxing on the sofa watching Shira, my eleven-year-old, patiently teaching baby Sara Leah how to build a tower with her blocks, when the tranquil peace is suddenly shattered. Sara Leah has noticed an intriguing, sharp object on a high shelf. She climbs up to grab it, only to have it swiftly pulled away by her older, vigilant sister. Sara Leah wails loudly and inconsolably. Innovative Shira sprints to action, and finds a colorful new book to read to her sister.
Within seconds, this minor catastrophe has been averted as Sara Leah nestles comfortably on Shira's lap, engrossed in the tale.
The scene reminded me of how just a couple months back I took Sara Leah to the doctor for her scheduled inoculation. One moment she was screaming over the pain of the shot, but the next she was contently sucking on a lollipop treat that I had brought precisely for this purpose, her head snuggled contentedly
over my shoulder.
Toddlers, even more than older children, are notorious for their changing moods. One moment they're in absolute bliss over a new toy or activity, only to be followed by a state of utter distress because something is being denied them. And vice versa.
It's not that Sara Leah's pain was not real. At that point, when the object was taken away from her, her whole world had collapsed. The denied toy might be trivial, but for that moment, it was her passion, her need and obsession.
She didn't consider how trivial the forbidden object was compared to her parents' love for her. She didn't think about the warm home that surrounds her, her many toys and gifts or all the other, far more wonderful things in her life. For her, the world had just caved in because she was unable to get that little something she so craved.
On the other hand, even when she was suffering real pain over the needle's
prick, the coveted piece of candy immediately distracted her, enabling her to
forget her suffering. Her worldview suddenly turned positively jubilant, merely
as a result of a newly acquired lollipop.
A child is imprisoned within the moment. She cannot see beyond it.
The context of past and future is lost on her because her mind has not yet
sufficiently matured to assimilate a continuity of past to present or the
concept of a future. Nor is there an appreciation of context--of this denied
pleasure vis-a-vis for all other toys or belongings that she owns. Sara Leah,
like all small children, sees only what is before her--this moment, this toy,
this lollipop.
Sara Leah has a vision and perception that is fragmented.
Sitting on the couch observing Sara Leah's fickle moods reminded me of my own
limited perception. Just last week, I was having a bad day; everything was going
wrong and my dour mood reflected it. Then, at the end of the day, a small gift
and kind word suddenly changed it all, as my mood, just like my baby's, suddenly
turned positively optimistic.
Why my vacillation between a sour mood and the sudden jubilant change?
Because adults, too, have a fragmented vision--similar to a child's--due to our
state of living in galut.
Galut is usually translated as "exile." But galut is not simply a
state of banishment from our land or our inability to live as practicing Jews.
In modern times, we are able to physically return to our land of Israel, and in
most countries we are freely able to practice Torah and mitzvot.
But we are still very much in galut.
Galut means being imprisoned within a fragmented perception of reality, on all levels: fragmentation in time, space, self and community. It affects how we view ourselves, others, and all the events in our lives. It is our inability to see the underlying unity in all of reality.
We don't see the connection between events in our lives, the people in our lives, or even aspects of our selves. We view people as separate from us, rather
than as part of a unified, symbiotic whole. We view time and events as separate and disjointed with no theme of a purpose. The past is a "memory" that is not
lived within the moment, and there is no concept or vision of a future. The here and now is all that is real and palpable.
That is why those small issues in my life become so overpowering on those days that I am in such a lousy mood, and cause me (and others) so much
suffering. And that is why Sara Leah, on her own baby level, too, can't overcome being denied one object until she is granted the diversion of another.
Because when I am imprisoned within the moment, I am unable to see beyond this particular event, this problem that I am confronting, or the streak of bad luck that I am currently experiencing. These negative aspects of my life are senseless to me and thus painful.
Geulah, redemption, on the other hand, is seeing the wholeness, the unity and the underlying G-dliness within creation. It is the perception of the connecting thread and the unifying force in everything--people, places, events. It is viewing each event as leading up to a purpose, having a mission and a reason; understanding that there will be a grand finale when all these loose ends will be wholesomely tied together.
That is why the Hebrew word for exile, golah differs only in one letter from its counterpart, geulah, redemption. Golah is missing the aleph (one) contained in geulah. It is lacking the perception
of Oneness, the unity, the wholeness, the Divine underlying purpose of its creation.
Without the aleph, we behold the very same world, but it is a world of fragmentation, purposelessness, restlessness and frustrations. There is no goal, no past and no future.
Happiness and fulfillment are lacking because there is no appreciation for the role of the people and things around us. Insert the aleph, though, and a context, a mission, a reason and a unity emerges.
Every mitzvah that we do within galut draws down this aleph within each of us, and within the world at large. Mitzvah means connection. Every mitzvah uncovers the concealed purpose of this moment, or of this created matter, and thereby connects us all to our Creator.
Every Yom Tov (holiday), too, reminds us of an experience from our past and empowers us to build spiritually on it and re-experience it on a newer
and higher plane in the present moment. Every Shabbat beckons us not to dominate creation but to celebrate within it while experiencing its role in the wholeness
of our purpose on this world. That is why the holy day of Shabbat is called "a taste of the world to come"--because it provides us with a foretaste of this future state of a redemptive reality.
But, even while we may still be experiencing the fragmentation of galut in our lives, we have the ability to insert this "aleph of geulah"
awareness into every facet of our world.
Each mitzvah that we do empowers us to elicit this awareness. Each mitzvah that is performed reveals more of this harmonious, symbiotic unity within every matter in creation.
Because drawing down this aleph consciousness is something that is in the powers of each and every one of us.
One day at a time. One mitzvah at a time.
