Dear Friends,
Pages turn.
Chapters end.
Sweaters wear-out.
Stuff stops.
Wars end.
But, until then, we keep pushing through, turning pages, rolling scrolls, and bearing up.
This week’s Torah portion offers evidence of this. This week, we read from the final chapters of the Book of Exodus. At the outset of the Exodus, we were enslaved by the hostile Pharaoh and then endured centuries of slavery, waiting for it to end via a divine deliverance. When that moment finally arrived, we departed hastily and commenced our desert wanderings, which included our constructing a portable desert tabernacle, a shrine where we could encounter the Holy One. That tabernacle was completed in these final chapters, and our wanderings continue—waiting to be ended—until the close of Deuteronomy we arrive to the border of the Land of Canaan.
The common thread throughout these episodes is waiting for the difficulty to end, or literally, waiting for the cloud to lift.
In fact, that is exactly how the Torah described our situation. At the very close of Exodus, in its final three verses, we are reminded that God would dwell in a cloud, hovering above us, and “When the cloud lifted from the Tabernacle, the Israelites would set out on their various journeys.” (Exodus 40:36)
Much of life is about waiting for the cloud to lift. Indeed, there are some conditions in which we can intervene and live the cloud ourselves: we can take Tylenol for small pains or see a surgeon for a graver matter; we can get a loan to cover a debt, or we can donate the old jalopy and be rid of its headache.
But, for so many other matters, we need to wait until the cloud lifts. If we wish to go for that nice hike, but since it is gray, rainy, and muddy; we may have to wait until the cloud lifts. If one is amid sorrow and melancholy, often time is the best salve, and one must wait until the cloud lifts.
As well, as we are emotionally drained and conflicted over the complexities of the war in Gaza, war in Ukraine, and we look longingly to their ends and a respite from the inner anguish. Again, we must wait until those clouds lift.
Waiting and biding time may not be our greatest talents. It surely is not the norm for Americans who is bred on a can-do ethic of problem-solving and ameliorating troubles.
But, in truth, when a cloud of circumstances is hovering over us, we simply must wait until it lifts. Until then we take care of each other and ourselves, provide the best help we can to those abroad, and keep turning the pages and rolling the Torah.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Douglas Kohn
Pages turn.
Chapters end.
Sweaters wear-out.
Stuff stops.
Wars end.
But, until then, we keep pushing through, turning pages, rolling scrolls, and bearing up.
This week’s Torah portion offers evidence of this. This week, we read from the final chapters of the Book of Exodus. At the outset of the Exodus, we were enslaved by the hostile Pharaoh and then endured centuries of slavery, waiting for it to end via a divine deliverance. When that moment finally arrived, we departed hastily and commenced our desert wanderings, which included our constructing a portable desert tabernacle, a shrine where we could encounter the Holy One. That tabernacle was completed in these final chapters, and our wanderings continue—waiting to be ended—until the close of Deuteronomy we arrive to the border of the Land of Canaan.
The common thread throughout these episodes is waiting for the difficulty to end, or literally, waiting for the cloud to lift.
In fact, that is exactly how the Torah described our situation. At the very close of Exodus, in its final three verses, we are reminded that God would dwell in a cloud, hovering above us, and “When the cloud lifted from the Tabernacle, the Israelites would set out on their various journeys.” (Exodus 40:36)
Much of life is about waiting for the cloud to lift. Indeed, there are some conditions in which we can intervene and live the cloud ourselves: we can take Tylenol for small pains or see a surgeon for a graver matter; we can get a loan to cover a debt, or we can donate the old jalopy and be rid of its headache.
But, for so many other matters, we need to wait until the cloud lifts. If we wish to go for that nice hike, but since it is gray, rainy, and muddy; we may have to wait until the cloud lifts. If one is amid sorrow and melancholy, often time is the best salve, and one must wait until the cloud lifts.
As well, as we are emotionally drained and conflicted over the complexities of the war in Gaza, war in Ukraine, and we look longingly to their ends and a respite from the inner anguish. Again, we must wait until those clouds lift.
Waiting and biding time may not be our greatest talents. It surely is not the norm for Americans who is bred on a can-do ethic of problem-solving and ameliorating troubles.
But, in truth, when a cloud of circumstances is hovering over us, we simply must wait until it lifts. Until then we take care of each other and ourselves, provide the best help we can to those abroad, and keep turning the pages and rolling the Torah.
Shabbat Shalom,
Rabbi Douglas Kohn
