Unfortunately, even though we yearn for the logic of “If A, then B” reality doesn’t always turn out so neat and tidy. We know that. We’ve seen that in the news. We’ve seen that in our lives. We’ve seen that good things happen to bad people and bad things happen to good people.
...And still, we pray. And still, we yearn. And still, we hope for a world that will make sense. A world where our good deeds will be appropriately rewarded. Where the leaders of all nations work for the best interest of their citizens. Where we see the senselessness of devastation and destruction and work for the safety and security of all peoples.
The best class I took in college was “Causes and Prevention of War.” The premise was that 40 students would be assigned to be the leaders of 10 different countries (four students per country, for those doing the math at home). We studied up, came into class, and we were told…you’re the world: Go!
The professor played the rest of the nations of the world and, eventually, our universe diverted from the news of the real world as he added different scenarios and crises for our microcosm of the global stage to deal with.
I, for one, was the foreign minister of Iran. Quite the interesting experience, I can assure you. The class was incredible fun. I had a friend who was the finance minister of Kenya, and we had to set a no-shop-talk policy outside of class because I was sure that she was a spy. During our three-hour class sessions, my team and I engaged in the classic diplomatic tactic of bringing Hint of Lime Tostitos and medium salsa to each class. It helped make a lot of friends and ease international tensions.
But then, one week, even our chips and salsa strategy was powerless to stop the freight train of global politics.
It turns out that the president of my Iranian delegation and the head of the French government did not get along. It had nothing to do with the global community we made in the classroom. It was not the result of back channel negotiations or strategic deception. They just didn’t like each other. So, one day, after a particularly heated exchanged, the French president called for a press conference (which meant we all stopped conversations and listened up to the front of the class). In a slightly bizarre, angry, and wandering speech, the French president declared Iran a “rogue state” and that he was cutting off diplomatic relations. None of us were sure what he meant by rogue state, but it resulted in a precipitous increase in tensions.
And, frankly, it’s good the semester ended when it did, because we were all pretty sure that the next week would have resulted in the start of World War III.
The idea for the class was that you read the assigned international relations theory before coming to class each week and then use the skills and ideas in your negotiations and relationships. I…did not do that. For sure, I read everything assigned. I just happened to read it during Reading Week as I prepared to write my “memoir” final assignment.
As I approached that project, I was worried. The world we had created flipped upside down and backwards. There was very little that occurred that seemed rational or according to any predictable pattern. How was I going to shoehorn reasonable political theory into the nonsensical world I had just witnessed and been a part of? And then I started reading. And I read about the role of irrational actors on the global, political stage. I learned that the only rational way to look at the world is to know that irrational things happen. Surely, there are some predictable patterns, but, more often than not, we need to build the unpredictable into our models of what we expect out of the world.
Unfortunately, even though we yearn for the logic of “If A, then B” reality doesn’t always turn out so neat and tidy. We know that. We’ve seen that in the news. We’ve seen that in our lives. We’ve seen that good things happen to bad people and bad things happen to good people.
And still we say in this week’s Torah reading: עֵקֶב תִּשְׁמְעוּן, אֵת הַמִּשְׁפָּטִים הָאֵלֶּה (eikev tish’m’un et hamishpatim ha-eileh), if you obey these rules…(Deut. 7:12) and וְהָיָה, אִם-שָׁמֹעַ תִּשְׁמְעוּ אֶל-מִצְוֹתַי (v’haya im shamoa tish’m’u el mitzvotai), surely if you obey my commandments (Deut. 11:13)...then rain will come in its season and you will defeat your enemies and you will have health, happiness, and success.
And still, we know that this is not how the world works. And still, we say it.
So much so, that a set of verses from this parsha make their way into the traditional recitation of Shema. In our Reform prayerbook, we removed this section from the liturgy. And reasonably so. Our modern sensibilities make us hesitant to profess the belief that observance of particular commandments will make the rain come down and the grass grow. We know that this is not how the world works.
Now, I don’t think we should add it back into our liturgy, but I can’t help but wonder why the rabbis of old wanted it there. I don’t think they were stupid. I don’t think they were naïve. I think they yearned for a world that makes sense. They, like us, yearned for a logical set of actions that could affect the cosmic reality of the world around them.
Of course, we should do all that we can to create a world that uses logic and reason to dictate the future. But, sometimes, you accidentally bump into the president of France in the dining hall, and his reaction is not one that you can predict. And then the fake world you created in Professor Seyom Brown’s “Causes and Prevention of War” class turns upside down and backwards.
And still, we pray. And still, we yearn. And still, we hope for a world that will make sense. A world where our good deeds will be appropriately rewarded. Where the leaders of all nations work for the best interest of their citizens. Where we see the senselessness of devastation and destruction and work for the safety and security of all peoples.
I think it matters that this idea is present in the sanctuary. Not that we necessarily believe it to be true, but that it is part of our hope. It is part of what we yearn for when we enter the sanctuary.
A sanctuary is a place of refuge and safety. It’s where we go to escape the irrational world. To try and find solace and center ourselves. To feel protected amidst the storms and trials of the unpredictable world we live in. To feel the sheltering presence of God.
And, a sanctuary is more than that. We aren’t meant to stay in the sanctuary. We come here to shore ourselves up. To remind ourselves of our values. To hope and pray together for a world that makes sense. And then we go back into our erratic, ever-changing world ready to do our part to create the predictable outcomes we wish were natural. We pray for rain to fall in its season, and then we leave here to care for our environment. We pray for peace to descend, and, knowing that peace does not naturally rain down from heaven, we set about the work of beating swords into plowshares and spears into pruning hooks.
In this sanctuary, may we feel sheltered and safe from the irrational and unpredictable reality we see each day. And may we leave this sanctuary ready to create the world we so fervently hope and pray for.
Shabbat Shalom.
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