Tasting the Fruits of Our Labor

The end of the summer is nearly upon us. Many of us will soon be returning from free time and exploration, from time with ourselves and family, and heading back to a structured routine that demands productivity.

As I reminisce, some of my favorite moments this summer were spent at the park right near our home, watching my daughter Zahava take wobbly steps in the limestone pebbles, reveling in the sun-scorched rolling hills and blossoming grape vines in the background.

There is a valuable lesson we can take from such moments of serenity, and that is the importance of process, as opposed to product.

In the beginning of the Biblical creation story, God says “Let the earth sprout forth…fruit trees that produce fruit. The midrashic understanding of this seemingly wordy phrase is that God planned to have the whole tree, i.e., the bark, the leaves, etc., also have the taste of the fruit.

However, in the very next passage, the Torah writes, “The earth brought forth fruit-bearing trees.” What happened to the cherry-flavored bark that God had declared just one passage earlier? The midrash teaches that the earth sinned by not carrying out God’s command that the fruit trees themselves should taste like the fruit.

I heard a deep understanding of this midrash by Professor Yehuda Gelman from Ben Gurion University. God’s initial decision that the tree should taste like the fruit represents God’s desire that we equally focus on the process and product; in other words, the importance put on the process of creation would be as important as the end-result. The earth’s sin was its exclusive focus on the fruits, on the end-goal. Many times we are strictly (or primarily) focused on the product, the fruits of our labor, and the process becomes secondary to the product.

How much life passes us by if we miss the journey and focus completely on the destination? The Torah is teaching us an ideal—move towards your goals with alacrity, but don’t forget to pull over at the fruit stand and taste the cherries along the way.  

Looking for God? Stick Your Head in the Clouds

My father is a cancer survivor. Several years ago he suffered intensive radiation and chemotherapy treatments, along with two serious surgeries whose pain and difficulty I only experienced through my mother’s tears on the telephone.

Yet my father fought through it all with tremendous courage. He told me afterwards that he learned so much from the experience, and though he never would have chosen this for himself, he was grateful that he went through it.

His words left a powerful impression on me, and led me to a deeper realization of how the difficulties that I experienced had in the end benefited me tremendously.
Our great challenge is to seek out and find God amidst the struggle.

The Jewish tradition is no stranger to pain and tragedy, and teaches us valuable lessons about coping with them. One such teaching is from Rebbe Nachman of Brastlov, the great-grandson of the Ba’al Shem Tov, the founder of the Chasidic movement:

The Torah describes God descending on Mt. Sinai as a terrifying experience: a blazing fire and pillars of smoke covered the mountain; a ram’s horn ascending in volume filled their ears. Overwhelmed with panic, the nation retreated; God’s revelation was so intense they feared that it would kill them. They insisted that Moshe alone receive the remainder of the revelation, and afterwards he should relay it to them.

The Torah then tells us that “the nation stood back, and Moshe approached the cloud where God was.” The simple meaning of the passage is that Moshe accepted their request and went to receive the rest of the Torah.

Offering a deeper insight into the passage, Rebbe Nachman sees the cloud as a symbol for the personal challenges each one of us faces. Like most of us, the nation feared the path of most resistance, and moved away from this obstacle. But in that cloud, in that place of tension and distress, is where God dwells. The greatness of Moshe is that he knew to seek out God amidst the struggle.

It’s a natural reaction to run away from our challenges, to postpone difficult encounters, and to fear pain, whether physical or emotional. But those obstacles are truly opportunities for growth custom-made by God. Our great challenge is to seek out and find God amidst the struggle.

What’s The Point of Prayer?

Jews are known for strange behavior. We strap leather boxes to our arm and head, wave palm fronds, hold our fingernails up to candles, and have strings hanging out from our clothes. Bur maybe the strangest thing that we do is pray.

Not only do we pray, but we have three daily prayer services. On Shabbat and holidays we add a fourth; on Yom Kippur we even add a fifth. But for a religion that believes so fervently in an all-powerful, all knowing God, prayer is possibly the least logical alternative.

Am I going to change God’s mind? If God wants someone to be sick, or to be poor, is prayer really going to help? God caused this person to be sick; how could praying to the same God who made him sick in the first place possibly do anything to help the situation? Is God going to say, “Well, that is a good point, I never thought about it that way. Yes, you’re right; you do deserve a larger paycheck. I’ll see what I can do about that.”

The whole thing sounds heretical.

One answer is that the whole point of prayer is not for God. God doesn’t need our prayer, and God doesn’t change His mind. But what prayer does is change us. Through the activity of prayer I change myself to the extent that I can be a different person. And as a different person, I can merit greater blessing.

Recognizing God as our source, and as the source of everything, and coming to God to ask for our needs changes our perceptive. It is not only through my own hands that I earned everything I have; all the good that I have is from Hashem. Internalizing this message in all facets of life can have a dramatic effect. Through this constant endeavor we change ourselves, and therefore can merit a different relationship with God. We may receive something now that we never could before, because we are transformed.

In this same way, a community that binds together in prayer is no longer the same community. Uniting around a common goal has transformed them as a unit.

So the question is not, “Did God hear my prayers?” but rather “Did I hear my prayers?”