Yesterday, I came across a Hasidic story which has eased my mind tremendously.
The story is one from the life of the Ba’al Shem Tov, a name which means Master of the Good Name, who was the founder of the Hasidic movement. It describes the Ba’al Shem Tov and blowing the shofar on Rosh Hashanah. Blowing the shofar is a special skill, requiring not only technical expertise, but also mastery of the special kavanot/intentions which would ensure that the shofar blasts favorably impact the spiritual realms.
There was one Rabbi, Rabbi Ze’ev, who wanted to blow the shofar for the Ba’al Shem Tov very much, so much, in fact, that he practiced these kavanot for years in order to perfect his skill. In fact, he applied himself to the task with joy and trepidation: joy over the great privilege that had been accorded him, and trepidation over the immensity of the responsibility. He studied the Kabbalistic writings that discuss the multifaceted significance of the shofar and what its sounds achieve on the various levels of reality and in the various chambers of the soul. He also prepared a sheet of paper on which he noted the main points of each kavanah, so that he could refer to them when he blew the shofar.
Finally, the great moment arrived. It was the morning of Rosh Hashanah, and Rabbi Ze’ev stood on the reading platform in the center of the Baal Shem Tov’s synagogue amidst the Torah scrolls, surrounded by a sea of talit-draped people. In the corner of the room stood his master, the Baal Shem Tov, his face aflame. An awed silence filled the room in anticipation of the the piercing blasts of the shofar.
Suddenly, he realized that nothing he had done had prepared him adequately for the experience of standing before this great and holy man. His mind froze completely. He couldn’t remember one of the kavanot he had practiced for all those years. He couldn’t even remember what he was supposed to be doing at all. He just stood before the Ba’al Shem in utter silence, and then, when he realized how utterly he had failed this great test, his heart broke and he began to weep, sobbing loudly, his shoulders heaving as he wept.
Rabbi Ze’ev reached into his pocket, and his heart froze: the paper had disappeared! Frantically, he searched his memory for what he had learned, but his distress caused his mind to go blank. Tears of frustration filled his eyes. He had disappointed his master, who had entrusted him with this most sacred task. Now he must blow the shofar like a simple horn, without any kavanot. With a despairing heart, Rabbi Ze’ev blew the litany of sounds required by law and, avoiding his master’s eye, resumed his place.
At the conclusion of the day’s prayers, the Baal Shem Tov made his way to the corner where Rabbi Ze’ev sat sobbing under his talit. “Reb Ze’ev!” he called. “That was a most extraordinary shofar-blowing we heard today!”
“But Rebbe . . . I don’t understand," he replied. "I failed completely. I couldn’t even remember one kavanah!”
“In the king’s palace,” replied the Ba'al Shem Tov, “there are many gates and doors, leading to many halls and chambers. The palace-keepers have great rings holding many keys, each of which opens a different door. But there is one key that fits all the locks, a master key that opens all the doors.
“The kavanot are keys, each unlocking another door in our souls, each accessing another chamber in the spiritual worlds. But there is one key that unlocks all doors, that opens up for us the innermost chambers of the divine palace. That master key is a broken heart, for as it says in the Psalms, “G!d is close to the brokenhearted.”
This story teaches us that the real truth is if we are willing to become the shofar. We can study and prepare and pray and work towards having everything in place and being completely prepared, but at the end of the day, it's not about me and what I know or what I can accomplish. It's about being a channel for the Divine energy which seeks only to flow through me. It is not my work which will accomplish great things; it is my willingness to be that simple channel which will allow a Power much greater than I am to accomplish great things in other people.
I had an experience similar to Rabbi Ze'ev's, two months ago at my intensive and ordination, and again now as I have tried to prepare for the Holy Days of Awe; this sense of being unprepared no matter how much I have actually prepared. At my intensive and ordination ceremony, everything I had learned and knew, all that I had prepared, in those moments, I had no words. Everything left my head. All I am left with is a heart broken open to receive the Holy, knowing how little I am in my own strength and power. What G!d wants and requires of me are not my abilities as much as my willingness to be open and hollowed out of self-centeredness.
There was a point in the ordination ceremony in June where I lit a candle, and then I fully wrapped my talit around my face, and I stood there before everyone, yet in reality beyond this one, no one was there but G!d and I, wrapped together in my little tent, my mishkan, in that Holy of Holies. It was then that I heard G!d ask me, not for the first time in my life, "Are you ready? Will you do this?" I choked up at the intensity of the moment, and was finally able to reply, "My answer to G!d is the same as I gave at Mt. Sinai: Na'asei v'nishma. I shall do and I shall listen." I have never before given such a sincere, deep, and full-hearted answer to what G!d was asking of me.
How does this relate back to becoming the shofar? The word shofar itself comes from the root shin-pey-reish which has the basic meaning of "hollowness," and in both biblical and modern Hebrew it also means "beautiful." It is a reminder that our ego-centric self must be hollowed out of self-centeredness so that our souls may become hallowed, made holy, by the Breath of the Holy. And that, indeed, is a thing of lasting beauty.
I will admit, some days this willingness to be hollowed out is a real challenge. At times, I have struggled with this. Yet, already, the shofar emits it's holy sounds calling us to attend to these holy days almost upon us. The hollow ram's horn is the channel; the breath blowing through it is the ruach, the Spirit. We are to be the ram's horn, the shofar, the channel through which the Spirit of the Holy calls us towards holiness. Together, horn and breath, there is holy music. This is the time when we are asked again, am I, and are you, willing to become this channel, this shofar, this instrument for G!d's holiness?
May this story of Rabbi Ze'ev encourage us, as we face again Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur in a few short days. May the breath of Ruach HaKodesh, Breath of the Holy Who created us, enliven us again to become the channel of hope for a world gone mad, a world in despair, a world filled with noise, a world needing to stop and listen, and then take holy actions which will elevate the entire world. May we all hear again the Holy asking, "Are you ready? Will you do this?"
May this parable remind all of us that our life here is not just an intellectual journey, but a soul journey. Are we willing to show up, to be a channel for the Divine and Holy? Or are we intent on doing things in our own strength and power? On being the "right one" in the room? Our intentions are but keys; the real truth hidden in the depths of our broken hearts and weary souls are the very master keys which unlock all heavenly doors. When we are broken, when we pour out our hearts and souls to the Holy, then we are lifted up and become the channel, the shofar, that G!d can use to make holy music.
We do that by becoming hollowed out of our self-centeredness, and not by pointing our fingers outward and looking at the wrongs of others. We must stop and listen, hear how we ourselves have failed despite our best attempts and years of preparation. And in the midst of that despair, we are hollowed out and become the very shofar which G!d can then use to bring holiness into the world.
It is not about us; it is about our willingness to be a channel for holiness, the breath of the Holy. Are you ready and willing to look that deeply into your own heart and soul? Will you do that? Or are you intent on holding onto your own strength and power and being right and having all the right intentions?
Am I ready for the Holy Days now coming with great speed? I can only reply with what Rabbi Alan Lew, z'l, titled his most well-known book: This Is Real and I am Completely Unprepared. And in that moment of despair, my heart can be broken open, at last willing to become the shofar that G!d can use to make holy music. All of my self-centered preparations, even with the best of intentions, will not unlock the heavenly gates. The only real preparation for the Holy Days of Awe is a heart broken open wide enough to embrace a simple willingness to be a channel for Ruach HaKodesh. Are you ready? Will you do this?
As a Community Rabbi, I am available to the entire community--Jewish, not Jewish, and everyone in-between. My work is to connect people to one another, to support and encourage, and to explore the possibility of deeper spiritual meaning in daily life. This is my personal charge as an ordained Modern Rabbi.
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