Parshas Kedoshim: Metal Mentality

“Do not make yourselves gods out of molten metal.” (Vayikra 19:4)

H

ow could any intelligent person believe that a piece of metal is god? We could perhaps appreciate how ancient pagan societies attributed divine qualities to the powerful forces of nature, but metal?  How can we, nowadays, understand this commandment? (Rabbi YY Jacobson, Yeshiva.net)

It should’ve been routine, but it was anything but. The fifth-month checkup should’ve passed with a weigh-in, a quick ultrasound, and a half-hearted admonition to take those nauseating prenatal vitamins.

Instead, Shevi found herself shaking, her very bones quaking as the doctor consulted yet another professional in the practice, the room rapidly filling up with staff, their faces glued to the ultrasound screen.

Words drifted around her. “Rare… never seen it. Who’s the top? Hadassah Hospital….” Then she just closed her eyes and let herself float as the words created waves that carried her away.

Thus began the new normal.

A beautiful interpretation of what these words are telling us is not to construct a god of a lifestyle and a weltanschauung that’s cast and solidified in a fixed mold.

Human tendency is to worship that which we’ve become comfortable with. We worship the icons, the culture, the perspective, and the emotions that have become the norm in our communities, schools, and homes. We tend to embrace the fixed and molten god.

Often, we fall prey to a certain image of what our lives are supposed to look like, what our marriages or children are supposed to look like, what our mission is supposed to look like. But this is another way of fashioning our god with the tools of our understanding. There comes a point where I need to open myself up to the possibility that perhaps my purpose in life is completely different than what I imagined. I need to stop asking what I want from G-d and start asking what G-d wants from me.

It’s a serious paradigm shift. But it sets you free.

By the time she gave birth, the grim-faced, gray-haired specialists had convinced Shevi her baby wouldn’t live. All the harsh reports told her to give up her dreams and get on with her life. But the baby did live. And grew… passing her fourth birthday, defying all the dire predictions.

Still, the years have been packed with pain, tears, and turmoil. Shevi and her husband  were in the hospital more than they were home. They learned to eat on the run, sleep when they could, and always, always listen out for the beeping machines, the monitors that guarded their daughter as closely as they did.

Judaism never articulates who G-d is and what G-d looks like. What it teaches us is what G-d does not look like: G-d ought never to be defined by any image we attribute to Him, hewn by the instruments of our conscious or subconscious needs, fears, and aspirations.

The common Yiddish term for G-d is “Eibeshter,” which means “higher.” Not Creator, not Master, not All-Powerful, but “Higher.” This term represents the idea that I do not know what He is; all I know is that whatever my definition for G-d — He is “higher” than that. All I know is that I do not know.

I met Shevi at an event where I was slated to give a presentation. I don’t know why they chose me. They should’ve chosen Shevi. I noticed her immediately, before the program even began, leaning against a wall, telling over some ER drama with wild gestures and many laughs.

Curious, I approached her after the event and began to schmooze. Her dynamic personality did not disappoint. As she described her life, it was clear that caring for a child with an extremely rare diagnosis was a full-time, stressful job. Yet that hadn’t made Shevi bitter. Her perspective and outlook on her life was as unique as her circumstances.

“I thought I knew what I was going to do in my life. I had it all perfectly planned. Then Hashem threw me a curveball, and I had to think fast and to reassess. I have no idea what I’m doing in my life now. Not today and certainly not tomorrow. But you know what?” Her charismatic humor warmed her words. “It doesn’t even matter anymore. I’ve changed firm footing for quicksand, but I’ve learned to hold on to Hashem and keep dancing in place.”

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 892)