Parashat Vayeitze: You’re In My Seat

Shabbat Shalom.

I think this is a good opportunity for us to talk a little bit—or just remind ourselves quickly—about the rules of hakafot, the Torah processional. God wants us to show respect for the Torah by kissing the Torah scroll as it goes around. If you have to shove aside the person in front of you in order to get to the Torah, it’s probably not exactly what God wants us to do.

In that case, I think God will forgive us for not kissing the Torah. So next time, maybe just take your tallit and, you know, touch and kiss the person in front of you. We’ll transmit Torah holiness that way.

This reminds me: does anybody know what sentence is uttered most frequently on the High Holidays in any synagogue around this country? Around the world? What is the sentence uttered most frequently on the High Holidays?

That’s exactly right: “You’re in my seat.” Not al cheit. Not Avinu Malkeinu. The sentence uttered most often on the High Holidays is: “You’re in my seat.”

No one can say that in this room, can they? Except for a few of you who are our minyan regulars, who I happen to notice—you’re in the exact same spots as if it were a Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday.

Where do we encounter God? Where do we most experience God’s presence?

The Ramchal, Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto, wrote several centuries ago in his wonderful book Mesillat Yesharim (The Path of the Just), that the entire point of Judaism is for us to feel an encounter with God, to truly revel in God’s presence.

For the Ramchal, the place where we most revel in God’s presence is Olam Haba—the next world, heaven. But Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto says the way we achieve that next world is by fulfilling the mitzvot in this world. In particular, he says the mitzvot that are most important for us to fulfill are the ethical ones—the commandments that regulate how we treat each other.

He was writing in response to medieval rabbis who said the opposite: that the way we most connect to God, the way we feel God’s presence most profoundly, is by immersing ourselves in the rituals of Judaism.

Fast forward a couple of centuries after Rabbi Moshe Chaim Luzzatto, and we have the Hasidim. As if things weren’t bad enough for Jews in the Middle Ages, things got worse just before modernity. The Hasidim responded by saying, “No, the way we most encounter God, the way we feel God’s presence most, is through ecstatic prayer—chanting niggunim, dancing in circles, going out in the middle of the night, and depriving ourselves of physical pleasures so we can focus on our spiritual lives.”

And that’s what the Hasidim still practice today: ecstatic prayer.

The reformers followed and said, “No, the way we most encounter God, the way we feel God’s presence most, must be the way the Gentiles are doing it—because there are a lot more of them.” So they created synagogues that looked like churches, where we sit in rows looking toward the front, with a choir and a cantor who sings on high.

Today’s non-Orthodox Judaism, by and large, models itself after the Protestant Reformation.

So my question to you is: when have you most felt God’s presence?

I can tell you the three times I’ve most intimately felt God’s presence in my life.

The first was when I was 17 years old, dancing at the Kotel in Israel in the middle of the night on a Friday. Boy, did I feel God’s presence.

The second was 17.5 years ago, when Caleb, our firstborn, was born. I’ve told you before, the first thing Caleb heard was Shehecheyanu: “Thank you, God, for bringing us to this moment.” And I truly felt it. Of course, the second thing Caleb heard was “Hail to the Victors.” You teach your kids holiness and hope it takes hold.

The third was when our second child was born. He, too, first heard Shehecheyanu and then “Hail to the Victors.” When you’ve got a good thing, you keep it going.

When have you most felt God’s presence? Was it in the sanctuary? Was it in the chapel?

The Talmud tells us we’re supposed to pray three times a day and set a makom kavua, a fixed place, for prayer. It says, “Each person should set for themselves a fixed place, and in that way, may the God of Abraham bless you.” It adds, “When you die, may you be remembered as a person of righteousness.”

So if someone is sitting in your seat on the High Holidays, derech eretz kadma l’Torah—kindness supersedes rituals. You can’t kick them out. Luckily, the Shulchan Aruch says your makom kavua isn’t a singular chair; it’s any chair within about two arm’s lengths of that spot.

In contrast, this week’s Torah portion, Parshat Vayetzei, begins with Jacob fleeing from Esau and encountering God in a dream. The rabbis teach that the angels accompanying Jacob in Israel departed, and diaspora angels arrived to escort him.

This teaches us that wherever we go—even outside our fixed places—God is with us, waiting to be encountered.