Week Four of the Omer: Netzach: With Endurance Comes Eternity

Each of these words, these traits we are looking at between Passover and Shavuot can be translated in many ways. This week’s word, Netzach, we know from prayers that include the phrase, “netzach netzachim” and is usually translated as eternity. Similar to L’olam va’ed. And we should not be surprised that there is more than one way to say something in Hebrew or that there is more than one meaning for a word. It is true in most languages. Think, for a minutes, about how many ways we can say green for example and all the shades of green. Emerald, Forest, Jade, Kelly, Lime, Olive, Teal, Turquoise to name just a few. The word itself in English, from the German is related to grass and grow.

Language is nuanced. Hebrew is no exception.

Netzach means endurance, eternity, victory. Victory and vanquished have the same root in Hebrew. They are two sides of the same coin.

Simon Jacobson says, “During the fourth week of counting the Omer, we examine and refine the emotional attribute of endurance known as Netzach. Netzach means endurance, fortitude and ambition and is a combination of determination and tenacity. It is a balance of patience, persistence and guts. Endurance is also being reliable and accountable, which establishes security and commitment. Without endurance, any good endeavor or intention has no chance of success. Endurance means to be alive, to be driven by what counts. It is the readiness to fight for what you believe, to go all the way. This, of course, requires that endurance be closely examined to ensure that it is used in a healthy and productive manner.”

As a long-distance runner, I think a lot about endurance. In fact, I am reading a book called Mental Strategies for Runners by one of my mentors and coaches, Jeff Galloway. The hope is that it will increase my endurance and make me mentally tougher.

This week we had an example of both endurance and eternity right in our own community. We had a young gentleman who celebrated his 83 birthday with a second Bar Mitzvah. This wasn’t just any celebration. This was a joyous celebration after a difficult year. My Bar Mitzvah boy had lost his wife in December. But more than that, his is a gentleman who had been hurt by the Jewish community and yet endured.

I met this individual when I first came to Elgin for my demo weekend. He came to the senior luncheon to check out this new (young) possible rabbi. I did a session on family history and cookbooks. He sat at my table and grilled me about Jewish law. He reminded me of someone from my home congregation, another lawyer and I admit it. I was intimidated. I managed that by having him snap a few pictures. I had no idea how much family history mattered to him.

When I finally arrived in Elgin to start my first year, even before we arrived, even before movers had delivered furniture and before we had internet, my cell phone rang. “Rabbi, I have to meet with you.” We agreed to meet at a coffee shop—not realizing that he doesn’t drink coffee but knowing they have internet. He showed me a file folder, parts of his family tree and his Bar Mitzvah picture.

I was shocked by the story that he told about some of his experiences here. Someone had decided that he was not Jewish and he was asked to convert in order to fully participate as a Jew. He did so but he lost his cohanim status, despite having a family tree of 650 people all of whom believe that they are cohains.

I immediately called my most traditional colleagues including my Orthodox Talmud professor and we convened a traditional and virtual Beit Din, not the typical three rabbis but five. There was no doubt in any of our minds—all of ours that he had always been a Jew and therefore based on his family history, a Cohain. We restored his status to him.

It is important to tell this part of a painful story. It never should have happened in the first place. And because unfortunately there are still doubters among us. I hope that the celebration erases some of the hurt.

All too often I hear stories like this. Someone trying to protect Judaism makes a decision that ultimately hurts people or pushes them away. Someone trying to do everything just right. Someone trying to please a parent or a teacher, a rabbi or even G-d makes things much more complicated or difficult than that very same G-d ever intended Judaism to be.

Judaism is a layered tradition. Very often, even in the Talmud, even in the Shulchan Arukh, there is more than one answer to a complicated question. The rabbis argue about it. Rabbi Akiba talks about 70 (correct) interpretations for every letter of the Torah. In settling an argument between the House of Hillel and the House of Shammai no less than a “bat kol”, a voice of G-d, proclaims, “These and these are the words of the living G-d.” (Talmud, Eruvin 13b)

The important thing, for our study, is that the Talmud has endured. In fact, Judaism itself has endured.

The Torah portion and haftarah for this week could not have been more perfect. Little did a rabbi 70 years ago know just how perfect it could be. Emor is about speech. Ethical speech. “Speak to the children of Israel and say…” Over and over. Each paragraph begins with this phrase. Moses is passing down a legacy. G-d instructs Moses. Moses instructs the people. This is the parsha that talks about “pri etz hadar,” the fruit of a goodly tree. What is that? An etrog! How do we know that? Because that is part of what G-d whispered to Moses while he was on Mount Sinai. It is part of the enduring legacy.

The haftarah spoke about gathering the first fruits. Those first fruits are usually the winter barley or wheat, the omer that we too have growing to fulfill the mitzvah of bringing a wave offering, of counting the omer. But those first fruits are also a legacy. Our Bar Mitzvah boy was surrounded by his own enduring legacy—his children and grandchildren and the 650 relatives on his family tree—his 50-year Bar Mitzvah project. Now that is an enduring legacy! When we talk about l’dor v’dor, from generation to generation it was right there, arrayed before us. That’s endurance. That’s eternity.

Contemplating eternity is something that this week’s mussar begs us to do.

Ron Wolfson’s book, The 7 Questions You’re Asked in Heaven outlines what that final exam might be like.

  1. Have you seen my Alps? Have you explored the beauty and the pleasures that all the world has to offer.
  2. Have you dealt honestly in your business practices?
  3. Did you busy yourself with procreation? Of leaving something of lasting value behind?
  4. Did you set aside time for study? For life long learning? Especially Torah.
  5. Did you hope for deliverance? Were you an optimist?
  6. Did you understand one thing from another? Did you set your priorities right?

The last question, based on a story from Reb Zusiya, is “Have you been the best YOU that you can be?” You don’t have to be Moses or Einstein, Zusiya or Lincoln. Just the best you.

Pirke Avot teaches that R. Shimon said: There are three crowns. The crown of Torah, the crown of priesthood and the crown of kingship. But the crown of a good name excels them all. (Pirke Avot 4:17)

That is how we achieve endurance. By enduring that is how we achieve eternity.