From the Rabbi’s Study: The epic and the small

Earlier this year, Hollywood released a new, big budget cinematic telling of the story of Noah and the Ark. It had big-name stars, lots of special effects, it was shot in 3D and people were very impressed with the computer generated animals and ocean scenes. (This may not be the movie for you if you are prone to sea sickness.)

I don’t know why I was surprised to learn this – perhaps because when I think of Noah and the Ark, I either think of the story as it appears in Bible which fills only three chapters, or of one of the many children’s versions that I have read to the preschool over the years which have very beautiful illustrations but which tend to downplay some of the trauma and drama implicit in the act of submerging the entire world under a tumultuous deluge.

On second thought, though, I probably should not have been surprised that Hollywood once again rushed to the Torah in search of a bankable extravaganza. Ours is a tradition of spectacular moments, beginning with the creation of the world and sweeping forward to include the crossing of the Red Sea, the revelation on Mount Sinai and the construction of the Golden Calf, just to mention a few. Is it any wonder that the film studios are at least as anxious to make films from our epic stories as they are to adapt comic book heroes for the big screen?

But these grand moments are not the sum total of our tradition. In fact, I would venture to say that our tradition focuses our attention more frequently and more powerfully on the smaller moments: the moment at which Adam proclaims that Eve is the “bone of his bones, the flesh of his flesh,” the first moment when Rebecca sees the love of her life, Isaac, approaching from across the fields, the moment when Jacob wakes up after his vision of a ladder that reaches to heaven and he proclaims, “God is in this place and I did not know it!”

My guess is that our lives follow the same pattern: if we are fortunate, we spend our lives accumulating a few grand, spectacular experiences like seeing the Grand Canyon, standing with our beloved under the Hupah — the marriage canopy — or marveling at the birth of a child, but that our lives are seasoned and sweetened more by smaller moments, by that first sip of cold water after spending time outside on a hot day, by unexpected telephone calls from dear friends, by the smell of our favorite meal as we approach the table.

In our communal life, it’s easy to focus on the grand moments: the call of the shofar, the ram’s horn, on Rosh HaShannah and Yom Kippur, the weddings and even the funerals. But if that’s all we think about, we miss the opportunity to generate those smaller but still very powerful instants of recognition, awareness and holiness.

One of our most powerful tools to do this is from a Mishna, a rabbinic teaching in Pirke Avot, which exhorts us to “Be the first to extend greetings to other people.” We’ve all had the awkward experience of walking into a room and feeling like we don’t know the other people there. Maybe it’s even happened in our houses of worship, where we feel like we should know people and where it seems like most of the other people in the room know each other. But the rabbis teach us that by extending ourselves to say hello, greeting each other and introducing ourselves, we can redeem that moment and all of the similar moments that might take place in the future. To extend this wisdom just a little, a corollary is that when we recognize others looking uncomfortable, by simply offering our friendship to them we can supplant their discomfort with appreciation and a sense of belonging.

It is impossible not to be impressed with the scope of God’s creation and with the stories of God’s might. That’s why the movie studios keep making movies about them and that’s why our prayer books are replete with references and descriptions of the floods, earthquakes, miracles and spectacles of God’s manifestation in our world and in our history. But don’t let that distract you from the holiness that we do have the power to create. We may not have the ability to split the sea or to visit plagues upon our enemies, but simply by making the effort to greet those around us, we have the ability to create moments that, ultimately, are even more powerful.

About Rabbi Eric M. Rosin

Rabbi Eric Rosin began his professional career as an attorney in Los Angeles serving the entertainment industry, but discovered he needed to be doing something he was passionate about. He left the practice of law and began studying for ordination at the Ziegler School of Rabbinic Studies in Los Angeles. After ordination, Rabbi Rosin served for two years as the assistant rabbi of Temple Beth-El in Richmond, Va., then assumed the pulpit at Kesher Israel Congregation in West Chester, Pa. in 2004.