Shaarei Shamayim

TETZAVEH 5771

This sermon was inspired by my teacher Rabbi Benjamin Blech.

It’s the middle of February and love is in the air. Wherever you go now you will find ads encouraging you to show your love by buying gifts to give to your love on Valentine’s Day this Monday. The United States Greeting Card Association estimates that roughly one billion greeting cards filled with declarations of love are sent worldwide—and that doesn’t include the flowers, chocolates, jewelry and gifts that have become part of the rituals of this day.

Here’s my favorite Valentine’s Day joke. A guy walks into a post office one day to see a middle-aged, balding man standing at the counter methodically placing “Love” stamps on bright pink envelopes with hearts all over them. He then takes out a perfume bottle and starts spraying scent all over them.

His curiosity is getting the better of him and he goes up to the balding man and asks him what he’s doing. The man says, “I’m sending out 1,000 Valentine cards signed, ‘Guess who?’”

“But why?” asks the man.

“Because I’m a divorce lawyer!”

As Jews, we may not be sure whether it’s proper for us to join the party. After all, Valentine’s Day is really “St. Valentine’s Day.” I did a little research and here’s what I’ve found about the origin of St. Valentine’s Day. There was a priest by the name of Valentine. He lived in Rome about the year 270. Rome was then ruled by Emperor Claudius—nicknamed, “the Cruel.” Claudius wanted a big army, but lacked volunteers. The men didn’t want to leave their wives and girlfriends. So Claudius decided not to allow any more marriages.

Valentine thought this was ridiculous and kept performing marriage ceremonies in secret. Eventually he was caught and sentenced to death. Many young people came to the jail to visit him. They threw flowers and notes up to his window. They wanted him to know that they, too, believed in love. One of these young people was the daughter of the prison guard. Her father allowed her to visit him in his cell. They often sat and talked for hours. On the day he was to die—February 14^th, 269—he left her a note thanking her for her friendship and loyalty and signed it, “Love from your Valentine.” Ever since, on this day, people send love notes signed, “Your Valentine,” and think about love and friendship. 

Christian scholars, however, have become skeptical of this historical narrative and Vatican II—in its landmark set of reforms adopted by the Catholic Church in 1969—went as far as removing Valentine’s Day from the Catholic Church’s official calendar.

When I’m asked if I think it’s a good idea for Jews to celebrate Valentine’s Day, my standard answer is: “We should celebrate love every day of the year.” But as long as one day has been singled out to emphasize the meaning of love, this might be a wonderful moment—even for us as Jews—to remind ourselves of its deeper meaning as a commandment—a meaning that is all too often lost when it’s defined by Hallmark.

Love, according to one of the greatest Talmudic sages, Rabbi Akiva, represents the ultimate mitzvah. He said of the famous verse from Leviticus (19:18), V’ahavta l’reyacha kamocha, “Love your neighbor as yourself,” Zeh klal gadol baTorah, “This is the fundamental rule of Torah.”

And yet, the way Valentine’s Day is observed around the world leaves out one person worthy of love who is almost universally ignored. Granted, it’s a fantastically beautiful thing to acknowledge love for another. But a closer look at Rabbi Akiva’s verse from the Torah that makes love a commandment, points to someone who needs to be loved even before the object of your Valentine’s Day passion.

“Love your neighbor as you love yourself.” There are 2 instructions given here, and in a very specific order. Yes, you must love your neighbor. But we ignore, at our own peril, the 1^st necessary step that has to be taken in order to accomplish the goal of loving others. Love your neighbor, the Torah teaches, as you love yourself. Loving yourself must come 1^st.

It’s one of the most profound psychological truths that the deep-seated hatred manifested by tyrants or criminals is in reality self-hatred turned outward. To be truly human, you must begin with self-acceptance and self-esteem. Only then can you move forward to a feeling of affection for others.

The Kotzke Rebbe was right when he witnessed a man beating another and said to his disciples, “See how even while performing an evil act, this Jew fulfills the words of the holy Torah. He demonstrates that he loves his neighbor as much as he loves himself. We can only pray that he eventually comes to love himself, so that he may alter the way he treats others.”

What does it mean to love yourself? Say you’re slicing some carrots and you accidentally cut your finger, would you take revenge by grabbing the knife and cutting your other hand? After all, it was your other hand that perpetrated the offense? Of course not! Your other hand is as much a part of you as anything else. So revenge would be insane! We need to appreciate that we are all truly one. We are all an image of Gd—part of Gd’s loving energy. So hurting the other guy by “paying him back” is as ridiculous as hurting yourself. That’s why the Torah says: Love your neighbor “as yourself.” If I realize that the other guy and I are really part of the very same unit, then revenge is as silly as cutting my other hand with the knife.

Now this may sound like pie in the sky, but, in fact, this is what Gd really wants for us. More often than not, it takes conflict or war against a common enemy to bring this message home. Let’s hope the demonstrators in Egypt don’t lose sight of this as Egypt begins its transition.

In today’s Torah reading (Ex. 28:2), Gd instructs Aaron, the high priest to wear certain clothes l’chavod ul’tiferet, “for honor and for splendor.” The Malbim explains that this teaches us that “honor accrues to a person because of his Gd-given abilities, and splendor refers to the regard he has earned from his own accomplishments.” A person has intrinsic honor because he is an image of Gd and he can earn further honor by what he does. In the words of the famous philosopher Snoopy: “Gd doesn’t make junk!” So love yourself because Gd loves you—that’s why He made you. And because you are an image of Gd, you are truly amazing!

Erich Fromm, in his masterpiece, The Art of Loving (p. 52), refers to the, “widespread belief that, while it is virtuous to love others, it is sinful to love oneself…even selfish.” Fromm disagrees: “The love for my own self is inseparably connected with the love for any other being.” And he goes on to show how love for another begins with love for oneself. Barbara De Angelis, an American researcher on relationships and personal growth, put it this way: If you aren’t good at loving yourself you’ll have a difficult time loving anyone, since you’ll resent the time and energy you give another person that you aren’t even giving to yourself.”

The flip side of this, of course, is also true: If you don’t love yourself, how can you expect anyone else to love you? If you don’t think yourself worthy of love, why would anyone else?

This is not to suggest that loving yourself is necessarily narcissistic. We’re talking about the kind of self-love made possible by self-respect—the kind of self-love exemplified by the remarkable story of Gil Meche. Meche was a 32-year-old Major League pitcher for the Kansas City Royals. His contract called for $12 million for the coming baseball season. Major league contracts are guaranteed; no matter how well or poorly someone plays, or even if he can’t play at all due to injuries, he gets paid in full. Meche has a chronically aching shoulder that now prevents him from pitching. All he would need to do to collect his salary is to report for spring training. But instead, Meche announced his retirement last week, which means he will not be paid at all. He explained:

When I signed my contract, my main goal was to earn it. Once I started to realize I wasn’t earning my money, I felt bad. I was making a crazy amount of money for not even pitching. Honestly, I didn’t feel like I deserved it. I didn’t want to have those feelings again. In Kabbalah that’s called “The Bread of Shame.”

To Gil Meche, more important than money was the ability to look himself in the mirror and say, “I know I am true to my values, my dignity and my self-respect. I don’t want to take what I don’t deserve.” And with that he demonstrated something we all could learn as the necessary prerequisite for true love.

Indeed, in many areas of life we are confronted with choices in which self-respect appears to be at odds with the seeming need for success. This Faustian bargain seduces us to sell our souls. Only those who are smart enough to choose love are strong enough to make the right decision. It isn’t egotistical to make sure that you are likable in your own eyes. According to the Torah, it’s a 1^st step we all have to take before we proceed on the journey of love of others that will grant us the greatest fulfillment.

So here’s my suggestion for Valentine’s Day and all the other 364 days of the year. No, you needn’t send yourself a Hallmark card declaring your love for yourself. But you might want to take a moment to live in a way that earns your deepest respect and admiration. When you truly reach that place, you can then love others as yourself. In turn, they will be your true Valentines, loving you for who you are with the kind of love that transcends momentary passion and one pithy phrase. It’s a lesson that has taken me years to learn and one that all of you here at Shaarei Shamayim have helped me come to. When I look in your eyes and see what you see when you look at me, I am truly awed and humbled.

This Shabbos many of you have come to help me celebrate my birthday. I was born on the 7^th of Adar I. Adar I is an extra month that’s added to the Jewish calendar 7 of every 19 years so that the Jewish year of 354½ days will adjust to the seasonal calendar of 365¼ days. I checked the 200-year calendar I have in my office yesterday and there were just 23 Adar I’s since I was born. Hence today you come to help me celebrate my 23^rd birthday. So when you look at me at Kiddush as a 23-year-old, let’s see what effect it has. Amen!

Rabbi Mark Hillel Kunis

2/12/11