Full, or Sated?
Can we be sated without being full?
A distinguishing aspect of Judaism is the rules and practices that have an influence on all aspects of life from the daily to the exceptional – there are rules and practices determining what one eats and doesn’t eat, how to treat employees and pets, and how to marry and observe holidays. This set of rules and practices is called Halacha. Even mentioning Halacha, or any of the specific practices, prompts immediate opinion, if not debate, for both Jews and non-Jews alike. It’s this very debate – the act of it, not the subject or points of argument – that this blog entry is about.
America is a culture characterized by immediacy, wealth, 24/7 and stuffing itself. We have a city, New York, which prides itself in offering anything one wants at any time of the day or night; we created fast food, the instant-information conduit of the Internet, and medications that relieve pain within minutes; our CEO bonuses have only continued to rise despite the negative economic forecasts; and, Super Size Me, Big Gulps and Big Macs are commonplace. We eat, have, partake; and yet, we are a hungry, restless nation. We yearn for the next thing, fill our media with fads and unresolved headlines, eat more and still more… and we remain unsatisfied.
In this week’s blog from the David Cardozo Academy, Rabbi Lopes Cardozo makes the statement: “Halacha is a protest against taking life for granted.” Not taking something for granted is to appreciate it; or, to say it another way, it is to feel gratitude. What exactly is it about a set of rules and practices, Halacha, which can flip the taking of something for granted to its opposite, and engender a feeling of gratitude?
One of the most profound gifts of Halacha is that it causes us to pause. Many of the rules themselves create pause; for example, keeping Shabbat, the literal ceasing of labor, or saying a bracha (blessing) over a meal before beginning to eat. In this pause the animal instincts that would drive us to rapaciously create more, or to satisfy our hunger, are reined in, leaving the rest of life’s activities or what we are about to eat to be considered – considered, noticed, paid attention to. What do we smell or see when we take a long walk instead of trodding down the well-worn path to work yet again? How does something taste when we sit down to a beautifully set table with a thoughtfully arranged plate versus when food is crammed in our mouths from a to-go sack as we hurriedly drive down the street?
The pause of the two acts above is created and marked by the practice of saying a blessing, one which acknowledge G_D, or Mystery. When we do this our attention is turned toward meaning. When we eat, are we merely filling our stomachs, or are we engaging in a relationship with life itself – partaking of food that is both gift and gift-cultivated (we have to sow seeds, water and tend them – cultivation – but it is Mystery that finally causes them to grow – gift), the doing so of which enables us to continue to live on this planet, with Life being perhaps the greatest mystery of all? The pause given by the debate of Halacha in general, the centuries-endless discourse around each of the rules and practices and the various ways, times and interpretations of fulfilling them, brings our focus to that which is meaningful in all life, and to life itself. The pause of debating Halacha boldly asks the question: What does it mean to be alive? And, is there anything that exists outside of the Mystery of the Divine?
How can we contemplate such a question as to our own aliveness without feeling gratitude for being so?
It is the encounter with meaning that lends satisfaction. We can talk to a lot of people at a party and still feel lonely or unfulfilled; conversely, we can meaningfully connect with one person and have a full, satisfying experience. In that same way we can eat gluttonously and never feel full – we can want raises, promotions, money, additions to the house, new cars, better clothes and grow obese with our wants and the acquisitions of our feeding of them. However, we remain hungry, because the doing of these things has been without meaning. In Leviticus a listing of curses is given for what will befall the people who don’t follow these rules, and among them it is included “… and though you eat, you shall not be satisfied” (Lev 26:26, JPS version). This curse is not a punishment by G_D, or something external; rather, it is the self-inflicted, internal agitation over a disconnect with life itself; it is the starving for meaning.
Ultimately, it is meaning that wards against taking life for granted. Meaning, found through pause, thrusts us face to face with the reality of experience and the gratitude felt for life itself. It is this that brings us to a place of being sated, or content with life. Can we be content with fewer things, with the job we have now, with the car we drive, when we acknowledge the very life that allows us to have these things, to enjoy them?
Can we be sated, without being full?
