Matot - Masei 5776 - English

By Rabbi Dario Feiguin

B´nei Israel Congregation, Costa Rica

“Berachot”

This Shabbat, I let go of the routine to tell you a true story:

The group was made up of 10 to 15 young twenty-somethings.  We were in a place of virginal and exuberant beauty, without electricity, basic sewer systems, or tap water.  Together, we prepared their food while the sun was still shining in the sky.

When the sun set, but there was still some natural light, we placed the prepared food on the table and sat around it in silence.  

We were all hungry, but nobody jumped on the food.

Slowly, almost timidly, they began to sing.  First, it was really quiet and then it grew stronger, like a devotional prayer. 

My wife and I were at that magical moment in Chapada Diamantina, a protected valley and National Park in Northern Brazil, and our eyes filled with tears. 

I was already a practicing Jew, sometimes saying a Beracha before a meal.  But never with such Kavanah, that religious and, of course, Jewish intent.  And there it remained.  Like an anecdote.  Like a strong experience.  Many years later, I still feel the effect of that ritual. 

It still happens today, before I eat something, even if I don’t formally say “Baruch Ata Adonai,” I take a moment to look at what I am going to eat. In that instant, several things happen:

The first thing is a moment of awareness of the action I am about to take.  Eating is not only an animal act.  It has to do with feeding the body, and because of that it isn’t like loading the car with gas.  You don’t just feed the body, you feed also the soul.  When I do this, although I admit it isn’t every time, the food I ingest has a different flavor. It has an additional something. 

Along with this self-awareness, I discover that things don’t really belong to us.  Like the verse says, “Ki li kol Haaretz” = “Because all the Earth is mine,” says G-d.  Like tenants of this world, we enjoy what we have falsely thinking we own it. Understanding this is not the case and that enjoying things like food is a divine gift, elevates us to a higher level of enjoyment.  

Besides all this, it allows us to say thanks.  If it is not mine, if I receive it as a gift, I am grateful for it.  Even when I think I will always be able to open the refrigeration and find myself with the question of what to choose, even so this mystical and religious thing that our tradition calls a Beracha can happen.  

The Beracha isn’t going to change the essence of things.  Bread will be bread, and chocolate will continue being just that.  But the act itself will be different.  Eating will be different, and it will modify the object through the subject as well. 

This thing that happened and continues to happen to me is related to what the Rabbis say in the Talmud: “We are not allowed to enjoy the things of this world without Beracha.”  Except for Tzedakah and good deeds, which are themselves a blessing, everything we enjoy, must be accompanied by a Beracha.  

There are berachot for everything.  In the Siddur we use everyday, there is a series of berachot known as the “Birkot Hanehenin” = “The blessings for those who enjoy something.”  They are on page 347.

The interesting thing is that they do not have to do only with what we eat.  There are berachot for inhaling a fragrance or perfume.  There are berachot for when you see lightning or hear thunder, when you see the ocean, a rainbow, or when you enjoy the beauty of nature.

There are berachot for when you watch the trees grow, when you meet a Jewish sage or a non-Jewish sage.

There are berachot for travelling and another before setting a Mezuzah.  There are berachot for meeting a friend after a long time of not seeing him, or for important things that happen in life.  

There should be berachot for the miracle of birth, just like we say a beracha when a loved one dies and we shred our clothes. 

Observant Jews usually say at least a hundred berachot per day.

For me, if I were to start counting them, I would get caught in a religious behaviorism which, instead of bringing me closer, would take me further away from the dimension of consciousness, gratefulness and sensitivity the Beracha should give me.  

Beyond the numbers and quantities, what I wanted to share with you on this Shabbat is an invitation to change some of the things we do in a mechanical automatic way.  I want to invite you to turn off the autopilot, so that each important action we take may have its own singularity.

I invite you to say the Berachot.  Not as a robotic act.  Nor as a compulsion either.  But as a wonderful opportunity to see life through the prism of Holiness. 

Shabbat Shalom,

Rabbi Dario Feiguin

Congregation B´nei Israel, Costa Rica