A couple years ago I was teaching a Torah study group on Zoom for a few people who lived in the Los Angeles area. We were doing our standard check-in at the beginning of the class when one of the members of the group shared that she was feeling great because a TV show she was working on had gotten picked up by Netflix.
Now this woman was totally unassuming–kind, thoughtful, humble. And for whatever reason, I hadn’t googled her before this. She was just a friend of one of the other people in the class, and I was happy to know her. But at that moment I looked her up, and it turned out she was actually a big time TV producer, with a whole career of credits on shows you’ve heard of.
Among them was ‘Mad Men,’ a show I particularly loved watching. Well, loved isn’t quite the right word. Appreciated, maybe. If you are a fan of the show, you might, like me, feel that it’s a version of the great American novel: the story of Don Draper, a Madison Avenue advertising exec in the 1950s and 60s whose life, over the course of seven seasons, prompts us to reflect on identity, responsibility, family, language, politics, art, persuasion… a whole lot of stuff.
Oh, and marriage. And fidelity. Or, infidelity—of which there is a heaping ton. (I don’t think that’s a spoiler.) Don Draper is a serial adulterer, as are most of the other men on the show. That’s probably the biggest reason I can’t really say I loved it. But I definitely appreciated it.
We are up to the seventh of the Ten Commandments, which is two words in Hebrew: Lo Tinaf, don’t commit adultery. And while it would be easy for me to get a little preachy here and give you a sermon about faithfulness and fidelity, my aim in this series has been to help us understand the Ten Commandments as the outline of a series of mindfulness practices, and to see how they relate to one another.
If you’ve been listening to the series, then you may have noticed that I’ve generally connected each of the Commandments with the one that came before it. Last week we explored the Sixth Commandment, don’t murder, and the way in which it invites us to be mindful of the preciousness of the Divine image in human beings all the time. So how does the commandment not to commit adultery build on that? And what lessons might it hold even for those of us who aren’t married?
At its root, adultery is the violation of a sacred promise. While murder diminishes the image of God in the world by destroying God’s creation, adultery damages something we create ourselves through our words and actions. The act of marriage in Rabbinic Hebrew is called kiddushin—from the word kadosh, holy. The traditional words we use to make it happen are, harei at mekudeshet li, with this ring you become holy to me. Marriage is about making a holy relationship.
Holiness is such an important concept for us—and it’s one I think we sometimes have a hard time talking about. Because holiness, kedusha, fundamentally involves the discipline of saying no to some things in order to say a deep and profound yes to others. Keeping kosher is about saying no to certain foods—in order to live in a deeper relationship with our food. Shabbat is about saying no to certain activities—in order to have a richer experience of time, our families and communities. Treating places—whether they’re the Western Wall or our bedroom—as holy involves saying, “This place is special—and that means that certain things don’t happen here, in order that other special things can.”
What makes all of these things really hard is that, as Sigmund Freud figured out, we have really powerful biological drives not to say no. We want the delicious food. We want the feeling of power that comes from work and creativity. And you don’t have to be Don Draper (or Freud) to recognize how powerful our sex drives can be.
Yet that’s the whole point of mindfulness practice, isn’t it? To create space between stimulus and response so that we can remember our intentions and make wise choices.
Here’s a practice for this week. It’s a journaling practice that can help us reflect on what we say no to—in order to say yes more deeply.
The practice is in two parts. In the first part, you’re going to mindfully review your day, and acknowledge the strength you exercised in protecting your inner makom kadosh, your inner sacred place.
Begin by going through your day mentally and writing down at least five things you said “no” to. This isn’t a list of regrets. It’s a record of intentional acts. It could be saying no to an extra hour of work, to a person’s draining energy, to mindlessly scrolling on your phone, or to a negative thought.
Next to each item on your list, write the holy purpose that was protected by your “no.” What sacred space were you guarding? For example:
A “no” to work may be a “yes” to rest.
A “no” to a distraction may be a “yes” to presence and intention in your work.
A “no” to a negative thought may be a “yes” to joy.
See how it feels to do this.
Now, in the second part, we’ll focus forward, listing some things you want to consciously say “yes” to in the coming day or week. These aren’t just tasks, but sacred commitments.
So, list some things you are inviting into your life. For each item, make a note of why it is a sacred choice. What divine quality are you inviting in?
A “yes” to a difficult conversation is a “yes” to emet, or truth.
A “yes” to a moment of quiet is a “yes” to presence.
A “yes” to a moment of creativity is a “yes” to emulating the Divine.
As you write down these commitments to yourself, you’re creating a kind of covenant—a promise to yourself and to the Creator.
See how you do with it, and how even just the act of this practice makes you feel. And let me know how it goes.
Blessings for the journey. Know that I’m on it with you.