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Torah Commentary-Perashat Vayehi: The Silence Is The Message


by: on December 28th, 2012 | Comments Off

I’ve chosen to repost this particular essay for its uncanny relevance to the recent tragedy at Newtown, particularly the final teaching by the Aish Kodesh, prefaced by an additional teaching not in the original, that resonates with the tragedy. One of the points made in the essay, which deals with a textual hint of silence on the part of Jacob when blessing his sons, is that there are times when language is not adequate to the task at hand, but rather there are times when action, not words, is the necessary response. Clearly this is one of those times. Interestingly, the relevant addition to this reading is also based on a lacuna, in this case a missing letter:

Rabbenu Bachye, a late medieval mystic and commentator, notes that in the blessing given to Judah, the blessing that most hints at a transformative “end” to history, all of the letters of the alphabet are present except for the seventh letter, zayin. According to Rabbenu Bachye, the reason is to hint that the world order of Judah will be one that will not seek its victory from tools of violence; in Hebrew the term for “weapons” is “kli zayin“, weapons will not be needed, because the ultimate society is to be one free of violence, based on spiritual and intellectual understanding, thus it will be a society of “Yehuda”, where the tools of violence are absent, but the letters forming the name of God are present (the Hebrew spelling of Judah, Yehuda, contains the four letters of the biblical name of God). It is time for us to act, to bring about the end of a gun society, and thus directly replacing a society of violence, and its daily body counts, with a society of peace, where children can grow free and with love. (MK)

“Disclosure, however, does not simply result in something disclosed as unclosed. Instead, the dis-closure is at the same time an en-closure…. Disclosure- that now means to bring into a sheltering enclosure….” Heidegger, Parmenides pp133.

Nothing regarding Torah goes unnoticed and unexamined by the commentators, not even spacing on the written line. This week’s Perasha (Torah reading) begins, “Vayehi Yaakov B’eretz Mitzrayim“; And Yaakov (Jacob) dwelled (lit., “lived”) in the land of Egypt. The authors of the Midrash note that normally there are nine letters between the end of one perasha introducing the perasha that follows, whereas here there are no extra spaces at all. This perasha is thus “setuma”, closed off, oblique, which is unique, usually there is some form of spacing in the written text that marks off the beginning of a new portion, here there is none. Is this lack of indentation itself a commentary, does it signify a silence or hidden-ness within the context of the story of the death of Jacob and the beginning of the enslavement of a people?


Torah Commentary: Perashat Vayera- The Non-Sacrifice of Isaac


by: on November 1st, 2012 | 5 Comments »

I don’t think I need to retell the story of the akedah, the “sacrifice of Isaac” by his father Abraham, following the word of God, I find it emotionally difficult to retell the tale in a literal manner. I do think the entire episode demands a dramatic reevaluation.

I suppose, if I wanted to put my problem with this passage in an inflammatory manner, I could ask, what kind of God is it that puts any person through this kind of “test”, and what kind of man is Abraham if he chooses to follow such a command? Eli Wiesel tells the story of a woman at the gates of Auschwitz (a story borrowed and corrupted in Sophie’s Choice) who is asked to choose which of her two children will be sent to the crematorium, her immediate response is a howling, shrieking insanity; her tormentors shot her on the spot.

No human being can or should ever be put through what may be the cruelest form of torture, the loss of a child, certainly not by a compassionate God.

Furthermore, if Abraham’s action is the apogee of the religious experience, as is commonly accepted particularly after the classic book of Kierkegaard on the subject, then why do we shudder nowadays when children are sent by their parents to die for a political cause? Are others truer to the words of our text than we are? Let us ask frankly, what kind of lesson are we supposed to derive from this perasha?


Did the Flood Actually Happen?


by: Gabriel Crane on October 12th, 2012 | 3 Comments »

Here at Tikkun we receive many advance copies of books from amazing authors, artists, and activists every day. It’s encouraging to encounter the powerful work our peers are engaged in, not to mention inspiring to see the sheer volume of it. Unfortunately, as with most small non-profits, we are stretched pretty thin and often don’t have the time to read or review the vast majority of what comes in.

One book that did catch my eye this week, though, was a title by Gregg Braden, Deep Truth: Igniting the Memory of Our Origin, History, Destiny, and Fate (you can check it out online here). While I haven’t had a chance to read it through all the way, I was fascinated by Braden’s presentation of emerging scientific evidence that suggests our classic understanding of human history, which posits that civilization developed roughly 5,000 years ago out of the “Fertile Crescent” that spans the intersection of Africa and Asia, is incomplete and flawed.


Torah Commentary: Bereishit- Being and Prayer


by: on October 11th, 2012 | Comments Off

…the Word is the Word,
the Word shows the extent of our
Verbal incapacity,
Cut off from reality,
The sound of these words serving us deceptively.
Yet the value of imagery,
What we put into these words… Antonin Artaud

The message of the opening passages of the Torah is a message about being.

As Rashi points out with his very first comment, the narration of the creation is meant to teach us not basic lessons in science and cosmology, but rather something about our being in the world. As this question of “Being” is so fundamental an aspect of contemporary discourse, it is worth addressing, right at the Beginning.

Heidegger posed the question most influentially when he asked, following Schelling: Why is there Being rather than nothing? To him, the most urgent and overlooked question was what does it mean to “be” in the world, what does our existence mean, this recognition of nothingness, of our own impending non-being, our personal sense of uniqueness in the face of a world of mute and unconcerned objects?

Heidegger posited that disconnection from this Being, which he labelled Dasein, was at the core of our angst, of our disconnection from our ‘authenticity’ in the universe to which we are thrown. This semi- mystical conception, which has a powerful hold on the imagination because it addresses that sense that we innately have, that there is something bigger and greater to our existence than a mere biological accident, became a full blown theological position in Heidegger’s later years, after the “Kehre”, the turn in his philosophy, where Being becomes described as an independent existing thing, that attempts to speak to us and through us (in Eco’s wonderful phrase: “this intensionally slippery being becomes a massive subject, albeit in the form of an obscure borborygmus wandering about in the bowels of the entities. It wants to speak and reveal itself”).


1. A Brief Meditation- Between Yom Kippur and Sukkot 2. The Social Space of the Sukka


by: on September 29th, 2012 | 1 Comment »

A line in Neila caught my attention at the end of Yom Kippur. It reads:

“our remains will be naught but dust, thus God has given us many prayers”.

Recognizing the emptiness of the confrontation with that void, that abyss of non-existence, we are given the chance to utter words which suggest a meaning for existence, prayers for life, for the existing world and the people which inhabit it. We know we are alive because we can still pray, still dream of beautiful things.

This brought to mind R. Pinchas of Koretz’s line, that it is our swaying during prayers which cause the winds to blow (the winds which then cause the grass to grow). Our gentle swaying, a part of our prayers, that aspirational speech that give us life and meaning in the face of an uncertain future.

R. Pinchas continues that this correspondence of the swaying in prayer and creative life is the point of the na’anuim, the waving of the four species during the upcoming holiday of Sukkot, which also evokes the winds of growth, as the four species are meant to symbolize the totality of life (the different species, the different types of peoples) and remind us of our responsibilities towards nature and one another.

May our prayers, all together, cause the winds of life, love, and peace to blow this year. Let’s make it a gale wind of change.

Making Space in the Sukka: Social Justice and Joy

The period of time in the Hebrew calendar reaching from Rosh Hashana to Yom Kippur is thought of generally as one unit, in English commonly referred to as the High Holidays, whereas Sukkot, the festival which follows four days after Yom Kippur, is generally thought of as a festive holiday, one of the three biblical Temple festivals (Pesach, Shavuot, and Sukkot), entirely distinct from the Days of Awe which happen to precede it.

The mystics, however, view the period from Rosh Hashana until the end of Sukkot as one long arc, not as distinct notes on the page but as one continuous unfolding melody reaching its crescendo not at Yom Kippur, as we might guess, but at Hoshana Rabba (the last day of Sukkot prior to the final festival of Shemini Atzeret and Simchat Torah). We will see that the purpose of the these holidays at this time is to develop a consciousness of social justice, viewed as higher than, or as a development of, the personal spirituality achieved during the more solemn High Holidays.

The first step would be to depart from our usual hierarchy regarding solemnity over joy.


Swimming The Ocean of Night: Welcoming the Fall Season


by: Yigal Deutscher on September 25th, 2012 | 3 Comments »

Rising from the east, like a seed stretching forth from the womb, we watch the sun, this fiery disk of burning light, riding through the expansive ocean above us. His travels are always the same, a perpetual journey westwards, in slow desirous longing, where finally, this sun meets the horizon, exploding into threads of ambers and magentas and scarlets, before sinking and being swallowed by the watery depths. His light fades and, in its place, a quilt of darkness spreads over the heavens, gently lit by a delicate web of shimmering pearls and glowing gemstones. The cloak of night is heavy, bringing sleep, dream, a quietness which is only disturbed once the world is fully saturated and dripping with the soft beauty of the moon above, and her luminous darkness. It is the chorus of the birds which will finally break this stillness, this timelessness, with their tapestry of song and harmony, arousing the sun from the depths, courting him back to life, to rise, to live again, to emerge from the womb, shine his rays, and begin his journey once more.


Some Thoughts for Rosh Hashana, the Hebrew New Year


by: on September 15th, 2012 | 1 Comment »

  1. Shofar And Time

…If all time is eternally Present, All time is unredeemable… T. S. Eliot, Burnt Norton

Central to, or lurking behind, if you will, any discussion appropriate to Rosh Hashana is the problem of time. For while we all talk of Rosh Hashana as a celebration of the “New Year”, the texts, biblical and talmudic, are rather ambiguous as to what the actual date of creation is. One thing is certain- Rosh Hashana is not meant to signify the date of the creation of the world per se, but more likely, to commemorate the creation of humanity, at best, according to a talmudic debate. The talmud offers the following alternatives: Was the world created in Nisan, half a year away from Rosh Hashana, or was the world created the week before Rosh Hashana, that is, Rosh Hashana commemorates the sixth day of creation, and as such is meant to celebrate the creation of humanity?

Perhaps this ambiguity about the events of the New Year, Rosh Hashana, which in the proof text of Psalm 81:4 is referred to as bakeseh, the “hidden” or “mysterious day”, is meant to teach a greater lesson about time and its unreality.

Let us ponder that verse, Ps. 81:4 for a moment, as it also contains a link to the other critical symbol of this holiday, the shofar- The verse reads:

Tik’u bahodesh shofar, Sound on the day of the new month the shofar, bakeseh, when the moon is hidden, l’yom hagenu, on the festival day.

The Talmud in BT Rosh Hashana 8. proves that the new year corresponds to Tishrei by virtue of the link in this verse between the shofar and the hidden moon, which as Rashi points out is astronomically related to this season. There is a link between the beginning of time and the shofar.

This link is compounded in BT Rosh Hashana 16. :

…and on Rosh Hashana say before me malchuyot, zichronot and shofarot- Malchuyot- you shall crown me King over you; Zichronot- your memory shall rise before me for the good; and how? via the Shofar!

In this text, an extra association is added. The New Year links God, memory, and the shofar. First of all, I should like to point out, as an aside, something frequently overlooked in the approach to this set of prayers, and that is its dialogical nature. By our act of ‘crowning’ God, via the shofar, we alter our relationship with God. The Talmud suggests that prayer is not just human lip service, not just something we do because we must do so, but rather defines prayer is a dialogical act which evokes a response. Our recognition of Gd’s “kingship” evokes a reciprocal recognition of our sentience. At any rat, returning to our discussion of time, note that the Talmud creates an association linking Gd, memory, and the shofar to our consciousness of time, symbolized by the new year.

Before we proceed, however, we should define a term. What does “consciousness of time” mean?


Drinking from the Well: Remembering our Origins


by: Yigal Deutscher on September 13th, 2012 | 7 Comments »

photo credit: Simon Tong http://tinyurl.com/8qdzg8w

As the Jewish people gather together in anticipation to meet the rising of the 7th moon, Rosh Chodesh Tishrei, we will be welcoming the dawning of another year. Over generations, Jews, as a collective consciousness, have sanctified this moment as a time of creation, of change, of passage into newness. And with our prayers, with the cries of the shofar, with the dripping of honey, with the tasting of new fruits, with celebratory rituals, we will feed the first moments of this new year, feeding the journey of earth, so she can once again renew her cycle around the sun, and another year of creation can unfold in flowering beauty. With these communal offerings, we surrender to the never-ending always-changing fluidity of life and all that she brings.

Yet, as much as we look forward in anticipation, seeding our vision and hopes, the day which we honor as the birthing of a new year would not even recognize the name we have crowned her with, Rosh Hashana, the Head of the Year. She wears this layer most beautifully and regally, yet beneath this is her primal body & form, and it is here that we find her original name, Yom HaZikaron, the Day of Remembering. And truly, it is only because of this ‘remembering’ that the first light of the 7th moon of the year ever came to be known as Rosh Hashana.

On this day, where completion and beginning kiss one another in balanced harmony, we create a space, an open empty space to be filled by our own longing, our desire to remember. And no doubt, passing through this portal of new time is enriched with intentions of reflection and introspection, considerations of our actions from the previous year, remembering the cycle that has just completed itself. But the invitation to remember reaches towards much deeper depths than this.


Torah Commentary- Nitzavim 1. A Covenant of All of You 2. Face Hidden, Face Revealed


by: on September 13th, 2012 | 1 Comment »

Nitzavim I. A Covenant of All of You

“Today you all stand before Gd, your chiefs, your elders…all of Israel, your children, wives, the strangers in your midst, from the woodchopper to the water carrier, to enter into a covenant with God…”

With these words, the covenant between God and the people of Israel is established. But a covenant with whom?  With rabbis? Scholars? What does a “covenant” mean or establish? The answer to many of these questions are implicit in the verse itself, and the answers are not what we might expect, and perhaps we will understand why this passage was chosen to be the one always preceding Rosh Hashana, the Hebrew New Year.

As usual, the verse itself is problematic in several ways. First of all, there is that unusual word, nitzavim, meaning “standing”. Furthermore, the segment lists all these types of societal positions, then sums them all up in the superfluous phrase “all of Israel”, a phrase doubly enigmatic because it uses a singular voice- kol ish yisrael- “every person, of the people of Israel”, after listing a range of professions.

Rashi presents three different readings of this passage. He begins with the “peshat”, the so-called literal reading of the text. He then offers two “midrashic” readings, the second of which explains the word nitzavim, “standing”, as derived from the word matzevah, monument, and explains that at this moment, Moshe transformed the people into a ‘monument’, in order to make them more ready to listen, or more obedient (Rashi points out that in later transfers of leadership this same  root of nitzav is used).

The Shem M’Shmuel riffs on this nitzav = matzeva similarity to derive a radical lesson. He explains that the mizbeach, the altar central to the service in the biblical Temple, was made up of many stones, whereas the matzevah, an earlier form of monument or altar, described as being used before the Temple was constructed, and forbidden after the Temple was constructed, was made up of one stone. Thus, for the covenant to be established, the people (all humanity, really), despite their individual differences, must come together like the single stone altar, as one people.


Torah Commentary- Ki Tavo: Curses, Blessings, and Cinema Studies


by: on September 6th, 2012 | 1 Comment »

Perashat Ki Tavo, read this week, is noteworthy for containing a lengthy restatement of a blessing and curse sequence. Not the cheeriest or most readable of passages by any means, rather a long recitation of all the nastiness that will overtake the people should they fail to hearken to God’s word. I suspect the custom of reading these sections fast and sotto voce was not one that needed to be forcibly impressed upon the community; one wants to be done with these passages. Especially as this is a repeat performance, in that there already was a full set of curses already presented in Leviticus. So it will come as no surprise to regular readers that specifically within this bleakest and most unwelcoming of passages, the mystical commentators will find a powerful contemporary message of hope and redemption, defining a concept of self with interesting parallel to themes in contemporary cinema studies.

Rashi attempts to differentiate between the two sets of curses by finding differences between them- the first set are divine while the second set is Moshe’s own set of downer predictions, the first set are national, while the second set here refer to individual sinners (this is supported by the use of the plural in the first set and the individual in the second). Either way, best to get done with these passages quickly and hope they remain in the realm of the potential (in the course of my life I’ve had the unfortunate experience of hearing rabbis gleefully claim these passages as “predicting” the Holocaust and other such unfortunate readings).

It is thus surprising that this segment of curses provokes one of the most beautiful passages in the Zohar (to be specific, in the Zohar Hadash). The point the Zohar wishes to make about this section is wrapped in one of those poetic narratives that are often so unexpected that they strike one as truly inspired (as an aside, Gershom Scholem was dismissive of the Zohar, to say the least, because it was pseudo-epigraphic and not actually written by R. Shimon Bar Yohai. To my mind, the fact that this wild poetic riff was actually written by an individual in medieval Spain makes it one of the great works of art, a classic of world literature).

Here’s the Zohar’s literary framing of the teaching: