Universal Judaism in a nutshell – Shalom Magazine, High Holidays 5776

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How can one dare proclaim to compress the vastness of Judaism, the bedrock of all monotheistic religions, in a… nutshell? Is that not insultingly pretentious??

I would have thought so, if it weren’t for the precedents that our sages set down some two millennia ago. Rabbi Akiva narrowed down the 613 commandments to one nuclear guideline for interacting with your fellow man or woman as stated in the Book of Vayikra: “Love your neighbor as yourself, I am the Hashem” (known as ‘Ve Ahavta’). Follow that, said Rabbi Akiva, and you’re good. All the rest are details that derive from that one golden rule.

Later Rabbis, when asked what is it that God wants from us, coined the phrase:

To Perfect the world under the sovereignty of God (known as ‘Tikun Olam). That, they explained, is the underlying reason for the creation of man and woman. Therefore, making the world a better place should indeed be every individual’s drive and purpose in life.

But let us take it a step further.

You see, in Yiddish one might comment on the above: “a groisse de metsiya” which in typical Jewish sarcasm would idiomatically translate as: “what’s the big deal?!” or “Is that’s what it’s all about?”

Shouldn’t the choice of “love over war” be self-evidential? Is it not the obvious aspiration for a normal society to choose life over death; a universal value to prefer good over evil?

Let me answer by questioning back: if it is so obvious, if “everybody knows that!”, then pray tell me – why is our world so far away from the obvious? Why are there battles and rivalry in every continent, country, state, settlement, neighbor hood, street, even family?

One must conclude that, for some reason or other, there exists a rift between what is desired and what is in fact, a reality.

The uniqueness of Judaism is that it has a plan. The Bible includes a detailed program of thirty points for the non-Jew, and of six hundred and thirteen points for the Jew. God Himself laid down these carefully planned operative instructions. What better guarantee that they should work? One need not convert to Judaism in order to fulfill one’s destination in life. All people were created in the image of God. All people are given a choice: to follow His instructions and spread good in the world, or to act upon the alternative. If they choose to travel the road paved by God’s manuscript, the good road, they will merit to leave it as purely as they entered it, with an additional sense of satisfaction for accomplishing His mission and with a bonus of Reward in the ‘World to Come. It’s as simple as that. If only all of who were created in His image, would follow His plan…

Moreover, say our sages of blessed memory notice that in both instances quoted above, (as in many more throughout the Bible) there is a reference to God in what would otherwise seemingly appear superfluous. I requote: “Love your neighbor as yourself, I am the Lord.” And: Perfect the world under the sovereignty of God“. Once one acknowledges the divine source for these humanitarian values, his faith can solidify them, from the lofty idea – to the imperative drive.

Because, the fact that these humanitarian values stem from the Almighty, implies that they are absolute truths. Not comparative, not flexible, not politically correct and definitely non-negotioanable.

The seven Noahide laws that are expected to be adapted by all the nations of the world (not just the Jews), are seven magnificent branches stemming from the trunk of the aforementioned golden rule: “perfecting the world under the sovereignty of God“. Of course these branches have many more that diverge from them. All in all creating what we refer to as “the tree of life”.

What are the Noahide Laws? How can we study them? Where have we been till now? Why isn’t all of the above common knowledge? If the Bible holds the key for Man’s search for meaning; if it includes a manual for “how to do it?”, then, why is it not done?!

All these are valid questions on the path of the righteous. One of the beauties of life is that one can spend a lifetime and never cease to learn something new. There are answers, of course to all these questions and more. But the core principle is as aforementioned: Do good; Perfect the World. That is Judaism in a nutshell. All the rest – is elaboration. We have the rest of our lives to study and to implement the Divine into this world. May there be fulfilled for us the words of the Prophet Isaiah:
“for My house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples” (56:7).

 

 

125th anniversary – my message to the Beth Israel community (booklet)

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While standing in front of the new entrance sign to our Synagogue, I thought about the meaning of its message to us:

“Inspired by our past, investing in our future”

The Baron de Hirsch Congregation has lived as a Jewish family at least 125 years and even longer prior to its formal incorporation. The Beth Israel Synagogue Building has stood here for over 50 years. During all of this span of time, our Congregation has seen it all. I am thinking of the history of the previous generations of Jewish people who lived here and those who passed through Halifax. They carried with them the legacy of their past, mirroring the ever-turmoil fate of Jews throughout the Diaspora.

Most of them were G-d fearing Jews who felt it was worthwhile, and even a necessity, to exert much effort and to invest alot of resources to build and maintain a Jewish community including the construction of several synagogues over the years, especially the magnificent building we have today. Its structure and size indicates the mass of people and events that took place here and that would be required for many years to come. This was the centre of Jewish life in Halifax! It still remains as such for regular daily services, for large communal events, and for many religious events including for Mikveh purposes.

At the onset of the 125th year, our incredibly vibrant community finds that while its numbers have decreased there really is much more to the Beth Israel than what meets the eye; beauty lies beyond the numbers. The other side of the coin to building a long-standing Jewish centre is the belief that it is the only center in which fellow-Jews would be welcome. In the dark Halifax past, a number of  clubs were barred to everyone of Hebrew origin. I learned this not from a thorough research of the history of Jewish Haligonians but from hearing it over and over again from our own members who well remember what it was like growing up in Halifax under such limitations and circumstances.

This sheds a novel perspective over the use of our Jewish centre nowadays. I conclude that nowwhen those who do participate in its activities, we do so out of our own personal conviction to do so.  Contrary to previous generations, although we have various places to attend, we choose to meet at a Jewish Centre out of free choice and not because we have been excluded from these other places. We acknowledge and choose to connect to our Jewish heritage and to be with other Jewish members of our community, preferring kin over prestige.

Each and every one of our participating members exemplifies that the investment of the previous generations bore fruit. In this light, I find that each and every one of our dear members is an inspiration.

Literary analysis of Psalm 43 – God, my keenest joy

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justice photo  A variation of Song 42 but with one essential change: the imagery of Song 42, of water and sound, is replaced in Song 43 by the metaphor of a court of law. Thus the song begins, “Grant me justice, O God, take up my case….” (v. 1). The singer’s advocates are, or so he asks of God, the personified qualities, light and truth: “Send forth Your light and Your truth. It is they that will guide me” (v. 2).
The opponent of the singer is “a faithless nation”; more specifically, “a man of deceit and wrong” (v. 4). The singer’s plea is that he will be “free” of his enemy’s hold (v. 1). Since his opponents are given no further identity, we can only assume the faithless nation refers to Korah and his followers, especially since Korah himself would fit the description of a man of deceit and wrong.
In exact correspondence, verse 3 of Song 43 answers the singer’s question in verse 3 of Song 42, “When shall I come and see the presence of God?” Song 43, verse 3, declares that light and truth will “bring” the singer to God’s “holy mountain”, to God’s “dwelling-place”. It seems, then, that the mountain will be both the place of the court, but, more essential, the place where the singer will receive his verdict, one of benediction: not only will he “come to God’s altar”, but he will join the procession he longingly recalls in Song 42; able now to accompany the “glad song” of the celebrants (v. 5, Song 42) with his lyre (v. 4, Song 43).
The taunt of his foes in Song 42, “Where is your God?” (v. 4), he once again answers, in implicit correspondence, by his affirmation, “O God, my God”, in verse 4 of song 43. His use of the pronoun “my” echoes his use in Song 42 –“the God of my life” (v. 9, Song 42) — and follows, in Song 43, upon his declaration, “God, my keenest joy” (v. 4): in both songs, the singer is emphasizing his claim upon a personal God, not an abstract concept, Who is, for him, the essence of his being.
Song 43 ends with the exact repetition of the closing verse, verse 12, of Song 42:
How bent, my being, how you moan for me!
                                                                                    Hope in God, for yet will I acclaim Him,
                                                                                                   His rescuing presence and my God. (v. 5)
Having put his petition –his plea– before God, the singer has become his own advocate. No matter the weariness of his being, it is the sound of his lyre, the melody of affirmation, that rings out in the final line as the singer acknowledges his judge, his advocate, his rescuer: “my God”.

justice photo

Literary analysis of Psalm 42 – When shall I come and see the presence of God?

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water sing photo  Central to Song 42 are the images of water and of sound. Through these images, the singer creates the means of bringing himself into the presence of God Whom he seeks.

         As the song begins, verse 2 declares an analogy between the speaker and a deer, and between God and streams of water:
                                 As a deer yearns for streams of water,
                                                             so I yearn for You, O God.
Both the deer and the singer yearn for what is, for each, sustenance –the deer for the water necessary for its physical survival, the singer for God essential to his spiritual being. Each seeks what is — for it, for him — the source of life. The image of water dominates verse 3, which opens,
                                 My whole being thirsts for God,
                                                              for the living God.
But the singer exposes the fallacy in his analogy — though water is essential to his being, nonetheless God is, unlike the element of water, “living”, is the creator of life itself. The singer can now utter his intent bare of any comparisons:
                                When shall I come and see
                                                               the presence of God?
Unable to look upon God directly, the singer apparently needs the imagery of water, the well-spring of physicality, as his vehicle. Through his words, he can imagine God’s presence. Or, to put it in a way more in keeping with the singer’s own imagery — the face of God, ‘living”, reflected in the water, is at least approachable, at least visible, if only indirectly. The Hebrew word for “water”, “mayim”, can be read backwards, as if the word itself acts as both source and reflection: מ.י.מ. .
         The tears that the singer’s enemies provoke in him in verse 4, with their taunt, “Where is your God?”,  become his “bread”; his tears provide his food, rather than the pure waters he yearns for.  Unable to answer his enemies, unable, that is, to show them the location, the presence, of God (afterall, his own question is when shall he come to see God’s face), he must, instead, choke on his own salt water, on his own aridity. What he can “pour out”, however, are the emotions of, the waters of, his heart: verse 5 recalls his place in the procession that marches to “the house of God”; his outpouring of grief –his salty tears, his overflowing heart– is not stemmed by his recollection. Rather, it is crippling, causing his entire being both to bend and to moan. Only his “hope in God” can rescue him (v. 6). “The living God” of verse 3 becomes “His rescuing presence [face]” in verse 6, a change in imagery emphasizing that to be rescued by God is, indeed, to be given life.
         The singer now turns from his own self to his geographical surroundings. Verse 7 describes the mountains, Hermon and Mizar, while verse 8 juxtaposes them with the depths of the seas. Both mountains and seas “sound” the voice of God; “channels”, “breakers and waves'”, calling out to the singer with such a surge that it threatens to submerge him:
                                  Deep unto deep calls out
                                                               at the sound of Your channels.   
                                                                              all Your breakers and waves have surged
                                                                              over me.
The image seems, within the verse itself, a destructive one –the singer, in danger of drowning; God depicted in utter contrast with the rescuing God of verse 6. The threat, however, is abated, nullified even, by the “song” of verse 9:
                                 By day Adonai ordains His kindness
                                                                 and at night His song is with me —
                                                                               prayer to the God of my life.
Not only does the singer acclaim God’s “kindness”, he also recognizes that the sounds of the two extremities of nature, mountains and seas, are the “song” sung by God –or, more precisely, by God’s created universe — and, for the singer, that song is his “prayer to the God of my life”. Thus he joins those two aspects of God,”rescuing” and “living”, together to proclaim the healing and comfort he has hoped for. It would seem, then, that he has once more taken his place in the procession he recollects in verse 5, once more marching to “the sound of glad song of the celebrant throng” (v. 5).
          The song’s first verse mentions the Korahites, suggesting the song was either composed for them or by them; perhaps to be sung by them. Yet Korah defied the authority of Moses, and was punished for so doing: the ground opened, swallowing him and his followers. Korah is a puzzling presence in the song, but verse 10 may explain what would otherwise be an unwarranted intrusion. Following upon the hopefulness of verse 9, verse 10 opens with the singer’s declaration of “God my Rock”; the epithet, rock, apparently posing the opposite to the abyss implicit in verse 1 with Korah’s name and threatening to the singer in verse 8. The question the singer puts to his Rock, however, shocks by its contrast to the stronghold it addresses, “Why have you forgotten me?” It is as though the singer has himself fallen into his own abyss. As if the singer were actually the Korahite! He is so defeated by the taunts of his foes that “in gloom” he “goes” (v. 10), even the possibility of light obscured.
         Verse 11 offers neither light nor solace. It echoes verse 4, echoes the taunt of his foes, “Where is your God?” And, once again, the singer struggles to answer. Although he has, in fact, already given his answer in his adjectives for God of “living” and “rescuing”. His failure to recognize his own answer expresses itself, instead, in verse 12’s exact repetition of verse 6:  “How bent, my being, how you moan for me!” In both verses, 6 and 12, his moans seemingly drown out the songs in the verse preceding each –the “glad song” of verse 5’s celebrants, God’s night song in verse 9.
         But just as verse 6 ends with the singer’s affirmation of hope, so too does verse 12. The Praisesong closes with a telling variation: verse 6’s “Hope in God, for yet will I acclaim Him for His rescuing presence”  becomes “Hope in God, for yet will I acclaim Him, His rescuing presence and my God”. His acclamation, then, is his answer, at last explicit and purposeful, to his enemies’ jeers and to his own yearning for God’s presence: he is able, as the song ends, to proclaim, “my God”. To proclaim, to lay claim.
water sing photo

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Literary analysis of Psalm 41- Blessed is Adonai, the God of Israel from all time past and for all time to come. Amen and amen

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 אשרי ashrai - psalm study - happinessAlthough the majority of verses of Song 41 recount the singer’s illness and his enemies’ gloating at his suffering, the imagery in the song is, nonetheless, powerful, physical, as though belying any weakness or infirmity in the singer while, at the same time, pointing out the enemies’ aggressiveness. Thus: “his enemies’ maw” (v. 3); “his heart spoke a lie” (v. 7); “[h]e gathered up mischief” (v. 7) –imagery all depicting the singer’s foes– is matched by “You…made me stand before You” (v. 13) — indicating the singer’s gratitude to God Who, he believes, will accord him the ultimate triumph. Even the English “devious”, describing his false friend, becomes, in the literal Hebrew, part of the implied contrast –“my confidant…has raised against me his heel” (v. 10). The raised heel, though used as a weapon, requires an arching of the body, in contrast to the upright posture of the singer as he stands erect at the song’s close.

The first verses of the song, 2 to 4, describe the happiness of the man who considers the poor; the singer asks for a benediction for him for such compassion: “May Adonai guard him and keep him alive” (v. 3). Yet the repeated mention of illness (verse 3’s “keep him alive” followed by verse 4’s “sustain him on the couch of pain”) suggest that the individual is not happy, is, indeed, ill and suffering. It is the last line of verse 4, however, that makes clear that the happy man’s health has, in fact, been restored, simply because the verb is in the past tense — “You transformed his whole bed of illness”.

The middle and longest section of the song, verses 5 through the close of 12, concerns the singer’s own illness. An illness caused, he suggests, by his moral offenses:

I said, ‘Adonai, grant me grace, heal me, though I offended You‘. (v. 5)

But the plea of the singer that his own strength be returned to him, framed, as it also is, in the past tense — “said”– suggests that this prayer too has been answered. It would seem, then, that the singer is himself one of the happy, for, as verse 7 declares, God has “made him safe”. Apparently the singer’s illness and that of the happy man of the first four verses are inter-twined; perhaps even one and the same. And, in turn, this connection between them adds another note of meaning to the concept of “poor” in verse 2 –the poor whom the happy man is rewarded for helping may well be not simply those in material need (for no further mention is made of them), but, rather, those wretched in spirit. Still, whether the wretchedness be of body, spirit, or both, certainly the singer himself ultimately exemplifies the happiness that is God’s reward for compassion.

In contrast to the compassionate are the singer’s enemies. Verses 6 through 11 recall the singer’s illness. Yet, what he remembers is not his physical pain; his recollection is solely of his friends’ betrayal of him. Of how, as they gathered about his sick bed, pretending to offer solace (v. 6 and 7), they were actually whispering against him and plotting his harm (v. 8). Even his trusted friend, “who ate [his] bread” –sharing both his provisions and his confidences– was “utterly devious” (v. 10). In return, the singer asks God that he be healed “that I may pay them back” (v. 11). His very return to health (“raise me up”) will itself announce their failure to harm him, yet surely he is hoping for a revenge that will cause them to suffer for their perfidy.
The phrase, however, “grant me grace” , at the beginning of verse 11, echoes exactly the phrase opening the section recounting his illness (v. 5). Certainly the concept of moral strength, of “grace”, is the antithesis to that of personal vengeance. Again, the root of the hebrew words are clarifying; “to pay back” in Hebrew shares a common root with the verb “to complete” (ש.ל.מ). In this way, the singer is envisioning a justice whereby his persecutors will become his advocates. Such an astonishing reformation would lead to a completion: both good and evil transformed into one and thereby transcending both. The verses of the singer’s illness end with the line, “that my enemy not trumpet his conquest of me” (v. 12), the trumpet sound contrasting with the direction of verse 1 that the “lead player” perform the song.  Presumably the words and melody of the song will crescendo, are crescendoing, over the blasting sound of his foes’ momentary victory.
And, indeed, verses 13 and 14 do ring out a jubilant crescendo. Verse 13 begins with the phrase “in my innocence” that seems to contradict verse 5’s “though I offended You”. It can only be that, should he be restored to health and strength — his plea “May I” answered– the singer feels he will also be absolved of his  offenses, purified of them as he has been of his illness. Or, to return to the implied sense of completion, the singer may be recognizing that his very ability to stand –to return to health– itself, metaphorically, acts out his integrity, his wholeness; exemplifies, that is, his adherence to moral uprightness; and so the verse closes, “[You] made me stand before You forever”. Thus does the song close, the close of Book One of the songs of praise:

                                                     Blessed is Adonai God of Israel
                                                                                  forever and forever,
                                                                                                amen and amen. (v. 14)

Standing forever before God, the singer, voicing the words of verse 14, forever. The repeated words themselves acting as chords of triumph and jubilation, of hope and of gratitude. Perhaps the “Amen” is sung by listeners to the song; perhaps by the body of the nation of Israel itself. It is not customary for the one who is praying to add the “Amen” of agreement to his own pleas. Again, the root of the Hebrew word clarifies: “Amen” (אמן) shares a common root with the Hebrew nouns “trust” (אמון), “belief’ or “faith” (אמונה), and “creator” (אומן). Appropriate, then, that the closing song of the first book of praisesongs should end in the one word that acknowledges the singer’s complete trust of and belief in his Creator. The song, eternally sung, blends all aspects of time together –past, present, future, all become one sound. The jubilation of the song –the song of the “happy” man– takes up, as both echo of and return to, the opening of Song 1 of Book 1: “Happy the man…”

אשרי ashrai - psalm study - happiness

 

 

 

 

Literary analysis of Psalm 39 – O Master, my hope is in You.

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vanity photo  Intended to be played by the lead musician (v. 1), Song 39 is a melody of one note: five times does it sound the transitoriness of human life– “how fleeting I am”, v. 5

                                                           “mere handspans You made my days….
                                                            Mere breath is each man standing“, v. 6
                                                           “Mere breath he [man] murmurs“, v. 7
                                                           “Mere breath all humankind“, v. 12
    The song begins, however, with the singer’s attempt to “muzzle” his mouth, so as not to rebuke, or, perhaps, slander the “wicked” (v. 2). His reason is not to spare his enemies but, rather, to protect his own integrity: to “keep [his] ways from offending” (v. 2) –from offending, presumably, the morality of his actions. Nonetheless, “mute”, silent, he is “deprived of good” and his “pain” is “grievous” (v. 3).  That the pain and deprivation are the direct result of his silence is implied but not stated.
       Suddenly, startlingly, his words break out, not to castigate his enemies, but, rather, to beseech God:
                                                              My heart was hot within me.
                                                                                       In my thoughts a fire burned.
                                                                                                    I spoke with my tongue: (v. 4)
The heat, the intensity, of his pain –be it the pain of physical suffering or of resentment at his own wasted silence– fuels his supplication. And yet it is as though the silence of his mouth transforms to a spiritual emptiness. His perception is solely of his –and, indeed, all humankind’s– mortality. He questions God,
                                                              “Let me know, O Adonai, my end
                                                                                     and what is the measure of my days.
                                                                                                    I would know how fleeting I am.” (v. 5)
His recognition is of the contrast between, of the utter oppositeness of, the temporal lot and God’s infinity. Man lives “in but shadow”; his future, despite his “stores” –his achievements– uncertain: he “knows not who will gather” them (v. 7).
            The singer’s question to God is unanswered, completed only by its repetition. But this time he adds what is for him the only possibility of gaining knowledge of the future –his own and humankind’s:
                                                              And now, what [can] I expect. O Master,
                                                                                        my hope is in You. (v. 8)
Having pleaded for hope, for, it would seem, comfort, the singer faces his own “sins”, and asks that he might be “saved” from bearing their punishment (v. 9). But, at the same time, he recalls his enemies, so that he simultaneously hopes for rescue from his own sins and from “the scoundrel’s scorn”. It is as though somehow the two –his sins and his enemies’ scorn– are linked. His concern, however, for the remainder of the song,  is not for his enemies but for his own moral state of being: in verse 10 he asserts that it is God Who has opened his mouth, Who has spurred him to speak:
                                                              I was mute, my mouth did not open,
                                                                                       for it is You Who acted.
A strange assertion. Verse 2 declares the singer’s wish to keep his words from inciting him to ignoble action; his silence, that is, would be his protection. Yet now he states that God has prompted him to break that silence. Prompted him, perhaps, to take responsibility for his actions.
                 Certainly the closing verses of the song ask God to stay His “scourge”, lest the singer “perish” from “the blow of God’s hand” (v. 11); verse 12 explains the punishment:
                                                              In rebuke for crime You chastise a man, 
                                                                                      melt like the moth his treasure.
Yet, whether or not their destruction is God’s just will, human accomplishments and creations are, the singer repeats, transitory, fragile, without either solidity or permanency. The juxtaposition of the temporal lot of human beings and God’s rebuke of human crime –of the desecration of divine law– suggests that mortality may indeed be God’s censure of offense. That link, however, is not explicit; it is suggested by the verse’s structure.  Nevertheless, the verse ends with, once more, the singer’s acknowledgement of the brevity of mortal life. With the last line of the verse –“Mere breath all humankind”– the one note of the song appears to subside: theme and structure seemingly coalesce.
                  No doubt the song could well have ended at this point; it would have reached a completion. But two more verses follow. The singer turns from his theme of human mortality to anguished concern over his own inevitable death. The first stanza of verse 13 begins with his plea to God to “hear” and ends with the verb in its negative form, “be not deaf”, the tense change itself mirroring the destructive end to all creation. The compassion he prays for, he poignantly argues, should be his because he is “a sojourner with You, a new settler like all my fathers”.  The imagery of a temporary stay –the “new” cutting the stability of settling– is allowed no abstract syllogism. Rather, it is followed by a terrible cry, surely issuing out of pain that is both physical and spiritual:
                                                                 Look away from me, that I may catch my breath
                                                                                        before I depart and am not. (v. 14)
The “You” in the preceding verse makes clear that it is God Whom he is entreating to look away. The “am not”, the extinction, the singer asks for a respite from –be it only for the duration of a “breath”– is, horrifyingly, the fate that the singer is actually (inadvertently?) decreeing for himself. For that moment of respite will come, he believes, only if God looks away. In that absence, in that turning away of God’s sight, is only emptiness. The annihilation of even the possibility of life.* The second line of verse 6 now takes on an appalling meaning: “my lot is as nothing before You”.  If his implication is that individual life is “nothing”, of no value, to God Who created it, then no hope is possible. The singer denies all but non-being.
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*Rabbi Maccabi’s interpretation of this verse is more palatable than my bleak one. He points out that, in Hebrew, the root of the verb “to look away” ( הָשַׁע) and “to save” (הוֹשִׁיעַ) are so close as to be the same (י.ש.ע. \ ה.ש.ע.). Accordingly, he sees the singer as asking for God’s mercy before his certain death.

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Literary analysis of Psalm 38 – Adonai, all my desire is before You

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sun moon photo  A dirge. A lament. A description of physical suffering that the singer –the sufferer– believes to be the consequence of his moral offenses. Thus his bodily ills –depicted vividly in verses 6 through 9– act as metaphors for his unnamed but obviously vile moral offenses. Appropriately, then, it is the idea of an offense that forms a central repetition in the song: v. 4, “my offense”

                                                                    v. 5, “my crimes”
                                                                    v. 6, “my folly”
                                                                    v. 19, “my crime”;
                                                                               “my offense”
The opening verses are a plea, issuing out of an anguish that afflicts the singer’s entire being. He begs God to stay His “arrows” (v. 3), to abate the rage that is causing his suffering:
                                                                   There is no whole place in my flesh through Your rage,
                                                                                             no soundness in my body through my offense. (v.40)
The similarity in structure and word (“through Your rage”; “through my offense”) make clear that, for the singer, his crime and God’s rage are correlative. Nonetheless, as he describes his afflictions, the singer accuses not God but himself; his own crimes alone the reason for his suffering. The nature of his offense is not given, but it is of such seriousness that his body, the bearer of his punishment, is also the prefigure of his atonement. His afflictions are listed –festering sores (v. 6); a bent and twisted spine (v. 7); burning innards (v. 8); churning heartbeat (v. 9)– indeed, ‘there is no whole place in [his] flesh” (v. 8), but it is the imagery he uses to depict those ailments that most powerfully and poignantly describes his state:
                                                                 For my crimes have welled over my head,
                                                                                              like a heavy burden, too heavy for me. (v. 5)
The image is of submersion; his crimes rise up to engulf him. He is drowning.
 –
The singer turns, in the section following –verses 10 to 15– to a much more abstract description of his state; turning, in effect, from his bodily ills to his spiritual being: he is without strength, without “the light of [his] eyes” (v. 11). He is abandoned by his friends and kinsmen. In fact they seek to increase his suffering, even to bring about his death (v. 13). Their “lies” and “deceit” (v. 13) contrast with the singer’s own openness and truthfulness. And though he admits his guilt to God, knowing that God hears his every sigh (v. 10), he closes himself off from his enemies –to them, he is like one both deaf and mute (v. 14)–
                                                                 And I become like a man who does not hear
                                                                                            and has no rebuke in his mouth. (v. 15)
Shutting down his senses, he curbs his resentment, sparing his enemies his animosity and plotting no revenge.
 –
Verses 16 to 21 are a summation of all the previous verses; he re-iterates his plea to God, but now he allows himself hope: “You will answer, O Master, my God” (v. 16). He accepts what awaits him; he stumbles with the “pain [that] is before [him] always”, seeing its cause clearly–
                                                                For my crime I shall tell,
                                                                                         I dread my offense. (v. 19)
His foes, “unprovoked”, multiply. Their vileness greater than his own, for they “pay back good with evil” (v. 21) — that he withheld revenge is to them of no value or, worse, a weakness to use for their own advantage– moreover, they revile him for “pursuing good” (v. 21).
 –
The song closes with his cry to God to “stay” with him, to aid and to rescue him. Alone, isolated, suffering, his only haven is in God:
                                                             Do not forsake me, Adonai.
                                                                                       My God, do not stay far from me. (v. 22)
                                                             Hasten to my help,
                                                                                       O Master of my rescue. (v. 23)
The song begins with the Hebrew word “lehazkir” (להזכיר),  meaning “to remind”. Yet the song is a confessional –the singer faces his crimes, perceives his bodily ills as their exposure and punishment, and pleads with God to save him. A reminder does not seem a necessary stipulation. It is only at the song’s completion that the meaning of the opening Hebrew verb clarifies: the song is akin to the prayers of Yom Kippur –it is the singer’s cry of confession, repentance, and hope that God, the Master, will grant him respite (Teshuva, Prayer and Charity).
The beginning and the close of both the first and second half of the song use three distinct names for God. Thus:
                                                            v. 2, “Adonai” with the connotation of mercy
                                                            v. 10, “Adonai” with the meaning of “Master”;
the second part uses all 3 names in each instance:
                                                            v. 16, “Adonai”, used two times, indicating both mercy and mastery, with the                                       addition of “Elohi”, judgement;
and, similarly,                                   v. 32, “Adonai”, mercy, is coupled with “Elohi”, judgement; v. 23 adds “Adonai”, mercy.
The resemblance to Yom Kippur prayer is unmistakable. The song is a supplication, a confession, a remembrance, an atonement.
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Euthanasia – ‘Compassionate murder’ (For Shalom Magazine, spring 16)

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Compassionate Murder

My father is a man of great courage and strength. Even today, when is in his mid-sixties, he can probably wrestle down me and my three siblings with one hand tied behind his back. This, together with a big scoop of independence, led him to travel over most of the world for the purpose of counselling, planning and running agro-tech businesses with governments and world leaders.  My father is very proud of his strength, his independence and his dignity. When still very young, he used to tell us, his children in a forbearing tone: “When I won’t be able to take care of myself, my only cure should be a ‘nine millimetres” (I.e. the width of an Israeli bullet).

On Feb 6 this year, the Supreme Court in Ottawa decided to allow doctors to “assist suicide in specific cases” (http://www.cbc.ca/news/politics/supreme-court-says-yes-to-doctor-assisted-suicide-in-specific-cases-1.2947487). This article is not an answer to their decision. Rather, it is an attempt to contemplate on the following moral and social question: under which circumstances, if at all, is one allowed to take his or someone else’s life?

Normal human beings under normal circumstances, do not debate whether to murder or not. But life is complex. Hence, it is not unnatural to develop, out of intrinsic compassion, an urge to erase one’s pain and suffering in case his harsh fate is deemed as irreversible. Even more so, when there is a clear stated consent, or even an explicit request, by the sufferer her/himself, to end her/his life which he perceives as miserable and unworthy. Such an act is otherwise known as ‘murder out of compassion’, or if you prefer, a ‘realization that one’s death is better for her/him more than the continuation of her/his present state of life’.

At the heart of this ethical debate, we search to understand the following:
Does every individual have an independent ‘human right’ to her/his own life? If such is the case then, consequently, if one gets to a point in which one feels useless, in pain, or a burden to one’s surrounding (physically and emotionally), or if one reaches the unfortunate state of losing her/his reasonable human dignity – Are we allowed, maybe even obligated, to do him/ourselves and/or do society a favor by ending such a form of life?
Or, perhaps, human’s right for life is an absolute one, in a sense that taking one’s life is an unalienable prohibition.

Let’s try to (artificially) separate the answer to philosophical, social, ethical (Jewish) and emotional answers:

Philosophical answer:

Our whole existence has no rational reasoning. We are because we exist. There is no way to legalize or evaluate people’s lives.
The philosopher will answer a question like: ‘what is it worth to maintain the life of a vegetable?` With a counter question: ‘Why shouldn’t I take your life then if it seem to me to be worthless?’

Social answer:

A major social aspect, and one of the fundamental pillars of a healthy society, is the clear realization that a society is based on individuals. Living ones. Ending lives should basically be off limits for the normal survival of any society.

But, one might ask, should we not have any compassion? What of those who cannot endure their physical suffering? Or the emotional and moral suffering inflicted by the deter of dignity?

Such emotional arguments even when benign are dangerous. If the principle of easing ones misery is accepted, the execution of such behavior is debatable to say the least. For how does one draw the line of endurable pain? It is a slippery slope, for “man is thy most awful instrument in working out a pure intent”(Wordsworth). Just seventy years ago, the ruler of a distinguished European country executed, as an “act of humanity(!)” seventy thousand crippled and mentally ill patients who were regarded as lebensunwert  i.e worthless miserable lives. His name was, of course, Adolf Hitler.
Moral answer:

Our greatness as human beings is derived from the Creator, as it is written: “for in the image of God He made man” (Gen 9:6). No individual owns her/his own life. It is a trust that was given to us regardless of our opinion. Consequently, only God Himself holds the right to retrieve His deposit. Whether we like it or not, this makes complete logical sense.  Is it not true that: “against your will you are formed, against your will you are born, against your will you live, against your will you die.”? (Ethics of the fathers 4:22). Hence, Human’s life, every single moment of it, has an absolute value. It stands above the ‘quality of life’ tag that we so presumptuously attempt to attach on ourselves or on others.

Emotional answer:

Emotionally, there are personal differences between various cases. From my personal standpoint at this point of my life I, like my father, would prefer death over becoming a dependant burden on both my surroundings and myself. Who can guarantee that I won’t change my mind if, or whenever, I approach such a state?
Yet, in any case, drawing the life of ‘who shall live and who shall die’, is not something for me to decide. Wherewithal, there is no difference if a murder is committed by shooting, beheading or giving one a death potion or a “love shot”.

That being said, as we stated in the beginning, life is complex. Practically, under severe conditions, there are ways to allow the prevention of continuing life support or, on the same line yet less dramatic, to pray for one’s painless death (Shu”a Yo”d 339, Talmud Avoda Zara 18). In case of such extreme circumstances, one should counsel her/his Rabbi.

 

 

Literary analysis of psalm 37 – So shall you delight in the Adonai, and He will give you what your heart desires.

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world photo  Click here to read “Psalm Thirty-seven: Translation of the Song”

Song 37, a song of comfort; seemingly composed by a parent for his children, a grandparent for his grandchildren –certainly by an old man (one who identifies himself in verse 25 as “A youth I was, and have become old”) whose purpose is to instill hope in those who will follow him. Most likely, however, since the singer is David (v. 1), it is his, the old king’s, legacy to his people.

The song is framed in an acrostic. Each Hebrew letter, in order, begins two consecutive verses, but for the letters dalet (ד), chet (ח), and kaph (כ), which begin but one verse each (v. 7, 20, 34). The one letter omitted from the alphabet is ayen (ע), which, interestingly, is also the Hebrew word for “eye” (עין). But, in fact, it is not necessary to include it, for the “eye” in the song is David’s, and its perception is of God’s guardianship. David is thus a witness – the word itself appears three times (v.25, 35, 37) — the one who, now old, creates wisdom out of experience; who is at once composer, observer, and participant: witnessing, recording, and sharing in his people’s story.

The song follows a repetitive pattern, formed of three statements –that the wicked will not triumph but will, instead, wither away; that the listeners to the singer’s words need to be patient and trust in God and know they will be blessed; that the singer himself is voicing the wisdom that time and experience have given him. Though the order of the statements remains constant, the number of verses devoted to each varies. Nonetheless, the pattern repeats at least 7 times within the song. And though the wicked are quite simply that, wicked, the upright ones, who are their opposites in both qualities and acts, are identified in several ways –as those who “hope in Adonai” (v. 9); as “the humble” (v.11), “the man of wholeness” (v.37), those “cleansed of offenses” (v.18); those “blessed” by Adonai (v. 22); as the “devout” (v. 28), and, most often, “the righteous” (v.16, 17, 21, 25, 29, 30, 32 and 39).

Throughout the song, the singer connects the quality of goodness with the land of Israel (v. 3, 9, 11, 22 and 34); whereas the wicked are described as grass that, although it be green, will inevitably cease to flourish and will soon decay (v. 2, 20). In contrast, the upright will, the song repeatedly assures, “inherit the land” (v. 9, 11, 22, 29, 34).

The Psalm begins with the phrase “Do not be goaded” (v. 1), an admonition that is repeated in verses 7 and 8.The act of goading is insidious and, perhaps for that reason, warned against so particularly: in provoking a response in his victim, the goader causes him to participate in his own defeat; to give up, accordingly, his free choice. Verse 1 follows its admonition with another: “do not be jealous” of the unjust, for “like the grasses, they will quickly dry out” (v. 2), their very sprouting leading to their wilting away. Instead, the singer counsels,

Trust in Adonai, and do good.

                                                               Dwell in the land, and shepherd faith. (v. 3)

In so doing, those who take the singer’s advice will not only escape the fate of the wicked, but they will transform the condition of animality the goaders would have inflicted on them: rather than being goaded as driven animals are (a “goad” being a sharp stick used to drive animals), they will themselves “shepherd faith” (v.3). The assurance is, moreover, that those who both trust in God and do good –thought and act together– will not only be given their “heart’s desires” (v. 4), but will be granted justice:

and He will bring forth your righteousness like the light

                                                                and your justice like the midday. (v. 6)

The image implies that the natural world itself is configured according to the principle of justice.

Though certainly the themes are repetitive, the comparisons and the images are varied. “Let go of anger, and leave behind fury” (v. 8) contrasts the stillness that it advocates –“Be quiet before Adonai” (v. 7)– with the bitterness and hatred of the wicked man who “gnashes” his “teeth” against the just (v. 12), the goader become the animal. His violence is portrayed as an unsheathed sword and a tautly drawn bow (v. 14), yet the “abundant wholeness” (v. 11), the stillness, of the just will have a power that derives from the laughter of God:

The Master will laugh at him [the wicked man],

                                                                  for He saw that his day will come. (v. 13)

For then,

Their sword will come into their own hearts

                                                                   and their bows will be broken. (v. 15)

The anger and violence of the wicked implode.

Moreover, “the days of those who are perfect” will be of an inheritance, an “estate”,  that lasts “for all time” (v. 18), and, “in the days of hunger they will be satisfied” (v. 19). Their sustenance, without limit, is the opposite of that of “the enemies of Adonai”, for they, “like the choicest of succulents” –will “be extinguished”, as though “in smoke” (v.20). The image repeats that of verse 2 (the drying of the grasses) but adds the connotation of ashes: insubstantial and unable to thrive. The flourishing of the righteous is re-imagined in verses 25, 26 and 28: their “seed” will be nourished (v. 25), will be “blessed” (v. 26) and “guarded” (v.28), but “the seed of the wicked” will be “cast off” (v. 28). The imagery makes vivid the promise that, unlike the brief season of earth’s flowering (the brief tenure of the wicked ones’ power), the seed of the righteous –the generations they will birth– will reap a future continual.

The reason for the flourishing is stated explicitly in verse 30: “The mouth of the righteous will speak wisdom’s logic and his tongue will utter justice” (v. 30) because the “Torah of his God is in his heart” (v. 31). The very organs of the bodies of the upright –their mouths, tongues, hearts (v.30 and 31) – give form to a cluster of images, appropriately following upon the repeated promise of their vital seed, that are the opposite of the violent images of the bodies of the wicked, whose teeth gnash (v. 12), whose eyes scout out their prey (v. 32); their fate predicted in verse 17 which describes the loss of their physical power – their strong “arms” broken – in contrast to that of the righteous who are upheld, supported, by God. The images of blessings are set off by the two verses in which David emphasizes that his words sound his experiences (v. 25, 35); that his wisdom is forged out of his years, out of his very life.

The song closes with a reiteration that the upright will inherit the land (v. 34); though the wicked tyrant’s power might seem to be vigorous (v.35), that thriving is but an instant in time:

Yet, it passed, and, behold, he is not.

                                                                I asked for him, but he was not found. (v. 36, echoing v. 10)

The only “future” is that of “the man of wholness” (v. 37); only his will be the rooted seed, only his progeny the earth’s inheritors. Moreover, that future will be one of wisdom and justice (v. 30) as well as of surety, of peace (v. 37). The final 2 verses separate the righteous from the wicked, their fates divergent and irreconcilable: the just will be freed from the wicked by Adonai, their shelter and protector (v. 40).

 

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