Shavu’ot is an unusual holiday when we compare it with the others on our calendar. Every other holiday has its own gimmick: Rosh Hashannah has the shofar, Yom Kippur, fasting. Sukkot has the sukkah and the four species. Pesach has the seder, matzah, and the havoc played with our digestive tracts. But what about Shavu’ot? It is the shortest of all holidays - one day in Israel, two in the Diaspora - so it is over before we know it, and more often than not, totally overlooked.
What makes Shavu’ot unique is its lack of anything that we might think of as unique. It seems like the most vanilla of all holidays; though if one is into vanilla ice cream it isn’t so bad, given the custom of eating dairy on this holiday. Cheesecake, blintzes, kugel; it is the easiest of holidays for the desert enthusiast (that’s me - and I make a mean cheesecake!)
Shavu’ot has its own troubled history. Unlike other holidays, there is no discretely stated date for this holiday in the Bible. Its scheduling is a matter for interpretation; read Lv 23:15-16 and you will see two verses that contributed to centuries of sectarian conflict and different calendars that existed in ancient Judaism. Evidence to some of these radically different calendars can be found among some of the Dead Sea Scrolls discovered in the past 60 years.
The historical motive behind the celebration of Shavu’ot is the revelation at Sinai, the day when all of Israel stood at the foot of Sinai and heard the utterance of the Ten Commandments. Perhaps, then, it is fitting that the celebration of the revelation is unlike any other in our calendar. Our tradition is almost entirely based on interpretation; we are recipients of a code that is all inclusive, that contains everything that we, as Jews, need to know, and it is up to us to figure out how to apply it to every situation. Hence, the Mishnah, known as the “Oral Torah,” the Talmuds, midrashic literature and the codes and responsa of Jewish law contain endless interpretations of how Torah is applied to every possible situation in our lives. We celebrate this great anniversary by understanding that it, too, is dependent on interpretation.
One of the great Shavu'ot traditions that has developed over the centuries is the study of Tiqqun Leyl Shavu’ot. The text of the Tiqqun includes the opening and closing verses of each Torah portion and select other passages, the opening and closing passages of each tractate of the Mishnah, and of other sacred texts. In this way, we are, in effect, receiving all of Torah, written word and oral tradition, once again. While some continue the recitation of the Tiqqun, others will gather on this night to engage in some form of extensive study of Jewish texts.
A midrash tells us that all Jews - all of us - were present at the foot of Sinai, and that we all participated in accepting the covenant between God and the Jewish People, binding ourselves for all time to that contract. It is a moment that is likened to a wedding, the marriage between God and Israel, and some synagogues have a custom of erecting a chuppah on the bimah. Sefaradim have the custom of reading a Ketubah, a marriage contract, between God, the groom, and His people Israel, the bride.
I recently read a lecture given by Sir Jonathan Sacks, Chief Rabbi of Great Britain, on the subject of revelation. In his speech, he mentions that the Hebrew language lacks a word like the English word “obey.” The closest analogue would be the Hebrew word shema, to hear, listen; Sacks notes that older English translations of the Torah tried to capture a more emphatic understanding of the word by using the archaism “to hearken.” If Sacks is correct, then our understanding of a covenantal relationship between us and God takes on a unique and powerful dimension. True, we have commandments, but our sense of “obedience” is vested in an act of communication. We see God coming to us in that most fundamentally human manner. God gives us words, God’s words, and God expects us to hear and respond. Our actions should lead us to dialogue, to hearing and understanding on a deeper level.
As Israel stood at the foot of Sinai, they accepted the covenant (or, according to that midrash, we accepted the covenant) by saying na’aseh v’nishma, we will act, and we will hear. Hearing on a deeper level, on an intimate level, depends on something more than just words, but on interaction that goes beyond words and expresses itself in action and deed.
Shavu’ot demands something from us that surpasses the ritual demands, or the gimmicks, of other holidays. Ritual has a place in our lives, but rituals can become rote. Our tradition is aware of the apparent conflict between keva, fixed rituals, and those acts based on kavannah, intention or internal motivation. Without the specific demands of a ritual, Shavu’ot asks that we recommit ourselves to receiving revelation, that we do so both intellectually and emotionally, that we engage in the ongoing conversation between us and God, and between ourselves and our tradition. We do that by engaging in the words with which God communicates with us, and by examining the ways others like ourselves engaged in that conversation over the centuries.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Monday, April 03, 2006
Leaving Mitzrayim... Again
בְּכָל דּוֹר וָדוֹר חַיָּב אָדָם לִרְאוֹת אֶת עַצְמוֹ כְּאִלּוּ הוּא יָצָא מִמִּצְרַיִם.
It would seem a tall order, to visualize oneself having participated in the Exodus. Yet, this statement takes a central place in our observance of the Seder of Pesach and its obligatory recounting.
Slavery did not end with the exodus. It revisits us repeatedly and in different ways. A Holocaust survivor may be able to come closest to the likely intent of this dictum, seeing himself as part of a surviving remnant of the larger Jewish people from the horrors of mass slavery and annihilation.
Tradition, however, suggests that we can read this in a way that can touch us all.
Hebrew is a consonantal language; the symbols employed in vocalization are a medieval invention. Just like the text in a Torah scroll, most classical Hebrew texts are published without vowels. The sages who interpreted the Tanakh often used this to their homiletical advantage. A popular example of this appears in many Siddurim:
אָמַר רַבִּי אֶלְעָזָר אָמַר רַבִּי חֲנִינָא: תַּלְמִידֵי חֲכָמִים מַרְבִּים שָׁלוֹם בָּעוֹלָם, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: וְכָל בָּנַיִךְ לִמּוּדֵי יְיָ, וְרַב שְׁלוֹם בָּנָיִךְ, אַל תִּקְרֵי בָּנָיִךְ אֶלָּא בּוֹנָיִךְ.
Likewise, there are many examples of “al tiqrei” homographs in rabbinic literature, where substitute readings are offered not for the purpose of textual emendation but for homiletic elaboration.
Returning to our passage, a late example of “al tiqrei” is offered suggesting that whenever we read mitzrayim (Egypt) we can instead read m’tzorim – under siege, or m’tzarim – under distress. Likewise, we can read the word Pharaoh as pera’oh, a cause of troubles. Indeed, there are many situations where people find themselves under siege, or in distress - if not physical, then psychological and spiritual - to circumstances that we may encounter. The Haggaddah refers to some of these circumstances, albeit in a limited way.
We begin the Seder by opening our doors and declaring: “all who are hungry should come in and eat, all in need should enter and participate in the Pesach.”
Poverty is not necessarily a permanent state, and it certainly need not be. Studies say that most Americans will endure poverty at some point in their lives. And those in that period of misfortune are most likely to encounter something akin to slavery, while trying to make ends meet by working under unfair, demeaning, and sometimes even illegal circumstances, without health benefits or security. Over the last decade, the US Department of Agriculture has studied trends in food security, the ability of a household to provide for the nutritional needs of family members. It is estimated that in 2004 nearly 12% of all American households, 38.2 million people, were “food insecure,” and that trend has been on an upswing since 1999. In that year, nearly 4% of all American households, approximately 11 million people, experienced hunger, in the world’s wealthiest country. Poverty and hunger are forms of social and economic enslavement, as are unemployment, underemployment, lack of access to health care, and homelessness, conditions driving one deeper into the m’tzarim.
Today’s economy demands a higher education in order in order to compete for jobs and to find some measure of financial security. Yet, access to university becomes increasingly challenging as costs climb annually. State colleges and universities are often under funded, making it even more difficult for people of limited means to attain an undergraduate degree.
There is also the Fourth Child, the one with cognitive difficulties “who knows not how to ask,” who in elementary and secondary education is often overlooked, not given access to professionals who can coach her and help her function in society. Many such children in this country grow into adults who are relegated to a life in the shadows and dependent on diminishing supports for people who cannot fend for themselves. All these find themselves in m’tzarim.
No one depends on miracles to wrest them from these forms of modern day bondage. Even in Mitzrayim, God’s miracles were accompanied by the human agency of Moshe to stand before Pharaoh and demand the liberation of his people. In America today, there are millions of people living in distress and too few Moshes to stand up for them. In Darfur, millions live under daily threat to their lives, and there are too few Moshes to stand for them.
As Jews, the Torah reminds us repeatedly that we were slaves in Mitzrayim and that we should comport ourselves accordingly. If we cannot relate to the slavery of ancient Mitzrayim, then we should try to relate to the m’tzarim of our day. The call may be more subtle and lack the drama of a burning bush, but the call is there. We cannot all be a Moshe, but we are not exempt from doing the best that we can be. Passover serves as a reminder that there is a call, and like Moshe, we should stand ready to respond, “Hineni – here I am.”
In every generation, one is obligated to see himself as if he came out from Egypt. (Haggaddah/m. Pesahim 10:5)
It would seem a tall order, to visualize oneself having participated in the Exodus. Yet, this statement takes a central place in our observance of the Seder of Pesach and its obligatory recounting.
Slavery did not end with the exodus. It revisits us repeatedly and in different ways. A Holocaust survivor may be able to come closest to the likely intent of this dictum, seeing himself as part of a surviving remnant of the larger Jewish people from the horrors of mass slavery and annihilation.
Tradition, however, suggests that we can read this in a way that can touch us all.
Hebrew is a consonantal language; the symbols employed in vocalization are a medieval invention. Just like the text in a Torah scroll, most classical Hebrew texts are published without vowels. The sages who interpreted the Tanakh often used this to their homiletical advantage. A popular example of this appears in many Siddurim:
אָמַר רַבִּי אֶלְעָזָר אָמַר רַבִּי חֲנִינָא: תַּלְמִידֵי חֲכָמִים מַרְבִּים שָׁלוֹם בָּעוֹלָם, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר: וְכָל בָּנַיִךְ לִמּוּדֵי יְיָ, וְרַב שְׁלוֹם בָּנָיִךְ, אַל תִּקְרֵי בָּנָיִךְ אֶלָּא בּוֹנָיִךְ.
Rabbi Elazar cited Rabbi Hanina: Scholars increase peace in the world, as it says: “All your children shall learn of God, and your children shall have abundant peace.” Do not read (al tiqrei) banayich (your sons,) read instead bonayich (those who understand you.) (B. Berakhot 64a)
Likewise, there are many examples of “al tiqrei” homographs in rabbinic literature, where substitute readings are offered not for the purpose of textual emendation but for homiletic elaboration.
Returning to our passage, a late example of “al tiqrei” is offered suggesting that whenever we read mitzrayim (Egypt) we can instead read m’tzorim – under siege, or m’tzarim – under distress. Likewise, we can read the word Pharaoh as pera’oh, a cause of troubles. Indeed, there are many situations where people find themselves under siege, or in distress - if not physical, then psychological and spiritual - to circumstances that we may encounter. The Haggaddah refers to some of these circumstances, albeit in a limited way.
We begin the Seder by opening our doors and declaring: “all who are hungry should come in and eat, all in need should enter and participate in the Pesach.”
Poverty is not necessarily a permanent state, and it certainly need not be. Studies say that most Americans will endure poverty at some point in their lives. And those in that period of misfortune are most likely to encounter something akin to slavery, while trying to make ends meet by working under unfair, demeaning, and sometimes even illegal circumstances, without health benefits or security. Over the last decade, the US Department of Agriculture has studied trends in food security, the ability of a household to provide for the nutritional needs of family members. It is estimated that in 2004 nearly 12% of all American households, 38.2 million people, were “food insecure,” and that trend has been on an upswing since 1999. In that year, nearly 4% of all American households, approximately 11 million people, experienced hunger, in the world’s wealthiest country. Poverty and hunger are forms of social and economic enslavement, as are unemployment, underemployment, lack of access to health care, and homelessness, conditions driving one deeper into the m’tzarim.
Today’s economy demands a higher education in order in order to compete for jobs and to find some measure of financial security. Yet, access to university becomes increasingly challenging as costs climb annually. State colleges and universities are often under funded, making it even more difficult for people of limited means to attain an undergraduate degree.
There is also the Fourth Child, the one with cognitive difficulties “who knows not how to ask,” who in elementary and secondary education is often overlooked, not given access to professionals who can coach her and help her function in society. Many such children in this country grow into adults who are relegated to a life in the shadows and dependent on diminishing supports for people who cannot fend for themselves. All these find themselves in m’tzarim.
No one depends on miracles to wrest them from these forms of modern day bondage. Even in Mitzrayim, God’s miracles were accompanied by the human agency of Moshe to stand before Pharaoh and demand the liberation of his people. In America today, there are millions of people living in distress and too few Moshes to stand up for them. In Darfur, millions live under daily threat to their lives, and there are too few Moshes to stand for them.
As Jews, the Torah reminds us repeatedly that we were slaves in Mitzrayim and that we should comport ourselves accordingly. If we cannot relate to the slavery of ancient Mitzrayim, then we should try to relate to the m’tzarim of our day. The call may be more subtle and lack the drama of a burning bush, but the call is there. We cannot all be a Moshe, but we are not exempt from doing the best that we can be. Passover serves as a reminder that there is a call, and like Moshe, we should stand ready to respond, “Hineni – here I am.”
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