Parashat Noach – The Tower of Babel from another perspective

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ירד ה’ לראות

Targum Onkelos – the translation of Onkelos, is a understood to be an authentic translation of the torah text into Babylonian Aramaic, probably composed around 80-120 CE.

In the Talmud (Megilla 3a:7) the rabbis thought it to be from the time of Ezra and Nehemiah and the return to Israel from Babylonian exile – around 450 BCE, showcased in the famous event on Rosh Hashanah when Nehemiah and Ezra read the whole Torah to the returned exiles at the water gate, translating and explaining as they went (Neh 8).

We read:

וְתַרְגּוּם שֶׁל תּוֹרָה, אוּנְקְלוֹס הַגֵּר אֲמָרוֹ? וְהָא אָמַר רַב אִיקָא בַּר אָבִין אָמַר רַב חֲנַנְאֵל אָמַר רַב: מַאי דִּכְתִיב: ״וַיִּקְרְאוּ בְּסֵפֶר תּוֹרַת הָאֱלֹהִים מְפוֹרָשׁ וְשׂוֹם שֶׂכֶל וַיָּבִינוּ בַּמִּקְרָא״. ״וַיִּקְרְאוּ בְּסֵפֶר תּוֹרַת הָאֱלֹהִים״ — זֶה מִקְרָא; ״מְפוֹרָשׁ״ — זֶה תַּרְגּוּם;

The Gemara asks: Was the translation of the Torah really composed by Onkelos the convert? Didn’t Rav Ika bar Avin say that Rav Ḥananel said that Rav said: What is the meaning of that which is written with respect to the days of Ezra: “And they read in the book, the Torah of God, distinctly; and they gave the sense, and they caused them to understand the reading” (Nehemiah 8:8)? The verse should be understood as follows: “And they read in the book, the Torah of God,” this is the scriptural text; “distinctly,” this is the translation, indicating that they immediately translated the text into Aramaic, as was customary during public Torah readings.

Quite who Onkelos was is impossible to know. There are those who consider him to be the same person as Aquila of Sinope, a convert and a student of Rabbi Akiva, who translated the Hebrew bible into Greek (possibly before his conversion) , and into Aramaic after converting.

We may never know who he was, but one characteristic stands out – the Targum Onkelos revises and mitigates language that might suggest that God has any kind of corporeality, or any anthropomorphic aspects. 

The other thing that the translation of Onkelos avoids is the sense of a spatial relationship between the heavens as the abode of the divine, and the earth.

So in the story of the Tower of Babel, when the biblical text (Gen 11:4-7) reads:

וַיֹּאמְרוּ הָבָה  נִבְנֶה־לָּנוּ עִיר וּמִגְדָּל וְרֹאשׁוֹ בַשָּׁמַיִם וְנַעֲשֶׂה־לָּנוּ שֵׁם פֶּן־נָפוּץ עַל־פְּנֵי כׇל־הָאָרֶץ׃

וַיֵּרֶד יְהֹוָה לִרְאֹת אֶת־הָעִיר וְאֶת־הַמִּגְדָּל אֲשֶׁר בָּנוּ בְּנֵי הָאָדָם׃  

וַיֹּאמֶר יְהֹוָה הֵן עַם אֶחָד וְשָׂפָה אַחַת לְכֻלָּם וְזֶה הַחִלָּם לַעֲשׂוֹת וְעַתָּה לֹא־יִבָּצֵר מֵהֶם כֹּל אֲשֶׁר יָזְמוּ לַעֲשׂוֹת׃

הָבָה נֵרְדָה וְנָבְלָה שָׁם שְׂפָתָם אֲשֶׁר לֹא יִשְׁמְעוּ אִישׁ שְׂפַת רֵעֵהוּ׃

And they said, “Come, let us build us a city, and a tower with its top in the sky, to make a name for ourselves; else we shall be scattered all over the world.”  GOD came down to look at the city and tower that the mortals had built, and GOD said, “If, as one people with one language for all, this is how they have begun to act, then nothing that they may propose to do will be out of their reach. Let us, then, go down and confound their speech there, so that they shall not understand one another’s speech.”

Onkelos translates it as:

וַאֲמָרוּ הָבוּ נִבְנֵי לָנָא קַרְתָּא וּמַגְדְּלָא וְרֵישֵׁיהּ מָטֵי עַד צֵית שְׁמַיָּא וְנַעְבֵּיד לָנָא שׁוּם דִּילְמָא נִתְבַּדַּר עַל אַפֵּי כָל אַרְעָא:

וְאִתְגְּלִי יְיָ לְאִתְפְּרָעָא עַל עוֹבָדֵי קַרְתָּא וּמַגְדְּלָא דִּי בְנוֹ בְּנֵי אֱנָשָׁא:

וַאֲמַר יְיָ הָא עַמָּא חַד וְלִישָׁן חַד לְכָלְּהוֹן וְדֵין דְּשָׁרִיוּ לְמֶעְבָּד וּכְעַן לָא יִתִּמְנַע מִנְהוֹן כֹּל דִּחַשִּׁיבוּ לְמֶעְבָּד:

הָבוּ נִתְגְּלִי וּנְבַלְבֵּל תַּמָּן לִישָׁנְהוֹן דִּלָא יִשְׁמְעוּן אֱנַשׁ לִישַׁן חַבְרֵיהּ:

Then they said, Come, we will build ourselves a city, and a tower whose top will reach the height of the heavens. Thus we will make ourselves a name, so that we will not be scattered all over the face of the earth. Adonai became revealed in order to punish them because of the building of the city and the tower that the sons of man built. Adonai said, Behold, they are one people, all having one language, and this is their first undertaking. Now will nothing be unattainable for them, [to do] whatever they have a mind to do?  Come, let us be revealed and jumble their language, that they will not understand one another’s language.

Why does Onkelos reject the idea of God descending to earth to see what is happening there?

The phrase “va’yered Adonai”  ירד ה’  appears in Tanach in a very few places – here in the story of the Tower of Babel, and once in potentia in Genesis 18:20 when “GOD said, “The outrage of Sodom and Gomorrah is so great, and their sin so grave! I will go down to see whether they have acted altogether according to the outcry that has reached Me; if not, I will take note.”

It appears twice in the book of Exodus, once at Sinai when God “descends on Mt Sinai and calls Moses up the mountain” (Ex 19:20) and again when Moses, having shattered the original tablets of stone on which were engraved the ten commandments, is told to come and repeat the process – this time God appears in a cloud next to Moses and declares the attributes of God (Ex 34:5).

The next time God “descends” is in the Book of Numbers, in the strange tale of the prophesying elders. The people are exhausted and frightened and complain against God, angering God and causing a fire to break out against them. They cried out, Moses prayed to God and the fire ends. But the people are hungry and demand meat to eat, remembering the fish, cucumber, melons, leeks, onions and garlic that were so plentiful in Egypt, whereas now all they have is manna to eat. The people complain and weep, distressing Moses and angering God, and Moses says to God “why do I have to carry the burden of these people alone? I would rather die than continue trying to lead them”  God’s response is to tell Moses to collect seventy elders of the people, bring them to the Tent of Meeting, and God will spread the burden of leadership from Moses alone to the seventy elders.  God then tells Moses to say to the people “Purify yourselves for tomorrow and you shall eat meat, for you have kept whining before GOD and saying, ‘If only we had meat to eat! Indeed, we were better off in Egypt!’ GOD will give you meat and you shall eat.” When Moses queries the logistics of feeding so many people the meat God appears to be promising, God asks “is there a limit to My power?” So Moses gathers the elders, and sure enough: “Then, after coming down in a cloud and speaking to him, GOD drew upon the spirit that was on him and put it upon the seventy elders. And when the spirit rested upon them, they spoke in ecstasy, but did not continue.” The end of the story is graphic and gory – an enormous number of quail appear, the people eat and eat and overeat, and God causes a plague among them and many of them die…..

And the final time that God “descends” in the Tanach – in Numbers 12, Miriam and Aaron are complaining about Moses and his marriage to the Cushite woman, and that they too have the gift of prophecy and leadership, not only Moses. God calls all three siblings to the Tent of Meeting and descends in a pillar of cloud, calls Miriam and Aaron forward and in no uncertain terms explains the very particular relationship with Moses that they do not share, and follows up by causing Miriam to be struck by a skin disease of pure white scaliness which causes her to be exiled from the camp until she is healed.

It would appear that when God descends it is either to demand more moral behaviour, or to punish those who are complaining about God or even challenging God’s decisions.  But there is also an element in these narratives of God revealing something particular about God-self – the covenant at Sinai, the organiser and provider of the exodus and sojourn in the desert with its concomitant expectations, and most clearly the unique nature of the divine relationship with Moses.

While much of bible has a sort of perpendicular dimension – God is most naturally to be found in the highest heavens, to be met or worshipped at the tops of mountains, a figure who might occasionally descend from there to earth, or send heavenly angels to do this on behalf of the divine, Onkelos rejects the imagery of God descending from one realm to another in favour of God revealing God’s self and purpose with acts of judgement.

The survivors of the great flood, traumatised and determined never to feel so vulnerable again, make a decision to reach into God’s domain by building a tower so high it reaches into the heavens. It is as if they are not only aiming to challenge God, but to venture into the divine domain, even to take on the role and responsibility of God. They are determined now to וְנַעֲשֶׂה־לָּנוּ שֵׁם פֶּן־נָפוּץ עַל־פְּנֵי כׇל־הָאָרֶץ  to make for themselves a name, to prevent them from being scattered across the earth.  The phrase echoes the story of Adam and Eve: the creation of names, the expulsion and scattering from a place where they feel secure and unified, to fend for themselves in a frightening environment.

It is as if the people imagine the way to protect themselves is to infiltrate the heavens and so they build a vertical bridge in order to claim that space.  Onkelos, living and writing a generation or so after the cataclysm of the destruction of the temple (or if some are to be believed living and writing after the Babylonian exile), reads the text with a different lens. What the people desire – a tower so high it reaches into the heavens – will not cause God to “descend” into our world, will not form a bridge or a ladder between domains. Instead, Onkelos sees the reaction of God not to come closer, not to inspect their work or discover something about their activity – Onkelos sees God choosing instead to reveal the very presence of God, to both punish and destabilise them.

In the garden of Eden, after the eating of the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, God says (Genesis 3:20ff)

וַיֹּאמֶר  יְהֹוָה אֱלֹהִים הֵן הָאָדָם הָיָה כְּאַחַד מִמֶּנּוּ לָדַעַת טוֹב וָרָע וְעַתָּה  פֶּן־יִשְׁלַח יָדוֹ וְלָקַח גַּם מֵעֵץ הַחַיִּים וְאָכַל וָחַי לְעֹלָם׃ וַיְשַׁלְּחֵהוּ יְהֹוָה אֱלֹהִים מִגַּן־עֵדֶן לַעֲבֹד אֶת־הָאֲדָמָה אֲשֶׁר לֻקַּח מִשָּׁם׃

וַיְגָרֶשׁ אֶת־הָאָדָם וַיַּשְׁכֵּן מִקֶּדֶם לְגַן־עֵדֶן אֶת־הַכְּרֻבִים וְאֵת לַהַט הַחֶרֶב הַמִּתְהַפֶּכֶת לִשְׁמֹר אֶת־דֶּרֶךְ עֵץ הַחַיִּים׃ {ס}        

And the ETERNAL God said, “Now that humankind has become like any of us, knowing good and bad, what if one should stretch out a hand and take also from the tree of life and eat, and live forever!” So the ETERNAL God banished them from the garden of Eden, to till the ground from which they were taken: humankind was driven out; and east of the garden of Eden were stationed the cherubim and the fiery ever-turning sword, to guard the way to the tree of life.

The first humans are sent out from Eden not because they ate of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, but because having done so, they might next eat from the tree of eternal life – becoming immortal, a quality that belongs only to the divine.

Now the surviving humans are sent out from the plains of Shinar where they are building their city and tower to challenge the heavens, and their languages multiplied so that they cannot understand each other easily.

In the first story God has created a garden in which both human beings and God can co-exist, in the second people create a tower in which both human beings and God can be together – and both stories end in pain and distress.

I think that Onkelos rejects the whole idea of the creation of “shared space”, or of God in the highest space yet “descending to our world” as being somehow too dangerous to exist. Instead, he chooses an ineffable unknowable God, a God we cannot request or require, a God not in a far-off and separate domain, but one who is present even in our distress, a God who does not need to come and see what we are doing because God is already present, able to observe us at close quarters. In Onkelos’ translation, God chooses to make visible what the people have not understood – God is present and continues to be so, and that our role in this world is to be human beings who trust in God’s presence even when it is hard to see, rather than challenging God or trying on the role of divinity for ourselves.

There is a poem written on the wall of a cellar in Cologne during the second world war, the author is unknown, but I think Onkelos would have approved:

I believe in the sun
even when it is not shining
And I believe in love,
even when there’s no one there.
And I believe in God,
even when He is silent.
I believe through any trial,
there is always a way
But sometimes in this suffering
and hopeless despair
My heart cries for shelter,
to know someone’s there
But a voice rises within me, saying hold on
my child, I’ll give you strength,
I’ll give you hope. Just stay a little while.
I believe in the sun
even when it is not shining
And I believe in love
even when there’s no one there
But I believe in God
even when he is silent
I believe through any trial
there is always a way.
May there someday be sunshine
May there someday be happiness
May there someday be love
May there someday be peace….”

Bereishit – For Reishit God Created: Challah, Bikkurim, Ma’as’rot

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“Rav Huna said in the name of Rav Matana: The world was created for the sake of three things: For the sake of challah, for the sake of tithes, and for the sake of first fruits. What is the source? “In the beginning, [bereishit] *Or, for the sake of reshit. God created,” and reshit is nothing other than challah, as it is stated: “The first of [reshit] your kneading basket” (Numbers 15:20). Reshit is nothing other than tithes, as it says: “The first [reshit] of your grain” (Deuteronomy 18:4). And reshit is nothing other than first fruits, as it is stated: “The choicest of [reshit] the first fruits of your land…” (Exodus 23:19)”  (Genesis Rabbah 1:4)

. רַב הוּנָא בְּשֵׁם רַב מַתְנָה אָמַר, בִּזְכוּת שְׁלשָׁה דְּבָרִים נִבְרָא הָעוֹלָם, בִּזְכוּת חַלָּה, וּבִזְכוּת מַעַשְׂרוֹת, וּבִזְכוּת בִּכּוּרִים, וּמַה טַּעַם, בְּרֵאשִׁית בָּרָא אֱלֹהִים, וְאֵין רֵאשִׁית אֶלָא חַלָּה, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר (במדבר טו, כ): רֵאשִׁית עֲרִסֹתֵיכֶם, אֵין רֵאשִׁית אֶלָּא מַעַשְׂרוֹת, הֵיךְ דְּאַתְּ אָמַר (דברים יח, ד): רֵאשִׁית דְּגָנְךָ, וְאֵין רֵאשִׁית אֶלָּא בִּכּוּרִים, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר (שמות כג, יט): רֵאשִׁית בִּכּוּרֵי אַדְמָתְךָ וגו’.

We have other rabbinic statements about the world and three things – for example in Mishnah Pirkei Avot we read  “Shimon the Righteous was from the remnants of the Great Assembly. He would say, “On three things the world stands: on the Torah, on prayer/worship and on acts of lovingkindness.” Pirkei Avot 1:2

And  Rabbi Shimon ben Gamliel says, “On three things the world stands: on judgment, on truth and on peace, as it is said (Zachariah 8:16), ‘Judge truth and the justice of peace in your gates.'”  (Pirkei Avot 1:18)

Much of Jewish philosophy is predicated on the relationship between God, Torah, Israel and/or Creation, Revelation, Redemption… but Rav Matana’s statement as reported by Rav Huna speaks of something even more foundational. 

Why did God create the world? This is a question that intrigues theologians of every stripe and in every era. And Rav Matana has an answer – for the sake of the three “reishit” found in the biblical text.  He ties this to the almost untranslatable “b’reishit”, reading it not as “at the first” (or for those who love the KJV version “in the beginning” but “for the first things”.

At first glance we can see that the reference is to three significant concepts in Jewish thought – Challah, Bikkurim (first fruits) and Ma’as’rot (tithes) are all things that the religious Jew living on the Land of Israel are expected to offer up rather than take for themselves, they are all offered to God both to acknowledge that God is the source of these products (and therefore the source of the blessing they bring), and to show gratitude that God has provided them.

All three are foods that we give away at least a part of – they remind us that we are not the owner of our provisions, that we have responsibility to feed and support others, that the world is created for us to share.

And in effect, all three are used in repeated iterations of ritual to remind us that ultimately we are dependent on God for our food and for our continued existence.

 As Moses warns the people in one of his final homilies, and as we take into our own Birkat Hamazon liturgy (Grace after Meals)

וְאָכַלְתָּ וְשָׂבָעְתָּ וּבֵרַכְתָּ אֶת־יְהֹוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ עַל־הָאָרֶץ הַטֹּבָה אֲשֶׁר נָתַן־לָךְ׃ הִשָּׁמֶר לְךָ פֶּן־תִּשְׁכַּח אֶת־יְהֹוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ לְבִלְתִּי שְׁמֹר מִצְוֺתָיו וּמִשְׁפָּטָיו וְחֻקֹּתָיו אֲשֶׁר אָנֹכִי מְצַוְּךָ הַיּוֹם׃

פֶּן־תֹּאכַל וְשָׂבָעְתָּ וּבָתִּים טֹבִים תִּבְנֶה וְיָשָׁבְתָּ׃ וּבְקָרְךָ וְצֹאנְךָ יִרְבְּיֻן וְכֶסֶף וְזָהָב יִרְבֶּה־לָּךְ וְכֹל אֲשֶׁר־לְךָ יִרְבֶּה׃

וְרָם לְבָבֶךָ וְשָׁכַחְתָּ אֶת־יְהֹוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ הַמּוֹצִיאֲךָ מֵאֶרֶץ מִצְרַיִם מִבֵּית עֲבָדִים׃ הַמּוֹלִיכְךָ בַּמִּדְבָּר  הַגָּדֹל וְהַנּוֹרָא נָחָשׁ  שָׂרָף וְעַקְרָב וְצִמָּאוֹן אֲשֶׁר אֵין־מָיִם הַמּוֹצִיא לְךָ מַיִם מִצּוּר הַחַלָּמִישׁ׃

הַמַּאֲכִלְךָ מָן בַּמִּדְבָּר אֲשֶׁר לֹא־יָדְעוּן אֲבֹתֶיךָ לְמַעַן עַנֹּתְךָ וּלְמַעַן נַסֹּתֶךָ לְהֵיטִבְךָ בְּאַחֲרִיתֶךָ׃

וְאָמַרְתָּ בִּלְבָבֶךָ כֹּחִי וְעֹצֶם יָדִי עָשָׂה לִי אֶת־הַחַיִל הַזֶּה׃ וְזָכַרְתָּ אֶת־יְהֹוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ כִּי הוּא הַנֹּתֵן לְךָ כֹּחַ לַעֲשׂוֹת חָיִל לְמַעַן הָקִים אֶת־בְּרִיתוֹ אֲשֶׁר־נִשְׁבַּע לַאֲבֹתֶיךָ כַּיּוֹם הַזֶּה׃ {פ}

וְהָיָה אִם־שָׁכֹחַ תִּשְׁכַּח אֶת־יְהֹוָה אֱלֹהֶיךָ וְהָלַכְתָּ אַחֲרֵי אֱלֹהִים אֲחֵרִים וַעֲבַדְתָּם וְהִשְׁתַּחֲוִיתָ לָהֶם הַעִדֹתִי בָכֶם הַיּוֹם כִּי אָבֹד תֹּאבֵדוּן׃

When you have eaten your fill, give thanks to the ETERNAL your God for the good land given to you.  Take care lest you forget the ETERNAL your God and fail to keep the commandments, rules, and laws that I enjoin upon you today.  When you have eaten your fill, and have built fine houses to live in, and your herds and flocks have multiplied, and your silver and gold have increased, and everything you own has prospered, beware lest your heart grow haughty and you forget the ETERNAL your God—who freed you from the land of Egypt, the house of bondage; who led you through the great and terrible wilderness with its seraph serpents and scorpions, a parched land with no water in it, who brought forth water for you from the flinty rock; who fed you in the wilderness with manna, which your ancestors had never known, in order to test you by hardships only to benefit you in the end— and you say to yourselves, “My own power and the might of my own hand have won this wealth for me.” Remember that it is the ETERNAL your God who gives you the power to get wealth, in fulfilment of the covenant made on oath with your fathers, as is still the case. If you do forget the ETERNAL your God and follow other gods to serve them or bow down to them, I warn you this day that you shall certainly perish; like the nations that GOD will cause to perish before you, so shall you perish—because you did not heed the ETERNAL your God. (Deuteronomy 8:10-20)

As we dismantle our succot, used to remind us of the fragility of our existence and the importance of not only working with and caring for our environment to provide ourselves with enough food but also of recognising the ultimate Source of both environment and food, this midrash is a timely reminder that our physical world should never be taken for granted.

But Judah Loew ben Bezalel, known as the Maharal of Prague (1524-1609) had a different perspective on the items in this midrash.

His world view was ordered and structured – the natural realm of order (seder) and the exceptional or transcendent moments within it (nivdal).  A single unified reality can be layered into different dimensions, and those dimensions relate to each other either actively, or as acted upon. (P’al / Niphal)

And when the different levels or elements of reality interact, they can either stay the same and unique (yesodot) , become a mixture of two or more separate and recognisable units (ta’aravot), or else they become something entirely new (tark’ovot).

For the Maharal, the three things for which the world was created – challah, bikkurim and ma’aserot –reflect these three realities –

The bikkurim – the individual first fruits – are the yesodot.   The bikkurim are taken from the first ripening fruits of the seven species of Israel –  Deuteronomy 8:8 speaks of the Land of Israel as “A land of wheat, and barley, and vines, and fig trees and pomegranates; a land of olive oil and (date) honey. Any farmer was commanded to notice the first ripened fig or bunch of grapes or pomegranate etc and to mark it, declaring that these are the bikkurim. They would then bring them to the Temple in Jerusalem and offer them to the priests.  The mitzvah is focused on individual fruits, and the actions of the individual farmer, and so exemplify the individual nature of this reality.

The ma’as’rot is different – it refers to the grains of wheat or barley, harvested at different times according to the summer and winter rains. One cannot separate a grain, so the farmer was to aggregate the harvested grains, separate out a tenth, which can then be offered. The scale of the tithe is very different to that of bikkurim – tithing grain is a much larger operation, yet the individuality of each grain remains distinct. It is as if the individual retains their individuality, but is also part of a bigger group – a community, a people. This is ta’aravot

And finally Challah – Challah dough is a mixture of ground grain (flour) and water, with maybe the addition of salt or of oil. But once mixed, none of these components can be unmixed, nor can they be recognised as their individual parts.  A new thing has been brought into being, a fully unified creation (tark’ovot). And this too is offered to God in gratitude and understanding.

The Maharal understands the three – bikkurim, ma’as’rot and challah – as being points on a journey of creation. We begin as self interested individuals, gradually we mix and join with others, forming relationships, propinquity,  community; and finally we create a new thing entirely, where each of us has an important role but where separation becomes unnecessary – we have completed the task we were created for.

And the Maharal  understood too that God created each stage, that each point on the journey is iterated and reiterated until we come to our final days.

So why was the world created for the sake of challah, bikkurim and ma’as’rot? One might say it was created to teach us humility, to teach us the importance of developing mutual relationships, to teach us community and the recognition of the value of each other, and to teach us gratitude.

Not a bad lesson to take with us into the coming year.

בָּרוּךְ אַתָּה יְהֹוָה אֱלֹהֵינוּ מֶלֶךְ הָעוֹלָם שֶׁהֶחֱיָנוּ וְקִיְּמָנוּ וְהִגִּיעָנוּ לַזְמַן הַזֶּה:

Blessed are You Eternal our God, Sovereign of the Universe, who has kept us alive and established us and brought us to this season.

Sukkot – Trust in God is important, but we also have to take ourselves in hand

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The two mitzvot associated with the festival of Sukkot can be found in the book of Leviticus, chapter 23. In verse 40 we are told “On the first day [of the festival] you shall take the fruit of goodly trees, branches of palm trees, boughs of leafy trees and willows of the brook…..”. These are the four species that we today know as the etrog, lulav, myrtle and willow. The rabbis taught that we hold the four species together and wave them in all of the directions of the compass, as well as upwards and downwards. In this way, we mobilize the winds that blow from all directions to bring rain for the new season of sowing and harvest.

Then in Leviticus 23: 42-43 we read, “You shall live in booths [Sukkot] seven days; all citizens in Israel shall live in booths, in order that future generations may know that I made the Israelite people live in booths when I brought them out of the land of Egypt…..”.

So what is Sukkot about? Is it a harvest festival of thanks towards the end of the agricultural year, or is it a theological festival of reminder of our history and unrootedness? Is it a about richness and plenty in the land in which we live, or about fragility and vulnerability and a sense of mobility? How do we allow it to be about both – plenty and fragility, rootedness and journeying?

To begin to understand it, we can look to Rabbi Yitz Greenberg who contrasts Sukkot with Pesach. He points out, “Pesach celebrates a single, intense moment of freedom in the life of the Jewish people. At the exodus from Egypt, the divine erupted into human experience. Pesach is therefore a season of miracles. At the exodus the people were required only to take the first step, and God did the rest.

Sukkot, on the other hand, does not celebrate a moment of miracle, a moment when ordinary time ceased. On the contrary, Sukkot calls to mind a protracted period of wandering, of marking time. At Sukkot God is, as it were, hidden in the everyday. Sukkot reminds us of 40 years during which the people Israel had to deal with the basic requirements of everyday existence: water, food, the clothes on their backs, the roof over their heads. “

Greenberg’s insight is that these two festivals, Pesach and Sukkot, are two sides of the same coin. As human beings, we seek moments of “divine rapture”, moments that take us out of time, beyond the everyday. Such moments deepen our spiritual appreciation of life; they give us a sense of God’s grandeur. But our reality is that we spend most of our lives journeying through uncharted territory, facing the everyday demands that life places upon us, and a long distance from any moments of certain and wonderful encounter with God. Our daily life is routine, it is a constant struggle to keep up with what needs to be done, and our prayers are also to some extent routine and regular rather than heightened by awareness of God.

Just as Pesach and Sukkot represent two sides of the same coin of connection with God, so they fall at opposite ends of the Jewish year: Pesach on the 15th day of the first Hebrew month (Nisan), and Sukkot on the 15th day of the seventh month (Tishrei). Our lives revolve around these two poles of the Jewish year, which represent our longing for the miraculous, on the one hand, and our everyday experience of reality, on the other.

The two mitzvot of Sukkot focus on the basic needs of everyday life: water (represented by the waving of the four species) and shelter (represented by the sukkah). At Pesach, when we recall how the natural world was overturned and slaves became free, it is easy to acknowledge the impact of the divine on the life of our people but Sukkot reminds us that even in the absence of such dramatic moments of miracle, God is still at work in our lives and can be encountered in the everyday, the natural world, the regularity of fulfilling basic needs and living each day successfully.

Pesach and Sukkot remind us of the presence of God in our lives in very different ways. In the dramatic and in the ordinary – we can find God both at times of crisis and in the mundane routine of our lives, should we choose to really look.

A connection with the Divine Being is both nourishing of and challenging to our spiritual lives. Each festival has its way of directing our attention to that connection, and to the way the trajectories of our lives are developed. But there is another way to look at the symbols of Sukkot – specifically at the four species.

Rabbi Moni taught about the lulav and etrog using the verse from Psalms “all my limbs shall say, ‘God, who is like You?’ (Ps. 35:10). He said “This verse was only said in reference to the lulav. The spine of the lulav resembles the spine of a person; the hadass (myrtle) resembles the eye; the aravah (willow) resembles the mouth; the etrog resembles the heart. [King] David said: these are the most significant organs of the body, for they encapsulate the entire person. (Vayikra Rabbah 30:14)

It is a Midrash we know well, that in using the bundle of lulav and etrog together in worshipping God and in calling for the rains, we are taking our whole selves into the activity. But extend this idea a little further and you see that when we take hold of the lulav and etrog, we are in effect holding ourselves in our own hands, enjoying a rare chance to look at ourself from the outside. Just five days after Yom Kippur, when we have spent over a month in introspection and thought about ourselves and our lives, we are privileged to take one last external and objective look at ourselves. But more than that, we can see ourselves clearly but we also have ourselves literally in our own hands. We can decide in which direction to point ourselves in the year ahead and actually ‘take our own life in our own hands’ and start the process with a clarity of our own making, with our own decision making and with ownership of our own choices.

Sukkot, that most universal of festivals, rich with symbolism of our own vulnerability and dependence on God – yet at the same time with the powerful symbolism of our trust in our continued existence, is a time when we begin our journey anew, when we take ourselves in hand and make something of the year to come. Trust in God is all very well, the symbolism reminds us, but we have to rely also on our selves and not wait for some divine intervention to bring about the purpose of our lives, or to save us.

The twenty ninth day of Elul

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Finding our way to forgiveness – to look for it or to offer it – is a process of mind, body and soul. It begins with a decision – or maybe better – a choice.
It is the decision to let go what has hurt us, to choose to leave vengeance to God, as the bible says. It is the decision not to look for revenge or for payback, to choose to stop letting the one/s who hurt us continue to live rent free in our heads. We can choose to quarantine our negativity, to free ourselves from our anger or resentments.
It is not an easy choice to make, and it is probably not a one-time decision – it is an ongoing “choosing” – a determination not to be governed by bad feelings and – however legitimate – antipathies.
It is the choice that will promote our healing and our inner peace. Will stabilise and ground us, helping us back into life
The “prepare and enrich” workbook for couples says of forgiveness:
“It is also important to be clear about what forgiveness is not. Forgiveness is not forgetting, condoning, or perpetuating injustice. Since it is sometimes unsafe or impossible, forgiveness does not always involve reconciliation. Forgiveness is not always quick; it is a process that can take time to unfold.”

Making the choice towards seeking or granting forgiveness can change the year ahead for each of us. Taking the time to review what we need to do this, to look for forgiveness and to ask for it, or else to offer it where we can – this can change us and it can change our world.

The rabbis tell us that God watches us and how we treat others. And God’s decisions are partly based on our own behaviour. If we treat others with compassion and forgiveness, how will God not be able to treat us with that same warm compassion and forgiveness?

the twenty eighth day of Elul

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What do we do when we remember?
The Hebrew root זָכַר appears about 240 times in Tanakh – meaning to call to mind, mentioning, or bringing to active awareness. The verb extends beyond cognitive recall; and includes the expectation of acting on what is remembered.
It is not surprising that the command to remember is so powerful in Judaism and Jewish texts – with no remembering there is no story to be passed down the generations, there is no long term identity, there is no more past, present and future.
And remembering is one of the first stages of teshuvah – of our journey back towards God, our journey to become our best selves, to return to who we would ideally be.
But remembering can also be problematic. Sometimes it is a mitzvah to forget, to let go of emotions that hold us back from the journey of teshuvah.
And sometimes the problem is that remembering is an active behaviour, and as we remember we already change what was. Years ago as an undergraduate I was taught that memory had been thought to be fixed, that one could take it out and examine it and return it without change, but that that understanding of memory was painfully wrong. Each time we examine a memory, consider it, relive it, or simply recall it – we change it and we return it changed.
As Marcel Proust famously wrote ““Remembrance of things past is not necessarily the remembrance of things as they were.”
Sometimes memory plays us false by providing us with the bittersweet feelings of nostalgia, as we yearn for something we may never truly have had, but certainly can not recreate exactly in our present. Sometimes memory damages us by the different lenses time has evolved, so that what happened in the past may be seen quite differently then than we see it in the present. As LP Hartley wrote in The Go-Between: “The past is a foreign country, they do things differently there”
Memory can be a false friend, but we cannot disentangle ourselves from the need to remember. It is important to remember and review, to repent and to mitigate, to let go and to move forward towards living the life of our best selves. But as you think back, remember that memory is created by us, changed by our interaction with it, not always what it seems
Rabbi Shmuel bar Nachmani (Berachot 55b) wrote “A person is shown in a dream only what is suggested by their own thoughts…”
We remember through the lens of history, of experiences, of emotion.
Judaism commands us to remember – the sabbath day, the covenant at Sinai, the exodus from Egypt – to remember and to tell the story so others remember too.
Going forward, what do you want to remember? And what do you need to forget?
What do you want others to remember? And what do you hope they will forget?
Memories can be created in every moment we live – and they can be overlaid and enriched by how we continue to explore them. Life is for building on memories and for making memories. Until our last breath, making memories is the gift we have been given.

The twenty seventh day of Elul

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After my death mourn me this way:
‘There was a man-and see: he is no more;
before his time this man died
and his life’s song in mid-bar stopped;
and oh, it is sad! One more song he had
and now the song is gone for good,
gone for good!

And it is very sad!-a harp too he had
a living being and murmurous
and the poet in his words in it
all of his heart’s secret revealed,
and all the strings his hand gave breath
but one secret his heart kept hid,
round and round his fingers played,
and one string stayed mute,
mute to this day!

And it is sad, very sad!
All of her days this string moved,
mute she moved, mute she shook,
for her song, her beloved redeemer
she yearned, thirsted, grieved and longed
as a heart pines for its intended:
and though he hesitated each day she waited
and in a secret moan begged for him to come,
and he hesitated and never came,
never came!

And great, great is the pain!
There was a man-and see: he is no more,
and his life’s song in mid-bar stopped,
one more song he had to go,
and now the song is gone for good,
gone for good! (Hayim Nachman Bialik)

אחרי מותי
אַחֲרֵי מוֹתִי סִפְדוּ כָּכָה לִי:
“הָיָה אִישׁ – וּרְאוּ: אֵינֶנּוּ עוֹד;
קֹדֶם זְמַנּוֹ מֵת הָאִישׁ הַזֶּה,
וְשִׁירַת חַיָּיו בְּאֶמְצַע נִפְסְקָה;
וְצַר! עוֹד מִזְמוֹר אֶחָד הָיָה-לּוֹ –
וְהִנֵּה אָבַד הַמִּזְמוֹר לָעַד,
אָבַד לָעַד!

וְצַר מְאֹד! הֵן כִּנּוֹר הָיָה-לּוֹ –
נֶפֶשׁ חַיָּה וּמְמַלְּלָה,
וְהַמְשׁוֹרֵר מִדֵּי דַבְּרוֹ בוֹ
אֶת-כָּל-רָזֵי לִבּוֹ הִגִּיד לוֹ,
וְכָל-הַנִּימִין יָדוֹ דוֹבְבָה,
אַךְ רָז אֶחָד בְּקִרְבּוֹ הִכְחִיד,
סְחוֹר סְחוֹר לוֹ אֶצְבְּעוֹתָיו פִּזְּזוּ,
נִימָה אַחַת אִלְּמָה נִשְׁאֲרָה,
אִלְּמָה נִשְׁאֲרָה עַד-הַיּוֹם!

וְצַר מְאֹד, מְאֹד!
כָּל-יָמֶיהָ זָעָה נִימָה זוֹ,
דּוּמָם זָעָה, דּוּמָם רָעֲדָה,
אֶל-מִזְמוֹרָהּ, דּוֹדָהּ גּוֹאֲלָהּ,
כָּמְהָה, צָמְאָה, עָגְמָה, נִכְסְפָה,
כַּאֲשֶׁר יֶעְגַּם לֵב לַמְזֻמָּן לוֹ;
וְאִם-הִתְמַהְמַהּ – בְּכָל-יוֹם חִכְּתָה-לּוֹ
וּבִנְהִימָה טְמִירָה שִׁוְּעָה-לּוֹ –
וְהוּא הִתְמַהְמַהּ אַף לֹא-בָא,
אַף לֹא-בָא!

וְגָדוֹל מְאֹד, מְאֹד הַכְּאֵב!
הָיָה אִישׁ – וּרְאוּ: אֵינֶנּוּ עוֹד,
וְשִׁירַת חַיָּיו בְּאֶמְצַע נִפְסְקָה;
עוֹד שִׁיר מִזְמוֹר אֶחָד הָיָה-לּוֹ,
וְהִנֵּה אָבַד הַמִּזְמוֹר לָעַד,
אָבַד לָעַד!”

Elul is a time for remembering and reviewing our lives so as to go forward refreshed and with new intent and hope, prepared to do better than before. Rosh Hashanah is also known as Yom HaDin – Judgment day. We are not only going to face our own internal voice, but will do so under the watchful eye and ear of the Eternal One.
This poem by Bialik, who, though he died before the State of Israel came into being, effectively became its national poet, is a good reminder that time is not unlimited, that at some point we need to stop excusing or dissembling and really face what is important to us, do what is important to us, become what is important to us.
There is a tradition in Judaism to write not only a material will, but an ethical will too – to offer to those who come after us the hard won knowledge an wisdom we want to accompany them on their journeys. It is a good exercise to revisit such a will each Elul, to sing our life’s songs, to try to ensure their continuation. We continue to live as long as we are remembered.
The days leading up to Yom haDin are fewer and fewer. It is time to get serious. What is the song you need to sing? What would you put in your ethical will?

The twenty sixth day of Elul

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MISHNAH: Rebbi Neḥoniah ben Haqqanah used to recite a short prayer when he entered and when he left the house of study. They asked him, what kind of prayer is this? He told them: When I enter, I pray that no mishap should come through me and when I leave I give thanks for my lot….
Gemara:…. In the house of Rebbi Yannai they say: He who awakes from his sleep must say “Praised are You, o Eternal, Who resurrects the dead. My Lord, I sinned before You. May it please You, o Eternal, my God, that You might give me a good heart, good part, good inclinations, good hope, good repute, benevolent eye, good soul, meek soul and meek spirit. Your Name should not be desecrated by us; do not make us a byword in the mouths of all creatures; our future should not end in destruction, nor our hope in sorrow… (Jerusalem Talmud Berachot 4:2)
There are many personal prayers in tractate Berachot in both of the Talmuds, and many of them resonate powerfully to this day. But coming across this one – a prayer both about personal responsibility and about the responsibility we have for others, feels particularly relevant to this season and this year. Rebbi Nehonia was a contemporary of R. Yochanan ben Zakkai, a 2nd generation tanna. He directed his own academy and authored several prayers and laws. Highly respected by his peers, he attributed his unusually advanced age to his harmonious relations with others. His prayer that he would not mislead or misinform others in the study house, and his gratitude for his lot show both humility and deep appreciation for his life. But it is the prayer of R. Yannai, to be said every morning on wakening and to add to the blessing for the return of the soul to the body, asking God for a good heart, good reputation, good actions… and then the petition that our actions align with God’s expectations of us, that we do not act to create a Hillul haShem, desecrating the name of God in the world, and finally that we should continue into the future, that we should continue to hope. The prayer goes from the very personal and individual into the equally personal but communal space – we belong to a community, how we behave in that community and how that community behaves in our name is part of the same “whole”.

The twenty fifth day of Elul

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Ani Ve’Ata (Me and You)
by Arik Einshtein

Ani v’Ata by Arik Einstein

Me and You
Me and you, we’ll change the world
Me and you, then all the others will come
It was already said before
It doesn’t matter
Me and you, we’ll change the world.
Me and you, we’ll try from the beginning
It will be bad for us,
Never mind, it’s not terrible
It was already said before
It doesn’t matter
Me and you, we’ll change the world.
Me and you, we’ll change the world
Me and you, then all the others will come
It was already said before
It doesn’t matter
Me and you, we’ll change the world.

אֲנִי וְאַתָּה

אֲנִי וְאַתָּה נְשָׁנֶה אֶת הַעוֹלָם,
אֲנִי וְאַתָּה אַז יַבוֹאוּ כְּבָר כּוּלָּם,
אַמְרוּ אֶת זֶה קוֹדֶם לְפַנָי,
לֹא מְשָׁנֶה – אֲנִי וְאַתָּה נְשָׁנֶה אֶת הַעוֹלָם.

אֲנִי וְאַתָּה נְנָסֶה מֵהַתְחָלָה,
יְהֶיֶה לָנוּ רַע, אֵין דָּבָר זֶה לֹא נוֹרָא,
אַמְרוּ אֶת זֶה קוֹדֶם לְפַנָי,
זֶה לֹא מְשָׁנֶה – אֲנִי וְאַתָּה נְשָׁנֶה אֶת הַעוֹלָם.

אֲנִי וְאַתָּה נְשָׁנֶה אֶת הַעוֹלָם,
אֲנִי וְאַתָּה אַז יַבוֹאוּ כְּבָר כּוּלָּם,
אַמְרוּ אֶת זֶה קוֹדֶם לְפַנָי,
לֹא מְשָׁנֶה – אֲנִי וְאַתָּה נְשָׁנֶה אֶת הַעוֹלָם.

Arik Einstein wrote this song in 1971, and it quickly became the song for a generation, who needed the optimism it expressed and who desperately wanted to believe that the world could be changed for the better by them.
The narrative seems fairly simple – together we can change the world, others will come and join us, some will scoff and mock, we aren’t the first generation to try to do this and others have failed. But none of this matters because you and I can change the world.
But look a little deeper than youthful optimism expressed in song. Ani v’Ata – You and I – it echoes Martin Buber’s I-Thou philosophy – the relationship between human beings is predicated on the relationship between human beings and God and God (the Eternal ‘Thou’). Sometimes our relationships with others are superficial or contractual or otherwise “others” the other – we treat people as objects rather than find ourselves seeing them and their humanity, rather than creating deeper relationship. But as Buber writes, it is possible for us to create good and satisfying and mutually beneficial relationships with others if we take from what we have learned from our I-Thou relationship and use it in the human realm.
There is of course more to this song – You and I – we need each other, we need the partnership and the relationship of others for us to be our best selves. Just as God creates an “ezer k’negdo” a partner who is equal and different from the first human being in Genesis, so all human being need others to help them to grow and to change.
And then the other “hooks” in the song – “it will be bad for us” “it was already said before” – referencing the hardships of people who strive to be different, to bring change, to lead others and convince them of the importance of what is needed to be done. Referencing the endless iterations of people trying and failing to make change, who often then come to believe that change is not possible.
But this song says – change is possible. It will be hard for us and we may find others mocking or tearing down our visions of the future, but change is possible. We can do it together. It is up to the reader who is the partner – it can be other people it can be a relationship with the divine, it can be both possibilities – But it is always possible to change, and it is up to us to make the first steps towards change.

The twenty fourth day of Elul

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אַחַת  שָׁאַלְתִּי מֵאֵת־יְהֹוָה אוֹתָהּ אֲבַקֵּשׁ שִׁבְתִּי בְּבֵית־יְהֹוָה כׇּל־יְמֵי חַיַּי לַחֲזוֹת בְּנֹעַם־יְהֹוָה וּלְבַקֵּר בְּהֵיכָלוֹ׃
One thing I ask of God, only that do I seek:
to live in God’s house all the days of my life,
to gaze upon God’s beauty, to frequent the temple.

There is a widespread practice in the Jewish world to recite psalm 27 from the beginning of Elul until the end of Sukkot, a practice that is said to have stemmed from the kabbalistic belief that the name of God is found in it thirteen times, and these correspond to thirteen pathways of mercy, so the psalm enables us to reach the mercy of God and annul the expected heavenly decrees of judgement we might face at this time. (Benjamin Beinish in Shem Tov Katan 9b)


It is a beautiful psalm, and unusual too in that the trajectory of the psalm moves from a rather definite certainty in God’s protection, through anxiety and fear of enemies who can do great harm, leading to a recognition of the need for God’s protection – one would normally expect that trajectory to be the other way around.


And the mood changes from the initial absolute certainty in the protection of God with this verse – “Achat Sha’alti -One thing I ask of God”


For the psalmist the request is for the ability to be part of the Temple life and rhythm, – to live in God’s house, protected and safe from the wars and enemies who are all around.
While we can sadly recognise the scenario of being surrounded by enemies wanting Israel’s end, we neither have a Temple nor do we expect God to protect us from enemies or to intervene in modern warfare.


The psalmist writes of external enemies, but the use of this psalm in our penitential period points to a different interpretation – of our confidence in God being questioned not by outside events but by our own internal processes, our doubts or our feelings of dislocation because of our own behaviours.


Which leads us to the question – what is the one thing we would ask of God today, for ourselves, if we could? And having thought of what we might ask of God, what is one thing God might ask of us?

The twenty third day of Elul

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Rabbi Elimelech of Lizhensk (1717–1787) is said to have written a meditation to be used before prayer, in order to be able to pray without the distraction of our emotions. A prayer before formal prayer in the morning service, a kind of preparation of the soul, a letting go of feelings that hold us back, a reminder that how we behave with others has an impact on how we find our way to God.

This forms part of the prayer:

“Place within our hearts the gift of seeing the goodness in one another,
the strengths of each person and not their shortcomings.
May our words to one another be honest, kind,
and pleasing in Your sight.
Let no trace of hatred take root in our hearts,
one person against another.
Strengthen us in our love for You,
As it is revealed and known to you
that all we seek, all we do,
is to bring You joy.”