May 29th/30th: Naso
THIS WEEK IN THE TORAH
Rabbi David E. Ostrich
Last week, I wrote about Dr. Alvin Reines, late of the Hebrew Union College, and his belief that Judaism should be understood as a Polydoxy, a religious community with a wide variety of thinking and practice. Though born into Jewishness, each Jew defines what that means for him/herself.
(One might think that Gerim/Converts may approach this differently since they were not born Jewish but rather opted in and voluntarily accepted Ol Malchut Hashamayim/The Yoke of the Kingdom of Heaven. However, the fact is that Gerim/Converts sign on for a Judaism that is already typified by a wide range of Jewish beliefs and Jewish practices. What they sign up for is our Polydoxy.)
The question Dr. Reines asks is: How can we conduct our religion, showing both awareness of and respect for our members’ individual opinions? The answer is to open up our language, and this can be done in three ways.
An initial way is to search for liturgical material that is equivocal—that equally voices the different religious perspectives of the Jews in our congregations. An example is found in the following prayer about the meaning of life and death:
The light of life is a finite flame. Like the candles of the Sabbath, life is kindled, it burns, it glows, it gives off beauty and rays of warmth. But soon it fades; its substance is consumed, and it is no more. In light, we see and can be seen. The moments of flame dance, and our lives are full. But, as night follows day, shadows follow the flames and blur our view. We fail to see and can no longer be seen. Yet we do not despair, for our fate is more than memory. With our lives, we give life. We are links in the eternal chain of darkness and death, of light and life. (A Book of Common Service, Institute for Creative Judaism, Cincinnati, 1976, pp.7–8; used in our Siddur B’rit Shalom, page 148.)
There are many different understandings of and beliefs about death, so this piece speaks in a metaphor that can support a variety of different theological beliefs. It is a prayer to which everyone can say Amen.
A second way of opening up our language is by being conscious and transparent about metaphor and poetry—making sure that everyone knows that some traditional language is not necessarily to be taken literally. This means that phrases about God “bringing on the evening twilight and rolling away the light for the darkness” do not literally declare that twilight comes when God draws the curtains of the sky. Such passages are poetry and speak of the natural order of things in non-scientific, non-literal terms. The message is the wonder—and not an analysis of the physics. My impression is that the ancients understood that much of their language was poetic and metaphorical, and thus reading their words too literally is a misreading.
A third way to open up our language is to seek more expansive terms for concepts that are mysterious and not amenable to simple definition. The prime example is how we speak of and think about God. Much of religion’s language about God is anthropomorphic—speaking of the Deity as though “He” is a big and powerful person. Though traditional phrases like “Avinu Malkaynu/Our Father , Our King” or “Melech Ha’olam/King of the World” speak to certain positive aspects of our relationship with the Divine, they do not come close to expressing the Infinity of God—and therefore limit God (or at least our understanding of God). More expansive terms can speak more to the definitional fact that God is greater than our ability to define. Thus are more expansive terms for God not only more accurate, but they are also more helpful in approaching something so awesome and ineffable. Though we may not know the totality of God, we can nonetheless approach God and live in relationship with the Divine.
Another problem with anthropomorphic images for God is that they can bring to mind less-than-ideal humans. Not every relationship with a Father or King or human authority has been positive, and if we think of God as having the same bad habits as some humans—authoritarianism, anger, cruelty, vindictiveness, jealousy, etc., it should not be surprising that some people shy away from and reject such a “God.” It sounds strange to say, but the negative traits and evil actions of bad people can sully the reputation of God. Theology knows that God is above and beyond such human imperfections, but anthropomorphic terms (taken too literally and seriously) can reduce God to human imperfection and put off rather than inspire religiosity.
Though Tradition has often used anthropomorphisms, there has also been a sense that we can do better. As far back as the Talmud, one can find terms that broaden our perception of the Divine. A prime example is the Talmudic term Hamakom/The Place, a conception of the Divine which speaks of God as the “Place of Existence.” Another example—which Dr. Reines enthusiastically inherited—came from both Medieval Philosophers and the Kabbalists who spoke of God as Sibat Hahavayah/The Ground of Being. Rather than debate the strengths and weaknesses of terms and prayers that limit God with human failings, it is possible to speak in broader and broader terms—and to allow our understanding of God to get closer to God’s actual infinity. Another expansive example comes from Jewish Feminist thinking. Rather than images that connote authority and paternalism, a term like Ma’ayan Hab’ri’ah/Wellspring of Creation speaks of God as the life-force or presence that creates and energizes all life. This is an understanding of God manifest in the wonders and miracles that surround us.
At the end of Numbers 6, we have the famous Priestly Benediction:
“May the Lord bless you and protect you.
May the Lord smile upon you and be gracious to you.
May the Lord shine upon you and bless you with peace.” (Numbers 6.24-26)
The blessings themselves are beautiful, but they are enhanced by the following verse that speaks of their purpose: “Thus they (the priests) shall link My name with the people of Israel, and I will bless them.” The blessings are more than just good wishes and hopes; they are connective. As the holy words are spoken, they “samu et Sh’mi al-B’nai Yisrael/put My Name on the Children of Israel.” They associate us with the wonders of God—with the Infinite power and understanding and kindness and wisdom that we can access when we open our eyes and minds to the Eternal One.