davka | דוקא | despite everything

preparing for my beloved

As we begin Elul, the month before Rosh haShan­nah, prepa­ra­tions for the new year start.

blow­ing shofar

As I wrote last year (August 20, 2009) at this time, the Hebrew word אלול is con­sid­ered an acronym for the phrase from the Song of Songs: 6:3a…

אני לדודי ודודי לי = I am my beloved’s, and my beloved is mine.

The phrase is meant to sug­gest a lov­ing rela­tion­ship between the Cre­ator and the Jew­ish peo­ple, or at this time of year a much more per­son­al rela­tion­ship between God and each indi­vid­ual who is ready to re-eval­u­ate hirs actions as the world begins to con­strict (at least in the north­ern hemi­sphere). [“hirs” is my own con­trac­tion or com­bi­na­tion of “his” and “hers”]

To help in this prepa­ra­tion, I have brought for­ward links to a num­ber of tools I devel­oped last year at this time. Dur­ing the month of elul and through Yom Kip­pur, they will avail­able in the side­bar on the right.

name the day

One way of prepar­ing is to blow sho­far each day of Elul to “wake us up” to the tasks ahead.

There are many ways of approach­ing Rosh haShan­nah. Two of the terms that refer to this day can help us focus on its imme­di­ate mean­ing for us as indi­vid­u­als. These are Yom Harat Olam: The day of the cre­ation of the world and Yom Teru’ah the day of the sho­far blast; the lat­ter com­ple­ments and adds mean­ing to the former.

Long ago, there was debate as to which sea­son should be cho­sen as that for the cel­e­bra­tion of the New Year. One rea­son that this time, the new moon clos­est to the autum­nal equinox was select­ed was the unique coin­ci­dence that the first word of the Torah בראשית is an ana­gram (has the same let­ters, but mixed up in a dif­fer­ent sequence) as the Hebrew term for today’s date: א בתשרי (the first day of the month of Tishre). The begin­ning began on this day, Rosh haShan­nah! Not only that, the ancient rab­bis taught that it was on this day, Rosh haShan­nah, and in the first hour of this day that the thought came to the cre­ator to form Adam: humanity.

This con­cept of a cre­at­ed world is of great impor­tance. It is so sig­nif­i­cant that we Jews cel­e­brate the event of the cre­ation. We do this by rec­og­niz­ing that just as the world was cre­at­ed and is cre­at­ed anew each year, so we, as crea­tures with­in the world have the abil­i­ty to renew and be renewed each year. In fact, think of it a moment: of all the things in this world with which we come into con­tact, what is the most com­plex sin­gle cre­ation over which we have the abil­i­ty to shape, renew and improve? Our­selves. The idea of a cre­at­ed world and re-cre­at­ed human being serves as a basis for the con­cept of free will. In fact it is so impor­tant that the ancient rab­bis believed that when an indi­vid­ual, —let’s say I— act incor­rect­ly dur­ing the year, a record of the trans­gres­sion is inscribed in faint ink in the Book of Life (like writ­ing in lemon juice on paper). If I repent and cor­rect my ways dur­ing the ten days of repen­tance, the record is erased. But, if I don’t, it is rewrit­ten in indeli­ble ink (the heat gen­er­at­ed by my not repent­ing caus­es the lemon juice to become vis­i­ble), and these acts become an in-expunge-able part of my character.

invisilbe ink mes­sage revealed

unabashed confrontation

And so, at this time of year, we are forced into an unabashed con­fronta­tion with life. We turn back from those things we did that we would have been bet­ter off not hav­ing done. And we look around us and watch the nat­ur­al world doing the same thing. Autumn approach­es and we see the world draw­ing into itself. Vis­i­ble growth slows down. Ani­mals and plants take the time now to col­lect their ener­gies and focus their activ­i­ties on what they must do to ensure that they also are inscribed in the Book of Life for the new year.

The Bible also gives cer­tain lit­er­ary hints that this may have occurred dur­ing the pro­ces­sion of gen­er­a­tions on the earth. For ten gen­er­a­tions after the cre­ation, the Bible tells us, the ways of human­i­ty dete­ri­o­rat­ed: from the mur­der of Able by Cain his broth­er, through the haughty build­ing of the tow­er of Babel, till the tenth gen­er­a­tion, that of Noah. It was then after ten gen­er­a­tions when repen­tance was pos­si­ble but did­n’t occur that God decid­ed to clear away the dross and begin again. God made a new attempt at cre­ation after the waters of the flood reced­ed. (And, on top of that, tra­di­tions sug­gest that the cleans­ing flood even began in Tishre. How­ev­er, even the descen­dants of Noah did not live up to God’s expec­ta­tions. Not much time passed before they, too, began to act in evil ways. But this time (again, after ten generations—a nice lit­er­ary device), instead of destroy­ing the world and all human­i­ty, God tried a dif­fer­ent method: focus on one part of the world, one fam­i­ly among all of human­i­ty, the fam­i­ly of Abra­ham. God decid­ed (the ancient rab­bis tell us) that through the descen­dants of this cou­ple (Abra­ham and Sarah), the world would be inscribed for life. Ten gen­er­a­tions after Noah marked the birth and selec­tion of Abra­ham and Sarah; a new attempt to cre­ate a per­fect world.

And, I’ve heard, anoth­er ten gen­er­a­tions passed since the time of Abra­ham dur­ing which peri­od we lived through the most try­ing time of our ear­ly his­to­ry. After famine occurred in our land we went to Egypt where we were tricked into slav­ery and began serv­ing oth­er gods. A new cre­ation hud­dled in the shad­ows of Pharao­h’s store­hous­es, ready to take its place in his­to­ry. From the fam­i­ly of Abra­ham and Sarah to the Nation of Israel. In our strug­gle toward for­ma­tion we received ten con­strain­ing Commandments.

black­smith at work

Like the heat­ed iron of the black­smith, put into the hot coals, then beat­en on the anvil, we were shaped, con­cen­trat­ed, com­pact­ed till our for­ma­tive process was com­plet­ed and we were cast into the world, ready to re-enter our land. Ten gen­er­a­tions of cre­ativ­i­ty shaped by lim­i­ta­tions and formed by con­trac­tions: Adam to Noah, Noah to Abra­ham and Sarah, Abra­ham and Sarah to Moses.

we have the ability to create our selves

Our prepa­ra­tion begins now, at the begin­ning of Elul, as our cre­ation begins on Rosh haShan­nah. For ten days we con­cen­trate those ener­gies, cleans­ing our­selves, puri­fy­ing our­selves, to be inscribed into the Book of Life on Yom Kippur.

helpful reminders

elul alert

But, we often need help. We need reminders, alerts and alarms to get us to cut back and encour­age us to begin the process. The sho­far helps.

That oth­er name: Yom Teru’ah, the day of the Sho­far Blast. Yes, even the youngest of us knows that on Rosh haShan­nah we blow the Sho­far. But to name this great and awe­some day after a musi­cal instru­ment or a part of an ani­mal? There must be more to it all. And there is. The clue is, of course, in one of the Torah read­ings for Rosh haShan­nah: the Akedah, the bind­ing of Isaac. The sto­ry of Abra­ham and Isaac’s jour­ney pro­ceeds at an unbear­ably rapid pace, and for a time it tru­ly seems that Isaac will actu­al­ly be sac­ri­ficed. As though, like us, Abra­ham must cut back on an aspect of him­self at this time of year to con­tem­plate his cre­ation, and Isaac (per­ish the thought) is what must be giv­en up! In fact, when I first start­ing think­ing these thoughts, I awoke from a night­mare in a sweat, hav­ing dreamed that indeed Abra­ham had actu­al­ly sac­ri­ficed his son as a par­ing away of his own unruly growth. We all know that Isaac was not sac­ri­ficed, and yet, the Bible’s sto­ry is awe­some­ly pow­er­ful and com­pelling each time we read it.

awe­some horns

The word [many browsers do not dis­play the point­ed Hebrew well] שׁוֹפַר (sho­far) is, of course, a noun, but when pro­nounced: שִׁפֵּר (sheepair), it becomes a verb and actu­al­ly means to improve and to cleanse! The ancient rab­bis, aware of the poet­ic pos­si­bil­i­ties inher­ent in this dou­ble mean­ing taught that God says: If you cleanse your deeds, then I will be to you like the sho­far. Just as the sho­far draws in the air from the nar­row end and emits it from the wide end, so I will get up from the throne of Judg­ment from which I make tight, strin­gent, deci­sions and sit down upon the throne of Mer­cy, and turn for you the attribute of judg­ment into the attribute of mercy.

We can also see this in the actu­al shape of the sho­far, its sound and the method for pro­duc­ing that sound. It takes great con­cen­tra­tion of mind and mus­cle at the nar­row end of the sho­far, before the broad pow­er­ful tones come out the open end. The tones them­selves play a role in the con­cen­trat­ing and redi­rect­ing of our cre­ative lives. The ancient rab­bis tell us that, metaphor­i­cal­ly, the sound of “Tek­i’ah” urges us to beg for God’s mer­cies. Then, the sound of “Teru’ah-She­varim” actu­al­ly shat­ters the enslave­ment of our hearts to unwor­thy desires.

A sto­ry is told about the West­ern Wall of the Tem­ple in Jerusalem which has been the object of fric­tion between Arabs and Jews for many years. In 1929, the British con­trolled the area. To appease the Arabs, the British for­bade the tra­di­tion­al sound­ing of the sho­far at the West­ern Wall at the end of Yom Kip­pur. But the Jew­ish under­ground of the time ignored this prohibition.

That Yom Kip­pur as the ser­vice at the wall came to the final prayers, the Ne’i­lah. The can­tor chant­ed the final Avinu Malka­ynu. He added a phrase to the prayers– “Avinu Malkeinu, Our Father our King, we have the sho­far; draw a cir­cle around us.” The British guards were obliv­i­ous, but the Jews under­stood the Hebrew, but did not know what to expect. Sud­den­ly, at one end of the wall, a clear sho­far sound came out of a child’s voice. The British police imme­di­ate­ly sur­round­ed the child. At that very moment, a Teki­ah Gedolah, the long sho­far sound for the end of the ser­vice for Yom Kip­pur, rever­ber­at­ed from the oth­er end of the wall.

All the wor­shipers spon­ta­neous­ly recit­ed “Next year in Jerusalem rebuilt” and then sang Hatikvah.

The fol­low­ing year, a man named Moshe Segal blew the sho­far at the con­clu­sion of Yom Kip­pur. He was imme­di­ate­ly arrest­ed by the British. They held him at the police sta­tion with­out food until mid­night, when he was released. Only then did he learn how his release came about: the chief rab­bi of Pales­tine, Abra­ham Isaac Kook had phoned the British and said, “I have fast­ed all day but I will not eat until you free the man who blew the shofar.”

The sec­re­tary had replied, “But the man vio­lat­ed a gov­ern­ment order.”

Rab­bi Kook replied, “He ful­filled a mitz­vah reli­gious commandment.”

Years lat­er dur­ing the Six-Day War, when the Israeli Defense Forces recap­tured the Old City of Jerusalem Jews gath­ered at the West­ern Wall for the first time since 1948. The sho­far was again sound­ed to pro­claim the vic­to­ry and to reassert the right of Jews to wor­ship in free­dom at that sacred site. A few months lat­er, at the end of Yom Kip­pur that year, the sho­far was sound­ed at the West­ern Wall—by that same man, Moshe Segal. The sho­far, once again, sound­ed as a sym­bol of con­ti­nu­ity, call­ing us to pay close atten­tion to our actions in this world.

I do not know where I first learned this sto­ry. How­ev­er, some­thing about it does not make sense. The boy referred to “Moshe Segal” is lat­er known as Moshe Meron. The Wikipedia arti­cle about Meron men­tions that he was born in 1926, but did not make Aliyah until 1936. Either he was too young to have blown sho­far in 1929, or was not there until years after the event report­ed in the story.

Every­thing about this sea­son as we approach the days of Rosh haShan­nah and Yom Kip­pur is direct­ed at encour­ag­ing us to draw in our unbri­dled ener­gies and con­cen­trate them anew in the appro­pri­ate direc­tions. We have the sho­far, with its sounds, shapes and method for pro­duc­ing tones, sig­nal­ing us that the time has come to re-eval­u­ate. There are the ten days, between Rosh haShan­nah and Yom Kip­pur, sym­bol­ic of the var­i­ous ten gen­er­a­tions dur­ing which the work of God’s cre­ation con­tract­ed and was redi­rect­ed anew. And final­ly, and per­haps most sim­ple, we have the exam­ple of that cre­at­ed world all around us as it begins to draw into itself in re-creation.

Elul, begins this peri­od that offers us the chance, one might say presents us with the respon­si­bil­i­ty of renew­ing the con­cep­tion and cre­ation of our selves. It is our choice.

The sages said “God will say to Israel, even to all human­i­ty, — ‘My chil­dren, I look upon you as if today, on Rosh haShan­nah, you have been made anew, as if today I cre­at­ed you—a new being, a new peo­ple, a new human­i­ty.’ ” On Rosh haShan­nah, Yom Harat Olam, the day of the cre­ation of the world, we are cre­at­ed with a con­ser­va­tion of our ener­gies so they can be direct­ed cor­rect­ly. Rab­bi Tahli­fa said: “The Com­mand­ments con­cern­ing all sac­ri­fices read: ‘And you shall offer,’ but the one con­cern­ing sac­ri­fice on Rosh haShan­nah reads ‘And you shall make.’ ” How­ev­er, he con­tin­ues: “We should read: ‘And you shall be made,’ for after you are dis­missed from the Tri­bunal of Jus­tice above, where you have sac­ri­ficed your inap­pro­pri­ate behav­iors, and then leave, being blessed by the attribute of mer­cy, you are as fresh­ly created.”

As a final reminder—which we learn dur­ing the sho­far ser­vice, we should be aware that all good things come to Israel through the sho­far. We received the Torah with the sound of the sho­far all around Mount Sinai. We con­quered in the Bat­tle of Jeri­cho through the blast of the sho­far. We are sum­moned every­day this month and through Rosh haShan­nah until Yom Kip­pur to repent through the sound of the sho­far. And we will be made aware of the Redeemer’s arrival through the great sho­far blast that is yet to occur.

just jew it

your lapel buttons

Many peo­ple have lapel but­tons. They may be attached to a favorite hat or jack­et you no longer wear, or poked into a cork-board on your wall. If you have any lay­ing around that you do not feel emo­tion­al­ly attached to, please let me know. I pre­serve these for the Jew­ish peo­ple. At some point they will all go to an appro­pri­ate muse­um. You can see all the but­tons shared to date.