Jewish Contemplatives

Crying to God in the Winter- January 2012

2012-01-20T16:49:00.004+01:00

(photo by Sorelle White)

“But they did not listen to Moses because their spirits were broken and because of the hard labour”
Exodus 6:9

My mother often used to say that “we should not cry to God only in the winter”. She had no patience with the idea that people might call on God only when they wanted something, nor did she approve of people turning to God only during difficult times. Perhaps God shares something of her perspective?

The quoted verse from Parashat Va’eira might remind us that it is possible for hard times to be the cause of us not turning to God in prayer—and also of our disregard of His promises. Sometimes hard times can be so absorbing that we close our ears to His supportive advice or our eyes to the solutions He may be trying to show us. Often this is because we are simply too focussed on our selves, or on our own opinions, or on the apparent impossibility of the “tasks” we are struggling to perform. His interventions are not always as dramatic as those of the Exodus even though they may be just as much a demonstration of His Hand at work.

At other times we do not “cry out to God” because we are “simply having a wonderful time, thank you” and so don’t feel the need. This is obviously even more shameful a situation: we are forgetting that every breath we take in and breathe out is a gift. (In the quoted verse from Parashat Va' eira, my artscroll Chumash translates "broken spirits" as "shortness of breath"--the original idiom being "mikotzer ruach")--We are forgetting that Providence is not Fate, but the mercy and generosity of God who sustains all—regardless of any lack of gratitude on our part.

Whether we are up or down, whether we are panting for breath under heavy labours or sighing with pleasure and contentment...may we never forget the One who performs miracles in every moment, and who offers to lead us out of Egypt, if we would only let Him.

N.R.Davies

January 20 2012

Poem: At the End of Bereishit - (January 2012)

2012-01-07T20:28:00.001+01:00

“I wait for your salvation, O Lord”

(Genesis 49:18)

Sometimes we have to just get out there and do things.

To be the Hand of God ourselves and make things happen.

Other times we know we are just being asked to wait:

-For the right moment,

-For the missing piece of a jigsaw,

-For the help of another human-being.

At all times,

-Whether we are engaged in action

or in incubation

-Whether we are trying to fight our own battles

or despairing that we might never be able to enter the battle-field on account of our fear;

-Whether we are doing our best to help someone we love,

or just feeling frustrated that we can do little more than offer a hug or some verbal support;

In all these times

it is always HaShem alone who “saves”.

It is only in His Strength that we are empowered;

Only in His Love that we are able to be generous;

Only in His Mercy that we can be as kind to ourselves as we are trying to be to others.

In the end

Everything is God.

Our task is to “wait” on Him as servants and children

Whether we see ourselves as active or passive

“Doing it for ourselves”

“Expecting His signs and assistance”

It’s always His action anyway...

In the end

Everything is God.

(a Reflection on Parashat Vayechi)

N R Davies

January 6 2012
(posted Motzei Shabbos after Havdalah)

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Jacob's Angels and the House of Prayer - (December 2011)

2011-12-01T23:05:00.004+01:00

Parshat Vayeitzei opens with the story of Jacob’s dream of a ladder and its angels. It describes Jacob’s encounter with the Divine at the Place which Jacob then called the “gate” of Heaven. (Genesis 28:17).

He named the place of revelation Beit El, the House of God.

In one sense, this “place” is the future Temple Mount in Jerusalem. But it is also the “part” of God we might call “the Temple in Heaven”- a place of encounter and revelation which may be found in the hearts of all who seek God in humility and awe. We “go” there when we daven the liturgy, when we practice receptive contemplative prayer (hitbonenut), and when we engage in discursive private prayer (hitbodedut).

In Haftarat Vayeitzei (for Sefardim) we read the following:

“At Beit El he found him, and there he will speak with us.”
Hosea 12:5

Much academic ink has been used in translating and interpreting this verse, with variants including:

He (Jacob) found Him (God) at Beit El
He (God found him (Jacob) at Beit El
He/he (the angel) found him (Jacob) at Beit El

and

There He (God) will speak to HIM (Jacob)
There He spoke to US(Jacob’s descendents)

Most of the variations in translation/interpretation seem to come from the fact that the Masorete text uses “imanu” (with us) whilst the Septuagint uses “imo”. I do not speak either Ivrit or Biblical Hebrew and I am no Bible Scholar, I simply spotted the variation in my three different Bibles and then found the reasons clearly expressed online HERE.

Whenever a Biblical text has multiple meanings I prick up my ears.

- I remember the “sight of sound” (Exodus 20:15) that we experienced at Sinai.

- I remember the Shin and Zayin engraved on my Shabbos candle-sticks.
They divide and separate flame while bearing one light.
One candle for Shamor, one for Zachor;

-I remember that “God has spoken once, twice have I heard” (Psalm 62:12)

-And above all, I remember “I will be what I will be”. (Exodus 3:14)

Whatever the academic reasons for the variations in the Hosea text, the Haftarah quote is rich in potential meanings. The ambiguity is a textual challenge but it is also a deliberate and beautiful product of its poetic and prophetic form.

In what way does this textual “Angel of Jacob” speak to us as Jewish Contemplatives?

The Jacob narrative in Bereishit is full of such deliberate ambiguity, particularly when the text is attempting to describe Divine action. Many times the revelation shimmers around the action without confirming its author. This is especially so in the description of Jacob’s struggle with “a man” in Parashat Vayishlach (Gen 33:25)... We are never quite sure how revelation is taking place. Is it an encounter with God Himself, the angels He sends, or the humans and circumstances Jacob encounters? As contemplative Jews, we ask ourselves the same questions in our own prayer lives. Sometimes our periods of solitary and reflective prayer throw these questions up for us to consider. Sometimes those periods contain the moments when we are given answers.

Beit El is the “House of Prayer” which we enter in hitbodedut.

It is not just the place where we speak our thoughts and desires to HaShem.
It is also the place where we hope to hear the Voice of God responding to our prayers, and in this we may attempt to follow Jacob’s example.

In Part Two of Kuntres M’arat Ha-Lev (The first of the entries on this website/blog written in 2005) I wrote at length about hearing “the Voice” (the description is found at section "2c" HERE). It was a deliberately ambiguous passage as it touched lightly on areas of mystical experience which are best not described in detail, but experienced anew by each person. It is true that in a tiny number of instances I was writing about the Voice of God, heard with the ears of the mind or soul and not the body and always filtered and obscured by our personalities and powers of imagination. Such “auditory” spiritual experiences may happen once in a life-time if at all. They are most certainly a rarity.

Let’s take a look at Jacob’s own experience in this matter:

In Jacob’s “147” years (Gen 47:28) he had direct (recorded) experience of “hearing God’s Voice”- at Bethel (while re-affirming the Abrahamic covenant) at Gen 28; during the stay with Laban (requiring his return to Canaan)- at Gen 31; at Jabbok/Peniel (when wrestling and receiving a name change) – at Gen 32; on being sent back to Bethel (reiteration of the covenant) – at Gen 35; at Beer-Sheba (en route to Egypt to meet Joseph) at Gen 46. That’s only five times in one hundred and forty-seven years. That seems about right to me, for a Patriarch. It should also help us to keep our mystical aspirations in realistically humble perspective.

But there are several times when Jacob “hears” God’s voice less “directly”: via angels (messengers) and during dreams. These less “exalted” and more indirect types of spiritual experience are also far more common in the lives of ordinary contemplatives. Though they seem to come in infrequent but intense bursts, we often have a very clear intuition that they are in the nature of personal revelations and epiphanies. A request made in prayer for illumination on a problem (sometimes practical, sometimes theological, sometimes career-based, sometimes ethical) is often followed by one or many of the following:

An impulse to open a particular book and finding a directly relevant passage;

A coincidental reading of an answering phrase in an unrelated book we are currently reading;

A passage in the Bible or Siddur which leaps out at us unexpectedly;

A meeting with a friend, or more often a stranger who says something directly pertinent to our question with no possible way of knowing it was on our mind;

A scene in a television programme hitting our nail on its head;

An apparently meaningless tune that enters our head and replays itself until we slowly remember the lyrics which, (Surprise! Surprise!) fit our problems’ solution exactly;

A telephone call or email from someone we had not heard from for months or years expressing related thoughts or initiating a coincidence which leads to an “answer”.

The list could go on and on. For me, these are clear examples of angels bearing messages from God for our own individual ears. In those months or years when we don’t seem to be meeting such angels we can feel quite desolate. We would be floating on air, or perhaps gasping for breath in the suffocation of immanence, if these events came too frequently or too intensely. Sometimes it is almost a relief when they stop visiting us. But when they happen, we really ought to be grateful and sit up and take notice. We may not be Jacob. But we are his descendents. They are gifts which are more common than many will admit.

Though it does not follow infallibly, I think it is also true to say that:

-the deeper one’s silent periods in daily living are;

-the more frequent or intense one’s specifically attentive periods in prayer are;

-and the less one is expecting a dramatic answer yet still persistently asking for help:

....the more likely it seems to be that these angels visit us.

Our task is to be ever on the lookout for such opportunities, and sometimes these “angels” are only “recognized” by us if we are prepared to wrestle with them.

But what of the many years that Jacob was neither talking to God “directly”, encountering clearly “angelic” messengers, or accessing the “world which is coming” in his sleep?

Jacob was a man who saw Providence at work because he had time to reflect upon it. His tale is also one of great human drama:- as he followed his mother’s dynastic schemes and plans; as he learnt a hard lesson about deceit when he himself was deceived by Laban; as he was torn apart by fear of his brother, as he struggled to keep his large and volatile family together, as he suffered the long years of the agony of Joseph’s disappearance. In all of this he was a man of contemplative bent. A shepherd, a tent-dweller, one who would have preferred to stay “at home”. Such a person would have been attentively listening for the “Voice of God” in the most apparently secular/mundane aspects of his life. Such a person would have heard the Voice of God everywhere and in everything….certainly from the time he had realised that “God was in this place” and “he knew it not” onwards.

For us it is also the same. As contemplatives, we are not always scaling stairways to heaven, but we are forever going up and coming down so that, bit by bit, we are removing the veils which hide our God in both the night of our private prayers and in the brash daylight of our ordinary lives. We may find an angelic light enmeshed in the apparently mundane, just as we might find the answers to our prayers surprisingly ordinary and down-to-earth.

Many commentators wrestle with the (literary) Angel of Peniel. Some say it was God’s Presence. Some say it was the angel of Esau (or even Esau himself). Some say it was an “ordinary” man sent as a messenger to try Jacob. Some say it was the fear inside Jacob emerging in a dream. It could be all, or many, of those simultaneously.

All of these are messengers of Ein Sof. We hear the Voice of God in the secular as well as the religious. In the speech of our family and friends. In the written word which we seek or find. In a talmud which is composed of the daily events in our lives. In a scripture which is formed by our unfolding life stories and choices.

God found Jacob in His house, and in that House He will speak with us.

Once we have encountered God, for however short a moment in time, we know what “home” really means.

Whether you are living “in a cave” as a full-time contemplative as I am able to at the moment—or if your life is largely active with moments of silent waiting on God squeezed in wherever you can – or if you are unable to pray and just wish you could. If you place yourself in God’s House……that is to say, if you make God your focal point above all else… I guarantee, you will meet his angels. More than that, He will let you “find Him and there He will speak with you”.

N R Davies

December 1 2011

(This commentary was written for the private Jewish Contemplatives Community website and was originally published there in 2008.)

Treasuring the Concealed (Nov 2011)

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Contemplatives and practical students of the Jewish mystical tradition are sometimes described as being engaged in a “spiritual-search”,the implication being that they are seekers who are engaged in a continuous process of discovery and not an elite who have somehow "arrived". A Jewish contemplative is ever engaged on a journey towards God and yet, as a Jew, he or she realises that the journey can never end. How could it when it leads to the One who is “eternally ever-present”? Such infinity is not something we can ever grasp or possess.

The Jewish contemplative hopes to be granted an experience of the Eternal One but accepts that this experience can only ever be partially understood. It is an encounter with a deeply veiled awareness of a Presence whose actual Being is beyond our comprehension. Most Jewish mystics experience only the very merest hint of this veiled Presence, and yet the memory of that fleeting moment is often sufficient to inspire a whole lifetime of contemplative yearning for further contact.

Such a motivating experience is an experience of devekut (cleaving and attachment to God). It is not a superior state of human perception and understanding achieved by any practice or method of our own devising and it cannot be taught. It is a form of moral and spiritual contemplative bonding which simply makes us useful to the Creator. Its purpose is to show us that we are in a relationship with One who requires our effort, our loving compliance, and our determination to be made more “in His image” as each day passes.

In a nutshell, when we cease to see ourselves or focus on our own needs, but look in God’s direction and hope to meet Him in some way, we will find ourselves looking back through His eyes. This is perhaps the closest we can come to "enlightenment" and experiencing it is a process which never ends.

If there is to be any enlightenment on a Jewish mystical path, it does not consist in arriving at an all-encompassing grasp of the Divine master-plan- rather it is something which is most usually encountered in moments of prophetic or inspirational intuition which can then nourish our otherwise transient and changeable experience. As Jewish contemplatives, we are expected to draw nourishment from the deeply buried memory, the muffled echo, and the glimmering after-glow of Sinai as it presents itself to us in the ordinary but often synchronous events of each and every day. To see and hear the unbearable thunder of the Voice of Sinai in every moment was beyond us then and it is beyond us now. Our blessing is to be spoon fed digestible measures of spiritual manna and to hear the message of that voice as a still small whisper, a barely distinguished hint, a kol d’mama dakah.

When we daven or meditate, when we spend time with our God in discursive hitbodedut or reflective hitbonenut , we do not do so because we want to achieve something for ourselves-we pray because we are commanded to and because we wish to take our observance of the commandments to “cleave to God” and to “love Him with all our heart, soul, and strength” to their fullest and most authentically Jewish levels. Not as an act of philosophy, spirituality, or mysticism per se, but as an act of religious service.

The effectiveness of this realistic and humble approach to the spiritual and mystical journey has its root in the process known as bittul haYesh: There is no point in demanding that our thirst for total control over the wildness of existence be quenched at all costs. Our desire for certitudes and a clear vision of a spiritual “God-particle” is certain to miss the "target" as the Target is simply beyond our reach and skill. It is an approach which reminds Jews of their own place as the devoted servants of a commanding and loving God. The concealment of God is not a barrier to be breached, nor is it a negative situation which we ought to try to “remedy”. It is the Kevod of HaShem made partially accessible. It is a gift to be treasured.

In Tehillim we read:

“Wonderfully concealed are your testimonies,
Therefore my soul has treasured them.”
Psalm 119: 129

The words of the Living God are pathways to walk on, shining lights to inspire us or guide our choices; flowing rivers to nourish our seminal hopes and growing thoughts; and they are a Tree of Life which is planted in heaven yet intended to bear fruit on this earth. In other words, they are a process not contained by tangible items or mental conceptualisation and the One who makes them has made them as ultimately beyond our full comprehension as His own Being is and always will be.

This in itself is a treasure, and being aware of it enables us to be both the beneficiaries and the transmitters of the Hidden Light we are then freed to hold in our embrace despite never being able to grasp it as a hoarded possession.

One who treasures the concealed word of HaShem in the Torah haNistar in their prayer and meditation and who seeks to live the Torah haNigleh in their daily study and work knows that this Torah cannot ever be used as a spade to dig with, nor as a crown to be hoarded away for personal pleasure.

All of a Jew’s relationship with HaShem is for the sake of the outflowing of the Divine into our world. The reward of a mitzvah is another mitzvah, and even the blessings which are granted specifically to Israel are ultimately for the sake of all nations and for the sake of all creation. As the Berditchever Rebbe reminds us:

“When one nullifies oneself completely and attaches one's thoughts to Nothingness, a new sustenance flows to all universes. This sustenance did not exist previously.”

These words are most encouraging for those of us who make their prayers their main contribution to the tikkun (healing) of the world’s woes yet often wonder if their endeavours are of any use. Jewish Contemplatives then, are both the beneficiaries and the transmitters of the Hidden Light. The transmission is most effectively brought about when we are as observant and as whole-hearted in yiddishkeit as we possibly can be.

I’d like to finish this short reflection on the “Concealed” with a comment on a few verses from the current week’s Torah Parshah and Haftarah (Parshat Chayei Sarah)

In Parshat Chayei Sarah we read:

“This comes from HaShem
We cannot declare it to be good or bad”
Genesis 24:50

In Haftarat Chayei Sarah we read:

“Let her stand before the king
And be an intimate companion for him.”
I Kings 1:2

The Torah verse tells us to submit to whatever might befall us, whether it is perceived as good or as bad, for who are we to judge or to try to know without the long-sight of Providence?

The Haftarah verse tells us that we are both servants and friends.

We are willing tools in God’s hands if we offer our lives and prayers to Him,

To “stand before him” is to be available and at our Master’s service.

But we are blessed in so far as we are invited to “sit at His table”,

To be close to Him through a deveykut which is (perhaps shockingly) mutual.

The Psalm 119 verse which I quoted earlier-

“Wonderfully concealed are your testimonies,
Therefore my soul has treasured them.”
Psalm 119: 129

-tells us that God’s “decrees” for our life-history are not known to us,

Yet we ought to rejoice that our “fate” is in such good care.

We make our own choices and face our trials, that is true,

But He is our watchful and guiding shepherd at every moment.

The messages hidden in the “testimonies” of God are often very well hidden indeed.

They are beneath the surface of the ordinary events in our lives.

They are in the familiar texts of our prayer-books and bibles.

They are in the often bewildering insights and intuitions

which we receive in contemplative prayer.

They are also in the insights of our prayerful study of Torah in meditation:

Often, such insights are at first dimly perceived,

But they can dazzle us when we suddenly “see” what we are being told/shown,

Each of us individually seeing something personally spoken to us in intimacy.

In Parshat Chayei Sarah

Our father Isaac goes out at dusk to meditate in the field.

At dusk, ordinary things are often bathed in a soft focus

And we can see their inner light more accurately.

At dusk ordinary things can sometimes fade into the half-gloom

And we turn inward to see our inner light in a more heightened way.

The growing darkness is sometimes our best friend and not an annoyance or an enemy.

It often leads to the place where we can see that our clouded perception of God is not just the adoption of a realistic approach-

The cloud of darkness prevents us making God in our own image.

It is actually closer to the Truth of God’s nature than any detailed theology ever could be.

The Divine which is concealed will always elude our attempt to grasp it.

But we can let God, the Hidden, grasp us

Through our loyalty as servants

And hold our hands as friends,

Thus, we can be held by the Hidden and know some of the power and beauty of our God.

When we experience an ecstatic sexual or sensual feeling

we reflexively close our eyes to improve our mind’s savouring of the physical event.

In contemplative prayer our eyes are metaphorically shut,

But we may discover that we actually “see” better in the dark.

We may not be able to see God’s plans for us

But being “kept in the dark” is not always a negative thing.

A contemplative is happy to know that the answer is not (necessarily) “42”.

A contemplative is not looking for answers but is allowing God to lead....to wherever...

Being in a Divine/human relationship in which we are informed on a “strictly need to know” basis is not because we are being kept in a subservient state of ignorance. As contemplatives, we are enlightened by a form of loving revelation whose brilliance we could never bear without the embrace of the Cloud of Unknowing.

This is the treasure of the Hidden One.

Our task is to make sure we don’t hoard it for ourselves,

But allow God to make us into transparent conductors of its Light.

N R Davies

November 13 2011

( from a commentary on Parshat Chayei Sarah (Oct 21 2010) written for the Community of Jewish Contemplatives)

Clouds of Glory - Shelters of Joy (October 2011)

2011-10-11T22:19:00.001+02:00

According to the text of Leviticus 23:43, the commandment to dwell in sukkot (booths/shelters) is observed:

“In order that future generations will know that I made the children of Israel live in booths when I brought them out of the land of Egypt.”

In the Exodus narrative itself, these booths are not mentioned. This gave rise to a Talmudic dispute in which R.Akiva’s claim (that the festival of Sukkoth refers to physical booths built in the desert) is contested by R. Eliezar, who suggests that the shelter referred to is none other than that of the “annanei kavod”…the Divine clouds of The Glory which protected Israel in the desert. (Midrash Sifra 17, Talmud Bavli, Sukkah 11b).

In the spirit of “eilu v’eilu", both opinions are correct.

The hut (sukkah) which is built during the festival of Sukkot is a reminder of our reliance on Divine Providence and Protection. For some the emphasis is on the idea that it is we ourselves who build it-literally by our labour and creativity and figuratively by our attempt to live according to the Torah. For others it is a reminder that ultimately we are totally reliant on the Protection of God, and that He will be gracious to whomsoever He chooses. Both ideas are part of the liturgy of this festival.

In those years when I have lived in close proximity to other Jews, I have built a physical sukkah in the company of friends. Living alone, I have most often chosen to make the canopy of the clouds and stars my symbolic sukkah… In many ways, that helped me to remember the “annanei kavod” more than a leaky hut might. I stood outside in my tiny walled garden, “built” a sukkah by intention, and looked up to the heavens with a cup of wine in my hand and with reliance on God in my heart.

Over the years I have become more observant and so this year (2011/5772) I am "honouring" both approaches simultaneously. Here's the almost finished sukkah I built (with HaShem's help) this afternoon.

Though the nature and symbolism of the Shelter/shelter under which we celebrate generated much creative argument - one opinion on the festival of Sukkot which was always universally agreed upon is that Sukkot is the "Season of our Joy".

This year (5772/2011) I was fortunate enough to have (literally) stumbled upon an outstanding new video which reflects Sukkot joy perfectly. It is both informative and beautifully made....and shines from within with positive faith. It was made by Ryan Lifchitz and features the enheartening optimism of Yaakov Lehman. I am posting it here as a way of sharing in their mitzvah and helping to spread its happy message.

Chag Sukkot Sameach!

(The photo at the top of this item was taken near my home in Granada Costa, Spain in December 2008)

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At the Gate of Shabbos- (September 2011)

2011-09-12T18:39:00.000+02:00

Parshah Ki Tavo begins with the phrase “When you enter”. It is one of the speeches which Moses made as the community was preparing to enter the Promised Land. “Ki tavo el ha-aretz”.

I see a parallel between the Biblical People of Israel waiting to enter the Promised Land in Parshah Ki Tavo and the Eternal Community of Israel waiting to enter Shabbos each Friday.

Last Friday it occurred to me that Friday often feels like a “lost” day. For most of us, it is spent in frantic preparation for Shabbat. Each Friday we are often rushing about cleaning, cooking, buying last minute treats, finishing off tasks before leaving work, hurrying through traffic to beat the clock- and before we know it the day is gone in a flash and the heat of midday has become the dusk before the candles are lit.

Friday is the Sixth day and we read Ki Tavo on the Sixth “Shabbat of Consolation”. Man was created on the sixth day - and what was His first day on earth? It was the seventh day, the Sabbath of God’s rest (menuchah) and mankind’s joy (simcha). All the business of the six days of creation, all our efforts during the six working days, and all the rush of our erev Shabbos preparations are there to create what? They exist solely for the sake of the menuchah and the simcha of Shabbos.

In Parshah Ki Tavo (at Deut.27:4) what is the first practical task that we are enjoined to make on arriving in the Promised Land? It is that we should make an altar of unhewn stones (a place for sacrifice and prayer) and set up the twelve stones of the Law (a kind of Beit HaMidrash for the study and meditation on the Torah). Once these symbols have been created we are then enjoined to “eat there” and to “rejoice” in God’s presence (Deut. 27:7)

This is reflected in the way we set the Shabbos table, light the candles, say the Kiddush (which is both study and prayer) and then rejoice in “holy eating and singing” in the presence of our God. The moment of transition is marked by the Kiddush text which refers to Creation and to the Exodus...both of which are woven into the narrative of Parshah Ki Tavo.

The earthly stones of our weekly labours from our six days of ordinary yet creative existence, have been re-fashioned as an altar to God. Yet all we offer has actually been given us by God, so in fact we are simply returning all to The One who is their Origin (This coincidentally is also the theme of the bikkurim passage in Ki Tavo).

It is the Ner Shabbat, the light of Shabbos which transforms the ordinary and makes of this moment a gateway between the worlds. A gateway which opens once a week,every week, so that God’s blessings may stream into our lives and so that we may, for a short while, stand in its threshold and feel the pull to cross over into its other-worldly dimension. I’m using the phrase “other-worldly” specifically.

The six days of creation are concerned with the physical world

And they end with the breath of life entering the first man.

The seventh day is the day on which God “takes a breath”

And breathes that sigh of His own eternal contentment into all creation.

The six days are the “olam hazeh”.

The world as we (most usually) perceive in the “now”.

-The way things seem to be.

Shabbos is “mein l’olam ha-ba”

A foretaste of the world which is coming

-The way things truly are.

And so the sixth day is like a gateway.

That’s why Friday sometimes seems to disappear in a flash.

In truth it is not like the other six days.

Its unique purpose is transitional and it symbolises a threshold.

Why is man created?

To do God’s will.

To be God’s activity in the world (olam hazeh).

Why is Shabbos created?

To move creation nearer to completion

To become God’s mind in the world(olam haba).

.....

On finishing my Hegyon ha-Lev (meditative reading of the Parshah and its Haftarah) I opened the book of psalms at random, and the verse which I landed on confirmed to me that my passing thought about Erev Shabbos as a gate was a pointer to something:

“Enter His gates with thanksgiving
And His courts with Praise.”
(Bo’u b’sharav b’todah chatzerotav bit’hilla )
Psalm 100:4

This immediately reminded me of the verse in the Erev Shabbos song “L’cha Dodi” which exclaims: “Enter in Peace, O Crown of the Husband” (Boi b’Shalom ateret ba’alah).

It did not surprise me to find that the same hymn was also linked to Haftarah Ki Tavo where we read:

“Arise, Shine for your light is come
And the Glory of HaShem shines upon you”
(Kumi Ori, ki va oreich uch’vod HaShem alayich zarach)
Isaiah 60:1

This verse is paraphrased in L’cha dodi as:

“Wake up, wake up
For your light has come: rise,shine!
Awake, awake, break out in song
For the LORD’s glory is revealed on you.”
(Koren-Sachs siddur p 320)

The lighting of the Shabbos candles marks the acceptance of Shabbat in the home.

Though they are plural, the Shabbos candles represent the One Light of Shabbos.

This light is the same light by which the worlds were created and by which the Torah descended. It is the same light which transforms our “ordinary blurred perception” into God’s “True perspective”.

Just as the Pioneers were commanded to build an altar of unhewn stone, so the one entering Shabbos knows that the rest (menuchah) that is about to descend is not something they have made or deserved by their own hard work...but that it is something which is a transformative gift from God. In the same way the joy (simchah) we are given is not mere relief that the working week is over- it is a distinct and profound enlargement of the heart’s spiritual capacity. We light the candles, but the Light itself is God’s. We read in Haftarah Ki Tavo that the light of the sun and moon will become (as it were) redundant and that:

“HaShem will be to you as an everlasting light (Or Olam)”
Isaiah 60:19

It is this light which we foreshadow when we light the Sabbath candles.

Haftarah Ki Tavo is concerned with the restoration of Zion, but it also refers to the restoration of the individual soul. We experience a memory of that future event (sic) each erev Shabbos. Shabbos is a foretaste of that eternal moment, and each Friday that moment comes closer. In both the haftarah and in the hymn “L’cha Dodi” it is expressed as an event which shocks, which is full of excitement, which is akin to being shaken awake by a blinding light.

The Haftarah speaks of excitement so great our hearts will throb and enlarge (Isaiah 60:5), “L’cha Dodi” adjures us to welcome Shabbos as “she” enters with “joy and jubilation” (b’simcha u’v’tzoholah). The Torah parshah (Deut 27:7) tells us we should “rejoice before the Lord our God.” (v’samachta lifnei HaShem).

........

I am writing this meditative and informal commentary in Elul, the pentitential month of preparation for the Royal Judgement of the coming Yamim Nora’im.

That text from Psalm 100 speaks of Gates and Courts.

In Elul (or any time of decision or self examination)

we know these have a particularly poignant message for us.

Gates

Are places of Judgement but also of Mercy.

At a gate one may find a beit din gathered for justice

Or a beggar crying out for alms;

In Elul we are sometimes judges of our own crimes;

Sometimes we are criminal supplicants hoping for a lenient sentence;

Sometimes we are just desperate beggars exhausted after a journey through a spiritual desert.

Gates

Are like the threshold of the Cave

Where the Elijah-in-us hears a questioning voice

Examining our past like a relentless laser.

They are also like the Door of the Tent of Meeting

Where the Moses-in-us hears the Word of HaShem,

Offering us mitzvot with which to make atonement

And inspiration to plan for a renewed future.

And they are like the place where all the worlds meet.

The moment in which we face the unanswerable Fiftieth Question

That can lead to our giving up

Or deciding to begin again with a soul washed clean at Yom Kippur.

Courtyards

Are the places where our community gathers for worship.

When we pray we are never standing before God alone.

All Israel stands waiting, waiting, in that temple courtyard as Elul moves to a close.

We are there together in order to help each other.

It’s a time to share forgiveness, charity, encouragement, hope.

A time to accept that some of us may fail or fall

Like animals to the slaughter

But to smile at each other in showing that acceptance of the yoke of heaven

Is our purpose.

That whatever the verdict may be- it is from the Hand of God

And in accepting it with love we are being who we are called to be.

Courtyards

Are for insiders

They are for those who have managed to gain admission through those imposing gates,

Through those twin mountains of terror and awe: Gerizim and Ebal.

If we are fortunate enough to have been invited in,

Let’s hope we do all we can to remain there

By not shirking our duty as contemplatives.

After all, there is another psalm (which we say each day in Elul) that marks us out:

“One thing I ask of HaShem
One thing I seek:
To live in the House of HaShem all the days of my life,
To gaze on the beauty of HaShem
And worship in His Temple”
Psalm 27:4

May we find ways to escape even the sins we commit in secret and throw ourselves on the Mercy of the Judge.

Confident that He is showing us the “blessings and curses” of Parshah Ki Tavo

only as way to “Wake us up” so that we may “Arise and Shine”-

May we turn towards Him with joy to balance our fear.

And may each Shabbos be a gateway to that joy,

so that as each week passes through its Sixth Day

we may enter and be lifted up,

Each week ascending in His light just that little bit more,

To the day which is always Shabbos.

N.R.Davies

Sept 12 2011

The Torah of the Heart - (Aug 2011)

2011-08-16T16:13:00.006+02:00

Parshah Ekev reminds us that we exist because of the “words” of our God. (Deut. 8:3). It also contains the second paragraph of the Sh’ma. It is the section which commands us to lay tefilin and which contains the command:

“Therefore you shall lay up these words in your heart and in your soul.”

(Deut. 11:18)

When we read the scriptures with pauses for meditation or when we meditate in silent prayer ... we are hoping to access the Torah of the Heart. The “heart” is our intuitive intellect. The “soul” is our very life-force. The Torah of the Heart is eternally given in both the “heart” and the “soul” and when we receive it intentionally in both, it simultaneously produces a connecting link between the two. Our perceptions and experiences are thus bound up with our essential soul root...and from there, bound up with our God. In other words: Our obedience to the commands of the Torah is only partial if love and true internalisation are absent.

God speaks to all of us via the written and the oral Torah. He also speaks to us in our own prayers and in our own private meditation. We know how and when we are called to action as a nation and as individuals through the words of the written and oral Torah- but as we each receive that Torah according to our own abilities and character, there is a sense in which our reception of that Torah is incomplete unless we delve deeply into our souls to read those “words” in the Cave of the Heart, alone with our God.

When speaking of the education of children, the Chiddushei Ha-Rim tells us that the words of the Sh’ma are “laid on the surface of the heart” so that they may sink into those hearts which are truly receptive later on. I see this as implying that the “words” can only be truly received when they are reflected upon, acted upon, and internalised personally.

We may observe the “letter” of the Law, but we have not received it until we go beyond that letter to access its “Soul”. This is done most specially in silent contemplative prayer.

..........

I can remember when reel to reel tape-recorders and cassette players were a miraculous novelty. I can remember the invention of the internet and the shock of realising (so recently) that we have wireless and satellite infotech connections of such power and speed that the entire Bible, Talmud, and Shulchan Aruch can be transferred onto disk and printed or viewed in any synagogue or home with sufficient resources. I can watch and listen in amazement as many centuries of Torah commentary and study can be transferred from PC to PC, from personal email to personal email, in seconds.

Living in such an era, the traditional Jewish concepts concerning the transmission and the receiving of the Torah do not seem at all impossible.

Living in such an era, we can perhaps see that Moses may have received the “entire” Torah...including the Torah of the Heart..in less than a second. --How much he may have been conscious of, or how much of it he understood personally is,I think, another matter!

I have no difficulty in imagining the “truth” concealed in the ancient tale that we each “knew” that same Torah in the womb, before an angel tapped us so we should forget the Light we had seen- in order to spend all our lives looking for it.

I also have no difficulty in considering that it is possible that, in one moment, our God can infuse our brain or soul with his pure word in a way that is currently (and maybe eternally) beyond our comprehension. But not beyond our reception. Not beyond our experience.

We all stood at Sinai. We all heard the Voice. The Words of the Living God have been laid upon all our hearts.

The “data” which is the “daat” I am loosely referring to here is a bit like having the Talmud or the Chumash on our soul’s hard drive. There may be thousands of “words” we have yet to read, or yet to understand. But they are there for us to click on if we want to. One might even say that just knowing that they are there inside us is an act of “spiritual knowledge” even though we may not realise it on a conscious level.

The Torah which we had seen and known in the womb (and before) was not erased. It remains in our soul’s storage system for us to discover anew....letter by letter, word by word, line by line.

In Psalm 12 we read that:

Imrot HaShem amarot tehorot kesef
ba-alil la’aretz
m’zukak shivatayim

“The words of HaShem are pure words,like pure silver,
Clear to the world, refined seven times.”
Psalm 12:8

Some versions read ba-alil la-aretz as “in an earthly furnace”.

The Words of the Living God are pure.

Too pure for us.

They are, as it were, the derivational root of our words

Or the thoughts before and behind our thoughts.

The “pure words” of God are like refined silver.

In them there is no dross or clouding.

The only “earthly furnace” which can receive them at all

Is the crucible of our hearts.

And in that furnace they are not purified,

For they lack nothing and are perfect.

In the furnace of our hearts what happens

Is that our understanding of them is made possible...

They are made “clear to all the world”

-Our World.

Not by the work of explanation, analysis, or philosophy,

But by the three fires

Of Inspiration, of Deveykut, and of Spiritual Intimacy,

In which those “pure words” may be transmuted

Into earthly thoughts and actions.
The first is entirely the work of God;
The second is our own cry for contact with God or our response to His call;
The third is the activity arising from the union of our will
with the will of God.

These three "fires" are not necessarily consecutive,
Nor do they always arise in that order-
-for a spark from one may ignite the others,
and they may just as easily burn simultaneously.
(From a Divine perspective they are all one anyway).

The “silver” flows down like a spiralling river

From the world where it had been pure

And goes through “seven” (many) changes

Before it can be comprehended in any way by us.

The process of refinement is (as it were) being reversed.

So that the pure word can be borne by man.

........

We may be the type of people who need to discuss our lives with God frequently as though He were at our side. We may be the type of people who prefer to use the texts of prayers written by other people when we want to get closer to Him. Or we may be the kind of people who prefer to discuss His Words in the company of other humans (either in the flesh or through Talmudic study). Or we may be the kind of people who can’t bear to do much of any of them yet find we meet Him most intimately in acts of compassion and charity.

For us, any one or any combination of those “paths” are not only the way a Jew meets God, they are also the way one hears and reads the Torah of the Heart.

But for the Contemplative?

Well, we are those who need- more than anything-to simply turn the receiver on and let God broadcast to us. We may not hear what He is saying in a way that is clear, but we can sense that we are where we are meant to be in His “scheme of things” and that is more than enough.

Standing or sitting or walking in contemplative prayer;

Praying the liturgy;

Performing ritual mitzvot;

In our small way, we are attempting to both study and practice the Torah of the Heart.

............

In Parshah Ekev and in its Haftarah, we are reminded that we are not alone in this process. As we “study” so God “reads” us. Parshah Ekev refers to both the mitzvah of keriat shema and the mitzvah of tefilin.

As we bind the arm tefilin on our weaker arm,

As we bind the strap seven times around it:

We may choose to remember the “seven times refined silver” of Psalm12.

We may watch as the Pure word “flows through our veins”

As it spirals from the sofer-text in its box

To the hand which is destined to do His Will.

To allow the Word to be transformed into Action.

And we may choose to remember that the box (bayit) containing His Words is placed “on the bicep next to the heart” for a reason. The heart is doing the listening. The text is an intimate whisper, so it pays to get close to the Voice. Sometimes a message can be conveyed better by such a detail than by words.

As we sign His Name on our hand and bind the signs of our mutual betrothal into it,

We may choose to remember that, in Haftarah Ekev, He says:

“Behold, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands”
Isaiah 49:8.

As we are looking at the evidence of His Love in front of our eyes,

He is simultaneously, as it were, looking at His Own “hands” which bear the sign of that same betrothal.

In this particular mitzvah, He looks through our eyes.

As we say the second paragraph of the Sh’ma

We are reminded that His Torah is like flowing water

and that whether it is the dry season or the rainy season

(a time of consolation or a time of spiritual aridity)

We are still promised the rain of His life-giving Words

Both as Yoreh and as Malkosh (Deut11:14)

And where do we lay these words?

“Therefore you shall lay up these words in your heart and in your soul
And you shall bind them for a sign on your hand
And as frontlets before your eyes.”
(Deut. 11:18)

Perhaps as “signs” they can speak to us clearer than words

Perhaps these “signs” are closer to the “Pure Words” of God Himself

than any written or spoken words ever could be.

Perhaps they are laid-up (stored) in the file-system of our “heart and soul”

Because it is only there that we can “hold” All of His Torah.

N.R.Davies

Aug 16 2011

Repair and Return:Fifty Days to Let God Find Us - (Aug 2011)

2011-08-07T18:09:00.005+02:00

I am writing this little commentary in the week of Tisha B’Av, a fast day commemorating and mourning the destruction of our first and second Temples in Jerusalem. I have great personal difficulty with fasting as a religious activity. In fact I have a strong aversion to almost any penitential practices whether they be viewed as a form of pleading for the community, for personal purification, or for begging forgiveness from God. The fast of Yom Kippur is one which I approach more positively because we have the practice of bringing the joy of hope and forgiveness into our prayers at that time. There is also the beautiful “fringe” midrash view that we are fasting on that particular day mainly to be as the angels, or at least as humans with body and soul in better relational perspective!

Having said this, I feel the weight of my own sins and the weight of the sins of Israel on Yom Kippur...as I do on any weekday when saying tachanun. But I do find that reparation made through a changed heart, through asking forgiveness (both of God and of man), and in giving to charity easier to practice than any form of self-punishment. I have no difficulties with begging forgiveness or with teshuvah...just with physical or psychological expressions which seem tinged with masochism or with self regard. I am aware that we all need to make amends in some way for our failings and I plead along with all Israel for God’s mercy on us His undeserving and often failing servants. I just don’t like cringing and moping.

This makes Tisha B’Av a difficult time for me.

So I ask the question: How may the readings of the current week (Va-etchanan) become food for the journey through this fast day (and beyond)?

.........

In Parshah Vaetchanan we read:

From thence you will seek HaShem your God,
and you shall find Him if you seek Him
with all your heart and with all your soul.
(Deut4:29)

The fast day of Tisha b’Av marks the start of the long “Season of Return”(teshuvah).

It is the first of the Fifty Days which lead up to Rosh Hashanah.

We read: “From thence you will seek HaShem your God” Deut.4:29.

From “thence” (this fast day) we begin our search for God in teshuvah.

But this week’s Haftarah is also the first of the “Haftarot of comfort”

And as such we are made aware right from the start of the season that it is not just we who are searching for Him.The week also marks the start of the Season of His search for us.

It is the first glimmer not of despair in destruction and failure but of hope that we can arise from the pit of the golden calf to ascend to meet our Father and King.

This ascent through the Fifty Days needs a lot of cheshbon ha nefesh (self examination and critical stock taking) and it is appropriate that it should begin with the remembrance of past sin and its attendant punishment....but the whole point of the season is not so much our purification as our return.

It is not a period of self-improvement. It is a period of altered perspective and recognition that God is forgiving and is searching for us.

You can hear this in Parshah Vaetchanan if you choose to.

Even as we prepare to commemorate the sad memory of the destruction of two temples, the week’s Torah reading bids us derive joy in the midst of sorrow.

We read:

“In your distress, when all of these things are come upon you, in the end of days, You will hearken to His Voice”.
Deut:4:30

In the same Parshah when we are told how we should instruct our children(see Deuteronomy 6:20), we are given the formula: We were slaves in Egypt but HaShem brought us out by the power of his Mighty Hand. The section then goes on to highlight the “signs and wonders” performed on our behalf, especially the gift of the Torah. In other words: the time of constraint and pain is mentioned, but only to highlight the joy and the miracle of redemption which followed it. Similarly, we remember our enslavement to sin and we remember our rebellions and our hardships, but they are placed in a clear subsidiary slot next to our overwhelming joy in God’s forgiveness and in His unique relationship with Israel.

In the closing words of Eichah which we read on the fast day itself, the words we long to hear will be:

“Turn to Us Lord and we shall turn to You”
Lamentations 5:21

In Parshah Vaetchanan we may have read Deuteronomy 4:29 as a call for our effort and whole-heartedness in teshuvah, but when we start the process it is not long before we realise that every turning towards God came from God. Every return to Him from our past sins was because of His Mercy. Every action we experience, the good and the “bad” is the work of His love. In short, we are beginning the season of looking for Him in order to realise that He is even more ardent in wanting to find us.

Yes, we ought to spend time on Tisha B’Av in mourning and recollecting our national failures, our times of difficulty, martyrdom and anguish.

Yes we ought to spend more time as we approach the Yamim Noraim in self-analysis and in confessing our personal and community sins........

But the “How? ” (eichah?) that we need to be asking is not just the

“How could we have got it all so wrong?” associated with the destruction and grief of Tisha b’Av....

The question is not so much “Why was the temple destroyed?”

But “So- How can we rebuild the temple?”

We pray for the restoration of the Temple Service and for the re-dedication of our House of Worship in Jerusalem, but "Temple" may here be taken also as referring to the "Place of our meeting God".

For the contemplative Jew, this means we are looking for ways to rebuild a relationship we may have broken or even destroyed. A way of repairing a channel of communication. A way to allow healing and restoration of spirit to take place.

These fifty days are a time for preparing the way for the Royal Progress.

According to our traditional seasonal imagery-

Our Father and King is about to descend from the heavenly Courts to survey His “Land” and “His People”

And the first thing we are asked to do in acknowledging this very positive way of viewing the start of the teshuvah season is to clear away anything which gets in the way of that process.

Haftarah Vaetchanan instructs us:

“Prepare you the way of the Lord...
Make a Highway in the desert...”
Isaiah 40:3

The contemplative lives permanently in the desert. For us, this is a place of minimalist spiritual simplicity where God’s Voice may be heard more clearly; a place of trial and testing where one is engaged in a journey balancing trust and initiative, the “manna” and the “warfare” of a religiously Spartan life. Our focus is never our own self-improvement: our focus is making progress towards an encounter. Any cheshbon ha-nefesh we make is simply “highway maintenance”. What we are really attempting to do is to meet God. Preparing the path is merely incidental.

It is not a long step away from this statement to a realisation that the things we call sin are nothing less that a “running away” from that encounter or a deliberate (if concealed) placing of obstructions in the way to prevent a real meeting with God from taking place.

If you are like me and you find the penitential season which is around the corner a potential downer. If you find Tisha b’Av an awfully early time to begin the kind of soul-searching which many postpone till Elul. Try thinking of it all as the start of a process of reconciliation not of recrimination, of an increase in intimacy not with our darker selves but with God. Not as a time for self-mortification, but as a time when the journey towards HaShem can accelerate like a child running to meet his father after a long absence. Seen that way the sooner we start running towards Him the better.

May HaShem find us searching for Him

May these Fifty Days be days of hope and joy

And may we focus not on the shovel digging the earth in front of us
But on the distant approach of the Royal One for whom we labour.

May that give strength to our hands and to our hearts
No matter how we may have failed in our tasks in the past.

May He find us.

N.R.Davies

Aug 7th 2011

Hishtadlut and Bitachon on the Contemplative Journey (Aug 2011)

2011-08-01T17:04:00.001+02:00

(photo: Sorelle White)

Reflecting on the current week’s Torah reading (Parshah Devarim) which recounts some of the stages and battles of the time we were in the desert, I began to see how it might provide us with a sort of manual for some aspects of our contemplative practice. This month’s article takes that idea and develops it a little. Though it is directly related to Parshah Devarim and its accompanying Haftarah Hazon, it has a year-long application as it concerns the very basic nature of a contemplative’s relationship with the One who is Avinu Malkeinu...both our Father and our King. He can be both at the same time. Can the contemplative Jew emulate that balance in some way by being both His child and His servant simultaneously?

Do we simply allow the wind to blow a “Divine seed” to the place of its intended growth or do we also need to prepare the land which will receive it ourselves? Are there times when no plant would grow at all if we ourselves failed to plant a seed of our own choosing?

Are we receptive like suckling children or are we on active service like zealous soldiers?

My suggestion is that though we may never quite attain it, our aim should be to discover and to create a balance between these two expressions of contemplative practice.

Commentary: Parshah Devarim and Haftarah Hazon

There are times when we are asked to wait, to listen, to hope and pray, to be patient.

And there are times when we are asked to take the initiative, to help ourselves, to fight for something, and to make things happen ourselves.

They are the delicate balance between hishtadlut (initiative and action) and bitachon (trust and faith).

We are born God’s children and called to be His servants- so perhaps bitachon is in some way superior? We are told not to fear enemies but to confront them bravely- so perhaps hishtadlut is in some way superior? In truth they are two inseparable facets of a spiritual life lived in balance.

We are not instrumentally passive like angels... we become God’s instruments when we act bravely and then, paradoxically find ourselves used as passive channels of His Light. Once we have “obeyed” by performing deeds we become “purified” in our spiritual essence by losing our self-focus in the blaze of His activity.

Parshah Devarim and Haftarah Chazon are like a manual for such a process. The Parshah describes the balance between hishtadlut and bitachon and the Haftarah describes the purification process and its link with halakhah:

“Behold I have set the land before you

Go in and possess the Land”

(Deut. 1:8)

and

I will turn my hand upon you

And purge away your dross as with lye”

(Isaiah 1:25)

.....

In our daily lives we can usually plod on with religious routines and hope that our zeal can introduce a freshness and a joy into all our practices. But in the lives of all contemplatives there are moments of decision, periods of uncertainty, turning points and changes of focus and most significantly...an endless activity in which we encounter obstacles and difficulties as stages in a journey. Parshah Masei and Parshah Devarim both seem to highlight such events.

God sends inspiration in our prayer and direction in our study but we have to choose to see what He is trying to tell us, and sometimes we prefer to misread Him in order to get what we want ourselves. He may “set the land before us” (Deut. 1:8) but we have to help to remove the “dross”(Isaiah 1:25) ourselves, by “going in” to do battle.

He is ever leading us “in the fire by night” and “in the cloud by day” (Deut:1:32) but we have to keep moving ourselves or be left behind by the ever-moving caravan. The fire of our nightly hitbodedut may give us a sense of direction, but we may fall asleep before we are galvanised into action the next dawn. The clouded “daily” messages from Above which come to us in the significant events we encounter Below in our everyday lives-may be ignored if we attend only to the “noise and traffic on the street” and “forget to look up at the sky” ( where the message is writ clearer). And of course we can also drag our heels and actually refuse to go anywhere!

In other words, God may be showing us where He wants us to go but we may either choose to be blind, or we may choose to look the other way. Either way we will make no progress unless we at least attempt to work out what we are being “shown” or “told”.

....

Sometimes the contemplative finds that the obstacles one meets on the journey are too great to overcome and so a “failure” ensues. Sometimes this is not a failure but merely a necessary step along the way. An event with a purpose we are unable to see. This too is highlighted for us in Parshah Devarim. Speaking of an enemy of Israel, Moses reminds us:

“for Hashem your God hardened his spirit and made his heart obstinate
that He might deliver him into your hand, as it has transpired today”
(Deut.2:30)

Applying this text to this commentary, it would seem that there are times when our struggle has to fail in the face of obstacles so that our eventual rescue or redemption may be clearly seen as something which God alone could achieve for us. These are times when HaShem “sets His seal” on our lives clearly.

At such times, our apparent failure is merely a way to enhance our eventual joy. In this sense we have been treated as “servants” with a certain harsh subservience demanded of us- in order that we may “become children” at the end and simply jump for joy in our Father’s rescue. Often, though we have to act ourselves, there are times when our patience and hopefulness are actually the only action we can offer Him. Again the whole scenario reflects the balance of activity and passivity, but in this case our activity is “in the act of trusting” itself.

.......

Sometimes, contemplatives find themselves “stuck” at a stage on the journey and this is neither due to rebellion nor to an inability to see the signs of direction offered. Sometimes, we are in the grip of fear and have been paralysed by our spiritual “enemies”

The "enemies" which the contemplative is combating, those things which prevent the progress of the spiritual journey, are different for each person but they often have characteristics in common. They are often self-doubts or exaggerated notions of self importance (two poles of the same infirmity of self-absorption); or a fear of the future when the present is acting as a soporific; or a perennial dark night of faith in which Everything is called into question!

Parshah Devarim also tells us not to fear those enemies if we are sure we are doing God’s will. In Deuteronomy 2:36 we are reminded:

“You shall not fear them
For HaShem your God, He it is that fights for you.”

This is one of the many verses in the Parshah that demonstrates the balance between hishtadlut and bitachon as it is quite clearly our active combat that is described as the action of God. It is clearly a process with an “upward” and a “downward” flow whose dynamism is never one-sided. The verse may be telling us that “when we are doing God’s will” to the best of our knowledge and ability, our success will come directly from the Strength of God within us.

But how can we be sure that we are doing God’s will?

This brings me to next thread of advice for contemplatives which seems to run through both the Torah reading and the Haftarah. It is the notion that obedience and authority have an undisputed role to play in the way in which we progress on the contemplative/mystical journey. Once again it is a matter of balancing activity and passivity.

The “child” in us sometimes craves instruction and infused knowledge;

But it may also insist that its own opinion is “the right one” before it has acquired discernment or wisdom.

The “soldier-servant” in us recognises the honour of duty and the value of obedience- sometimes even blind obedience; But it also wants to win by its own prowess and develop pride in its conquests.

The “child” in us may want to use intuition

The “servant” may choose to be commanded

The “child” may demand its own way

The “servant” may lack initiative.

The “child” may burst with love but can also burst in spiteful rage.

The “servant” may lack creativity, but may also be an effective tool in the hands of the Master.

Can you see from these few random examples how subtle a balance of the two we all need to be?

We can never exist as one without losing the other to some degree.

We need to order the two drives into some kind of functioning balance.

How is that done?

There is a short Psalm text which may serve to light the way for us:

In Psalm 8:3 we read:

“Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings
You have founded strength”

We begin as children who are ravenous for the attention of God

And mature as servants who have developed the strength to give Him all our attention.

We begin with our own childlike intuitions and reflections

And mature by checking them alongside the words of our Sages.

We begin with an outburst of childlike love for our God

And mature by showing our love in practical action by observing the mitzvot more deeply.

We begin with childlike attempts to crawl and scramble up Sinai’s contemplative slopes

And mature by realising that we were lifted into the cleft of the rock by God’s Hand (and not by any effort or merit of our own) all along.

The Parshah tells us: “I took the heads of the tribes, wise men and full of knowledge, and made them heads over you.” (Deut. 1:15). The Haftarah reminds us: “If you become willing and obedient, you shall eat of the land” (Isaiah 1:19) and “I will restore your judges as at the first and your counsellors as at the beginning” (Isaiah 1:26)

It is a subtle balance of activity and passivity;

Of communal obedience and personal creativity;

Of individuality and conformity;

Of receptive waiting and humble action.

Our obedience makes us strong as good soldiers so that we may be as loving as good children.

Our simple childlike trust makes us want to fight for ourselves when we are given a Divine Challenge.

And the bottom line?

Well, the ultimate test of whether or not we are “doing what God wants of us” is also given in the Haftarah:

“Seek Justice, relieve the oppressed, Judge the fatherless, plead for the widow.”
(Isaiah 1:17)

And each one of them can be done in our prayers as well as in our social interactions.

.....

May we know when to act and when to wait;

When to reject and when to accept;

When to lead and when to follow;

When to be children and when to be soldier-servants;

May we learn to balance hishtadlut and bitachon in our lives

So that the work and prayers of Israel-

May be as the Work of His Hand and the Thoughts of His Heart.

N R Davies

Aug 1 2011

Contemplative Prayer- In the Company of Elijah (July 2011)

2011-07-15T00:14:00.001+02:00

Approaching the Shabbos on which we read Parshah Pinchas, my thoughts turn again this year to the Haftarah which tells the story of Elijah’s encounter with the “still small voice.” Moses passes on his leadership to Joshua, and Elijah passes something of his spirit (a double portion perhaps) to Elisha and to those who continue his contemplative mission.

In 2007, I wrote at length about the Cave of Elijah (see HERE), but this year I would just like to post a very short and simple reflection relating Haftarah Pinchas to some aspects of contemplative prayer. The scripture references in this commentary do not indicate direct quotes, they merely indicate the places where the related scriptural texts used in the reflection may be found.

Commentary:

All those who would hear the “still small voice”

Are pursued by their own Queen Jezebel:

The rage of their defeated idols.

They are hunted by the anxiety of fear before formidable enemies,

Just as Elijah was hunted. (I Kings 19:2)

All those who would find the entrance to the Cave of the Heart on Sinai,

Must first endure the exhausted sleep of those who wrestle with spiritual opponents

Before any angel will bring them sustaining bread or restorative rest.

Just as Elijah slept. (I Kings 19:5,7)

All those who struggle on hearing the Divine question:

“What are you doing here?”

Will blather and bluster in self-focus before submitting to the truth of Truth Himself.

Just as Elijah did. (I Kings 19:10)

We are commanded to stand up for ourselves and fight the “Midianites” who harass us.(Numbers 25:17)

Our weapons in that battle are intellect and determination, faith and trust:

For the enemies who block our path are fear and doubt.

But they are truly not enemies at all-

They too are angels-

Their message is that Fire announces His Path (Psalm 97:3)

And simultaneously,

Fire from Heaven goes before us when we trust in our Heavenly Leader.

Because

The cloud and darkness which surround Him (Psalm 97:2)

Are like the earthquake, wind and fire which announced the Divine Voice. (I Kings 19:12)

What seems to be a lack of response to our searching and petition

What seems to be a battle fought alone in confusion or exhaustion

What seems to be hiding the Divine Presence from our sight

Is actually

-a necessary preparation for a forthcoming revelation

-the prelude to seeing that we had Divine help all along

-a clearing of the path before us, without which our ascent would not be possible.

And what seems to be destructive or obscured

Is then seen in its true light

As simply concealment for our protection, education, and deliverance from our apparent enemies.

Light is sown for the righteous (Psalm 97:11)

But we sometimes need to enter the total darkness of a cave to see it.

N R Davies

July 10 2011

Sinai: Receiving the Torah in Practice (June 2011)

2011-06-05T13:01:00.005+02:00

Yesterday I read a commentary on Naso which asked why it was that the gift of prince Elishama was special. In the course of this, I read an interesting comment on the symbolism of Efrayim and Manasseh. The commentary was taken from the Shem MiShmuel by the Sochatchover Rebbe (trans. Rabbi Zvi Belovski),

The text reads:

“Yosef wanted Menasheh to precede Efraim; that is, he wanted events to follow the order described by the verse: first “depart from evil” and only then “do good.” This, as we would expect, reflected the character of Yosef, who had spent his whole life struggling against bad to achieve greatness. Yaakov, however, chose to bless Efraim before Menasheh. Within the context we have defined, this represents a lifestyle in which one first concentrates on performing good deeds. Then, due to the influx of holiness generated by one’s new mode of life, any evil traits will automatically dissipate. In Yaakov’s view, this approach to life was preferable to his son’s mode of waiting until the bad has been destroyed before worrying about good deeds. In Yaakov’s opinion (which we may assume is the norm) this is the general rule in Jewish life: we must begin our observance of the Torah by seeking mitzvos and learning, assigning a secondary role to eliminating evil. This will follow later, for as the holiness of a Torah lifestyle enters our beings, any bad will be consumed or expelled.”

(From an article here)

This immediately reminded me of the response we made at Sinai:

"Everything that HaShem wants, naaseh v'nishma, We will do, and afterwards we will understand/listen."
(Exodus 24:7)

The implication of both texts is that action produces spiritual activity which is not restricted to the specific deed being done - that the performance of a commandment causes other activities to follow. It is true that in ritual matters we seek to have proper kavanah and that we are always attempting to be mindful of what we are doing when we perform a ritual commandment. But with many observances (both ritual and ethical) we are on automatic pilot or too involved in the process to stop to perform any complex intentions.

It seems to me that, most often, the observance of the mitzvot comes before our “listening” to the multi-layered and profound messages they bear and that our “understanding” of them is something which can often only grow if we practice them and allow them to become a living and vibrant part of our response to the Divine Voice of Sinai.

Of course there is a sense in which we can never “understand” the mitzvot but we can always make an effort to “listen” to their message to us on a daily and immanent basis.

I ended the Kuntres M’arat Ha-Lev (May 2003) with the suggestion that the phrase “naaseh v’nishmah” had a special meaning for Jewish Contemplatives.

I wrote:

“Israel’s response at Sinai was/is “We will do and we will hear.” That is most often interpreted with the meaning: Israel hears God’s voice by observing the commandments.

That is most certainly true.
A complementary interpretation occurs to me.
I’m absolutely certain that there are no accidents.
It surely must be of primary significance that the first command in the principal prayer of Judaism, is Shema….Listen!”

( Cave of the Heart p77)

At the time, my intended meaning was that contemplative listening during Jewish prayer was a crucial (and neglected) activity; that the act of contemplative listening should follow our Torah study; that the personal and individual inscription of the Torah of the Heart on our hearts was the task of our generation and of those who would follow. I was suggesting that there was a chronological element to the Torah phrase and that “doing” and “listening” might be taken as being elements in a personal and communal walk towards God through Observance and then through Contemplation. I was trying to promote the idea that our principal duty as Jewish contemplatives is not self-centred introspection... but the practice of a religious dialogue in which we develop our attentiveness to God's Voice above all else.

Today, some seven years later, I would not seek to change any of that, but I would like to add something: It seems to me that the Torah text of Exodus 24:7 can also be taken as being a question of our “hearing God’s Voice” in the act of doing what He has commanded and not necessarily after that act or after the study of that act. There is a sense in which we can learn through the physical-practical doing as well as through the mental or spiritual appreciation or examination of it...I have found this to be the case in recent months with respect to davening (liturgical prayer). Previously I had minimised the amount of time spent in liturgical prayer in favour of spending more time in hitbodedut or hitbonenut. Now I am beginning to see that the latter (contemplative prayer) is more intrinsic to the davening itself than I had realised.

Perhaps this kind of "physical-practical learning" is a major part of the inner workings of the system of mitzvot which was/is transmitted to us at Sinai.

As Menachem Mendel of Kotsk reminds us: The Torah was given to us at Sinai, but we are invited to receive it anew every day. This receiving of the Torah is an act of the Spirit, an act of the Body, and an act of the Mind. But it is always a practical action.

So....
We will do...
And may HaShem speak to us in our actions.
We will listen..
And may we be granted sufficient understanding to know that the reward of a mitzvah is a mitzvah.
So that in doing
We may become more useful to Him.

N R Davies

June 5 2011

Spiritual Marriage- Lag B'Omer - (May 2011)

2011-05-22T18:58:00.004+02:00

This short article is a commentary on Parshah Bemidbar. The commentary was written on Lag B’Omer for the Community of Jewish Contemplatives website and cross-posted here. It takes the form of a brief commentary on two selected texts: one from the Torah reading for the week (Parshah), and one from the Prophets reading for the week (Haftarah). The third source text is a Psalm verse chosen totally at random. Happy Lag B’Omer!!

Commentary:

The Torah text is one of many verses in Parshah Bemidbar describing the vocation of the Levites. A vocation is a calling and a choice, and it is clear from the wording of the text that the choice in question is God’s own.

The establishment of laws relating to the temple and ritual functions of the Levites are not applicable to all Jews, but the principle of their chosenness and separation to God is. The Psalm text reminds us that though we are neither Priests nor Levites- the life of a contemplative Jew is a vocation too.

Those of us who have an inclination and a capacity for what one might call meditative or contemplative prayer are given these character traits as gifts in the same way as people may be given talents as musicians or painters, business managers or salesmen, health service professionals or social workers, and so forth. These are all examples of individually tailor-made vocation and chosenness.

Within Judaism, some of us are Teachers of the Torah, some of us are its Lawyers and Spiritual Healers. Some of us are its Scribes or its Craftsmen. But all of us are its pupils and all of us are called to be its practitioners.

Even though some of us may appear to work far from the focal point of the Tent of Meeting which dwells invisibly at the centre of our Nation’s encampment, we are never far from its influence if our personal orientation is towards our internal mishkan. By maintaining a connection with that place which is the Makom of all places- we are never far from our true centre in God.

For our little group of contemplative Jews – whether we are working in secular employment or on extended retreat- we are a tribe of Mitkarvim and Mitkarvot who feel “drawn close” in a most specific way. Our special service to the wider community is our compassionate prayer for them and for “all creation”. Our special “standard” marks our own “area” within the camp of Israel. (see Numbers 1:52) As I have often written before: We are not special in any elitist sense, but we are distinctive -as we feel we are called to a certain type of spiritual activity within the Jewish Faith. We are those who know that our fulfillment can only come from a life spent in the Courts of our God.

All Israel is chosen.

In a sense, our Nation is the replacement for the firstborn of the Human Race.

As such, all Jews are responsible for (the equivalent of) the service of the Temple (through our davening and through our observance of the ritual mitzvot) and we are responsible for the exercise of Justice and Mercy both in our practical acts of physical and monetary compassion and in our petitionary prayer.

The exercise of this compassionate tikkun is not the preserve of an elitist group. It is the responsibility of all Jews. Neither is it an option: It is a Divine Mandate and nothing less than a binding mutual betrothal: a shockingly explicit act of spiritual Love in which the Master of the Universe becomes the Spouse of the soul. (Hosea 2:18)

As the Haftarah text reminds us: If we are faithful in our observance of The Contract, He will be our God.

If we are to be drawn near to God in contemplation, we do this within the “four walls “ of the Torah. These are the Courts referred to in our Psalm text. If we bind ourselves to love God Himself with the intention of remaining faithful, then our marriage to Him will be consummated. This refers to the relationship between Israel the Nation and her God... but it also refers to each individual Jewish soul and her “Ishi”. We have been promised this.

“And I will betroth you to me in faithfulness and You shall know HaShem”
(Hosea 2:22)

We say these words as we bind the tefillin straps on our hands and we have the marriage contract in our hands (as it were) whenever we kiss the tzitzit. He whispers His promise in our ears every time we conclude the third paragraph of the Shema, and the door to our hearts is opened every time we cross a threshold and bring the message of its mezuzah to mind.

These are some of the moments or acts in each Jewish day which allow the Light of the Covenant to shine through chinks of awareness onto our ordinary lives and they are the life-line of all Jewish Contemplatives.

None of our contemplative prayer is for our own personal development. None of our meditations have a therapeutic or psychological motivation. Everything we do, we do as part of our relationship to our Spouse through the details of the Covenant. The texts and practices of the Torah are not just the text and instructions for the Nation’s relationship to God- They are also the intimate signs and symbols of love and faithfulness which are passed back and forth between the individual and the One who is Ribono shel Olam. The tzitzit,mezuzah,tefillin and Sh’ma (for example) are not only a part of the ketubah (Marriage Contract document) , they are also an active and mutual conversation. These little words of endearment and little touches of affection are the caresses which keep us faithful and which remind us that what we do is part of a plan whose deepest purposes we may never comprehend.

May the memory of the Tzaddik Shimon Bar Yohai (whose Spiritual marriage we celebrate today) be for a blessing.

N R Davies

Lag B’Omer

Sunday May 22 2011

The Jewish Retreat Centre- Our Interior Sanctuary (March 2011)

2011-03-13T16:09:00.001+01:00

Parshah Tzav contains the instructions for the consecration procedures for the nation's priests, and includes the description of a seven day retreat. Though it is a retreat which was originally related to priestly ordination, it can provide all Jews with a beautiful model for our own formal retreats (either alone or at Jewish retreat centres) or for our solitary contemplative prayer periods.

I live in Spain and at the time of writing there is not one single “Jewish retreat centre” in the whole of Europe. I don’t think that this necessarily implies we Jews of Europe are an “unspiritual” lot. Like many Jews the world over, we appreciate the value of “time out” to face our God in private periods of retreat- but as yet there is no chain of specially dedicated venues such as those which an American Jew might check into.

There is, however, one obvious “venue” to which we can all have recourse, and that is the retreat centre which we create (or discover) in our own souls. It is the “Retreat Centre” which is provided by God whose name is Ha Makom: the only true venue. We can encounter that “Place” simply by finding or creating a little solitude in our lives. That kind of solitude (hitbodedut) is something we create in time and space by choosing to.

It might be encountered in a few hours walking in a wood or a park. It might be found during a weekend alone in a hotel room. It might approach us in a day trip out of our normal activities, or in an hour sitting alone away from anyone who knows us or notices us. It may also be found by living ( physically and temporally) as I do at the moment, with the breath of silence and the cloud of unknowing for company almost every minute of every day.

The “Spiritual retreat” which is mentioned in Parshah Tzav is described as follows:

“And you shall not go out from the door of the Tent of Meeting in seven days, until the days of your consecration are completed; for seven days shall He consecrate you.... Therefore you shall remain at the door of the Tent of Meeting day and night seven days, and keep the charge of the Lord, that you die not; for so I am commanded....So Aaron and his sons did all things which the Lord commanded by the hand of Moses.”
(Leviticus 8:33-36)

One of the most detailed expositions of “secluded retreat” in Judaism is to be found in the Sefer HaMaspik l’Ovdei HaShem (Guide to Serving God) written by R.Avraham ben Maimon (1186-1237) who is sometimes known as Avraham ben HaRambam (after his illustrious father R.Moses Maimonides). The twenty third chapter of this work outlines the major examples of secluded retreat in the Bible and proposes that they are the model both for a long term retreat and for the hours of secluded meditation (hitbodedut) in the life of a contemplative Jew. In his introduction to this work, S. Rosenblatt gives a useful summary of R.Avraham’s thought in Chapter twenty-three as follows:

“There is a complete kind of external solitude, such as retirement to the desert or the mountains, and an incomplete kind such as secluding oneself in a house. It may last either for a while only or for a long time, but it can’t be life-long. Enoch, Abraham,Isaac,Jacob,Moses, the generation of the wilderness, Elijah, Elisha, Balaam and other prophets practiced complete external solitude in deserts for various lengths of time and attained their perfection in that way. Seclusion in houses or places of worship was a habit first adopted by Jacob. Joshua, Samuel, Elijah, and Elisha are also known to have followed it. Aaron and his sons and the high priests were ordered by God to remain in the Temple for certain periods of time.”
(“Highways to Perfection of Abraham Maimonides” trans: Samuel Goldblatt p.29)

R. Avraham ben Maimon explains the connection between external and internal retreat as follows:

“...the purpose of the desire for outward retreat is to realise inward retreat, through which one can realize the benefit – the prophetic Encounter- or something similar to it......
The intimate ones – the prophets, their disciples, and the chasidim – would practice retreat in the Temple which contains the burnt offering altar and the incense altar.....”
(“Guide to Serving God” R.Avraham ben HaRambam trans: R.Yaakov Wincelberg p.513)

We ourselves are not temple priests nor do we have access to the historical Sanctuary. We can make our offerings on an interior altar because our true “Retreat Centre” is the Mishkan in our heart. Our own practice of “inward retreat” is not limited by place or by situation.

The “external retreat” which nurtures such a state of mind (or soul) is however greatly assisted by physical and temporal seclusion. But it doesn’t come without its conflicts, its trials or its constraints. When we go “on a retreat” we are not just hoping to meet God, we are also coming to terms with our own selves. A “spiritual retreat” is a step towards the “Encounter” with God but it involves a certain amount of personal introspection. This is not self-observation for its own sake. Nor is it self-examination in order to reach a state of perfection. It is just a chance to examine our responses to God frankly and critically. The danger is that we might overdo it and become obsessive about our own ego... this can produce either pride or self criticism to the point of despair. We may feel we arrived long ago and know “it” already, or we may feel we should give up because we are failing to “make contact”. Both could well be misjudgements born of exaggerated self importance .

Whether we are living in permanent retreat or just entering into that state periodically, whether we live in secluded silence at all times or practice this form of seclusion only in our daily contemplation periods, we will always face these two very private and tenacious challenges: How to avoid religious self-righteouness on the one hand and how to avoid excessive self-abasement on the other. The former leads to pseudo-spirituality where religion masks a delusion, and the latter is an expression of religious despair brought about by the awareness of an “absence” of God and our our own inadequacies and failings in attempting to “discover” and obey Him.

The necessary balancing out of these two extremes is is beautifully encapsulated in the saying attributed to R. Simchah Bunam (1765-1827):

“Everyone must have two pockets, with a note in each pocket, so that he or she can reach into the one or the other, depending on the need.

When feeling lowly and depressed, discouraged or disconsolate, one should reach into the right pocket, and, there, find the words: For my sake was the world created.

But when feeling high and mighty one should reach into the left pocket, and find the words: "I am but dust and ashes."

( Quoted at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Simcha_Bunim_of_Peshischa )

Parshah Tzav describes the first communal retreat within an enclosure. The priests were to stay on duty at the door of the Tent of Meeting the entire time and not to engage in secular activity at all. Applying this to ourselves and our own retreats: We are enjoined to make prayer (being at the Tent door) our principal activity and advised to avoid all distraction (staying in one place) for the duration of our period of separation.

We are also given a “seven day period” as an example for the ideal length of such a retreat. This is both a way to avoid the sensation of having settled into a retreat only to have to leave before one is “done”, as well as being a way to encourage a little perseverance in endurance. So often weekend retreats are too short to be effective. So often they are only sufficient to induce a mere spiritual high, a transient phenomenon which does not last for more than a few hours after returning to “normal” life. In a seven day silent retreat of some intensity it is possible to transcend the “high” period and arrive at a state of questioning which often opens the door to real and lasting progress.

This is not to say that a weekend retreat cannot be effective. Duration is ultimately insignificant as it is the quality of the “moment” that counts , nor does it deny that some of us may need much longer than just seven days to reach the plateau where “testing” can begin. (Forty day retreats come highly recommended for such people!) Nor should we forget that every observant Jew attends a “spiritual retreat” every week through the observance of the Sabbath. It is true to say that Shabbat has both a spiritual and a communal element, but if ever there was a period of time worthy of the name “retreat”, that term should certainly apply to the twenty-four hour period of Shabbos which releases us from the weekday yoke of the “secular” world and its business.

In this context, it is significant that the retreat in Parshah Tzav is not a solitary retreat like that of Moses or Elijah, but it is one which is undergone in the presence of others making the same journey as ourselves. No doubt the candidates for the priesthood will have spent some of their time discussing and studying together. Or perhaps not? Their presence at the door of the “Tent of Meeting”- in such a very Holy place- might have meant that they were commanded to be engaged in reflection all of the time during those seven days. But they were not in individual isolation. They will have felt the comradeship of their peers and they will have been able to gain strength from the fact that the seven days were spent with the support of an inner community. This is especially relevant for those of us who undergo solitary retreats in silence which are shared experiences. There are times when we really do need total solitude in order to make a good retreat...but I would heartily vouch for the effectiveness of silent retreats which are shared with other silent retreatants. The silence in no way interferes with the sense of comradeship, and the comradeship felt can be a source of perseverance for the ones in silent contemplation.

What is it about being a contemplative or a “mystic” that presents the Jew (in particular) with a perilous situation with regard to pride and self esteem?

When one is engaged in a spiritual journey, there is a tendency to feel that one is doing something “special”. This feeling is an enormous trap for Jews as our texts so often portray the mystical journey as something dangerous and cosmically momentous. One engaged in a kabbalistic or contemplative form of tikkun may so easily become excited by the notion that they are adventurers, or pioneers, or (even) spiritual pirates. This might sound far-fetched, but anyone reading the Zohar or the Merkavah texts can see that the danger is there, already written into the route-map by hyperbole, highly dramatic visualisation and a sort of flirting with the language of manipulative magic. This is not to say that the journey is not momentous. It is. It is way beyond our wildest imaginings or our incompetent human comprehension. But in a religion which spends most of its time being concerned with the ethical and the practical- with tasks to be achieved and deeds to be done- it must be said that those who choose to follow the mystical tradition can easily become deluded in over-estimating their self-importance. This refers to both comprehension and function.

On a short retreat, one who does not normally “dwell in marble halls”, may well experience transient states of altered awareness or moments of epiphany in technicolour. One really has to keep these very much in perspective, for they are not the main-course. (For some of us they are a tiny aperitif which we wish were more substantial, for others they are like a mega-calorific dessert which we can’t wait to try. We would always be advised, however, to eat sensibly. Spiritual indigestion is no joke.)

I said that the contemplative task is beyond our wildest imaginings or our incompetent comprehension. Once we acknowledge the former for what they are, we are encouraged to pay little heed to their purely imagined sensations, and as long as we hold the latter firmly in view, we will hold to the truth that we really know nothing in depth or at its root at all.

Haftarah Tzav tells us:

Let not the wise glory in their wisdom,
Nor the mighty in their strength
Nor the wealthy in their riches
(after Jeremiah 9:22)

A contemplative ought to know that “possessions” (whether they are physical or spiritual) are often a trap. We value what we are given and we are grateful for our livelihood, but we also remember that to “spend money on what is not bread” and to hoard spiritual attainment or prowess as though it were a badge of honour or a crown to wear is not compatible with the command to Love God with ALL our heart and strength and wealth. Haftarah Tzav continues to advise us:

“Let them glory in this:
That they understand and know me:
That I am the Lord
who exercises Mercy, Justice, and Righteousness on the earth.”
(after Jeremiah 9: 23)

We cannot ever really understand God, and we can only “know” Him to a certain extent...but we can see his back if He allows it. His attributes of Mercy(Chesed), Justice (Mishpat), and Righteousness(Tz’daka) are the “things” we are invited to glory in and they are God’s possessions, not ours.

Whether we are engaged in a short period of retreat or in an extended and full time period of solitary observance- this is a wonderful theme for how to make a retreat effective. Our primary focus should be on our God, but when we do come to consider our selves....we should do so by examining how well we reflect or embody these three attributes. This way we are not extolling our possessions-our spiritual, academic, or status achievements and attainments- but we are examining our effectiveness as God’s servants.

And this is where the second challenge begins to emerge.

When we do come to make such a self analysis, we can so easily fall down into the despair of being over-critical of ourselves and actually end up emerging from a “retreat” in shattered ruins. No use to ourselves and certainly no use to our God.

How do we avoid this?

Actually, the answer is principally the same as for spiritual pride: That we should make sure that we try to see things, as it were, from God’s perspective. We are told countless times that His Mercy is “for ever”, that His long-suffering Patience and Compassion are “boundless”. We actually have a duty to make our faith in this concept real and not just a declaration we make when davening but which we don’t live out in practice. The way out of the maze is simple: Trust Him, not yourself.

We should pray:

“Do not deliver me up to the will of my tormentors,
For false witnesses have risen up against me,
And they breathe violence”
(Psalm 27:12)

Though the voices of self-criticism can be our guides to humility and offer us paths to spiritual progress and better service, they can easily rise to a strident pitch and cause a panic which pushes us over a cliff into desperation. I know people who have been forced out of the doors of retreat centres by those internal “voices”, and they are real but they are also delusion. When we criticise ourselves too much we are actually just falling into the trap of a disguised form of pride again. What we are really doing is declaring that we WE are not as perfect as we want to be. (These are not original observations, though I can vouch for them personally. You can find these statements in most Jewish works of Mussar, and countless text proofs in our Scriptures. But oddly enough that doesn’t stop us from ignoring the truth these ideas contain, so I am not apologising for repeating them here yet another time for you. We need reminding.)

The test of a good retreat, I would suggest, is that what one learns during the period of prayer and reflection is translated into a long lasting and persevering practice once one leaves the “sanctuary complex”. Do we continue to perform that mitzvah we promised? Do we actually improve our personal relationship with the one we had offended? Do we maintain our newly found attitude in tangible practice or was it just a superficial “teshuvah moment” born of hormonal and emotional bio-chemistry?

In Parshah Tzav we read that when a priest leaves the sanctuary to dispose of the sacrificial ashes outside the camp, he is to change into secular clothes. (You can read this in Leviticus 6:6.)

My suggestion is that one who makes a “good retreat” should never leave the sanctuary in his heart, even though engaged in what might appear to be secular activity. In this sense, there is no need to “remove the sacred clothing” because one will always be internally on duty in the sanctuary.. I would relate this idea to the concept of the tallit gadol (worn during liturgical prayer) in relation to the tallit katan (worn during everyday business). They are actually the same garment being used in different ways. Jews are never “off duty”.

If one is linked to the world of the Sanctuary (as far as is possible) even when physically engaged in secular activities one is truly “at the door of the Tent of Meeting” because that is a place which can be said to exist on a threshold between both the sacred and the secular; also between the solitary and the communal. If one of the priests were to stand there they would have the choice to face inward to the sanctuary or outward beyond the Sanctuary complex. It is sometimes up to us which one of those two we make it: sometimes looking inward in prayer, sometimes looking outward in interpersonal and social action. If we have our eyes wide open, we will see that though the activities of each “realm” may seem separate, we can make them one. I would go so far as to suggest that, for a Jewish Contemplative, it should ideally be possible to face the sanctuary and yet “bear the world on one’s shoulders” (see Exod. 28:6-12) just as it is possible to face the world “with the Sanctuary in one’s heart”.

Whatever we do, if we have made “a good retreat”, even when we are simply referring to our daily hitbodedut ... we will remember that “the fire on the altar shall be kept burning continually” (Leviticus 6:6). Not just when we are “inside the Tent of Meeting” but also when we appear to be far from its activity. Not just when we are experiencing a moment of spiritual intensity (whether that be "on a high" or "in a low") but continually.

Though we may have left the external “Retreat Centre” or “Sanctuary” behind us-- that flame is meant to burn on the altar in our heart perpetually. Wherever we are.

Norman R. Davies

10th March 2011

Korban Minchah: The Finest Flour (March 2011)

2011-03-08T23:40:00.000+01:00

In Parshah Vayikra we read of the different kinds of ritual sacrifice. In Haftarah Vayikra we read of Israel’s need for forgiveness and atonement.

Parshah Vayikra describes a type of sacrifice called an olah. This term denotes the burnt offerings made by fire. The word olah alludes to the ascent of the “essence” of the sacrifice which rises “heavenward” as smoke. God’s Presence in the midst of the desert community was indicated by a cloud and a fire. With that in mind, any “burnt offering” (involving fire and smoke) may be seen as being a ritual related to the “bringing near” of the Divine Presence in some way. In this sense there is an element of ascent and an element of descent in the process and it is that which has grabbed my attention. What are we “sending up” to God and what is He "sending down" to us?

The burnt offerings are described in Leviticus 1 and 2 and they are listed according to the wealth of the one making the gift. The most wealthy offering a bullock, the less well off birds, and the poorest an offering of flour. This last of the offerings made by fire is the sacrifice we usually refer to as the Korban Minchah, the “Meal Offering”. Though the term “minchah” was originally used to describe any ritual offering, it is used in Parshah Vayikra to denote an offering of unleavened bread made using flour and oil. The word has since come to denote the afternoon prayer service which replaced the afternoon Sanctuary/Temple sacrifice.

Besides the intrinsic ingredients of the bread itself, the meal offering included the pouring of oil and the laying of frankincense. This would increase the visual intensity of the flames and would produce a strong-smelling cloud of smoke when the offering was set on fire. Oil is one of the symbols for joy and also of consecration. Frankincense is one of the symbols of purification and of devoted prayer. All sacrifices were offered with salt as well, another symbol of cleansing but also of self-sacrifice and of wealth. If we remember that a sacrifice is an act of korban, of the drawing close of God and Israel, we could say that:

Flour and Oil:The sacrifice of our prayer is most acceptable when we offer it in joy and as a part of a dedicated life, not as a separate act. (Our entire lives should be an act of worship).

Oil and Frankincense: Our own effort, our “labour”, is blended with the Fire of God’s overwhelming Love and the Inspiration of His Breath so that we might “burn” more brightly in His service.

Salt: If we perform this kind of sacrifice to the best of our ability it will serve to purify our hearts to make the drawing close of our souls with God a possibility.
The giving of charity and the nullification of our own self-importance will complete the sacrificial act and make our prayers a potential atonement for ourselves and for those for whom we pray.

In Leviticus 2:3 and in Leviticus 2:10 we are told that the minchah offering is the “most holy of all the offerings made by fire”. Today I considered why this might be.

We are told that the offering should be of "fine flour" (solet). As the minchah offering was the sacrifice brought by the very poorest people, it is significant that despite their poverty, the best grain available was to be selected. It reminds us that even in (physical or spiritual) poverty we can always afford to select the very best we have to give as our offering to God. This applies especially to the way we observe mitzvot. Our intention is to “beautify” the mitzvot to the best of our ability and we do this by making full use of whatever expertise, intellect, or artistic skill we might be blessed with in performing the act of service we are engaged in. For contemplative Jews, this is especially so when we pray or when we study in Hegyon Ha-Lev(meditative scriptural reflection). The hurried performance of liturgy or a skimped half-attentive period of Torah study are like inappropriate fast-food or a cake made from a packet. We are to bring only the finest ingredients….even though we are poor in the sense that our personal resources are often limited (and always imperfect), we are asked to select only the best we can offer.

An animal sacrifice involves a lot of violent drama and splashed blood and is unavoidably spectacular. To a modern sensibility it is also an emotional event. It is not just a symbol of surrendered wealth, it is also is the taking of a life and the destruction of an animal “soul”. Some may feel that the drama and enormity of the action is a sign that animal sacrifice is in some way more momentous or even superior, but the text obviously sees things in a different light. The sacrifice of minchah is not the taking of life, nor the expending of an item of great financial value, nor is it performed on a grand scale. These are highly significant factors which indicates that a much more spiritual theology of sacrifice is at work. That which distinguishes the meal offering, and therefore indicates why it is singled out as being of special value, is that a cake of wheat-meal is the product of human labour. It is a sacrifice of the humblest human effort (unleavened bread) offered with holy joy (consecrating oil) and the devotion of those cleansed of self-interest (the purifying frankincense of prayer).

The korban minchah is the gift of a poor but devoted soul to a God who has and gives everything. It is a personal offering which is act of allegiance and a statement of trust in God. It is an act of allegiance because it involves a person “presenting” himself before the altar (performing a religious commandment). It is an act of trust because the “poor one” making the offering has chosen the finest ingredients despite the cost.

When we say the blessing over bread which we are about to eat, we always use a formula which declares that God is the one who “brings forth bread from the earth”. It is clear that this “bringing forth” involves a great deal of human work and that we are not referring to a miraculous manna. This is to teach us (at least) two things.

Firstly: all our offerings are made from things which are already God’s to start with. We provide nothing but our labour. All creation is His Gift and the life which beats even in the molecules of a grain of wheat is not simply a matter of physical activity, it is simultaneously a life which is one of God’s “garments”. We ourselves only exist by His life-giving breath, and the impulse to serve is often as much a matter of inspiration as of any independent effort on our behalf.

Secondly: it is to encourage us by reminding us that, paradoxically, our partnership in the “life” and “work” of God is by no means insignificant. It is precisely because we have collaborated intensively in the production of the bread that the minchah sacrifice is declared the most acceptable and most valuable of all the sacrifices of the temple. It represents an ideal balance between Bitachon and Hishtadlut- between relying on Providence and taking the initiative ourselves.

The flour which makes our meal offering is the finest flour when it has been purified and processed in humility and yet still represents the very best we each have to offer. In return for our acceptance that we are literally paupers who rely on Providence at every moment, another bread falls.....the manna which is our spiritual sustenance,

The finest flour is also a symbol of which kind of prayer is the most valued. We may use a formulaic liturgy-but without the work of our own kavannah, our own attention to the task of prayers and to the discipline of “creating” a liturgy afresh each day…our offering would be lacking. If we make the avodat HaKodesh…our best labour then we will have understood the core meaning of the meal offering, and why it is declared the “most holy.”

And yet, however “holy” a sacrifice is we know that our intentions, our words, our acts of love, our efforts are only actually of value in the processes of atonement or worship as signs of our willing service. This is what I meant earlier when I pointed out that our prayer is most valuable when it is offered as a part of an entire way of life that is “holy”.

Our acts of restorative justice and the creation of a channel for grace in our everyday relationships and business dealings are what make our “atonement” a reality, not just our holy words and rituals. The drawing close of man and God is a part of God not some “thing” we burn or wave at Him to get our own way. He initiates both forgiveness and pardon on the evidence of our heart and our will, and not on the offering of promises, presents, or bribes. In the end, atonement is an activity of God’s Mercy, freely given. In Haftarah Vayikra we read:

“ I, even I, am He who blots out your transgressions,
For My Own Sake.”
Isaiah 43:25

His Mercy is overwhelming and beyond our comprehension. As one of the Psalms exclaims:

For His kindness overwhelmed us
And His Truth is forever
(Psalm 117:2)

We may be overwhelmed when we consider God’s “kindness”, but our euphoria is usually short lived and we forget very quickly. Even with human gifts we become forgetful. We may be stunned by someone’s generosity or by the beauty of a gift, or even its financial value. Yet how many days or weeks pass before such a treasure seems to have become an object left on a shelf, in a cupboard, or wrapped away for safe-keeping and thus never used.

How could we take God’s gifts for granted?

-His Torah and His “daily miracles” are our most valuable possessions

-His Word is without calculable value and can create worlds
through the partnership of our human labour...
in both the physical and spiritual realms.

-His Presence is a Light that is meant to shine on and out…
not be stored away for personal use.

And yet the sad fact of our history is that we do repeatedly forget “His kindness” and fail to see that He is our true “wealth”. Haftarah Vayikra- the prophetic reading which accompanies the Torah description of the sacrifices- concludes with the plea:

“Remember these things, O Jacob
And Israel, for you are my servant
I have formed you and you are My own servant
O Israel, You should not forget Me.”
Isaiah 44:21

This is not just a coincidence. The act of sacrifice and the act of memory are closely related. There are those who would say that a large part of the rationale of our liturgy-in both the sacrificial cult and the rabbinic siddur- is to remind us and not God of the situation we are in. That the acts of prayer are not so much ways of attracting God’s attention (for He “sees” us always) as ways of focussing our attention on God.

Rituals are a way of recalling an event or concept of religious significance. They are an especially potent and effective aid to memory: a set of practices which encourages us to remember God’s “kindnesses” and just how “overwhelming” they really are. This function of remembrance is especially obvious in the mitzvot of tzitzit, tefillin, and the observance of Shabbos.

For a contemplative, it is also the act of prayer itself- in the dialogue of hitbodedut, in the infused contemplation of hitbonenut, and in the focussed recitation of the formal liturgy- which brings us most profoundly into the state of “remembering” God’s Presence and His gifts to us. All forms of Jewish prayer are both acts of ascending gratitude and praise and descending acts of Divine recollection. We are not just remembering God, He is in some way involving Himself with us. We are not recalling God’s deeds so much as becoming more consciously a part of His Being.

Our prayers are both an olah (an ascent) of praise and petition and a vehicle for the descent of God’s Mercy in the form of a heavenly manna. In other words, we present the finest flour of devotion and trust in His Providence. He blesses us with the daily sustenance which we need in order to serve Him. We are given just enough faith and trust to enable us to follow one step at a time.

But perhaps the most important aspect of the meal offering is that it is the offering of one who is “poor”. By poor I mean: clear sighted in humility before God who creates and owns all (koneh hakol). Whatever its theological dynamics or liturgical significance...the thing which makes the korban minchah most special for me is that it is not an offering demonstrating the sacrifice of one’s own “wealth” : but it is a demonstration of one’s intent to give the best one can. That is an act by which we remember God’s overwhelming kindness and through which we hope He will regard us as being His faithful servants. And it is a prayerful act of sacrifice, a korban minchah of the finest flour, which anyone can offer.

The small contribution we make in any offering to God is our effort. And though it is a small offering, in God’s eyes it is far from insignificant. Parshah Vayikra describes the person who offers the korban minchah as “nefesh” (a soul) not as “ish” or “adam” (a man). In the Talmud we read:

"For what reason is the introduction to the mincha changed, to say 'nefesh?' The Holy One said, Who is it who usually brings a mincha? A poor person. I will therefore consider it as though he sacrifices his soul (nefesh) before Me."
(Menachot 104b)

N R Davies

8th March 2011

Blessing Our Work- Establishing Success- (March 2011)

2011-03-03T19:52:00.005+01:00

In Parshah Pekudey Moses blesses the assembled People at the time they had successfully completed the construction of the Desert Sanctuary. In Haftarah Pekudey, Solomon blesses the people at the time of the dedication of the Temple. (I Kings 8:14) Sometimes we ask a blessing from God before we undertake a task and sometimes we offer a Blessing of Praise before enjoying some event or food. Very often, as in the examples from Parshah Pekudey, a blessing marks the successful completion of a task.

The blessing of Moses, according to many classical sources, is to be found recorded in Psalms 90 and 91. Both psalms are acts of worship and thanks to God and Psalm 90 ends with the words:

“May the beauty of my Master, our God be upon us
And the work of our hands established for us,
And the work of our hands, establish it.”
Psalm 90:17

Solomon’s blessing in I Kings:8 includes the words:

“And the Lord has established the word which he had spoken.”
I Kings 8:20

Both prayers speak of “establishment”, which is appropriate considering they mark the completion of a task of physical construction. The difference I note is that whereas Solomon is very much describing the fulfillment of a promise made to His father, David and one which he seems to regard as being “established”; Moses, on the other hand, is praying for a confirmation that the construction is truly established. In this it is not just a celebratory blessing for the completion of an event, it is also a prayer for the present and the future. A work in progress. I’ll return to this idea later.

A comparison of the two blessings (of Moses and Solomon) shows that they share one very significant factor: They are acts of praise which ask God’s blessing. They are not personal wishes for success or personal acts of congratulation. Neither of them makes the anointed person of the prophet, priest, or king functionally significant in the act of blessing.

It is revealing that in Solomon’s blessing for the people, he spends a rather long time recounting his own family history, a little on the history of the Nation, and he actually makes no requests or wishes at all; whereas the blessing of Moses (as “recorded” in Psalm 90) is heavily devoted to reflections on God Himself and is full of requests for His assistance for the Nation. According to Rashi, the specific blessing of Moses begins:

"May it be God's will that the Shechinah rest in the work of your hands,
and may the beauty of the Almighty our God be upon us..."
Rashi, Shmot 39:43 on Psalm 90

It ends with a formula begging God’s blessing in a request tellingly worded as a blessing for “us” not a blessing for “you”. And whereas Solomon’s focus is split between the Creator and the achievements of his own family in relation to Him, Moses is begging passionately for God’s mercy, forgiveness, and support for the whole Nation.

There is no ego in a Jewish blessing. The only one who can give a blessing is God Himself, and it is by praising Him that we bestow blessings on those we wish to encourage, thank, congratulate, assist, or commiserate with. If this is the case for anointed Messiahs like our biblical prophets and priests, how much more so must it apply to our prayers for others.

The kohanim (descendants of the temple priests) -when they are performing a community liturgical blessing- are a possible exception to this, because their act of blessing is a liturgical ritual which depends not on their person but on their function… but it is quite clear that they are merely enacting a “symbolic drama” representing the blessing of God which the Birkat Kohanim asks for. It is not a blessing by or from the priests themselves.

None can “administer” a blessing but God.

There are perhaps other cases when a blessing might be thought of as being “personally given”: when one is blessing one’s own children, or one’s spouse or closest friends, for example.. In those situations it is quite clearly the expression of an outpouring of personal love from parent to child, or from lover to beloved. But between even the most devoted of friends and between the most passionately united spouses, between leaders like Moses and the People of Israel… A Jewish blessing (of this kind) is not ever really a personal blessing, it is always a prayer to God for His blessing. And that sort of blessing is one which anyone of us can wish and pray for. We do not need to be anointed kings, priests, or prophets.

So what is it that the blessing of Moses requests of God? I think the answer is “enduring success”. This is the “establishment” referred to in the Psalm text.

In the Psalm, Moses concludes:

“May the work of our hands be established for us
And the work of our hands, may it be established.”
Psalm 90:17

In other words, our human efforts and even our efforts undertaken in God’s Name are never complete without the confirmation and moment by moment sustenance which only God’s blessing can effect. This is the way our deeds become established and successful: even if they are not actually completed; even if they are very much “works in progress”.

The success we read about at the end of the Book of Exodus is not just to be found in the beautiful fabrics of the Tent of Meeting, nor just in the flashing metal and imposing stone of the Holy Temple. It is also to be found in the love, the generosity, the artistic craftsmanship, and the sheer hard work which the entire nation put in to make the creation of the Sanctuary and Temple according to God’s instructions. In Parsha Vayakhel we read that it is not just the work of the gifted and talented craftsmen that produced the beauty of the Mishkan but that it was built of the generosity and team-work of “all whose hearts were so stirred up, and everyone of willing spirit”. (Exodus 35:21). The memory and the echoes of that communal success are in our Torah and our liturgy. And they are not merely invoked in nostalgia, they are alive and enduringly active to this day.

This kind of success is also quite clearly enmeshed and woven into the structure and fabric of every spiritual task and mitzvah we undertake personally. It can even be found in our good intentions when we do not quite attain our goals, and it is just as bound up with our “failed” but whole-hearted attempts to do God’s will as it is with projects which can be judged by others as having been “successful” or “enduring”. As Solomon says of his father’s failure to build the Temple:

“But the Lord said unto David my father:
Whereas it was in your heart to build Me a house-
you did well that it was in your heart.”

I Kings 8:18

But it is our work as a community (not just as individuals) which will perhaps produce the most lasting success, and it is for this reason that the Blessing of Moses relates firmly to the needs of the entire Nation. I am reminded of the concept of minyan which I was studying this week. I read this passage from the Talmud:

“--From where do we derive that the Shechinah is with a group of ten (minyan) praying? Because the verse in Psalm 82 says, "God stands with His assembly."

--From where do we derive that God is with two people when they study Torah together? Because the verse in Malachi 3 says, "Then the God-fearing people spoke, each one to their friend, and God listened."

--And from where do we derive that even when one person studies Torah, God is with him? Because the verse in Exodus 20 says, "In every place that My Name is mentioned, I will come to you and bless you."
Talmud Bavli, Berachot 6a

Our rabbis state that if one of us is not doing their bit to the best of their ability- if just one nail or plank is missing from the Mishkan- then the entire structure may be in danger of collapse. At the very least, its “beauty” will be marred. Its construction will not be “a success”.

So- What is success?

The success which Moses prays for is that the “work of our hands be established”.

We plan. We build. We each raise our own emotional, intellectual, domestic, political and denominational edifices. We hope that what we do comes from a good impulse but we are always wary of our motivations and our actions as we know that it is only with God’s blessing that our work can succeed. Preserving a balance between dynamic activity and critical reflection is an art, a craft, and certainly a very great deal of hard work in itself.

We try to construct a Holy Temple in our spiritual lives and to extend its boundaries and its light further into the world around us. One can perhaps do this alone (if we are to take the Talmudic quote above seriously even one person can draw down the blessing of God) but our tradition is in universal agreement that our effectiveness in prayer is immeasurably more “potent” when prayer is undertaken in union with the community.

In whatever personal or community tasks which we are involved in, it may be that we only get to make “draft development ” plans. It may be that we are only present when the "foundations" are laid, or that we see the first attempts at construction fail and collapse before a more skilled set of planners and builders comes along. But “if the Lord builds the House”…in His way, and in His time…it will be established.

If we cannot finish a task we must be content with having done our little bit. David did not complete the Temple construction himself, yet even David’s thought was actually a praiseworthy deed.

Perhaps our work is a small seed that one day will grow- or perhaps we are each just one little half-shekel that is already “doing its bit” successfully in a small corner of the Heavenly Mishkan.

And who is the judge of true success anyway?

Not us.

God.

May He establish the work of our hands and hearts.

N R Davies

March 3 2011

Yachin and Bo'az in the Contemplative Mirror (Feb 2011)

2011-02-22T23:36:00.003+01:00

In Parshah Vayakhel we read of the laver or wash basin which was set up in the forecourt of the Mishkan (Desert Sanctuary). In Haftarah Vayakhel (Sefardi) we read of the great “sea” basin and the two entrance pillars of the Beit Ha-Mikdash (Holy Temple) of Solomon.

Standing Pillars were an oft-encountered middle Eastern decoration in ancient temples. Wash basins for the use of worshippers in preparatory cleansing rituals; for the cleansing of ritual tools; and for use during sacrificial processes were also very common. Standing mirror-like pools of water were a decoration in many royal places and in temples.

At their most fundamental symbolic level such basins are symbols of cleansing and reflected beauty. Such pillars are symbols of guardianship and act as reminders that the porch of a temple is a place of transition from one level of perception or awareness to another.

In both the Mishkan (desert Sanctuary) and the Mikdash (Holy Temple), the laver was situated in the outer court and was primarily used for the ablutions of the kohanim. The significance of the two pillars is not explained in the text though they are “named” Yachin and Bo’az which may give us some idea of their significance.

Today, I have been reflecting on the significance of these symbols-the two pillars and the mirrors- as pointers in Jewish contemplative practice.

The Mirrors of the Holy Women

We are told in Exodus 38:8 that the laver for the desert sanctuary was donated by the “women who used to gather in prayer” (Onkelos) at a special Tent outside the camp. The place of their prayer is called the “Tent of meeting” (ohel mo-ed). In Parshah Vayakhel we are reading of the future construction of the Sanctuary, and the "Tent of Meeting" (which was the proper name of that Sanctuary) did not yet exist. For this reason, the "Tent of meeting" referred to in Exodus 33 must have been a separate institution and it seems to have been one set up by Moses specifically as a place for personal and communal hitbodedut. We read:

“And Moses took the Tent, and pitched it outside the camp,
far away from the camp, and called it the Tent of Meeting.
And it came to pass, that every one who sought the Lord
went out to the Tent of Meeting, which was outside the camp.”
Exodus 33:7

This tent of meeting outside the camp (ohel mo-ed asher michutz lamachaneh) is especially significant to us as it had a resident “Dedicated Jewish Contemplative”, namely Joshua who was permanently on contemplative retreat there in his youth as a sort of custodian. (see Exodus 33:11)

Some translations call the women who donated the mirrors: “serving women”, but Ibn Ezra refers to them as “women performing the service of prayer” after the Onkelos text and I am following that reading. We are told that these female “Dedicated Jewish Contemplatives” provided their very own personal mirrors of brass from which the basin and its stand were made.

As Jewish Contemplatives, we are very much looking to Joshua and these “Women of Prayer” for hints as to how we might serve God. Let’s take a look first at the way the offerings for the construction of the Desert Sanctuary were made.

We most certainly cannot thank God enough-but we can do our best to offer our service of prayer with a whole-heart. This week’s parsha gives us some hints as to how we might do this. We are told that the people brought offerings which were the basic materials from which the Sanctuary was to be constructed, furnished, and decorated. The two things which make these gifts special are that they were given freely in accordance with the desire of each individual and that they were so generous that they exceeded what was needed. Those two qualifying factors are often what classically defines a Chassid as being someone who wants to go just that little further than the minimum required: kavannah and devekut….good intentions and devotion.

The donations are given in a generosity which does not count the cost, and which is motivated not by a hope of reward but out of love of God and His People. This kind of generosity applies both to our own physical or financial gifts to God/the Community (after the example of the Holy Women) and to our own spiritual donations of time and attention (after the spirit of Joshua).

But is there any particular significance to be seen in the specific gift of the mirrors?

It is traditionally and halachically forbidden to pray in front of a wall on which hangs a mirror in which one’s own reflection may be seen. Jewish Contemplatives are not looking at themselves. The kind of meditation which someone practices as a self-improvement or leisure activity is related to religious contemplation but it lacks the Jewish mystics’ exclusive focus on God. Jewish Contemplatives are working to surrender their self image to God and let Him decide what their personal function or value is, hoping only that they may be of service in whatever way God chooses. Dedicated Jewish Contemplatives aim to go one step further and take the risk of devoting all their time and space to this service, and as such they are, as it were, casting their very selves into the furnace to be re-made for God’s use in the Heavenly Temple. The donations of those desert “Women of Prayer” were born of real personal sacrifice. The aim is that we too should surrender our self image-and with it the flawed mirror of our “worldly” perception- in order to be available to God as a different type of mirror: a reflection of His Presence in this world.

Well, that’s the theory of it all and the hope of it all. But in practice we all know that just as it is impossible for us to reach the fullness of gratitude in thanks to God, so we can never really be so purified and refined in that furnace that we might ever be a true or good reflection of the God we worship. Still the goal is there for us…and our faltering aim is not to be scoffed at. R.Menachem Mendel of Kotsk would have us believe that the search and struggle towards the truth was as valuable as the Truth itself, after all.

The Pillars of Remembrance

The Haftarah reading speaks of two pillars to the right and left of the Temple doorway:

"And he set up the pillars in the vestibule of the temple.
And he set up the right pillar and named it Yachin,
And he set up the left pillar and named it Bo’az."
I Kings 7:21

Yachin –the eternally established foundation and Bo’az- intrinsic strength.

( I am not translating these terms literally here, just suggesting a symbolic meaning).

Our “eternally established” pillar is the ever-growing and ever-unfolding Torah. Always constant in God’s mind, yet always being expressed in new ways in our midst. And our “intrinsic strength” is the Community itself. The People of Israel.

To one side: Torah,
To the other: the rest of the Community of Israel,
In the Centre: the presence of God.

For us, the three are ever co-existent.
We are alone in our prayerful dialogue with God
but we stand in the presence of the Torah and Israel at all times.

Those two pillars in the temple are not our focus. What “lies between them” is our focus.

In this the pillars resemble the poles of the Sefer Torah too: When the Scroll is on the bimah being read or when it is borne aloft in open display during hagbah, our attention is primarily on the exposed text in the centre. The rest of the Torah scroll text is concealed as it is wound around the left and right wooden “pillars”. Though the “letters” there are concealed, they are always “present” during the reading or the display of the central text. This is not so far fetched an analogy as it might at first seem, for I think that this resonance may be heard in another text relating to the Sefer Torah:

“Length of days are in her right hand
and in her left hand are riches and honour.
Her ways are ways of pleasantness and all her paths are peace.
She is a tree of life to all who grasp her,
And happy is everyone who holds her fast.”
Proverbs 3:16-18

We never lose the awareness of the Community or the remembrance of the Torah’s covenant when we stand in prayer. Our focus is on God, but we are Israel ( not simply individuals) and we are guided by Torah (not just engaging in “spirituality”.)

It is also significant that the two pillars stand at the porch, the vestibule, the entrance to the Mikdash. They marked the physical place of transition from secular to sacred. When we “enter” the Temple-by which I mean our liturgical or silent prayer- we see these two pillars. A reminder that our prayer is offered for the benefit of the Nation and that we “take with us” the very words of the Torah itself as our mantras, our supplications, and our meditations. When we “leave” that Temple to return to our more ordinary duties and mundane activities there they are again at that threshold to remind us that our prayer must be translated into practical mitzvot and that whatever we do we do not as individuals but as a People separated to God.

If we always do what we do- in our prayers, in our daily lives, in our donating and in our receiving- consciously as members of the “nation of priests” which Israel is, and as the “nation of prophets” which Israel is called to become -then we will be freed from any mere gazing at our own “contemplative” reflection.

The Mirror of the Contemplative

The “great sea” of the Temple of Solomon which we read of ( in I Kings 7:23 ) is like a giant reflective liquid mirror. It reminds me of the mirrors or reflective lenses of prophecy and inspiration which we read about in the Talmudic and Classical discussions on the prophetic vision of Moses. In Yevamot 45b and Derech HaShem 3:5 we read of a “non shining mirror” (Ispaklaria) which is an image for the way the prophets “see” God. Many classical commentators suggest that Moses “saw” through a shining lens of clear “glass” while the other prophets “saw” in this clouded (non-shining) mirror. (see further references to this in "Inner Space" by R.Aryeh Kaplan on page 136)

This “Mirror of the Contemplative” is itself a part of God. We were, so to speak, taken further into the personal realm of God at Sinai in order to receive a revelation which was simultaneously communal and personal.

The Midrash reads:

“The Holy One appeared to them like a many-faceted mirror.
A thousand people look on it and it looks at all of them.
So when the Holy One spoke,
each person in Israel said “He spoke to me”.....
Pesikta d’Rav Kahana 12 See also Exodus Rabba 5:9

And

“The mirror never changes,
but everyone who looks in it sees a different face”
(Pirkei d’Rabbi Eliezer 12)

When we pray as Jewish Contemplatives, each one of us approaches God humbly in our own way and, as it were, in our own Inner Sanctuary. We each receive what we are able to receive according to our own personal spiritual and physical “abilities”. Consequently, whatever we “pass on” to the world around us from that encounter and process will partake of our own individuality and of our own perspective.

“For with You is the fountain of life;
And in Your light shall we see light.
Draw forth Your loving kindness to those who know You;
And Your righteousness to the upright in heart.”
Psalm 36:10,11

As God’s Light is refracted through us, it will not obliterate our own colours and timbres but will make use of them and transform them into the creation of something new and immeasurably greater. In this way, we provide our own personal and imperfect mirrors as temple donations too.

We are not prophets nor (to be frank) are we the sons of prophets- but we are contemplatives engaged in a humble approach to draw near to our God in the most intimate way He will allow. It is therefore of significance to me that the contributions of those “Daughters of the Desert Sanctuary” should have become a sort of “Mirror made from Mirrors.” It is not just a symbol of their asceticism- their surrender of the tools of fashionable vanity and self-regard. It is also a symbol for how the contemplative who gazes on the reflection of God is hoping to participate in the creation of something which might reflect that vision into the world(s) around them.

With the pillars of Yachin (Torah) and Bo’az (Community)

To the left and to the right of us-

We stand before God at Sinai

Seeing things in God’s Mirror

Allowing God’s reflected Light to purify us and shine on

To wherever He wills it to shine.

Afterword: A Question of Gratitude

Psalm 116 asks how can we thank God enough and it comes up with its own answers.

The first (in verse 14) is that we should bring Joy into our prayers at every opportunity. This is because wine is the biblical symbol for Joy. If we are to raise a cup when we call on God’s Name in thanksgiving , then that cup is filled with the wine of Joy. When I make Kiddush I have always taken two sips of wine immediately after the blessing “ha-gafen”. Nobody told me to do this, its just a custom of mine. Yesterday I read an interesting opinion that the wedding cup of wine is drunk from in two sips to symbolize that whether things are good or bad, they are from God- and the bride and groom are invited to remember this in the ups and downs of married life. One who “draws near to God” as a contemplative will also experience many such ups and downs in the Divine/human relationship….and the important thing is to remember that the cup of wine, the symbol of joy, is called “the cup of salvations”. The factor which makes it possible for us to say “baruch HaShem” in joy- even in adversity- is that our joyful gratitude can be the way we choose to “view” things in God’s perspective- acknowledging that no matter what happens to us, our trust in God’s beneficence saves us from viewing situations in a distorted perspective. The salvation which is in that cup, is the way God rescues us from negative and despairing thoughts that deny His Providence. One might say that we were using the Mirror which God holds up for us rather than one which we had made ourselves.

The second answer the psalm gives us (in verse 14) encourages us to “fulfill our vows” in “public”. This is not easy to do as we are always on our guard lest we seem to be promoting our own dedication to the contemplative life as being something “superior” to more “ordinary” or “basic” aspects of Torah observance. This we are most certainly not doing, but it will happen that many will accuse us of it. Many have done so already! The reason we must not hide our intention to live lives of solitude, or our lives of humble dedication to prayer and Torah study, is because, speaking figuratively, our God “needs” witnesses. To quote Isaiah:

You are my witnesses, says HaShem, and (then) I am God,
(Isaiah 43:12)

These days, so many of our Jewish family members try to dislocate themselves from Sinai and its particular covenantal promises and many deny the existence of the God of Israel as anything but a concept or a useful symbol. This is almost a “spiritual fashion” at the moment. Rabbinical Judaism has always been a religion where a plurality of opinions has been the norm, and it has also been much more concerned with practice than with dogmas. But as a religious Jew- I view my own Jewish life of dedicated contemplation as being a mutual bond with a commanding and loving God not a relationship with a theological or philosophical concept. Membership of the Community of Israel only reaches its full expression-in my opinion- when we are involved in a living relationship with the God of Israel not in a theoretical relation to the idea of "it".

When we exit between those pillars of Yachin and Bo’az after prayer, we hope we have Torah and the Community beside us, but it is only when we bear the God of Israel who gives us the Torah in our own hearts that His Light can be seen clearly by others in the world we are re-entering. That is our particular service to Him. It is also our deepest act of gratitude.

N R Davies

Feb 21 2011

(This article is crossposted from the Community of Jewish Contemplatives website )

Zechut Avot- The Merit of the Patriarchs (Feb 2011)

2011-02-17T22:59:00.003+01:00

In an email last week a good friend and teacher had written a word I did not know. The word was “zekhus”. I looked it up and discovered that it is usually translated as “merit”. It was no surprise to me therefore, that it was the idea of zechut avot which then leapt out at me for comment when I was studying Parsha Ki Tissa this week.

Some use the term zechut avot to refer to the merits of our physical ancestors, some to our spiritual ancestors and some use it to refer specifically to the Patriarchs Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. The term is usually (but not exclusively) developed in one of two ways: in the concept that the good deeds of those who have gone before us -in our blood-line or in our our religious faith- are our exemplars; and in the notion that our individual imperfections and inadequacies can be made up for (to some extent) if we invoke the good deeds of the tzaddikim who went before us.

All the classical sources of our tradition see the Three Patriarchs as symbols. For example, if we are thinking of the Patriarchs as being our exemplars: we are reminded that they are representatives of Chesed, Yirah and Emet respectively. If we are thinking of the Patriarchs as denoting a conceptual inheritance, they might be viewed as the founders of the liturgical system which elevates our own private prayers: we are reminded that they are symbols for the formal liturgy of Shacharit, Minchah, and Ma’ariv.(Berachot 26b).

When Moses and Elijah really wanted something- they “reminded” God of His love for the Patriarchs and the promises He made to them. They are not so much invoking the good deeds of the Patriarchs as the Goodness of God. In Exodus 32: 13, Moses is pleading for God’s mercy on the entire nation and he reminds God not of the “merits” of the Patriarchs but of God’s covenantal promise to them. Moses pleads:

“Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, your servants, to whom you swore by your own self, and said to them, I will multiply your seed as the stars of heaven, and all this land that I have spoken of will I give to your seed, and they shall inherit it forever.”
Exodus 32:13

It is especially significant that Moses acted with humility in not bargaining with his own merits or making promises of his own. Moses called upon the memory of God in His relationship to the Patriarchs because in doing so, he was pointing out that the Nation’s election was born of a personal love between God Himself and three devoted pioneers.

The prayer of Moses is immediately successful as we read, one verse later:

“And the Lord repented of the evil which He said he would do to His people.”
Exodus 32:14

In Haftarah Ki Tissa-On Mount Carmel during the contest with the Prophets of Baal, Elijah declares his own merits (or rather his conviction that he was blessed with true prophecy) but precedes his prayer for assistance by invoking the memory of the Patriarchs:

"Lord God of Abraham, Isaac, and of Israel, let it be known this day that you are God in Israel, and that I am your servant, and that I have done all these things at your word."
I Kings 18:36

He too receives his positive response from God, and equally rapidly, two verses later.

Whatever is “going on” regarding the significance of the Patriarchal invocation in this week’s texts…it is clear that such an invocation is effective and so we can assume we are being encouraged to imitate our “fathers” Moses and Elijah when we ourselves pray for others.

Psalm 142 reminds us that our informal prayers are very often an expression of personal confusion, grief, or distress:

“I pour out my complaint before Him; I declare my trouble before Him.”
Psalm 142:3

In our dialogue with God during hitbodedut we are not ashamed to pour out our hearts when we desperately need His help ourselves. But we ought to be ashamed if we do this so often or in such great detail, that we forget the greater needs of our friends, our community, our People, or our World. Our lives of dedicated prayer are lives of service and so our prayer is a matter of worship first and foremost. Any zechut we might “accrue” in doing this ourselves is, we hope, applied to those for whose needs our prayers are regularly or especially offered.

We do not pray to improve ourselves, though that can happen as a result of our praying . Our prayer is not some kind of therapeutic or ethical exercise for our own benefit. As we are reminded in Parshah Ki Tissa:

“the incense which you make shall not be for your own use….”
Exodus 30:37

Our prayer is related to the sacrifice of prayer in the Temple and as such it is always a community event even when we are in solitude. As we read in Psalm 141:

“Let my prayer be set forth before you like incense; and the lifting up of my hands like the evening sacrifice.”
Psalm 141:2

Our prayer is the way we remind God of His love for us, and the way we remember His love for the Patriarchs and their descendants, and it is the way in which we extend that love to the community ourselves.

Our prayer is a kind of “creation” in which we are potentially God’s partners as conduits. This is perhaps the message hidden in the mystery of zechut Avot: The Patriarchal promises are instances of God’s Love bursting forth as a response to the love of three archetypal individuals- and the fruit of that love is an entire Nation of descendants. The prayers of a Mitkarev can be the occasion of God’s Love bursting forth as a response to the love of each individual contemplative- and the fruit or zechut which results is a shower of gifts for all Israel.

This is obviously what Moses is doing on Horeb and actually, if we look a little closer we can see that it is also what Elijah is doing on Carmel as well. Elijah makes his invocation of the Patriarchs to beg God to show His hand and to “support” His faithful prophet personally…but in the very next verse we see Elijah’s ultimate motive for the plea, and it is is very much for the sake of the people:

“... that this people may know that you are the Lord God,
and that you have turned their heart back again.”
(I Kings 18:37)

How can we emulate Moses and Elijah here?

Our petitionary prayers should invoke the Love and Mercy of our Long-Suffering God.

When we don the tallit in prayer we are covering our own inadequacies in the Mercy of God. Before we begin our liturgy, we ask God not to consider our failings and lack of intrinsic merit but to see two things: Our own intention to serve Him to the best of our ability and His own Mercy (Rachamim) and Love (Chesed) in responding favourably to our attempts to pray well. In our liturgy, there is an intimate connection between the Mercy of God and the invocation of zechut Avot. By “reminding” God of His Love for the Patriarchs, we awaken his Mercy.

Parshah Ki Tissa is the parshah in which we read of the revelation of the Divine Attributes. When God’s Glory passes by the entrance to Moses’ cave, we are told that the God of the Patriarchs -whom Moses had recently invoked- is:

“....merciful and gracious, long suffering, and abundant in goodness and truth.....
Keeping mercy for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin....”
(Exodus 34:6)

This close connection between the invocation of the Patriarchs and our begging for God’s Mercy is seen also in the very first paragraph of the Amidah. We address Him as:

“the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob”,

and then proceed to “remind” Him that He is a God who

“bestows acts of loving-kindness and creates all,

Who remembers the loving-kindness of the Patriarchs.”

It is a close connection which is also clearly made in one of the introductory prayers of Minchah l’Shabbat where the words:

“Lord, God of Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, our ancestors, May You keep this forever so that it forms the thoughts in Your People’s heart, and directs their heart towards You”

- are immediately followed by-

“He is compassionate, He forgives iniquity and does not destroy. Repeatedly He suppresses His full anger. For You , my Lord, are good and forgiving, abundantly kind to all who call on you.”

The same emphasis on God’s Compassion is seen in the prayer “L’Olam yehei” where its own special invocation of the Patriarchs is preceded by the statement:

“ It is not through our righteous deeds that we lay down our supplications before you, but through Your abounding mercies.”

In other words, when we beg the Mercy of our long suffering God in the merits of the Fathers (zechut Avot) - we do so by reminding God of His Covenant with the Fathers (brit Avot) because this makes the focus not us, not our ancestors, but God’s Love. When we do this- we ourselves create a new link in the chain which unites us to those who went before us and which also unites us to our own descendants in its cycle of merit. A cycle which has less to do with our own attainment or character than to the Mercy of our God.

God “remembers the kindness of the Fathers” (v’zocher chasdei avot) and thus “creates all” (koneh hakol). Everything that follows an “act of loving prayer in the tradition of our fathers” is - in the very deepest sense - His doing and not ours. In remembering His gifts to them, God grants us those gifts ourselves. In remembering the Patriarchs, God grants us their inheritance: Chesed, Yirah, and Emet.

And the truth of the matter is that- however it “works”- when we invoke the zechut Avot of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, we awaken the Divine Compassion.

The merit of the Patriarchs, the merits of their descendants, and our own merits are not really theirs or ours at all. They are the Goodness whose “back” Moses saw in the cleft in the rock.

N R Davies

Feb 10 2011

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The Embrace of the Keruvim - The Prayer of Nearness (Feb 2011)

2011-02-03T23:38:00.008+01:00

The root krv in Hebrew refers to "nearness" or "intimacy" and it gives us the word korban. We may also hear an echo of it in the word keruv. A korban (sacrifice) is the means by which we attempt to draw near to the divine and a keruv (cherub) is either an angelic being which lives near to the presence of God or a symbol of that “nearness”. When we are close to someone we say that they are our “nearest and dearest”- a phrase which usually denotes one’s family and friends. This terminology of intimacy is not out of place in a discussion of the intimacy experienced in contemplative prayer, for God is both our Parent and our Friend. The Jewish Contemplative is a Mitkarev: someone who wishes to "draw near" to God.

For contemplatives it is an especially apt vocabulary. A religious contemplative is one of those who simply cannot find rest unless they are involved in an active and intimate relationship with the divine- in other words, a person who literally craves nearness with God. Of course, it does not always follow that a desire for such “nearness” makes the supplicant also one of God’s “dearest”.

There are many who crave to be near the divine who are just well wrapped-up in a religious cloak, or who are lost in the labyrinths of magic or superstition which are sometimes the fore-courts of religious experience and sometimes their heavily disguised prison-block. Some of us slide temporarily into such prisons and sometimes try on that cloak for size, but we are rescued (usually by common sense though sometimes by Revelation) before we are utterly lost. Aaron must have been like that. My guess is that he remembered the golden calf and his bitter infidelity at all the subsequent times when he stood before the ark of the covenant. Similarly all of us are capable of being “pious” in our behaviour and yet devoid of the “righteousness” which combines with and extends such religious piety into becoming the practical and selfless love of others.

Yet the fact remains, some of us are most definitely aware of a call to be “near” God which does not elevate us over others, does not lead us into power-games with the spiritual world, and which is not an escape from community but an expression of profound involvement in it. Such contemplatives have the single-mindedness which is expressed in the cry:

"One thing do I ask of the Lord, and only that shall I seek:
To dwell in the house of The Lord all the days of my life,
To behold God’s beauty,
And to meditate in His Sanctuary."
Psalm 27:4

All contemplative Jews aspire to this, but a Dedicated Jewish Contemplative is a Jew with a monastic single-mindedness to devote every moment of their existence to the practice of such nearness. Not as a form of self-perfecting asceticism, but as act of religious and community service. A “sacrifice”of prayer and devotion which envelops all creation. It is not an escape from society or responsibility. It is an embrace.

I have not seen this better expressed than in the following passage from the writings of Rav Avraham Kook which I came across last year in the UK Reform Movement Siddur:

“Whoever feels, after many trials, that the soul within him can find repose only when it is occupied with the mysteries of the Torah, should know that for this has he been destined. May no obstacle in the world, fleshly or even spiritual, confuse or turn him from the pursuit of the fountain of his life, his true fulfillment.

And it is well for him to know that not only his own self-fulfillment and salvation wait upon the satisfaction of this tendency within him... The saving of society and the perfecting of the world also depend upon it. For a soul fulfilled helps to fulfill the world. True thoughts, when they flow without hindrance into any one of the corners of life, bless all of life.”

Abraham Isaac Kook

(quoted on page 575 of the Study Anthology in Siddur Tefilot)

I would go further than Rav Kook and state that to discourage the minority of Jews who wish to live like this from doing so- might actually be preventing the light of tikkun olam from reaching all the nooks and crannies it is intended to reach. The responsibilities of the contemplative (and of the full-time yeshivah and kollel student) are, in my account book, as needed and as valuable as are the more pragmatic or more easily quantified aspects of Jewish philanthropy and tzedekah.

Putting this in a nutshell, I am saying that if a Dedicated Jewish Contemplative (or any contemplative Jew) wants to be one of God’s “dearest” practitioners of Justice and Good Deeds, the most direct path for them is to focus exclusively on becoming “near” to God.

Becoming “one of God’s intimate friends” (to use Avraham Maimonides’ term) in a highly spiritual or “consecrated” lifestyle is not a path which attracts all Jews...but some are specifically called to use it. Some for a short time. Some for much longer. (ask Isaac Luria and Menachem Mendel of Kotsk, both of whom spent many years in contemplative and solitary isolation.)

The paradox is that this apparently solitary, withdrawn, and highly spiritual path to God leads simultaneously to a deeper and more dynamic practical community life. A community life expressed through the sacrificial performance of contemplative prayer and liturgy.

The Mitkarev, the one who draws near, is alone but always in community.

I’ll try to explain that statement a little as this commentary unfolds, but first I’d like to look at the “prayer of nearness”. The type of contemplation during which God engages a Jewish Contemplative in mental prayer.

Sometimes we pray with words. Sometimes we pray with our silence.
That silence may be the silence of deep awe as we realise before Whom we stand,
That silence may be that of one who is listening with rapt attentiveness.
Perhaps waiting for inspiration or enlightenment,
But when a Jewish Contemplative prays in such silence:
They are always praying in this way to express service and availability.
The ultimate aim is to be of use to God.
This puts service, avodat ha-kodesh, above any self-based motive or concern.

It is possible to be in the presence of the Lord of All Worlds and yet to call Him “Tateh” (Father). We have lost none of our awe and respect when we do this. We are profoundly aware of the stunning intimacy we are granted in our prayerful relationship with God. He is both El Elyon -beyond our understanding- and yet also Yedid Nefesh (Our soul’s lover and friend) and thus within our human experience. Our God is Avinu Malkeinu (our Father and our King). The Sovereign of the Universe is our Parent and Friend.

Sometimes our prayer is like sitting in companionable silence with the One who is closer to us than our own thoughts are to our words. Closer than we can express. But we know in our hearts that God is that close. We know the rabbinical dictum which reminds us that “God is the Place (HaMakom) of the world but not confined or wholly contained by the World”. But we know from our intuitive contemplative experience that God’s Place is (also) the cave of the heart- in our deepest soul.

Sometimes our silence is like a wordless gaze of love, compassion, hope, sorrow, deep joy or deep despair. Sometimes it is not we who are doing the looking: there are times when we are momentarily aware of God’s gaze and attention on us. That itself becomes a moment of contact which might happen only once in our lives, but which can feed a whole lifetime of faith and hope. The sort of “nearness” I am referring to here is thus not the nearness of one who cleaves to God in the midst of all their activities...the kind of devekut which all Jewish mystics aspire to....but it is the sort of momentary or very rare kind of connection which all religious people cherish as special treats. They are not necessarily emotional (nor intellectual), but they are always special.

If they are genuine moments of a special contact with God, their effects will last as creative and action-generating events to be called up into the memory long after they were first experienced. If they are simply the works of an overactive imagination or hormonal activity, they will splutter out like a lamp-wick drowning in too much oil. If they are the result of a humble approach to a God who wants to be encountered, then yes, imagination and our body chemistry is most certainly involved, but something will have entered the heart/consciousness of the one praying to make the encounter a numinous/spiritual one and not just a psychic/cerebral one. Perhaps the experience of the mystic is some sort of internal conversation between those two areas of human thought and experience? Perhaps it is from out of that internal conversation between the two “keruvim of our human spirituality” that the divine Voice is generated?

In Parshah Terumah we are told

"And there I will meet with you
and I will speak to you, from above the ark cover,
from between the two keruvim."
(Exodus 25:22)

The words are addressed to Moses and Aaron and so they applied in the first instance to prophets and priests. But to quote Rabbi J.H.Hertz (commenting on the priestly investiture recounted in Parshah Tetzaveh):

“The ear was touched with the blood that it might be consecrated to hear the word of God; the hand, to perform the duties concerned with the priesthood; and the foot, to walk in the path of righteousness. In a “kingdom of priests”, the consecration of ear, hand, and foot should be extended to every member of that kingdom.”
Hertz Chumash p 346

We read also:

“And there I will meet with the Children of Israel”
Exodus 29:43

In other words, the Divine promise to meet us in the “prayer of nearness” is made to the entire People of Israel, and not just with its leaders, clergy, or officials. Consequently, all of us are invited to “draw near”, stand in that place before the ark, and listen the Voice which speaks from between the keruvim. Thus, in this prime way, all Jews are called to be “contemplatives” and contemplatives in community. The High Priest alone entered the Holy of Holies, but the entire people were “present there” in spirit. They stood outside the veil but were as focussed on the concealed Presence in the Most Holy Place as any High Priest.

Thus, all Jews are invited to practice the “prayer of nearness”, whether they are living lives of dedicated contemplation or not. There is a balance here. Just as the full time Torah Scholar, Jewish Monastic, or “contemplative Jew” engages in a form of tikkun olam which is for the benefit and the service of the “social group”- So the Jew whose life is predominantly one of social activity and secular business is called to remember that attention to “the spiritual” is not to be overlooked. Having said this, it is very rare and perhaps impossible to find that the “spiritual” and the “secular” are perfectly balanced in any particular individual... most of us choose a point along the spectrum between the two which is more medial than extreme. But in a healthy community there will always be room for those whose calling is on the fringes, and as we Jews know, “fringes” (tzitzit) are often more significant than they might seem at first glance.

The nearness of God is something we can experience in private prayer. In that sense it is a bit like standing before the ark in our interior Sanctuary with nobody else present to disturb the intimacy of the moment. The nearness of God is also experienced in Community. In that sense, maybe it’s a bit like the silent dialogue of the keruvim we read of in the Talmud:

There is a saying -originating in Bava Batra 99a and Yoma 54a -that the two keruvim seemed to embrace and touch wings when the Israelite community was in harmony with God’s will and that they seemed to disconnect and turn their faces away from each other in times of discord.

Though it is possible that the design or placement of the carvings may have made the figures appear differently when viewed from differing perspectives..the details are not as important as is the symbolic thought behind this Talmudic notion.

Some commentators have seen the facing/facing away as a reference to inter-personal behaviour within the community itself:- that the keruvim seemed to face each other when the community was solicitous for the needs of its weaker members and that they turned away when Jews were being selfish.

I find the idea of the two keruvim facing each other but looking “down” at the ark very reminiscent of the monastic practice of performing the liturgy in antiphonal choirs. Christian monks face each other during the liturgy but never look directly at each other.

The monastic liturgical seating arrangement is one whereby the community members are simultaneously facing each other in two lines but are individually engrossed in prayerful contact with God. It is a seating arrangement that some think originated in Levitical practice and which is also reflected in older Spanish synagogues where the congregation line three of the four walls of the building.

The members who comprise our “Community of Jewish Contemplatives” are physically dispersed all over the world and when we pray we are most often physically alone. But we are somehow “facing each other” even though we do not look into each others’ faces.

Here’s how:

Each Jewish Contemplative is engaged in the activity of “Cleaving to” God in devekut, but somehow “bears” the community in his/her heart while doing so. We are closest to each other when we are close or “near” to God.

When we cleave to God and (in doing so) hold our brothers and sisters in our own communities (and in the community of all Creation) in the Light- we are, in a way, being keruvim ourselves: Each of us “facing” in the sense that we act as a community, but each of us “focused on the ark” so that the Divine Presence may rest and maybe even speak or act in the “space” our prayer creates.

The embrace of the keruvim is the union of the individual and the community, of the practical and the spiritual, of the rational and the intuitive, of joy and sorrow. They are like two flames which want to burn as one. That union is a flame which only you can light when you stand before the ark and listen.

Postscript

I am not a rabbi and so I am neither a scholar nor a leader. I am a Jewish Monk, or at least (possibly) the nearest thing our living and developing Jewish tradition has to such a thing at the moment.

I write these pages for others who can see the value of a dedicated and full time contemplative lifestyle in contemporary Judaism and most especially, I write for any Jews who feel the call of Psalm 27 verse 4 and who need encouragement. Much of what I write is hopefully also relevant to Jews who meditate or contemplate but who also live busy “secular” lives.

There is a third group I often have in mind when I pray for the community of Israel: those whose solitude or alone-ness is not wished for nor seen as a vocation, but which makes them feel “outside” the Jewish community, or just plain lonely.

I wrote once about the way those who spend Shabbos alone might remember God’s promise to “speak from between the keruvim” when they light their candles on a Friday night:

“There are traditional meditation practices which recommend focussing on the space between the two flames of the Sabbath candles: a space believed to be pregnant with a memory of the presence of the Shekinah resting over the Ark.

The guest we have been hurriedly preparing for is the “Sabbath Peace”. For me, that is a sort of reflection of God’s Presence.

I spend almost all my Sabbath evening dinners alone, but I have only once experienced the despair or lonely anguish which I know many other single and isolated Jews feel regularly at that time. I have never felt like giving the candle lighting and the laying of the special table a miss. I know there are those who find the idea of lighting the Sabbath candles alone at home just too much to bear. It is as though it were underlining their feelings of isolation.

Since 1992, I have sat at the Sabbath table every Friday (almost invariably alone) and have gazed into that warm space between the two candles in front of me. Maybe ten times I have made it a formal meditation session…..but more usually I have just rested in the light….. warmed by a meal of chicken hamin and a glass of sweet wine, and by a wordless companionship with the One who is Present. He was/is always there but on a Friday evening He rests between the flaming keruvim again.

If you are ever alone for that Friday meal, especially if you are usually alone for it,…..don’t be afraid of lighting those candles. You have a very special Guest. Make it a candle-lit dinner for two.”
from “The Flaming Cherubim of Shabbat” (2007)

In our small Community of Jewish Contemplatives, we have since made the Friday night candle-lighting a special time of community connection each week. We think of the other community members and also of all Jews who are alone on Shabbos. We do this every week. Some people like to connect with us and with each other via our Facebook Page at that time too as we currently make a public Shabbos greeting there each week.

So if you are reading this and you are one of those who has no Jewish company on a Friday...you can always be sure of a place at our table.

(As they say, “There is no clock in Kotsk” ... and none in our community...so we don’t worry about the chronology of it all. Shabbos is Shabbos at candle lighting time - at whatever different global-time that may be for each individual one of us - so we don't attempt to co-ordinate by the clock, just by intention.)

N R Davies

Feb 1 2011

(from an article written for the Community in February 2010)