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

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Approaching the Shabbos on which we read Parshas 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 Haftaras  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

Sons of the Prophets: The Room of Elisha Revisited (Oct 2010)

Prophecy may have ended with the Biblical era, but contemplatives are people who still seek inspiration and who may at least aspire to be worthy vehicles for ruach ha-kodesh. The prophets are encouraging models for social activists and religious leaders, but they are also great models for those attempting to live dedicated lives of contemplation. Many of the biblical prophets spent time in solitary retreat and many of them were accompanied by “schools” of dedicated trainee followers. (see II Kings 4 and 6 as well as I Samuel 10 and19). Included among these were those who followed the prophet Elisha in the tradition of Elijah. They were known as “B’nei Nevi’im”- the People of the Prophets. The word “b’nei” is a word which also means sons or children. They were not just the “people” of the prophets, they were their spiritual descendants according to a certain tradition.

Dedicated Jewish Contemplatives are in some sense aspiring to be the “People of the Prophets” in the twenty-first century: a group of “living B’nei nevi’im”. That is not to say we aspire to being the mouthpieces of our God; nor that we can see the future; nor that we would consider ourselves to be leaders or models for a less chosen or blessed hoi polloi. But it does mean that we aim to follow the spiritual example of the prophetic tradition. We do that: by being specifically attentive to the Voice of God in silent prayer; by praying for inspiration to understand the Torah written on our hearts; and by attempting to lead lives of contemplation that are focussed not on ourselves, but on our God and His Word.

Such a lifestyle is prophetic in so far as it is one of intense dedication to that process and to the God who is both its source and goal. So intense that it must, of its nature, bubble over into the life of the worlds it hopes to heal and develop.

Last year at this time, I wrote a short reflection (The Room of Elisha) on the little monastic cell which the Shunamite woman prepared for Elisha in Haftaras Vayeira . I am returning today to the house of that Shunamite woman to reflect on Elisha’s compassion for her son-- and while I am there I will reflect on Abraham’s relationship with his son Isaac.

The Torah reading (Parshah Vayera) tells of Abraham’s prayer for the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah. It ends with the story of the binding of Isaac. The accompanying reading from the prophets (Haftaras Vayeira) tells the story of Elisha and the Shunamite woman and ends with the healing and restoration of the Shunamite’s son by Elisha.

In Parshah Vayera, Abraham is called a “prophet” in what is the first usage of the term “navi” in the Torah. (Genesis 20:7). In Haftaras Vayeira, the Shunamite woman calls Elisha a “Holy Man of God” (II Kings 4:9 and foll). Both terms refer to a person who is perceived as being a tzaddik....a “righteous person”. It is assumed that a tzaddik is one who is intimate with God. (see also Isaiah 41:8) That implies that a tzaddik has a life of prayer, and from our reading of scripture we can see that such prayer was most often in the form of the dialogue which we call hisbodedus.

We read that such a tzaddik “has God’s ear” and that a large part of that dialogue seems to be petitionary prayer and argument. In that verse which introduced us to the word “navi”, we are told that this is a core prophetic activity:

For he is a prophet and he shall pray for you.

(Genesis 20:7)

We may not be perfectly righteous ourselves, but we certainly aspire to be “God’s intimate friends” as R.Avraham ben Maimon would put it. Each individual is ultimately responsible for their own choices and deeds- but we all share a common bond of mutual care and support. Abraham was concerned for his brother and for two whole cities worthy of destruction. Elisha was concerned for the welfare of the Shunamite woman and for her sick son. We can attempt to follow the example of Abraham and Elisha in spending a part of our prayer time in direct petition for the needs of others.

Our contemplative prayer is itself a form of petition (whether we make specific requests or not) if we hold the needs of others in our minds when we “draw near to God” (Genesis 18:23) at the start of our prayer sessions. The Shunamite woman called Elisha a “holy man of God”. The separated-dedication implied in the use of the word “holy” reminds contemplatives that it is not our prayers alone that mark out our separation, but the very life-choice to live as contemplatives itself. We are aiming to make our whole lives a prayer, as it were, so that

“God will be with us in all that we do”.

(see Genesis 21:22)

But like both Abraham and Elisha, we may find that we are not as “linked up” to the “word” of God as we had thought we were--or as we would like to be.

In II Kings 4:77 we read:

“Let her alone, for her soul is bitter within her and the Lord has hidden it from me and did not tell me.”

I’ve been wondering today if the processes in Abraham’s mind during the binding of Isaac described in Parshas Vayeira (Genesis 22) and that verse from the haftarah (II Kings 4:77) both point to such moments in the life of these two prophets. Were they both examining their relationship to God and doubting their ability as prophets, as those hearing God’s word?

In Abraham’s case , surely he will have been wracked with doubt at the command to sacrifice his own son, Isaac? Did Abraham wonder if he was insane to think that his God would demand such a thing as a human sacrifice? Did he come to his senses at the very last minute and “hear” an internal voice which showed him that his motives were overzealous and derived not so much from a divine wish as from a rather sick part of his mind that he was in the processes of healing? Was his test a complex psychological “game” that his mind put him through, and one whose results are not fully recorded in the text but left for us to guess at. Was the “miracle” here the fact that an animal suitable for sacrifice appeared just at that moment of realisation to act as God’s mark of approval on Abraham’s final mental choice?

In Elisha’s case, God’s purpose in not revealing a situation to Elisha may have had more to do with the other people in the “story” than to Elisha himself - but the text quoted seems (to me) to present him as being almost surprised that he had not been kept informed by his Intimate Friend. That he was perhaps not as intimate with “Him” as he had believed. Perhaps he had begun to forget that all healing comes from God (Psalm 103:2) and that none of a prophet’s healing ability was due to any personal merit--but only to personal gift.

Both the turmoil of Abraham and the disappointment of Elisha (if you choose to accept my view of their reactions) are common to all those who attempt to live full time lives of prayer.

We are not prophets in a biblical sense - but, as Jewish Contemplatives, we are living a type of prophetic lifestyle in their footsteps. In our prayers we may think we have made a judgment or received an insight which has a Divine origin. And we are right to question it like Abraham did. We are centuries away from Abraham, but we are just as likely to have to struggle against “making” God in our own image. In our repetitive daily liturgical routines we may lose sight of the God whose intimacy with us has somehow become obscured by the torrent of letters and words on the page – or perhaps through our inattentive over-familiarity with them.

In our lives of contemplation we must all encounter times of deeply disturbing self-examination like Abraham, and times when we feel the call to re-awaken and enliven our tired inner lives like Elisha. The rise and fall in a person’s spiritual progress is not an accident. It is as natural as breathing, and such processes are not so much trials as gateways to new and more enlightened experience. Negative and positive are not necessarily terms describing good and bad times, they are often complementary and creative forces each with a “good” job to do.

Like Abraham, we ought always to question the commands we perceive we are given. Like Abraham we need to examine how much of what motivates us comes from a part of the self that needs “elevating” out of the dark-side of our soul - and how much of it comes from the bright darkness which God Himself inhabits.

Like Elisha we may find that we have to work hard to restore and repair the selfless link between our prayers and their being answered. Elisha sent his staff to heal the sick son, but this was not enough. He was not fully engaged in his task. Elisha had to “get down and dirty” in there with all his being. (II Kings 4:29-37) and lock himself away with the sick son to bring about healing through whole-hearted, strenuous action. Like Elisha in the house of the Shunamite, we sometimes need to be sequestered with the “dead” areas of our own soul, with the sick or dormant inner child awaiting resurrection.

Sometimes it is a real person (or even an entire nation) whose “infirmity” is the subject of our prayer and which seems to inhabit that Room of Elisha with us. There are times when our mental prayer or our discursive hisbodedus is almost totally concerned with prayer for the sake of others. We may have heard of a disaster or have a friend in need and we take their needs into our prayers. Often, for example, our monastic cell becomes the cell of Gilad Shalit as we visit him there in spirit to try to embrace him with our thoughts of hope and strength.

Looking at these two sons and these two prophets not just as symbols or as characters in a story but as living, breathing, people - the contemplative can see a model for prophetic/contemplative action:

That which spared one son (Isaac) and cured the other (the Shunamite) was the replacement of ruminative or reflective thought with an awakening and an outpouring of pure compassion.

For us- as contemplatives who wish to make a difference by our lives of prayer- I believe we have been given a profound model of a key contemplative process there in Parshah and Haftarah Vayera. Expressed simply, that process is:

Turn your focus inward to examine your thoughts and inspirations, face what you see there bravely, act on the discovery/revelation with all your heart, and then leave those self-focussed exercises behind you as you try to let God work through you. One does this by forgetting oneself and cleaving to God alone. Then with all the breath, heart and might of your being, you can bring about an outpouring of compassion to all the worlds. One of the older theories on the derivation of the word Navi (prophet) suggested that it might come from a root meaning to “bubble over”. Overflowing Compassion. This is how a present day contemplative becomes a “descendant of the prophets”.

N R Davies

October 13 2010

This commentary on Parshah Vayera was cross-posted from the Community of Jewish Contemplatives private website.

Elijah and the Peace of Jerusalem (May 2010)

Elijah the fiery prophet of Carmel was without doubt a model fundamentalist zealot. Like many other prophets he was an aggressive defendant of his own God and his massacre of the prophets of Baal on Carmel stands as one of the most brutal incidents of slaughter in the Bible.

Yet in post-biblical tradition he is known as “The Comforter” and as a “Peacemaker”.

So what happened?

Those who are familiar with my thoughts on Elijah will remember an article I wrote in 2007 called “In the Cave of Elijah”. I keep returning to its thesis that the bat kol of Horeb was a reprimand to an Elijah who was avoiding a call to a more contemplative lifestyle. Today I am returning to that Cave again to listen to a word about its political relevance...specifically in relation to the Palestine-Israel peace process.

To begin I’ll restate the original 2007 article’s main points here to save you having to open other pages from the website:

From article “In the Cave of Elijah”

In Haftarah Pinchas we read how Elijah had challenged the prophets of Baal to a duel. Each had to prepare an altar and an offering to their deity and the team whose offering burst into flames would be declared the winner. At Mount Carmel, Elijah’s prayer was dramatically answered by fire and he concluded his rather over the top demo by slaughtering everyone of the false prophets. Zealotry certainly.

Elijah flees for his life from Jezebel who was far from impressed with this outcome and within moments of his triumph Elijah slumps into suicidal depression.(1Kings 19:4) Fortunately he was refreshed by the shade of a tree, water and freshly baked angel’s cake.

Thus rested and fortified Elijah went on to Mount Horeb (Sinai). There Elijah enters a Cave. Some say it was the very same “Cleft in the Rock” in which Moses hid. (Exodus 33:13)

Both caves are presented as the “Place” of a Theophany and not simply personal spiritual experiences.

Elijah hears God’s Voice asking a question: Mah l’cha Po? (what are you doing here?).

Most Jewish (and many Christian) commentators on the place of this question in the Elijah story seem to read it with the inflection: “What on earth are you doing hiding away in here, wasting your time meditating when you should be up and doing stuff!?”

I read it as:

“What on earth are you DOING here, fretting and dwelling on the past, resting on your laurels one minute then focusing on your failings and anxieties the next. You are spending your time here in self observation when what you SHOULD be doing is listening to my voice. This Cave is a place of meeting . A place of mission not escape.”

Let me explain where my perspective comes from.....I would suggest that Elijah’s answer is both apologetic and panicky and that it reflects the evasion of a truth he wishes to avoid.

Paraphrasing his tripartite reply in 1Kings 19:10, here is Elijah’s evasive response:

1: I have been very zealous for You…
2: I am the only loyal Israelite left, the others are unfaithful... 
3: I came here because they were trying to kill me for what I did...

which I read as:

1: over compensating for insecurity in melodramatic action 
2:delusions of self-importance masking those insecurities 
3:Paranoia

The reply is given through three “events” or “experiences”.

A: Wind
B: Earthquake 
C: Fire

Which (this time round) I might read as representing:

A: Futile activity to mask a lack of understanding or facing up to facts
B: Destructive or negative speech and actions which do not create anything 
C: Violent extremism

In each case the biblical text tells us that “God was not in” either of these.

It is then that Elijah hears the “still small voice”...and this he recognises as the “Voice of God”.

Elijah is asked the question again....What are you doing here?

Again he gives his flustered three part answer and (in my reading) fails the test.

The conclusion of the story is that he is told to leave the cave....shortly after which he passes on his prophetic mantle to Elisha.

New Commentary for Lag B'Omer 2010

I believe the voice of his conscience was telling him that the way of peace and a life of contemplation were superior to the bustling activism of his political career. (I am not saying here that “contemplative lives” are superior per se...only that Elijah was, I believe, called to a more contemplative and peaceable lifestyle than the one he had followed.) His call to be a “Jewish Contemplative” was not heard....that is something which all those who seek to live and promote intentionally dedicated contemplative lifestyles in Judaism attempt to continue “in his name”. Such people are  the sons and daughters of Elijah the childless--Though not prophets they aim to be “Descendants of the Prophets” if only in some small way.

Though it may seem strangely quietist from the outside, the life of a dedicated or consecrated “Contemplative” is nothing less than a profound form of political/religious activism.

The “correct” response to the question “Mah L’cha Po?”...the question asked of all contemplatives... is perhaps the one which heads this article (from Psalm 73):

“Whom do I have in heaven but You?

And besides You I desire nothing on earth.

My flesh and my heart yearn for You,

The Rock of my Heart and my inheritance

Is God eternally.

My purpose in life is to be “one who is intimate” with God.”

This response indicates the "true zeal” of an Elijan and is spoken with "mystical fire”. A fire which envelops, inspires, and creates. It is a response which also reminds the contemplative that “Levites” (the ones specifically dedicated to the Sanctuary’s service) have no inheritance in the land of Israel...for God Himself is to be their inheritance. (Ezekiel 44:28).

According to the Biblical legend, Elijah did not “die” but was taken up to heaven in a fiery chariot.

Eliyahu the warrior prophet

The zealot fundamentalist

Hears a voice

Not in earthquake, wind, or fire,

Not in prejudice and hate,

Not in revenge or name calling.

The legend is that he ascended to heaven in a chariot of fire.

The violence of his “first” life is burnt out--

He becomes an archetype.

In the biblical tradition, long after his “death” he is described as being the herald of the messiah (Malachi 3:23) and is described, somewhat mysteriously, as being the one who will “turn the heart of the fathers to the children and the heart of the children to the fathers” (Malachi 3:24)

According to traditional legend in that “second” archetypal life he has become “Elijah the Comforter”, “Elijah the Peacemaker”. In that post biblical legendary tradition he appears as the one who rescues the Jewish community, as one who tests the charity and forbearance of Jews by appearing as a needy beggar or an often tiresome and puzzling old man; and he attends every circumcision to comfort and effect healing (!) as well, it is sometimes added, to assess whether or not the newborn might be the messiah.

In the Rabbinic tradition he also became “the one who will provide all the answers to those problems which seem to have no solution” (those declared tayku). The problems of the “Holy” Land come pretty high in my list of “problems which seem to have no solution” and so I am keen to have recourse to Elijah’s advice. In this I approach not Elijah the biblical Zealot, but Elijah the archetypal Comforter... 

How can Jewish Contemplatives (or contemplatives in any religious tradition) hope to bring about the peace of Jerusalem?   I am not sure that I am going to be able to answer that question, but I can tell you that I spend a great deal of time and effort praying about it.  This article is a little "bursting through to the surface" of what has been going on those prayers.

The Peace of Palestine, Israel, Jerusalem, cannot be achieved by earthquake wind or fire.

Focusing on the faults of Israel will not bring peace--only hatred from those whose hearts are already anti-Jewish.

Focusing on the bitter hatred much of the Arab world feels for Jews does not bring peace- - it only encourages fear in the minds of the paranoid or xenophobic.

If we are to focus on anything, should it not be the evidence of any personal, organisational, denominational, religious, or political attempts on all “sides” to work for Peace. By focusing on them rather than on the sensational or  the negative we encourage the growth of those channels of Peace. By supporting them we become creators of peace ourselves.

The way of Elijah the zealot is no longer appropriate...

Religious and political zealotry emphasises differences, settling scores, seeking revenge, declaring possession, asserting an often non-inclusive moral standpoint. As with any Nation State, There are certain moral failures  in Israel’s past...some acknowledged, many denied or  hidden away.....they should be known and rectified..... but making them the central or focal issue can add demolition to earthquake, anarchic chaos to an already windswept landscape, and can fan the fire of human hatred into an uncontrollable furnace.

Animosity between Palestinian and Israeli (or perhaps I should say Arab and Jew) are the cause and/or product of a deep-seated disagreement which needs the balm of compassionate co-existence and not the sharpened sword of further prolonged conflict. There is a place for argument and criticism but that place is within a respectful dialogue not on a verbal or physical battle-field.

In the Torah (Deuteronomy3:24 and 34:4) Moses is denied entry into the “Promised Land”. As Elijah passed on his mantle to Elisha immediately after the test of the Cave of Horeb, so Moses, on Nebo, deferred to Joshua. The traditional midrash explaining why Moses was denied entry into “the Land” refers back to an incident many years earlier: In Numbers 20:7 Moses had displayed what might be termed “undue force” coupled with a little self-promotion: The rabbis noted that, in the desert, he had been asked to “speak to” the rock in order for the miracle of flowing water to occur, but that he had chosen to “command it” (emphasing his own role in the process) and “struck the rock” instead. “Force and chutzpah” over “humility and dialogue”. Very “Elijah the zealot”.

During his encounter in the cave on Horeb, it seems that Elijah was given two chances to examine his personality and methods. The same seems to have been the case in the story of Shimon Bar Yohai (whose memory we celebrate on Lag B’Omer) who spent two separate periods of retreat in his cave in Meron. Shimon Bar Yohai and Eliyahu Ha Navi both shared the fire of zeal which can so easily become the fire of violent anger. Both were given opportunities to reconsider and reform, to allow the gentler power of Mercy and Compassion to temper that of Force and Might. It is an opportunity which is presented to all mystics, and to all contemplatives who follow in their footsteps. We are all invited to see that our interior world is both the seedbed and the sower of world peace.

I have a small piece of rock. Part of Eretz Israel. A stone from the spring of Elijah on Mount Carmel. Two very kind (Catholic) adolescent friends of mine brought it back for me during a summer spent on a kibbutz. I have treasured it for over thirty years. It speaks to me today:

If Jew or Arab should strike the rock with undue force they run the risk of destroying something beautiful in a desire to “possess" the Land.

To quote a famous zionist, Martin Buber:

“It seems to me that God does not give any one portion of the earth away....a conquered land is, in my opinion only lent even to the conqueror who has settled on it- and God waits to see what he will make of it.”

I am Jew who believes  that the State of Israel should be proud of its achievements but should also acknowledge its mistakes. I am a Jew who works to fulfil  the words of Ben Gurion positively when he said:

“The State of Israel will prove itself not by material wealth, nor by military might or technical achievement, but by its moral character and human values.”

And I am a Jew that hopes  that  ever-more compassionate and tolerant  Palestinians may  emerge to confront their own prejudices and  begin to forgive.

Peace is not something we might create....it is the tool with which we create.

That, perhaps, is part of what the little voice in the cave of Elijah’s mind said.

But it is a quiet and indistinct voice- Kol d’mamah d’kah ....a voice which many believe to be nothing more than a puff of inconsequential religious wind...

It is voice which is often irksome, and in this case, profoundly challenging for any political or religious zealot to hear..... Many are afraid of its simple power:-

It says “Peace Now”..... that means put the negative aside... Find the positive NOW and build on it.

As we pray every week at the close of Shabbat: “May Elijah come soon in our day”

May the voice of Peace be heard over the din of Hate.

May those who "pray for the peace of Jerusalem" help to create that peace by their lives of contemplative zeal.  May the fire of their love scatter the gloom.

Nachman Davies

April 20 2010

(for Magnus)

Elijah's Cave Revisited - March 2010

    THERE IS A NEW AND MUCH EXTENDED VERSION OF THIS ESSAY

HERE

In Parsha Ki Tissa we read of a religious liturgy which took place in the period between the destruction of the golden calf and the erection of the Sanctuary. It would seem from Exodus 33:7 that Moses had set up a special “Tent of Meeting” outside the camp specifically for his private contemplative prayer. (The community was in a state of defilement after the calf incident and this seems to be the reason for the tent’s extra-mural location). This tent was guarded by Joshua who seems to have been in full-time retreat there (Ex.33:11) and so it may have had a wider cultic usage. It certainly provides a good contemplative model.

We read of the “liturgy” I refer to in Ex.33:8-11:

As Moses leaves the community to speak with God in the Tent, he is respectfully observed by all the Israelites who are positioned, each one, at the door of their own tent. When Moses enters the Tent of Meeting, the Pillar of Cloud descends and takes up a position at the door of the Tent of Meeting. At this point the community prostrates in worship while facing the Pillar of Cloud-each at the door of his own tent.

The significance of the threshold, (the doorway of a tent or the mouth of a cave) is something which links this “liturgy” with the Theophany to Moses in the cleft of the rock, the Theophany to Elijah at the mouth of the cave, and to the Temple ceremonies of Yom Kippur.

The interior of the Tent of Meeting may be said to represent the “realm” of God Himself.

The Pillar of Cloud may be said to represent the Shekinah, God’s Presence as we encounter it.


This encounter takes place for us at the point represented by “the door of the Tent of Meeting.” The door of “our own tent”, our own interior centre of prayer, is in some way at exactly that same point when we worship.

Moses is said to have spoken with God “Face to face” inside the Tent.

Each of us is encouraged by the possibility of such Human/Divine contact and that is symbolised by the way the ordinary Israelite “faced” the Tent of Meeting and followed Moses’ movements.

When we pray as Jewish Contemplatives, we have located ourselves at the threshold of the Tent of Meeting by having oriented ourselves in that same “direction”. We are, as it were, standing at the “point” inside the Pillar of Cloud which is the “M’arat Ha-Lev”, the Cave of the Heart.

We are standing at the threshold of that “cave” looking IN.

When you imagine Elijah standing at the mouth of the cave listening to the still small voice, do you imagine him standing there facing a dramatically expansive landscape while shielding his face from the Divine Presence somehow suspended in space in front of him? Until very recently, I certainly did.

During hegyon-ha-lev (spiritual reading) last week I was reflecting on the text of I Kings 19:12 when a new perspective suddenly occurred to me. The text in question is a familiar and especially significant one on this website:

 “And after the fire, there came a still small voice. And when Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his mantle and went out, and stood at the mouth of the cave.”

 I really like the tradition that Moses’ “cleft in the rock” and Elijah’s “cave” were one and the same. Probably because of that, I had always visualized both Moses and Elijah looking outwards. This is perhaps the intention of the text of Ki Tissa in which Moses is permitted to “see” the “back” of God and sense God’s Presence- But suddenly last week I saw an Elijah who was standing at the cave’s threshold - but looking back into the cave, rather like someone standing in prayer before a mihrab niche.

The Torah reading of Pekudei and its accompanying Haftarah are concerned with the dedication of the Sanctuary and Elijah features in neither. Yet I was surprised again to find that the verse which popped out at me led me to notice a rather interesting relationship between the revelation of the Shekinah in the Mishkan and in the Jerusalem Temple with the experience of Elijah in the cave. It wasn’t so much a mihrab I’d seen, it was more like the apparently empty chamber of the Holy of Holies.

The Torah reading of Parsha Pekudei describes a special moment in the dedication of the Mishkan (the Desert Sanctuary) at Exodus 40:33-35:

 “So Moses finished the work. Then the cloud covered the tent of meeting and the Glory of the Lord filled the tent. And Moses was not able to enter into the tent of meeting, because the Cloud abode thereon, and the Glory of the Lord filled the tent.”

In the Haftarah reading attached to Parshah Pekudei, I noticed a parallel set of circumstances. Here in I Kings 8:10 we are reading of the dedication of Solomon’s Temple:

 “And it came to pass, when the priests had come out of the Holy Place,that the Cloud filled the House of the Lord, so that the priests could not stand to minister by reason of the Cloud: for the Glory of the Lord filled the House of the Lord.”

 The Cloud (Anan) and the Glory (K’vod) are terms relating to the Presence of God. I will refer to both using the term “The Presence” for a moment as I try to demonstrate how my thoughts went.

At the start of each narrative:-

Moses and his team had just completed the construction and ritual dedication ceremonies of the Mishkan. Solomon’s team had just completed the construction and dedication of the Jerusalem Temple. Elijah had been seeking God desperately in the activity of earthquake, wind and fire but had neither found God nor made God a dwelling place.

Then:-

The Presence descends upon the Mishkan in the form of a cloud and totally fills it; The Presence descends upon the Temple of Solomon in the form of a cloud and totally fills it; Then The Presence fills the cave (or Elijah’s mind) in the form of a Voice.

Reactions in each narrative are similar:- 

Moses cannot enter the Tent any more as the The Presence is overpowering; Solomon’s priests cannot remain in the Temple Sanctuary as The Presence is overpowering; Elijah cannot bear the power of The Presence inside the cave and he does two things, he covers his face and he gets out of the cave fast.

In each of these three narratives, the main “characters” are now standing at the threshold of the “Place where the Presence is”. In all three cases they are facing the Presence but unable to be “in it”. Yet being at the threshold they are susceptible to its (so to speak) “radiation” outwards, so in some sense they are in an intimate relationship with it.

 Immediately after the quoted verse, Solomon says: “The Lord has said he would dwell in the thick darkness” (I Kings 8:12). The priests of Solomon’s Temple see nothing but an impenetrable cloud (arafel). Moses has already “seen” more than any before or since, yet even he is aware that the particular extended revelation he (and all Israel) is experiencing is beyond his power to bear at close proximity.

 

And Elijah?
 

He has “seen” nothing, yet he covers his face with his mantle. The Presence is heard. But we know the tradition that the revelation at Sinai was a synaesthesic experience and that the blending of seeing/hearing/feeling/comprehending is what “the Cloud” does to us. Elijah is thus covering his eyes because he is “seeing the sound” of The Presence.
 

Elijah had been watching earthquake, wind, and fire pass by the mouth of the cave and their (or perhaps his own) ferocious activity had been, as it were, devoid of The Presence. Perhaps Elijah was not looking outwards from the Cave to face The Presence as I had always imagined after all.

Perhaps the Voice spoke from behind/inside him in the cave, as it were: In the place of his current searching not in his past or his future. Perhaps when we stand at the mouth of the cave which is the m’arat ha-lev we appear to have turned our back to the world, but that is only appearance. Priests and levites face the sanctuary but that is not to say they are “turning their backs” on society. They are facing the ark because their entire focus is on God. In maintaining this focus they simultaneously bear the needs and the prayer intentions of the nation on their shoulders in an attempt to offer a prayer of atonement and healing.

 In a very special sense, Elijah is the “father” of all Dedicated Jewish Contemplatives. We are, as it were, the “Descendants of Elijah the childless”. I would suggest that what he realised too late in the cave (see the earlier article “In the Cave of Elijah”) is a task we develop and perhaps even embody ourselves today. As children of Elijah, we cover our eyes with Elijah’s mantle. You can take that literally and regard yourself as one who hopes to receive a portion of his contemplative spirit as did Elisha. Or you can take it mystically as meaning that you demonstrate or declare the same awe when you stand before God. You can take it practically and imitate both his gesture and his intention when you pray in your tallit. We know that we are facing the “right direction” for us. Beneath that mantle with our eyes closed we stand in prayer “facing” The Presence. Though our perception of The Presence is always filtered by an almost impenetrable cloud, we can hope to see God’s Voice.

 

Jewish Contemplatives may appear to be facing away from other people, but in the very next moment our inner vision can turn as we begin to see through God’s eyes, back into “the world”. At this point spatial or geographical direction is actually irrelevant: As we are at the threshold of the Mishkan, the threshold of the Temple, the threshold of the Cave: we are enveloped in the outpouring radiance of the Shekinah and we ourselves can become a point of its entry into the world. Perhaps that is the deepest lesson of Elijah’s cave.

This article was first published in March 2009  

on the Community of Jewish Contemplatives website.




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Kedushah: So Far and Yet So Near- (June 2009)

We have recently celebrated Shavuot, the annual festival of the First Fruits and of the Giving of the Torah at Sinai. I have been reflecting on the way that we place ourselves at Sinai every time we pray and have decided to publish an edited version of an article which I wrote for the sister website (Community of Jewish Contemplatives) as a post-festival reflection for a wider audience. It refers to our community as being an "Elijan" Community...but the tasks of Elijah are pertinent to all Jews and so I hope all readers will find what I had to say to be of some interest and relevance. It begins with a brief commentary on the prayer we call the "Kedushah": The Song of God's Otherness.

.Haftarah Yitro Isaiah 6:3

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So Far and Yet So Near

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The liturgical Kedushah which is developed from this text in Isaiah (and a related one in Ezekiel 3:12 ) is one of the prayers which is traditionally recited only when a minyan is present. If I had waited for such an occasion before saying it, I would only have recited it a handful of times in the last decade. My nearest Jewish synagogue is many hours away on a bus and (to my knowledge) there are no Jews living in my town or anywhere nearby.

Typically, in such a situation I make an exception for myself and rightly or wrongly, I “sing” the Kedushah every Shabbos during the Amidah. For years (for minyan purposes) I have regarded myself as present in spirit with the Knesset Yisrael of Sinai and since last September, specifically bound in prayer with the other members of the online Community of Jewish Contemplatives.

I think most people would agree that there is something very special about the recitation of the Kedushah during communal liturgy (whether it be physically communal or spiritually communal). Everyone will have their own favourite moments in liturgy, some of which will regularly serve to keep us on our toes, as it were. There are three points in my own Shabbos liturgy which always seem especially illuminated. Two of them are in the Amidah and one in the Sh’ma. All three are more or less guaranteed to send a shiver down my spine.

In the Amidah, the first “illuminated moment” is in the Avot blessing when we say “ El Elyon”. My own practice is to leave large pauses between the phrases of the first paragraph of the Amidah and as I say the words “El Elyon” (God Above all, beyond all knowledge, beyond anything we can fathom, beyond any actual or imaginary world we might ever travel to) I have always left a longer pause than usual. In that pause I attempt to feel a little something of the immense distance between God and ourselves. It is, for me, a moment’s celebration of God’s transcendence, not as something chilling and off-putting, but as something full of awe and wonder. We seldom address God by this one of His Names and that makes the moment doubly special, a moment to be savoured.

The second “illuminated moment” in my Amidah is the Kedushah itself.

When I recite the Kedushah I consciously prepare myself to stand with the celestial beings who are praying along with me, but as I haven’t the faintest idea what they might truly be, (despite their colourful and exciting categorization into Chayot, Serafim, Ofanim and so on) that too produces a sense of being lost in a world beyond my comprehension and certainly beyond my grasp. Yet I always feel particularly “close to” or “linked to” that other world during it. The same will be true for the majority of spiritually minded Jews when they recite the Kedushah. This is not surprising as, in whatever language it is declaimed, it is one of the most numinous prayers in all liturgies. The creatures of the Celestial world (Elyonim) and the People of the Earthly world (Techtonim) rarely meet so explicitly in the liturgy.

The Elyonim are variously our guardians, our supporters, and our witnesses as we stand on that point at the end of our world during the Amidah. Some say that the two nods we give to the left and the right as we take three steps out of the Presence during the Oseh Shalom are an acknowledgement of that angelic collaboration in our worship. Being open to the idea that there is more to the Physical Cosmos than we know develops our humility and gives us a realistic perspective on our own place in Creation. Acknowledging the highly possible existence of other life-forms and different universes of prayer and praise co-existing with our own can similarly become steps towards developing an awareness of the Utter Otherness of their Creator and Sustainer .

The third “illuminated moment” is from an earlier point in the liturgy, before the Amidah, and it begins “Ani ADONAI” (I am ADONAI, The One who is). It is the last line of the Sh’ma. When we recite or chant this line, we speak one of God’s most personal declarations of immanence, yet it too serves to remind us that the One who is speaking is so Other that to be in His Presence so intimately can be almost unbearable. Reciting this last line with special focus, slowly and gently, listening to every sound and silent pause between its words and phrases can be one of the most intimate moments of communication with the “I” of our God in all the Jewish Liturgy.

The strange thing (for me) about all three of these moments is that they contain the most highly explicit feelings of awe in God’s Presence with the vaguest yet most tangible feelings of being somehow close to Him. Even when feelings are blunt, even at times when our faith, or trust, or perseverance are at their lowest ebb: these three passages still manage to keep us in mind of the enormity of what we do when we stand before Him.

The Kedushah is a celebration of this dual perception of God as both Transcendent and Immanent.

The first section (Kadosh, Kadosh, Kadosh)
declares “Other, Other, Totally Other, is He.”

The LORD of celestial Armies (ADONAI Tzevaot), He dwells in worlds beyond our comprehension and the Creatures who surround Him there in worship are as Aliens to us.

The second section (melo kol ha aretz kevodo) declares that He is present in all the atoms of all the worlds we know or ever could know. That He fills the space and time between those atoms, between our intuitions and thoughts, between our thoughts and our words, and between our experiences and our understandings. Inescapable. Inside each individual, as totally as He was in the Holy of Holies.

Being alone when I sing the Kedushah, for the last fifteen years I have always made it my practice to make up a totally new tune every time I sing the prayer. For the “Kadosh” line itself I have frequently spun off into a choking arabesque which was anything but musical sounding.

It’s my way of joining in the rushing around and wildness that Isaiah observed in the angelic choirs. I have yet to attain a satisfactory level of kavanah during the Kedushah, that is obvious! This failure to “seize the prey” musically is not a surprise to me. Indeed it may be one of the messages of the exercise. The attempt to describe God, the attempt to praise Him always fails…but exerting ourselves to the limit in the attempt is the best we can offer.


On a handful of occasions I have intended to sing and found that not a single audible sound would come out of my mouth….just the body forcibly making the movements which ought to produce the words. Strangely on those occasions I felt as though my song was closer to the one being sung around me/above…. I think there is a profound message there for me and for you. But I’m not going to try to write about it just now!

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So far, I’ve been jotting down a few thoughts on the text and its use in a contemplative liturgy. But for us - contemplative prayer is our principal work, and so I really ought to say something now about the implications of the Kedushah on that.

The Kedushah text highlights the Transcendent and the Immanent. It has occurred to me that the text thus sheds its light on what I chose to call the M’arat Ha-Lev. This will take some explaining, but I would like to try:

The visions of Isaiah and Ezekiel have provided Jewish sages, mystics, and scholars with profound material for philosophy, theology, and countless methods of contemplative prayer. They have inspired esoteric mystical associations and entire schools of Jewish mysticism. But there is nothing in the visions of Isaiah or Ezekiel which surpasses the experience of every Jew present at Sinai. (Parshah Yitro, Exodus 19:9)

At Sinai we all saw the Voice of God as He laid Torah on our hearts. Some of it was heard but has not been verbalised. Some of it was seen but has not risen into our consciousness. All of us heard it in our own way and each of us is commanded to write our own torah as a result of what we heard. We are all invited to listen to that Voice. All of us.

Sinai, as I will never cease repeating, is not just something in the past: It is happening now in the Ever-present. What we need to do is find our individual place at Sinai again. Our spot at the foot of Sinai. Each of us has our own place and that place is the M’arat Ha-Lev , the Cave of the Heart .

There are tribes laid out at the foot at Sinai, and each tribe has its own charism. Though each one of us has a unique individual perspective, each of those tribes represents a shared path. A distinct group "way of doing things" within the People of Israel.


There are those who go down in the Chariot and there are those who are engaged in the Work of Creation. There are those who climb Sefirotic Trees and those who manipulate the Holy Letters. But the way of the M’arat Ha Lev is a simple path for simpler people.

There is one process to arrive there: Stand still.
There is one activity to perform: Listen.

It is the way of Elijah. Not the way of Elijah the zealot. The way of Elijah at the threshold of the cave: the place where the worlds meet.

In Kuntres M’arat Ha Lev I was using a sort of code. I was aware that the place at the end of the “unrolling carpet” on which we stand in prayer during a Contemplative "Standing" was a point in time and space and yet beyond them.

Several times I have described that point as the “intersection of the worlds”. In using that phrase I was referring to three types of intersection:

• A place (physical time and space) where an individual human and God can “meet”;

• A place (eternal moment) inside God and inside each individual where all spiritual meetings occur;

• A place (expandable moment) in contemplative prayer where we turn away from looking inside ourselves to look through God’s eyes at other people.

The first two are perceived-experienced-engaged with during the Standing itself and the third is an event which can occur within it but can also “spill out” into the ordinary events and perceptions of our lives when we are not engaged in focused prayer. The third can, and often does, involve an imperative call to action.

I tried to express these ideas in stages by reference to Elijah’s Cave both in the kuntres itself and in the article on this website called “In the Cave of Elijah”. You will know from that article that my reading of I Kings:19 is that Elijah was not being scolded for retreating into a cave and ordered into active service- but that he was being scolded for not developing his contemplative service and the command to leave the cave was merely a command to appoint a successor.

I believe that the work of Elijah was unfinished. I believe that we are here to continue it. That is why I wrote Elijah’s name at the head of our Community members list. He was there already.

The essence of the Elijan experience of God (as I see it) is that we approach God (liturgically and metaphorically) in three steps: we pass through earthquake, wind, and fire (distractions, self-centredness, anxiety) and then, standing at the intersection between our world and His (the mouth of the cave), we focus with awe on His transcendence (with mantle over our face), then, and only then, we become open to hearing His Voice. (His immanence).

When we are standing at that still point, our personal place at Sinai, our Cave of the Heart, the part of God where we can see the sound of the speaking silence, we are not hoping for the visions of an Isaiah or the experiences of an Ezekiel. We are the sons and daughters of Elijah the childless and all we want is to be useful to God.

But like Isaiah, we are standing there to say “hineini” and with God’s help we may feel God respond “I am here too”, or perhaps “Good, Now do this…”.

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In this graphic, the “point” of the M’arat Ha-Lev is at the threshold of the arch. It is a point of focus in the distance (the transcendent) and simultaneously it is a point of focus inside us (the immanent) represented by the starlight inside the star of David.

The angelic Elyonim are guardians, witnesses, silent worshipers. They are symbols of the event taking place, marking the point of intersection.

They are the keruvim of the ark, Lights who are “called” Shamor and Zachor.

They are silent.

Maybe that’s because they are listening and the Talmud says that the angels on high cannot “sing” the kedushah till we have “sung” it below.

Or maybe it’s because on the Elijan path, the contemplative is really only interested in hearing one thing, something which is heard only when all other sounds are silenced…..the still small voice….heard so deep inside our souls that its thunderous whisper can drown out any storm or shofar blast.



(This article was originally published on the Community of Jewish Contemplatives Website on Feb 12 2009 as a commentary on the Haftarah for Yitro.)

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