In last week’s parashah (weekly Torah portion), terumah, we learnt that the Tabernacle may not be a physical structure at all, but a structure in consciousness. The text says:

וְעָשׂוּ לִי מִקְדָּשׁ וְשָׁכַנְתִּי בְּתוֹכָם:

And they shall make me a sanctuary, and I will dwell within them. (Exodus 25:8)

This idea is echoed in this week’s parashah. At the end of very long and detailed instructions regarding the clothing of the high priest, the ornaments of the menorah, specific of offerings and other matters, the text states:

וְשָׁכַנְתִּי בְּתוֹךְ בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל וְהָיִיתִי לָהֶם לֵאלֹהִים:

I will dwell within the Israelites and I will be their God. (Exodus 29:45)

That is to say, the relationship with God is defined by this act of “dwelling within them”. This is elaborated in the next verse:

וְיָדְעוּ כִּי אֲנִי יְהוָה אֱלֹהֵיהֶם אֲשֶׁר הוֹצֵאתִי אֹתָם מֵאֶרֶץ מִצְרַיִם לְשָׁכְנִי בְתוֹכָם אֲנִי יְהוָה אֱלֹהֵיהֶם:

And they shall know that I, YHVH, am their God who brought them out from the land of Egypt that I might dwell within them, I YHVH their God. (Exodus 29:46)

Readers of this blog will remember, that the Exodus from Egypt has been explained as a metaphor for the liberation of the soul from boundaries in duality to freedom in unity (see commentary on the weekly Torah portion of shemot). Now the text combines this metaphor with another—the one about building a mishkan. Again, it is not a physical structure. It is a sacred space that one “erects” within oneself so that God can dwell within.

This verse tells us, that the only reason the people of Israel were liberated from Egypt is so that they can build a mishkan and God can dwell within them. In other words, liberation is not a “free lunch;” it has to be reciprocated by service, by one’s commitment to be empty enough so that a mishkan is erected within oneself and the shekhinah can dwell within one. With that reciprocity established, people shall “know that I, YHVH, am their God.”

* * *

This Torah portion starts with another form of reciprocity. In the first verse of the parashah Moses is commanded to light a lamp (candle) of perpetual light in the tabernacle:

וְאַתָּה תְּצַוֶּה אֶת בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל וְיִקְחוּ אֵלֶיךָ שֶׁמֶן זַיִת זָךְ כָּתִית לַמָּאוֹר לְהַעֲלֹת נֵר תָּמִיד:

You shall instruct the Israelites to bring you clear oil of beaten olives for lighting, for kindling lamps of perpetual light. (Exodus 27:20).

One may ask: what need does God have for our light? Many commentators throughout the ages wondered about that, referring to a quote from the Psalms:

בְּאוֹרְךָ נִרְאֶה אוֹר:

By your light do we see light. (Psalm 36:10)

Does the source of all light need us to light candles for him?

The commentators seem to agree that it is all about reciprocity. Maimonides, who takes the light to be symbolic of our mental faculties, explains how the “light by which we see light”, that divine spark of intelligence that allows us to see God, is also the light through which God sees us. (Guide to the Perplexed, Part 3, Chapter 52).

Said differently, the degree to which the light of God shines on humans depends on the degree to which humans recognize God.

A similar idea about the reciprocity of the relationship with the divine was brought up by the Hadith Qudsi:

Allah has declared: I am close to the thought that My servant has to Me, and I am with him whenever He recollects Me. If he remember Me in himself, I remember him in Myself, and if he remembers Me in a gathering, I remember him better than those in the gathering do, and if he approaches Me by as much as one hand’s length, I approach him by a cubit, and if he approaches my by a cubit, then I draw nigh to him by two hands’ length. If he takes a step towards me, I run towards him. (Musnad-e Ahmad Hanbal)

At the end of the 18^th century, Rabbi Yisrael Hofstein, known as the Koznitzer Maggid, wondered about it. In his ‘Avodath Yisrael he gives up any attempt to understand it, and just expresses his wonder:

We cannot penetrate Your secret, why it is that You should desire to hear Torah or prayer out of our mouths. The same is true of the candles. “In Your light we see light,” yet You command us to kindle lights. “Thought cannot grasp You at all” (Tikkuney Zohar 17a); no one can understand the secret of this matter. All we have is “the revealed things for us and our children” (Deut. 29: 28) to do. Amen.

The Koznitzer Maggid recognizes, with great awe, the incomprehensible, ungraspable fact that there is indeed a reciprocal relationship here, and is awed by that fact.

And this is how Arthur Green, who quotes the Koznitzer Maggid in his Speaking Torah, writes about this passage:

The confession of undiminished astonishment is rare in a literature that is so used to providing answers and explanations. In the end, we are being told here, they are all worth nothing. All we can do is stand before the mystery—and go on living and following God’s word in this strange world.

Copyright © 2014 Igal Harmelin-Moria
(Copyright does not pertain to illustrations)

A few verses into the portion, the Torah specifies the effect of building the mishkan:

וְעָשׂוּ לִי מִקְדָּשׁ וְשָׁכַנְתִּי בְּתוֹכָם:

And they shall make me a sanctuary, and I will dwell among them. (Exodus 25:8)

The verse seems to suggest, that the tabernacle, the mishkan, will enable God to dwell (lishkon) among the people of Israel. But that is absurd: God confined to a tent? And does that mean that before the construction, God is not able to dwell among them?

As King Solomon said in his prayer after completing the construction of the first temple:

הִנֵּה הַשָּׁמַיִם וּשְׁמֵי הַשָּׁמַיִם לֹא יְכַלְכְּלוּךָ אַף כִּי הַבַּיִת הַזֶּה אֲשֶׁר בָּנִיתִי:

Even heaven and the highest heaven cannot contain you, much less this house that I have built! (1 Kings 8:27)

And as the prophet Isaiah declared:

כֹּה אָמַר יְהוָה הַשָּׁמַיִם כִּסְאִי וְהָאָרֶץ הֲדֹם רַגְלָי אֵי זֶה בַיִת אֲשֶׁר תִּבְנוּ לִי וְאֵי זֶה מָקוֹם מְנוּחָתִי:

Thus says YHVH: Heaven is my throne and the earth is my footstool; what is the house that you would build for me, and what is my resting place? (Isaiah 66:1)

But the verse may be saying something else. Firstly, the Hebrew word for “among them” is betocham,( בְּתוֹכָם), which means “within them.*” And it does not say betocho (בתוכו), which would mean “within it”, referring to the mishkan; it says within them, referring to the people of Israel.

The mishkan spoken of here is primarily a structure within the psyche. Each one of the people of Israel was enjoined on building a space within themselves, open themselves up in such a way so as to allow the divinity within them to shine through, to occupy the psyche. And then, God will dwell within them, within each and every one of them.

Some midrash commentaries support this understanding. We are told by the midrash hagadol that the structure of the mishkan parallels the structure of the cosmos as well as the structure of the human. It is not talking about the physical structure of the human, but the interior one: the one that is made of 248 limbs and 365 tissues, which parallel the 248 positive mitsvoth (commandments), the “do’s”, and the 365 negative mitzvoth, the “don’ts”.

Thus, the mishkan is truly an interior structure that comes into being when one lives according to YHVH’s will. And then YHVH is found to be dwelling in that structure. Even if an exterior, physical mishkan exists, it was only a sensory representation of the internal structure.

This is very reminiscent of the ideas of sacred architecture of both the Hindu and the Buddhist traditions: both model their temple according to their understanding of the human psyche, with the idea that the structure of the temple mirrors both the structure of the psyche and the structure of the universe.

According to these traditions, the actual physical experience of walking into the temple, from its outer boundaries into its sanctum, is said to be a mirror of the process of meditation, through which one realizes the divine Self within. Said differently, the structure of the temple points one to the fact that through meditation one creates this structure within one’s consciousness.

This Torah portion further describes the function of the mishkan:

וְנוֹעַדְתִּי לְךָ שָׁם וְדִבַּרְתִּי אִתְּךָ מֵעַל הַכַּפֹּרֶת מִבֵּין שְׁנֵי הַכְּרֻבִים אֲשֶׁר עַל אֲרֹן הָעֵדֻת אֵת כָּל אֲשֶׁר אֲצַוֶּה אוֹתְךָ אֶל בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל:

There I will meet with you, and I will impart to you—from above the cover, from between the two Cherubim that are on top of the Ark of the Pact—all that I will command you concerning the people of Israel. (Exodus 25:22)

These words are addressed to Moses, but Moses is a metaphor for each and every one of us. For each of us to “hear the voice of God” within us, we need to construct this structure within ourselves, to created that sacred space within us through meditation so that we can be in tune with our deepest interiority—which is not different from the interiority of the universe.

* * *

This Torah portion is the first of five that deal entirely with the details of the construction of the mishkan. In fact, from now until the end of the book of Exodus, the Torah deals with nothing else.

Professor Yeshayahu Leibowitz, in his book “Seven Years of Talks on the Weekly Torah Portions,” points out that the number of verses that the Torah devotes to the construction of the mishkan is 450; in contrast, the number of verses that the Torah devotes to the “construction” of the world in the book of Genesis is 31.

And that reveals the status and purpose of the Torah. It is not a book about cosmology, neither is it a book about history. It is a book that aims primarily at providing a map through which human awareness can align itself with the divinity within. And it is in this light that everything in this text should be interpreted and understood.

—————————–

*See a similar comment in the commentary on vayigash

Copyright © 2014 Igal Harmelin-Moria
(Copyright does not pertain to illustrations)

One story in particular is relevant to the life of a spiritual aspirant in our day an age. We are told that while in the desert, the People of Israel received direct guidance from God:

וַיהוָה הֹלֵךְ לִפְנֵיהֶם יוֹמָם בְּעַמּוּד עָנָן לַנְחֹתָם הַדֶּרֶךְ וְלַיְלָה בְּעַמּוּד אֵשׁ לְהָאִיר לָהֶם לָלֶכֶת יוֹמָם וָלָיְלָה: לֹא יָמִישׁ עַמּוּד הֶעָנָן יוֹמָם וְעַמּוּד הָאֵשׁ לָיְלָה לִפְנֵי הָעָם:

YHVH went in front of them in a pillar of cloud by day, to lead them along the way, and in a pillar of fire by night, to give them light, so that they might travel by day and by night. Neither the pillar of cloud by day nor the pillar of fire by night left its place in front of the people. (Exodus 21-22)

Wouldn’t we all want to have such a cosmic GPS? Would we not want God—the energy and intelligence that creates and maintains the entire universe—to guide our every step on our path from bondage to liberation?

Impossible, you say? Not so fast. It may be that this is precisely what this story is trying to tell us: that for those who have the eyes to see and ears to hear, divine guidance is as clear as a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night at all times.

But how does one attune oneself to this “channel of perpetual guidance”? Surely, our physical eyes do not perceive pillars of cloud or fire in our immediate vicinity. Indeed, later in the Bible, in the First Book of Kings, the prophet Elijah is told where such guidance can be found.

We read that prophet Elijah, escaping the wrath of queen Jezebel, hides in a cave on Mount Sinai. At one point he is instructed to come out and “stand on the mountain before YHVH.” The text says:

וְהִנֵּה יְהוָה עֹבֵר וְרוּחַ גְּדוֹלָה וְחָזָק מְפָרֵק הָרִים וּמְשַׁבֵּר סְלָעִים לִפְנֵי יְהוָה לֹא בָרוּחַ יְהוָה וְאַחַר הָרוּחַ רַעַשׁ לֹא בָרַעַשׁ יְהוָה: וְאַחַר הָרַעַשׁ אֵשׁ לֹא בָאֵשׁ יְהוָה וְאַחַר הָאֵשׁ קוֹל דְּמָמָה דַקָּה:

And lo, YHVH passed by. There was a great and mighty wind, splitting mountains and shattering rocks by the power of YHVH; but YHVH was not in the wind. After the wind—an earthquake; but YHVH was not in the earthquake. After the earthquake—fire, but YHVH was not in the fire. And after the fire—the sound of subtle silence. (1 Kings 19: 11-12).

That “sound of subtle silence” (in Hebrew kol dmama daka, better known in English as “a still, small voice”) is that inaudible, sacred, ever-present frequency that underlies the tumultuous commotion of the world. That “channel” never stops transmitting, but we need to bring our attention there, and listen with different ears.

Meister Eckhart, a 14^th Century German mystic whose inspired sermons continue to excite generations of spiritual aspirants to this very day, gave a beautiful teaching on the subject. He was commenting on a story in the Gospels, about how Jesus’ parents lost track of him during a journey to Jerusalem. The Gospel says:

Now every year his parents went to Jerusalem for the festival of the Passover.  And when he was twelve years old, they went up as usual for the festival.  When the festival was ended and they started to return, the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem, but his parents did not know it. Assuming that he was in the group of travelers, they went a day’s journey. Then they started to look for him among their relatives and friends. When they did not find him, they returned to Jerusalem to search for him. After three days they found him in the temple, sitting among the teachers, listening to them and asking them questions. And all who heard him were amazed at his understanding and his answers. (Luke 2:41-47)

For Eckhart, this story is a metaphor for one’s search for God. When one lives unconsciously, one is so self-absorbed that one does not know whether or not one is connected to God. This is symbolized by the fact that “the boy Jesus stayed behind in Jerusalem, but his parents did not know it” (the parents, in this story, symbolize the seekers).

As life progresses, one notices that something is missing, but thinks that the solution is near, and one is bound to stumble upon it sooner or later in the natural course of one’s life. “Assuming that he was in the group of travelers, they went a day’s journey.”

It does not take long for an introspective soul to realize that one has to look deeper. One may not be ready for a radical change yet—one still looks for God in the familiar—but the intensity of one’s search increases. “Then they started to look for him among their relatives and friends.”

When that fails, one decides to be much more focused and serious. One starts devoting all of one’s energy to the search, engaging in prayer, meditation, and holy practices. This, Meister Eckhart says, is what is meant by the fact that the parents returned to the holy city, to Jerusalem, and looked for boy Jesus within its walls. But even after three days of constant searching in the holy city, they could not find him. In other words, holy, religious pursuits in themselves are no guarantee for finding God.

Where do they find God eventually? In the temple, which for Eckhart is a metaphor for the deepest level of Self, the deepest level of one’s consciousness. When one finally steps into that inner realm, one realizes that God has been there all along, teaching. Like the pillars of cloud by day and fire by night, God is always there, guiding and instructing.

Both the Elijah story and Eckhart’s sermon point us to the depth of our awareness as the place where divine guidance can be found. And not surprisingly, the Qur’an agrees:

وَٱذۡكُر رَّبَّكَ فِى نَفۡسِكَ تَضَرُّعً۬ا وَخِيفَةً۬ وَدُونَ ٱلۡجَهۡرِ مِنَ ٱلۡقَوۡلِ بِٱلۡغُدُوِّ وَٱلۡأَصَالِ وَلَا تَكُن مِّنَ ٱلۡغَـٰفِلِينَ

And do thou remember thy Lord within thyself humbly and with awe, below thy breath, at morn and evening. And be not thou of the neglectful. (7:205)

Indeed, it is through perseverance in the internal cultivation of the awareness (“within thyself…below thy breath”), regularly (“at morn and evening”) and consistently (“And be not thou of the neglectful”) that the internal channel of divine guidance can be heard.

May the practice of all aspirants after Truth bear fruit!

Copyright © 2014 Igal Harmelin-Moria
(Copyright does not pertain to illustrations)

At the onset of the negotiations, Pharaoh was arrogant and unyielding:

מִי יְהוָה אֲשֶׁר אֶשְׁמַע בְּקֹלוֹ, לְשַׁלַּח אֶת-יִשְׂרָאֵל:  לֹא יָדַעְתִּי אֶת-יְהוָה, וְגַם אֶת-יִשְׂרָאֵל לֹא אֲשַׁלֵּח.

Who is YHVH, that I should heed him and let Israel go? I do not know YHVH, and I will not let Israel go. (Exodus 5:2)

But after the tenth plague hits, his tune becomes much humbler and he agrees to all their conditions:

וַיִּקְרָא לְמֹשֶׁה וּלְאַהֲרֹן לַיְלָה, וַיֹּאמֶר קוּמוּ צְּאוּ מִתּוֹךְ עַמִּי–גַּם-אַתֶּם, גַּם-בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל; וּלְכוּ עִבְדוּ אֶת-יְהוָה, כְּדַבֶּרְכֶם. גַּם-צֹאנְכֶם גַּם-בְּקַרְכֶם קְחוּ כַּאֲשֶׁר דִּבַּרְתֶּם, וָלֵכוּ; וּבֵרַכְתֶּם, גַּם-אֹתִי.

Then he summoned Moses and Aaron in the night, and said, ‘Rise up, go away from my people, both you and the Israelites! Go, worship YHVH, as you said. Take your flocks and your herds, as you said, and be gone. And bring a blessing on me too!’ (Exodus 12:31-32)

 

Sarah Jackson

As usual, one can understand these events literally, or one could take them as metaphors for spiritual processes that occur within the psyche on the path to transformation and liberation. The latter approach is reflected in the following dialogue between me and Sarah Jackson, a Jungian psychoanalyst.

SJ: Reading this text reminded me of the teaching of a Jungian analyst by the name of Donald Kalsched, author of The Inner World of Trauma. Kalsched describes how traumatic events, especially those occurring during childhood, impact the psyche. When the wide-open, innocent and trusting being of the young child experiences a trauma, a kind of inner figure comes into being in the child’s unconscious to protect the child’s vulnerable true self.

Kalsched describes how this inner figure takes over and puts the true self into a kind of exile in order to keep it safe. Once it has taken the reins– and all of this occurs in the unconscious levels of the psyche–the protector gradually turns into a persecutor.

IHM: Could we say, then, that Moses stands for the true self, and Pharaoh for the inner figure? At first Pharaoh is the savior: his daughter rescues baby Moses from the Nile and raises him as a prince. But later Pharaoh becomes an oppressor who does not allow the true self to come into his own. Moses escapes Pharaoh’s wrath, going into exile in the desert.

SJ: Right. And you can also see it on the collective level. At first the Israelites, Jacob’s family, come down to Egypt to save themselves from famine, to find protection in Egypt. Later, however, Egypt becomes their house of bondage.

IHM: The trouble with exile is that after a while, it becomes a habit. It’s troublesome, but not enough to want to change. Moses gets used to his life as a shepherd of Jethro’s flocks, and is resistant when God sends him on his mission. Likewise, the text tells us that the people of Israel are too busy with their work and with the task of survival to listen to Moses.

SJ: The psychological parallel is that we get used to the criticisms, judgments and pronouncements which are issued regularly by our “inner persecutors”. We become inured to a state of repression fueled by self doubt and self criticism.

IHM: So what are we to make of the fact that God hardens Pharaoh’s heart, not once but over and over again? And even after consenting to Moses’ and Aaron’s appeals in response to a plague, he goes back on his word as soon as the plague is removed. Only when it gets really, really bad, does he relent.

SJ: The plagues are similar to the troubles and tribulations that one undergoes as long as one holds on to the false sense of self as one’s identity. Often, in the process of analysis, these troubles intensify, and the patient becomes aware of how he or she is ruled by this inner “persecutor.” Often, the patient is only willing to let go of these structures when the going gets really tough. One finally becomes aware of the degree to which one was ruled by something which is a construct that was useful in the past but is an impediment now.

IHM: There is a parallel in the spiritual field as well. It is known, for example, that some people have had deep spiritual experiences while being imprisoned in Soviet gulags. The explanation given often is that under these very extreme conditions, the Self has to make a choice: to become really evil or completely saintly. The extreme conditions make the choice black-and-white, whereas under “normal” conditions there are many shades of gray.

SJ: There are also cases of people who were only willing to let go of their limiting structures, of their “inner oppressor”, when the suffering they were undergoing was too intense to bear. Eckhart Tole and Byron Katy are two well-known examples.

IHM: Whenever we experiences suffering, we want to know ‘why’. We never want to know why we experience happiness; we take that for granted. So the question is: is there a purpose for all this suffering?

SJ: Jungian and archetypal psychologists understand this as deepening what is presented. We often have to deepen what the Self, or God, presents us with in order for a transformation to finally take place.

* * *

The bo Torah portion is the one in which the Passover holiday, the first of the Jewish holidays, is defined, as a way of commemorating the events of the exodus and making them a foundation of Jewish life. This portion also makes Passover the foundation stone of Jewish education, i.e., of passing on the legacy of liberation from bondage to future generations.

The adults are instructed to tell the younger generation why the holiday is celebrated.

וְהִגַּדְתָּ לְבִנְךָ, בַּיּוֹם הַהוּא לֵאמֹר:  בַּעֲבוּר זֶה, עָשָׂה יְהוָה לִי, בְּצֵאתִי, מִמִּצְרָיִם.

You shall tell your child on that day, ‘because of this, the Lord did for me when I came out of Egypt.’  (Exodus 13:8)

 

The phrase”because of this” are a translation of the Hebrew words ba’avur ze (בַּעֲבוּר זֶה), which is an obscure expression. The word ba’avur means both “because of” and “for the sake of”; and the word ze, which means “this”, could be understood in any number of ways.

Professor Yeshayahu Leibowitz, in his book Seven Years of Discourses on the Weekly Torah Reading, gives an overview of the various commentaries given to this verse by the most renowned biblical commentators throughout the ages. A kabbalistic commentary, which he grudgingly includes, is one which I find most fascinating: where the word ze (i.e., “this”) refers to God. This is based on an expression, found in the next Torah portion, ze eli ve’ahvehu, (זֶה אֵלִי וְאַנְוֵהוּ) “this is my God, and I will praise him” (Exodus 15:2). According to this interpretation, ba’avur ze means “for the sake of God.”

In other words, the liberation of the people of Israel from bondage in Egypt was done for the sake of God! This reflects a kabbalistic/Hassidic notion that human life has a significance far beyond the human sphere, and that our actions and liberation are essential for the divine project to be accomplished. God needs us, but he needs us liberated and attuned to him. it is through our action that God can become complete and his “purpose” fulfilled.

Copyright © 2014 Igal Harmelin-Moria
(Copyright does not pertain to illustrations)

Up to now, in the book of Genesis, the first book of the Pentateuch, the history of the Jewish people is told through the story of one family. And indeed, the first few verses in Exodus remind us that Jacob came to Egypt with his extended family of seventy strong. But the Torah almost immediately fast forwards a few hundred years, by which time the people of Israel have become so many that the new Pharaoh is afraid of them and proceeds to enslave them as a precaution.

This is the starting point of a narrative that will unfold in the coming four books: the drama of the People of Israel’s miraculous liberation and exodus from Egypt, and their equally miraculous sojourn in the desert on their way to the promised land, the land of Canaan.

This story is the backbone of Judaism. The history, theology and modes of worship of the Jewish people can all be traced to this story. A Jew’s relationship to this story determines his/her relationship to Judaism; it is, indeed, the source of the collective memory of the Jewish people.

Which is why it is worth repeating what was already mentioned earlier in this blog: that in the Passover hagadah, the formalized recitation of the story of Passover around which the Passover Seder is conducted, we are commanded:

בכל דור ודור חייב אדם לראות את עצמו כאלו הוא יצא ממצרים.

In each and every generation one is obligated to regard oneself as if one had come out of mitzrayim.

And that has been understood by rabbis of all ages as an internal journey of the soul from bondage in duality (mitzrayim), the land of sorrow and boundaries, to liberation in unity (kna’an), which this parashah describes as–

אֶרֶץ טוֹבָה וּרְחָבָה… אֶרֶץ זָבַת חָלָב וּדְבָשׁ

a good and broad land, a land flowing with milk and honey (Exodus 3:8)

 

It is a journey into the depth of one’s own consciousness, into one’s own Self, for the sake of self discovery and self purification and, ultimately, the liberation of the soul.

* * *

In the story of this parashah, we are told that God attracted Moses’ attention through the burning bush. The Torah tells us:

וּמֹשֶׁה הָיָה רֹעֶה אֶת צֹאן יִתְרוֹ חֹתְנוֹ כֹּהֵן מִדְיָן וַיִּנְהַג אֶת הַצֹּאן אַחַר הַמִּדְבָּר וַיָּבֹא אֶל הַר הָאֱלֹהִים חֹרֵבָה: וַיֵּרָא מַלְאַךְ יְהוָֹה אֵלָיו בְּלַבַּת אֵשׁ מִתּוֹךְ הַסְּנֶה וַיַּרְא וְהִנֵּה הַסְּנֶה בֹּעֵר בָּאֵשׁ וְהַסְּנֶה אֵינֶנּוּ אֻכָּל: וַיֹּאמֶר מֹשֶׁה אָסֻרָה נָּא וְאֶרְאֶה אֶת הַמַּרְאֶה הַגָּדֹל הַזֶּה מַדּוּעַ לֹא יִבְעַר הַסְּנֶה:

Moses was keeping the flock of his father-in-law Jethro, the priest of Midian; he led his flock beyond the wilderness, and came to Horeb, the mountain of God. There the angel of Y-H-V-H appeared to him in a flame of fire out of a thornbush; he looked, and the thornbush was blazing, yet it was not consumed. Then Moses said, ‘I must turn aside and look at this great sight, and see why the bush is not burned up.’ (Exodus 3:1-3)

 

Moses had the presence of mind and the ability to appreciate the miraculous. Perhaps a modern person in the same scene would have exclaimed “wow, that is far out!”, then the iPhone would be pulled out, a few shots would be taken, and soon the Facebook universe would be privy to this fantastic experience. And life would go on.

What kind of awareness do we need today in order to look at the ordinary and see the miraculous? The same awareness that Jacob had when he woke up from his dream and exclaimed—

אָכֵן יֵשׁ יְהוָה בַּמָּקוֹם הַזֶּה וְאָנֹכִי לֹא יָדָעְתִּי

Surely Y-H-V-H is in this place—and I did not know it! (Genesis 28:16)

This is a change of awareness that we are all called to: from being caught up in the boundaries of our own mind to experiencing the liberation of our Self, here and now. We are called to leave mitzrayim behind, and start walking towards the Holy Land.

* * *

So how does the Exodus story become a living reality in one’s life right now? How does one bridge the gap between the historical narrative, which is about something “out there”, and one’s life? In the true Hassidic manner, I’d like to illustrate this with a story of one Passover Seder celebration in our family four decades ago.

My non-observant family owned a pastry business—a bakery, a pastry shop, and a café—in the center of Tel Aviv. Passover was a very important and busy time of year for us. As you may know, Jewish dietary rules require that no leavening is used in the preparation of Passover breads and pastry, so kosher Bakeries either shut down for the holiday, or go through a grueling process of cleaning and purifying their establishment in order to get the all-important rabbinical stamp of approval, “kosher lepesach”, fit for Passover. My father chose to take the latter route, because of the brisk business in Passover. But that meant that he had to stay up all night for a few nights in a row in order to prepare his business for the holiday without shutting it down during the day.

To top it off, on the day of the Seder my parents were on their feet from dawn catering to what seemed like an unending stream of customers who came to shop until the very last minute before sunset. My parents then rushed home, exhausted, and my mother somehow still managed to put the Passover Seder together. We would recite the portion of the Haggadah leading to the meal, and the celebration would pretty much be over after that.

It so happened that in 1973 both my father and I learnt to meditate, and by Passover of 1974, we had almost a year or regular practice under our belt. Meditation had given my father an extra boost of energy and calm, and by the time we sat down to the Seder table, one could already sense that things were going to be different.

Once we started reciting the Haggadah things really got interesting. My dad and I looked at each other with glowing eyes. It was clear to us that the text was not just speaking of some fantastic events in the past that we had a hard time rationalizing. Rather, we had a visceral sense that the text was describing our experience and our own path of self purification and self-discovery in a way that made the story of the Haggadah feel relevant to our lives there and then. The excitement was palpable and infectious. This was the first time that our family we celebrated the Seder wholeheartedly, and told the story of the Exodus as if we were hearing it for the first time.

My father, Zvi Harmelin, passed away 22 years ago this week. This d’var torah—a discourse on the Torah—is in his memory.

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Note: I may not be able to publish a commentary on next week’s Torah portion, since I will be away from a computer until the end of December.

Copyright © 2014 Igal Harmelin-Moria
(Copyright does not pertain to illustrations)