In last week’s Torah portion, Joseph’s brothers, who had previously sold him to slavery and were not yet aware of his rise to power, came to Egypt to collect grain to save themselves from the great famine that took over the region. They were sent to Egypt by their father, Jacob, who kept the youngest of his sons, Benjamin, with him at Canaan. Still traumatized by the loss of Joseph, whom he thought for dead, Jacob did not want to risk the life of Benjamin.

But Benjamin was precisely whom Joseph was most eager to see. He and Benjamin were the only sons born of Jacob’s favorite wife, Rachel. Benjamin was still a child when Joseph’s other brothers betrayed him, thus he was not part of the conspiracy. Without revealing his identity, Joseph manipulated the situation so that the brothers had to bring Benjamin down from Canaan to Egypt. He then proceeded to frame Benjamin for a fictitious theft, insisting, to the great distress of the brothers, that Benjamin must become his slave to atone for the crime.

This parashah starts at the dramatic moment when Judah approaches Joseph. Not knowing that he is talking to his own brother, he addresses him as the king’s viceroy, and in a desperate attempt to reason with him, tries to get Benjamin freed in order to bring him back to Jacob, even at the price of his (Judah’s) own freedom.

The parashah opens with the words:

וַיִּגַּשׁ אֵלָיו יְהוּדָה, וַיֹּאמֶר בִּי אֲדֹנִי, יְדַבֶּר-נָא עַבְדְּךָ דָבָר בְּאָזְנֵי אֲדֹנִי, וְאַל-יִחַר אַפְּךָ בְּעַבְדֶּךָ: כִּי כָמוֹךָ, כְּפַרְעֹה.

Then Judah approached him and said, “Please, my lord, let your servant speak a word in my lord’s ears, and do not be angry with your servant; for you are like Pharaoh himself. (Genesis 44:18)

The obvious meaning of the first few words, “Then Judah approached him,” is that Judah approached Joseph. However, a number of Hassidic rabbis, including Rabbi Elimelech of Lizhensk, take the “him” to refer to God. Which means that the words “Then Judah approached him” actually refer to prayer.

In this context, Judah’s first two words are highly significant. He says: bi adoni (בִּי אֲדֹנִי). The idiom is translated as “please, my lord”, but it literally means “my lord is within me.” Significantly, the Hebrew word adoni, “my lord”, is spelled in exactly the same way as the Hebrew word adonay, the most commonly used name of God.

So how does Judah “approach God” (i.e., prays)? He first recognizes that adonay, i.e., God, is bi (בִּי), i.e., within himself. And given that Judah is the progenitor of the tribe of Judah, i.e. the forefather of all the Jews, we are being told something fundamental about Jewish prayer.*

This point is further highlighted in this week’s haftarah** reading. The haftarah ends with the words,

…בִּהְיוֹת מִקְדָּשִׁי בְּתוֹכָם, לְעוֹלָם.

…when my sanctuary is among them forevermore. (Ezekiel 37:28)

The words “among them” are a translation of the Hebrew word betokham (בתוכם), which also means “inside them” or “within them.” It indicates that the house of worship, the temple, is not a structure of bricks and mortar but rather a structure within the self, within one’s awareness, at the deepest level of one’s consciousness.

These two passages together give us a profound message, one that is found in the mystic traditions of all great religions: that the one who prays, the act of praying, the hall of prayer (the sanctuary) and the object of prayer are ultimately all one. The self does the praying, the self is the prayer, the self is the place where the prayer takes place and the self is also the object of the prayer.

* * *

As the saying goes, “the Torah has seventy faces.” That is to say, each passage in the Torah can be interpreted in myriad of ways. We have derived an important lesson from Rabbi Elimelech’s commentary that the word “him” in the expression “Then Judah approached him” refers to God. Another profound lesson can be derived from the text if one assumes that indeed the “him” refers to Joseph, as the literal context would suggest.

Judah approaches Joseph and says, bi adoni, “my lord, you are within me.” Here the Torah teaches us the fundamental lesson of human relationship, i.e., that the highest form of communication is the recognition that one is not separate from the other, that the consciousness of both is one and therefore, fundamentally, the two are one.

Judah alludes to this truth of relationship a few verses down, as he continues his plea for the release of Benjamin, offering himself as a slave in his stead. The reason? Their old father, says Judah, loves his youngest son very deeply and the separation from him would be unbearable. The expression that Judah uses is “his soul is bound with his soul”, venafsho kshurah benafsho (וְנַפְשׁוֹ קְשׁוּרָה בְנַפְשׁוֹ:) (Genesis 44:30). Another way of translating it is “their souls are intertwined.” That is the most profound form of relationship: the connection is so deep that the two see their souls as one soul.

This is a fundamental lesson in Judaism, one what will be encountered later in the Torah in the famous dictum “Love your neighbor as yourself”, veahavta lere’akha kamocha (וְאָהַבְתָּ לְרֵעֲךָ כָּמוֹךָ) (Leviticus 19:18). One must love one’s neighbor as oneself because the neighbor is oneself. In the 20^th century, the Jewish German philosopher and noted Hassidic scholar Martin Buber applied this principle in his teaching about the highest form of communication and dialogue, which he referred to as the principle of “I-Thou.”

Buber observed that normally our communication with each other is what he called an “I-it” communication: I am the subject, while the other is an object, an “it”, whose “role” is to fulfill a need of mine. By its very nature, this mode of communication is based on separation and is confrontational, however civilized. But in “I-Thou” communication, there is no such separation because both parties are grounded in the realization that nafsho ksuhrah benafsho, their souls are intertwined and it is impossible to tell where one ends and the other starts. This higher form of communication is inherently free from conflict: when there is unity, there is no conflict. Communication then becomes a sacred act.

This may be the highest contribution of the Torah to life in the 21^st century: inspiring a different mode human interaction where the act of communication itself is the highest form of worship, of “approaching God” in the other. This theme will surely be visited in future posts on this blog.

—————————————

* As in the commentary on vayetze, here too one could show that this point can be found in all major traditions: from “The Kingdom of God is within you” in the New Testament (Luke 17:21) to the declaration of immediate closeness of God in the Qur’an “We are nearer to him [man] than his jugular vein” (Surah 50:16), through the Confucian quote”what the undeveloped man seeks is outside, what the advanced man seeks is within himself.”

** The recitation of scripture at the synagogue on Shabbat morning includes not only a parashah, a weekly Torah portion, but also a haftarah, a portion from the prophets section of the Hebrew Bible, generally one which has some thematic resemblance to that of the parashah.

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

Jacob escapes his parents’ dwelling place in Beer-Sheba in order to avoid the wrath of his brother, whom he had deceived. His journey is long: we are told that he is headed to Haran, a town believed to be in Turkey just off the Syrian border. A long journey, no doubt, yet we only hear about one episode on the way. The text tells us:

וַיִּפְגַּע בַּמָּקוֹם וַיָּלֶן שָׁם כִּי בָא הַשֶּׁמֶשׁ וַיִּקַּח מֵאַבְנֵי הַמָּקוֹם וַיָּשֶׂם מְרַאֲשֹׁתָיו וַיִּשְׁכַּב בַּמָּקוֹם הַהוּא.

He came to a certain place and stayed there for the night, because the sun had set. Taking one of the stones of the place, he put it under his head and lay down in that place. (Genesis 28:11)

Significantly, the text volunteers no details about the exact location but calls is just “a place.” The Hebrew for “he came to a certain place”, is vayifga bamakom (ויפגע במקום), “he stumbled upon a place”, which emphasizes the randomness of the location. The text also makes sure that we know that the only reason Jacob stopped at that place was “because the sun had set” and for no other reason.

Then comes the fantastic dream: he sees the ladder between heaven and earth and angels ascending and descending on it. And he hears God speaking to him, giving him a vision of a glorious future and pledging to support him forever.

Notice what happens right after the dream:

וַיִּיקַץ יַעֲקֹב מִשְּׁנָתוֹ וַיֹּאמֶר אָכֵן יֵשׁ יְהוָה בַּמָּקוֹם הַזֶּה וְאָנֹכִי לֹא יָדָעְתִּי. וַיִּירָא וַיֹּאמַר מַה נּוֹרָא הַמָּקוֹם הַזֶּה אֵין זֶה כִּי אִם בֵּית אֱלֹהִים וְזֶה שַׁעַר הַשָּׁמָיִם. וַיַּשְׁכֵּם יַעֲקֹב בַּבֹּקֶר וַיִּקַּח אֶת הָאֶבֶן אֲשֶׁר שָׂם מְרַאֲשֹׁתָיו וַיָּשֶׂם אֹתָהּ מַצֵּבָה וַיִּצֹק שֶׁמֶן עַל רֹאשָׁהּ.

Then Jacob woke from his sleep and said, “Surely Y-H-V-H is in this place—and I did not know it!” And he was afraid, and said, “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of heaven.” So Jacob rose early in the morning, and he took the stone that he had put under his head and set it up for a pillar and poured oil on the top of it. (Genesis 28:16-18)

These words are important: “Surely Y-H-V-H is in this place—and I did not know it!” But where is this place? Any place. It’s just somewhere, anywhere, between Beer-Sheba and Haran. And the stone that he put under his head as a pillow is just a stone, any stone. What has changed, then? His consciousness has changed, his perception, his awareness. The place is the same place, the rock is the same rock, but it is Jacob’s internal transformation that allows him to realize the truth of the maxim propagated by the Zohar, the Book of Splendor: leyt atar panuy miney (לית אתר פנוי מיניה), “there is no place where He is not.” Or, in the words of the Breslav Hassids:

הכל מכל עצם זיו חיות אלוקותו יתברך ממש

Anything and everything is, in actuality, the very essence of the radiance of the liveliness of Him, the Blessed One.

Jacob’s symbolic response is to take the rock and pour oil on it. He anoints a rock. It’s an expression of a deep recognition of the fact that even a piece of inert matter is, in its essence, the one and only Reality, the ONE.

Only then does the text tell us that, in fact, this no place in the middle of nowhere had a name. We are told that Jacob named the place Bethel (lit. House of God), instead of its original name, Luz.

וַיִּקְרָא אֶת שֵׁם הַמָּקוֹם הַהוּא בֵּית אֵל וְאוּלָם לוּז שֵׁם הָעִיר לָרִאשֹׁנָה.

He called that place Bethel; but the name of the city was Luz at the first.

Where is this Bethel, this House of God? Anywhere you are, so long as you are open to recognizing it. What transforms any old place into a sacred house of God is your own recognition, your own attention, your own consciousness.

One cannot think of a more important message for the Torah to convey. It’s one thing to say that God is omnipresent. It’s much more implicating and challenging to say that He—or She or It—is nearer to you than your own breath. But this is precisely the message that this story conveys, a message that is later elaborated by Moses as he speaks to the people of Israel:

כִּי הַמִּצְוָה הַזֹּאת, אֲשֶׁר אָנֹכִי מְצַוְּךָ הַיּוֹם–לֹא-נִפְלֵאת הִוא מִמְּךָ, וְלֹא רְחֹקָה הִוא. לֹא בַשָּׁמַיִם, הִוא לֵאמֹר: מִי יַעֲלֶה-לָּנוּ הַשָּׁמַיְמָה וְיִקָּחֶהָ לָּנוּ, וְיַשְׁמִעֵנוּ אֹתָהּ, וְנַעֲשֶׂנָּה. וְלֹא-מֵעֵבֶר לַיָּם, הִוא:  לֵאמֹר, מִי יַעֲבָר-לָנוּ אֶל-עֵבֶר הַיָּם וְיִקָּחֶהָ לָּנוּ, וְיַשְׁמִעֵנוּ אֹתָהּ, וְנַעֲשֶׂנָּה. כִּי-קָרוֹב אֵלֶיךָ הַדָּבָר, מְאֹד בְּפִיךָ וּבִלְבָבְךָ, לַעֲשֹׂתוֹ.

Surely, this commandment that I am commanding you today is not too hard for you, nor is it too far away. It is not in heaven, that you should say, ‘Who will go up to heaven for us, and get it for us so that we may hear it and observe it?’ Neither is it beyond the sea, that you should say, ‘Who will cross to the other side of the sea for us, and get it for us so that we may hear it and observe it?’ No, the word is very near to you; it is in your mouth and in your heart for you to observe. (Deutoronomy 30:11-14)

* * *

The immediacy of divine presence is a fundamental teaching of all major religions. Prophets, saints, enlightened founders of religions and realized teachers throughout the ages and in every culture have been trying in every way to help their followers grasp this simple fact: God is nearer than near, and only our insistence on His/Her/Its distance and inaccessibility makes God distant and inaccessible.

But the Truth is as radical as it is simple. In Jesus’ words:

The Kingdom of God is within you. (Luke 17:21)

In the Qur’an Allah proclaims:

وَنَحْنُ أَقْرَبُ إِلَيْهِ مِنْ حَبْلِ الْوَرِيدِ

wanahnu aqrabu ilayhi min habli alwareedi

We are nearer to him [man] than his jugular vein. (Surah 50:16)

The Upanishadic sages of India sang:

Brahman shines forth, vast, self-luminous, inconceivable, subtler than the subtle. He is far beyond what is far, and yet here very near at hand. Verily, He is seen here, dwelling in the cave of conscious beings. (Mundaka Upanishad 3.1.7)

In the Adi Granth, the Sikh sacred text, it is said:

Ever is He present with you—think not He is far.
By the Master’s teaching recognize him within yourself. (Majh Ashtapadi, M.3)

In the Buddhist Parinirvana Sutra we read:

It is only when all outward appearances are gone that there is left that one principle of life which exists independently of all external phenomena. (XXXIX)

In the Shinto tradition we find the following:

Do not search in distant skies for God. In man’s own heart is He found. (Shao Yung)

There is the famous quote attributed to Confucius:

” what the undeveloped man seeks is outside, what the advanced man seeks is within himself.”

And the list goes on and on.

* * *

Reckoning with the Truth of the immediacy of the divine presence poses some deep philosophical and practical questions. What does it mean about external acts of worship? One Algerian Sufi teacher, who is considered a saint by his followers, proclaimed that he does not pray. Praying would make him a kafir (heretic), he said, because it would suggest an existence of God separate than himself.*

So is it a free-for-all? And what is the difference, then, between someone who does not pray because she asserts non-separation from the divine, and another who does not pray because she does not believe in God, or believes but feels lazy?

While philosophically, the omnipresence (and therefore nearness) of God is unconditional, it only becomes a living, experiential reality in us when we choose to make it so. There’s a saying, “The God you don’t believe in does not exist.” And that applies here too. Which is why the Psalm says:

קָרוֹב יְהוָה, לְכָל-קֹרְאָיו, לְכֹל אֲשֶׁר יִקְרָאֻהוּ בֶאֱמֶת.

Y-H-V-H is near to all who call on him, to all who call on him in truth.
(Psalm 145:18)

Our attitude, our faith, is what makes the truth about the immediacy apparent in our lives. Here’s how the Muslim Hadith Qudsi describes the “leaning in” that is required, and what it leads to:

God 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)

* * *

It is interesting to note, that in this last quote, the Arabic word used in the text for “remembering” and “remembrance” is dhikr. In the Sufi tradition, this has come to mean not just memory, but a whole host of meditative practices that are aimed at taking the awareness of the devotee, or aspirant for truth, from his normal state of mundane perception to the point where he would perceive any mundane place as Bethel and any rock as an object worthy of anointment.

Indeed, if God can be found most easily and most readily within, one could argue that meditative and contemplative practices should occupy a more central place in serious religious life. Psalm verses such as lecha dumiya tehileah (לְךָ דֻמִיָּה תְהִלָּה) “Silence is praise for Thee” (Psalm 65:2) or harpu ude’u ki anokhi elohim (הַרְפּוּ וּדְעוּ כִּי אָנֹכִי אֱלֹהִים) “Be till, and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:11) should not be seen as merely poetic expressions of a devoted ancient king but as practical formulas for entering union with the divine. Such meditative practices are the most effective way to “hear” the kol dmama daka (קוֹל דְּמָמָה דַקָּה) “The sound of subtle silence”**(1 King 19:12) through which God appeared before Elijah. And then we too can realize, “Surely Y-H-V-H is in this place—and I did not know it!”

———————–

*This was told to me by a follower of his. I regret that I do not remember the name of the person, nor do I have a reference.

**Commonly translated as “a still small voice.”

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