In our Siddur, in the evening prayer we just concluded, we recited
the following:
O G-d, how can we know You? Where can I find You? You are as close to us as breathing, yet You
are farther than the farthermost star.
You are as mysterious as the vast
solitudes of night, yet as familiar to us as the light of the sun. To Moses You said: “You cannot see my face,
but I will make all My goodness pass before you.”
Even so does Your goodness pass before
us: in the realm of nature, and in the
joys and sorrows of life.
To jog your memory, it is found in the first benediction
before the Shema, whose theme is ‘Creation.’
This is not the traditional version; it is a reading based on the theme
of the traditional text. (Reading
online? It’s in Shabbat Evening Service
III in Gates of Prayer for Shabbat and Weekdays, page 87.)
The line, To
Moses You Said: “You cannot see my face, but I will make all My goodness pass
before you” paraphrases the Torah reading for this Shabbat Chol Hamo’ed
Sukkot. It’s found in Exodus 29, verses
19 and 20. The context is that Moses
needs reassurance from G-d. He has just
come down from the mountain, Tablets in his hand, to find the people having a
wild orgy and worshipping the Golden Calf.
He challenged G-d, who was ready to abandon the people Israel, to stick it
out. Now, having convinced Him, he asks
Hashem to give him a sign that His presence will always be there, to guide and
comfort the people.
Moses’ dilemma is,
in reality, ours. We worship an unseen
G-d. A G-d who exists only in the spiritual dimension, not the physical
one. Since we cannot apprehend Him with
our five senses, how can we be assured that He is with us?
Hashem’s response to Moses is just the
response that the modern rationalist might offer. Certainly the author of the benediction in
our siddur, and the volume’s editors, are offering the same answer if phrased
a bit differently. We’ll know G-d is
present with us, because of the world’s beauty.
And because of life’s transcendent moments. As our editors put it: in the joys and sorrows of life.
It’s
a good answer, but unfortunately it isn’t always enough. Certainly, we can indeed sense G-d’s
presence in the joys and sorrows of life.
I can tell you of when I have.
When my son was hanging on precariously to life after his premature
birth, I sat next to the isolette, chanted Psalms, and felt G-d’s comforting
presence. That’s the example I usually
give, but there have certainly been many other transcendent moments for
me. And many of them were moments of challenge
and adversity. But just as numerous have
been the moments of adversity, when I could not sense G-d’s presence. And I’m guessing that, no matter how
‘spiritual’ you might tend to be, your experience has been similar. Sometimes through joy or stress, you feel G-d’s
presence. And sometimes, you just don’t.
This festival,
Sukkot, the Feast of Booths, is all about the use of tactile symbols to remind
us of G-d’s presence. We erect a sukkah,
a temporary structure that is intentionally flimsy and not a sealed
environment. We invite guests into our
sukkah; we try to make its brief life festive and useful. We collect the Four Species: palm, myrtle, willow, and citron. We wave them in six directions as testament
that Hashem is found everywhere His people dwell.
All these symbols,
all these practices help us to remember, and take comfort from G-d’s
presence. Not just the ones concerning
Sukkot. The ever-unfolding journey of
Jewish observance and practice throughout the day, throughout the year provides
a constant symbol before our eyes. It
might be easy to dismiss the whole notion as a modern psychology-based view of
the utility of Jewish practice. But
allow me to confirm that Tradition holds the same view.
We have a practice of adult male
Jews – although some women do it also – to possess two objects called
‘Tefillin.’ They consist of leather
boxes inside of which are small scrolls with the words of the Shema, with
leather straps attached. One places one
box on one’s arm and wraps the strap around one’s arm and hand. One places the second box on one’s forehead
and encircled the head with the straps, letting the excess hang down one’s
back. Wearing them thusly, one recites
the weekday morning prayer. One doesn’t
use Tefillin on Shabbat, or on the days of a festival. This includes Chol Hamo’ed, the
intermediate days. Why not? Because the Tefillin serve as a ‘symbol,’ an
‘ot.’ But the special day or season is
itself a symbol. So the tradition is
that one does not use one’s Tefillin on these special days. Now, this is not in the Written Torah. In Deuteronomy 6, we are told simply, in
words quite familiar: u’keshartem
le-ot al yadecha, vehayu letotafot bein einecha – bind them – the words of
Torah – as a symbol on your hand, and they shall be as ornaments before your
eyes. The Torah does not describe
what they look like. Nor does it tell
us, “by the way, only on ordinary days, not on Shabbat, Yom Tov, and Chol
Hamo’ed.” But the sages of the
generations have understood it that way, because they understood the point of
the Commandment.
Because of general
contempt for religion in our world today, we tend to be embarrassed about
performing religious acts publicly. And
we therefore deny ourselves the various symbols of G-d’s presence. When I needed comfort during Eyal’s fight to
hold on to life, I chanted Tehillim, Psalms.
Surely some of the hospital staff and other parents visiting their
newborns thought what I was doing was rather ‘quaint.’ So what?
Interestingly, it was a Catholic hospital. At one point, one of the hospital’s chaplains
– a Sister in her habit – came by whilst I was chanting. Rather than interrupt me, she smiled her
recognition at what I was doing and moved on.
But the important point is that…it helped! The next year, Ma’ayan was born, also
premature, and was placed in the Newborn ICU.
The day after her birth, there was a note in her chart, reminding staff
that the parents had had a previous child in the unit, and that the father has
a tendency to sing to the child.
When there are so
few Jews around, it is easy to lose heart.
We can look at the mega-church down the road, stuffed to the gills on
Sunday morning. Then we can look around
at our own congregation and wonder if we missed the boat. Actually, that’s exactly what the members of
that mega-church, and its leaders, want you to think! But the more you surround yourself with
Jewish symbols, the more constantly you will be aware of G-d’s presence. And the more good that will do for you. To spur you on to acts of righteousness. And to provide the comfort that comes from
knowing G-d is present for you.
Sometimes, it seems
that there is a crisis each day in the larger world. In the last few years, we have looked out us
and wondered if the world we once knew even exists today. I’m personally not an avid Armageddon-watcher,
but I can’t blame those who look out and wonder, ‘Is the end near?’ The chain of events not only show that an
incredible evil has been unleashed in our midst, but also attests that we have
lost all intelligence and reason to respond to it. In reality, we cannot respond to it because
we have lost all righteousness. The
human race cannot respond coherently, because we have turned away from Hashem.
You cannot see my face, but I will
make all My goodness pass before you. To some degree, this is available if we simply observe the world
around us and recognise the incredible wisdom of its Creator. But the view is frequently obscured by the chaos
that fills our eyes. For the times when G-d’s
goodness is not immediately apparent, we have our Jewish practices. Including Festivals, such as the one which we
now celebrate. Shabbat shalom, and
Mo’adim Lesimcha!
