Start by praying for peace.
Then do something about it.
Start by praying for peace.
Then do something about it.
The internet never ceases to amaze me. In spite of “middle age”. Actually, in spite of middle age, I’m reasonably competent at the business of the internet (only just so, according to my 21-year-old son). For some time now I’ve been a member of Ravelry, an online network of people interested in knitting and crochet (along with other related arts such as spinning, and more).
As of this afternoon, there are just more than 159,000 participants internationally, and nearly 1,000 of these are some kind of Jewish. What does this mean? In addition to Jewish Fiberaholics (the most general group), there are: Knit & Nosh (605 members; food only, no politics), Stitch ‘n Kvetch (Shabbat, Just Do It; 97 Orthodox members), Yarn and Falafel (267 Israeli members, or others committed to Israel, Jews By Choice (33 more-or less new members of the Jewish community), Look Who’s Coming to Seder! (I lead the 102 members of this mostly-Jewish group in an exploration of the meaning of Passover), Tzion (72 “apolitical” Messianic Jews and Christian Zionists), Knitting Our Way to Peace (411 Jewish, Muslim and others interested in conversation and “Promoting Peace One Stitch at Time”).
I’ve been a sometime contributor to a few of these groups, with more or less “success” (read: response), but the the newest group, Jewish Text Study promises a special opportunity. In only the past few hours, a reconstructionist rabbi has agreed to lead the project for the time being, 14 members have signed on, and we’ve started a conversation about Psalms (one/week, I expect).
Why get excited about studying Tehillim (Hebrew, for the psalm? Well, I’ve never done so, rigorously at least. I’ve sung some of them often, both in synagogue and church (as a Jewish boy soprano in a church choir!), but I’ve never had a chance to study them seriously as a Jew. And since, historically, recitation of at least one of the psalms was a part of most Jewish lifecycle events, this is a chance to dive deeply into the practice and meaning of reading the psalms.
Bibliophile that I am, I always start with material expression. How wonderful to find on the internet a facsimile copy (and informative discussion) of a 13th-century Italian Jewish illuminated cycle of Psalms (Ms. Parm. 1870, Cod. De Rossi 510), including the folio of the first psalm (at right)! I did not know that even medieval Jews divided the psalms into five sections (marked by doxologies at the ends of psalms 41, 72, 89 and 106. No, I did not know that the lectionary cycle of the Torah included 150 divisions, like the 150 psalms, until the Middle Ages.
Accustomed to Christian choir books, I couldn’t have been more delighted to see an illustration of a choir (for Psalm 149: Sing unto the Lord …), singing from a Hebrew choir book (though the image of for Psalm 76 was more than a bit more challenging …). And then there was the 17th-century English (Christian) metrical hymn (I’m a sucker for early printed music). Contemporary (Christian) quilters have used the psalms as a springboard for their work (a tree of life block the subject for Psalm 1, of course; more here); I wonder why Jewish needlework has not travelled here.
So what else can I contribute to Ravelry’s Jewish Study Group? In addition to a few links to the 13th-century text, perhaps some exploration of the text itself. I’m a *huge* fan of Robert Alter’s translations of Torah and Psalms, and relish the chance to dig into the latter. Here’s Alter’s compelling translation of the first psalm:
Happy the man who has not walked int he wicked’s counsel,
nor in the way of offenders has stood,
nor in the session of scoffers has sat.
But the LORD’s teaching is his desire,
and His teaching he murmurs day and night.
And he shall be like a tree planted by streams of water, that bears its fruit in its season,
and its leaf does not wither –
and in all that he does he prospers.
Not so the wicked,
but like chaff that the wind drives away.
Therefore the wicked will not stand up in judgment,
nor offenders in the band of the righteous.
For the LORD embraces the way of the righteous,
and the way of the wicked is lost.
While deism is not my principal connection to Judaism, the psalm nonetheless speaks to me powerfully.
What is special about Alter’s text, beyond the sheer poetic beauty of his translations, are his amazing footnotes. With respect to this psalm, I’m persuaded by his use of *murmur* instead of *meditate* (used typically in standard translations), reflecting the practice of sounding prayer in oral culture, in which there would have been no silent reading.
To my knowledge, the practice of reading aloud (even to oneself) continued in European culture at large well into the medieval period, and Jewish tradition continues the practice. This is a connection even to contemporary Jewish study that I especially relish. Whenever I attend a Torah study session, I try to make a habit of listening to the reading rather than looking at my copy (a well-annotated Plaut) – the sound of the text (even the less-than-optimal Plaut) is remarkable, and over time, I hear resonances (of oral culture’s figures and formuli) across the parshot. Murmuring makes aesthetic, intellectual, and emotional (even musical) sense to me. I also like Alter’s observation about the way in which the author/s continue the conceit of *walk/stood/sat* (lines 1-3) throughout the text. These verbs highlight for me the ways in which the activity of trying to walk “in the way of the righteous” equally expresses the opportunity for relationship with divinity.
Makes me want to try that lace kippah just one more time, in case I should find a way to build (even) my own bridge to that woman in Hebron.
The stories that mean most to us bring us back to our own unintelligible and yet immeasurably meaningful lives. Arthur A. Brown, “Storytelling, The Meaning of Life, and the Epic of Gilgamesh“
Next week a group of Reform Jewish-Americans and Christian and Muslim Palestinian-Americans, residents of the greater Philadelphia area, will meet in my home to begin (I hope) the process of becoming neighbors. While the gathering is intended to be informal and introductory, there is still intellectual and spiritual preparation to do. I wonder if it is a coincidence that the date for the first meeting was, after many fits, starts and changes, eventually set to follow a week’s study of Parsha Vayeira.
These weeks spent with the life of Abraham in Parshot Lech Lecha and Vayeira are challenging for the concentration of colorful episodes, their juxtaposition of the soap-operatic, the profound, and the profoundly disturbing in the texts. Last week we left Abraham on the verge of elevation to cultural icon, his transformation from Abram to Abraham realized by circumcision (his embodiment, literally, of the covenant with God), on the verge of transformation from tribal chieftain to national patriarch. This week Abraham’s transformation is completed with the birth and near-sacrifice of Isaac. But how much takes place along the way!
Chagall’s biblical histories
The pace of the episodes in Parshah Vayeira (Genesis 18:1-22:24; JPS translation) can leave a reader breathless, and I turned to Marc Chagall’s numerous illustrations of the Hebrew Bible (produced mostly in the 1930’s, published after 1956) to catch my wind within his visual history. In various cycles of lithographs, etchings and colored drawings (a click on any of the images should take you to its source), Chagall addressed:
These images offer the chance to explore the week’s portion through a single artist’s lense, and demonstrate Chagall’s straightforward journey through the Jewish narratives of his traditional Russian background. But one of Chagall’s later works, the “Sacrifice of Isaac” (c.1965), refracts a more complex vision of Parshah Vayeira, reading the aqedah through the three “Abrahamic” traditions: Judaism, Christianity and Islam.
In this single frame, Chagall presents simultaneously the central sacrificial narratives of the three “Abrahamic” religious traditions: the sacrifice of Isaac in Judaism (witnessed by Sarah, at the left), the sacrifice of Jesus in Christianity (carrying the cross, just right of center), and the sacrifice of Ismail in Islam (carried by Hagar, in the upper right corner). While some use Chagall’s earlier images of Abraham and the angels as the paradigm of the “open tent”, the symbol of multi-faith connection and shared values, it seems to me that this complex painting opens a window on the inter-textual “cultural glue” that binds the three traditions. This later Sacrifice seems to bring the study of Vayeira to the verge of a paradigm shift for the sheer breadth of its vision.
This image stuns me, and I race to look at the equally stunning text and commentaries to which it relates – Robert Alter’s translation is provided below (in my condensed version). In spite of its length, it is possible to “hear” the thematic and poetic echoes between the two stories:
And there are other resonances between the narratives, beyond translation (some mentioned in the translator’s notes): the boys are referred to equally tenderly as a “lad” (yeled), both boys receive names associated with God’s hearing (Isaac, the “laughter” heard by God; and Ishmael, “God will hear”), and Abraham’s ability to hear is critical in both trials (he must listen to Sarah’s voice with respect to Ishmael, and to God’s voice the aqeda). On the basis of the many echoes and parallels shared by the Ishmael and Isaac stories, I wonder if the special claim Jewish tradition asserts on behalf of Isaac as Jacob’s favorite (and the Jewish people as God’s favorite) obscures the extent to which Torah speaks otherwise. Rashi explains God’s command to Abraham, “Take, pray, your son, your only one, whom you love, Isaac” (Gen. 22:2):
Your son. He [Avraham] responded, “I have two sons.” He [God] said to him, “Your only one.” He responded, “This one is an only son to his mother and the other is an only son to his mother.” He said to him, “Who you love.” “I love them both,” he answered. Then, He said, “Yitzchok!” Why did He not immediately reveal [this] to him? So that He not confuse him suddenly, and become bewildered and deranged [….]
Rashi’s midrash reflects Abraham’s sensitivity to the needs of both of the mothers of his sons, Abraham’s love for each of his sons, and God’s care for Abraham’s paternal needs as well. Rashi’s point of view amplifies what the text makes clear: that the two stories are more united by their numerous echoes, rhymes, and parallels than they are separated by difference. I am curious about how the other faith traditions treat the stories.
Islam & the sacrifice of Ishmael
According to my limited research, knowledge of and access to Islamic sources, Islamic texts and tradition share the gist of Rashi’s midrash: Abraham/Ibrahim loves both his sons, as does Adonai/Allah. The Qur’an (Koran) repeats its own variation of Ibrahim’s terrible test, which Muslims understand to require that Ismail be taken and bound for sacrifice (source). Traditional Islamic commentaries relate that Ibrahim later visited Ismail’s household to confirm his choice of a spouse (rejecting the first wife, approving the second; this story is also transmitted in Jewish midrash), and that father and son later worked together to build the Ka’aba, viewed by Muslims as the first structure dedicated to the worship of God. Muslims commemorate annually Ibraham’s obedience to Allah’s command to sacrifice his son in the Hajj (pilgrimage) to Mecca and the annual festival of Eid-ul-Adha, offering prayers, Qur’an readings and the ritual sacrifice of sheep (literally or symbolically). The Ka’aba has since become a symbol of unity for Muslims – all prayers, no matter when or where they are performed, are oriented in its direction. Though the Qur’an never mentions Hagar by name, the ordeal of her search for water is symbolically honored by travelling between two hills near the Ka’aba (the Sa’i, or “hastening”) during the Hajj.
Christianity: Sarah and the “new” covenant
Biblical scholar Irene Pabst’s recent study of the interpretation of the Sarah-Hagar story in rabbinic and Christian patristic literature provides an interesting twist on the obvious, surface resemblance between Isaac and Jesus as sacrifice. According to Pabst, the Christian fathers contended that Hagar was rejected just as Israel and the first covenant (Judaism) were rejected in favor of Sarah, the Church and the New Testament (the second covenant). This patristic approach builds on the Synagoga-Ecclesia dichotomy central to early Christian theology, clearing the way for the development of a Christian identity independent of the Church’s Jewish origins.
So what can one make of Chagall’s reference to the sacrifices central to the three traditions? The presence of so many women in the painting is noteworthy: Sarah, Hagar and Mary are all clearly visible, as is each one’s distress. It may be that the artist seeks to remind men of the impact of sacrificial ordeals on their women. Or, it may be that Chagall is speaking to the three traditions, reminding them that God (as angel) is listening to the voices raised in each community’s ordeal, and that they cannot hide within the space of their own pasts, pretending that they have exclusive access to divine favor, forgetting that God hears all of them, sees all of them, accepts the sacrifices of all of them. For the time being, this latter speculation will be my model for approaching Vayeira in general; it will inform my participation in the meetings I hope will create a community of neighborliness for the Jewish- and Palestinian-Americans within my reach.
From Robert Alter, The Five Books of Moses: A Translation with Commentary (2004), pp. 102-11:
” And the LORD singled out Sarah as He had said, and the LORD did for Sarah as He had spoken. And Sarah conceived and bore a son to Abraham in his old age [….] And Abraham called the name of his son who was born to him, whom Sarah bore him, Isaac [….] And Sarah said, “Laughter has God made me, Whoever hears will laugh at me” [….] And Sarah saw the son of Hagar the Egyptian, whom she had borne to Abraham, laughing. And she said to Abraham, “Drive out this slavegirl and her son, for the slavegirl’s son shall not inherit with my son, with Isaac” [….] And God said to Abraham, “Let it not seem evil in your eyes on account of the lad and on account of your slavegirl. Whatever Sarah says to you, listen to her voice, for through Isaac shall your seed be acclaimed. But the slavegirl’s son, too, I will make a nation, for he is your seed.” (Genesis 21:1-13)
“And Abraham rose early in the morning and took bread and a skin of water and gave them to Hagar, placing them on her shoulder, and he gave her the child, and sent her away, and she went wandering through the wilderness of Beersheba. And when the water in the skin was gone, she flung the child under one of the bushes and went off [….] And she sat at a distance and raised her voice and wept. And God heard the voice of the lad and God’s messenger called out from the heavens and said to her, “What troubles you, Hagar? Fear not, for God has heard the lad’s voice where he is. / Rise, lift up the lad / and hold him by the hand, / for a great nation whil I make him /”. And God opened her eyes and she saw a well of water, and she went and filled the skin with water and gave to the lad to drink [….] (Genesis 21: 14-21)
“And it happened after these things that God tested Abraham. And He said to him, “Abraham” and he said, “Here I am.” And He said, Take, pray, your son, your only one, whom you love, Isaac, and go forth to the land of Moriah and offer him up as a burnt offering [….] And Abraham rose early in the morning and saddled his donkey and took his two lads with him, and Isaac his son [….] And Isaac said to Abraham his father, “Father!” and he said, “Here I am, my son.” And he said, “Here is the fire and the wood but where is the sheep for the offering?” And Abraham said, “God will see to the sheep for the offering, my son” [….] And Abraham raised his eyes and saw and, look, a ram was caught in the thicket by its horns, and Abraham went and took the ram and offered him up as a burnt offering instead of his son [….] and He said […] I will greatly bless you and will greatly multiply your seed [….] And all the nations of the earth will be blessed through your seed because you have listened to my voice.” (Genesis 22:1-19)