We open today with a great verse:
“And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will place within you; and I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and I will give you a heart of flesh” (Ezekiel 36:26).
This is cited as one of the Divine gestures which saved Israel from being destroyed, from being lost to the annals of history.
This ties in very closely with what we were saying yesterday: in some of our profoundest emotional moments, we have the sense that something deep and mysterious is happening to us, that it is not simply a random series of feelings, but that it is significant in ways we struggle to describe.
God here is the source of a ‘new heart’, a new emotional vista and space. He is also the source of a ‘new spirit’, a renewed appreciation for life, a fresh vigour and sense of purpose about us.
And we do not mean that God is a being or agent who decides to act in this way, to grant us something. We mean, rather, that these events have a deep reality, that they alert us to a dynamic in the structure of existence that we had not previously been aware of. We have, very literally, a new sense of possibility, our ‘being-in-the-world’ looks very different.
Of course, we are not obliged to use theological language to describe these events. But we do struggle to find the right language – it is very unsatisfying from a psychoanalytic or existential perspective to simply speak of them as random events, as lacking any structure or meaningful framework. The idea that we one day feel reborn, that we have a new heart, it is simply not enough to say that ‘things happen’; we want to try to understand the whys and hows of that, so that the event has some sense and to give ourselves some theoretical orientation.
And, from the other direction, if we find ourselves enmeshed in this theological language, in a religious culture, then surely we want to find the most meaningful and profound ways of understanding the words and images, surely we want to push them to their limits and see what work they might do for us.
In a similar vein, we encounter the following verse, as another foundation of Judaism:
“And I will place My spirit within you and I will cause you to walk in My statutes, and you will observe My decrees and do them” (Ezekiel 36:27).
Again, something beyond us brings about significant internal change, our behaviour is radically altered by it.
These epiphanies, these sudden shifts or changes of heart, I think we tend to trivialise them much more than previous generations did. Has our learning made us coarse?
And all of this also chimes with what we said about freedom, that our lack of real freedom might make us more receptive to external assistance. (Just reading that phrase ‘external assistance’, it’s so clunky, one can see ‘Divine support’ would be the more poetic choice. The fate of the philosopher, destined to shun poetry in the name of clarity…)
In this vein, we have a memorable parable for just how dangerous it is to rely on our will to suddenly show unprecedented and unfounded strength:
Rabbi Hiyya bar Abba said that Rabbi Yohanan said: This is comparable to a person who had a son; he bathed him and anointed him with oil, fed him and gave him drink, and hung a purse of money around his neck. Then, he brought his son to the entrance of a brothel. What could the son do to avoid sinning?
What, indeed, could he do? The flesh is weak, and it’s all too easy to make it weaker.
Further exploring the link between satiety and corruption, we encounter the verse:
And your heart will expand, become raised, and you will forget God. (Deut. 8:14)
I read ‘heart’ here as ego, when the ego becomes excessively present, dominant, rich, at that point it is hard for a person to retain a sense of what lies beyond himself. And from that point, one’s awareness of others and sensitivity to their needs tends to go downhill.
From a purely individualistic point of view too, as one becomes cocky and overconfident, one tends to lose sight of one’s real needs, to fall prey once more to that ever seductive sense of omnipotence.
Let us end with a classic piece of Talmud from the daf, which it would be wrong not to mention:
Rabbi Elazar also said: Since the day the Temple was destroyed the gates of prayer were locked, as it is said in lamentation of the Temple’s destruction: “Though I plead and call out, He shuts out my prayer” (Lamentations 3:8) Yet, despite the fact that the gates of prayer were locked with the destruction of the Temple, the gates of tears were not locked as it is stated: “Hear my prayer, Lord, and give ear to my pleading, keep not silence at my tears” (Ps. 39:13).
We may be sceptical about the efficacy of prayer, but we harbour no reservations about the impact of our tears. When we are truly moved by our need, when we connect with the most vulnerable parts of ourselves, at that point all gates are unlocked for us, at that point we might just become complete again.