Desire, not Apocalypse Shabbat 118

R. Simeon b. Pazzi said in the name of R. Joshua b. Levi in Bar Kappara’s name: He who observes [the practice of] three meals on the Sabbath is saved from three evils: the travails (birthpangs) of the Messiah,  the retribution and judgment of Gehinnom,  and the wars of Gog and Magog.

In spite of appearances, there is something quite profound being hinted at here, something which connects our conceptions of Shabbat, Time and Apocalyptic thinking.

I do not read this as teaching that we will be literally saved from three actual future events.  Rather, if we manage to immerse ourselves in Shabbat sufficiently, if we allow it to teach us what it means to be properly oriented and rooted in this-worldliness, then we will be spared from the anxieties of the apocalypse.

We will be spared from them because we will cease to think of them, because we will overcome that tendency so ingrained in us to ignore the positivity and possibility in our immediate surroundings.  All too often, we allow our desires and hopes to become suspended, helplessly, in the future.

And let us make no mistake, we all have our personal versions of Gehinnom, of Gog and Magog, our deepest and most concerning worries about what might be in the future, about what might befall us, about what we might lack.

And I would not contend for one second that these fears are without foundation, without good and sensible justification.

But the very fact that they are so real, so alive, so tangible – this is the reason why we would do so well to detach from them, to loosen their grip on us, to stop them from ruining our present.

Shabbat comes to help us with this, to weaken the sense that we are omnipotent and can fully control our future.  It creates a nurturing space wherein we are forced to stop doing and encouraged to concentrate on simply being.

In the passage from Genesis we say at Kiddush on Friday night, we are told that:

On the seventh day, God ceased the work which he had done

And he rested on the seventh day from the work that he had done. (Gen. 2:2)

At a first glance, this sounds quite repetitive, but on reading it carefully, I hear the idea that there is a difference between ‘ceasing to work’ and ‘resting from work’.

To cease is physical, is objective; it is easily defined and can be legislated for.

To rest from work is a more subtle thing; it is a state of mind, a loosening of the soul, a challenge to the personality.  It is the injunction to leave behind the worry and stress which drive us throughout the week, which perpetually propel us in our worldly enterprise.

The word Shabbat is taken from this latter concept, it is about ‘resting from’, and in doing so, finding peace.

I feel this might somehow sound trite, that the idea might seem a little bit simplistic.  But I am convinced that we don’t quite get how bound up with the future we actually are, how detrimentally our thinking is affected by a strange contradiction of aspiration and anxiety.

We allow ourselves to become trapped in instrumental thinking, believing that we’re always doing something in order to get to the next thing, to progress, to get promoted, to become wiser.  It’s like an addiction, and it’s a never ending battle to escape from its grasp, to simply exist in the moment, to savour the delectable peace in standing still and connecting with our own depths.

This too can become clichéd, but there really is a sense that all this worry, all this future oriented concern, keeps us on the surface, in the external world, and keeps us utterly distracted and distant from what’s really going on in our selves, in our unconscious.

And again, the unconscious is not some storehouse of dreams, symbols and fantasises, a censored version of consciousness.  It’s a river of molten lava, a fluid and dynamic energy field; it is the source of all the originality, spontaneity and authenticity that we bring into life.

It’s not simply the stuff we’ve repressed, that’s just a small part of it.  It’s where brain, body and mind meet in a pre-conscious and non-articulate way, the site of an indomitable individuality which will only ever be partially integrated into language, culture and society.

It is what is absolutely real for every individual, and which every manner of anxious and neurotic defence try to keep us away from.

It is intimately connected with desire, with the heart’s desire, and it is striking that we are instructed to connect with Shabbat through engaging with nothing less than desire.  In the passage above we are rewarded not for meditating and spiritually contemplating the essence of Shabbat, but through eating three meals, through refreshing our body with the simple delight of desirable food.

The next passage develops this further:

Rab Judah said in Rab’s name: He who delights in the Sabbath is granted his heart’s desires, for it is said: ‘Delight thyself also in the Lord; And he shall give thee the desires of thine heart’ (Ps 37.4).

 Now, I do not know what this ‘delight’ refers to; but when it is said: ’And thou shalt call the Sabbath a delight’ (Isaiah 58.13),  you must say that it refers to the delight of the Sabbath.

Not only is the injunction here to ‘delight’ in Shabbat, but the very reward that is promised is the granting of the ‘desires of the heart’.

To be in touch with desire, to be alert to the soul’s longing and questing, ‘mishalot libekha’ as it is in the Hebrew, is to be freed from the enslavement of the future, of the tendency to imagine our own personal apocalypse.

And there is a subtle but important qualification here, to be connected and comfortable with one’s unique and individual desire is not necessarily to be a hedonist, to be nihilistically chasing all manner of physical gratification.  It can very often be the case that to be trapped in the cycle of chasing and craving a specific form of gratification can actually be another form of defence from facing up to one’s genuine and deeper desire.  It can be a bulwark against the authentically personal way in which one needs to live creatively, to express one’s being in the world.

Desire is about knowing one’s depths; not about reacting to one’s surface.

It is about being able to bear the present, about not needing to hide in concerns about the future.

The liberating effect of desire is also suggested by another part of the Talmudic discussion today:

R. Johanan said in R. Jose’s name: He who delights in the Sabbath is given an unbounded heritage, for it is written, Then shalt thou delight thyself in the Lord, and I will make thee to ride upon the high places of the earth; and I will feed thee with the heritage of Jacob thy father.

Delighting in Shabbat adjusts the character of our world, it broadens us, loosens the tightness of our worry, allows the expression and energy of our desire to flow more easily.  Something about our existence becomes unbounded, freer; more playful and spontaneous.  And all of these benefits will help guard us against seduction by the future.

This train of thought also allows us to better understand the idea that Shabbat is ‘Me-ein Olam Haba’, a foretaste of the World to Come.  It is not that Shabbat is a sample of some future world; rather, learning to dwell in the present creates the possibility of experiencing a time related redemption in everyday life.  The structure of our relationship with time changes, the future is experienced as the healthy offshoot of our being in the present, not as the neurotic source of our disregarding the present.  The future is driven by the present, and not the other way round.

I am becoming increasingly convinced that ‘olam haba’, and the similar phrase ‘chayeii olam’, do not refer to some kind of afterlife, to some supernatural other world.  Rather, they refer to the way that we experience our time and our activities in this world, to the openness and possibility that are embodied by the way we live in the moment.

Do our actions open us to greater levels of relatedness, engagedness, or do they deaden us, restricting us to a limited and enclosed terrain?

This is the sense in which ‘olam haba’ – the world of becoming – is something worth trying to attain, to become attuned to.

Song is a vital part of the delight of Shabbat, and one of my favourites, the 11th century Ma Yedidut, gives poetic expression to many of these themes.  In a famous line the author declares:

Your wants are forbidden, as is the making of future oriented calculations. 

Desire, however, is permitted. 

This gap between the pettiness of our wants and the eternal profundity of our desire, the endless mystery it contains, is something with which Shabbat tries to enlighten us.

May we blessed with the delight of many Shabbatot, and may we learn from them how to live confidently and securely in a desire-enriched present.

Truly, How Beautiful Berakhot 53, 54 and 55

Learning the Talmud over Yom Kippur this year was an unexpected pleasure.  At first it felt like maybe I was doing something wrong – should I really be learning Berakhot, giving into my daf yomi obsession, playing catch up in this Sisyphean task?  Isn’t there something mundane about it, something worklike, something not quite fitting for the holiest of the days, the window when the Holy of Holies suddenly opens itself to man?

So I tried to resist.  But I couldn’t, it was what I wanted to do, it has become for me (once more?) a nourishing and invigorating activity, it is part of the way in which I connect with the deep.  It is a discussion of values, and the mind responds well to this, it is stimulated by their mention.

But there is another reading of this, of the enjoyment I found in these dapim, of the way their poetic imagery spoke directly to me.  It was the Day.

The Day is special because we go into it in an unusual state of mind, uncommonly open to the world of the spirit, willing to suspend disbelief about the possibility of The Sacred.

There is something real about it, we may set up the day with our intentions and efforts, but there is no accounting for the grace and peace which we attain through it, there is no logical or causal chain which demands that they be bestowed upon us so bountifully .

There is something miraculous about them, something deeply unnecessary and strange.  And this mysterious phenomenon helps us understand that religion is not solely something that happens in our imaginations, it is something which has a dynamic and a reality all unto itself.

So it was a good day, a day with a strong and powerful energy, a day where the daf made sense.  And in that spirit, I’m just going to let these three dapim speak for themselves, to let their own light shine:

The Sages taught in a baraita: People were seated in the study hall and they brought fi re before them at the conclusion of Shabbat. Beit Shammai say: Each and every individual recites a blessing for himself; and Beit Hillel say: One recites a blessing on behalf of everyone and the others answer amen. Beit Hillel’s reasoning is as it is stated: “The splendour of the King is in the multitude of the people” (Proverbs 14:28).

Granted, Beit Hillel, they explain their reasoning, but what is the reason for the opinion of Beit Shammai?  They hold that it is prohibited due to the fact that it will lead to suspension of study in the study hall.

In a similar spirit:

The members of the house of Rabban Gamliel would not say ‘good health’ when someone sneezed in the study hall, due to the fact that it would lead to suspension of study in the study hall.

Poor Shammai and Rabban Gamliel, you want to feel sorry for them, sometimes it seems like they can do no right in the Talmud’s eyes.  They just can’t seem to grasp the significance of community, of life, that Torah without these just fails and fades.

One who saw a flame and did not make use of its light, or if he made use of the light but did not witness the flame, may not recite a blessing.    

It is not enough to passively admire the radiance of the light, we must also make good use of it,  we must become enlightened.

One may recite a blessing over smouldering coals just as he does over a candle; however, over dimming coals, one may not recite a blessing.

What are smouldering coals? Rav Ĥisda said: Smouldering coals are any coals such that if one places a wood chip among them, it ignites on its own without fanning the flame.

If a light can re-kindle our fire, then it is worthy of a blessing, no matter how much its strength may be fading.

They who go down to the sea in ships, who do business in great waters; they see the works of the Lord. For He commands and raises the stormy wind which lifts up the waves thereof.  They mount up to the heaven, they go down again to the depths: their soul is melted because of trouble. 

They reel to and fro, and stagger like a drunken man, and are at their wits’ end.  Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, and He brings them out of their distress.  He makes the storm calm, so the waves thereof are still.  Then are they glad because they be quiet; so He brings them unto their desired haven.  They are grateful to God for His loving-kindness and His wonders for mankind.   (Psalms 127:23-31).

It is sometimes when we are wrestling  in the stormy depths that we best grasp the import and meaning of the Divine, when we might sense anew its Power of salvation.

Why does it begin with the altar and conclude with the table?  [asked of a verse in Eziekel]

Rabbi Yoĥanan and Rabbi Elazar both say: As long as the Temple stood, the altar atoned for Israel’s transgressions. Now that it is destroyed, a person’s table atones for his transgressions.

Our table is our personal altar, we may use it for the highest offerings, or we may disgrace ourselves by defiling it.

Perhaps you were in God’s shadow – betzel’el – and this is how you knew?

Thus Moshe addresses Betzalel.  The artist lives in the Shadow of the Divine, that is his essence.

Betzalel knew how to bring together the symbols with which heaven and earth were created.

To create is to mimic the Divine, to fulfil our most exalted task on earth.

Rabbi Yoĥanan said: The Holy One, Blessed be He, only grants wisdom to one who already possesses wisdom.

We must put in the groundwork; enlightenment is only granted once there exists something worthy of the light.

Rav Ĥisda said: A dream not interpreted is like a letter not read.

I take this at face value – it is a missed opportunity.  How you could receive an intriguing letter and not want to read it?

And yet, interpretation is not everything:

A bad dream, his sadness is enough for him; a good dream, his joy is enough for him.

Sometimes it’s about how the dream makes us feel, about the reality it creates, not just about what it might stand for or hint at.

And so a practice developed for dealing with disturbing dreams, one would seek out three friends and ask them to ‘improve’ it.  How would this be done?

They would recite three verses of transformation, three verses of redemption and three verses of peace.

May we be transformed, may we be redeemed, may we be granted peace.

Rabbi Bena’a said: There were twenty-four interpreters of dreams in Jerusalem. One time, I dreamed a dream and went to each of them to interpret it. What one interpreted for me the other did not interpret for me, and, nevertheless, all of the interpretations were fulfilled in me.

Interpretation isn’t about decoding, it can be a creative act much like the dream itself, a vehicle for the emergence of meaning.

Rabbi Yochanan said:  If one awoke, and a specific verse [thought formulation] emerged in his thought, this is a minor prophecy.

In sleep we give up the battles of the daytime, we surrender to the mysterious undercurrents of the mind, to the unstructured mythical imagination which lies in its depths.

This is to enter into another realm entirely, the realm of metaphor, wherein we might just hear the still, small voice of the Divine whispering to us.