Stories of Pain

My teacher once asked, “Can they be prayers after the Holocaust?”

Each catastrophe that has befallen us has had a major impact on our way of thinking. The Crusades with the terror of rampaging villagers burning, looting, writing, murdering we remember through the prayers and litanies that we recite on Tisha B’Av. That speak of the atrocities committed at York, Mayence, Speyer, Worms, the auto-de-fe’s of the New World are also included in this heartbreaking the liturgy.  In some towns they still recite the names of the victims from long ago. Each year they are read publicly.  On Yom Kippur, the prayers conjure up blood stained images of the martyrs-Rabbi Haninah, Rabbi Tarfon, Rabbi Ishmael, Rabbi Akiba….  We recall the horrific attacks in the Middle Ages on Jewish homes and Synagogues. For these things too, the memory of the Jewish people finds expression in the Kinot, poems and eulogies written by survivors; eye-witnesses to the atrocities.  We have specific mourning chants for each of the liturgies.

 What words, what testimony can be recited for the victims of the Shoah?

No prayers existed for decades. The poems had yet to be recorded. On the day of collective memory, Tisha b’Av, there is no mention of the Holocaust. Its pain, its proximity to us, makes all these other tragic events of history insignificant by comparison. A separate day of memorial had to be created the pain of the trauma was too overwhelming great.

The words describing the events of bygone epochs is insufficient grasp the enormity of Auschwitz.

Even the familiar biblical story of Isaac’s near death does not tell the story of one and one half million children who died in the camps. Instead, silence reigns.  In the aftermath of the inferno prayers were slow to emerge.  It took Elie Wiesel, the first real voice of testimony, nearly 15 years to tell his story. Survivors were still being urged to speak for decades afterward. Up until recently they had their dark memories and secrets behind locked doors. 70 years have passed and the terror is only now sufficiently distant to begin the process of hearing the stories and creating lasting memorials to the victims.

The closest biblical analogy we have is that of Aaron witnessing the death of his sons. When they perish, the Torah offers her most anguished and terse sentence, ‘Va-yidom Aharon,” “and Aaron was silent.”  It is the other silence of disbelief, shock and humility. Any words uttered would degrade the memory of the dead.

It is trying and nearly impossible to compose new prayers. Instead, we tell their stories. And that must be enough.

Stories that Define

We are the carriers and tellers of stories.  Torah and Talmud are filled with tales.  Some are simple and others are complex but they are all invaluable.  We tell our stories because they communicate who we are.  They say something profound about our deepest beliefs.  We also tell stories to express profound truths, ones that surpass simple words.  Stories also have many layers.  They can mean different things.  The way we understand them defines us.

Abba Tahnah the Pious was swiftly walking to his home erev Shabbat, as dusk began to fall.  He was hurrying with a sack on his shoulders to greet his family before the sun set.  At a crossroads he met a beggar who was covered in sores, longing for assistance.  "Will you help me get home?" he begged Abba Tahnah.  

What is important that respecting Shabbat?  If he helped the stranger he would arrive home after the candles were lit.  That would be wrong.

Quickly deciding to help the beggar he picked up that ailing man and carried both him and his bundle.  Neighbors were horrified to see Abba Tahnah doing this work so close to Shabbat.  Undeterred, he continued.

A Heavenly Voice then declared that the sun would be delayed in going down.

Now that you have read this tale, consider what does it mean?  Choose the one that defines you:

Lesson 1.  Shabbat is critical to our existence.  It is our locus, our home in time.  Yet, life takes precedence,

Lesson 2.  God assists those who act with resolute altruism even to the point to reworking nature.

Lesson 3. Every moment is a test of who we are and whether we have mastered our personal interests.

Lesson 4. This story is meant for me to share with others so they will learn the importance Judaism places on human dignity.

Lesson 4. The afflicted, i.e. those with illness or disability, need special care.

Lesson 5. Human concerns always trumps religious concerns. 

Lesson 5.  The real definition of a tzaddik (pious one) is one whose heart overrules his head.

Now the most important questions, do you like your answer?  If not, what should it be?

Tikkun Olam

We are the people who share stories.  The Bible is full of them.  That Talmud too has many tales as does the famed midrash.  I remember once hearing Elie Wiesel tell how even the Master of the Universe not only like to tell stories but He also delights in hearing them!  Stories entertain and enlighten.  The best stories have the richest, most meaningful morals.  Here is one:

Ashmodai was the king of demons.  He brought before the great Solomon a man with two heads.  Ashmodai told King Solomon that the man’s father had died and left a large inheritance.  It was up to the wise king to determine whether the man in front of him was one man with one share of the inheritance or if he should be counted as two men and receive a double portion.

King Solomon reflected and then said that servants should prepare a pot of boiling water.  That boiling water would be poured over one of the heads.  If the other head did not complain, it was a sign that they were different people.  On the other hand, if the other head did complain they were really one.

The story entertains, as do all good stories but it also teaches a truth.  We are one.

There are times when family members do not get along.  We argue, insist on having it our way, and say regrettable things.  When rifts happen in a family the depth of the pain is significant.  It hurts.  A lot.

Still, the bonds of a family do not go away when we fight.  We quickly regroup when some outside force assails us or illness strikes.  So it is with our extended family.  We are one.

Elsewhere the midrash asks, “Would a man cut off his arm?  Of course not!  Why then would we ever contemplate hurting one of our own?  They are part of our body too!”

What affects one of us affects us all.  That is why we must stand together.  If any part of our people is abused or destroyed it destroys a part of us.  That is why when one Jew is in peril the response must be immediate.  We learned this lesson during the Holocaust.   While our people vacillated, we were murdered.  Israel’s response to the plight of Ethiopian Jews was sweeping.  In 1984 Operation Moses airlifted more than 8,000 Jews to Israel.  A single trip brought 1,122 Ethiopian Jews on a single plane.  A world record!  Three decades earlier Operation Magic Carpet brought nearly 50,000 Yemeni Jews to the Holy Land.  Waves of Russian Jews – 800,000 of them! - arrived with no questions.

What all this means is that we are our brother’s keeper.  We have a responsibility for one another.

Here is our community no Jew is ever turned away from the Religious School or membership for lack of funds.  In addition, tzedaka is ongoing.  Money is quietly collected and distributed to the needy.   We help transport those who are not mobile to the synagogue (we are always looking for more volunteers) and we visit the ailing and homebound (you can offer to help here too).

The fact is: we are human by birth.  We are Jews by making conscious decision to do our best to improve this word.  We call this Tikkun Olam.

Truth in Torah

There are many Torah passages which could raise eyebrows well into the nether regions of the forehead.  Among them are the age of the universe versus our almost six thousand year calculation, manna feeding at least 1 1/2 million freed slaves for forty years, burning bushes and parted seas to name a few.

The question of reliability actually runs yet deeper:  If the Torah cannot be read at face value, if we cannot trust it to tell the truth all the time, how can we depend on it for truth any time?

No one who studies Torah with any degree of seriousness will fail to notice these and other incongruities.  In fact, it is probably the most frequent question asked of rabbis today.  What do I tell people?  Even more, how can anyone, including a rabbi, have faith with such unbelievable tales and inconsistencies?

I am fond of telling an story of a grandfather who greets his little one at the door. 

“So how was Hebrew School today, Yacov?”

“Oh great!  We learned about how General Moses led the Israelites out of Egypt.  Cornered by the Egyptians with their troops, General Moses fired bazookas and strafed the advancing army while the Israeli navy placed pontoons across the Sea.  The people narrowly escaped!”
“Oy,” said the grandfather. “Is this what they taught you??”

“Grandpa, if I told you what they said, you’d never believe it.”

On a primary level, the Torah is filled with stories.  The tales we tell are human, full of adventure, achievements, falls, and recoveries.  They are great stories that we know well and retell through generations.  Think of Adam and Eve.  They tell the story of reward and punishment; listening to God and the penalty of disobedience.  Think of Noah, the savior of a world.  What about Abraham, the one who discovered and was discovered by God?  The narrative then follows Abraham through his trials and triumphs.  This is story-telling at its finest.  These are well worn tales that have traveled the world many times over, through millennia.

On a secondary level, each story contains kernels of knowledge and philosophy that we often miss (because we stop in step 1).  For example, the depiction of Adam and Eve serves the purpose of telling us we are free.  God rewards and punishes but the real lesson is about personal control and responsibility.  And Noah?  It is all about choosing your destiny regardless of what the outside world does and thinks.  Consider that Noah’s righteousness was singular in a world gone bad.

On a tertiary level, we are guided by the Zohar which states, “If the Torah were mere tales I could tell better stories myself.”  We learn through metaphor.  In Eden, we understand the trappings of Paradise.  We are not meant for utopia.  Our lives are only validated through struggle.  We are Adam and Eve.  We choose banishment because there lays our greatest hope.  Abraham is the paragon of self-discovery.  We must pass through walls of flames, become scarred before we can contemplate wholeness.  We must travel far in our youth to eventually find what is most close, so close that it cannot be seen; only felt.

Is there more?  Yes, there is always more.  That is why it continues to feed our souls after all this time.