Shul Goer at Adat Shalom Shul Goer at Adat ShalomChaverotai (My friends):
This coming February 7th is Shabbat B’Shallach. Shabbat B’Shallach, named for the parasha that we read from the Torah, is also called Shabbat Shirah, because in this parasha is the song-poem called the Song of the Sea, the Shirat HaYam. This is the section of Torah in which we retell the story of the Israelites crossing of the Red Sea from slavery to freedom. On this day in our community, as in many other synagogue communities, we will share in a special reading of the Torah in which the whole community participates, and also offer several special musical settings. (This year, we will celebrate Shabbat Shirah with our first ever men’s choir!) On this special day, we will also share in a learner’s service. This particular learning experience is meant to be relevant not only to those who are beginners in Judaism, or Jewish liturgy, but also to those in our community whose knowledge and skill are more advanced.
This past September, I wrote in this newsletter about a way of approaching Jewish liturgy, using a technique that was developed by the Kabbalists (Jewish mystics living in the 15th century) for the study of Torah. This technique utilizes the image of an oasis —PARDES in Hebrew— as the ultimate “destination” of study. Each letter of the word PARDES represents a different level of textual understanding:
Peh stands for p’shat, or the most basic, simple level;
Resh stands for remes or the figurative meaning of the text;
Daled stands for drash or the allegorical level of the text;
Samech stands for sod, or the elusive, secretive layer of meaning.
The idea is that by encountering these four levels of meaning in text study, one arrives at a paradise of understanding. This would be a place of beauty, of refreshment, perhaps even a place of sustenance and survival. For anyone who pays attention to the current zeitgeist in the Jewish world, we cannot miss our generation’s interest in matters of the spirit, or what some have called, “spirituality”. I use this term advisedly, knowing that it has different meanings depending on who is using it. I know there are some who view this word and all it connotes with skepticism, if not disdain. However, for many in the Jewish community, this word has come to mean the sense of connectedness to our essence as creatures created in the Divine Image, our Big Self, which in Reconstructionist theology is capable of behaving in ways that are godly.
Spiritual practice then, is the development of the spiritual sense. Observance of Jewish ritual and litugical customs, when accompanied by a willing heart and an open mind, constitute Jewish spiritual practice. When we practice Judaism, we nurture the spiritual sense in ourselves as Judaism understands that sense. (Perhaps in our community, we should insert the word Reconstructionist, and all it means, in this context.)
Inherent in the phrase spiritual practice is the word, “practice”, something we return to again and again and never finish. By practicing, we learn to listen to what the prophet Jeremiah called, “the still small voice” which is there within the thunderbolt and when the thunderbolt is absent. We commit ourselves to be with the tradition, even when we don’t understand or believe it. I believe that the benefits of Jewish spiritual practice are myriad, including not only personal well-being, but possibly world peace. But these benefits won’t necessarily be felt each time we practice. The gifts of practice come over the long term, when one day you are sitting in the sanctuary and you see past the cantor, the rabbi, the prayerbook, all of it, to your own unique view of the Ein Sof/the-Endless-One/Makor Chayim/Source of Life/Shechinah/the Indwelling Presence/Chey HaOlamim/Life of All the Worlds ... the holy spark that resides in every living creature.
It is my desire to provide a way of approaching our liturgy that might respond to the spiritual searching of our particular time. So, this learners’ service will focus not so much on the literal meanings of the liturgy, but on the rubric of PARDES — peh, resh, daled, samech. As I noted in my piece last fall, those of us who are acquainted with the book, The Jew in the Lotus, might be amused to learn that this title is a pun on a Buddhist teaching. This teaching suggests that spiritual enlightenment is the marriage of heart and mind: the JEWEL (the mind) in the lotus (the heart.) Let us consider that the manifestation of the jewel —the mind— in Jewish tradition is text study. In the context of Jewish religious services, this means specifically, Torah study, something in which we engage as a community each Shabbat morning. If we accept this teaching that enlightenment comes when the mind rests in the heart, then the heart must be prepared before engaging in study.
Interestingly enough, our traditional service structure seems to follow this. Torah study is the centerpiece of Jewish worship. In Jewish religious services, Torah study is preceeded by a carefully developed prayer structure. In other words, we need to engage in prayer before we can engage in study. We need to engage in the four levels of PARDES as they appear in the liturgy, before we can encounter the four-part path to paradise in Torah study. Suddenly, the Shacharit service is not something to “get through”, or to abbreviate, but an essential component of a complete Jewish spiritual practice.
What follows here is an attempt to present the Shabbat morning service using the technique of PARDES. There are many references in this guide to pages in the Kol HaNeshama siddur, so you may want to have a copy handy as you read it. Also, please note that the word God is used freely throughout this guide. While we in our movement do not place intrinsic value in the letters G-o-d on the printed page, you may have your own practice regarding the treatment of pages with one of the Divine names on it.
Let us begin with the premise that the entire liturgical structure is one long chain of preparations, with each section acting as a prelude to the next, and with each successive section, building in spiritual intensity and focus. We can say that the final destination is the Amidah, standing in silence. Like other great faith traditions, Judaism’s wisdom says that to be truly silent, to be truly connected with the Ein Sof, we must prepare. So, we can view the whole morning service as a preparation for the mountain-top of communal conscious silence.
The word p’shat comes from the Hebrew word pashut, meaning simple or basic. Here, it refers to our earthly experience and the nature of our physical humanity. We bring this focus to the opening passages of liturgy, called the Birchot HaShachar, the blessings of dawn. In these passages, we acknowledge and give thanks for our whole body, including our mind.
We begin with Mah Tovu (p. 141) as an acknowledgement of the communal nature of Jewish prayer. Our prayerbook then offers a Kabbalistic kavanah (intention) on p. 151: “V’ahavta L’reyacha Kamocha, you shall love your fellow human being as yourself.” From this place of intention, we can move into the birchot haShachar themselves, blessing God for our myriad physical abilities from the simple miracle of waking each day, to the fact of the earth under our feet, to our ability to see clearly, and to our ability to persevere even when we are weary. Imagining God as The Architect, we give thanks for our bodily functions, without which we could not live. It is important to note here that we recite these passages as a practice, regardless of our actual physical condition. In fact, even one who suffers colon cancer can recite, “It is revealed and known before Your Throne of Glory that if one of these passage-ways be open when it should be closed or blocked up when it should be free, one could not stay alive or stand before you.” By practicing this way, we can come to reflect on our physical problems when they arise. We may even find that reciting these passages in times of physical difficulty will be comforting, or enlightening.
Next, in this section we acknowledge the human spirit that inhabits the body. When we say, “Elohai n’shama she-natata bi, t’hora hi/ my God, the soul you have placed in me is pure,” (p. 165) we recognize the body as the temple of our God-given soul. In the Jewish imagination, the soul belongs to God, and is essentially pure. Our behavior in the world may not be perfect, but the soul in each one of us is. In the prayerbook, we have reached a small peak in the hike up the mountain. Having given thanks for our bodies and our souls, we turn for a moment to our intellect. We “warm it up” with a bit of Torah study and acknowledge the centrality of Torah as our source for intellectual development (p. 169-173.)
In the PARDES rubric, the p’shat level can also refer to our physical experience in the room. We may notice the architecture, the play of natural light through the tent-screens above us or the beauty of nature seen through the large plate-glass windows all around.
We remain in this p’shat level, but now, having prepared our body awareness, we move to the psalms. This second section of the morning service has the task of opening the heart, beginning to soften the enclosures around the heart that we construct all week in our work and family responsibilities. On Shabbat, we want to let go of all that defensiveness, since it blocks our ability to connect with M’kor Rachamim, the Source of Compassion.
P’sukey D’Zimra is comprised of psalm selections. In our community, we usually sing a few different melodies for a couple of psalm verses. We take special delight in the use of musical instruments here, partially just for the fun of it. In other communities, where a more traditional version of liturgy is practiced, there might be a straight chanting through the entire group of psalms in the prayerbook. In the days of the temple, the psalms were a central vehicle for musical interpretation and creativity. Whatever our musical mode for this section, encountering the myriad themes in these psalms gratitude, exultation, joy, yearning, ethical direction is the second level of preparation for the full blossoming of the heart which we find in the later sections.
On the final pages of this p’shat-level are the concluding praise verses, from the rabbinic period (as opposed to the previous psalms which are Biblical.) These passages are distinguished in language from the previous psalms and we can easily see the historical difference between the two sections. Perhaps even more striking however, is the way in which we chant this final psalm section, (pp. 235-243.) Beginning on p. 235, we move away from congregational melody and into a traditional mode and motif, in strong contrast to the melodies we use for the biblical psalm verses. We end the Biblical psalm section with Psalm 150 whose refrain says, “Let every living thing, or every thing that breathes, praise God’s name” (p. 231) and begin the rabbinic section with, “The soul of every living thing shall bless Your name”. (p. 235) and while there is great symmetry in the words, the high contrast in musical presentation tells us that we are about to make a transition to the next level.
We are now in the section of the service which is called, the Sh’ma and It’s Blessings, since this section of liturgy leads directly to the Sh’ma and V’ahavta. For the purposes of this guide, I wish to separate out this preceeding group of blessings, the group called, Yotzer, or Creation. Even though we are now at least a third of the way through the service, we have yet to encounter themes which are exclusive to Judaism. The Yotzer section continues in this universalist way, but moving now to an expansive view of creation. Whereas the opening sections of the Shacharit are more personal, giving thanks for our own bodies minds, souls, this Yotzer segment is about giving thanks for the beautiful and awesome experience of nature. There is an interesting dynamic tension here. Many rabbis teach that the Jewish morning service goes from the universal to the particular: We begin with themes which are universal to all of humanity (God, You clothe the naked and give sight to the eyes, etc.) and narrow the focus as we go along to themes which relate to the Jewish experience (“Open our eyes to Your Torah”, and, later, “Moses and the children of Israel sang praises to You”.) At the same time, however, we are also moving from the individual to the communal: We begin with blessings stated in the “I”, as in “God, You provide for all MY needs,” to blessings stated in the “we” as in, “we are thankful to You.” So, while there is one movement going from macro to micro, the opposing force —moving from micro to macro— is in play as well.
The Yotzer blessing itself (p. 247) holds within it the basic idea of Shalom — Wholeness. This blessing tells us that God is not only the creator of light (goodness, joy, happiness, health, etc.) but also the creator of darkness (challenge, despair, perhaps even evil). (Yin and Yang?) We remind ourselves by saying these words, that we cannot recognize the light without the dark and vice versa, and that even in our own dark moments, we are vessels of God’s creative power.
In the Yotzer section, the liturgy is about praising God for all of creation, and acknowledging God’s role as the creator, not just the original creator, but the on-going creator. What happens when we look beyond the immediacy of our own experience our p’shat? After moving through our p’shat liturgy in the opening sections, we turn our attention up and out, beyond the surface of our lives to all of nature. When we lift our heads and take the focus beyond our inner struggles and delights, we encounter the awesome and terrible realities of the natural universe. Here in remes, the figurative level, we connect ourselves to what is beyond our small physical selves, to the larger physical world. The liturgy then challenges us, in our modern rationalist mind-set, with images of angels, “standing in the highest realms, and giving voice, in awestruck unison, to words of the living God, the sovereign of all worlds” (Kol Haneshama, p. 264). If outer space had a sound, what would it be? Opening ourselves to this very distinctive mental state, one which is far from thinking about the details of life and which is reaching for the place of deep spiritual connetion, we are poised to move to the next level.
Here we land squarely in the particularistic themes of Torah, monotheism, and the Jewish historical experience. We recite words here which say that God has given us the Torah as a token of love and that our loving response is to embrace it, to study it and to live its commandments. Ahava Rabbah means Great Love and we say that by opening our eyes and, more importantly, our hearts to Torah, we will experience this great, expansive, unending, unconditional love. This love is difficult to articulate in clear language. This is not personal love between individuals, but rather love for life which is provoked in us when we embrace Torah in the fullest sense. Note how many different times the word love appears in this section, as something which is bestowed on us by God, but also as something which we must implant in ourselves and radiate outward.
The word “drash”, the name for this third level, comes from the Hebrew meaning to seek or search. A midrash is a “seeking” of a piece of text, a way of looking deeper into the story to understand it. By bringing this approach to this part of the liturgy, we might say that the Torah is not only the source-text for all later midrashic extrapolations, but, itself, the greatest of all midrash on our story as Jews. By embracing Torah with a full and willing heart, we learn how to be, how to conduct ourselves in all our relationships, including the one we maintain with our Creator. Being clearly committed to a particular set of values is what allows us to recite our central faith statement, the Sh’ma (p. 277), with great strength and confidence. With the support of Torah girding us, our own hearts can be fully open to truth.
In Jewish liturgy, truth is the bridge between love and freedom. These are the three grand themes contained in this drash section. In Ahava Rabbah, we first develop and strengthen our ability to be open-hearted by remembering, and continually rediscovering, our Torah. From this place of strength we declare the unity of God. Between the Sh’ma and Mi Chamocha is an often overlooked passage called Emet v’Yatziv, or True and Established (p. 287-9.) This middle passage serves as an affirmation of the Sh’ma and an introduction to the theme of redemption, fully realized in the recitation of Mi Chamocha (p. 291.) There are so many ways to interpret this insertion. How does truth lead to freedom? By knowing the truth in our hearts, we are free; free from doubt, from skepticism, from despair. This does not mean we might not question some, or all, of our tradition, but we can do so from a place of committment, which is ultimately redeeming. We can let go of our small stories and selves and understand that we are connected historically, physically, and spiritually. From this place of detachment, we are ready to enter the final stage.
The psalmist says, “for You, silence is praise.” Finally, after reciting many passages aloud, our tradition is to stand in quiet, focusing our minds on a shared set of liturgical themes, but finding our own personal ways through them. How do we enter this secret, silent door? Our tradition suggests some physical movement to focus the mind. We begin the Amidah with three steps backward, then three steps forward, and stand with our feet perfectly together and our bodies erect. It is a posture of respect and reverence and also one of strength and commitment.
In this section, we may want to follow the traditional liturgical passages: three opening sections (avot = acknowledging our forbears; g’vurot = acknowledging Divine Power; and k’dushat HaShem = God’s holy name), followed by the middle section which changes depending on whether the service is Shabbat or weekday (K’dushat haYom — the day’s holiness) and ending with three concluding sections (avodah = asking for God to receive our prayers; hoda’ah = giving thanks; and birkat shalom=blessings of peace). Alternatively, we may choose to use this time for our own silent prayers and meditation. Whichever way we choose, this is a time of profound, conscious silence — not just the absence of sound. When we stop the chattering of our minds, we allow ourselves to hear on a different level — one that is known only in our own minds and in our growing connection to what we call God.
In silence, we clear away the myriad distractions which keep us from a place of deep spiritual connection. And by practicing, we can come to find that spiritual connection is not only an accident, an “aha” moment we experience on a mountain-top or by listening to an extraordinarily beautiful piece of music, but it is a real level of being which we can access when we practice. And so, what? Who cares? Jewish tradition does. And here’s why. The wisdom of Jewish tradition says that we practice not to please God, but to develop ourselves as human beings. Jewish tradition says that we practice because practicing reminds us of our ability to be compassionate, to be grateful, to see ourselves as part of creation so that we would care for creation, in short, to be godly.
And now, we are ready to take out the Torah and study.
Hazzan Rachel
February, 2004