Scroll to the bottom for links to other Itzik’s Well COVID Journal reflections…
Last night and today were Shavuot, the holiday of Revelation. I am not personally an observer of the 2-day Shavuot thing in the Diaspora. But we now have this Shabbat that serves to keep the feel of Shavuot going, drawing forth an additional day of openness to Revelation.
At Ner Shalom we have been awash in Revelation. Studying and chanting and meditating late into night. This morning reading in Torah about the giving of Torah. And each of us wondering what Torah we might receive in this moment.
But even though I just used the word "Revelation" and the phrase "Giving of Torah" as if they were the same thing, they aren't really, are they? Our tradition tries to convince us that they are. But Divine Revelation is something we all want – that great flash of insight and download of Wisdom, right from the Divine Tap. We want it. We dream of it. Torah on the other hand – well, that's a little iffy.
While none of us would say no to a dose of Divine Revelation (probably), many of us have said no to Torah (probably). That is, we hold Torah with a certain amount of ambivalence. We read it critically, we don't like things in it, we feel bruised by it sometimes, or ignored. And yet it remains our go-to source of Wisdom. We scour it for gems, we read between its lines, we judiciously step over the sticky spots.
This morning when we chanted the Ten Commandments, many of us stood for it out of respect, as is the custom – even though there's stuff right there in those Ten Commandments that gives us pause.
That's the thing about Revelation. The experience of it and the document setting it out are very different. The Revelation on Mt. Sinai is so full of hope and vision, and the document produced by it is, well, less than that; it is limited by its time and place. But that vision of justice and peace is so delicious, it keeps us coming back to the well of Torah even when the water tastes a little off.
Right now, in this oddly unprecedented time we're living in, many of us have been waiting and watching for a new Revelation to happen. We have talked, among ourselves at least, as if the world were about to open its eyes and people realize how wrong they'd been about so many things. We have had the idea that this shared experience of danger and loss and months of isolation – this forced opportunity to see who we are and what is most important – that these would cause a new Revelation to emerge. We have dared to hoped that now, finally the world can change. Humanity could at last care about people more than profits. Humanity could learn to lead with love. We could come to care about our carbon footprints and be so moved by the return of dolphins to the canals of Venice that we wouldn't even care that it was a hoax; we would stock the canals with dolphins ourselves.
I want these things. I want a changed world and I want it now. I think there really is a possibility that this experience could change us in meaningful ways. I think that. And then I hear about the killing of George Floyd by a Minneapolis cop, and I crash. We haven't changed, I think. We will never change. Not on any level. Humanity is not getting kinder or gentler or more loving or more restrained. Power has not given way to something more precious. The poor still suffer disproportionately in the pandemic – and people of color. And children in detention are treated even worse because we've largely stopped covering them in the news and so now no one is watching.
I go from hope to disheartenment every day. I fear that whatever insight we gain in this moment will dissipate when the short-term crisis is over. We see it already as we begin to emerge from isolation, or as we begin to imagine emerging which for some people seems to be the same as emerging. People are willing to take risks or to put others at risk in ways they wouldn't have 4 weeks ago – even though really nothing has changed.
But I'm not here as a prophet of doom. Because even when disheartened, I have not despaired. Not by a longshot.
What I am here to point out is that Revelation is a vision, not a transformation. If Revelation itself were the transformation, Torah would have been instantly obsolete. People would have heard the word of God and stopped stealing and killing and coveting. But no, the Revelation was a vision of a just world; and Torah? Torah was the best roadmap our ancestors of those generations could muster to reach it.
It is right for us to want, expect, demand a new Revelation in this moment. And we must remember that the Revelation is not itself the transformation. The Revelation must be big, global, revolutionary. But the Transformation will only come in small acts.
So on this holiday of Revelation, let us not only ask for big vision, but also for some clarity on the details. We must ask for Revelation, but ask for Torah too – for new mitzvot that we can actually carry out. Human-scale. Task-oriented. Habit-sized.
Our species will not change overnight or in 3 months of quarantine.. And so now, while we still are feeling an affinity with all of humanity, while we still feel the potential of change and are riding high on the beauty of the creativity of the regular people of the world singing from balconies, we need to start writing our new Torah for this time. Full of achievables. We must emerge from this time ready to take action, even if the actions are not earth-shaking, and even as we see others go back to business as usual. We must make our small-scale, personal commitments – whether those are about energy use or building community or growing food or feeding the hungry or standing with Black Lives Matter. We must be ready with our new battery of mitzvot.
No one is expected to master all of them – but each of us can commit to carrying out some of them. And that is how we keep from going back to business as usual ourselves.
So let Revelation in – while Revelation is in the air. Do your best Moses and write it down. Write it in short verses, with task lists attached. Choose some of your mitzvot and do them with all your heart. Choose some of your mitzvot and teach them diligently. If you need to hang reminders of them somewhere, the doorpost is always a good spot.
I will dare to make one prophecy. After we emerge from our houses back into the sunlight; after we are all driving and working and buying – we will look around and we will be disappointed. Others will seem not to have shared our visions, or agreed to our mitzvot. Our Revelation will not have turned into Transformation. Yet.
So make sure that one verse of your Torah is: "Disappointment is to be expected. Disappointment is not an obstacle but fuel for the journey.”
Then let us move on. To the Torah at our fingertips, and to that holy spirit of Revelation – like the wind at our back.
More Reflections from the Itzik’s Well COVID Journal:
Wilderness/Garden
Maybe the most salient difference between a Wilderness and a Garden is the fact of being witnessed. And the speech waiting for us in the Wilderness? Maybe it’s not chatter and not the earth-shaking thrum of God at Sinai. But the loving voice of a gardener. Click here.
Tourist in Shapeless Time
Can I let go of my need for every moment of this terrible time to be productive or meaningful or insight-giving? What will it be like to let this time be: let it be its frustrating, tedious, anxious and sad self, without the pressure of having to be the source of global transformation or personal enlightenment? Click here.
A Theology of COVID Times
Where is God in all of this? The answer is, maybe, everywhere. And why isn’t God intervening? Of course God is intervening. In fact we are doing so every day. (May 8.) Click here.
Isolation, AIDS Flashbacks, & Divine Embrace
There are pieces of this isolation I want to remember and bring with me when we are finally able to move freely about the cabin. But I also know that this isolation, no matter how pleasant parts of it may be, is something we will all need to reckon with over time. Because there is injury in going so long not touching and not being touched! Noticing and having to ignore the skin’s desire to feel skin, our bones’ desire to be pressed in an embrace. (May 1) Click here.
Through the Lattice
The doe sauntered away, leaving me wondering how we got here. Our glorious, sorry species. How did we end up living this way? So far removed from the rest of Creation that is just outside our door? How did we end up seeing this Earth so imperfectly, as if through carnival glass? (April 24.) Click here.
You’ve Got Mail
Talmud says a dream uninterpreted is like a letter left unread. What does this if-only-it-were-a-dream time have to say to us? (April 10.) Click here.
The Mood that Came to Dinner
Anxiety has moved right into my house, camped out in my own living room! Leering at me with its purple face and lime green 1970s pants. And what do you do about an unwanted guest? (April 3.) Click here.
A Planet of Priests
Torah tells us that we are meant to be a nation of priests. It is our calling and our destiny. And now the call is even broader. Because right now we are being called to be a Planet of Priests. Each of us tending the altar of our relationships with God and Earth and each other. Offering up our guilt over the profit-driven, Earth-consuming culture we have allowed to take root. And offering up like fragrant incense our gratitude for the simple and intimate gifts of connection and food and shelter. (March 28.) Click here.
By Our Own Hands (Vayakhel in Quarantine)
Whatever is ahead, the best of it will come from the people. We, the people, whose inspired ideas and skilled fingers will concoct new ways of being together, new ways of being, period. (March 21.) Click here.
Koved – Virus and Humanity
In this moment of unfolding epidemic, I am called to honor the complexity of the Creation we live in. This Creation in which uncountable species compete for space and survival, including the tiniest ones, who can sometimes, without malice, take down the mightiest among us. (March 6.) Click here.