Shabbat Emor: “Say” what?

today is Lag ba’Omer, the 33rd day of the counting of the ‘Omer: הוד שבהוד hod sheh-b’hod, gratitude in gratitude

Today is the minor Jewish holy day known simply as lag ba’omer, a name which is nothing but the way to vocalize today’s Jewish date: the 33rd day of the counting of the ‘Omer; ל is not only a letter but also the number 30 for us, and ג, being the third letter of the alef-bet, denotes three. (If you’d like to understand more, go here.) So: today is the 33rd day of the ‘omer count; in the spiritual process we’ve attached to this ancient ritual, through which we are invited to consider the different aspects of our being and how they interact, today is a day when we are to consider hod, doubled: how gratitude understands/reacts to/is influenced by  gratitude.

Endless gratitude? Gratitude for the existence of gratitude? The term הוד hod in Hebrew appears often in Torah and Tefilah: hod v’hadar, “glory and beauty” or “gratitude for/with/in beauty” is a common phrase in the Psalms and wherever the ancient words speak of the wonder of life itself and its Source. It’s a powerful thing: we seek a silver lining no matter how bad things are, and try to stay mindful of the full scale of human suffering, lest we lost sight of our real place in HaShem’s impossibly beautiful and awful world.

In times of distress we seek reliable grounding, in times of “fake news” we wonder what information to trust, and how to judge. We might be endlessly grateful for the Jewish tradition that offers us context (we’ve seen this before), grounding (we know what ethics are and what they are NOT), and a tool box (kindness outranks anything else). At the same time, we have learned that the past is not an answer to the future, but only a source of information about what might be in the offing, and a way to discern a path forward through it.

Our parashat hashavua, the week’s assigned Torah reading, this week is Emor, which means “say”. We might retort, “how in the world are we supposed to know what to say?”But hold the thought, and let’s see how our study might respond to it. In the Triennial Cycle, we land on a review of Rosh HaShanah and Yom Kippur, along with Sukkot, reminding us that we are moving within a developed spiritual system; we’re not alone. Next we note the content of the haftarah, which is overtly political: the Zadokite priestly family is in the process of achieving High Priest status in place of the earlier Aaronide priesthood (Ezekiel and Zekharyah are dripping with this). Checking now on the “alternate” haftarah offered in the Triennial Cycle, we are presented with something that seems quite different. 

ט֣וֹב ה’ לְמָע֖וֹז בְּי֣וֹם צָרָ֑ה וְיֹדֵ֖עַ חֹ֥סֵי בֽוֹ

HaShem is good to [those who have hope], and is a haven on a day of distress, being mindful of those seeking refuge. (Nahum1.7)

In just so many words, we are to act toward refugees with hope – in them and in us.

The way we seek among all these sources (ancient, and also the centuries of commentary like Rashi, or Aviva Zornberg) and we consider them all together, is like the way in which we consider the different aspects of the world, and ourselves, during the ‘omer counting period. One counts each day, and is mindful each day for whatever time we can muster. Occasionally, something learned enters the heart and soothes it – not necessarily with reassurance, but perhaps with a greater quality: clarity.

The texts brought together remind us of the complexity of life at any given moment; there are structures within which we walk, there are the politics of greed as well as communal well-being; and then there is the simple truth that, as Isaiah puts it

 צִיּ֖וֹן בְּמִשְׁפָּ֣ט תִּפָּדֶ֑ה וְשָׁבֶ֖יהָ בִּצְדָקָֽה

 Zion will be saved by righteousness, those who repent in justice (Isaiah 1.27) 

Having just come from a week in Israel and one in Palestine, I couldn’t agree more with the prophet.

In both places we are beset with voices raised in fear, anger and hatred, one against the other; in the U.S. where we live, and Israel, where the Jewish communal identity we are sustained by emerged. People in positions of power say that the common good is one which causes violence, hatred and suffering. 

But there is another voice that we can clearly hear when we uxtapose our sources: seasons will continue to cycle, and people in and out of power will continue to disappoint, and the bottom line has always been clear: HaShem dwells in kindness.

I invite you to watch the hour long recording of the joint Palestinian-Israeli Nakba Day commemoration that took place yesterday, May 15, and was broadcast internationally by the astonishing and courageous organization Combatants for Peace. They know what to say. Let the people who are actually there, on the ground, experiencing the harsh reality of war every day, reassure you: even as there is an endless capacity for gratitude in the world, so is there an abundance of that which we struggle for even more: the sense that there is enough love, enough mercy, and enough acceptance, for us all, as we are, without having to sacrifice any aspect of what makes us individually precious and communally irreplaceable. 

Our tradition tells us clearly what to say. Without justice there will be no peace; without peace there will be no thriving “between the river and the sea”. The voice calling for life, dignity and equality for all between the river and the sea right now, the one in danger of being overwhelmed at every moment, is nothing more or less than the spark of HaShem surrounded by the destruction all around it. 

Hating those who hate you is easy enough, but it is not from hate that one cultivates love. Perhaps on this day, at least, when the whole universe, Jewishly speaking, is pointing us toward gratitude, we might give it enough space in our hearts to nourish that tiny spark as it is reflected in what hope we are able to maintain, despite it all. Say: kindness is real. Love is strong. Hope endures.