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6 HASHALOM October
2016
October
2016
HASHALOM
7
Anyone got
a watch?
MISHNA IMPOSSIBLE
Without defining exactly when the evening starts, the Rabbonim move
on to discuss the latest time that the Shema can be said. Apparently,
the Talmud is like that…
R’Eliezer said that the evening Shema could be said until the end of the
“first watch”. He reckoned that the night consisted of three watches,
each of which must be four hours long because in the Talmudic system,
the day and night are divided equally into twelve hours a piece.
And how do you know how to mark the watches? Well, according to
R’Eliezer, the first watch ends when a donkey brays (we know when
the watch starts, that is when night falls). Dogs howl at the middle
of the middle watch and, at the beginning of the last watch, an infant
nurses from its mother and a wife speaks with her husband.
Sounds a bit odd? Let’s unpack it… If each watch is four hours, then
the end of the first watch is four hours after nightfall. So, if day starts at
say 06h00 then the end of the first watch is two hours before midnight.
Which would be the latest time to say the evening Shema.
Why then do we identify the beginning of the last watch? Because, say
the Sages, an infant will nurse from its mom and a wife will speak to
her husband when the day is beginning. So, if you live in a dark house
and do not know when to say the morning Shema, breakfast for the
baby or the first reminder to take out the trash is a sign that it is time
to get up and daven!
Just when the discussion is getting interesting, the Talmud takes a
detour! The Rabbonim then discuss an experience that R’ Yose had
when davening in the ruins of Jerusalem and having a conversation with
Elijah the Prophet! This leads to debate about who can enter a ruin
and under what circumstances. The bottom line is this – do not enter
a ruin. Especially if a man is alone (because that is plain suspicious, you
know what I mean!) and generally, even if two men of good morals
choose to do so, they shouldn’t because the ruin might fall down. Or
there may be demons. Either way – not advisable.
Got it? Good!
Imust say – I admire the practical halacha – giving flesh to a commandment
to say the Shema with accessible and easily understandable steps. If its
late enough for the evening meal but still light enough to see what you
are eating, you can say the evening Shema (lying down time). In the
centuries before tick-tock watches, if you awoke and it was dark, you
just had to listen! If a dog barked or a donkey brayed, you could go
back to sleep. If the baby nursed or your significant other woke up and
spoke to you, it was safe to get up (arise) and say the morning Shema!
By Warren Shapiro
Tractate Berachot, 3a – 3b
www.djc.co.za
Troy Schonken
ISRAEL
Three Sounds
The best known sound in Jewish tradition is that of the Shofar. One
long blast called Tekiah, three short blasts called Shevarim and nine
staccato blasts called Teruah. The blasts are sounded in that order
except that after the third blast, the first one, the Tekiah, is sounded
again. Effectively, the second and third blasts are bracketed by the
Tekiah, the single long blast. What is the significance of this repeat?
Wordless Sound
Lets first talk about why we sound the Shofar. If we have something
to say on this holy day, why don’t we just say it? To trumpet
wordless sounds evokes caveman images of times when language
was nascent and the verbal spectrum was too limited to convey
complex ideas. We now know how to articulate, why don’t we?
The answer is that we articulate plenty on these days of awe. We
stand for hours on end, turning page upon page of prayer and plea.
But there is a level of emotion that cannot be articulated, it is a
depth beyond words. That camber can only be accessed through
wordless sound.
Every language has an equivalent of the word ouch. Yet, no matter
which language we speak, when we experience very intense and
pervasive pain, we just scream. We don’t say, I am in pain, we
don’t even say, ouch. Instead we emit a shout so guttural that it
communicates a pain beyond words. Words can’t capture such
deep and pervasive pain. It can only be conveyed through a shout.
The same is true of emotion. Some feelings can be communicated
through poetry. Deeper emotions, with a glance. Sometimes
emotions are so intense that they evince tears of joy. Some emotions
are so powerful, so deep, that all you can do is sigh and say aaaah.
Then there is the emotion beyond articulation. Even wordless
sound can’t capture it. We can’t convey it. That is what we feel on
Rosh Hashanah. It is a bond with G-d, so deep, vast and pervasive
that no humanly emitted sound does it justice. Instead we use an
instrument and sound a powerful blast. It blasts an opening in our
hearts powerful enough to release torrents of deeply held and long
repressed emotions. It blasts an opening in our souls through which
an untapped yearning for G-d cascades.
Replenishing the River
The metaphor given for this is a riverbed that goes dry. After years
of flowing, a combination of ecologic and climactic factors have
conspire to dry out the river. One day you realize that your river has
run dry. How do you refill it? You dig for a wellspring. When you
reach it, the water rushes to the surface and refills your river. The
river will now run full again, perhaps even fuller than before.
Our relationship with G-d sometimes runs dry when we take Him
for granted and pay more attention to our interests than to His.
Throughout the year we don’t notice that thewater levels are dipping.
There is still plenty of water left in the riverbed so we don’t take note.
But when the river runs dry we can’t keep lying to ourselves. We
have to sit up and take note.
On Rosh Hashanah we take a peek at our river and discover that it
is dry. We need to replenish the connection, but where do we take
it from? We need to find a new source because the old well has run
dry. This is why we dig deep into our souls, to a place that is yet
untapped, a place that is beyond articulation, to tap a new, fresh,
hitherto unexperienced, connection with G-d.
in the Holy of Holies
This is why the moment of Shofar sounding is so spiritual and
uplifting. We can feel the Shofar strum the strings of our soul.
We can feel the vibrations deep within and the stirring release of
powerful connections. This is why many Jews, who don’t frequent
the synagogue throughout the year, make a point of attending on
Rosh Hashanah. How can we miss it? It is the most meaningful and
powerful experience in the repertoire of our tradition.
We stand silently and listen, evoking memories of the High Priest
in the Holy of Holies on Yom Kippur, the holiest day of the year. He
too stood silently, breathing not a word. When he stepped out of
the Holy of Holies, he chanted a short prayer, with an emphasis on
short, but in the room he was silent.
The connection he felt with G-d in that holy space was indescribable.
Beyond words and beyond sound. When he stood there, he was not
a private individual. He represented the entire nation. Every soul was
within him. The reverence felt by him reverberated across every soul
in the nation especially those who were present in the Temple at
that time.
We don’t have the Temple today and aren’t able to experience the
connection with G-d that was present then. And though we await its
rebuilding every day with the coming of Moshiach, it is not here yet.
In the meantime we must make do with an alternative. The closest
we can get to that experience, is the wordless inarticulate blast of
the Shofar’s horn.
The Repeating Blast
We now return to the repeating of the Tekiah, the single long blast.
Of the three sounds, the long blast is the least articulate. Though the
other sounds are also wordless, they have character. The Shevarim
is a groan. The Teruah is a sob. They communicate a message that
tells us what to feel. The Tekiah is just a cry. A deep piercing wail that
says nothing. It comes from the depth and has no message beyond
the simple, I am here.
The groaning and sobbing evinces remorse for having allowed our
river to run dry. The Tekiah is the blasting that strikes a wellspring
to refill it. The first Tekiah is the agonizing cry from our depths. The
second Tekiah is G-d’s response from above. Just like our yearning
emits from our depths, G-d’s response emerges from His depths.
From the straits I call to G-d, from a vast expanse G-d responds. Our
first blast calls out to G-d from the straits, the deep confined place
that has never yet been tapped. The Divine response comes from
the celestial wellspring that abounds with love and forgiveness. It is
the wellspring that we sought to tap with our blast. The first blast
gives voice to our desperation. The second blast gives voice to His
answer.
In summation, the sounds of the Shofar communicate the following
message. Tekiah, we are desperate for G-d, we yearn for G-d from
our depths. Shevarim, Teruah, we are brokenhearted over having
allowed our relationship to run dry. Tekiah, G-d responds with love
and says, return my children return. No matter where you have
roamed, you can always come back home.
Rosh Hashanah
The Long Blast
Life’s Little Lessons - Jpost
By Rabbi Lazer Gurkow