Counting and Grieving— Kendell Pinkney
As I have written a time or two before on this blog, Torah is a unique sacred text for us Jews in part because our yearly reading cycle means that the same old passages always meet us exactly where we are - year after year - and somehow feel new because our lived contexts have changed. As the strangely named sage, Ben Bag Bag, said of Torah in the often quoted passage from Pirkei Avot 5:22:
הֲפֹךְ בָּהּ וַהֲפֹךְ בָּהּ, דְּכֹלָּא בָהּ. וּבָהּ תֶּחֱזֵי, וְסִיב וּבְלֵה בָהּ, וּמִנַּהּ לֹא תָזוּעַ, שֶׁאֵין לְךָ מִדָּה טוֹבָה הֵימֶנָּה:
Turn it [Torah] over, and [again] turn it over, for all is therein. And look into it; And become gray and old therein; And do not move away from it, for you have no better portion than it.
Contained within this aphorism is the idea that Torah is an expansive world that has the potential to hold all that we need inside it. All we need to do is know how to read it, know how to turn it over and over and over and seek its wisdom. Sometimes this process is so involved that we must go quite deep inside the text to find its relevance. At other times, the surface themes and ideas in the text are so well aligned with our lives that it can feel uncomfortable even to look at the text. This week’s portion is such a text.
In Bamidbar, the first parasha of the book of Numbers, we encounter a scene in which the ancient Israelite men are being counted as part of a census according to their tribes and according to the age of those men who can engage in war. While the text speaks of a distant past, I’m sure that many of us cannot help but read those words and sense our minds turning to Israel and Palestine. Maybe we have friends and family there whose safety we are worrying about. Maybe we feel the overwhelming heat of frustration rise in our bodies as we think about the local leadership there. Maybe we feel ourselves desperately angered over the fact that in a land that is holy to so many people, only certain individuals have a status that is counted as worthy, while the running “census” of the dead and injured pile up as each day of conflict drags on. I imagine that even in naming these few examples, there are so many more instances of pain and frustration that we are carrying into this shabbat.
It is at times like this that Torah can feel insufficient and out of touch. I know that I have felt that at moments this week. When I feel that reality rise up inside of me, I often look to the ritual-poetic wisdom of spiritual leaders, or poets, who I admire, in the hopes that they can lift me up, even if only a bit. With that in mind, I offer this short joint prayer written by Rabbi Tamar Elad Appelbaum of ZION community in Jerusalem and Sheikha Ibtisam Maḥameed, a practicing Muslim woman living in northern Israel. While I cannot claim that it will serve as a sufficient salve for the wounds that cover our hearts, it has at least gotten me through this week. I hope that it might be of some comfort to all of us as we hold our hurt, our anger, and our hopes for peace. Shabbat shalom.
מלך חפץ בחיים
הרופא לשבורי לב ומחבש לעצבותם
שמע נא תפילת אמהות
שאתה לא בראתנו על מנת שנהרוג זה בזה
ולא על מנת שנחיה בפחד, כעס ושנאה בעולמך
אלא על מנת שנדע לתת רשות זה לזה לקיים את שמך
שם חיים, שם שלום בעולם
صلاة مشتركة
اله الحياة
الذي يُشفي القلوب الحزينة والمتألمة
استمع لو سمحت الى صلاة الأمهات
لأنك لم تخلقنا لكي نقتل بعضنا بعضاً
وليس لكي نعيش بحالة من الخوف, الغضب والكراهية في عالمك هذا
بل لكي نسمح لبعضنا البعض أن نذكر أسمك
اسم الحياة, اسم السلام في العالم
G-d of Life
Who heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds
May it be your will to hear the prayer of mothers
For you did not create us to kill each other
Nor to live in fear, anger or hatred in your world
But rather you have created us so we can grant permission to one another to sanctify
Your name of Life, your name of Peace in this world.
על אלה אני בוכיה עיני עיני יורדה מים
על ילדים בוכים מפחד בלילות
על הורים אוחזים עולליהם וייאוש ואפלה בלבם
על שער אשר נסגר ומי יקום ויפתחהו טרם פנה יום
على جميع هؤلاء أنا أبكي دوماً
أبكي خوفاً على الأطفال في الليالي
يحمل الآباء أطفالهم الصغار واليأس والظلام في قلوبهم
على البوابة التي أغلقت والتي لا نعرف من سوف يقوم بفتحها
For these things I weep, my eye, my eye runs down with water
For our children crying at nights,
For parents holding their children with despair and darkness in their hearts
For a gate that is closing and who will open it while day has not yet dawned.
ובדמעות ובתפלות שאני מתפללת כל הזמן
ובדמעות כל הנשים שכואבות את הכאב החזק בזמן הקשה הזה
הריני מרימה את ידיי למעלה אנא ממך אדוני רחם עלינו
שמע קולנו ה׳ אלהינו בימי הרעה האלה שלא נתייאש
ונראה חיים זה בזה
ונרחם זה על זה
ונצטער זה על זה
ונקווה לזה לזה
وبالدموع والصلوات التي أصليها طيلة الوقت
وبدموع النساء اللواتي يشعرن بهذا الألم القوي في هذه الأوقات العصيبة
أنا أرفع يدي اليك يا ربي أن ترحمنا
لنعيش مع بعضنا البعض
ونشفق على بعضنا البعض
ونواسي بعضنا البعض
ونأمل الخير لبعضنا البعض
And with my tears and prayers which I pray
And with the tears of all women who deeply feel the pain of these difficult days
I raise my hands to you please G-d have mercy on us
Hear our voice that we shall not despair
That we shall see life in each other,
That we shall have mercy for each other,
That we shall have pity on each other,
That we shall hope for each other.
Kendell Pinkney is the Rabbinic Fellow at Ammud: The Jews of Color Torah Academy
