This past week we began the fifth and final book of the Torah, titled D’varim in Hebrew, which translates in this context to “words” as in, “These are the words Moses addressed to all Israel,” from the first verse of the book; and Deuteronomy in English, which comes from the Greek for “second law,” i.e, deuteros + nomos.
Both of these titles are apt names for the book because the book consists of a series of speeches—one might even call them commencement addresses—by Moses to the Israelites as they get ready to embark without him into the Promised Land. (Of course law, and in many cases a reframing of that law, comprise a significant portion of those speeches, hence “second law.”)
But it is neither law nor words of encouragement with which Moses begins his first speech. Rather, it is with one of the features we think of as being most significant to the Jewish experience: history. Or, perhaps more accurately, memory.
Moses begins his speech with a revisitation of the memories of the Israelites’ journey up to that point. As renowned scholar Yosef Hayim Yerushalmi observes, “the Hebrew Bible seems to have no hesitations in commanding memory… Altogether the verb zakhar (remember) appears in its various declensions in the Bible no less than one hundred and sixty-nine times.”
And yet, while memory is central, history is peripheral. He observes that for millennia, history as a subject matter distinct from memory was not pursued by Jewish scholars.
What he meant by this, as elucidated by those who participated in our Torah discussion on Saturday, was that in reviewing our past, until recently, we as a people have been less interested in the “who/where/when” details of history as we have been in reflecting upon what the past asks, or even demands, of us. What it evokes in us and what that evocation calls forth within and from us.
He cites the Passover Seder as a fundamental example. “Here, in the course of a meal around the family table, ritual, liturgy, and even culinary elements are orchestrated to transmit a vital past from one generation to the next. The entire Seder is a symbolic enactment of an historical scenario whose three great acts structure the Haggadah that is read aloud: slavery—deliverance—ultimate redemption.” This ritual, he suggests, is less about recalling facts or historical context as it is identifying with the experience of leaving Egypt and carrying out our lives in a manner consistent with that experience. As the Haggadah itself says, “In each and every generation let each person regard themselves as though they had emerged from Egypt.” That memory should be imprinted upon our souls and instruct us to act in accordance with its values.
Which brings us to this week. He also points to Tishah B’Av as a holiday whose commemoration is about memory rather than history. He observes that for centuries, Jews probably cared little about what year the destruction of the Temple took place or under what historical circumstances. Rather the commemoration of Tishah B’Av invited us to identify with the experience of being in exile. Of allowing ourselves to grieve, fully, for our displacement and for the alteration of our lives. Of the attempt to find wholeness—and holiness—in brokenness.
We invite you to join us this Wednesday evening at 8 pm at this link for our Tishah B’Av commemoration.
