"Hello
darkness, my old friend,
I've come
to talk with you again
Because a
vision softly creeping
Left its
seeds while I was sleeping
And the
vision that was planted in my brain
Still
remains
Within the
sound of silence."
You will no
doubt recognise the above lyrics, written by Paul Simon nearly sixty years ago.
In this
last week, as most of us sit isolated from the world, perhaps the words
resonate more than they would have done three weeks ago.
In the
recent past that we called 'February', our future confinement could only have
been imagined within the realms of a Hollywood disaster movie.
Yet, in the
not-so-merry month of March, many of us are trying to come to terms with the
sound of silence.
What does
silence sound like?
Is it loud,
is it quiet, is it non-descriptive?
Do we
notice it, and do we want to think about the lack of verbal patter that filled
our eardrums such a short while ago.? In the days when we socialised with our
friends and family, the ones who are now barred from visiting us, in the
ever-increasing and life-changing situation that has become our 'social
isolation'?
For some in
our community, the sound of silence can be deafening.
(א) וַיִּקְרָ֖א אֶל־מֹשֶׁ֑ה וַיְדַבֵּ֤ר ה' אֵלָ֔יו
מֵאֹ֥הֶל מוֹעֵ֖ד לֵאמֹֽר׃
"The Lord
called to Moses and spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting, saying:"
If we look
at the first word in this week's Parsha, after which both the Parsha and third
book of the Torah are named, we see something quite strange - the last letter,
the aleph is noticeably smaller than the rest of the word.
It is
almost as though the word should be read as 'Vayikar' – ‘and He happened
to meet’, as if Gd were meeting Moshe by chance.
The word
"vayikar" is derived from the Hebrew term for chance ‘k-a-rah’ (an idea mentioned by Rashi), the
implication being that the relationship between Gd and Moses was so informal
that Gd could speak with Moshe as you do when you bump into a friend whilst
going for your daily walk.
Gd didn't
need to call Moshe, he could just have a friendly chat, a chance meeting, as it
were, where both of them were busy getting on with their daily routine and
happened to bump into one another.
Following
through with this notion, we are left with the feeling that the Aleph seems to
be extraneous to the conversation between the two. Gd chatted with Moshe and
asked him to speak to the Israelites.
The verse
continues:
Speak to
the Israelite people and say to them: When any of you presents an offering of
cattle to the Lord, he shall choose his offering from the herd or from the
flock. If his offering is a burnt
offering from the herd, he shall make his offering a male without blemish. He
shall bring it to the entrance of the Tent of Meeting, for acceptance in his
behalf before the Lord....
Coming on
the back of the last few parashot in the book of Shemot, this seems like the
usual routine, namely, I, Gd will give you an instruction which you will then
convey to the Israelites. In this case, we're going to focus on Sacrifices,
particularly since you've just spent months instructing them on how to build
the Mishkan, the Tabernacle.
Now that
it's built and ready to go, this is how you can use the various artefacts that
were made under Bezalel's stewardship (he the architect and chief artisan of
the Mishkan).
But what
about that little, almost invisible, silent Aleph, the letter that changes the
entire meaning of the word and formalises the relationship between Gd calling
out to Moshe (Vayikra) and chancing upon him (Vayikar)?
Have you
considered that some of the most influential people are not necessarily the
most verbose?
In many
businesses, it is the the silent partner, the person who keeps out of the
limelight, who makes the most important decisions concerning the direction that
the business should focus on to grow and succeed.
Later in
Jewish history, the prophet Elijah is fleeing for his life from King Ahab. We
are told that he escapes to the wilderness, a day's journey from Beersheba.
(ט)
וַיָּבֹא־שָׁ֥ם אֶל־הַמְּעָרָ֖ה וַיָּ֣לֶן שָׁ֑ם וְהִנֵּ֤ה דְבַר־ה' אֵלָ֔יו
וַיֹּ֣אמֶר ל֔וֹ מַה־לְּךָ֥ פֹ֖ה אֵלִיָּֽהוּ׃ (י) וַיֹּאמֶר֩ קַנֹּ֨א קִנֵּ֜אתִי
לַה' ׀ אֱלֹקֵ֣י צְבָא֗וֹת כִּֽי־עָזְב֤וּ בְרִֽיתְךָ֙ בְּנֵ֣י יִשְׂרָאֵ֔ל
אֶת־מִזְבְּחֹתֶ֣יךָ הָרָ֔סוּ וְאֶת־נְבִיאֶ֖יךָ הָרְג֣וּ בֶחָ֑רֶב וָֽאִוָּתֵ֤ר
אֲנִי֙ לְבַדִּ֔י וַיְבַקְשׁ֥וּ אֶת־נַפְשִׁ֖י לְקַחְתָּֽהּ׃ (יא) וַיֹּ֗אמֶר צֵ֣א
וְעָמַדְתָּ֣ בָהָר֮ לִפְנֵ֣י ה' וְהִנֵּ֧ה ה' עֹבֵ֗ר וְר֣וּחַ גְּדוֹלָ֡ה
וְחָזָ֞ק מְפָרֵק֩ הָרִ֨ים וּמְשַׁבֵּ֤ר סְלָעִים֙ לִפְנֵ֣י ה' לֹ֥א בָר֖וּחַ ה'
וְאַחַ֤ר הָר֨וּחַ רַ֔עַשׁ לֹ֥א בָרַ֖עַשׁ ה'׃ (יב) וְאַחַ֤ר הָרַ֙עַשׁ֙ אֵ֔שׁ
לֹ֥א בָאֵ֖שׁ ה' וְאַחַ֣ר הָאֵ֔שׁ ק֖וֹל דְּמָמָ֥ה
דַקָּֽה׃ (יג) וַיְהִ֣י ׀ כִּשְׁמֹ֣עַ אֵלִיָּ֗הוּ וַיָּ֤לֶט פָּנָיו֙
בְּאַדַּרְתּ֔וֹ וַיֵּצֵ֕א וַֽיַּעֲמֹ֖ד פֶּ֣תַח הַמְּעָרָ֑ה וְהִנֵּ֤ה אֵלָיו֙
ק֔וֹל וַיֹּ֕אמֶר מַה־לְּךָ֥ פֹ֖ה אֵלִיָּֽהוּ׃
(9) There
he went into a cave, and there he spent the night. Then the word of the Lord
came to him.
He said to
him, “Why are you here, Elijah?”
(10) He
replied, “I have acted with great zeal for the Lord, the Gd of Hosts, for the
Israelites have forsaken Your covenant, torn down Your altars, and killed Your
prophets to the sword. I alone am left, and they now seek to take my life.”
11) “Come
out [of the cave],” He called, “and stand on the mountain before the Lord.” And
behold, the Lord passed by. There was a great and mighty wind, smashing
mountains and shattering rocks by the power of the Lord; but the Lord was not
in the wind. After the wind came an earthquake; but the Lord was not in the
earthquake.
(12) After
the earthquake, came a fire; but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the
fire came a still, thin sound.
(13) When
Elijah heard it, he wrapped his mantle about his face and went out and stood at
the entrance of the cave. Then a voice addressed him: “Why are you here,
Elijah?”
Sometimes,
we don't need Gd's fireworks to convey a message to us. Sometimes, it is the
still, thin, almost invisible, almost silent sound, that speaks the loudest.
Sometimes, it is the silence between the words that makes the greatest impact. Sometimes,
the silence of our thoughts that leaves its seeds, waiting to germinate into
fully developed ideas. That silence that grants us the opportunity to reflect,
think and internalise - separating the wheat from the chaff.
Vayikra
teaches us that yes, Gd did call out to Moshe, but at the same time, perhaps in
a quiet, modest manner. His voice enveloped in a still, thin, almost
imperceptible voice. From that silence, He created a sound that was worth
listening to.
Many of our
fellow Jews, countrymen and women are currently isolated at home, trying to
come to terms with their newly found unwelcome and frightening status.
Perhaps they are listening to the silence to perceive some welcoming
sounds.
We cannot
chance by them physically, but the sound of a telephone ringing and a friendly
voice travelling down the line can be so appreciated. We do not want them to
make a friend of their silence and at the same time, we need to be careful to
avoid deafening them with our extraneous sounds. We need to find the balance
between the two.
Perhaps we
can take the example of Gd, who spoke to Moshe, as a friend in a quiet and
reserved manner. Reassuring them that they will be fine, this too will pass and
most importantly, that they are not alone - even if they may feel they have
been accustomed to the silence that they thought was their companion.
Silence can
be deadly, but if used thoughtfully, can measure what we say and how we do
this.
Hello
darkness my old friend - let us bring light to their darkness and friendship to
their silence.
Shabbat
Shalom brachot to you and your families.
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