Since Clara and I were in the throes of child-rearing in the second
half of the Nineties, and in the ‘Naughties,’ we are of course painfully familiar
with the children’s cultural cues from that period. One television show, with which we’re quite
familiar, is The Rugrats. Of
course, ‘rugrat’ is a not-too-complimentary slang word for a toddler who,
having mastered crawling, always seems to be underfoot at inopportune moments.
At first we didn’t
like The Rugrats. The visuals
were too crude for our taste, and the voices were too exaggeratedly squeaky. But then we began to get the point. The show was not about the antics of
young children. Rather, it was the supposed
view of the greater world through the eyes and interaction of young
children. The children, through their
squeaky voices, were portrayed as engaging in thoughtful, analytical
conversations. But these conversations
could only be heard and understood amongst the children themselves. The adults around them were deaf to them;
they only heard squeaks, coos, and cries.
It was never quite clear to me whether the children deliberately hid
their conversations from the adults, or whether they simply communicated in a
part of the spectrum that was beyond the hearing and comprehension of the
adults.
I was thinking of
this when contemplating the opening verse of Vayikra, the Book of
Leviticus.
The content of the third
of the Torah’s books is, for the most part, a recitation of the duties of the
priests, now that the Ohel Mo’ed has been completed and is ready for
service. The greater world calls the
book, ‘Leviticus’ as a reference to the tribe of Levi, who were set aside to
serve Hashem and represent the people. This, by tending to the rituals that were to
invoke G-d’s presence among the Israelites.
In Jewish sources, the book is often referred to as Torat Kohanim – the
instruction book for the priests – a similar descriptive.
But the actual Hebrew
name for the book, Vayikra, is from its opening verse: ויקרא אל משה
וידבר ה' אליו מאוהל מועד לאמור – He called out to Moses, and Hashem
spoke to him from the Tent of Meeting, saying…
G-d called out to
Moses, and then He spoke. Why is it
necessary to use the two verbs here – He called out, and He spoke – regarding
G-d’s communication to Moses? The sages
wrestled with this, because as you well know, they considered no letter, let
alone word, in the Torah to be extraneous.
Those who know me,
know that I’m a nuts-and-bolts kind of guy.
I could never be a diplomat; I’m not one for flourishes. Just give me the facts, then your
interpretation of them. I won’t
necessarily agree with your interpretation, but after all that’s the nature of
interpretations; they’re open to…interpretation!
When my son, Eyal,
was young – actually, up until fairly recently – he would typically approach me
and start a conversation like this:
Abba?
Yes, Eyal?
Can I ask you a
question?
(sigh) Of course you
can.
I would sometimes think in my desire to get on with the
conversation, Okay, you’ve got my attention; now just get on with it! But of course, the two stage request for
attention was wholly reasonable. If the
subject of the conversation was to be a request of some sort, then Eyal wanted
to make sure he had my ear. He’s not a
stupid kid after all, my son! So I would
smile, sometimes through gritted teeth, and brace myself for what Eyal wanted that
time. My
get-down-to-the-nitty-gritty nature would sometimes cry out for Eyal to
dispense with the dance. Just tell me
what you want, so I can say…no! I guess
I was a mean father…
Hashem is not
portrayed as making requests. He is the
G-d who commands. So, why would
he need to ‘call out’ to Moses preparatory to commanding him regarding the priests’
duties? Did the Master of Creation need
to soften Moses up?
Hardly. Rather, the sages understood the ‘calling
out’ to be a comforting gesture. Hashem
is indeed a demanding G-d. When he
chooses someone – a people or an individual – for His service, he is not
talking trivialities. We can see this by
following the long string of interactions between G-d and Moses. From the capable, much is required. But Hashem is a merciful father – infinitely
more patient than me! He speaks the
language of man, in order to comfort men.
And part of the
‘language of man’ is not just the words and constructions of language. It is the intimacy of relationships. Hashem speaks privately to Moses. This, even though as Rashi points out, His
voice is powerful enough to shatter trees and be heard throughout the world. He chooses to speak in a small voice, in
private communication that cannot be heard by those around Moses. In a whisper, as it were. Because in the privacy of a whisper, trust is
built and cemented.
The building of trust – in this case between
Hashem and Moses – is what the notion of private speech, conveys. In The Rugrats, it was the children’s
struggles to understand a world full of adults, a race of aliens. In the Torah, it is Moshe Rabbeinu’s struggle
to reconcile a demanding G-d with a reluctant people.
G-d called out to
Moses in a gentle voice that only he, Moses, could hear. The effect, both desired and actual, was that
Moses could breathe easily, knowing that G-d was not pushing him harder than he
would be able to bear. A voice that can
shatter cedars, is a wonderful asset.
The will to draw back and speak in a whisper, is a wonderful virtue.
For a while, Eyal abandoned
his script for making requests. It was as
if he’d heard my inner voice, crying out for directness. Actually, it was Eyal’s imitation of German waiters.
The latter will stride up to the table, whip
out their book of dockets and announce: So! And the consonant sound was not the soft hiss
of an English ‘S’ released through an open tongue. Not, it was a demanding sound akin to the Hebrew
Tsadee, pushed out through a curled-up tongue! So! is
verbal shorthand for Hier kommt die rechnung! Here comes the accounting! This, as a prelude for the reckoning of the
bill. Only a German can load a single-syllable
word with such meaning. So! All right, Jewish mothers have a talent for
it also. Nu??! For a time, Eyal dropped his Abba? / Yes,
Eyal? / can I ask you a question? / (sigh) Of course you can dance in favour
of simply striding up to me and demanding: So!
We can laugh at So!
and at Nu??! But we can take comfort from the intimacy of
Vayikra. Shabbat shalom.
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