Rivers-In-Paradise-1-21-20.Pdf

Prayer to the Eternal One

help me be aware that everything is now that time has neither beginning nor end that the forest of eternal awareness is all there is

and when i am ready to die i will hold this forest in my hands outstretched to greet the light and into it will place my most essential my most essential essence of self for i do not fear in the omnipresent forest of awareness

Henry Rasof

Temescal Canyon Press Louisville, Colorado 2020

No part of this book my be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author or his representative. To obtain such permission, please write or email him and be sure to describe your project.

Henry Rasof, Temescal Canyon Press 116 Monarch Street Louisville, CO 80027 [email protected]

Other books by the author, all published by Temescal Canyon Press The House (2008) Chance Music: Prose Poems 1974 to 1982 (2012) Here I Seek You: Jewish Poems for Shabbat, Holy Days, and Everydays (2016) Souls in the Garden: Poems About Jewish Spain (2019)

Web sites by the author henryrasof.com and medievalhebrewpoetry.org Almost all of the poetry and prose in this book also can be found on these web sites.

Works previously published in print and online publications "Cake." Jewish Currents "Inside Abraham's Tent." Numinous "The Talmud of Death." Poetica "Torah Tarot." X-Peri

Acknowledgments My humble gratitude is due Gideon Weisz for translating many of the snippets of poems in the essays in the section on Medieval Hebrew Poets. The author of this book takes responsibility for modifying or paraphrasing some of his translations.

Photographs Cover, Girona, Spain, at one time home to a thriving Jewish community headed by the famous medieval rabbi and kabbalist Moses ben Nachman, better known as Nachmanides or the Ramban. pp. 11, 19, 170, Patagonia, South America. pp. 44, 83, 134, & 169, Spain. p. 157, Colorado.

All photographs were taken by Henry Rasof, and all photographs in the montage on page 2 are listed just above.

For my teachers:

George Allen, good friend in Boulder John Ashbery, poetry mentor at Brooklyn College Rabbi Elisha ben Abuya (Acher), Talmudic sage whose "otherness" resonates with me Patti Berlau, late outdoor-activity buddy from Colorado Mary Alice Brown (née Marshall), inspiring junior-high-school music teacher Edward Cansino, late composer friend Chazal, ancient Jewish sages Harriet Clark, late close friend in junior and senior high school Aunt Sarah Cohen, beloved great-aunt; like me, never married Jonathan Dash, good friend in Brooklyn Professor Joseph Davis, mentor at Gratz College Marley Fein, late dear friend Rabbi Tirzah Firestone, mentor and stabilizer Bert Gassman, oboe teacher in college Rabbi Sarah Bracha Gershuny, supportive rabbi in Boulder Mirza Ghalib, Muslim Indian poet with whom I resonate Joseph Gold, violinist and oldest friend, from seventh grade Susan Jacobson, beautiful late friend who taught me about cooking in San Francisco in the 1960s Harris Barry Kram, late good friend from Colorado Jaime Leopold, late "big brother" in The Orkustra, the band we played in in the 1960s Bubbe Clara Leplin, my beloved maternal grandmother Ellen Levine, good friend in Brooklyn Rebbe Meir, Talmudic sage R. C. Morse, late close literary friend Naju, Japanese friend I met in Japan Beatrice Rasof, my sainted mother Bernard Rasof, my sainted father Elvin Rasof, beloved late uncle Jalaluddin Rumi, medieval Persian poet Sarmad, martyred Persian-Jewish poet Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, of blessed memory, inspiring teacher Susan Fromberg Schaeffer, mentor at Brooklyn College Rabbi Pesach Scheiner, Chabad rabbi in Boulder, CO Joseph Skufca, oboe teacher in junior and senior high school David Stoller, late close literary friend Rabbi Mordechai Twerski, first rabbi I ever knew Dina von Zweck, beloved late friend, genius Robert Wilking, inspirational high school physics teacher who encouraged me to do sports

Prayer to the Eternal One page 1

Dedication page 5

Contents page 6

Introduction page 8

Invocation: Inside Abraham's Tent page 10

Torah and Midrash page 11

The Torah of Sex Dialogue in the Desert Jacob and the Angel The Metaphor of the High Priest Torah Tarot

Talmud page 19

Coiling the Serpent The Talmud of Deat Chagigah h Talmud Tractate 14b, "The Orchard" The Zohar on Talmud Tractate Chagigah 14b, "The Orchard" The Myth of Rabbi Akiva Wheel of Fortune Acher: Are You the Other or Just Other?

Zohar page 43

The Forlorn Young Woman: A Recently Discovered Fragment of the Zohar The Forlorn Young Woman: Analysis and Interpretation Everything Is Music: The Zohar on Body, Soul, and Immortality Tikkunei Zohar

Samuel Hanagid and the "Law of Man" Gabirol at the Beach Moses ibn Ezra: The Wandering Jew From Zion to Prophecy: A Conversation with Yehudah Halevi Yehudah Halevi: My Heart Abraham ibn Ezra and the Metaphors of Imagination Further Reading

A Poetic Miscellany page 110

Protective Healing Prayer The Kabbalistic Unification of Harry and James Cake Ancient Jewish Love Potions and Charms Going Up in Smoke I Can Translate Amichai but Cannot Talk at All Waterlily Fires Into the Mojave I Drove: A Qasida Bulerias for the Second Emanation Jewish Dictionaries and Games Counting the Omer The Extra Sabbath Soul Ahavah

A Prosaic Miscellany page 134

The Wonderful Cholent: A Story of Rabbi Chaim Soloveitchik of Volozhin Are Diamonds Really a Girl's Best Friend? The Story of Diamante de León, A Medieval Jewish Wise Woman The Kamah Sukkah:The Definitive, Ultimate, Only Five-Worlds Guide to Sex in the Sukkah A True Legend of Father Jean and Rav Henri: From the Book of True Legends In the Beginning, God Created Adam, Lilith, La Petenera, and . . . Angels in Love: An Ancient Story

About the Author/Editor page 170

Here are poems and prose I never thought I would write, connected with a religion I was born into and never thought I would become not only interested in but sometimes fanatical about—although I hope I am now more passionate than fanatical. Along those lines my Jewish interests continue to develop in unexpected directions, from learning about and reading German and Austrian Jewish writers like Stefan Zweig and Lion Feuchtwanger, to planning trips to Brazil to try to find the grave of a great-uncle and to Portugal to learn about Portuguese Jews.

Almost all of the poems and prose also appear on my web site henryrasof.com, and the Imaginessays also appear on my web site www.medievalhebrewpoetry.org. Some of the work has been published in print or online literary magazines.

About the title of this book. Out of almost a page of possible titles and subtitles I chose Rivers in Paradise, although frankly I don't remember why. Curiously, just today, November 21, 2019, I was on YouTube listening to and watching the great guitarist Julian Bream play "Granada," one movement of Isaac Albéniz' Suite Española. After seeing a photo in the video of the Court of the Lions at the Alhambra—the spectacular Muslim palace in Granada, Spain, which I visited a number of years ago—I did some research and learned that each of the four parts of the Court contains a water channel that supposedly represents one of the four rivers described in Genesis 2:10:

A river flows from Eden, waters the Garden, and then separates into four rivers.

So maybe, I thought, the title didn't come to me out of thin air.

The title page has a photograph "depicting" the river flowing from Eden, the first page of each of the six sections of the book has a photograph of another river, and the page preceding the author/editor bio shows the primordial river again, illustrating that everything returns to its origins. The six section photographs are of a series of rivers, the first one emerging from the mountains, several others flowing through the countryside and two cities, and the final one emerging onto a plain. Although the biblical rivers supposedly correspond to four real rivers—the Pishon, the Gihon, the Tigris, and the Euphrates —no consensus seems to exist on which four rivers. The montage on page 2 shows the seven rivers.

In this book "rivers in paradise" is simply meant to be understood metaphorically and to represent different strains or categories of Jewish religious and secular literature. If you wish, you could think of all of the rivers as Torah and all of the literary genres as Torah, since water in Jewish religious texts often stands for Torah. Since there are many ways to spin this, don't be too literal with your counting or spin your wheels trying to find correspondences among the different rivers, the scenery, the divisions of the book, and so on. When I have tried this myself I only get mired in a plethora of possibilities, which can be interesting and illuminatory, of course, but sometimes the simplest reading is the most fruitful.

Invocation: Inside Abraham's Tent is the first Jewish poem I wrote, in Colorado after I had moved there from Boston. It was inspired by a class in Denver with Rabbi Mordechai Twerski.

The Torah and Midrash section contains poetry and prose somehow connected to the Torah, technically the five books of Moses but also, as was said, other or even all of Jewish religious texts.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 8 Although none of these pieces are traditional midrash, in a loose sense they are, since midrash means "to dig," as in to dig for meaning, and these works are digging for meaning. Ya dig?!

It is similar with the Talmud section. Here is work that explores or comments on the Talmud, the giant compendium of rabbinic teachings compiled over 1500 years ago.

The Zohar section contains works on the subject of Jewish mysticism, including ones that basically tackle problems and topics of interest to me using the rabbis from the Zohar to solve the problems and discuss the topics. By the way, the Zohar (often translated as the Book of Splendor or Radiance) is the most important work of Jewish mysticism.

The Imaginessays I wrote after two trips to Spain in search of the Jewish past and the traces it has left. On these trips I visited the graves of, and monuments honoring, Spanish–Jewish poets, philosophers, and mystics. I also visited places associated with Muslims and Christians. With boots on the ground, I got a feel for the places where these people lived. After the trips, I realized that the only female subjects in my poems were St. Teresa of Ávila and Queen Isabella, so some research uncovered a number of very interesting Jewish women from the past, who may or may not have existed. My book Souls in the Garden: Poems About Jewish Spain was inspired by these trips and further research.

The Poetic Miscellany is just that. Nothing more need be said.

The Prosaic Miscellany includes oddball pieces about angels, the Jewish festivals of Sukkot and Purim, and the Spanish folk figure La Petenera, who I argue is an incarnation of Lilith, Adam's first wife. Some of these pieces are touted as Purimspiels, whimsical or nonsensical pieces of writing technically connected with the Spring festival of Purim, but not always so.

Many of the sections or pieces contain a list of terms and names, notes, or books for further reading.

One last thought: Do the four rivers in the Torah have anything to do with the four worlds, or the seven rivers in my book with seven of the ten sefirot, in the kabbalistic mystical system? Do the seven rivers have something to do with the seven days of Creation? Possibly, but I leave it to you, the wise reader, to decide, since these references were not part of my thinking in organizing the book. Those of you who want to dig deeper into the connection between the river flowing from Eden and Jewish mysticism may want to read the very sophisticated A River Flows from Eden: The Language of Mystical Experience in the Zohar, by Melila Hellner-Eshed, trans. Nathan Wolski (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2009), in particular Chapter 11. And, those of you who wish to learn more about the four biblical rivers will find plenty of information in books and on the Internet.

A visitacion had not occurred for some time And now he sat on one side Of the long row of beat-up wood tables Piled high every which way with books In a language he did not understand He tried to explain That at one time blood sacrifice was the rule And asked why If blood were the essence of the life force He was being asked now to pour it on the earth And suck on the dry dead meat Then came a marvelous shimmering In the language he did not understand Translated into the language he did So that his brain was bifurcated, All thought dispelled, an odd quietude As he was being asked to stretch The part of his mind that understood To that part which did not Although the languages were not the same A visitacion had not occurred for a very long time So that now, with the darkness taking shape outside And overhead the clear penetrating ethereal white light Of the moon before the harvest, All before him began to dissolve into the simple Glow of the letters assembled on the page In such a way as to evoke in him a lost forgotten music So powerful he wanted to shout, cry, escape Into and through the roof Ascend from a base built of years of solitude Transfixed in waiting for the too good to be true To come true once and finally and for all His sexual power too stirred so that overall the effect Blocked even his compulsion to question everything, just Whew was all he could say after it was all over Shaking hands, I wanted to go through the roof, Not because I was mad, all mixed up . . . The shimmering blindingness of the light Permeated into his centres, circulating, Becoming the meat, bleeding now, explained, Power drawn from the words in the language not understood, Revitalized, coming down, once Starved, now only hungry. . . .

God consulted the Torah before creating the world. Midrash Tanchuma 1:1

In a beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. Genesis 1:1

In the Torah a famous passage compares sex With the floating visions of Jacob the Patriarch. In the desert, while wondering, it is said, He fell asleep under a date palm and awoke, A woman with red hair so high it stroked the sun standing over him Dripping water from her pitcher. Jacob Our Patriarch leapt her way, grasped Her left thigh with his right hand, squeezed So hard the pitcher exploded into a thousand pieces. Dates Dropping from the sky piled so thickly The woman’s name never escaped her mouth. She began dreaming, dancing, then reciting Poetry so sweet the dates dried up. Jacob smiled, laughed, released Her thigh, pressed her until the heat from his heart Penetrated deep. To the west Unbroken hills of purple rock glowed In the setting sun. Monsters flew To and fro. The desert night’s coolness settled Over the two sleeping bodies. Side by side They dreamed in the Torah a famous passage Compared sex with floating visions. Two are one, one is two, One one, two two. In all the four worlds, God said, I am the God of your ancestors, of you, Your descendants. I give you a passage that will be famous, Subjected to many interpretations. When you awaken, take the pitcher, Repair it, fill it with dates, eat, then with water, Drink. Love each other tightly, That no one can doubt the reality Of the hills, the colors, My Torah flowing Underground. In this Torah A famous passage will compare sex with the floating Visions of our Patriarch Jacob when he pulled Rachel From the skies into his sunburned arms. And they lay Beneath the date palm until the rock beneath Their head became the hundred First name of the Creator.

Terms

Torah—Strictly speaking, the five books of Moses, but often used to refer to all of the books of the Hebrew Bible (the Tanakh: Torah, Prophets, and Writings; the biblical books other than the New Testament), or to other Jewish religious texts, or even to Jewish beliefs and practices in general.

You were there in the beginning Whatever I say will make no sense Put the blade away I will arrange stones in a pillow A dream will descend a ladder We will wrestle for hours The future is yours Things will Be just Right

Notes

I will arrange stones in a pillow/A dream will descend a ladder/We will wrestle for hours—See Genesis 28:11–12 and 32:24–25.

Jacob wrestled the angel, Who dislocated his hip and blessed him. All who have wrestled the angel Know him by the way he walks. They wrestled in the desert, In the mountains, his parents’ home, In his own. He grasped her small waist, Squeezed hard. She Choked him from behind, blocked His sight. He drummed her ears And sat on her chest until she gasped, Kissed her neck, practicing for Esau. She Locked her thighs around his head, practicing For her wedding. They raced To the horizon, panting, Leapt into the sky, touched the moon, Returned, embraced the sun, swallowed The stars. Jacob wrestled the angel He had created and now wanted destroyed Although he loved her more than anything In his life. The angel wrestled her creator As if her life depended on it, which it did. She Knew if he struggled long and hard enough He would indeed win. He knew If he struggled hard and long enough he Would indeed win. In his dream A ladder had descended to earth and down Walked angels and up again. One of these angels, his angel, the angel He wrestled, was the most beautiful Of angels, almost a woman, and after He won the struggle she blessed him, and he Limped away, she was a woman, his Angel, who had blessed and scarred him For life. She Now returned as she came and Jacob left This place for another, limping, noticeably Out of joint, marked for life, but visible To those who knew that sign, who Themselves had wrestled that angel, their Angel, won, were blessed and marked, and Left her domain ...... And Jacob had a dream

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 14 In which a man with a knife sliced Through two ribs until they should have Separated but remained attached by sinew. The man cut and sliced With his razor-sharp serrated knife, But the bones remained joined. They Were so close the knife Could not go between. Jacob Moved toward the man and held the ribs Slightly apart, exposing the layer of soft fat Between them and told the butcher To cut them apart now, which he did. And Jacob beheld the separated bones With their soft edges and awoke with his own bones Aching as if with growing pains or Even more so with the sharp pain In his hip from the angel he had wrestled the night before. Jacob struggled with the angel and won. The oneness they had been was no longer And he felt the sharpness of the pain of being apart, The soft fatty edges of his being, tender and hurt. The angel was now diffuse. He wondered If the victory were real until he stood up to walk And felt again the forever change in his hip socket And remembered that in the real-seeming struggle With his angel he sometimes had felt the unreality Of its existence and wondered Whether the angel had created him as well.

Terms

In his dream/A ladder had descended to earth and down/Walked angels and up again—See Genesis 28:12. Jacob wrestled the angel,/Who dislocated his hip—See Genesis 32:24–25. Kissed her neck, practicing for Esau—See Genesis 33:4, in which Jacob's brother Esau kisses (or bites) Jacob on the neck.

On the day of at-one-ment We enter the holy of holies The temple of love

We tie a white thread around one leg And a gold chain around the other Lest the thread turn red and we cannot get out

We empty our hearts We beat ourselves For our faults and limitations

We acknowledge our contractions How we are both very far And very near

In order to ask our lover for forgiveness We must bare all to our higher self Must forgive ourselves

We must sacrifice what is precious to us Splash our blood in the four directions Prostrate ourselves on the cold earth

Only when we have emptied ourselves Have engaged fully Given totally

Then and only then Does the holy name emerge From the depths of our souls

A name without letters or sound A sound without a name Without dimension or number

It is neither symbol nor sign Nothing we do not already know A name neither sacred nor profane nor up nor down

Inner or interior Outer or exterior Neither esoteric nor exoteric

It is not a mystical name Nor a magical one It is and is not

It is not the name Intoned by the High Priest To which a whole nation bowed, kneeled, and prostrated

No. This is another name A name called by any other name A nameless name

Not alien and not terrestrial Neither godly nor human nor angelic Because there is no High Priest

Never was and never will be There was no temple in the desert No holy of holies and never will be

There were no animal sacrifices No scapegoats No Moses, Aaron, or Levites

There is and was none of this There is only the now between us right now In the space we create in ourselves in our selves

Terms

High Priest—In ancient Israel, the head priest. holy of holies—The innermost part of the Temple in Jerusalem. On the day of at-one-ment/We enter the holy of holies—On Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, the High Priest entered the holy of holies in the Temple in Jerusalem to seek atonement for the sins of the entire Jewish people. Splash our blood in the four directions—The High Priest splashed the blood of the sacrificed animals in the holy of holies on Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. We tie a white thread around one leg/And a gold chain around the other/Lest the thread turn red and we cannot get out—This was done to the High Priest before he entered the holy of holies in the ancient Temple in case he had sinned, not purified himself, died inside, and had to be hauled out.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 17 Torah Tarot tarot ro tarot tarot ro arot to aro ro to aro ro tarot tarot ro tarot tarot ro ro aro ro to arot ro orah ro orah orah rah torah rah rah torah rah rah torah rah torah torah ro torah torah ro aro ro aro ro tarot ro aro aro ro tarot tarot tarot tarot ro torah torah torah torah rah tarot tarot tarot torah rah torah rah torah tarot ro ro ata ata torah torah

Note

This is a sound poem, a hybrid poetic form in which sound and rhythm may predominate over meaning.

Try reading this poem aloud and playing with accenting the syllables, for example: ro ata ata torah torah could be read

Ro aTA aTA TOrah toRAH

Terms

Torah—Strictly speaking, the five books of Moses, but often used to refer to all of the books of the Hebrew Bible (the Tanakh: Torah, Prophets, and Writings—the biblical books other than the New Testament) or even to all Jewish religious texts, beliefs, and practices in general. Tarot—The Tarot is a deck of special cards used for fortunetelling. It is not part of the Jewish tradition, but interestingly, the High Priest—in ancient Israel the head priest—had a set of divinitory tools called the urim and thumin.

The purpose of wisdom is repentance and good deeds. Talmud Berachot 17a

Four entered the pardes, the orchard. Only one emerged unscathed. Or did he?

Embraced in the mysteries of the Talmud Are ordinary solitudes in which Even hemlock cannot take hold Days of nights, laughter Sublime, fruit For a king I have sought a way to tell you That one time your sullen lethargy Turned me away from the sun The trilling of your birds Evoked within me the noise Of the Yucatan, hot and steamy in November I tried to erase my past and live for the moment Which meant disappearing into your sheets For days on end The volcanoes of the moon would then erupt With monumental finality Argument within argument Your clear, pure essence Shaped into shapelessness Until a turnaround When fury Replaced calm and all was undone Word by word, deed by deed We whose lives had been spent in discussion Turned on each other to the point Of excommunication You coiled the serpent around me, I Threw away your pots, broke Your mirrors, symbolic heart The two diamonds meant to polish each other Simply ground to ugly, pocked dust and grit Until the whole show came to a halt A man is not this, a woman not that, they Share no nature but do share nature Especially when taut and torpid Not this, not that, not this, not that Like the great Hindu flabbergasters Who discarded half-truths, untruths, bad arguments Our nether sides in relationship struggled, Titans of a darker side, while our Lights were lean and lame You can reconsider and rewrite the past But cannot alter its verity, love,

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 20 The way candles burn to the bottom and may continue burning Yes, we could have lain In bed all day all night, reasoning from deep Legal, intellectual arguments to the point of orgasm Instead we chose separate cities, truths, complete Irrevocable fabrication, sound Within the still core of agreement, peace without friendship Drink up before the moon is full, hail Chief of the interwoven threads of argument Distributed for all time in gold-lettered, leather-bound volumes.

Terms and Names

Coiling the Serpent—A story in Bava Metzia 59b in the Talmud describes a disagreement among the rabbis. A group of rabbis surrounded the arguments of one rabbi with their own arguments in the way a snake coils itself around an object. Not this, not that, not this, not that—A Hindu method of argumentation aimed at arriving at a truth. It is similar to the method of negative theology to prove that God cannot be described: God is not this, not that, etc. "Flabbergasters" here are people who surprise or bewilder and have nothing to do with the method of argumentation. Why I chose this word I do not know! It's not this, not that, and so on! rabbi(s)—Jewish religious teacher(s). Talmud—Teaching, stories, conversations, and laws of the ancient rabbis compiled about 500 C.E. Yucatan—State in southern Mexico.

In the next world, said the School of Hillel, Nonbelievers will contemplate the world Beyond that world until they emerge Again in this one, that they might learn The telescoping principles of life. Shammai said, Those who forgo the truth Of this world or cloak it in misperceptions of the next They shall forsake eternal life. Still, When all is said and done, The easygoing truths of Hillel will win Over the stubborn hardness of my school. Rabbi Akiva said there is no afterlife. Why Should we be concerned with the world beyond this world When God is our province? Rav brought it all together, saying: In our time We venerate the sages of old but do not forget The music of the desert. We bake, eat bread, Give to the poor, and humble ourselves once a year in the dust. We watch the movement of Torah through the valleys, Under the great desert, make love to our wives or husbands, Saturate ourselves in the scents of life. Those who obsess about death are distant from God. There will be no red heifer in our time to purify them. We must purify ourselves in the eternity of this world. Only then will the next Come into view like the rising moon emerging From cloud wisps

Terms and Names

Rabbi Akiva (50–135 C.E.)—One of the most important sages in the Talmud. Rav (Abba Arikha) (175–247 C.E., b. Babylonia)—Famous ancient Jewish sage. red heifer—Passages in Numbers 19 describe a ritual for purifying someone who has become impure through contact with a corpse: a red heifer (cow) is burned, the ashes mixed with water, and the water then sprinkled on the impure person. School of Hillel—A school of Jewish law founded by the scholar Hillel the Elder (ca. 110 B.C.E., b. Babylonia) known for its lenient approach to legal interpretation, as opposed to the school led by Shammai, which favored stricter interpretations. Shammai (50 B.C.E–30 C.E., b. Israel)—Jewish scholar and head of a school of Jewish law with stricter interpretations than those of the School of Hillel. Talmud—Teaching, stories, conversations, and laws of the ancient rabbis (religious teachers) compiled about 1500 years ago. Torah—Strictly speaking, the five books of Moses, but often used to refer to the complete Hebrew Bible (the Tanakh: Torah, Prophets, and Writings; the books other than those in the New Testament), or to other Jewish religious texts or even to Jewish beliefs and practices in general.

This famous section in the Talmud relates the story of four rabbis who entered the pardes, translated "orchard" or "paradise" but which also could mean (and sometimes is written prds) the four levels of biblical interpretation: peshat, literal; remez, symbolic; derash, metaphorical; sod, secret.

The story relates that one rabbi died, one went crazy, one became a heretic, and one was unscathed.

Following are three "commentaries" on this section of the Talmud: The Zohar on Talmud Tractate Chagigah 14b, "The Orchard"; The Myth of Rabbi Akiva; and Wheel of Fortune. After much waffling, I decided to put the Zohar commentary here rather than in the next section of the book, Zohar.

A newly discovered and edited chapter of the Zohar (the Book of Splendor or Radiance), the Jewish mystical work attributed to the second-century Palestinian Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai but more likely composed in Spain during the late thirteenth century, early fourteenth century, and probably later as well.

The Talmud says: "Four entered the orchard—the pardes—paradise."

Rabbi Shimon, the Holy Lamp, opened: "The orchard is the upper Garden of Eden, where our souls go on Shabbat and when we die. It also is the place where the Holy One, blessed be He—the ultimate reality—resides, and where the mystery of existence is revealed."

His son, Rabbi Eleazar, added: "The pardes—or prds—also is the four levels of textual interpretation— peshat [literal], remez [symbolic], derash [metaphorical], and sod [secret/hidden]. These correspond as well to the four rivers branching out from the river in the Garden of Eden. And the holy Shekhinah (in one reading, the feminine aspect of God) is called 'the Pardes of the Torah,' since she includes all four levels." (1)

The Talmud says that one of the four (sages) who entered—Rabbi Akiva—warned his three companions: "When you arrive in the orchard and reach the pure marble stones, do not to say 'Water, Water."'

Rabbi Yose asked: "Why did he say that? Why did Rabbi Akiva say 'Water, Water' and not just 'Water'? Was it just for emphasis?"

"Rabbi Abbahu said: "Maybe there wasn't any water, so saying the words was meaningless."

Rabbi Isaac said: "Don't say 'Water, Water'; say 'pure marble stones.'"

Rabbi Abbahu said: "Don't say 'Water, Water.' Just say 'Water' one time. Keep it simple."

Rabbi Abba said: "For emphasis. Water was everywhere, from the four rivers flowing through the Garden. Water, Water, everywhere, polishing the underlying stone firmament smooth as pure marble stones. In addition, the two layers of water represent the upper Garden of Eden and the lower Garden of Eden, with the Earth between."

Rabbi Yose said: "Like a Hillel sandwich on Pesach. Or the parting of the Red Sea—dry seabed in the middle, sea waters on either side. Stay focused on the miracle."

Rabbi Hiyya said: "The stones are heaven, which the Holy One separated from the waters during Creation. Rabbi Akiva was telling his companions to stay focused on the majesty of the all-powerful Holy One and not be distracted by anything they saw on their journey."

Rabbi Yose said: "The stones—the firmament—are the cornerstone of Creation, not the waters."

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 24 Rabbi Yehudah said: "There are different kinds of stones, some forming the stone tablets of the Commandments. Their wise words are like deep waters." (2)

Rabbi Pinchas said: "Rabbi Akiva warned not to mistake the pure marble stones for water. Do not mistake reality for appearance."

Rabbi Isaac said: "Do not mistake appearance for reality."

Rabbi Yose said: "But do not ignore appearance, for without appearance, there would be no reality."

Rabbi Isaac said: "When we look at clear water we can see what is beneath but also might think there is no water, only what is underneath, in this case the pure marble stones."

The other rabbis were silent, looking a little confused.

Rabbi Abbahu said: "Maybe there's nothing more than meets the eye."

Rabbi Yehudah said: "Everything is appearance. Nothing is what we think it is. Things are not what they seem. Let us look beneath the surface to try to ascertain the ultimate reality, to separate the ephemeral from the tangible, to discover who and what we and the world really are, beneath appearances."

Rabbi Hiyya said: "There's more to life than meets the eye, yes, something deeper, like listening to a brook or being compassionate. It's an illusion to think that what is in front of us is all there is—"

Rabbi Abbahu countered: "But it also may be an illusion to think there's more."

Rabbi Hiyya said: "Let us be careful not to think either the waters or the marble stone is the ultimate reality. Maybe the stone only seems more real than the water when viewed through the water."

Rabbi Yehudah then said: "There has to be an ultimate reality, and that is the Holy One, blessed be He. Everything else is illusion, generated by our minds."

Rabbi Hiyya opened his mouth as if to speak, but Rabbi Hizkiyah said: "The first water percolates through the stones and goes underground, forming a second, underground pool of water. Allow mayim hayim, the waters of life, to penetrate our closedness, our hardheartedness, so they can pool in our deepest places, creating a reservoir of God's abundance and lovingkindness to sustain us."

Rabbi Yehudah said: "Two wells satisfy our heart, so do not get caught up in the material world."

"Amen," the other rabbis said.

Rabbi Abba said: "The two waters are the waters of life. Do not mistake the inanimate for the animate."

Rabbi Shimon said: "At one time the Shekhinah dwelt in the rock, the Torah. Moses struck the rock twice, corresponding to the two waters. Then the Shekhinah left the rock and went into exile."

Rabbi Shimon continued: "The waters are all around the firmament, surrounding it, and are one water, not two. The firmament before the Holy One divided the waters is like the fetus in utero, surrounded by amniotic fluid bathing it with nutrients."

His son, Rabbi Eleazar, said: "And since Torah is water, the source of life, the world was bathed in Torah before it was born."

Rabbi Shimon then said, "Come and see: The two waters represent dualism. Rabbi Akiva warned not to describe reality in dualistic terms. God and humans, life and death, light and heavy, light and dark, good and bad, right and wrong, oral Torah (the Mishnah, part of the Talmud) and written Torah—these are dualities, represented by the two waters. Do not mistake such pairs (the waters) for reality (the pure marble stones), which is oneness."

He paused before going on: "The waters are life and death; the pure marble stones, immortality. In life we are sandwiched between life and death, but if we can transcend reading our lives this way, we can transcend both."

Everyone paused a moment to take in these words.

Rabbi Isaac said: "Drink the waters of life and we are immortal."

"Amen," the other rabbis said.

Rabbi Eleazar changed the subject and said: "There are four levels of interpretation, pardes, or prds. Peshat is the surface meaning. That is the first 'water.' This is the level of appearance—what you see is what there is. Next is remez, the symbolic meaning. That is the second 'water.' At this level we perceive the symbolic nature of things. For example, water stands for 'Torah.' The two waters represent the Talmud—the oral Torah—and the Torah—the written Torah. The pure marble stones represent a deeper level of meaning—beneath appearance is solid reality; this is derash, the metaphorical meaning. Finally, we have sod, or secret, related to yesod, foundation, which supports the other layers and the other interpretations. Here too the dualisms the Holy Lamp spoke of disappear and all is one. Ironically, although this is the secret level, the mystery is that everything is just as it appears, without mystery!"

Rabbi Yose said: "One water is the oral Torah; the other, the written Torah. There are no distinctions between them: Saying that one, the Talmud, appears to be a commentary on the other, the Five Books of Moses, is to miss the fact that they are one and the same Torah. There is only one water, one Torah."

Rabbi Pinchas returned to the previous thread dealing with what is or isn't real: "There is no separation between the waters and the stones. Neither is more real, and the apparent differences are illusory. Not only are the differences illusory," he continued, "but the waters and pure marble stones are as well—"

Rabbi Isaac interjected: "The rabbis thought they were going to enter the orchard—paradise—but unless they focused only on the bedrock foundation of the orchard, what they encountered would not be the orchard, but rather an illusion, a mirage. Things would not be what they seemed, distorted by the waters of illusion."

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 26 Rabbi Yose broke in: "Appearance clouds reality, so perhaps the explanation too is illusory. And, if we look at the world as if everything is illusion, then the world itself becomes illusory."

Rabbi Pinchas said: "It's not that everything is illusion, rather that the concepts of separation and duality are illusory. Everything is illusion except illusion."

"Even ourselves?!," the rabbis responded in spontaneous unison, disturbed by the thought that they might not exist, or might not exist in a form they thought they existed in.

At that very moment of collective existential self-doubt, seemingly materializing from thin air, a musician in a seated position joined the rabbis, who suddenly grew silent. The musician then stood up, cleared his throat, and began humming a wordless melody while the rabbis were silent, absorbing all that had been said. The rabbis and musician then said another "Amen!" in unison, reinforcing the concept of unity in diversity and diversity in unity.

Rabbi Abba now turned his thoughts to the four rabbis who entered the pardes: "Elisha ben Abuya saw only the first layer. He thought his faith could not explain everything, so after leaving the pardes he sought another path. In retaliation, the other Talmudic sages stripped his name from the Talmud and just referred to him as Acher—'Other'—although they kept his stories and exegeses."

Rabbi Abbahu said: "He didn't believe in God. He only believed in what he could see."

Rabbi Abba said: "Ben Azzai thought the waters were illusory and saw only the marble stones, the abode of the Holy Ancient One. Glimpsing God without the protection of illusion and appearance, he burned up: Human beings need something to shield them from the flames of the ultimate reality."

Rabbi Abbahu said: "He saw God as Moses saw the burning bush."

Rabbi Abba said: "Ben Zoma also glimpsed God, in the second layer of water, the layer of symbol. He thought nothing—God, reality, illusion and appearance, symbol and symbolized, metaphor and allegory, dualism and nondualism—was real. He became caught in a hall of mirrors, unable to tell reflection from original image. Marble stones and waters, their differences and nondifferences, what they were or stood for, and so on—they all were the same or not the same. The substrates of reality shifted constantly like desert sands during a sirocco, leaving him no solid ground. Though this sort of thinking protected him from burning up, he lost touch with reality and lost his mind."

Rabbi Abbahu said: "He tried digging too deeply, thinking he would find the secret of existence."

Rabbi Shimon echoed the words of Rabbi Abbahu: "Do not to dig too deeply into certain mysteries. Look too hard and risk losing all sense of self and everything loses its reality, as happened to Ben Zoma."

The other rabbis and the musician shouted "Amen!" again.

Rabbi Shimon now said: "The orchard is the hermitage of the merciful, compassionate, loving Holy One, who in fact embodies the Beloved, Love. Acher lost his faith because he saw himself as separate from the Beloved and so couldn't really become One with the Beloved. Ben Azzai dropped his guard

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 27 too much, got too close, and burned up. Ben Zoma also got too close, lost himself in union with the Beloved—becoming 'madly in love'—and went crazy."

Rabbi Abba picked up where he had left off with the rabbis but went in a new direction: "The four rabbis are the four worlds. Acher is asiyah, the world of action. Ben Azzai is yetzirah, the world of formation. Ben Zoma is beriah, the world of creation. And Rabbi Shimon is atzilut, the world of emanation. These worlds comprise many aspects and are the building blocks of matter—the pure marble stones, of which there were four! But, do not say 'Water, Water,' because there is only one water and all four worlds are needed for a complete world."

Another "Amen!"

Rabbi Isaac now asked: "What about Rabbi Akiva, the teacher of Rabbi Shimon? How did he manage to ascend, perhaps reach the heavenly throne, and exit the garden intact? Some say it was because he was married and thus had his feet planted more solidly on the ground."

Rabbi Abbahu said: Rabbi Akiva stayed centered, and although he allowed himself to approach the Beloved, he also retained his sense of self so that he neither lost faith, nor burned up, nor went crazy.

The Holy Lamp then reminded everyone of the story of Rabbi Akiva's upbringing: "He was illiterate and frustrated at his lack of knowledge and understanding. Then at age forty he had an experience at a well that changed his entire life and set him on the path to becoming such a great scholar and man. In response to watching water from the well wearing away stones, he said: 'If what is soft wears down the hard, all the more shall the words of Torah, which are hard as iron, hollow out my heart, which is flesh and blood!'" (3)

Rabbi Yose, who had started the whole discussion of Rabbi Akiva's imperative to not say "Water, Water" when the four rabbis came to the pure marble stones, sighed and said. "Ah. Ribbono Shel Olam —Master of the Universe—Rabbi Akiva was referring to the higher Torah that would be learned in the pardes. The four rabbis all wanted to learn that higher Torah, but only Rabbi Akiva succeeded. The others, even if not saying 'Water, Water,' thought the words when they entered the pardes, and failed."

The other rabbis sighed along with Rabbi Yose.

At that moment Rabbi Yose, who had been the first rabbi to ask why Rabbi Akiva said what he said before the four rabbis entered the orchard, stood up, practically shooting into the air, and shouted a very loud Aha! "It is clear to me now why he warned not to say "water water" when the rabbis saw the pure marble stones."

"Why?" the other rabbis replied almost in unison.

"Because," Rabbi Yose said, "his experience that transformed him into such a great Torah scholar came from the realization that water, though soft, can wear away stone."

All the rabbis except Rabbi Shimon looked puzzled by his answer.

Rabbi Shimon then said: "In the story in the Talmud, three of the rabbis saw only one part of the

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 28 picture. My master Rabbi Akiva was the only rabbi who saw the whole picture. He understood that you can't separate the waters from the marble stones. They form a complete picture and cannot stand alone.

"Any interpretation or reading of reality must take into account all the levels of meaning, and when it does, it reflects the fourfold nature of being and existence, that it comprises appearance, symbol, metaphor, and mystery, which cannot be separated from one another without disastrous consequences to our psyches and also to the fabric of reality itself. Just as a text cannot be stripped of its peshat—its plain meaning—all four levels are needed for the world to hold together. Without any one of these elements the structure of the universe would collapse. This is why Rabbi Akiva was the only one of the four who emerged unscathed after leaving the orchard."

Rabbi Yose jumped in: "Rabbi Akiva remembered his experience and emphasized the importance of the water by repeating the word."

Rabbi Abba then said: "That is what I said before, namely, that the repetition was for emphasis only."

There was a murmur among the companions.

Rabbi Yose, the son of Rabbi Shimon ben Lekunya, said: "However, later on he was flayed alive by the Romans. 'Whoever speaks falsehood will not be established before My eyes' (Ps. 101.7). Perhaps he was wrong or less wise than is thought, his understanding no better than that of the others."

There was a general silence as the rabbis and the musician took in these words.

Rabbi Shimon disagreed: "Like all righteous people, Rabbi Akiva atoned with his suffering for the sins of his generation." (5)

Rabbi Abba returned to the four worlds: "Acher's world is doubt, which characterizes the lowest world. Ben Azzai's world is death, which characterizes the next world. Ben Zoma's world is madness, which characterizes the next world. And, Rabbi Akiva's world is divinity and harmony, which characterize the highest world. Doubt leads to spiritual death, which in turn leads to madness, but with proper preparation and training, madness can lead to the kind of harmony needed to enter paradise and approach God in all His glory."

The other rabbis and the musician remained quiet.

The musician then adjusted his brightly colored hat, brushed some hairs from his tunic, strummed the odd-shaped musical instrument he was holding, and began playing a tune with a seven-note scale. He then stopped strumming for a moment and said: "Four worlds, or four levels of interpretation, and three rabbis: the number of the lower sefirot in the kabbalistic tree of life."

The musician said: "Rabbi Akiva is the sefira daat, the intelligence unaffected negatively by experience.

Rabbi Abba said: "There are ten sefirot in the tree of life, not seven or eight."

Rabbi Abba now said: "Including daat makes eleven sefirot."

The musician said: "Since the two waters are really one, as the Holy Lamp says, there are really just ten sefirot—"

Rabbi Eleazar interrupted: "The two waters represent two of the sefirot: Chesed, lovingkindness and openness; and gevurah, judgment and boundaries. The pure marble stones represent tiferet, which is God and harmony. The orchard is the totality of the sefirot. To avoid losing faith, death, and insanity, steer the middle course, harmony and balance."

Rabbi Abbahu said: "That is what Rabbi Akiva did."

At that moment the musician played a strange, unworldly song on his strange stringed instrument that enabled all of the assembled rabbis to have an almost visceral taste of what Rabbi Shimon was talking about. It was as if the musician were playing four melodies at the same time that sounded at various moments in no particular order like polyphony, monophony, harmony, dissonance, and silence. With each shift the rabbis experienced themselves and the world in a different way, as if listening to each of the four Talmudic sages singing his own story. In no special order the rabbis thought everything was just the way it seemed, a symbol for something else, an allegory, a mysterious secret, or various combinations of these.

The musician then said: "In spite of what I just played and you just heard, to what loss seeing the world in just one of these ways? For example, to perceive life as pure symbol and nothing more, navigating day and night through a forbidding landscape of symbols of trees, wild animals, plants, people, not the actuals themselves? What loss from living in a world of insanity, with men and women forgetting who they really are, colliding in the shadows as if swimming in the dark waters of an underworld? Perhaps there is no actual music, only music notation. . . ."

In unison, the rabbis began to weep.

Rabbi Yesa, quiet until now, said: "Methinks our musician is none other than Rav Hamnuna Sava, visiting our modest assembly on Earth to share Torah wisdom through words and music and make sure we stay on the right path."

The musician again began humming his wordless tune and then, as mysteriously as he had appeared, seemed to disappear into thin air.

Collectively the rabbis exclaimed: "Where'd he go?!," and at that very moment . . . at that very moment, I felt as if I were waking from a dream . . . or perhaps falling asleep and beginning to dream . . . or caught in a web of illusion, unable to distinguish appearance from reality, trapped in the same hall of mirrors that had driven Ben Zoma insane. In that state . . .

. . . I walked out of my house onto my deck, sat on the old couch, and watched a rabbit, a squirrel, and a blue jay eating Italian prune plums, each in its own way. . . .

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 30 The rabbit sits on its hind legs, chewing. The squirrel scurries up and down the trunk and branches, retrieving the plums in its mouth. The jay lands on the fruit and pecks at it, eventually knocking it to the ground. An owl swoops down from its roost, disturbing the other animals. Other birds drink from a large pool of clear water covering pure marble stones resting in turn on another layer of water. What more can be learned from life than can be learned from watching these and other animals?

No one else is here. No Holy Lamp and his circle of lesser lights discussing the heady matters of reality and illusion. No strange musician singing otherworldly songs and playing a strange musical instrument. Oh, but wait. Someone—or something—is here: The ghosts of two long-dead friends hovering nearby, waiting for something, but for what, I do not know. Suddenly the world is bathed in sadness.

Could there be anything more than this, anything deeper, more real, less illusory, than the ghosts of these friends hovering close by, for all appearances intruders from another—the other—world? R. C. Morse and David Stoller, poet and novelist, respectively, one dead of AIDS at thirty-five, the other brain-dead, then just plain dead, at twenty-eight (as I recall) after heart surgery to repair a congenital hole in his heart.

They harbor neither surface nor secret meanings, no layers or levels of significance. Whatever the strange musician said about seeing the world as just pure symbol, these long-dead friends are symbols or metaphors for nothing but themselves. As Jean Cocteau, the twentieth-century French surrealist poet, filmmaker, and artist, said about his French compatriots: If they "don't understand, therefore it must be a symbol. . . ." They think: "Either what I'm seeing doesn't mean anything or else it means something different from what I am seeing, and that something different may be hiding a symbolic meaning." (4)

"Amen," I feel like shouting.

The words of the sages dissipate in the air, ascending like incense from the ancient Temple after a sacrifice. They have become ethereal abstractions, perhaps like the glassy water covering—and being covered by—the marble stones in the Talmudic story of the four rabbis who entered the pardes. But, the two friends—their shades, rather—remain more infinitely real.

I take a deep breath and ease beneath the shimmering top layer of water in a pool, running like a sheet of glass over the entire specter of reality that composes, that supposedly composes, the world we know, with which we are familiar. I see the top layer of water, the pure marble stones, and then the bottom layer of water, replicating in a way the upper and lower waters and the firmament described in Genesis, and cry out: "I cannot—no one can—possibly know which is more real or the most real or what is real of any of this: water or stones, appearance or reality, illusion, which of the descriptions and interpretations, whether the rabbis are real, their story in the Talmud, the Talmud itself!" I then realize I again am descending the same slippery slope taken by Ben Azzai, who, becoming lost in the hall of mirrors, went mad, but quickly catch myself and quietly say aloud but to myself (or so I think):

"Come and see. The Talmud compares its scholars to nuts, quoting Song of Songs (6:11): 'I went down into a garden of nuts. . . .' Four of them rode a chariot to the highest heaven and then embarked on a further journey to the pardes, the orchard. These very same sages and the later medieval mystics thought they understood what they saw but also became trapped in the same hall of mirrors, piling one interpretation on another, until—well, enough!" The animals seem to turn toward me, as if hearing me raise my voice.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 31 All there is, is in front of us, manifesting most brightly in friendship, fellowship, relationship, and love. In moderation, the complex discussions are interesting and nourish us, but ultimately they are ephemeral—for example, whether the world exists or exists as we perceive it. We do not need to shed our beliefs, nor do we need to touch God or penetrate all of life's mysteries. And yet . . . even moderation has its limits and can test us sorely.

Rabbi Akiva's faith was tested to the extreme, and unlike Acher, although he submitted to the extreme pain of worldly reality, he came through spiritually intact, if physically stripped to his sinews and arteries. This is the significance of his martyrdom and the lesson for the rest of us: There is no easy path to understanding reality, whatever path we find ourselves on. But, when we do find our path, suffering can open us up so that we are more fully human. We discover that our skin—our appearance —is only part of this reality. As long as we do not allow ourselves to feel separate from others, we can allow our own suffering to help redeem the rest of humanity, in turn helping us reach the deeper levels of our own existence and bringing us nearer to God.

That said, these two poor friends, doomed to wander in the garden of my consciousness, with me watching animals and possibly the animals in turn watching and possibly even listening to me—these two friends will accompany me, like angels, wherever I go, reminding me of the basic absurdity of anyone’s thinking things are or are not what they seem, even when played on the instrument of the kabbalistic mind—or minds—shining forth from the Zohar, the holy Book of Splendor.

Notes

1. 'the Pardes of the Torah.' Isaiah Tishby, The Wisdom of the Zohar: An Anthology of Texts, trans. David Goldstein (Oxford, England, and Portland, OR: The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 1989), vol. 3, p. 1090. 2. "Their wise words are like deep waters." See Proverb 18:4. 3. 'If what is soft wears down the hard, all the more shall the words of Torah, which are hard as iron, hollow out my heart, which is flesh and blood!' Judah Goldin, trans., The Fathers According to Rabbi Nathan [Avot de-Rabbi Natan] (New York: Schocken Books, 1955), p. 41. See also Job 14:19: "Waters wear away rock." 4. [If they] "don't understand, therefore it must be a symbol. . . ." They think: "Either what I'm seeing doesn't mean anything or else it means something different from what I am seeing, and that something different may be hiding a symbolic meaning." Jean Cocteau, Two Screenplays: The Blood of a Poet, The Testament to Orpheus (New York/London: Marion Boyars, 1985), p. 75. 5. See Zohar 3:218a and footnote 86 in The Zohar: Pritzker Edition, translation and commentary by Daniel C Matt (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press), vol. 9, p. 529. See also Isaiah Tishby, The Wisdom of the Zohar: An Anthology of Texts, trans. David Goldstein (Oxford, England, and Portland, OR: The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 1989), vol. 3, pp. 1424–1426.

Terms and Names

Italicized terms are Hebrew words.

Acher—See Rabbi Elisha ben Abuya. Elisha ben Abuya—See Rabbi Elisha ben Abuya. four worlds—A reference to the four-worlds model of Creation, a kabbalistic model that posits four

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 32 worlds, four levels, from lowest to highest: asiyah, the world of action, the physical world; yetzirah, the world of formation, the emotional world; beriah, the world of creation, the intellect; atzilut, the world of emanation, the spiritual world. Hillel sandwich—On Passover, a sandwich made by pressing bitter herbs (usually horseradish) and a sweet mixture (usually apples and nuts) between two pieces of matzoh (the ritual "bread eaten on the spring festival of Passover, celebrating the exodus of Jews from ancient Egypt). Named after the seminal early rabbi Hillel the Elder (110 B.C.E.–10 C.E., b. Babylonia). Holy Ancient One—The primordial divine image. Holy Lamp—Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai. kabbalistic—Having to do with the kabbalah, the main stream of Jewish mysticism. kabbalistic tree of life—A visual image displaying the sefirot. oral Torah—The Mishnah, part of the Talmud. Orchard—See pardes. pardes—The orchard, paradise, and (sometimes written prds), the four levels of biblical interpretation. See the beginning of the actual essay. Pesach—The spring festival of Passover, celebrating the exodus of Jews from ancient Egypt. prds. See pardes. rabbinic—Having to do with rabbis. rabbi(s)—Jewish religious teacher(s). Rabbi Akiva (50–135 C.E.)—One of the most important of the ancient rabbis and one of the teachers of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai. Rabbi Eleazar (2nd century C.E., b. Israel)—Son of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai and one of his rabbinic companions in the Zohar. Rabbi Elisha ben Abuya (before 70 C.E., b. Jerusalem)—Also known as Acher ("other"), after leaving the orchard, became an apostate, a nonbeliever, possibly a follower of Greek philosophy or religion. As punishment for his apostasy, his opinions were kept in the Talmud but without being attributed to him. Rabbi Pinchas (2nd century C.E.)—Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai's father-in-law and one of his rabbinic companions in the Zohar. Rabbi Shimon—See next entry. Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, the Holy Lamp (d. 160 C.E.)—Second-century Palestinian rabbi to whom the Zohar is traditionally attributed. Also called Simeon ben Yochai. Rabbis Yose, Isaac, Abba, Hiyya, Yehudah, Hizkiyah, Yose ben Rabbi Shimon ben Lekuniah, Abbahu, and Yesa—other companions of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, who wander about discussing words of Torah (in the broadest sense). sefira daat—"Knowledge" or "awareness." Here is meant one of the sefirot but not one of the main ten. sefirot—As used by Jewish mystics (kabbalists), attributes of God such as lovingkindness, power, and endurance. Since humans are created in the image of God, we have these attributes too. Shekhinah—The presence of God, often termed the feminine presence. Talmud—Teachings, stories, conversations, and laws of the ancient rabbis compiled about 500 C.E. Talmudic—Having to do with the Talmud. Torah—Strictly speaking, the five books of Moses, but often used to refer to all of the books of the Hebrew Bible (the Tanakh: Torah, Prophets, and Writings; the biblical books not part of the New Testament. Zohar—Most important kabbalistic book, whose composition is attributed to Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, although modern scholarship assigns most of the authorship to Rabbi Moses de León (1240–1305, b. Spain).

Four entered the pardes, the orchard, and only one emerged unscathed. Or did he?

It is said that upon existing the orchard, one died, one went mad, one became a heretic, and one, Rabbi Akiva, left unscarred.

Yet later on, he believed that Bar Kokhba was the Messiah, supported the revolt, and ended up being skinned alive by the Romans, ultimately becoming a martyr. Is this emerging unscathed, unscarred?

During the Passover seder, we read of the four sons—the foolish one, the shallow one, the wise one, and the one who doesn’t even know to ask questions. During the holiday of Sukkot, we learn that four different types of people are necessary to form a community: the wise one, the wicked one, the simple one, and the one who doesn't ask. Thus, too, the small rabbinic "community"—chevra—that entered the pardes, looking for what—enlightenment, deeper meanings in the Torah, a vision of God? All four were needed for a complete experience. In ourselves, too, in our own quest: The mystical experience, the quest for meaning in life, for something deeper, for direct contact with the mystery of life— whatever you want to call it—involves these aspects of ourselves as well. How so?

We have to die to our old selves. To leave our bodies, to explore the unknown, to break away from ordinary reality requires the death of part of our selves.

We also have to go a little mad, separating ourselves from ordinary reality. Yet, the world has its own madness, right?

We also need to become like the supposed heretic, Rabbi Elisha ben Abuya, called Acher, Hebrew for "other," my favorite of the four rabbis, if only because the other rabbis shunned him, removing his personal name from the Talmud but leaving him in nonetheless as Acher. Yet, was he shunned?

Finally, if we want to survive our experience, we need to remain grounded and detached, above it all, like Rabbi Akiva.

Rebbe Meir, a student of both Rabbi Akiva and Rabbi Elisha ben Abuya, incurring the wrath of other rabbis, has his opinions included in the Mishnah—the oral Torah, including in the Talmud--but only anonymously. This was his punishment. And he did not enter the orchard with the other four rabbis.

I actually do not think Rabbi Elisha ben Abuya is left in as an example of what happens when you go into a deep experience with doubt. Rather, most of us would feel doubt in such a situation. Few of us can enter or leave a pardes (a paradise) with no doubt whatsoever, with complete faith. Jewish history is strewn with the skeletons of our ancestors who strayed from the correct path, beginning with Moses. Instead, I think the strayers, including Acher, are actually the true visionaries, since they step outside the box and expand the experience of the faith. For instance, the Talmud is full of Hellenisms, and some of the greatest of the sages had Greek names, e.g., Eliezer ben Hyrcanus—Eliezer the Great— another rabbi who, by the way, incurred the wrath of his more conventional, group-thinking colleagues for challenging the majority and refusing to form a consensus. Yet consensus is how the Sanhedrin—

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 34 the congress of seventy—operated during a capital trial, in which members were encouraged to look for evidence or arguments against condemning the alleged criminal to death.

Contrary to the conventional interpretation given to the outcome of the experience of the four rabbis in the pardes, I believe that Rabbi Akiva, originally viewed as the goodie-goodie, also did not emerge unscathed but rather lost his judgment regarding Bar Kokhba and was blinded to the truth. He, then, left the pardes not unscathed but blind. The madness of Ben Zoma was not ordinary madness but divine madness—he saw God and came out in a drunken state, ecstatic. Ben Azzai emerged unscathed too, or rather, scathed only in terms of ordinary reality, to which he had died. Acher came out other. The green shoot broke, meaning he had grown up under the experience, and instead of blindly doing something he didn’t believe in, he came to accept his own truth; he emerged true to himself, which meant leaving behind Judaism. Or did he? Maybe he left behind the Judaism practiced by his colleagues, including his student, Rebbe Meir, who came after him on horseback later when the latter was leaving the Jewish community for the Greek one.

Acher too was forward-thinking, or presaged a later trend in Judaism, namely, toward philosophy. Leaving aside Philo of Alexandria, the slew of medieval Jewish philosophers, including Saadya Gaon and Moses Maimonides, drew nourishment from Greek philosophy, the philosophy of the Other. In spite of anger toward them, and accusations, book burnings, and the like, these men have come to be seen by nonmainstream Jews, and by non-Jews, as representative of another worldview. Curiously, in most Jewish communities where Maimonides is studied, only his religious works like the Mishneh Torah seem to be studied, not the Guide of the Perplexed. One wonders how someone like Acher would have responded to this book. Maybe, in fact, the Joseph for whom the Rambam writes this book, is Acher, or a latter-day version. Thus, Acher perhaps represents that part of Judaism and Jewish thought the rabbis were aware of but not ready to deal with, so they kept it but disguised its name, actually embodying in the name the essence of that truth.

Four entered the pardes. One went mad, one died, one was cut off, and one emerged unscathed. I would argue, in conclusion, that in other important ways as well we have read this story all wrong, that in fact Acher has lived the longest—Jews are considered Other. Otherness is a subject of study, writing, and research in the academic community, where the concept of the "other" has become a cliché. We Jews are the outsiders, and as outsiders we have acquired a kind of privileged status. Our society as a whole values nonconformity, just as it also values conformity. There is the rebel without a cause, the outsider, the lone wolf, the last good man, the social activist, the person who stands up to evil and corruption and wrongdoing.

Madness, on the other hand, once valued more highly in the spiritual community, is less valued. The word "mad" seems to have more pejorative connotations than positive ones—mad about you, mad for love, madman, mad mad world.

Death, too, is feared, denied, or embraced, depending on the generation and the culture. Death is a mixed blessing. In general, American society does all in its power to stave off the grim reaper, with some exceptions, e.g., the hospice movement.

And the life represented by Rabbi Akiva, the brilliant scholar, contemporary of Jesus, family man, model scholar, paradigm of brilliance—his is the life embraced by some and rejected by others.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 35 Yet in the end he too, scathed by the pardes, emerging blinded, seemed to have absorbed the lessons embodied or symbolized by his comrades: He did not fear death; perhaps this was because he witnessed Ben Zoma’s death and knew that death is not just physical but metaphorical and thus not real, or real in another sense. He was crazy to think the Jews could beat the Romans at their own game, and yet he wasn’t afraid of this craziness, perhaps something he learned from Ben Azzai, namely, that madness is in the eye of the beholder and sometimes madness is visionary. Madness appears differently to different people. Likewise the lesson from Acher, to celebrate one’s otherness, to be true to oneself, to take the risk of alienating one’s community, for a cause.

When Rabbi Akiva supported Bar Kokhba, he opened himself up to torture, death, and subsequent martyrdom. This story, "The Four Who Entered the Pardes" (see "The Zohar on Talmud Tractate Chagigah 14b, 'The Orchard,'" the previous piece) recounts the preparation of Rabbi Akiva for martyrdom of the kind experienced by another rabbi, Jesus. In all the Talmud, Rabbi Akiva is the most like Jesus, who also risked his life for his beliefs, if one believes the accounts in the New Testament.

Rabbi Akiva, like his comrades, did not emerge unscathed, as is usually described, but very much scathed, but in the same double-edged manner as his comrades. The story is not so simple, the characters not so one-dimensional, the interpretations not so neat and pat. Perhaps Jesus can be described similarly.

All of this is expressed in the famous words "water, water," expressed later by Rabbi Akiva, when the Four saw water covering marble, perhaps in one of the heavenly halls. Things are not what they appear to be, so do not be led astray by appearances. The true reality is something else . . . and yet that reality has to include as well illusion, for is the illusion the water or the marble? What is the truest reality? Perhaps both are real, as real as we ever will know as human beings.

Terms and Names

Bar Kokhba (Simon bar Kokhba (d. 135 C.E., b. Israel)—Jewish leader of a revolt in the 2nd century C.E. against Roman rule in ancient Israel. Ben Azzai (Simon ben Azzai)—Second-century Jewish scholar who was one of The Four Who Entered the Pardes described in the Talmud. He is the one who died. Ben Zoma (Simon ben Zoma)—First/second-century Jewish scholar who was one of The Four Who Entered the Pardes described in the Talmud. He is the one who lost his mind. Guide of the Perplexed—Influential and great philosophical work of Moses Maimonides. heavenly halls—Subdivisions of Heaven in Jewish mythology. Hellenisms—Features of ancient Greek culture. Maimonides (Rabbi Moses Maimonides (1305–1204, b. Spain)—Rabbi, seminal Jewish philosopher, codifier of Jewish law, Jewish community leader, and physician. Author of the rationalist– philosophical masterpiece Guide of the Perplexed. Messiah—Literally, "savior." The special being who will herald or manifest at the End of Days. Mishnah—The oral Torah, which is part of the Talmud. Mishneh Torah—Jewish code of law composed by Maimonides. Moses Maimonides—See Maimonides. oral Torah—See Mishnah. orchard—See The Four Who Entered the Pardes. pardes—"Orchard," or "paradise." Also (and sometimes written prds), the four levels of biblical

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 36 interpretation: peshat, literal; remez, symbolic; derash, metaphorical; sod, secret. Italicized words are Hebrew. Also see The Four Who Entered the Pardes. Passover seder—The ritual celebrated each spring by Jews celebrating the exodus from ancient Egypt. Philo of Alexandria (1st century B.C.E., b. Egypt)—Greek–Jewish thinker. rabbi(s)—Jewish religious teacher(s). Rabbi Akiva (50–135 C.E.)—One of the most important of the ancient rabbis and one of The Four Who Entered the Pardes. He is the one who emerged alive from the experience. Rabbi Elisha ben Abuya (before 70 C.E., b. Jerusalem)—Also known as Acher ("other"), after leaving the orchard, became an apostate, a nonbeliever, possibly a follower of Greek philosophy or religion. As punishment for his apostasy, his opinions were kept in the Talmud but without being attributed to him. Rambam—See Maimonides. Rebbe Meir (Rabbi Meir Baal HaNes) (2nd-century C.E.)—Important Jewish sage. Saadya Gaon (Sa'adiah ben Yosef Gaon) (various spellings in English) (882–942, b. Egypt)— important rabbi, philosopher, theologian, and translator. Sukkot—The fall Jewish festival originally built around the harvest. Talmud—Teaching, stories, conversations, and laws of the ancient rabbis compiled about 1500 years ago. The Four Who Entered the Pardes—Tractate Chagigah 14b, "The Orchard," in the Talmud relates the story of four rabbis who entered the pardes. The story relates that one rabbi died (Ben Azzai), one went crazy (Ben Zoma), one became a heretic (Rabbi Elisha ben Abuya), and one was unscathed (Rabbi Akiva). Italicized words are Hebrew. The green shoot broke—a reference to Rabbi Elisha ben Abuya's becoming an apostate after his experience as one of The Four Who Entered the Pardes. Torah—Strictly speaking, the five books of Moses, but often used to refer to all of the books of the Hebrew Bible (the Tanakh: Torah, Prophets, and Writings; the biblical books other than those in the New Testament) or even to Jewish beliefs and practices in general. water, water—In The Four Who Entered the Pardes, Rabbi Akiva says, "When you come to the place of pure marble stones, do not say 'Water! Water!' lest you place yourselves in danger. . . . "

In a scene in the famous Indian epic the Ramayana, Sita, the consort of Rama, a human incarnation of the Hindu god Vishnu, stands on a mountain and shouts into a rainbow. At Angkor Wat, the remarkable, spectacular temple complex in Cambodia, Rama rides his chariot on a wall, and over a rainbow, rainforest trees extend their roots over the centuries until one day the temples will be sand. Then too the land mines will be dust.

The wheels of the chariot represent the wheels of samsara, "birth and death." I realized this when I was at Angkor Wat.

The biblical prophet Ezekiel saw this very same chariot in a realm of pure symbol. The Talmud says of four rabbis who entered the other world—pardes, the orchard, paradise, also (and sometimes written prds), the four levels of biblical interpretation, from surface to esoteric—one emerged intact, one went mad, one became an apostate, and one died. Rabbi Akiva, the intact one, had cryptically warned the others not to say "water, water" when they saw a place of pure marble. Although they had neither chariot to ride, nor rainbow, their experience of water was akin to the experience of Rama's brother Lakshmi and his devotion to Sita.

***

I climb an old trail that disappears into the high mountains above Glacier Gorge in Rocky Mountain National Park in Colorado. Below, the water weaves through the canyon, while above, tourists snap photos of the gushing falls. Are there connections between the Indian story and the Jewish one, and between these stories and my own story? The Baal Shem Tov—the Master of the Good Name and the founder of the chasidic movement—said imagination is the truest part of existence.

Have you had the experience of being with someone and the figure/ground morphs into a radiance of perception and things dissolve into pure colors and shapes in a spongy textured application of painted existence? The wheels turn, recycling desires to a future life or perhaps a past one.

***

I walk along the wall at Angkor Wat, overwhelmed and awed by the detail. Here there is time to appreciate the delicacy and completeness of the story in stone. Just outside the temple gates poor children line up selling large bunches of bananas for "one dollah, suh." Is this what Ezekiel had in mind, or the rabbi who penetrated the two-waters mystery and in so doing exited the orchard with his marbles intact?

Water, water. Around the wheel goes water, grinding the grain of our lives until, worn down, it spreads like the future sands of Angkor Wat across the planet before being blown beyond the earth’s atmosphere and becoming interstellar particles.

Could this be why the philosophers said God does not interfere in the individual moments of our lives?

Or is this not true, since if it were, Ezekiel would have had no vision, nor perhaps Moses, his. No, the

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 38 wheel turns, whether on the wall or in the dream of Ezekiel, dividing the water. It is simple—water below, water above. The water of the sea of reeds as it divided during the Exodus. Water, water. To enter the orchard you need to leave behind all attachments, like the attachments that separated Sita from Rama and caused her to be so hard to regain. Like Rabbi Akiva, the only rabbi who left the orchard with his life and mind intact.

Of course, in Genesis there are upper waters and lower waters, separated by firmament.

The two halves, that’s it. Water, water; Rama, Sita. Wheels and chariots. Male and female, divine and earthly, past and future, upper and lower. All fruits in the orchard, waiting to be imagined, pursued, then conquered, as Rama eventually conquered the demons who had stolen Sita. This, Ezekiel saw in his vision—hypnagogic, only real. Yes, the story is real, and the myriad details carved on the medieval walls by hundreds or thousands of carvers. Holding all together are those wheels, drawing the water that then divided, saving earlier the Israelites and later the seekers of the work of creation in the heavenly halls.

And what is this work? None other than swimmers narrating the two waters, divided on one level, and though appearing divided, on another in actuality one: There was only one water, one water only. Imagination is what was—and is—required and what informed—and continues to inform—these stories, however real or unreal they may sound.

Terms and Names

Angkor Wat—Spectacular complex of temples in Cambodia. Construction was begun in the twelfth century. Angkor Wat was originally a Hindu center of worship and later became Buddhist. Baal Shem Tov (ca. 1698–1760, b. Eastern Europe)—Literally, "Master of the Good Name," Rabbi Israel ben Eliezer, founder of the chasidic movement. Members of the movement were observant Jews but valued feeling and intention above strict practice of Jewish law and also were mystically inclined. Ezekiel—Biblical prophet. See the Book of Ezekiel. Genesis—The first book in the Hebrew Bible (the Tanakh: Torah, Prophets, and Writings; everything except the New Testament), outlining, among other things, the creation of the world. human incarnation—Usually in Hindu belief, the appearance of a deity in human form. hypnagogic—Unusual mental pictures coming into the mind that some people experience while falling asleep. Moses—The biblical personage. Rama—Human incarnation of the Hindu god Vishnu and hero of the Ramayana. Ramayana—Elaborate Indian epic of Rama and his wife Sita. Sita—Wife of Rama. wheels of samsara—Samsara is the cycle of life, birth, death, and rebirth in Hinduism and Buddhism, although the term has somewhat different meanings in each system.

Are you other I am other, the one left behind after the great ones rode off on their mules

I am essence of otherness, the one for whom the common ways hold no appeal he has followed me to the end of the kingdom desperate for persuasion, but I I choose not to return where there were two, now there is one what went wrong? I could no longer sit in comfort with my brothers something was wrong yet what was it? I simply lost faith, could not keep the faith, brother, and so I must return by an other path it is on this other path as an other, the other, the one now alone, whose name though expunged remains it is on this path that I now must deviate, no it is not into greece that I go as you all have thought, no not there, since there I also would be other, another on his own, seeking along a pathless path

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 40 not there but into otherness there is another way, a way unknown until much later in history yes I am of the future. later you shall see, if you can that my path is the well traveled, not yours, since are we not really all others and that in reality I am not the first, only the first of many in this God-forsaken land somehow it seems as if your path is now the path of the other, otherness, another way from what once it was and so this path that I took long ago turns out to be a truer path at least for now, brother, sister won’t you join me, turn my way, away from your way, into a new way, way ahead of where we now are yes I am other, embodiment of otherness, alone, stripped of his name yet given a new name, which will turn out to be a better name, chosen by God who knows all even into the details

Terms and Names

Acher (literally, "other") (Rabbi Elisha ben Abuya, before 70 C.E., b. Jerusalem)—One of the four rabbis (Jewish religious teachers) who entered the pardes (Hebrew)—the orchard, or paradise—but the one who emerged an apostate, a nonbeliever, possibly a follower of Greek philosophy or religion. As punishment, his opinions were kept in the Talmud but not attributed to him. The Talmud comprises teachings, stories, conversations, and laws of the ancient rabbis compiled about 1500 years ago.

Steinberg, Milton. As a Driven Leaf. New York: Behrman House, 1939. A novelization of the life of Acher, Rabbi Elisha ben Abuya.

I said a garden is a place of earthly delight Where God can appear throughout the night sky Each star a soul from the next world Each sight a face aglow with millions of pearls. Rabbi Moses de León, main author of the Zohar, the Book of Splendor, "quoted" in Henry Rasof, Souls in the Garden: Poems About Jewish Spain

When I behold Your Heavens, the work of Your hands . . . O Lord: How glorious is Your name in all the earth. Psalms 8:4 and 8:10 Zohar 2a

Rabbi Shimon1 walked over to a fig tree2 and sat down.3 Rabbi Eleazar, Rabbi Isaac, Rabbi Abba, and Rabbi Yose followed him and also sat down.4 A mule driver5 sat down to the left of the rabbis, a little ways off, tending the animals.6

At that moment a young woman7 walked gracefully8 by on the nearby road, then seemed to disappear from sight.9

"Who’s the young woman10 with the big white head11 and long face12 who looks forlorn, as if her old man13 just threw her out of house and home?"14 Rabbi Abba asked.

Rabbi Shimon's son, Rabbi Eleazar, replied: "Rachel."15

"Not the wife16 of Jacob?"17 Rabbi Isaac asked.

"Yes," Rabbi Eleazar replied. All the rabbis said a prayer.18

______Note: Terms, names, and some notes in the main text and footnotes are at the end of the fragment. The sefirotic qualities are complex and variously described and translated by different writers. 1 Binah, understanding. 2 The sefirotic tree, representing the ten kabbalistic attributes of God; the fig tree, the third tree mentioned in the Torah, represents the three upper sefirot―keter, chokhmah, and binah: crown/will, wisdom, and understanding. 3 Grounding himself in sefira yesod, foundation. Sefira is the singular form of sefirot. 4 This describes the emanation of the sefirot. 5 The sefira chokhmah, wisdom. 6 The sefirot. 7 The Shekhinah, or presence of God; also, the lowest sefira, malkhut, kingdom/majesty, Shekhinah (divine presence). 8 Grace is one of the characteristics of the sefira chesed, lovingkindness. 9 Into ayin, nothingness. 10 The Shekhinah, or divine presence, often termed "feminine." Also the sefira malkhut (kingdom/majesty). The lady will turn out to be "Rachel," who in this piece of Zohar represents the sefira chesed, lovingkindness, although this association occurs nowhere else in the Zohar or other kabbalistic literature. However, since malkhut is intensely "feminine" in nature, and hence, traditionally, nurturing, assigning chesed to her is only inconsistent within the Zoharic symbol system, not within a broader social and psychological system. 11 The sefira keter, crown/will. 12 The arikh anpin, the "long countenance," signifying "the world of absolute mercy" (see The Wisdom of the Zohar, vol. 1, p. 245). 13 The Atika Kadisha, the Holy Ancient One, the primordial divine image. Also, crown/will, the highest of the sefirot. In our text, "old man" does not mean the woman's husband. 14 Into galut, exile 15 Chesed, lovingkindness/grace. It also could meant the Torah (see The Early Kabbalah, edited and introduced by Joseph Dan, New York: Paulist Press, 1986, p. 57). 16 The Shekhinah, the divine presence. Also, as used in this Zohar text, chesed, lovingkindness/grace, instead of malkhut, kingdom/majesty/Shekhinah. 17 Tiferet, Beauty, compassion/balance. 18 For the unification of chesed, lovingkindness/grace; tiferet, Beauty/compassion/balance; and gevurah, judgment/strength.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 44 RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 45 Rabbi Yose now turned to survey the mule driver,19 who sported a goatee,20 was smoking a water pipe,21 and looked tired and ragged. "How do we always end up with such half-dead beats?" Rabbi Yose asked. "He looks like a gravedigger22 who just stepped out of his own grave.23

A cloud24 passed overhead at that moment, threatening rain25 on an already-sultry day.26

Suddenly there was a cloudburst, it began raining27 cats and dogs,28 and everyone got soaked, including the woman.29 Then, just as suddenly, the rain stopped.

"Rachel"30 then adjusted her platinum-blonde sheitel31 and removed her heavy, wet,32 waist-length jacket,33 though of course remaining modestly covered.34

"Call the woman,"35 Rabbi Abba called out to the other rabbis. "Maybe she has some food36 or can start a fire,37 warm us up,38 and dry us off.39

When she heard Rabbi Abba, she slung her soaking jacket40 over her left shoulder41 and walked to the river,42 where it was cooler.43 She gazed over the river44 at some children45 playing on the opposite bank.

19 Chokhmah, wisdom. 20 Reminding of Esau, the brother of Jacob, who had matted red hair, representing yesod, the primordial foundation. 21 Torah = water, so studying Torah. 22 An interpreter of Torah: In Hebrew, derash, "to dig," also means "to interpret." 23 The second lowest sefira, yesod—foundation—is also associated with earth. 24 The Shekhinah, the divine presence. 25 Shefa, an overflow, outpouring, of Torah. 26 Already saturated with Torah. 27 Ein-sof, the remote, infinite God emanating the sefirot, which water the earth like Torah. 28 Chokhmah and binah, wisdom and understanding, respectively; the first two sefirot emanated. 29 Chesed, lovingkindness. 30 Chesed, lovingkindness. 31 Wig, covering the sefira keter, crown/will. 32 With Torah = water. 33 The outermost garment of Torah. 34 With fewer of the outer garments of Torah—for example, the stories and chronologies. 35 Pray for chesed, lovingkindness/grace. 36 Talmudic knowledge. 37 Kindle or release the primordial wisdom, chokhmah. 38 Transfer some of that light to us. 39 Evaporate any confusion resulting from immersion in so much Torah. 40 The outer garment of Torah is soaked with the upper sefirot. 41 Left = Gevurah, judgment/strength. 42 Of Torah flowing from the Garden of Eden. 43 And where more Torah was available. 44 Flowing from the garden of Eden. 45 These are daughter letters of the Hebrew mother letters aleph, mem, and shin, representing the three main constituents of matter: air (aleph is the first letter of avir, the Hebrew word for "air"), water (mem is the first letter of mayim, the Hebrew word for "water"), and fire (shin is the primary sound of aish, the Hebrew word for "fire"). They also represent the infinite God, Ein-sof. Although the concept of daughter letters appears nowhere else in the Zohar and is obscure, we can surmise that since during the Creation when Ein-sof emanated the universe through the vehicle of the Hebrew letters, the three mother letters constituting the Ein-sof gave birth to three daughter letters from which the rest of Creation could proceed. It is possible, too, that the children refer to the gnostic symbol of a daughter in the mystical Book Bahir (see The Early Kabbalah, edited and introduced by Joseph Dan, New York: Paulist Press, 1986, p. 57).

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 46 Rabbi Eleazar, his back turned to the woman46 and thus oblivious of her movement away from the group of rabbis,47 said, "Amen. But how did Rachel get here,48 and what does it mean that she adjusted her sheitel49 and removed her coat?50 Isn't this immodest?51 Why was she wearing a heavy jacket in the first place?52 And, you'd think Rachel,53 beloved wife of our patriarch Jacob,54 would have a sheitel55 that fit perfectly.56 There's a lot here to chew on, chevra.57 What are the remez,58 derash,59 and sod60 levels of meaning? Surely she brings us an opportunity to board the sweet chariot61 swinging low and ride to the seventh heavenly hall."62

During the last three words63 the mule driver64 interrupted with a long sigh65 followed by a short sigh,66 the way a mule might interrupt the neighing of a group of horses.67 Then he said, "Huh?" and rolled his eyes. The mule driver, watching Rachel removing some of her garments, stated: "You are stripping the text of its peshat,68 leaving naked the higher meanings you asked about."69

He then admonished the rabbis70: "Dudes71: You're in your heads72 too much. Dig the young lady73 and 46 Chesed, lovingkindness/grace. 47 Chesed, lovingkindness/grace, separating from the other sefirot. 48 What is the origin of chesed, lovingkindness/grace? 49 Covering keter, crown/will, the highest sefira. 50 The garment soaked with Torah. 51 Isn't it better to occlude our purest lovingkindness, lest it become contaminated by the lower sefirot? 52 Why did she need to cover her true nature? 53 Chesed, lovingkindness/grace. 54 Tiferet, Beauty/compassion/balance. 55 Keter, crown/will. 56 A reference to keter of chesed, balancing head with heart. 57 "Companions"/"friends." 58 Symbolic. 59 Metaphorical. 60 Secret. 61 The merkavah (chariot), assigned various sefirot, e.g., binah (understanding), or a group of four sefirot, namely, chesed (lovingkindness/grace), gevurah (judgment/strength), tiferet (beauty/compassion), malkhut (kingdom/Shekhinah). 62 The highest of the halls (or palaces)—hekhalot—mentioned in the vision described in Ezekiel 1:1–28 and also described in the hekhalot literature (e.g., the Book of Enoch) and also elsewhere in the Zohar. The seventh hall is "'the holy of holies'"; binah, understanding; the Shekhinah, the divine presence; and Shabbat, the seventh day. See The Wisdom of the Zohar, vol. 3, p. 593. 63 The Hebrew mother letters aleph, mem, and shin, representing three main constituents of things: air (aleph is the first letter of avir, Hebrew for "air"), water (mem is the first letter of mayim, Hebrew for "water"), and fire (shin is the primary sound of aish, Hebrew for "fire"). They also represent the infinite God, Ein-sof. And, they refer to the three blasts of the shofar, the ram's horn blown on the Jewish High Holidays. 64 Chokhmah, wisdom. 65 Like the long blast of the shofar (the ram's horn) during High Holidays, or a reference to the sefirotic emanation described in Tikkunei Zohar, one of the components of the Holy Zohar. 66 A reference to the short blast of the shofar during High Holidays, or to the sefirotic emanations described in Tikkunei Zohar, one of the components of the Holy Zohar. 67 The way one sefira might interrupt the others. 68 Its plain meaning, through it's not always so plain. Along with remez, derash, and sod, these make up the four levels of interpretation, whose acronym is prds. 69 You can't divide the sefirot in half; they come in an indivisible package. To the mule driver, Rachel's "upper body" appeared naked—the sefirot were revealed—even though she was still modestly clothed. 70 A spirited interpretation. 71 Chokhmah, wisdom, emanating the lower sefirot. 72 The upper sefirot. 73 Engage with chesed, lovingkindness/grace.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 47 come down to earth.74 Call a spade a spade and dig deeper75 in a straightforward way. Build a foundation76 and only then build your house.77 Pray from your heart,78 lift your eyes to heaven instead of chasing heavenly halls,79 and throw caution80 to the wind.81

Then, seeming to have forgotten what he just said, he asked the astonished assembly of illustrious rabbis82: "Why does the beginning of the Torah say 'Elohim'―gods?"83

Rabbi Yose said, "I do not see how this connects with anything.84 And besides, the Talmud85 and many midrashim86 comment extensively on this."87

The mule driver kicked in: "The question is common, as Rabbi Yose says, and has been addressed by famous commentators over the years. Sometimes, though, the familiar is the most profound."

Rabbi Shimon said: "Elohim refers to the sefirot,88 of which there are ten, a plural number—three upper sefirot and seven lower ones." He then addressed the mule driver: "What can you add to this?"

The mule driver said: "Rabbi Shimon, the Holy Lamp,89 has provided an astute explanation."90

Rabbi Yose snorted.91

The mule driver opined: "However, in this case we must take 'Elohim' literally. Something that will be said in the future in a different context by a Jewish doctor may be relevant here: 'Sometimes a plural is just a plural.'92 And sometimes the peshat93 is all there is. It was too great an effort for just the one God of Israel, blessed be His name, whatever is said about Him and His powers. It was a joint effort—"

74 To a lower sefira like yesod, foundation. 75 Using the interpretive tool of derash―"to dig"―the metaphoric level of meaning. 76 Yesod, foundation. 77 The rest of the sefirot. 78 Tiferet, beauty/compassion/balance; also, God. 79 A reference to the first line of Psalm 121—"I lift my eyes up to the mountains, from where my help comes." Also, he admonishes to look to keter, crown/will, the highest sefira. See note 61 for more on the heavenly halls. 80 Gevurah, judgment/strength. 81 The ruach hakodesh, the Holy Spirit, though not the one in the Christian trinity. 82 He asked for answers from the totality of the sefirotic tree. 83 Why does the Torah begin with all of the sefirot and not just the highest one, keter—God, crown/will—from which all the other sefirot flow? 84 His thinking is dualistic. 85 The ancient compendium of rabbinic wisdom. 86 Rabbinic commentaries on the Hebrew Bible, related to derash, "to dig." 87 He wants to know the relationship between the upper and lower worlds. 88 Attributes of God in Jewish mysticism. 89 One of the epithets for Rabbi Shimon. 90 Again, the nature of reality has been explained many times through use of the construct of the sefirot, indicating that nothing is special or mysterious about reality―it is what it is. 91 Emanated a breath of Holy Spirit. 92 An obvious reference to Sigmund Freud, who once famously said, "Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar," meaning that not everything that looks phallic is phallic. 93 The plain reading of a text.

The mule driver said: "No. The world―or this world―was created by many gods. In fact, each of the seven days of Creation was overseen by a different, lesser god―."95

Rabbi Shimon cut him off, asking: "Are you saying there were seven gods in the beginning?"

The mule driver replied: "Ten, actually!"96

Rabbi Yose butted in: "Oh, now it's ten gods. What did the other three do?"97

The mule driver, ignoring the question, said: "It's actually a matter of perspective. Think of a menorah98. How many lights are there?"

"Eight," Rabbi Abba said.

"Imagine now a candelabra with ten lights all the same height," said the mule driver.

"So what?" Rabbi Yose challenged.

"If you view the lights from the end, what do you see?" the mule driver asked.

"One light," said Rabbi Shimon. "You are saying, then, that it's a matter of perspective. From one angle there are ten lights; from another, one. From one perspective there are many gods; from another, just one God."

"Yes," said the mule driver.

"What about the other three lights?" Rabbi Isaac asked.

"When the ten lights are viewed from one end and then from the other, can you tell any difference?" the mule driver responded.

"What about the shamash?" Rabbi Isaac asked.

The mule driver replied: "The shamash on a real menorah is higher than the other lights and of course

94 In Gen. 1:26 God says, "Let us make man in our image." Two readings of "us" are: It can mean a plural God, Elohim. Or, as Rabbi Yose says, it can mean that God was consulting with angels. 95 Normally, there would be notes here reading "gods" as sefirot, but in this case the mule driver is reading "gods" literally. Rabbi Shimon is the one reading "gods" as sefirot. 96 As if subtly testing Rabbi Shimon by switching interpretations, the mule driver alludes to the ten sefirot on the sefirotic tree. 97 He doesn't reply because the answer would be too complicated. For example, three could be the upper sefirot, or the three patriarchs, or "Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord of hosts" (Isa. 6:3) (see The Early Kabbalah, edited and introduced by Joseph Dan, New York: Paulist Press, 1986, p. 57). It most likely does not refer to the Trinity. 98 The candelabra used for Chanukah.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 49 is used to light them. All light comes from it.99 But, actually the other lights are just illusion.100 They only appear to be lit, even when viewed from the ends, since when a menorah with eight evenly arranged lights and one higher than the others is held at an angle, there is only one light.101 To see the oneness of this light requires changing one's perspective."102

"In that case," asked Rabbi Shimon, "why did you say that many gods created the heavens and the earth?"

Rabbi Yose said: "Because he was trying to trick us and show us up, and demonstrate that he is smarter than we are."

There was silence.

Rabbi Eleazar then said, as the group stood up and began walking a few feet to a small clump of cork trees next to the river: "I think he is trying to tell us something."

"Which is?" asked Rabbi Yose.

Rabbi Shimon observed: "We have a plethora of interpretations here, complicating the picture. From 'Elohim' the mule driver gets 'gods' and I get sefirot. Then from 'gods' he gets one God. I don't think he is trying to trick us, so I agree with my son, Rabbi Eleazar, that he is trying to tell us something."

The mule driver spoke: "As the Holy Lamp says, 'Elohim' can be read either as 'gods' or as 'sefirot.' Both are useful lenses with which to view the Creation, but at a deeper level both are just constructs and meaningless terms."

Rabbi Abba then asked, "If, like 'gods,' the sefirot are simply a construct and have no intrinsic meaning, what is their purpose? Why would anyone think up such a notion if it weren't based on some kind of reality, on something real? And, if God is One and indivisible, how else but through the sefirot is it possible to explain the diversity and multiplicity of Creation? Without them there are metaphysical problems.103 I maintain that the Holy One emanated the sefirot, from which the heavens and the earth were created."104

The mule driver responded: "God appears multiple when His Torah is interpreted either way. This apparent multiplicity has its uses, though. The sefirot are the lubricant of self-knowledge that leads to understanding our purpose in, and the purpose of, the universe. Rabbi Shimon sees the sefirotic tree, a

99 All light comes from lovingkindness. Also, the candelabra is a symbol of the rabbinic companions in the Zohar, whose shamash is Rabbi Shimon and whose other lights are the other rabbis. 100 The mule driver seems to deny the reality of the other lights. But, he is speaking metaphorically: lovingkindness is the only true light. It is like the moon and the sun—the moon does not emit its own light. 101 This is not a trick. 102 When we change our perspective, we see the unity of the lights. 103 The question has challenged philosophers, metaphysicians, mystics, and theologians for at least two thousand years. Simply put, the main metaphysical problem is, as Rabbi Abba points out, how a God that is a unity could create a universe that is a plurality. The sefirot are one solution―they serve as a kind of intermediary―though not a perfect one. Other thinkers, Jewish and non-Jewish, have come up with similar types of solutions, though those too are not perfect. 104 From one come many.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 50 multiplicity, in his mind's eye, which is a unity. To the ignorant, this separateness is real, when in fact it is illusion. This understanding comes only through opening to the influence of lovingkindness105 in its total, purest form."106

Rabbi Shimon asked, "But, Elohim is the judgmental aspect of God, not the lovingkindly, compassionate, merciful aspect."

To which the mule driver responded: "As I already said, there is only one God. It is just a certain perspective that yields the notion of a God with two aspects, or two Gods, or seven, or whatever. Again, when viewed from a different perspective, there is just one God, and viewed from the special perspective I talked about before, the only God is the God of lovingkindness. And, it's not really the God of lovingkindness; God is lovingkindness; they are one and the same. To see things any differently is to see things from the world of illusion."107

The rabbis, as one―including Rabbi Shimon―dropped their jaws and were speechless.108 Rabbi Abba wept.109 Then, as one body, the rabbis leaned toward the mule driver and kissed him on the forehead.110

Rabbi Eleazar then said: "In order to interpret Torah we need to humble ourselves like the mule driver,111 dig into the text with crude tools,112 and only then work through the higher levels of meaning with more subtle tools.113 In the beginning, meanings will appear multiple and perhaps contradict what we have been taught.114 But after a while it will become clear that these different meanings are illusory and that the text at hand has just one true, deep meaning. And this highest meaning will manifest from the one God, the God Whose identity is lovingkindness,115 as does everything in Creation."

"Amen!" everyone responded in unison, including the mule driver.116 Even the mules collectively made a sound, as if joining in the response.117

105 Working backwards, chesed, lovingkindness/grace, if thinking sefirotically. 106 Which would be the Shekhinah, the Divine presence, embodied here as "Rachel." 107 This skirts the traditional reading of Elohim and deftly deals with any mistaken idea that there might be two Gods, a gnostic concept meant to explain the existence of evil. 108 This is like the lights on the menorah merging into one light—the sefirot merge into one. Speechlessness is a high state, opening the way for Torah to come into them and for the ultimate oneness of God and His creation. Or rather, for the lack of distinctions between them. An indirect reference also to the times in the Hebrew Bible when God is said to speak, even though the philosopher Maimonides said such usage is not meant literally: God does not speak as we know speaking. The editors of The Wisdom of the Zohar, vol. 1, in discussing the Ein-sof (literally, "without end"), the transcendent God, quote a Zohar text: "The seventh palace, 'O Lord, open my lips,' is the most sublime secret, in a whisper, without a sound being heard." 109 He felt the flow of Torah in him. 110 The lower sefirot acknowledge the superiority of higher sefirot: Here Rav Hanmuna is chokhmah, wisdom, and the rabbis, seeing keter, crown/will, manifesting in him, kiss his forehead in acknowledgment and out of respect. 111 Chokhmah, wisdom. 112 Using peshat, the literal meaning; also, the lower sefirot. 113 The derash, the metaphorical meaning; remez, the hinted, symbolic meaning; and sod, the deepest, secret, most hidden meaning. 114 Many gods appear to be at work in the universe, even though the Jewish tradition teaches there is but one. 115 YHVH, chesed, lovingkindness/grace. 116 The sefirot unite, as do lower and upper souls. 117 The mules, the animal soul, were united with the higher soul—the neshamah.

Rabbi Shimon and the companions then glanced to their right,119 in the direction of "Rachel,"120 who by now had moved even farther from the rabbis.121

"Where is the 'wise' mule driver to tend to the mules?"122 Rabbi Yose asked. He had calmed down and seemed somewhat forlorn now that he didn't see the mule driver. The mule driver seemed to have vanished into thin air.123

As if on cue, the mules began to bray and kick,124 alarming the rabbis,125 who didn't know how to control them.126 Fortunately the mule driver,127 though hidden from the rabbis,128 had stayed near the animals.129 He led them to an oat field scattered with husks,130 then from "Rachel"131 to the river bank.132

Listening to the mules,133 Rabbi Shimon,134 the Holy Lamp, then said: "I am convinced the mule driver is Rav Hamnuna Sava,135 visiting from the next world to share some words of Torah. As my son, Rabbi Eleazar, has said more eloquently than I, Rav Hamnuna rightly says many things we think are diverse and multiple are indeed unitary and that we need to be careful not to mistake concepts, constructs, symbols and metaphors for what they stand for. Let us savor his teachings as we continue on our way." The companions shouted "Amen." The woman―"Rachel"―also said "Amen" from the water, where she stood.136 Then the river137 softly splashed on her feet,138 and from that point in its course139 seemed, to all who noticed,140 to move with a profoundly new sense of mystery.141

118 How is it that chokhmah, wisdom, looks after the lower sefirot; and that the higher soul, the neshamah, tends the lower soul, the nefesh? 119 The rabbis opened up to the influence of chesed, lovingkindness. 120 Chesed, lovingkindness/grace. 121 Although the sefirot united, the unity was only temporary. Chesed is really in a class of its own and draws its identity from God, Who is pure lovingkindness. She needs to draw closer to her own source, the way lovingly kind people want to be with other lovingly kind people and draw from one another. 122 Chokhmah controlling the lower sefirot. 123 Merging with the Ein-sof, the hidden, transcendent God. 124 The lower sefirot begin to emit light. 125 The upper sefirot now emit light. 126 To harness the energies of the sefirot. 127 Keter, crown/will, the Godhead, the hidden God, the Ein-sof. 128 The upper sefirot. 129 The lower sefirot. 130 The klippot/husks/shells of negative energy. 131 Chesed, lovingkindness/grace. 132 One of the rivers flowing from the garden of Eden; also, the stream of Torah. 133 The lower sefirot. 134 Binah, understanding. 135 Chokhmah, wisdom. 136 "Rachel," chesed, lovingkindness/grace, is immersed in Torah, for which she was thirsty ("All who are thirst go to the water"―Isaiah. 55:1, cited in Joseph Dan, The Early Kabbalah, Paulist Press, p. 67). 137 The river of Torah. 138 "Rachel" = chesed, lovingkindness/grace. The feet are malkhut, kingdom/majesty/Shekhinah. 139 The course of the emanation of the sefirot from the Godhead. 140 This is the sefira daat, knowledge, which is not part of the standard ten sefirot on the sefirotic tree but which appears in some mystical writings, mostly later ones. It is a signal of what the future holds in store. 141 Sod is the deepest mystery.

Some of these are in the main text, others in the footnotes. Most of the Italicized words are Hebrew.

Atika Kadisha—The Holy Ancient One, the primordial divine image. binah—Understanding. candelabra—A holder for candles or oil wicks. chanukiah—The candelabra used on Chanukah, usually though not totally correctly called a menorah. It has eight candleholders (or oil holders) and a shamash, which is higher than the other holders and is used to light them. I don't think the term chanukiah was used in the Middle Ages when this piece of Zohar is set. Chanukah—Jewish holiday of lights, celebrated during winter in the northern hemisphere and celebrating the rededication of the Temple in Jerusalem in ancient times and the miracle in which a small amount of oil lasted for eight days. chesed—Lovingkindness/grace. One of the kabbalistic sefirot. chokhmah—Wisdom. daat—Knowledge or awareness. Here is meant one of the sefirot but not one of the main ten. derash—The metaphoric level of explication. dualistic—Thinking that makes God and human beings separate. Ein-sof —The transcendent, infinite God. Elohim—One of the names of God, which happens to be in the plural. galut—Exile. garments of Torah—The different levels of meaning in the Torah. gevurah—Judgment/strength, sometimes limits. One of the kabbalistic sefirot. heavenly halls—Subdivisions of Heaven in Jewish mythology. Hebrew Bible—The Tanakh: Torah, Prophets, and Writings; the biblical books other than those in the New Testament. Holy Lamp—Name for Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai. Jacob—One of the biblical patriarchs. kabbalah—The most important strain of Jewish mysticism. The Hebrew root means "to receive." kabbalist—A practitioner of kabbalah. kabbalistic—Having to do with kabbalah. karma (Sanskrit)—Actions in this and previous lifetimes that affect us in this and future lifetimes. karmic—Having to do with karma. keter—Crown/will, the Godhead, the uppermost of the kabbalistic sefirot. klippot —In some schools of kabbalah, husks or shells of negativity. malkhut—Kingdom/majesty, the lowermost of the kabbalistic sefirot, associated with the Shekhinah. menorah—Candelabra in the ancient Jerusalem temple, now a term used for the candelabra used on Chanukah, thought by some people today to more properly be called a chanukiah. merkavah—The chariot in which the prophet Ezekiel (see the Book of Ezekiel) saw God in his vision. midrashim—Rabbinic interpretations of the Hebrew Bible. Mishnah—The oral Torah, which is part of the Talmud. mitzvah—Good deed. mitzvot—Biblical commandments. Also, more loosely, "good deeds." mohel—Ritual circumciser. mule driver—Turns out to be Rav Hamnuna Sava. nefesh—The animal soul in kabbalah.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 53 neshamah—One of the souls in kabbalah, and also just "soul." pardes—"Orchard," or "paradise." Also (and sometimes written prds) the four levels of biblical interpretation: peshat, literal; remez, symbolic; derash, metaphorical; sod, secret. peshat—The surface reading of a text in the four-level method of interpretation, although it has been argued that sometimes the peshat level is the highest one. prds—See pardes. qasida—Poetic form originating in north Africa and popular in medieval Spain and other countries. It contains the following features, although there are variations: The poet is in a deserted campground and daydreams about his beloved. Then he praises his camel and his patron. rabbi—A Jewish religious teacher. Rabbinic means having to do with a rabbi or rabbis. Rabbi Abba—One of the companions of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai in the Zohar. Rabbi Eleazar (2nd century C.E., b. Israel)—Son of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai and one of his rabbinic companions in the Zohar. Rabbi Isaac—One of the companions of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai in the Zohar. Rabbi Moses de León (1240–1305, b. Spain)—Medieval Spanish mystic and likely author of the major part of the Zohar. Rabbi Shimon—See next entry. Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai (or Simeon ben Yochai) (d. 160 C.E.)—Second-century Palestinian rabbi to whom the Zohar traditionally is attributed. Sometimes called the Holy Lamp. Rabbi Yose—One of the companions of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai in the Zohar. rabbi(s)—Jewish religious teacher(s). Rachel—Wife of Jacob in the Torah. Rav Hamnuna Sava (Hamnuna the Elder) (3rd/4th century C.E.)—Ancient rabbinic time traveler who appears (usually as a simple mule driver, though not in this episode) suddenly and mysteriously and disappears just as suddenly and mysteriously. remez—The symbolic level of explication. ruach hakodesh—Holy Spirit (Jewish). sefira—Singular of sefirot. sefira chesed—The sefira of lovingkindness/grace. sefira daat—See sefirot and daat. sefira keter—Crown/will, also the Godhead, the highest sefira. sefira yesod—The sefira of foundation. sefirot—The sefirot (singular, sefira) as used by Jewish mystics (especially kabbalists) refer to attributes of God such as lovingkindness, power, and endurance. Since humans are created in the image of God, we have these attributes in ourselves too. sefirotic tree—A diagram representing the ten kabbalistic attributes of God. Shabbat—The Jewish sabbath. shamash—The highest candle or wick on the menorah, used to light the other candles or wicks. shefa—Abundance, outpouring, flow. sheitl—Wig worn by married Orthodox Jewish women. Shekhinah—The presence or feminine presence of God. shofar—The ram's horn blown on Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year. Sigmund Freud (1856–1939, b. Austrian empire)—(Jewish) founder of psychoanalysis. sod—"secret." The highest level of biblical interpretation. Souls in the Garden: Poems About Jewish Spain—A book of poems by Henry Rasof published in 2019. Talmud—Teaching, stories, conversations, and laws of the ancient rabbis compiled about 500 C.E.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 54 tiferet—Beauty/compassion/balance, also God. Torah—Strictly speaking, the five books of Moses, but often used to refer to all of the books of the Hebrew Bible (the Tanakh: Torah, Prophets, and Writings; the books other than those in the New Testament) or even to Jewish beliefs and practices in general. Tikkunei Zohar (or Tikkunei ha-Zohar)—One of the components of the Zohar. tzaddik—A righteous person. yesod—Foundation. YHVH—Acronym for the four-Hebrew-letter name of God, the tetragrammaton: Yod Hey Vav Hey. Zohar—The Book of Splendor (or Radiance), the main book of Jewish mysticism, traditionally attributed to the second-century Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, since he is its main player. However, modern scholarship assigns authorship primarily to the Rabbi Moses de León. Zoharic—Having to do with the Zohar.

Reference

The Wisdom of the Zohar: An Anthology of Texts. Three volumes. Oxford and Portland, OR: Oxford University Press, 1989. Systematically arranged and rendered into Hebrew by Fischel Lachower (vols. 1 & 2) and Isaiah Tishby (vols. 1–3), with extensive introductions and explanations by Isaiah Tishby. English translation by David Goldstein.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 55 The Forlorn Young Woman A Recently Discovered Fragment of the Zohar Analysis and Interpretation by Rabbi Yitzchak Meir Heschel, the Zinkover Rebbe (1770–1855) Commentary by Henry Rasof

When Rabbi Shimon walked over to the fig tree, followed by the companion rabbis, he saw the kabbalistic tree in his mind's eye. Instead of seeing the other rabbis and the mule driver, he saw the tree of life emanating the divine attributes―the sefirot―among them chohkmah (wisdom)on the right side of the tree (from our perspective). He sought the highest sefirot but was able to connect only with the lower ones, represented by the mules. All human beings, or most, want to connect with a higher power or with the more developed parts of themselves, but, even for a Rabbi Shimon, this is challenging, so we often do not succeed.

The woman who walked by at that moment was the Shekhinah―the presence or feminine presence of God, associated with malkhut (kingdom), the lowest sefira―manifesting momentarily in the guise of the matriarch Rachel, then disappearing. Rabbi Isaac, suddenly overwhelmed by the lovingly kind aura of the Shekhinah and by his own lovingkindness toward her, caught a glimpse of the ancient, eternal, primordial nature of God and asked his colleagues what he was experiencing. When we ourselves try to connect with that higher place, something wonderful happens: Even if just for a moment, we experience a strong manifestation of lovingkindness in the form of divine feminine energy. And, when we connect with that source, we also connect with the eternal, transcendent, merciful God.

Here also we have the holy triad of chesed, tiferet, and gevurah―lovingkindness/grace, beauty/compassion/balance, and judgment/strength. "Rachel" is the sefira chesed (normally in sefirotic language, this would not be her sefira, but it is here), Rabbi Isaac is gevurah (judgment/strength), and God is tiferet (beauty/compassion/balance). The rabbis prayed for the unification of these three qualities so that the world might be redeemed. Directed prayer is able to affect the universe in such a way as to unite different aspects of Creation and of God. On the personal level, praying for the unification of these qualities in ourselves brings a supernal sense of harmony and balance—God is our center, emanating our lovingkindness, tempered by restraint.

Such unification requires wisdom and understanding. However, these qualities are mysterious and fleeting, often disguised, even invisible, and as such were not perceived even by Rabbi Shimon and his companions. These two qualities now appeared but were unrecognized, disguised as qualities of the lowly mule driver, who actually was the mysterious Rav Hamnuna Sava, famous for his brilliant Torah interpretations and who frequently visited from the other world to teach Torah on Earth. As in many of his manifestations, and like those of the Holy One, he was recognized only after appearing and disappearing, and at this point, he was not yet recognized by the rabbis. Our highest qualities, wisdom and understanding, often show up unexpectedly, may be transient, and might be disguised, so that we miss their appearance. These qualities also may show up in places we normally wouldn't associate with higher qualities.

The source of the mule driver's wisdom was his strong grounding in the upper and lower worlds and his ability to dig in the high realms of the lower world in order to explore the depths of the upper world. He looked tired and ragged to the rabbis because, as Rav Hamnuna Sava, he was exhausted from raising so many sparks―elevating lower souls and reclaiming lost Torah knowledge. What was he there to teach this time? That one who is so grounded receives an outpouring of wisdom and understanding. Wisdom comes not just from a high place but from a low place as well; true wisdom

From the description of "Rachel's" response to the heavy rain, we can construct an interpretation built around the sefirot, the divine energies, of which there are ten total: When the upper and lower sefirot are fused, the divine nature of God―tiferet―will emerge. Furthermore, the energies of the sefirot can influence ("interrupt") one another. For example, chesed (lovingkindness/grace) can influence chokhmah (wisdom) when the other upper sefirot are allowed to modestly reveal themselves: The Torah has levels of meaning, arrayed in layers like garments―the garments of Torah. When they are allowed to flutter modestly "in the wind," the holy spirit―the blessed Holy One―descends to earth in the form of chesed―pure lovingkindness, the "essential essence" of God. All wisdom, all experience, all people, all of life's mysteries, everything under the sun―everything has layers of meaning and significance; when allowed to reveal their "spirit," they open the way for the revelation of God's purest nature, namely, chesed, or lovingkindness/grace.

When Rabbi Abba said to "call the woman," he was not being flip or disrespectful or demeaning. He was saying, in code, "Let us pray for chesed (lovingkindness/grace) so that we can have a direct experience of God." For him to attain this state, however, more Torah study ("food") was necessary, and of the fiery kind. Additionally, balance was required, lest he become supersaturated with lovingkindness and lose his self boundaries. Thus the desire for warmth, but the necessity for limits, symbolized by the woman's throwing her wet jacket over her left shoulder (gevurah, judgment/strength, the left side).

As the woman does this, she gazes at "some children." What or who are these children? The daughter letters of the Hebrew mother letters aleph, mem, and shin, representing the three main constituents of matter: air (aleph, the first letter of avir, Hebrew for "air"), water (mem, the first letter of mayim, Hebrew for "water"), and fire (shin, the primary sound of aish, Hebrew for "fire"). They also represent the transcendent, infinite God, Ein-sof, which has no qualities we are able to detect or describe. Although the concept of daughter letters appears nowhere else in the Zohar and is obscure, we can surmise that since during the Creation when Ein-sof emanated the universe through the vehicle of the Hebrew letters, the three mother letters constituting the Ein-sof gave birth to three daughter letters from which the rest of Creation could proceed. What does this teach us? That that which appears simple on the surface sometimes is actually very complicated.

After "Rachel" left, Rabbi Eleazar attempted to penetrate the surface of chesed, thinking he could attain communion with God through the prds, the four levels of biblical interpretation (peshat, plain/literal; derash, metaphorical; remez, hinted or symbolic; sod, secret). In sighing, long and short, the mule driver was referring to the sefirotic emanations described in Tikkunei Zohar, one of the components of the holy Zohar, which are chesed (lovingkindness/grace; long) and din (judgment; short) at the extremes and rachamim (compassion/mercy) in the middle. The mule driver signaled only the two extremes, meant to send a wakeup call to the faithful, just as the long and short blasts of the shofar are meant to wake the faithful during the Days of Awe. He was attempting to awaken the rabbis to a more solid, holistic reality so that they could experience the unobscured, harmonious light of rachamim (compassion/mercy).

The sighs also represented creation and formation, the two lowest of the kabbalistic "four worlds"―and the lowest parts of the soul. The sighs, based on exhaled air rather than on words, also suggest a connection with the ruach hakodesh (the Holy Spirit)―in Hebrew, ruach means both wind

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 57 and spirit, and it is also one of the levels of the soul, or if you wish, the third of our souls. The mule driver is suggesting that through listening to their breath the rabbis could come to a profound understanding of their souls.

With these sighs, the mule driver nonverbally transmitted two profound teachings, without any fancy hermeneutic tools, the way all good teachers transmit teachings to their students―for example, Zen Buddhist teachers, who transmit their teachings and anoint successors nonverbally. We too can wake up and receive profound teachings by just following our breath, like a practitioner of vipassana meditation/mindfulness practice. Nothing here is secret or complicated: We just need to attend to the signs that direct us to balance our extreme qualities in order to be merciful toward ourselves and others, and also to experience the most basic levels of our soul. Once we do this we can soar in our highest soul to connect with God.

When the mule driver admonished the rabbis for being in their heads too much, he was continuing his theme of taking a grounded approach to Torah study. He first told the illustrious rabbis not to ignore "surface" meaning, because sometimes the surface meaning is the higher meaning, and sometimes that is all there is. Then he said to build a Torah interpretation from the ground up―actually, starting below- ground: As an interpretation grows increasingly complex, it will be sturdy and survive counter-interpretations and challenges. Additionally, all interpretations must center in the heart, considered the seat of the mind, since the heart represents balance, and a beautiful, sound interpretation must balance many considerations.

We often look for something in the wrong place, thinking it hidden, when actually it is under our noses. Seeing the obvious does not always come naturally, however; we may have to turn our world upsidedown, but when we do, we still need to stay close to the Source. In sefirotic terms this might mean inverting the tree so that the shefa (the divine flow) moves from the lowest sefira, yesod (foundation), to malkhut (kingdom/Shekhinah), to the middle sefira, tiferet (beauty/compassion/balance), to two of the upper sefirot, chokhmah (wisdom) and binah (understanding), and finally to the highest sefira, keter (crown/will), which some commentators do not believe is a sefira. All but three sefirot are engaged in this process.

The end of Rabbi Eleazar's remarkably rich delivery on everything from "Rachel's" wig to the apex of Jewish mystical experience drew further comments from the mule driver, who was responding in particular to Rabbi Eleazar's florid, somewhat grandiose statement about riding the chariot (a central feature of merkavah mysticism―merkavah is Hebrew for "chariot"―inspired by Ezek. 1) to the seventh heavenly hall. The seventh heavenly hall that he referred to is the "holy of holies―the highest of the hekhalot (heavenly halls or palaces described in early Jewish mystical literature and also elsewhere in the Zohar), the one inhabited by Ein-sof, the transcendent God, the God without qualities. The mule driver advised him and the other rabbis to come down to Earth. When we, seeking to connect with the transcendent God, become too removed from ourselves, from our deepest self, from Mother Nature, from our bodies, from the ground under our feet, we risk losing touch with reality and losing our minds. This is why traditionally Jews were not allowed to study kabbalah and the Zohar until they were forty years old, after they had a family, gainful employment, a through knowledge of the Torah, the Talmud, and Jewish ethics and law, as well as some life experience, for these would keep them grounded while exploring kabbalah, which could take the person into outer space: If you are an astronaut working outside the Space

When after chastising the rabbis for "chasing heavenly halls," out of the blue the mule driver threw a curveball question about the opening of the Torah―which contains one of the deepest puzzles of the Torah―why the text says Elohim, "gods"―he meant to challenge both tradition and conventional thinking. Achieving the deepest understanding of the Torah requires no less a challenge. We may have studied something before, perhaps what we have studied has come from our enlightened predecessors, but to arrive at our own complete and true wisdom we have to question everything we have learned so far, or else our knowledge is not really our own.

Furthermore, we need to ask questions from a holistic place, not a dualistic one: By standing back from the appearance of differences, we can come to realize, using our innate wisdom (chokhmah), that our intelligent, probing, seemingly off-beat questions come as well from a place of unity and harmony, regardless of what other people may think of them. In other words, though a cliché, we need to trust in our selves―not necessarily throwing out the baby with the bathwater, just not accepting everything we are told, without asking questions and testing whether what we are told is indeed true. The result is the connection that Rabbi Yose asked about.

Rabbi Shimon thought the mule driver meant sefirot when he said "gods" because he thought that he and Rav Hamnuna Sava were playing the same game, that is, thinking in terms of sefirot. Although the Zohar uses sefirotic language only sparingly, this section contains one of the important instances of its usage. Although an obvious observation, we need to be careful not to assume anything without looking deeper and to choose our language carefully, else we misunderstand or be misunderstood.

When Rabbi Shimon asked the mule driver, almost as an aside, "What can you add to this?," he wanted to know whether the latter knew the deepest meaning of the Creation story that opens the Torah, and the secret of Creation itself, namely, the details of how God created the universe from the Torah blueprint and on a lower level how God utilized water to create life on earth. This is maaseh bereshit, the Work of Creation described in early Jewish texts and in the twelfth century by Moses Maimonides in his Guide of the Perplexed. Going with Maimonides' take on these concepts: Whereas maaseh merkavah, the Work of the Chariot (the same chariot Rabbi Eleazar referred to), describes the philosophical and mystical fabric of the universe, maaseh bereshit describes the physical, scientific fabric. Where do we come from, where are we going, who are we, what is the meaning of life? These are the big questions, whether we are Rabbi Shimon, scientists, philosophers, mystics, theologians, writers, children, or "ordinary" people. Even if we think we know the answer to a profound question, we need to probe more, because these questions have no final, conclusive answers. As the saying goes: Those who say they know, do not know, and those who know, do not say.

However, the mule driver was more interested in Elohim than in the details of Creation, which he did not provide. He said, no, Elohim had nothing to do with the sefirot; rather, Elohim meant "gods," literally. He said that throughout the Torah many usages have no secondary or deeper meaning―for example, instances of plurals used in place of singulars, and so the take on Freud's famous statement about cigars―"Sometimes a plural is just a plural." Hence Elohim ("gods") may have no special meaning. Additionally, this question, like all seemingly deep questions, may

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 59 not be so special after all. Again, we need to be careful not to take anything at face value or assume everything has a deeper significance. People who do this risk forgetting to smell the flowers and listen to the birds and simply be present with these sensory experiences. We need to ask questions and probe deeply for answers, but again, we need to stay alert for the unexpected, not privilege any experience or concept, and remember to take some things with a grain of salt.

Curiously, this is the opposite of what the mule driver said earlier, that beneath simplicity often lies complexity. However, these two concepts do not really contradict each other; they simply illustrate that we cannot really take anything at face value and make assumptions about its true nature. Some phenomena appear simple but are actually quite complex, and some complex phenomena are actually quite simple. Just as we need to be careful not to make mountains out of molehills, so too we need to be careful not to minimize or downplay the significance of something just because it appears simple.

When Rabbi Yose and the mule driver went back on forth on the nature of Elohim, Rabbi Yose brought in angels, since one of the traditional explanations of God's plurality in the name Elohim is that when the Torah says, "Let us make man in our own image" (Gen. 1:26), God is consulting with angels. However, not only did the mule driver insist that Elohim means "gods," plural, but he said there are seven gods and then, correcting himself, ten. Curiously, this sounds as if he is talking about sefirot, first as a group of seven, then as a totality of ten, including the godhead itself (possibly keter, crown/will).

He then used the analogy of the menorah to argue that whether Elohim signifies God or gods is a matter of perspective, as with lights in a menorah: From one angle Elohim appears to be many gods, but from another Elohim is just one God. "Gods," plural, is an illusion. The apparent argument about the number of gods "In the Beginning" is thus irrelevant, since perspective is what matters, regardless of whether the number of lights is three, or seven, or eight, or ten, since from another perspective there may appear to be just one light.

When asked about the shamash, the light on the menorah that is supposed to be higher than the other lights, he said the shamash indeed has a special purpose, but when a menorah is viewed from a certain angle, all the lights, now including the shamash, appear to be one. We can draw a parallel with human society: Some members (like Rabbi Shimon) are indeed "higher" in spiritual or intellectual or physical status―they have special abilities and other people cannot do. However, they are still part of humankind at large; from that perspective, all the lights are one, or manifestations of one light. The reasoning in our Zohar passage resembles to some extent a section of the Idra Zuta, one of the Zohar texts: "[A]ll the lights draw their light from the supernal light. . . . And all the lights and all the luminaries draw their light from the Atika Kadisha, . . . the supernal light."

Likewise, ourselves as individuals: We have many lights within ourselves, but one is higher, or should be: our chief feature as an individual human being, which makes us individually special. This might be our reasoning skills, or our kindness and generosity, or our spirituality, or our physical strength, or our ability to make peace or lead an army, or raise children, or play music or create art. Or, it might just be that we are human, made in the image of God, since we are special even if we don't shine in any of these ways, which are really just talents or abilities. Yet, within our selves, despite the appearance of many parts, we are really just one soul, undivided, indivisible.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 60 Of course, when viewed against all the other lights around us―the rest of humanity―our seemingly unique soul is one with the whole. And, from the final perspective, this soul is one with the universe, and with God: Everything is part of God, there is no difference between us and God, even using this language of differentiation is false, God lights all the lamps, He is the holiest of lamps, and yet God too is not higher than any one of us, since viewed from that special perspective there is but one lamp. And this is why Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai was called the Holy Lamp: He realized all of this.

In spite of the mule driver's explanations, Rabbi Shimon, although understanding what the mule driver said, was still unclear why the mule driver said what he said, specifically, "many gods created the heavens and the earth." Although Rabbi Yose suspected trickery, Rabbi Eleazar gave him the benefit of the doubt: "I think he is trying to tell us something." Likewise, when confronted by someone who says something that appears confusing or is too complicated for us to grasp, rather than reacting as if a trick is involved, we need to ask, "What is the message?" Obviously, not everything has a message, as the mule driver has pointed out, and of course sometimes confusion and complication are unnecessary or even harmful―deliberate obfuscation is crazy-making if we do not hold on to our center, to our own highest guiding light, and to our connection with the highest light―God.

In this case, of course, Rabbi Shimon sensed the wisdom in the mule driver's words, so intuitively he knew something was deep in what he was saying, a special message or teaching he was bringing, and thus agreed with his son, Rabbi Eleazar, that the mule driver was trying to tell the rabbis something.

To make sure he understood the mule driver, Rabbi Shimon then summarized the essence of the mule driver's teaching on perspective, to which the mule driver responded by asserting that both terms―"gods" and "sefirot"―were meaningless. Although he never directly said, "I used the word gods because . . . ," the reason he asked the question was to get the rabbis, including Rabbi Shimon, to see beyond appearances and linguistic constructs like Elohim and sefirot and words in general and to experience the unity of all existence.

In the metaphysical realm we need to remember that things and their descriptions are not the same; words go just so far. If we are caught up in the fine points of constructs, we will forget that constructs are just that: constructs. Objects have a more basic reality than the way they are described, for instance. In Hinduism this quality might be called sat-chit- ananda―"truth, consciousness, bliss," an epithet and description for the subjective experience of Brahman, the ultimate, unchanging reality. The later Western philosophers also were aware of these different levels of perception. All descriptions of reality are equivalent―none is better than another, more accurate. Mistaking these descriptions for the subject of the descriptions is illusion.

Rabbi Abba then astutely asked: What, then, is the purpose of the sefirot? If they have no reality of their own, how did they come to be? Are they just a figment of someone's imagination? And, even more astutely, If God is just One and indivisible, how explain the diversity and multiplicity of creation? This last question has challenged philosophers, metaphysicians, and mystics, Jewish and non-Jewish, for at least two thousand years.

Rabbi Abba answered his own question, saying the sefirot are needed to explain the diversity and

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 61 multiplicity of Creation and that God emanated the sefirot, which in turn propagated the diversity and multiplicity we see in the world.

For the mule driver, however, there was no problem, since distinctions between God and His creation are illusory, and the sefirot are not needed to explain life's deepest mysteries: They are a construct useful to understanding the blessed Holy One and the universe but do not reflect their actual natures. We will always be puzzled if we do not see the unity of all creation and understand that words are simply imperfect descriptions of what is.

The illuminating words of the mule driver created an aha! experience for the rabbis, which is why they were speechless. There is some indication that this experience led them directly to that seventh heavenly hall that the mule driver, somewhat ironically in retrospect, warned the rabbis about earlier on, since no sound is heard in this hall, wherein dwells the Shekhinah, the divine presence. Many of us, confronted with a profound revelation that we intuitively know is a reflection of one of life's truths, or even a recognition on a lower level of something we aren't aware of―like a secret that a good friend has been hiding for years―may respond similarly, becoming temporarily mute and perhaps even experiencing our jaw dropping, as we momentarily connect with the supernal Source of Life, seemingly distant and invisible, now immanent, close to us.

Rabbi Eleazar then eloquently summarized all the mule driver said: Because the nature of reality has been explained many times, just as the question posed by Rabbi Hamnuna Sava has been posed many times, it can be said that in the next world an even deeper meaning will be revealed, namely, that this world is actually just how it appears, with nothing special or mysterious about it. And this highest meaning will manifest from the one God, the lovingly kind God, as does everything in Creation. The primordial origin of the universe is in fact lovingkindness. This seems to be maaseh bereshit, the Work of Creation, its ultimate secret. Using the metaphor of the candelabra, lovingkindness is the shamash that lights the other sefirot. However, it is both the highest light and just another light―it's all a matter of perspective.

"Amen!" everyone responded, a recognition of faith in God's oneness―the sefirot are only a construct―"amen" is related to emunah, faith―and a response to those Jewish critics who attacked kabbalists as being worse than Christians for propagating the belief that God is not just three but many, defaming the shema, the central proclamation of the Jewish faith that God is One.

By saying "The mule driver is onto something," Rabbi Isaac was partially acknowledging that the mule driver had some wisdom that the rabbis didn't have, and admitting his own limitations. However, because he stereotypes people, even though he knows "the mule driver is onto something," he still is unable to fully acknowledge that the mule driver has some wisdom, asking, almost snidely, "But, who is he anyway?" It is likewise with us: To use a cliché, we often judge a book by its cover. How often to we do this with other people and also with ourselves: We have more wisdom than we want to admit, inner wisdom, intuitive understanding, and might discount this wisdom because it is not coming from a PhD or an MD or someone who is educated in a way that we are not: "How could so and so possibly know that? She never went to college." Or: "I couldn't possibly do that. I don't know enough. I'm terrible at numbers."

After Rabbi Eleazar spoke, the rabbis looked to the right, in the direction of "Rachel," chesed,

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 62 lovingkindness/grace. She had moved farther away because she thought the rabbis also had moved away: Even though they seemed to be "getting it"―that is, what the mule driver had said and their own native wisdom―she sensed resistance to the teachings. When we realize that chesed is the hub of the wheel of the universe, we also may become afraid that we will lose ourselves, so we may pull back from the realization and revert to our former, less enlightened selves.

After "Rachel" moved away, the mule driver disappeared. He had helped guide the rabbis, especially toward understanding the importance of perspective in seeing past illusory constructs and dualities.

Whether everyone needs such an external guide to help in his or her spiritual maturation is an individual decision. From this text, however, it would seem that a guide could help steer us toward a fuller understanding of ourselves, of the world, of the relationship between the two, and of the various methods or anti-methods of achieving this understanding. At some point, however, the guide may be unnecessary: When the lenses of perception are cleansed of dualities of the kind being discussed, our human qualities will take care of themselves, without a guide. And, since an immanent God is not needed, God becomes transcendent. We may feel lost at first, like Rabbi Yose, who no longer had his whipping boy in the form of the mule driver. Rabbi Yose now needs to let go his narrow-mindedness and insecurities, but eventually he will be better off. He will need to depend on his own smarts, which automatically will be in tune with God's. We too will be better off if we let go our prejudices and projections and no longer let them guide us.

However, even if we let go an outer guide or let it disappear, we still will need some way to control and direct our lives, else things get out of hand. This control needs to come from the highest place, not from any intermediary place. And this highest place is Ein-sof, the God that cannot be seen, felt, heard, touched, or described, but perhaps glimpsed in rare moments―the Holy Ancient One alluded to earlier in this Zohar text when Rabbi Abba asked the identity of the young woman. Control also comes from feeding our lower qualities the discards: They would not survive on higher qualities: If we are hungry, we need physical food, not spiritual food. If we need physical affection, all the wisdom in the world won't make a dent in that need. Also, these lower qualities will happily feed off the husks, leaving the higher qualities to feed on the oat kernels.

Inspired by the enigmatic, disappearing mule driver and his out-of-control mules, Rabbi Shimon finally identified the mule driver was: Rav Hamnuna Sava, described earlier. Likewise, when we figure out which part of us is the wisest and most brilliant, we are free to savor what we can learn from it, in this case not to mistake husks for oats.

There now was total agreement on Rav Hamnuna's teaching, meaning that Rav Hamnuna had been freed of any taint of duality, bonding him to his teaching, allowing him to return to the Other World. Likewise, when our own qualities light up at the same time, indicating harmony, we are free to merge with God, or to realize there was no difference in the first place. Any perceived difference is illusion, just like the concept that God is plural.

In the flow of the river, the ancient flow of Torah wisdom, too, echoed this realization, and although the mystery of Creation seemed solved―at least for the time being―the mystery of the chariot remained unsolved, leaving a conundrum and new mystery: If chesed (lovingkindness/grace)―explains the

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 63 physical creation of the universe―one would think this would be the metaphysical basis of Creation―then what does maaseh merkavah―the Work of the Chariot, the metaphysical reality―explain or do?

A clue perhaps resides with the river. Could this be one of the rivers in the Garden of Eden? Perhaps the mystery is there. Or maybe it suggests Chagigah 14b, which contains the famous passage in the Babylonian Talmud in which Rabbi Akiva says, "When you reach the shining marble stone, do not cry out 'Water, Water.'" Some commentators connect this with "theories of Creation which assume water to be the original element." However, our Zohar text does not explore this angle.

We may figure something out that we think is important and end up thinking if we can figure that out, we can figure out anything and everything, including maaseh bereshit and maaseh merkavah. This does not always happen: Sometimes the expected answer is the unexpected one, leaving us back where we started or forcing us to regroup. And sometimes no one knows the answer, or there is no answer, or the person we think has the answer either doesn't or doesn't want to tell us. If even Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, the wisest of the wise, illuminator of the deepest of mysteries, didn't know the secret of Creation or why the Torah was written the way it was, what about the rest of us? Even the wise mule driver, who turned out to be the greatest of the ancient Torah scholars, didn't have all the answers. And, no one even noticed the apparent problem created in saying the physical universe came from a metaphysical source, if indeed it was a contradiction.

And so, even though the Torah flows with lovingkindness and its revelations depend on the lovingkindness of the Holy One, Torah will always be refreshed, will always refresh those who embody lovingkindness, and surprise us with her eternal mysteries.

Coda

The reader may notice that in the analysis, interpretation, and commentary―especially the beginning―and most especially in the endnotes to the original text―names, terms, and phrases are interpreted using the sefirot, often on a one-to-one correspondence: Rabbi Shimon = binah (understanding), Rachel = chesed (lovingkindness/grace), and so on.

The observant reader then will notice that sefirotic language is mostly dropped in favor of ordinary terms like "lovingkindness." As Rav Hamnuna Sava says repeatedly, don't mistake words for what they stand for. He also says the sefirot are a useful paradigm for understanding the world but are only a construct: Although the sefirot are not needed to understand the nature of Creation, this language is still helpful in understanding the text. It also makes the text familiar to those readers familiar with this type of interpretation. On this seemingly opaque and contradictory note, I leave you to uncover and navigate the truths embodied in this recently discovered piece of the holy Zohar, the Book of Splendor.

Reference

The Wisdom of the Zohar: An Anthology of Texts. Three vols. Oxford and Portland, OR: Oxford University Press, 1989. Systematically arranged and rendered into Hebrew by Fischel Lachower (vols. 1 & 2) and Isaiah Tishby (vols. 1–3), with extensive introductions and explanations by Isaiah Tishby. English translation by David Goldstein.

Rabbi Shimon and the companions assembled and exited the walled portion of the city of Ávila through the Gate of Bad Luck (the Puerta de la Malaventura), in the old Jewish quarter. Yes, somehow these sages from the Talmudic period over a thousand years ago had landed in medieval Spain. They proceeded in a group down the dirt path and caught their breath on the banks of the river. Not too far away, a mule driver stood tending the mules, in case Rabbi Shimon or any of the companions were too tired to climb back up the hill to the city proper.

It was a clear, crisp autumn morning in the year 5061 by the Hebrew calendar, 1300 by the Western calendar. Dew sparkled on the tips of the blades of grass. Most of the tree leaves had fallen and were scattered randomly on the ground below. A slight breeze was blowing. The sun was beginning to rise.

Suddenly, as if emerging from the stillness, came a faint, soft wisp of song. The rabbis turned toward the sound, which seemed to be coming from the direction of the mule driver. No, it was not one of the mules. Nor was it a bird or wild animal, or a sound made by humans—for example, the sound of someone bathing or washing clothes in the river. No, it was more of an unworldly sound, like that of a celestial harp.

Rabbi Abba asked: "Does the song remind others of King David, the ancient psalmist?"

The other rabbis nodded their assent. Though improbable, perhaps his music had left traces that they now were hearing.

Rabbi Abba then asked: "When we die, do we leave the earth, body and soul, the way we just left the

Rabbi Yose interrupted: "I only hope it's not through a gate of bad luck. That would mean we were going to gehinnom" [purgatory].

Rabbi Abba continued: "—or, does our body die and our soul remain behind? Perhaps our soul leaves and our body stays behind."

The mule driver, who was close enough for the rabbis to hear him, called out: "The Hindus believe that our soul enters and exits our body through what they call the aperture of Brahma, a little gate at the top of the skull."

Rabbi Isaac said, "The sefira keter, I would venture to say," without pausing to wonder how the mule driver could know of such matters, especially those in faraway India.

The mule driver opined: "The gate opens in both directions. Just as today we have exited the city, later we can return, in the same form as when we left."

Rabbi Yose said: "Unless of course something happens to us, like breaking a leg, or a tree branch falling on us, or catching a cold."

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 65 Rabbi Abba, ignoring Rabbi Yose, now said to the mule driver: "Are you saying that death is a two-way street? We can pass in and out as easily as we are passing in and out of the gate?"

The mule driver tethered the mules to a tree and moved even closer to the assembly of illustrious rabbis. He was singing. Now the source of the song heard previously was clear: the mule driver. It was an unusual song that he was singing, in an unfamiliar, unusual way. First he hummed the melody; then he sang some words. Then he sang the melody and intoned the words at the same time. Then he whispered the words. Then he stopped singing entirely, allowing the silence to envelop him along with the esteemed rabbis. He actually did all of this several times and in a different order each time. The melody seemed familiar but actually was nothing they ever had heard before. It was strange, haunting, unworldly.

Rabbi Abba again asked: "Is anyone else but me thinking of the ancient psalmist?"

All the other rabbis nodded in agreement. It was as if the song stirred exactly the same image and associations in the heads of all of the rabbis.

Also responding to the music but in a different way, Rabbi Shimon, the Holy Lamp, now opened in his typical way: "Come and see. A complete song has both lyrics and tune, but we can recognize the song by either its words or its melody. They are different elements of the song, of course, and ideally perhaps they are joined in completeness. Nevertheless, they work separately as well."

His son, Rabbi Eleazar, said: "Like a father and son, or mother and daughter. They can function independently but are only complete when together."

Rabbi Isaac asked: "What about the silence?" Rabbi Eleazar said: "In silence there are neither words nor music."

Rabbi Yehudah, silent until now, said: "I must disagree. In silence are both music and words. They can be heard if we listen closely and carefully, and with a different type of sensory organ."

Rabbi Hiyya said: "With all due respect to the Holy Lamp, the problem is that this song is not recognizable, neither the words nor the melody. . . ."

The mule driver interrupted: "The Sufis believe that everything is music, so that must mean silence is music as well."

Rabbi Shimon then asked: "In a song, which is its soul, which its body?"

Rabbi Yehudah replied: "The music is the body; the words are the soul. Or maybe the music is the soul, the words the body."

Rabbi Isaac said: "Does this apply to human beings as well? If so, then after we die, the music disappears but the words remain."

The mule driver said: "I don't think so." Rabbi Abba asked: "So, are both soul and body immortal in our tradition?"

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 66 The mule driver said: "Many words have been written and spoken about this matter, in our faith and in other traditions. The first question always asked is: 'What happens to us after we die, after our bodies die?' This is the question asked of the king of the underworld in the ancient Hindu Katha Upanishad."

Rabbi Yose cut in: "Shouldn't we investigate the nature of the soul instead of delving into the kind of nonsense the mule driver is spinning off?"

Rabbi Pinchas, the father-in-law of Rabbi Shimon, took the lead here: "Let us assume we have something called a soul. What is it? Is it immortal? Is it tangible—a thing—or a concept? Does it come into our body at birth, or before, or is it part of our flesh, inseparable? Does it grow along with our body before we are born? Is it something separate from our physical body when we grow older? What happens to it when we die?"

Rabbi Hiyya added: "Assuming we do have a soul, what is its purpose? Why do we have one?"

He paused. The only sound was that of the stream flowing over the rocks and a light breeze waving the remaining leaves on the cork trees. No one answered the questions, at least out loud.

In fact, all of the rabbis now were absolutely silent, except for the sound of their breathing. Above them the Gate of Bad Luck had swung shut. The city was still asleep. The rabbis also might have been, or in a trance, they were so still.

The mule driver then spoke:

"In the Epic of Gilgamesh, which also contains the flood story, the king has lost his best friend. He is bereft and wants to find him. He goes to the ends of the Earth in search of him and of answers. He even asks Death itself, as was asked in the Indian book. But the only answer is that death is final. For him there is no answer, at least no satisfactory one. Keep in mind that Gilgamesh was an evil king. His friend, Enkidu, was a kind of wild man, primitive, perhaps like Esau. Read metaphorically, Gilgamesh has mistreated his untamed, naive, wild side, so much that this part of him has died. He cannot have it back. It is gone forever. He has, so to speak, tasted of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, and because he has chosen evil over good, for him there is no next life, no immortality. This is it."

Rabbi Hiyya said: "Choose the dark path and there is no future after death."

Rabbi Isaac said: "And if we choose the path of light and goodness? Do we have a future after our body dies?"

Rabbi Shimon said: "Two men did not die: Enoch and Elijah. They were transformed into other beings while still alive. And one woman, Serah bat Asher, also did not die."

Rabbi Eleazar said: "They were the only exceptions we know of." Rabbi Hiyya said: "What about the thirty-six righteous ones who keep the world in check?" Rabbi Eleazar said: "We know nothing about them other than that."

The mule driver now interjected: "Just as in a musical tune there are various frequencies and overtones, so too in a human being there are various frequencies and overtones. Each of us has a unique spectrum

Some of us have stronger signals in one range and weaker ones in another. Some of us have only weak signals. The tzaddik—the righteous person—has strong signals in all ranges. It is possible, through hard personal, inner work; following the mitzvot—the commandments—along with an exemplary life filled with good deeds, to strengthen the weak ranges, so that our soul vibrates intensely on all frequencies."

He paused for a moment to gauge the effect of his words, then went on: "If the soul is not immortal in the first place—and no one is certain that it is—according to our own tradition and to some other traditions, we can make it immortal or create within ourselves something immortal that can survive the death and decomposition of the body."

Rabbi Yose spoke up: "And what are those other traditions?" he asked with his familiar sneer.

Without hesitating, the mule driver replied: "One, from Central Asia, says that our soul can survive the death of our body only if we create something in ourselves, or in the world, that can withstand death, something important."

Quoting from Ecclesiastes, Rabbi Eleazer now said, in barely a whisper: "Nothing is new under the sun."

Rabbi Abbahu, also quoting Ecclesiastes, added: "All is vanity, companions. Does anyone really think they can create something that will make them immortal?"

The rabbis, including Rabbi Shimon, remained sitting, eyes half open, taking in all that the strange mule driver was saying.

"A Chinese book says," the mule driver added, "that if a person's soul or spirit can be detached from its physical body, it can survive death and be immortal. I have seen a diagram showing, near the heart, a spirit body created by one of their sages. . . ."

Rabbi Yose said: "You mean they grow a little green man in their chest? And how do they do this?"

Ignoring Rabbi Yose, who often was cynical, the mule driver continued: "They practice a kind of meditation in which the soul detaches from the body. In addition, they practice not being attached to outcomes of situations, to people, to ideas, to negative thoughts, and even to their own souls. In essence their lives are spent letting go of their bodies and of their existence on Earth."

Addressing just the other rabbis, Rabbi Yose then said: "I have never before heard such a teaching. Did he make it up out of thin air?

Rabbi Yehudah said: "Surely this is no ordinary mule driver. Where did he learn these sorts of things?"

Rabbi Yose said: "Surely not in cheder, Hebrew school!" Rabbi Isaac said: "Perhaps from a special rabbi in a special synagogue."

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 68 Rabbi Hiyya said: "More likely from a maggid, a wandering spirit who traveled widely and remembered what he saw, heard, felt, and learned. . . ."

Rabbi Yose cut him off: "Or maybe from that little green man coming to him in a dream after he had too much to drink the night before and . . ." He stopped midsentence, perhaps to reconsider his words.

As if nothing unusual had happened or been said, Rabbi Shimon now expounded: "In our tradition, too, we aim to not be identified with our body, to avoid creating harmful attachments, for the same reason: so that after we die our soul can quickly and easily ascend to heaven to join the Holy One of blessed countenance."

Rabbi Yehudah built on the idea of nonattachment: "If our soul is light because it is not attached to the body; or is attached only very loosely; and has not sinned or has done teshuvah—if these conditions are met, it will not be reborn."

Rabbi Abba asked: "How do we avoid attachments and reactions? They are normal and automatic, no?"

Rabbi Abba asked: "Even if it were this simple, how would we do this?"

Rabbi Abba replied: "This is not so easy. The Holy Lamp said: "It indeed is not and takes constant work."

Rabbi Shimon replied: "We train ourselves to recognize that all of our reactions and responses come from us and have nothing to do with anything outside of us. There is an outside world, inhabited by other human beings, but it is separate from us."

Rabbi Shimon said: "One way is to not respond to either praise or criticism. Do not react to people or events."

Rabbi Yehudah said: "When someone criticizes or verbally attacks me, my head feels strange. It is hard to explain, but I feel as if I go into a shimmering cloud that obscures reality. I then think that things are not real, that my thoughts are unreal, my body, my entire self. Everything is a mirage, a hallucination. I am caught up in an experience caused by my own faulty thinking, that what was said has something to do with me when in fact it doesn't. However, standing back from this mirage is not so easy."

The air was still. Not a leaf moved. The rabbis and even the mule driver were listening intently. Even the river was quiet and seemed to be listening. Perhaps it even was trying to help Rabbi Yehudah express himself.

The mule driver was the first to break the silence. He now said, humming the strange tune while talking: "Rabbi Yehudah has become aware of a deeper level of consciousness, an awareness of the indescribable. How can he and others of us deal with the kind of language that makes us feel that everything is unreal? Paying attention to your breathing is one way, according to some of those Eastern mystics. Let things bounce off you, like drops of rain bouncing off a duck's back. An extreme measure would be to make yourself fall asleep, to break the connection. Walk at a steady pace while counting breaths. There are many such techniques."

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 69 Rabbi Isaac wondered where the mule driver got these ideas—he seemed full of ideas and suggestions that either didn't seem or definitely were not Jewish—but only asked the mule driver: "Have you tried these?"

Rabbi Yose said: "He has. That's why he is so enlightened."

Rabbi Shimon said: "We have Jewish practices too, like concentrating on images of the Divine or of the sefirot, or chanting different combinations and permutations of the Divine Name and moving our heads up and down or side to side. But, yes, there is no easy way to disentangle from our reactions and extreme bodily sensations."

Rabbi Eleazer said: "As Rabbi Tarfon said: 'The day is short, the task is great, the workers are lazy. . . .'"

Rabbi Hiyya completed the famous statement: "'. . . It is not our job to complete the task, only to start it.'"

Rabbi Shimon nodded and looked up at the rising sun, which was partially hidden behind a gray cloud, and, seeming to change the subject: "Most other teachings focus on the conventional idea of sin, on how sinners cannot go to heaven, at least not without a lot of work in this life, a lot of punishment after they die, or very hard work in a rebirth. However, I like to define sin first as the inability to detach from our reactivity to words and actions we think are directed against us in order to anger or hurt us or that anger or hurt us in spite of ourselves. Then, second, by becoming entangled with other people's craziness or our own mental confusion arising from trying to figure out other people, we forget and lose our selves."

He paused, then continued: "This is what is meant by sin: forgetting our highest self by getting tangled up with all kinds of craziness."

The rabbis again were silent, except for their breathing.

Rabbi Yehudah, unsure whether he fully understood what had been said, nevertheless was able to summarize what had been said, almost as if an alien voice were speaking through him: "If, in relationships with other human beings, including our wives, children, parents, other family members, close associates, ordinary shopkeepers, and strangers, Jewish or not, we do not let ourselves become entangled with their otherness, do not react to anything they might say or do that bothers or angers us, or pleases us either, we will be very light when we die, go directly to heaven, and not have anything to work out in a subsequent life. Then our souls will not reincarnate or transmigrate or perhaps even resurrect at the end of days. . . ."

Rabbi Abba, known as "the questioner," interrupted: "What if a pure soul feels the need or is commanded to return to Earth to help another or other human beings free their own souls?"

Rabbi Yehudah added: "For the highest of individuals, who can maintain their separateness from other people and also from nature, acts of God, and so on, there is a responsibility, an obligation to do so, in order to help raise the sparks of their fellow men and women, so that they too may either stay in the upper Garden of Eden or return to Earth to help their fellow humans."

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 70 Rabbi Abba then asked: "Mightn't this pure soul get lost? I have heard of an angel sent to Earth to guide an Earth being through a very difficult time, who become attached to her. . . . The story is recounted in a little-known story called "Angels in Love" (the last piece of writing in this book).

At that moment, as if on cue, the strange, alien sound could be heard, but not coming from the mule driver, and certainly not from any of the mules. First the companions heard words, then melody, then both together, then silence, as if a supernal musician were performing for them a composition embedded into which was a message just for each of them, a message that each could hear according to his own capacity, like the giving of the manna in the Torah. The complete song was like a coil, with words, melody, and silence winding around one another. It was like a whisper from the past, or a soul that didn't completely depart after its body died.

The rabbis, including Rabbi Shimon, were speechless, transported elsewhere from where they were, out of Ávila, into a dreamscape, perhaps into the pardes, the orchard—paradise—or one of the heavenly halls. The sound, the song, had had a strange effect on them.

Such is the nature of the deepest experiences: Reality seems to become dream; then dream seems to become reality, or vice versa.

Rabbi Yesa broke the silence: "It is said that when some people are washed for burial, they feel very light, almost weightless."

Rabbi Shimon said: "Their souls have ascended already." Rabbi Abba asked: "Does this apply to people with impure souls?"

Rabbi Abbahu, quiet until now, replied: "A soul that cannot stay unattached and nonreactive in this life suffers in this life and, after its body dies, continues to suffer in gehinnom until it redeems herself or is redeemed by the Holy One if there are no extenuating circumstances, for instance, if the soul's owner had a tortured life through no fault of his or her own."

Rabbi Shimon said: "Only God can judge whose soul is pure or impure. Sometimes a tzaddik, who you might think has a very light soul, has a very slight contamination, which weighs him down, while someone you think would have a very heavy soul weighted down with evil and misdeeds, has fought her past-life baggage mightily in this life and so actually has a lighter soul.

Said Rabbi Yesa: "The righteous ascend wearing a garment of light and a garment of good deeds. They enable their wearer to be lighter than air and to quickly join the Holy One in the Upper Garden of Eden."

Rabbi Isaac asked again: "How do we know that good deeds and inner work will get us anywhere after we die?"

Rabbi Shimon weighed in: "The proof is that the world is permeated with chesed, lovingkindness. In spite of what seems an abundance of evil and evil people, the Holy Blessed One remains a lovingly kind and loving God, seemingly untouched, though of course touched in that He remains at the reins of all that is. Also, we know that some souls in this world are new ones, here for the first time, while others have been here before. The souls here for the first time are totally pure, since they have no

While he did so, Rabbi Hizkiyah said: "The older souls could comprise many earlier souls, going back to Adam. His sparks and the sparks of our other ancestors compose our souls. This would explain why we feel as if we have different inclinations, conflicting thoughts, complicated ideas, a plethora of emotions and feelings, contradictory impulses."

"Well spoken," Rabbi Shimon said. He then asked, rhetorically: Isn't it the same when we are alive? Each person, each event, each thing we encounter in this life leaves a trace of its soul in us that then becomes part of our own soul?"

The other rabbis were silent, taking this in.

"A strange dream," Rabbi Isaac said. Rabbi Yose asked: "Was the man Jewish?"

The mule driver then said: "Last night I dreamed about a man in another country who formulated a principle that says when explanations become too complicated, the simplest one is usually the correct one."

Rabbi Shimon addressed the mule driver: "Are you implying, then, that explanations about the multiplicity of the soul are wrong, that we have just one soul, indivisible, like the Holy One, blessed be He. Chevra—what do you think about this?"

The mule driver spoke again: "It is indeed difficult, chevra, to simply say we are who we appear to be and do not need to explain our various traits by invoking past lives over the years, centuries, and millennia. But, remember that at its essence our soul is indivisible, in spite of appearances, just like the sefirot. Reality appears multifaceted and multidimensional but really is not."

Rabbi Abba asked: "How does our mule driver know about the sefirot, and does his dream also apply to them?"

No one responded.

The mule driver said: "Yes. We think we have different soul levels, some higher, some lower, and that

Rabbi Isaac then asked, addressing the mule driver: "Does your theory of simplicity also apply to the three souls?"

The mule driver said: Yes. We think we have different soul levels, some higher, some lower, and that each of us is stronger in one or more of these levels, like the musical overtones I was talking about earlier. In fact, there is just one indivisible soul, which if anything is—or contains a spark of—the divine. It is illusion to think there are more souls within us, whether three, five, or thousands. This just cannot be."

Rabbi Shimon asked: "Mule driver, can you prove this?"

The latter replied, without hesitation: "It is something intuitive. Either you know it or you don't.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 72 Sometimes the world appears complex and variegated, as if viewed through a piece of crystal. Other times it appears simple. Both are correct, but the latter is more correct. Beneath the complexity is simplicity. Some cultures see many gods; some see two; ours sees just one. Our God sometimes seems multifaceted, but when viewed correctly is not."

"What about the sefirot?" Rabbi Shimon queried. "Is the system to which they belong too complex as well?

The mule driver didn't reply but instead sang his song, whereby each of the companions heard one component, according to his capacity. He then made them hear the totality of the song. When he added words, some of the rabbis heard just the words; others, the music; still others, the words and music as one. He then sang so that all of the rabbis heard the words and music as inseparable.

A hush fell over the assembly of distinguished sages. They were speechless. Their jaws had dropped. For one moment all of the companions heard exactly the same thing. Then, as suddenly as they heard what the mule driver sang to them, the moment evaporated, and the rabbis seemed to spring to life, as if they had been resurrected, and again began to talk among themselves, as if nothing had happened.

Rabbi Shimon now said: "I think our mule driver is onto something with what he is saying. There is a basic unity to life. Differences, distinctions, complications, contradictions—these are illusions."

Rabbi Hiyya said: "We already decided that even illusion is illusory, didn't we, in our discussion of Talmud Tractate Chagigah 14b [See "The Zohar on Talmud Tractate Chagigah 14b, 'The Orchard,'" in this book, Rivers in Paradise], which describes the four rabbis entering the pardes—the orchard— paradise?"

"What did we decide?" asked Rabbi Pinchas.

"That often what we think is real, is not, and also the other way around," said Rabbi Hiyya. "Like what Rabbi Yehudah said about the way he reacts to people criticizing him."

"Indeed," said Rabbi Shimon. "We also heard a voice of unknown origin telling us that none of this mattered as much as the memory of two long-gone friends, that the memory was more real than debating whether reality is illusion or illusion is reality, more real than any of our discussions. This is sobering, chevra, don't you think?"

The rabbis collectively sighed, along with the mule driver. Even the mules seemed to sigh, and the clouds overhead as well.

"Maybe some matters and things are not illusory but just simpler than they appear," said Rabbi Isaac.

"What do you mean?" asked Rabbi Abba. "Take resurrection," Rabbi Isaac responded.

"Take it," Rabbi Yose responded tartly.

Rabbi Hizkiyah said: "That is why I said before that the later generations have pieces of earlier souls."

"How can it be, for example," Rabbi Isaac asked, "that at the end of days the dead will arise? There were just six-hundred-thirteen-thousand souls at Sinai. There are many more Jews now, plus a lot of other people in other countries. Where did the resurrected bodies of the dead go? And where will future resurrected bodies go? Will the new bodies be without souls?"

The mule driver restated what he had said before: "The soul is indivisible, so how can the original souls be subdivided?"

The rabbis seemed at a stalemate, but just then Rabbi Shimon reentered the discussion: "New souls are continuously being born, from the treasury of souls. Older souls continue to circulate, depending upon the kind of life they led while alive, and new souls join them."

The mule driver replied: "We don't, for if we did, we might not live this life in full and do good deeds. We have to act as if we have no past; otherwise things would seem too complicated, more complicated than they really are."

Rabbi Yesa said, echoing what he had said before about the celestial garments: "The patriarch Joseph's coat of many colors was his garment of good deeds, his garment of light, the garment he would wear after he went to heaven."

"Amen!" the rabbis shouted as one.

The companions now began to discuss the Luz bone, said to be the bone in the body from which we will be resurrected at the end of days.

Rabbi Eleazar said: "Some say this bone is at the top of the spine, while others say it is at the bottom."

Rabbi Isaac said: "The Talmud says it is indestructible—it cannot be crushed, dissolved, or burned."

Rabbi Yehudah said: "Other commentators say this is just not true. Nothing is indestructible, even diamond, supposedly the world's hardest substance."

Rabbi Eleazar said: "Even if it could be burned, a vapor would still remain, mixing with the atmosphere."

Seemingly taking off in a new direction, Rabbi Yehudah now asked: "What do teshuvah and resurrection have to do with each other, if anything?"

Again the mule driver was the first to respond: "Teshuvah—returning to closeness to God—is a kind of rebirth, and resurrection a kind of returning. When it is said in Daniel that 'many of them that sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, some to everlasting life, and some to reproaches and everlasting abhorrence,' teshuvah is what is being referred to, not literal resurrection."

"Amen!" the rabbis again shouted.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 74 The mule driver now told of another tradition: "It is said that in Central Asia certain magicians are able, by withholding their semen while pleasuring their wives, to transform it into a crystalline substance that cannot be destroyed and that will house the magician's soul after the magician dies. The soul will therefore be immortal."

Citing Ecclesiastes again, Rabbi Eleazer almost shouted: "Nothing is new under the sun."

The rabbis sat quietly, listening. Even the mules seemed to be listening: They had perked up their ears.

Rabbi Shimon now said: "Come and see. I had a dream in which a voice said the Luz bone refers to the Torah and the Talmud. They cannot be destroyed, and from them, even if no more Jews remain on earth, the Jewish people will be resurrected at the end of days."

Rabbi Hizkiyah said: "A maggid came to me recently at night and told me that the Zohar, the Book of Splendor, the book that will contain all of our discussions, is what is meant by the Luz bone."

The rabbis heaved a collective sigh. To themselves they were wondering which of them would go directly to heaven, to the upper Garden of Eden; which would have to suffer at death or on the way there; which would have to return to Earth to do additional work until seen fit to ascend to the proximity of the Holy One; which would be required to transmigrate, perhaps to be reborn in the body of an insect or even as a mule. They also began to wonder about the strange, wise mule driver, about who he was and whether he was a reborn or resurrected soul. Silently their heads were spinning, and their hearts pounded with fear, fear of the unknown, for although they had tried to lead exemplary lives, they also knew they had faults, including faults they were not aware of and that only the Holy One knew of.

The mule driver then took the reins of the mules and began moving away from the rabbis, ostensibly to allow the mules to drink from the river. But before he was out of range, he said aloud: "When I take a dip in this river on Shabbat, I will look for the ascending and descending angels." As if in response, the river made a whooshing sound.

And then, almost with what seemed another whooshing sound, he was gone, like the flower in Psalm 103 that disappears after being stirred by the wind.

"Where'd he go?!" the rabbis exclaimed, almost in unison. The mules looked up, flicked their ears as if in response, then continued drinking from the river, which suddenly seemed more shallow than usual.

Of course, this was no ordinary mule driver. It was Rav Hamnuna Sava, the famous Torah interpreter from Talmudic times, paying a visit to a time period far away perhaps in years but not in sensibility. His companion sages in Ávila instinctively knew this but did not want to break the spell by saying anything.

Rabbi Eleazar was the first to break the silence: "How odd, that mule driver and his mules. At first seemingly inseparable, then separable, then inseparable, and so on."

Rabbi Hizkiyah then asked: "How do you mean?" Rabbi Eleazar said: "Like body and soul." The other rabbis sighed, almost in unison.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 75 Like a burned Luz bone, or a memorable exchange of words of Torah, or the songs the mule driver had sung, a strange, unworldly vapor lingered, and in spite of breezes and noises; in spite of a most saintly birth in the city; in spite of saintly visits to the region; in spite of the resurrection of Jewish history; in spite of the creation of a memory garden within the city wall. In spite of all manner of external doings and sayings, something lingered from the past, an old soul, a composite soul, perhaps immortal, meant to guide visitors on their own journeys through this world and, it would be hoped, to the next.

Notes

I found and translated this manuscript in early 2018, shortly after my father, of blessed memory, died, at the end of 2017. It appears to be a heretofore unknown text from the Zohar, the Book of Splendor traditionally attributed to the second-century Talmudic sage Rabbi Shimon bar (or ben) Yochai but more likely the work of one or more thirteenth- and possibly fourteenth-century Spanish kabbalists (Jewish mystics)—perhaps a school—including, most prominently, Rabbi Moses de León, since the books of the Zohar we know today began appearing at the end of the thirteenth century. Why the rabbi or rabbis involved in the project didn't lend their own name to these texts is not really known, but possibly it was to lend the work the authority of the earlier, Talmudic sage.

After my father's death and after reading this manuscript, I thought, for obvious reasons, long and hard about the matters under consideration, which are given different names and applications, namely, rebirth, reincarnation, transmigration, and resurrection. I also read biblical, Talmudic, other mystical, chasidic, and philosophical commentaries on these subjects, in addition to some Indian, Greek, Mesopotamian, Chinese, Tibetan, and other texts. Some of the Jewish texts were provided by, and discussed with, Rabbi Tirzah Firestone, whom I also wish to thank for perhaps unknowingly having inspired the direction of this project.

I also thought again about my mother, of blessed memory, who died in 2012, and about David Stoller and R. C. Morse, two close literary friends who died much too young in the 1970s—R. C. was 35, and David was 28, as I recall—as well as about other friends, acquaintances, and relatives who had died. See also "The Zohar on Talmud Tractate Chagigah 14b, 'The Orchard'" in this book.

When someone I know dies, I feel as if a light has gone out, a star extinguished. For these stars there is no afterlife, no resurrection, no rebirth or reincarnation, no transmigration into another form. When the person who dies is someone I knew my whole life, or for a long time, there is no way to replace this person: Making new friends isn't easy, making lifelong friends at my age even harder, and making new parents and grandparents impossible. As I age, I feel the universe to be progressively darkening.

Lately, however, I have changed my thinking somewhat, as a result of making new friends. They seem a combination of new souls and recycled ones, perhaps even a composite of preexisting souls.

How do I know?

Some of them are totally, and I mean totally, different from the dead people in my life. Oh, yes, of course there are similarities, but for the most part these new stars are surprises. Other people seem familiar, or have familiar qualities; perhaps I knew some of these people in a past life, or perhaps some pieces in my soul come from the same root soul as pieces in the other people's souls.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 76 I still miss the dead people in my life, and always will, but am joyful that new people now are being born, perhaps reincarnated or reborn, or resurrected, maybe even transmigrated from other life forms. No one but the Holy Ancient One knows the full ancestry of these souls, their soul registry or lineage. And this is a good thing, since I have a lot to discover about them. Another good thing of course is recognition: I sometimes recognize in these new souls a kinship—sometimes it is like finding a sister or brother, or even several sisters and brothers. Sometimes I find a child or an uncle.

In all of this it is not as before when I might have thought these ideas nonsensical when weighed against my day-to-day existence, or "buzheh" as my dear sainted mother might have said. All of the highest cultures have asked the same question: "Where do we go after we die?" This follows, of course, "Where do we come from, what was here before us and where were we before, and of course why are we here in the first place, what are we doing here, what is our purpose?"

Rav Hamnuna Sava would have disagreed with much of this, of course, since he favored simplicity. I do, too, but sometimes simple explanations do not explain enough and leave unsolved mysteries. In addition, they are less interesting than complicated, intricate explanations—at least for some of us.

The focus of earlier Jewish texts dealing with subjects and terms like resurrection, reincarnation, rebirth, and transmigration overlaps somewhat with the focus of the text at hand but in general is more on traditional concepts of sin, with the stages of death and bodily decomposition, with types of hells, and with the details of the afterlife. The current text seems more practical and limited in scope, almost a working blueprint for how to achieve immortality.

Still, these ideas can be complicated, especially the Jewish ones, and often contradictory, even illogical. If we just detach consciousness from desire, we will not be reborn. We also will not suffer in this lifetime. But, as our rabbis said, achieving this isn't easy! Easier perhaps would be going to Varanasi in India and having ourselves cremated, which reputedly will do the same thing. Easier perhaps except that although at one time Jews did cremate, today for various reasons cremation, though still done, mostly by nonreligious Jews, is frowned up. One reason—whether or not you believe in the power of the Luz bone—is that if there is no body at the End of Days, there can be no resurrection. And so we Jews are back where we started, having to earn our afterlife or resurrection the hard way, through good deeds, moderation of desire, acts of lovingkindness, study, and of course prayer. I do not believe we are commanded to believe in any of this, only to act as if we believe.

For me, belief, as it was for my mother and perhaps also for my father and grandparents, is in the beauty of nature, of human beings, of the whole process of Creation and life, and of course music.

As the Sufi teacher Hazrat Inayat Khan, like me a former musician, said: When you can hear the inner sound of the universe, then everything in your life, in the world, past and present—including the body, the soul, immortality, reincarnation, and resurrection—everything is music.

Postscript

In October 2018 I conducted a little ceremony for the unveiling of my father's headstone. The next day I returned to the cemetery to say two of the prayers in Hebrew. I then began talking to my father, urging him to let go of resentments, grudges, anger, disappointments, and so on, to lighten his soul and

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 77 enable it to float freely to the world-to-come and possibly to avoid rebirth, with its messy karmic business. I also said if he could do this, he would ascend wearing only his garment of good deeds, as the Zohar puts it. Then, if his soul were to return, its only task would be doing good—giving more charity, helping more students, doing other mitvzot, interacting with friends and family and colleagues in only positive ways. I believe that my dad was listening closely, and should you encounter a new tzaddik in your own sphere, perhaps he or she will house the soul of my dear, sainted, beloved father of blessed memory: Bernard Rasof, Beryl Pinchas ben Shoshana v'Yechiel.

Terms, Names, and More Notes

Most but not all italicized words are Hebrew. a most saintly birth—A reference to St. Teresa of Ávila (1515–1582, b. Spain), the important Catholic mystic, who by the way had Jewish ancestry. "Angels in Love"—In this book, the story of an angel sent to Earth to guide a widow through her grieving process. aperture of Brahma—For Hindus, the place in the skull through which the soul leaves the body after death. Ávila—Lovely walled city northwest of Madrid, the modern Spanish capital, that had a thriving Jewish community. Rabbi Moses de León lived here; St. Teresa of Ávila, an important Catholic mystic with Jewish ancestry, was born here. Central Asia—Oblique reference to teachings described about six hundred years later by the Armenian–Greek spiritual teacher G.I. Gurdjieff (late 19th c.–1949). chasidic—Having to do with the movement founded in Eastern Europe in the eighteenth century. cheder—Jewish religious school for children. chesed—"Lovingkindness." chevra—"Friends" or "companions." Chinese book—T'ai I Chin Hua Tsung Chih (The Secret of the Golden Flower: A Chinese Book of Life), a Taoist text. companions—The rabbinic companions of Rabbi Shimon. Epic of Gilgamesh—Work of literature from Mesopotamia, dated to the third millennium B.C.E. Everything Is Music—Line/title based on words by the Sufi teacher Hazrat Inayat Khan: ". . . I arrived at a stage where I touched the music of the spheres. Then every sound became for me a musical note, and all life became music," in Prologue to Hazrat Inayat Khan, The Mysticism of Sound and Music (Boston and London: Shambhala, 1996), rev. ed., p. xi. However, I recently learned that the Persian poet Rumi (1207–1273, b. central Asia) said something similar, so I imagine that either he influenced Inayat Khan or they had similar awakenings. See "Where Everything Is Music," in Rumi: Selected Poems, translated by Coleman Barks, with John Moyne, A. J. Arberry, and Reynold Nicholson (New York: Penguin Books, 1995), pp. 34–35. The Gate of Bad Luck (the Puerta de la Malaventura)—Gate near the former Jewish quarter of leading in and out of the city. gehinnom (also gehenna)—In Jewish thought, purgatory. Hazrat Inayat Khan—Indian Sufi teacher (1882–1927) who has influenced Westerners either directly or through his son and grandson. Jewish practices—Various meditation and concentration practices, especially those developed by Rabbi Abraham Abulafia (1240–1291, b. Spain), a Spanish–Jewish mystic. kabbalah—The most important strain of Jewish mysticism.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 78 kabbalist—A practitioner of kabbalah. karmic—Having to do with karma, actions in this and previous lifetimes that affect us in this and future lifetimes. Katha Upanishad—One of the texts of the Upanishads, sacred texts of the Hindus, which pretty much begin with the question: "Where do we go after we die?" "Last night I dreamed about a man . . . who formulated a principle that says when explanations become too complicated, the simplest one is usually the correct one."—A reference to Ockham's Razor, a principle set forth by the English philosopher–theologian William of Ockham (1285–1347). Luz bone—A supposedly indestructible bone in the human body that many Jews believe will be the vehicle of resurrection at the End of Days. maggid—A wandering preacher, but in this case a wandering spirit. memory garden—Reference to the Jardin de Moshė de León, in Ávila, Spain, a garden dedicated to the Spanish–Jewish mystic Rabbi Moses de León, the likely author of most of the Zohar. mitzvot—Biblical commandments. Also, more loosely, "good deeds." pardes—"Orchard," or "paradise." Also, four levels of biblical interpretation, often transcribed prds. Psalm 103—"As for man, his days are as grass;/ As a flower of the field, so he flourisheth./ For the wind passeth over it, and it is gone; . . ." JPS Tanakh, 1917. rabbi(s)—Jewish religious teacher(s). Rabbi Moses de León (1240–1305, b. Spain)—Likely author of the major part of the Zohar. rabbinic—Having to do with a rabbi or rabbis. Rabbi Shimon—Rabbi Shimon bar (or ben) Yochai (d. 160 C.E.), the Holy Lamp, the second-century Palestinian rabbi to whom the Zohar traditionally is attributed. Rabbi Tarfon—Talmudic sage. See Talmud. Rabbis Abba, Yose, Isaac, Eleazar, Yehudah, Hiyya, Pinchas, Abbahu, Hizkiyah, and Yesa— companions of Rabbi Shimon and the other rabbis in the text, who wander about discussing words of Torah (in the broadest sense). Rav Hamnuna Sava (Hamnuna the Elder) (3rd/4th century C.E.)—Ancient rabbinic time traveler who appears (usually as a simple mule driver) and suddenly and mysteriously disappears as suddenly and mysteriously. rebirth—The process a soul goes through after its body dies, in which it comes back in another body. reincarnation—See previous entry and also transmigration. The term in Hebrew is gilgul, which also means cycle. resurrection—The process by which a soul or body or both come to life after the body has died. saintly visits—By, for example, the important Christian mystic (also with some Jewish ancestry) St. John of the Cross (1542–1591, b. Spain). sefira—Singular of sefirot. sefira keter—Keter, crown/will, also the Godhead, is the highest of the sefirot. sefirot—Attributes of God and of ourselves, in some systems of Jewish mysticism. Sufi—A mystic in the Islamic tradition. Talmud—Teaching, stories, conversations, and laws of the ancient rabbis compiled about 1500 years ago. There are two Talmuds. The one referred to here and usually meant is the Babylonian one. Talmudic—Having to do with the Talmud. Talmudic period—Including the earliest period, from about the first century B.C.E. to about the sixth century C.E. See also previous two entries. Talmud Tractate Chagigah 14b—Book of the Talmud containing the famous story of the four sages who ascended to heaven while still alive.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 79 Taoist—Having to do with Taoism, a Chinese spiritual path. teshuvah—Repentance (Hebrew. Literally, "return"). Tikkunei Zohar (or Tikkunei ha-Zohar)—A component of the Zohar. three souls—Nefesh (body), ruach (spirit), neshamah (higher soul). Although not referred to in the text, three higher souls also are described in kabbalistic texts. Torah—Strictly speaking, the five books of Moses, but often used to refer to all the books of the Hebrew Bible (the Tanakh: Torah, Prophets, and Writings; the biblical books other than what are in the New Testament) and sometimes as well to all Jewish religious texts. transmigration—The process of a human soul's being implanted after death from one being to another, human or nonhuman. Similar meaning to reincarnation and rebirth. tzaddik—A righteous person. Upper Garden of Eden—The heavenly garden of Eden, the world to come. "When I take a dip . . . in this river on Shabbat, I will look for the ascending and descending angels."—The source is Zohar 2:136b [Parashat Terumah (Exodus 25:1–27:19)], in The Zohar: Pritzker Edition, translation and commentary by Daniel C. Matt (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2009), p. 259. Shabbat is the Jewish sabbath, Friday evening until Saturday evening. Zohar—The Book of Splendor (or Radiance), attributed to the second-century Rabbi Shimon but more likely written or edited in Spain in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries. Rabbi Moses de León is the likely author of the major part of the Zohar.

Further Reading

Enright, D. J. The Oxford Book of Death. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1983. Fremantle, Francesca, and Chogyam Trungpa, trans. The Tibetan Book of the Dead: The Great Liberation Through Hearing in the Bardo. Berkeley and London: Shambhala, 1975. Gillman, Neil. The Death of Death: Resurrection and Immortality in Jewish Thought. Woodstock, VT: Jewish Lights, 1997. Gurdjieff, G. All and Everything: Beelzebub's Tales to His Grandson. New York: Dutton, 1964. Inayat Khan, Hazrat. The Mysticism of Sound and Music. Rev. ed. Boston and London: Shambhala, 1996. Mitchell, Stephen, ed. and trans. Gilgamesh. New York: Free Press, 2004. Ouspensky, P. D. In Search of the Miraculous: Fragments of an Unknown Teaching. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1977. Plato, "Phaedo." http://classics.mit.edu/Plato/phaedo.html. Raphael, Simcha Paull. Jewish Views of the Afterlife. Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson, 1994. Scholem, Gershom. On the Mystical Shape of the Godhead: Basic Concepts in the Kabbalah. New York: Schocken Books, 1991. Swami Nikhilananda, ed. and trans. The Upanishads. New York: Harper & Row, 1963. Taylor, Richard P. Death and the Afterlife: A Cultural Encyclopedia. Denver: ABC-CLIO, 2000. Wilhelm, Richard, ed. The Secret of the Golden Flower: A Chinese Book of Life. New York and London, Harvest/HBJ, 1962.

Acknowledgments

Rabbi Tirzah Firestone, PhD, and George Allen for their inspiration and support.

Note: Tikkunei Zohar (or Tikkunei ha-Zohar) is a component of the Zohar, the Book of Splendor, the most important work of Jewish mysticism.

You are beyond understanding Neither male nor female, big nor small Expanded nor contracted, divisible nor indivisible Neither one, two, three, nor four nor ten What I think you are, You are not What I think you are not You very well might or might not be You have one name, a hundred names One hundred thousand, and no name You also go by the name of the nameless one And by a nameless name Unpronounceable by some Pronounceable by others Although you have form and no form Some say that you were formed Some that you formed Were both created and uncreated You are the one who created the universe in a Big Bang Who held everything in a steady state Who contracted to allow the universe to form Then expanded to emptiness You both play dice and determine everything And oversee each infinitesimal iota of creation From the movements of viruses in mites To the motions of nebulae and galaxies You also just let things happen Without directing anything Without interfering However good, however bad You do this in this world And in all the others if there are others Before, now, and in the future Although of course there is no before, now, and future Some would give you a human body With hands, toes, eyes, and heart Each corresponding to a Hebrew letter And a face with different countenances But of course you both are and are not like this And like everything between, beyond, and beyond the beyond For if man, why not woman, flower, ant, or dinosaur Or even stone, sand, or water?

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 81 ********** I awake in the morning Contemplating these matters Trying to decide when Or even whether to get up The news today as it is every day Is terrible Man’s inhumanity to man Is the theme of the day the week month year and decade How could things go so awry? There is no answer to such a question So I get up do my thing and try to rejoice In the temporarily blue beautiful sky Songs of blackbirds and robins The sight of a squirrel Licking pecan bits off the deck A blue jay hovering nearby Waiting to be tossed a peanut At these moments it doesn’t matter what You are Or aren’t Whether You even are Because everything comes together In an affirmation of the details of life However they came to be

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 82 IMAGINESSAYS ON FIVE MEDIEVAL SPANISH–JEWISH POETS The Hebrew of your poets, Zion, is like oil upon a burn. Charles Reznikoff, Jerusalem the Golden

One of the most enduring emblems of the so-called Golden Age of Spain—at least for Jews-in-the- know—is the poet, statesman, warrior, Talmudic scholar, and patron Samuel Hanagid—Samuel the Prince—Shmuel HaNagid. Born in Córdoba, Spain, in 993, he went on, as is usually described, to become one of the first and most prolific Spanish–Jewish poets, vizier to the ruler of Granada, and commander of the army. He wrote about many subjects, including love, loss, and war, and dispensed much wisdom. He died around, in, or after 1056, with no scholarly agreement on the date.

My experience of Samuel HaNagid is of a passionate, emotional, sensitive, thoughtful, religious man.

All of this is summed up especially well in his poem about leaving the city of his birth (1):

The spirit is severed from its desire The soul blocked from its wishes. The body may be contented Its honored soul unsatisfied. But a humble person walks the earth Thinking of the heavens. What good is anything material If our soul is in distress.

Here are splitting, wanting, balking, vitality, fullness, preciousness, uneasiness, modesty, and pain—a broad spectrum of human qualities—and in addition a reflective, carefully observant narrator interpreting what he sees and offering indirect advice: "the modest man/walks on earth with his/thought drawn toward the sky." We must simultaneously have our feet on the ground and our thoughts in heaven. And we must recognize that mind and body cannot be separated—we can try to lose ourselves in the pleasures of the flesh but will never succeed when our "mind is in pain."

The Nagid’s times were difficult times, for even in the midst of the Golden Age, the kingdom of Granada seemed constantly at war. Jews, Muslims, and Christians mingled, but beneath the surface was the potential for conflict. One might imagine him caught up in the battle of life, in his responsibilities, yet yearning for a quieter life, perhaps a life of contemplation, study, and poetry. In a way he resembles the mythical kings David and Solomon, also embroiled in the battles of life and also poets and dispensers of wisdom. Even the casual observer might think the Nagid styled himself after these leaders, as evidenced in the poetry collections assembled by his son: "After Psalms," "After Ecclesiastes," "After Proverbs." The biblical psalms are full of poetry, love of God, and bloodshed; Ecclesiastes, of astute if sometimes cynical wisdom; Proverbs, of catchy phrases distilling higher wisdom into a form suitable for the masses.

A self-seriousness and tiredness permeate many of the Nagid’s poems. We lead a life of toil and trouble and then, toward the end, try to figure out what we have learned from life and, if we are lucky, how to condense this learning into sayings.

One of the most striking of his poems is built around a graphic description of the marketplace as a metaphor for life. (2) In addition, the poem surveys his various genres and modes—the blood and guts

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 84 of Psalms, the concise wisdom of Proverbs, the cynicism of Ecclesiastes. Above the fray stands the Nagid, dispensing judgment in the form of the "law of man." Or is this meant to be the voice of God, projecting through the Nagid? One can almost hear a refrain at the end: "For I am the Lord, your God."

In the first stanza the poet, in the first person, describes a walk through the meat and fish markets. This is the marketplace of life, a hot, brutal, bloody place where people do what they need to do and divide the spoils accordingly.

I passed the butchers' market Where sheep and oxen are slaughtered And blood is congealed on blood

The poet asks, "What's the difference between them and you?" and then says if God wanted, He could switch things around. He continues with a nod to Ecclesiastes, saying when one of them (whether beast or human) dies, another gives birth:

This the pure should heed And the princes in their pride and glory. If they plumb the secret of the universe, This is what they'd learn.

If the Nagid offers any answer to these questions, it is that this is the way things are; it is a medieval statement of Darwin’s concept of the survival of the fittest, also a "law of man."

When I was in Granada, I searched for a memorial to the Nagid that I had read about in a book. I had a vague sense of where the Jewish quarter had been, and I knew that the Jews in those days often lived near the castles of the Muslim rulers.

I wandered up and down the streets of where I thought the Jews had lived, sniffing the air, "dowsing," at it were, for the location of the memorial or square. I thought I might stumble on this memorial in an aha! experience. No such luck. Only when I returned home to the States and did more research did I learn where the memorial is located; but even then I could never find it on a street map of Granada.

As with the memorial to the Nagid, locating the reality of the man is challenging. Was Samuel Hanagid an original poet, or did he follow the stylized conventions of his day, emulating Arabic poetry? Did he attend all-night drinking parties and make passes at young boys and girls, as intimated by his poems?

How could a Jew become so highly favored by a Muslim ruler when Jews in general were still treated as second-class citizens? Was he everything he said he was, that we think he was, and did he do everything he said he did and that we think he did or would like him to have done? Was there really a Golden Age of Spain and of Hebrew literature, or was this, too, overblown, as is the view of some scholars today? Why would the Spanish build memorials to long-dead Jews, five hundred years after they probably buried twenty thousand Jewish children alive? Then, why are some of these memorials so hard to find?

Scholars deal with such questions but not necessarily or always in relation to Samuel Hanagid. Still, in spite of some very convincing answers, as with poetry itself, perhaps clear and final answers are not the

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 85 order of the day. And perhaps "precise" truth is less interesting or important than myths. Yes, knowing the truth about the Nagid would have value, but at the same time, in today’s world, which in spite of its riches seems almost the opposite of a Golden Age, there is some value as well to a myth, to a metaphor, based not on the reality of the marketplace but instead on a deeper reality, "the worlds of the hidden," for "this [too] is the law of man."

Notes

1. "On Fleeing the City," in Selected Poems of Shmuel HaNagid. Peter Cole, trans. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996, p. 5. Also "The Early Years: The Poet Leaves Cordova," in Leon Weinberger, trans., Jewish Prince in Moslem Spain: Selected Poems of Samuel Ibn Nagrela (University, AL: The University of Alabama Press, 1997), pp. 19–21. (Ibn Nagrela is HaNagid.) 2. "The Market," in Selected Poems of Shmuel HaNagid. Peter Cole, trans. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996, p. 139. "The Law of Man" is Cole's translation of a phrase in the poem. Also "Life in Granada: Street Scene," in Leon Weinberger, trans., Jewish Prince in Moslem Spain: Selected Poems of Samuel Ibn Nagrela (University, AL: The University of Alabama Press, 1997), pp. 96–97. (Ibn Nagrela is HaNagid.)

The translations used in this essay were done especially for this book.

Further Reading

The books in this section contain at least some poems by the Nagid, either just in English or in English and Hebrew.

Brann, Ross. The Compunctious Poet: Cultural Ambiguity and Hebrew Poetry in Muslim Spain. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991. Carmi, T., ed. and trans., The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse. New York: Penguin, 1981. Cole, Peter, trans. and ed. The Dream of the Poem: Hebrew Poetry from Muslim and Christian Spain. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2007. Goldstein, David, trans. The Jewish Poets of Spain, 900–1250 (Harmondsworth, England: Penguin Books, 1965), Scheindlin, Raymond P. The Gazelle: Medieval Hebrew Poems on God, Israel, and the Soul. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991. Scheindlin, Raymond P. Wine, Women, and Death: Medieval Hebrew Poems on the Good Life. Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1986 (paperback: New York: Oxford University Press, 1999).

In Málaga, in a little park across from and down the hill from the Alcázar—the Muslim castle—stands —or stood, at least in the year 2000—a statue of a famous Spanish Jew from the eleventh century that seems the last obvious remaining sign or outpost of a Jewish presence in this coastal city that for many tourists is the portal to southern Spain.

The statue commemorates, according to the inscription on the pedestal, Solomon ibn Gabirol, "poet and philosopher." Jews worldwide who attend synagogue services, even occasionally, probably are familiar with the liturgical poem "Adon Olam" ("Lord of the World," (1) generally attributed to Ibn Gabirol. Sephardic Jews may be familiar with his long poem "Keter Malkhut." (2) A handful of literary scholars and some poetry aficionados may be familiar with the larger corpus of his poetry. Philosophers and theologians in and out of the Jewish world may be familiar with his philosophical work Fons Vitae ("Fountain of Life"). (3) All in all, however, Solomon ibn Gabirol is not a household name, and until recently, his work not so easy to find.

He was born in Málaga, Spain, in 1021 or 1022, moved to Saragossa (today, Zaragoza) and then probably Granada, and apparently died in Valencia in either 1051 or 1069, although there is no consensus in the sources.

Like the man and his work, the statue was not easy to find by an inquisitive tourist, but once found, seemed in an obvious place—in what was probably the Jewish quarter in medieval Málaga; in a park, where statues of fallen heroes often are found; and near the beach, the transition between land and sea, a metaphorical transition, between the physical world of the poet and the spiritual world of the philosopher, worlds that Ibn Gabirol inhabited and wrote about. Yes—Ibn Gabirol, when he lived here, surely must have walked this beach on the same Mediterranean Sea that washed and continues to wash the land of Israel. On the other hand, maybe he didn’t know about the beach or no beach was there.

Why is the work of this great poet "not so easy to find"? Until the nineteenth century readers and scholars knew he was a poet but didn’t know the poet was the same as a man known by the Latin name Avicebrol or Avicebron, author of Fons Vitae, a well-known philosophical work written in Latin and offering no hint of its author’s Jewishness or knowledge of Judaism.

Like many of the other of the "big five" medieval Spanish–Jewish poets, Ibn Gabirol wrote poems that express, either separately or together, an unusual and complex mixture of humility, lyricism, religiosity, metaphysics, self-confidence, anger and cynicism, ego, and bitterness.

There is the extreme, almost swaggering self-confidence to be expected of a talented young poet, who has "only sixteen years" but whose "heart understands like a heart of eighty." (4)

Later it evolves into an attitude that many writers possess but hold in check for fear of appearing childish. Not Ibn Gabirol, who in one poem calls other poets "poor beggars" and their poetry "the cawing of crows." (5)

Along with such a blast of mockery comes, in another poem, such deep regard for the beauty of nature that "no artist could ever imagine its equal." (6)

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 87 Ibn Gabirol is, as well, deeply attuned to the times of day and the sensibilities accompanying them. Like the Indian musician playing morning ragas in the morning and evening ragas in the evening, and of course like the religious Jew praying during these times in response to the requirements of the liturgy, Ibn Gabirol responds to these transitional times in his poetry.

He is especially fond of dawn, saying, for example, "I seek you, dawn and eve," (7) "Come to me, my love, at dawn" (8), and "At every dawn I cry." (9)

But of course there is no day without night, and so he writes: "Will night already spread her wings and weave/her dusky robe about the day’s bright form. . . ?" (10)

Could this interplay of light and dark have manifested in the dappling on the statue in the park? Could it symbolize the hide-and-seek that readers have experienced with his work?

Ibn Gabirol wrote secular poetry and religious poetry but probably is best known for his liturgical poetry. Can these genres of of his poems be easily distinguished? Yes and no. Poems with God in them can be separated from those without, and editors and commentators have simplified the task by separating the poems into categories. However, when organizing the selections on this web site, I decided, with Ibn Gabirol, to mix things up to some extent, since, whatever the author’s original intentions for his work, some poets (and nonpoets too) tend to disdain categories for their work. And so sometimes an obviously religious poem can beautifully follow an obviously secular poem, and vice versa. Then again, perhaps none of these poems is "obviously" anything we think it is or can imagine.

In 2000 the park was being renovated, but oddly his image seems more renovated in Spain than in the rest of the Jewish world—oddly because Spain seems to be reclaiming its Jewish heritage while matters of poetry and poets are, except for pockets of exception in the world of Jewish scholarship, pretty much ignored in the Jewish world at large, just as they are in the general world at large.

Still, in 2001, the year after the statue was visited and photographed, the poet Peter Cole published a collection of his English translations of Ibn Gabirol that was the first such collection published since 1923.

And in recent years there also has been a spate of translations of Ibn Gabirol’s challenging philosophical–metaphysical long poem "Keter Malkhut," familiar to Sephardic Jews in whose High Holiday liturgy it may be included. Recent translators include Peter Cole, Rafael Loewe, David Slavitt, and Bernard Lewis.

Oddly, such a poem swings both ways, secular (philosophical–metaphysical) and religious, an example of the fluid poetic boundaries of the day or of our day, or maybe instead an example of migration from one sphere to another. Could this migration parallel that of Ibn Gabirol the poet from the hermetic Jewish world of religion and letters into the bustling modern Andalucian–Catholic world epitomized by a small park under renovation in a modern city that is a gateway to all things Spanish? Olé!

The statue of Ibn Gabirol I photographed ended up shadow-dappled and framed by orange construction gates warning, if not with words, to keep out. Could these words also apply to "Keter Malkhut," translated twice as "The Royal Crown" and once as "The Kingly Crown," "The Crown of the King," and "Kingdom’s Crown"? If expert translators cannot agree on an English title for this long, complex

What about the Fons Vitae? How could a Jewish poet write such a seemingly un-Jewish philosophical treatise? Well, nothing wrong with being both a creative type and a philosopher. Think of Martin Buber, who wrote chasidic stories of rabbis in flying coaches as well as philosophic essays that explore universals that seem to transcend the boundaries of Judaism. The expansive reader can, I suspect, move back and forth between the universal and particular in almost any line of Ibn Gabirol’s poems or in Buber’s works; the unsuspecting reader is, unintentionally, as expansive. Ross Brann explores other puzzles and shades of ambiguity in the work and lives of the medieval Hebrew poets in his subtle and sophisticated book The Compunctious Poet: Cultural Ambiguity and Hebrew Poetry in Muslim Spain.

In "Keter Malkhut," he is neither poetic philosopher nor philosophical poet. Rather, he straddles the worlds. Contemporary philosophers believe that to fully understand his philosophy, his poetry must also be studied. And yet surely this distracts from appreciating the poetry on its own terms, for let us not forget, in the face of readings of Ibn Gabirol’s poetry that seek out the philosophy, Robert Penn Warren’s famous question, "How does a poem mean?" Can a poem shorn of its metaphors, rhythm, sound, music, and most importantly its emotion, really mean much of anything?

The poetic imagery shifts between light and dark, dusk and dawn—standard dichotomies, it could be argued, bulwarks of Jewish liturgy, imagery found as well in the language of mysticism, some of it expressed in poetry and some in prose, in, for example, the Zohar (the Book of Splendor or Radiance), the writings of St. John of the Cross, of Rumi, Meister Eckhart—the list could be very long. Sure, the reader can view the basic concepts as conventional, but the way the concepts are expressed is unique to each writer, including Ibn Gabirol, and derive from personal experience.

He is at the beach, on the edge of the sea, the junction of light and dark, dry land and infinitely wet ocean, transitional zone between the safe familiarity of the city with the unknown depths of the sea. Then again, all of this may have had absolutely no effect on the poet–philosopher, since people's attitudes toward, and uses of, beaches have changed radically over the years, and it's unwise to project modern-day sensibilities into the past. Nevertheless, the modern reader with a poetic sensibility would like to picture Ibn Gabirol at the beach and see in this picture some influence on his life and work.

As a twentieth-century poet of ill-repute with Jews once said, "Poets are the antennae of their race." Perhaps Ibn Gabirol’s statue is a kind of antenna, reaching to the heavens, beseeching God, while at the same time conducting the energy of the imagination from above to below, the ground of Málaga, Spain, part of it beach, almost a thousand years after his birth.

Notes

The title nods to the title of the French director Éric Rohmer's film Pauline at the Beach.

Poem titles in notes 4 to 10 are the creation of the translators; the original Hebrew poems lacked titles.

1. "Adon Olam" ("Lord of the World"). https://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/adon-olam. 2. Keter Malkhut, titled "Kingdom's Crown," in Peter Cole, trans., Selected Poems of Solomon Ibn Gabirol (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2001), 137–195. 3. Fons Vitae. No City: Azafran Books, 2017, and https://www.sacred-texts.com/jud/fons/index.htm.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 89 4. "The 16-Year-Old Poet," in Jerome Rothenberg and Harris Lenowitz, eds., Exiled in the Word: Poems & Other Visions of the Jews from Tribal Time to the Present (Port Townsend, WA: Copper Canyon Press, 1978, 1989), p. 196. 5. "His Answer to the Critics," trans. Robert Mezey, in Poems from the Hebrew, selected by Robert Mezey (New York: Thomas Y. Crowell, 1973), p. 57. 6. "Earth's Embroidery," in T. Carmi, ed. and trans., The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse (New York: Penguin, 1981), p. 310 7. "In Praise of God," in T. Carmi, ed. and trans., The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse (New York: Penguin, 1981, p. 316. 8. "Invitation," in Israel Zangwill, trans., and Israel Davidson, ed., Selected Religious Poems of Solomon ibn Gabirol (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1923), p. 4. 9. "Arise, O My Rapture," in Israel Zangwill, trans., and Israel Davidson, ed., Selected Religious Poems of Solomon ibn Gabirol (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1923), p. 75. 10. "Night-Thoughts," in Emma Lazarus, The Poems of Emma Lazarus. Vol. 2: Jewish Poems: Translations (Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1895), pp. 178–179. (Reprinted as The Poems of Emma Lazarus. Volume II. Jewish Poems & Translations (Mineola, NY: Dover, 2015).

Further Reading

Except for the first book, the books in this section contain at least some poems by Ibn Gabirol, either just in English or in English and Hebrew.

Brann, Ross. The Compunctious Poet: Cultural Ambiguity and Hebrew Poetry in Muslim Spain. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991. Carmi, T., ed. and trans. The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse. New York: Penguin, 1981. Cole, Peter, trans. and ed. The Dream of the Poem: Hebrew Poetry from Muslim and Christian Spain. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2007. Cole, Peter, trans. Selected Poems of Solomon Ibn Gabirol. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2001. Goldstein, David, trans. The Jewish Poets of Spain, 900–1250. Harmondsworth, England: Penguin, 1965. Halkin, Hillel. Grand Things to Write a Poem On: A Verse Autobiography of Shmuel Hanagid. Jerusalem and New York: Gefen Publishing, 2000. Lowe, Rafael. Ibn Gabirol. New York: Grove Weidenfeld, 1989. Scheindlin, Raymond P. The Gazelle: Medieval Hebrew Poems on God, Israel, and the Soul. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991. Scheindlin, Raymond P. Wine, Women, and Death: Medieval Hebrew Poems on the Good Life. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986.

Born in Granada, Spain, between 1055 and 1060, Moses ibn Ezra was destined to wander Spain after the conquest of Granada in 1090 by Berber invaders. He died after 1138. As with some of the other medieval poets, there is no consensus on his own dates.

He was forced to leave his friends and family, forcing separation from them. (1)

Exile is especially hard on him. I poured my tears as libation on my exile and love. (2-9)

Yet along the way not everything is gloomy. Each new bud emerged to gaily greet Time renewed. (3)

At the same time, he seems to feel that in his exile he is being led by a greater force, and thoughts of death seem to press upon him from every direction. Let us remember while we live that we're being brought to death. (4)

Sometimes these thoughts become visions in which past becomes present. Old graves of an ancient time, In them a people sleep eternal sleep. (5-35)

Yet even these visions cannot stop him from forgetting the horror of being wrenched from his beloved city, friends, and family. And so he asks: Can a lover’s blood be redeemed? (6)

The answer is no, and so the nightmare, like many nightmares, repeats and is without end. Night's darkness is cast into a remote, silent sea. (6)

Will there be hope in the next world? After all, Ezekiel envisions the resurrection of the dead. Ibn Ezra sees a different future. One grave is dug on another, Sleeper laid upon sleeper in dirt pits They sleep together chalk stones with rubies. (7-30)

Surely this is not paradise as imagined by the prophets. If anything, it is hell. Is the poet seeing the future, when the Jews are killed, forced to convert, or expelled from Spain? Even if so, he retains, thanks to God, an awareness of the Everlasting. (8)

In spite of the anguish and horrific visions, the poet remains a believer, a believer in eternity, and a believer as well in the power of joy. All is not lost. He is not down for the count. Bring the smelling salts. He invites people to celebrate life with him and to revive him with song if his energy is flagging. (9)

How does the poet survive his misery and adversity? Not only with physical wine but with spiritual

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 91 wine and trust in God. He praises God, does penance for his sins, and then is comforted by God. (10) How can someone in Ibn Ezra’s position and state continue to believe, even when God seems to have turned away, hidden His face? Although He may slay me, I'll trust Him, And if He turns away, I'll recall and seek His love. (11-41)

In the desolation, in the ruins of his life, the poet can still imagine himself somewhere else, somewhere permeated with the scent and taste of his beloved. And so he can imagine himself, in spite of all, resurrected in spirit. Sustain me as with raisin cakes, my love, And revive my soul. (12-42)

Not only does Ibn Ezra have faith in God and believe that God’s love of him can bring him to life, but he can transcend his personal pain and plead as well for the restoration of the land of Israel and the deliverance of the Jewish people from its suffering. Heed their imploring cry, Respond to their sighs, Be with them in their misery. (13-61)

The poet can now hear or perhaps just imagine God’s replies to his pleas. My son, yea, I will send thee aid, Bend thou thy steps to me, be not afraid. No nearer friend than I am, hast thou made, Possess thy soul in patience one more night. (14)

I do not say that Moses ibn Ezra’s life followed a neat and tidy trajectory from the good life to suffering and then via faith and belief to some sort of transcendent equanimity. Certainly he may have had such an experience, but more likely, I would imagine, would be a cycle of ups and downs.

In the Toledo Jewish Museum courtyard, his poem "I Behold Ancient Graves" is engraved in stone in Hebrew and Spanish. Some stone memorials resemble sarcophagi. To reach this museum many travelers dock at the train station and walk through steep winding streets to the top, which is Toledo.

On a hot day in late August this walk is murder. There are no thoughts of long-dead Jewish poets, El Greco, knives made of Toledo steel, or anything except finding a hotel room and something ice cold to drink, and a lot of it. The traveler without reservations wanders from full hotel to full hotel until finally coming across an available room, checks to make sure he has his credit card, and spends well over his budget, for a room with two beds more than he needs. No matter. Ibn Ezra, had he the means to combat his traveler’s exhaustion, might have stayed in that hotel too, or what was in its place 900 years before.

The view from the room is of the Plaza San Tome, the dead center of the medieval Jewish quarter. How fortunate! Shops selling Toledo knives, tchotchkes with stars of David, and other curios line the narrow streets. There’s the El Greco house, which once belonged to a rich Jew named Halevi, no relation to the poet Yehudah Halevi. El Greco himself, according to the guidebook, might have been Jewish or descended from Jews. And nearby is a square festooned with Coca-Cola umbrellas—this might have been the marketplace. Across town is the old Jewish graveyard, too hot to try to locate, let alone visit.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 92 And here, finally, is the Jewish museum and the two synagogues—one restored, one still a church. Did Moses ibn Ezra, or Yehudah Halevi, someone from the Ibn Tibbon family of famous translators, or perhaps El Greco’s ancestors prayed here? Maybe the king dropped by for intellectual discussions. But what is this? Right near the synagogues and museum is a Jewish bookstore filled with books in Hebrew, English, and Spanish as well as music CDs and other goods.

Who are the owners? Joseph and Mary are their Judeo–Christian names, but they are descended from conversos and have lived and studied in Israel. He wears tzitzit (Jewish ritual fringes) when I first meet him. According to Mary, who speaks better English, they still attend church. Their friends are Catholics. When possible, they go to services at a Madrid synagogue. Toledo has no other Jews, or very few. I buy a bilingual edition of the poems of Yehudah Halevi and CDs of Sephardic (Spanish–Jewish) music. The next evening I attend a poetry reading in Spanish at the store. I understand nothing the poets or anyone else is saying, so I slip out, pleased at my discovery but disappointed I cannot participate more fully.

This is my experience as well with medieval Hebrew poetry and with Moses ibn Ezra and his poems: I am pleased at my discovery but disappointed because I lack the Hebrew and other skills required to more fully penetrate his life and work. Still, it’s better than nothing, and so I’ll take the room, even if it exceeds my budget, in order to have a prime view of the scene and a secure base for my wanderings through the streets of Toledo and the poetry of Moses ibn Ezra . . . For in the ancient graves of the ancient past The residents sleep an eternal sleep. . . . (15-35)

Notes

The poems referred to in the essay are cited with two numbers in parentheses, for example, 1-7. The first number is just the running tabulation—1 is the first citation, 2 the second, 3 the third, and so on. The second number in some notes is keyed to the poem number in a Hebrew–English edition of Moses ibn Ezra's work: Solomon Solis-Cohen, trans., and Heinrich Brody, ed., Selected Poems of Moses ibn Ezra (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1945). Since the original Hebrew poems didn't have titles, the titles given here were concocted by the various translators. Note that the Carl Rakosi poems are versions rather than "strict" translations.

1. "Song," in Carl Rakosi, "Eight Songs and Meditations (1971-1975)," in The Collected Poems of Carl Rakosi (Orono, ME: The National Poetry Foundation/University of Maine, 1986), p. 487. This is styled "After Moses ibn Ezra." 2-9. "O Brook," in English/Hebrew in Solomon Solis-Cohen, trans., and Heinrich Brody, ed., Selected Poems of Moses ibn Ezra (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America), 1945), p. 23. Their title. 3. "The Rose," in English/Hebrew in T. Carmi, ed. and trans., The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse (New York: Penguin, 1981), p. 323. His title. 4. "The Journey," in English/Hebrew in T. Carmi, ed. and trans., The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse (New York: Penguin, 1981), p. 327. His title. 5-35. "I Behold Ancient Graves," in English/Hebrew in Solomon Solis-Cohen, trans., and Heinrich Brody, ed., Selected Poems of Moses ibn Ezra (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1945), p. 63. Their title.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 93 6. "A Night of Grief," in English/Hebrew in T. Carmi, ed. and trans., The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse (New York: Penguin, 1981), p. 328. His title. 7-30. "Where Are the Graves," in English/Hebrew in Solomon Solis-Cohen, trans., and Heinrich Brody, ed., Selected Poems of Moses ibn Ezra (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1945), p. 63. Their title. The poem, entitled "Graves" and translated by Robert Mezey, is also in Poems from the Hebrew, selected by Robert Mezey (New York: Thomas Y. Crowell, 1973), p. 59. 8. "Meditation," in Carl Rakosi, "Eight Songs and Meditations (1971-1975)," in The Collected Poems of Carl Rakosi (Orono, ME: The National Poetry Foundation/University of Maine, 1986), p. 488. This is styled "After Moses ibn Ezra." 9. "Drinking Song," in Carl Rakosi, "Eight Songs and Meditations (1971-1975)," in The Collected Poems of Carl Rakosi (Orono, ME: The National Poetry Foundation/University of Maine, 1986), p. 486. This is styled "After Moses ibn Ezra." 10. "Dawn," in Alice Lukas, The Jewish Year (New York: Bloch, 1926), pp. 33–34. 11-41. "Why Is My Loved One Wroth," in English/Hebrew in Solomon Solis-Cohen, trans., and Heinrich Brody, ed., Selected Poems of Moses ibn Ezra (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1945), p. 101. Their title. 12-42. "Come Let Us Seek the Spots," in English/Hebrew in Solomon Solis-Cohen, trans., and Heinrich Brody, ed., Selected Poems of Moses ibn Ezra (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1945), p. 102. Their title. 13-61. "Thou That Graciously Attendest," in English/Hebrew in Solomon Solis-Cohen, trans., and Heinrich Brody, ed., Selected Poems of Moses ibn Ezra (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1945), pp. 144–145. Their title. 14. "In the Night," in Emma Lazarus, The Poems of Emma Lazarus. Vol. 2: Jewish Poems: Translations (Boston and New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1895), pp. 201–204. 15-35. "I Behold Ancient Graves," in English/Hebrew in Solomon Solis-Cohen, trans., and Heinrich Brody, ed., Selected Poems of Moses ibn Ezra (Philadelphia: The Jewish Publication Society of America, 1945), p. 63. Their title.

Further Reading

The books in this section contain at least some poems by Moses ibn Ezra, either just in English or in English and Hebrew.

Carmi, T., trans. and ed. The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse. New York: Penguin, 1981. Cole, Peter, trans. and ed. The Dream of the Poem: Hebrew Poetry from Muslim and Christian Spain. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2007. Goldstein David, trans. The Jewish Poets of Spain, 900–1250. Harmondsworth, England: Penguin, 1965. Scheindlin, Raymond P. The Gazelle: Medieval Hebrew Poems on God, Israel, and the Soul. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991. Scheindlin, Raymond P. Wine, Women, and Death: Medieval Hebrew Poems on the Good Life. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986.

I recently met the famous author or his avatar in a Jerusalem café. He wore a dirty white kaftan, dark- green turban, and scraggly beard. Although looking haggard from his latest arduous sea voyage to the Land of Israel and for his time-travel from the Middle Ages he eagerly awaited a late-night tour of the Wailing Wall. I bought him an espresso and a couple of pieces of baklava pastries. Sources are all over the place with his dates, but many actually seem to agree that he was born in Tudela (or possibly Toledo), Spain, in 1075 (with some saying 1086) and died in 1141. However, with so much uncertainty in dating the medieval Jewish poets and the lead-footedness of so many scholars, I hope that you, dear reader, will temporarily suspend your disbelief that he and I did indeed meet in the early twenty-first century.

HR: I am trying to understand my fascination—obsession—with the Golden Age in Spain, with Hebrew poetry, and now with your poetry. I especially admire your Zion poems and sea poems. YH: Wisdom and skills are no good if you can't swim. (1-16)

The Meaning of Zion

HR: What meanings have you invested in Zion? The image, or metaphor, or place appeals to me poetically and lends itself to many interpretations. YH: Zion has the obvious meanings: the Holy Land, Jerusalem, Mt. Zion. Also, it represents the hopes of "the remains of your flocks" for the messianic age. (2-2) HR: I also see Zion as a universal symbol for all of the strivings of humankind toward a higher place, to be closer to God, the source of life. The milieu of the Zion poems symbolizes the struggle for higher consciousness or maybe even just "the purposeful life," as we might say today. YH: That’s a nice psychological interpretation, but it’s not what I had in mind. I chose Zion for a limited number of metaphorical possibilities, but of course I cannot limit the meanings of my metaphors. For example, I wrote that to lament your affliction, I am like a jackal; but when I dream of your freedom, I am an instrument of your music. (3-2) HR: We all have our personal metaphors, but of course on a deeper level all metaphors for God or the quest for God are similar or the same, aren’t they? YH: Perhaps, but as you know from my Kuzari, the Jewish way is the best. (A)

Views of Mt. Zion

HR: In these poems, too, you give us many views of Mt. Zion, which reminds me of the "views of Mt. Fuji" in Japanese art. When you lament living in the west and not in the east, Zion can be interpreted literally, as a sanctuary or metaphorically as a conceptual place. (4-1) In your poem addressed to Zion, you flesh out its physical geography with specific places like Hermon, Bethel and Peniel, Hebron, and Gilead, but also its spiritual geography as facing the "portals of heaven." (5-2) You also describe how Zion appears in a dream, (6-4) and you meditate on a possible journey. (7-5) You swing back and forth between the palpable (8-6) and the intangible, when you write that Zion is reached on wings of yearning, so that the sweetness of the dust can be tasted. (9-8) YH: That’s a good analogy. I turned the whole thing over in my mind many times, and each time I thought or felt something different, resulting in different perspectives of Zion.

HR: In my own quest I am doing something similar with Al-Andalus in the so-called Golden Age. I am unhappy today with America and with the modern world. The Golden Age seemed a more peaceful, convivial time, when the metaphors of different traditions mingled. There was an outpouring of poetry. Some of the books I have read discuss or contain Arabic and Jewish poetry, and some also include work by Christians. YH: It is true: In spite of some of our suspicions toward Arabs, we adopted and adapted many of their traditions. I never asked God to smash the great waves of the sea or order the abyss to dry up. (10-9) I needed the Andalusian poetical sea to carry my words to the people, and the physical sea to carry my body to Zion. HR: Often the boundaries were blurred, so that secular images were used toward religious ends, religious images toward secular ends, and poems made that did not fit in the liturgy but nonetheless were spiritual. One commentator makes much of this blurring, saying, for example, that "in the secular poetry ‘gazelle’ is a code word for the lover; in religious poetry, for God or the Messiah." (B) In my own life I try not to distinguish between the two. I am a spiritual person, in a way I cannot describe, but also secular. The blurring of imagery, sources, and boundaries between sacred and secular appeals to me. YH: Maybe it’s just that a lot of categories are illusions. You think something is this or that but later realize it is something else. HR: You repeatedly describe Zion as desolate yet find the soil sweeter than honey and describe Spain as desolate when it was not. (11-10) In fact, Zion was in ruins, physically and spiritually, for Jews, while Spain was not. This pair of opposite images seems at the heart of the poems as a group. YH: On the surface, yes, for a while Spain had a lot going for it, especially for Jews. But at the deepest level, Zion still had more to offer than Spain; the Shekhinah (God’s presence) had been in Zion but never in Spain. However, even on the surface Spain was not everything it was cracked up to be. Concerning the first level: Spain seemed—perhaps was—a garden. However, we still were second- class citizens, there was always the threat of persecution, the fanatics came, and that was that. The food always tasted foreign—"How can I find any taste in the food?," I once asked. (12-1) Muslims, too, yearned for the East. Caliph ‘Abd al-Rahman wrote: "A palm tree I beheld in Ar-Rusafa,/Far in the West, far from the palm-tree land:/I said: You, like myself, are far away, in a strange land;/How long have I been away from my people!" (C) The Sufis, the Islamic mystics, were persecuted by their coreligionists—witness the murder of Al-Hallaj for claimed to be the truth. Later, Al-Ghazali, a mystic philosopher, saw Spain as a wasteland. And Zion seemed—or perhaps was—a wasteland, with the Exile, Crusades, and so on. HR: This is one level. YH: But on a deeper level it’s reversed: The apparent good life in Spain was unreal, since God was absent. And although the Shekhinah appeared to be missing from or to have left the Holy Land, in truth she was still there. Once I saw through the illusion—or rather, illusions—I knew the true reality could only be found elsewhere. I knew I had to leave Spain and go to Zion. Al-Ghazali said: "Finally I found out that the way to God, to Truth, is the Sufi way. . . . During this time things were manifested to me that cannot be understood except by feeling [hal] and tasting [zowq], things that cannot be put into words." (D) I needed to feel and taste the truth, and since for the Jew the only truth is God, I had to taste the dust of Zion. That’s why I begged to be taken there on eagles’ wings, to see for myself what my heart knew: "Help a servant who trusts you, and who hastens to behold the places of your wonders." (13-21) HR: You’re saying that the Golden Age was a double illusion.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 96 YH: Each place had its illusion. The stronger my yearning for Zion, based on my faith in the Bible, the more I realized that the garden of Spain was actually a desert and had nothing for me. At the same time, I realized that the desert in Zion was actually a garden and had everything for me. For a long time I tearfully feared leaving Spain to see what was beyond its shores, (14-22) but eventually I surrendered my spirit to the winds and was pushed by the Western one to the East. (15-16) HR: Tell me more about how you penetrated the illusion of a desolate Zion. YH: Just as in Egypt I knew I was not looking at the Nile but rather at the place of one of God’s miracles. (16-21) Conversely, the miracle by which the Nile was turned to blood appeared to Pharaoh as magic but in reality resulted from Moses' and Aaron's wielding God’s name. (17-21) HR: Do you ever lament or regret leaving Spain or look back? YH: "I thank the sea waves and the west wind." (18-9) And, the west was not all bad, in spite of "the Arab yoke." (19-9) Perhaps I exaggerated my love for Zion by saying the soil was sweeter than honey. Even if the honey in Spain was sweet, it didn’t matter. I wasn’t oblivious to the glories of the age, but they had lost their hold on me: "It would be trivial of me to leave the bounty of Spain, given the joy I would feel just beholding the dust of the ruined Holy of Holies." (20-1) HR: Here the illusions and their penetration seem to come together. YH: The exegetes say you can’t deprive a verse of its peshat, its literal meaning. Perhaps this applies to poetry as well as to scripture. (Sips coffee.) HR: What about today? Has the Shekhinah returned to Jerusalem? I see no peace, in a way "the Arab yoke" still exists, the country is in hock to Christian fundamentalists, and— YH: We are both poets, obsessed with complex ideals. Even the Psalmist couldn’t write one psalm that said it all. I want to be above it all, which is why I praise Zion as "beautiful loftiness." (21-8) Reality is always a disappointment or just very scary: At the beginning of my journey, didn’t I say I quaked at the prospect of wandering? (22-7)

Themes and Ornaments

HR: You are known as a master of poetic technique. YH: Technique is only the vehicle of meaning. I have one theme in these poems and ornament it differently—like a theme and variations. You caught this already. One of my main ornaments is metaphor, as you have pointed out; another is repetition. HR: You dream a lot. Dreaming brings you alive, as when you say you dream of Zion's freedom. (23-2) You also say a dream brought you to God's sanctuaries. (24-4) YH: What else could I do except dream? Dreams give people hope. HR: You speak of flying, as well. You ask who will make you wings, so that you can wander far, (25-2) and then wishfully yearn to fly on the wings of eagles. (26-8) Of course, in English the word "fly" refers to literally flying and also to leaving a place. (27-5) YH: When you feel earthbound, stuck, fettered—whether in Arab chains or something else—flight comes to mind. It is a symbol of freedom to everyone, and of course for Jews, with the flight from the Egyptians through the Sea of Reeds. The eagle is the greatest of birds and a symbol of strength and might. HR: "Dust" is pervasive. In two poems you say the soil or dust of Zion is sweeter than honey. (28-8 and 29-20) Dreams, eagles’ wings, and dust—these and your other images are strung on the girdle of the Zionides, repeated images accompanying new ones. YH: Dust is a rich word, evoking the desert, neglected places, human fate, choking—With this one word, too, I condense the setting of the qasida.

HR: What is the draw of the qasida? In spite of your avowed aversion to aspects of Arabic culture, qasida permeates these poems. It is remarkable that you can pour your deepest self into such an antique, highly stylized form. The classical qasida begins with a section in which the narrator finds himself in a deserted campsite in the desert. The people who lived here or passed through are no longer there. He is lonely and nostalgic. As he sinks into a reverie, he conjures up his beloved. YH: It is the perfect vehicle for my emotions, but there are no camels or fawns. HR: You write about a deserted Holy of Holies, (30-1) "the ruins of your split heart," (31-2) "dry bones," (32-5) "the place of the pit and the worm," (33-6) the "desolate abode," (34-8) and so on. It’s a fixation on death. YH: But the graves are tranquil, (35-22) the Holy Land still has room for the Shekhinah, (36-2) "the land is full of gates facing the portals of Heaven," (37-6) and so on. HR: We must know death, even if first in the mind’s eye and only later— YH: Amazing how much you read out of—or in to—my poems! As for the qasida—it is the quintessential form of the spiritual life and quest. Life is empty, a desert. We come into this space, all kinds of things are stirred up—memories of a time of fullness, love, our animal nature—our nefesh. We dream or envision—a more perfect life, full of devotion and love. When our yearning is met, we shower praises on the Holy One, blessed be He. I have built many poems around elements of the qasida because of this. HR: The voice of the Zion and sea poems praises God. It carries you on your journey, like a wind. YH: Qasida blew in from the desert, like a lost camel—the ship of the desert. HR: It also is like a sailing ship. Even on the sea, qasida is there, when you write: "Has the Flood wasted the Earth again, leaving neither human nor bird?" (38-10) Then you say you "look every which way, and there's nothing but water, sky, an ark, and Leviathan boiling the depths." (39-10) You left Spain but kept the qasida—you abandoned the content but kept the form. YH: (Eats a piece of baklava and sips the rest of his coffee.) This (pointing to mouth) reminds me of Al-Andalus (today called Andalucía or Andalusia), southern Spain, formerly under Muslim rule, in form and content. (Laughs.)

The Journey

HR: The qasida form itself seems a metaphor: Zion is a qasida. What about the journey to Zion: Was it real or metaphorical? YH: Both and neither. It was a real journey—I actually did set forth, as you can read in my sea poems. (40-9–16) It also was metaphorical. Poetry cannot be either concrete or wholly imaginary. Each must be grounded in the other. HR: On your journey you stopped for a while in Egypt. Why? YH: In Hebrew, Egypt also means "constriction," you know. A quest is never easy. You don’t just yearn to go somewhere, then get there with no problems. HR: You say no city is more praiseworthy than Egypt. (41-18) Why? YH: "I bow down to God on every journey and thank Him at every step." (42-7) The obstructions in our life help us grow. HR: You couldn’t work it out where you were? YH: I knew in my bones that God selected me for this quest: God wanted me for His dwelling. I am happy to be chosen and brought near. (43-2) I had to go, as I said, but getting there was less important —after all, I "died" right away. It was the burning dream that kept me alive and gave others hope.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 98 HR: Your "death" was what some might call a beautiful death. YH: What people call death is something else. I got to Zion. I am here now. HR: The modern German–Jewish philosopher Franz Rosenzweig says you brought in the reference to Job at the end of your poem about beautiful loftiness because you wanted to die in the Holy Land. (44-8). He says "the last line . . . contain[s] an almost bashfully hidden allusion from which one can sense that the poet was quite in earnest, as were many thousands in later centuries, when [you] expressed the wish to die in Jerusalem." The poem ends, according to his English translation of your poetry: "To caress and to kiss/your stones I desire,/and the taste of your soil would/be for me a reward sweet as honey." (E) YH: He ignores the metaphor. Also, in a lot of these poems I want to die. HR: I think I can interpret your description of and quest for Zion, including the voyage, as follows: We think we are in "heaven." Then we realize are in a wasteland instead. Next, we dream of something else, something we maybe once had—perhaps in childhood, like a forgotten dream of what to do in life. But before we can pursue this new or remembered dream, we have to leave behind the ideal-place- become-a-wasteland; we have become aware of the illusion and turn it into a vision. It’s hard to leave behind and also hard to go forward, because the place we dream about also seems a wasteland. This too is illusion, of the reverse kind. Finally we set sail, leaving our former life behind and striking out for a new life. What do you think? YH: Interesting, but not the way I approached things.

Sufism and Neoplatonism

HR: Getting back to death: Do you mean ego-death or ittisal, conjunction with the Divine? YH: The first term I do not know. HR: Your quest to travel to the Holy Land parallels the quest of the Sufi, to become one with God, and of the Neoplatonist, to return to the One. The return is one of your favorite images. You say, for example, that "here the dead celebrate, and the souls return to their repose." (45-6) You have come down through the body, to a lower place on earth—Spain—your soul is in exile. And now you go back to where you came from. YH: The Sufis speak of union, the Neoplatonists of return and perhaps then of union. If you wish to read me these ways, you can. The Islamic mystic philosopher Al-Ghazali yearned to make a pilgrimage too (F). He was always thinking of the hajj, the pilgrimage to Mecca. The quest for a higher place, for enlightenment, is very old, a universal human characteristic, not just Jewish. HR: You are a universalist. YH: Just not a Unitarian Universalist. (G) (Laughs.) HR: Do you think being an ascetic is essential to reach God? YH: "To Jews attracted to Sufi asceticism, . . . the Divine is not as accessible as when Jews dwelt in the Holy Land, the divine Presence rested upon the Temple, and Jews could achieve prophecy, a modern scholar said." (H) I couldn’t have said it better. HR: Do you believe in the possibility of ittisal, conjunction with the Divine? YH: I don’t know. The Arabs had a word for an experience that a lot of Jews either had or wanted to have or thought about a lot—to be close to God, to be in places where God was, but not necessarily to merge with God. That’s something else. HR: You must admit that your intense longing for God is reminiscent of the longing of the Sufis. We are of course not even discussing your love poems. YH: In Kuzari V:27 I say: "(I)f we provoke and instill love of this sacred place among men, we may be sure of obtaining reward and of hastening the (Messianic) aim; for it is written: ‘Thou shalt arise and

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 99 have mercy upon Zion; for it is time to favour her, the moment is come. For Thy servants love her stones and pity her dust. This means: Jerusalem can only be rebuilt when Israel yearns for it to such an extent that we sympathize even with its stones and its dust." (I) HR: More dust and stones! YH: I guess I stirred up the dust among the clods of earth, in which are mysteries and wonders. (46-22) HR: Your yearning was so great that it inspired others; one person alone cannot bring back the Shekhinah. YH: I simply yearned "to pour out my soul where God pours out His spirit on His chosen." (47-2)

Prophecy

HR: One of the main themes of the Kuzari is the absence of prophecy among Jews. Does this not parallel what you say in many of your Zion poems, namely, that God is absent? For example, I think you say in that God was not present in reality but only in your dreams and visions, but that these were so powerful that you awakened and were still with God. (48-4) Yet is not this a form of prophecy, one of the levels that the great medieval Spanish–Jewish philosopher Maimonides describes in his list in the Moreh Nevukim, the Guide of the Perplexed? (J) YH: There is no prophecy as it was known in ancient times. It left us long ago. But a remnant of the prophets’ illuminatory powers has stayed with the Jewish people in the form of inspiration, and each Jew has some of this form. Prophecy was just the ideal form of inspiration. HR: Are you are a prophet? YH: Maimonides doesn’t even give me a footnote in the Moreh. HR: The early Zionists canonized you, though. Rosenzweig says that "the lonely yearning of Halevi’s soul is the first beacon of the new movement (to return to the Holy Land), a movement that carries into the present day. . . ." (K) If that isn’t prophecy— YH: (Smiles tiredly). HR: And that perhaps is what has brought me to my fixation on the Golden Age—your inspiration and its timelessness. You have taken me to the mountain, on the long, dangerous watery journey across the sea, through mitzraiym ("Egypt," or "constriction" or "narrow place")—a place I know all too well— and then to the other side, a place I yearn to attain on my own voyage. You write about the journey beautifully, in both a Jewish and a universal way, and so your poems touch those of us today who are both Jewish and universal—too big for our Jewishness, too small for true universality. Those of us whom you touch are inspired to find our own way through this narrow place. YH: I’m glad you have been so inspired. HR: I’ve heard you are in Israel to lobby for a complete diwan (collection) of your poetry. YH: (Referring to some recent poems)—I’d like to see the poems in a good English translation, too. HR: Maybe the American scholar Coleman Barks wants a break from the great medieval Persian poet Rumi—all that whirling! (L) YH: How I wish I had an interpreter like him! HR: Many people would welcome Yehudah Halevi in a relevant, contemporary Jewish voice to guide them in the bleak landscape of today’s world. YH: You know what a lot of yearning can do!

Terms and Names

Al-Ghazali—Muhammad al-Ghazali (ca. 1058–1111, b. Tus, Khorasan). Important Persian philosopher, Sufi, scholar, and legalist.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 100 Al-Hallaj—Mansur al-Hallaj (858–922, b. Persia). Sufi who declared he was "the truth," for which he was killed because people thought he was declaring himself God. diwan—A poetry collection by a single author. Edom— Ancient Middle-Eastern kingdom adjacent to ancient Israel and supposedly inhabited by descendants of the biblical Esau. Golden Age—A period during the Middle Ages when Spanish Jews supposedly flourished. However, scholars do not agree on the length of this period and even the supposed flourishing. Guide of the Perplexed—See Maimonides. Kuzari—In a nutshell, this book argues that Judaism is the best religion. Maimonides—Moses Maimonides (1138–1204, b. Córdoba, Spain). Rabbi (Jewish religious teacher), seminal Jewish philosopher, codifier of Jewish law, Jewish community leader, physician. Author of Moreh Nevukim, the rationalist–philosophical masterpiece Guide of the Perplexed. Moreh Nevukim—See Maimonides above. Neoplatonism—School of philosophy founded by the ancient Greek–Egyptian philosopher Plotinus (ca. 204–270 C.E.), that influenced Jewish and Islamic thought. Rosenzweig (Franz Rosenzweig (1886–1929, b. Germany)—Jewish–German philosopher and author of The Star of Redemption, linking humankind, God, and the world in a way suggesting the centrality of the Jewish faith. qasida—Poetic form originating in north Africa and popular in medieval Spain and other countries. It contains the following features, although there are variations: The poet is in a deserted campground and daydreams about his (or her) beloved. Then he praises his camel and his patron. It was a good vehicle for Jewish poets like Halevi since it provided a poignant way to describe their dreams of the Holy Land. Shekhinah—The presence or feminine presence of God. Sufi(s)—Islamic mystic(s). Sufism—Having to do with Sufis. views of Mt. Fuji—Titles of groups of paintings by Japanese artists centered on the iconic Mt. Fuji. Zion—Mt. Zion in Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the entire Holy Land. Zionides—Poems expressing the longing of Jews to see and return to Zion.

Notes

Most poems referred to are cited with two numbers in parentheses, for example, 1-7. The first number is just the running tabulation: 1 is the first citation, 2 the second, 3 the third, and so on. The second number is keyed to the poem number in a Hebrew–English edition of Halevi's work: Heinrich Brody, ed., and Nina Salaman, trans. Selected Poems of Jehudah Halevi (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1974). Then come the poem numbers, followed by the title and page number(s) of the poem used in that book. Most of the translators spell Yehudah with a "J": Jehudah, Jehuda, Judah. Yehudah may be spelled Yehuda. Such are the vagaries of Hebrew transliteration and transcription.

The English snippets included in this essay are either new translations done especially for the essay, or paraphrases of the new translations.

1-16. "On the Sea" VIII, pp. 30–31. 2-2. "Ode to Zion," pp. 3–7. 3-2. "Ode to Zion," pp. 3–7. 4-1. "My Heart Is in the East," p. 2.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 101 5-2. "Ode to Zion," pp. 3–7. 6-4. "My Dream," p. 9. 7-5. "Equipped for Flight," pp. 10–13. 8-6. "For the Sake of the House of Our God," pp. 14–17. 9-8. "Beautiful of Elevation," p. 19. 10-9. "On the Sea" I, p. 20. 11-10. "On the Sea" II, p. 21. 12-1. "My Heart Is in the East," p. 2. 13-21. "On the Nile," p. 38. 14-22. "On Eagles’ Wings," pp. 39–43. 15-16. "On the Sea" VIII, pp. 30–31. 16-21. "On the Nile," p. 38. 17-21. "On the Nile," p. 38. 18-9. "On the Sea" I, p. 20. 19-9. "On the Sea" I, p. 20. 20-1. "My Heart Is in the East," p. 2. 21-8. "Beautiful of Elevation," p. 19. 22-7. "When My Soul Longed," p. 18. 23-2. "Ode to Zion," pp. 3–7. 24-4. "My Dream," p. 9. 25-2. "Ode to Zion," pp. 3–7. 26-8. "Beautiful of Elevation," p. 19. 27-5. "Equipped for Flight," pp. 10–13. 28-8. "Beautiful of Elevation," p. 19. 29-20. "In the Paths of the Ark," p. 37. 30-1. "My Heart Is in the East," p. 2. 31-2. "Ode to Zion," pp. 3–7. 32-5. "Equipped for Flight," pp. 10–13. 33-6. "For the Sake of the House of our God," pp. 14–17. 34-8. "Beautiful of Elevation," p. 19. 35-22. "On Eagles’ Wings," pp. 39–43. 36-2. "Ode to Zion," pp. 3–7. 37-6. "For the Sake of the House of Our God," pp. 14–17. 38-10. "On the Sea" II, p. 21. 39-10. "On the Sea" II, p. 21. 40-9–16. "On the Sea" I–VIII, pp. 20–31. 41-18. "Refusal to Tarry in Egypt," pp. 33–35. 42-7. "When My Soul Longed," p. 18. 43-2. "Ode to Zion," pp. 3–7. 44-8. "Beautiful of Elevation," p. 19. 45-6. "For the Sake of the House of Our God," pp. 14–17. 46-22. "On Eagles’ Wings," pp. 39–43. 47-2. "Ode to Zion," pp. 3–7. 48-4. "My Dream," p. 9.

The sources of poems and articles cited with a capital letter in parentheses—for example, (A)—are now listed, in addition to a few explanatory notes on terms or people.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 102 A. Jehuda Halevi, Kuzari, ed. Isaak Heinemann, in Three Jewish Philosophers (New York: Atheneum, 1969). In a nutshell, the Kuzari argues that Judaism is the superior religion. B. Raymond P. Scheindlin, The Gazelle: Medieval Hebrew Poems on God, Israel, and the Soul (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), p. 25. C. Robert Irwin, ed., Night and Horses and the Desert: An Anthology of Classical Arabic Literature. (Woodstock and New York: The Overlook Press, 1999), p. 245. D. Massud Farzan, The Tale of the Reed Pipe: Teachings of the Sufis (New York: Dutton, 1974), p. 9. E. Susan L. Einbinder, Beautiful Death: Jewish Poetry and Martyrdom in Medieval France (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2002). F. Franz Rosenzweig. Ninety-Two Poems of Yehuda Halevi. Thomas Kovach, Eva Jospe, and Gilya Gerda Schmidt, trans. (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 2000), p. 233. G. Al-Ghazali (ca. 1058–1111, b. Tus, Khorasan). Persian philosopher, Sufi mystic, scholar, and legalist. H. Unitarian Universalist. A member of the Unitarian Universalist religion, characterized in particular by its liberal and almost nonsectarian bent. I. Diana Lobel, Between Mysticism and Philosophy: Sufi Language of Religious Experience in Judah Ha-Levi’s Kuzari (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2000), p. 510. J. Kuzari V:27, pp. 128–129. See A above for source. K. Maimonides. Moses Maimonides (1138–1204, b. Córdoba, Spain). Rabbi, seminal Jewish philosopher, codifier of Jewish law, Jewish community leader, physician. Author of Moreh Nevukim, the rational-philosophical masterpiece Guide of the Perplexed. L. Rosenzweig, p. 235. See F for source. M. Coleman Barks (b. 1937, Tennessee). Most important and prolific translator of the medieval Persian poet Jalaluddin Rumi (1207–1273, b. central Asia), important Sufi mystic and poet. "All that whirling" refers to the whirling dervishes, members of an order of Sufis founded by Rumi.

Further Reading

These books contain at least some poems by Yehudah Halevi, either just in English or in English and Hebrew. Note that most of these translators spell Yehudah with a "J" as Jehudah or Judah. And, you may see Yehudah spelled Yehuda. Such are the vagaries of Hebrew transliteration or transcription.

Carmi, T., ed. and trans. The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse. New York: Penguin, 1981. Cole, Peter, trans and ed. The Dream of the Poem: Hebrew Poetry from Muslim and Christian Spain. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2007. Goldstein, David, trans. The Jewish Poets of Spain, 900–1250. Harmondsworth, England: Penguin, 1965. Ha-Leví, Yehudá. Nueva antología poética. Trans. Rosa Castillo. Madrid: Hiperón, 1997. Spanish translation of some of Halevi's poems. Maimonides, Moses. The Guide of the Perplexed. 2 vols. Trans. Shlomo Pines. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 1963. Scheindlin, Raymond P. The Gazelle: Medieval Hebrew Poems on God, Israel, and the Soul. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991. Scheindlin, Raymond P. The Song of the Distant Dove: Judah Halevi's Pilgrimage. New York: Oxford University Press, 2008. Scheindlin, Raymond P. Wine, Women, and Death: Medieval Hebrew Poems on the Good Life. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986.

Yehudah Halevi was born in 1075 or possibly 1086 in Tudela (or possibly Toledo), Spain, where Abraham ibn Ezra also was born. He later moved to Granada and also either visited or lived in other Spanish cities, including Lucena, Seville, Toledo, and Córdoba. Eventually he left Spain, determined to reach the Holy Land. Whether he made it there or not, no one is sure, but he did get as far as Egypt, visiting Cairo and Alexandria. He died in 1141.

Halevi is best known for his great philosophical work the Kuzari (1) and for his poems about Zion, in particular the poem whose first line may be translated "My heart is in the east, and I'm as far west as you can go." (2-1) Although his philosophy expresses the essentiality and uniqueness of the land of Israel for Jews, the poem expresses the emotional essence of this idea, and expresses it as a deep longing, a feeling no philosophical treatise, even as imaginative a treatise as the Kuzari, can express. In this poem the Hebrew word libi—"my heart"—is an inexact homonym for the poet’s name, Levi, spelled differently but sounding similar, a reflexive statement that Halevi—and his essence—is in the east even though the rest of him is still in the west, in Spain.

Continuing with the homonymity of his name, it is fair to say that in the case of Halevi, the name also represents his own essence and the locus of his fame. For surely this fame rests upon the nature of his heart, and the name itself perhaps became or has become synonymous in the minds of many Jews, especially those associated with the founding and growth of the state of Israel, with all that heart symbolizes and stands for. Then again, the heart is a universal symbol, and so in spite of his religious particularity Yehudah Halevi, like all great writers and great thinkers, transcended his birthright as a Jew and penetrated the realm of universality.

In some of his religious poems Halevi expresses an ecstatic kind of awareness of the presence of God. It is a feeling akin to standing naked with rubbery knees before one’s lover. For example: "Lord, where can I find You, your place so high, unseen/And where won't I find you? Your glory fills the world." (3- 73)

Wandering through Andalusian cities like Córdoba and Seville and spending time as well in Toledo, the modern-day visitor strains to imagine what these cities were like over 900 years ago, with sizable Jewish populations and poet–philosophers such as Yehudah Halevi walking the streets. Most likely he walked through the Jewish quarter in Córdoba, or down along the Guadalquivir River a few blocks away, perhaps even to watch the egrets in the trees, on its ever-widening way to the ocean. If so, did he see in the river the river of his life and imagine himself on a water voyage to the Holy Land?

Although we can never know any of this, we do have the record of his feelings and thoughts, which themselves are like signposts of the river of the imagination as it flowed through one man in the eleventh and twelfth centuries.

Notes

The two poems referred to in the essay are cited with two numbers in parentheses. The first number is just the running tabulation—1 is the first citation, 2 the second. The second number is keyed to the poem number in a Hebrew–English edition of Halevi's work: Heinrich Brody, ed., and Nina Salaman,

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 104 trans., Selected Poems of Jehudah Halevi (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1974). The translations/paraphrases were done especially for this essay, but the titles are those used in Brody and Salaman. Jehudah is an alternate spelling of Yehudah.

1. Jehuda Halevi, Kuzari, ed. Isaak Heinemann, in Three Jewish Philosophers (New York: Atheneum, 1969). In a nutshell, the Kuzari argues that Judaism is the superior religion. 2-1. "My Heart Is in the East," p. 2. Trans. Henry Rasof. 3-73. "God in All," pp. 134–135.

Further Reading

The books in this section contain at least some poems by Yehudah Halevi, either just in English or in English and Hebrew. Note that most of these translators spell Yehudah with a "J" as Jehudah or Judah. And, you may see Yehudah spelled Yehuda. Such are the vagaries of Hebrew transliteration or transcription.

Abraham ibn Ezra was born in Tudela, Spain, around 1092 or 1093 (some sources give 1089); left Spain probably for good in 1146; and died around 1167 (1164 according to some sources), perhaps in London. After he left Spain, he lived in a number of cities, including Rome, Pisa, Narbonne, and London, writing many books and spreading his knowledge of Spanish–Jewish Arabic culture. Tudela was also the possible birthplace of another famous poet, Yehudah Halevi, and another famous traveler, Benjamin of Tudela.

Ibn Ezra was a polymath who, according to Leon Weinberger, wrote "over one hundred books on medicine, astronomy, mathematics, philosophy, poetry, Bible, Talmud, and linguistics" and "was the model itinerant sage." (1) He also "was one of the best known and admired Jewish figures in the West. His Pisan Tables in astronomy were the authoritative guides for Roger Bacon . . . , Nicolas of Cusa . . . , and Pico della Pirandola . . . , and he was remembered for his pioneering efforts in introducing the mathematics of the Arabs to the Europeans." (2) According to David Goldstein, "he endeavored to bring the culture of the Spanish Jews to those living in Italy, France and England, and it is primarily due to him that schools of poetry began to flourish in Italy and Provence. . . ." (3)

In his poem about his torn cloak (often translated "garment"), (4) Ibn Ezra creates what could be seen as an emblem of his life and work, an emblem of the life of the poet in general, and more broadly an emblem of the life of the imagination. As with much information about the medieval Hebrew poets and their work, Ibn Ezra’s authorship of this poem is not absolutely certain. Still, the poem is emblematic of his life, since Ibn Ezra was poor in material wealth but rich in spiritual and creative wealth.

On one level, the poem acknowledges this duality and expresses, as Goldstein puts it, "his religious humility before the Creator." (5) On another level the poem expresses profound theories of the imagination and of interpretation that, like Ibn Ezra’s famous biblical commentary, foreshadow approaches taken many hundreds of years later.

Ibn Ezra says the "cloak . . . is like a sieve to sift barley and wheat." (6) Like a threadbare cloak the poet has little material wealth, and this cloak has many holes. On the other hand, the poet can see the moon and stars through it, including the seven sisters of the Pleiades. Night is when the imagination blossoms a thousandfold, when "the lofty stars shine through" the blackness of the sky as well as through the holes in the cloak. (7)

At night the simple, threadbare cloak becomes a tent and then the sky itself. The cloak of the imagination transforms the physical garment into the sky itself. Lights—the stars—now come through the cloak of the sky, illuminating the humdrum activities on earth. This is what the poetic imagination (at least to many modern poets) does via the vehicle of metaphor: It elevates, then transforms, the ordinary. After the poet reaches the realm of the celestial bodies, he comes back down to earth. Now the holes in the garment are jagged and beyond repair. And yet they really do not need to be repaired: They surround just the right amount of thread. The foundation of the imagination sometimes appears shoddy and other times exactly as it should.

All fabric has holes, even good physical fabric, and threadbare fabric has still larger holes. The poetic imagination requires both fabric and holes—there needs to be something to transform, and

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 106 transformation occurs only when the material world and descriptions can be penetrated by the starlight of imagination. One is reminded of the line in William Blake’s "The Marriage of Heaven and Hell": "If the doors of perception were cleansed every thing would appear to man as it is: infinite." The cloak is the covering over this sort of cosmic perception, and the holes allow viewers to peer through. And, like the door, which still remains even after it is cleansed, the cloak requires a certain amount of thread in order to remain a cloak. The light of the imagination requires a physical world to illuminate. Without anything to transform, the imagination is of no value.

As mentioned earlier, Abraham ibn Ezra was, in addition to being a poet, an important biblical commentator. Levels of hiddenness in the Hebrew Bible are also referred to as garments of Torah, and so the poet’s cloak may be seen to refer, even if unintentionally, as well to the garments of the divine. To penetrate the different levels of meaning of the Torah requires a great deal of light, the light of reason and the light of the imagination. Orion the hunter seems an apt image for the biblical commentator, who uses his interpretative "club" to fend off the large illusions and wrong interpretations and his sword to cut through the finer illusions, illuminated by the bright stars in his shield. The poem can be taken as an adjunct to the biblical commentary and, on another metaphorical level, as a metaphor for the imaginative process at the heart of his commentary.

The poet sees the moon through the holes in his cloak. This too can be interpreted in many ways. For example, if biblical text is like the sun, then commentary is like the moon; the light of the latter cannot exist without the former. Likewise, if the moon is a symbol of the imagination, what does Ibn Ezra want us to think by describing the moon as seen through the tattered cloak? Is this reading a dangerous backward projection of the lunar literary cosmology of the French symbolists. Perhaps, but Ibn Ezra’s imagery, lunar or otherwise, does seem to play to modern sensibilities.

Ibn Ezra also wrote a book on astrology, and his astrological beliefs and their connection to creativity emerge in this poem as well. Could he also be implying that astrology can be used to unravel the secrets of the Torah? Orion, with his sword and shield, can be taken as a metaphor for astrology and the search for those secrets and for truth. The Pleiades can be interpreted in many ways, depending on whether the focus is on the number of stars (seven), on the gender of the stars (feminine), or on some other symbolic system.

However Ibn Ezra means that the constellations help reveal the truth, ultimately only God can bring about the ultimate truth. We have to address God directly and ask for His help, and since God is ultimately responsible for the constituents and processes of the poet’s mind, for the imaginative faculty, and for the universe itself, in the end we need to transform what we see through and can learn from the cloak into praise for God. And we especially need to thank God for the beautiful and magical properties of his tattered garment.

Notes

1. Leon Weinberger, ed. and trans., Twilight of a Golden Age: Selected Poems of Abraham Ibn Ezra (Tuscaloosa and London: The University of Alabama Press, 1997), p. 9. 2. Ibid., p. 9. 3. David Goldstein, trans., The Jewish Poets of Spain, 900–1250 (Harmondsworth, England: Penguin Books, 1965), p. 153. 4. Weinberger, "On His Torn Garment," p. 68–69. This is the complete poem in English and Hebrew,

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 107 but the translation was done specially for this essay. The poem is also in Goldstein (see previous note, p. 156), in Carmi (pp. 353–354), and in Cole (pp. 175–176), listed in the Further Reading. 5. Goldstein, p. 153. 6. Weinberger, pp. 68–69. Again, the whole poem is here, but it's not his translation. 7. Ibid.

Further Reading

The books in this section contain at least some poems by Abraham ibn Ezra, either just in English or in English and Hebrew.

Carmi, T., ed. and trans. The Penguin Book of Hebrew Verse. New York: Penguin, 1981. Cole, Peter, ed. and trans. The Dream of the Poem: Hebrew Poetry from Muslim and Christian Spain. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2007. Scheindlin, Raymond P. The Gazelle: Medieval Hebrew Poems on God, Israel, and the Soul. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991. Scheindlin, Raymond P. Wine, Women, and Death: Medieval Hebrew Poems on the Good Life. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986.

Brann, Ross. The Compunctious Poet: Cultural Ambiguity and Hebrew Poetry in Muslim Spain. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991. Cole, Peter, trans. The Poetry of Kabbalah: Mystical Verse from the Jewish Tradition. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2012. Compton, Linda Fish. Andalusian Lyrical Poetry and Old Spanish Love Songs: The Muwashshah and its Kharja. New York: New York University Press, 1976. Davidson, Israel. Thesaurus of Medieval Hebrew Poetry. (Hebrew) 4 vols. New York: Ktav, 1970. Reprint of an earlier edition. Decter, Jonathan D. Iberian Jewish Literature: Between al-Andalus and Christian Europe. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 2007. Millgram, Abraham E., ed. An Anthology of Medieval Hebrew Literature. New York: The Burning Bush Press, 1961. Pagis, Dan. Hebrew Poetry of the Middle Ages and the Renaissance. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1991. Petuchowski, Jacob J. Theology and Poetry: Studies in the Medieval Piyyut. London, Henley, and Boston: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1971. Rothenberg, Jerome, and Harris Lenowitz, eds. Exiled in the Word: Poems & Other Visions of the Jews from Tribal Time to the Present. Port Townsend, WA: Copper Canyon Press, 1978, 1989. Scheindlin, Raymond P. The Gazelle: Medieval Hebrew Poems on God, Israel, and the Soul. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991. Scheindlin, Raymond P. Wine, Women, and Death: Medieval Hebrew Poems on the Good Life. New York and Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986. Schirmann, Jefim (Hayyim). Hebrew Poetry in Spain and Provence. (Hebrew) 4 vols. Israel: The Bialik Institute, 1960. Schirmann, Jefim. The History of Hebrew Poetry in Muslim Spain. Edited by Ezra Fleischer. Jerusalem: Magnes, 1995. Schirmann, Jefim. The History of Hebrew Poetry in Christian Spain and Southern France. Edited by Ezra Fleischer. Jerusalem: Magnes, 1997.

Behind a low wall of potted plants Some obscure man sits, typing. Me, of course, dabbling.

Precious mother, may God bless and heal you, spare you your worst fears, give you courage, and lead you gracefully through your years of wisdom. Evil spirits, ifrits, pebble charms, howlers, and other malevolent forces (you know who you are!)—stay away! Self-doubt, rage, terror, fear, infirmity, foolishness, isolation, madness, indecision, confusion, isolation, stubbornness—unless for the sake of growth or illumination—flee, keep your distance, be banished. Break the power of the wicked and let these enemies be shamed and confounded. To you, love, acceptance, praise, sacrifice, strength, compassion, beauty, grace, peace, and safety. Be these on your head and in your heart. God will make you live securely in your solitude. Let God deal kindly with you and give you courage. Change your grief into dancing. howlers—Some sort of supernatural beings. ifrits—Some sort of supernatural beings. pebble charms—Some sort of magic charms.

My mother’s father Harry died of diabetes In 1921 at age 26 Followed by his brother James Who died in Napa State Hospital I would like to think That when they immigrated from Belarus To the U.S. they, having heard the possibly Jewish Harry James on a 78, Took his names as their own Or perhaps Harry James met them on the Hamburg Line And combined their names into his Unifying the best of a weak pancreas and a weak brain Into the sweet sound of success

Terms kabbalistic unification—Kabbalah is the most important flavor of Jewish mysticism, and kabbalistic has to do with kabbalah. A kabbalistic unification is a meditative or prayer practice in which the practitioner seeks to unify, in language or intention, aspects of God called sefirot or the divine world with the world of Creation, to effect wholeness and compensate for disarray in the world. Italicized terms are Hebrew.

The trilling cantorial outburst Stops at the outer pane. Inside Behind a low wall of potted plants Some obscure man sits, typing. Me, of course, dabbling Next to the steam heater, percolating. I will bake bread today, Let the panes absorb the scent and steam. Perhaps a rabbi or two will be tempted By these nocturnal smells. His wife Patting her turbaned head as if in a dream Will then wail over the voice of the cantor: My cake is burning! My cake is burning! And all the city’s splendid doves Will come flying.

Terms cantorial—Having to do with Jewish liturgical singing. rabbi—A Jewish religious teacher.

Warning: I cannot take responsibility for the effects or side-effects of the following potions and charms. You are advised to read and enjoy these, NOT to actually use them!

Love Potion #1

Crush one sprig of bergamot, leaves and flowers, in a granite mortar. Add two splashes of apple-cider vinegar, and the shell of a () and crush to a paste. Store in an open ceramic container and bury in the earth or in sand. After sixty days dig it up, pronounce the tetragrammaton over it seven times, and loudly say, in the name of I am Who I Am, Rah Rah Torah, Torah Torah Rah, Rah Rah Torah, Torah Rah Rah until the paste grows warm. Rub the paste on your belly and on the belly of the one whose love for you you wish to enflame. Store on ice in an air-tight container. Keeps for seven years.

Love Charm #1

ﬡתּﺹ♥ ⌡₱ԊӺӞᵰὪ in the name of the seventy-seventh name of the Holy One light a fire for me in the heart of shulamit daughter of rebecca

Love Charm #2

I call on I Am Who I Am to inflame the loins of paulina daughter of ( ) so that smoke will rise and the sun will dim in shame

Love Potion #2 to a salve of mint and olive oil add one handful of ( ) powder and gently encourage Barbara daughter of ( ) to inhale the smell long enough so that she cannot see straight and before nightfall comes naked into my tent— o adonai, El, god of our ancestors sarah and abraHam, make her laugh at my jokes and hang on my every word, I Am Who I Am, right? so, I deserve this at the very least from You

In the name of Wise King Solomon, ruler of the jinns, away with you Liliths, pebble charms, night spirits, obsessions and compulsions, and other pain in the ass thoughts, and with help from YHVH God of the Jews, ruler of the universe, and with a little help from a magic ointment I just secretly rubbed on your genitals, come to my tent when the moon has set, your blood on fire, your loins burning with desire, your hot breath heaving, and press your wet naked body against mine until you drive me crazy and wild with desire. Then, afterward, leave the way you came, so that I can get sOme sleep.

Unfortunately I am forbidden to reveal the secret formula of the ointment, on penalty of strangulation.

Love Potion #3

Stimulate your beloved’s eight upper sefirotic chakras with this special potion that will bind her to you well into the world to come. Then combine one part each of the following in a large mortar and grind to a fine powder: crown = keter the godhead right temple = chokhmah wisdom nutmeg left temple = binah understanding poppy seeds heart = tiferet resolution fenugreek leaves right hand = chesed lovingkindness peppermint leaves left hand = gevurah strength or power almonds right thigh = netzach eternity myrrh left thigh = hod glory or majesty coffee beans

Mix with extra-virgin olive oil to form a smooth, fine paste the consistency of an ointment.

Beginning halfway through the second night before the first lunar crescent after the third full moon after the morning of Yom Kippur and continuing for seven nights, have Tamar put a minute dab of the paste on each of her upper eight sefirotic chakras. Be careful not to get any of the paste in her eyes, ears, nostrils, mouth, or other orifices.

While doing this, meditate on the sefirotic chakra you are applying the paste to.

If she does not cleave to you with the passion of a thousand virgins on their wedding night, wait until one night before the next full moon and try again.

Repeat until the desired effect is achieved.

If nothing happens, apply the remaining ointment to your own chakras, throw yourself into the Sea of Galilee, and walk on water (or at least try). Alternatively, go to the Dead Sea and try to walk on water for 90 days or until you turn into a pillar of salt—whichever comes first. If neither of these works, go to Meron and pray at the grave of Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, traditional author of the Zohar, the Book of Splendor (or Radiance).

If all else fails, return to Jerusalem to receive a full refund in valuable ancient coins.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 115 Terms adonai—Name of God. El—Name of God. .Your guess is as good as mine—ﬡתּﺹ♥ ⌡₱ԊӺӞᵰὪ I Am Who I Am—One of the names of God. jinns—Supernatural beings. Liliths—Night spirits whose name derives from the biblical Lilith, and whose Hebrew root means "night." pebble charms—Some sort of magic amulets. Sefirotic chakras—I have mingled terms from Jewish mysticism (sefirot) and Indian yoga (chakras). Sefirot are attributes of God and of ourselves, in some systems of Jewish mysticism. Chakras, from Indian yogic practice, are energy centers in the body. tetragrammaton—Acronym for the four-letter Hebrew name of God: Yod Hey Vav Hey. Torah—The five books of Moses in the Hebrew Bible (all of the biblical books except those in the New Testament) or all of Jewish religious texts or even Jewish learning and ideas. Zohar—The Book of Splendor (or Radiance), the most important Jewish mystical book.

The Ari came to me He is here with me now The Ari came to me He is with me now He came to hear The tzaddik’s niggun He came to hear A tzaddik’s niggun The Ari is with me now He came to me tonight He came to hear the tzaddik’s niggun The song of the holy tzaddik He talks to me He is with me now He talks to me He is with me now The Ari The Ari Came to me tonight He is with me now.

Terms and Names

Italicized words are Hebrew. A rabbi is a Jewish religious teacher.

Ari—Hebrew epithet (meaning "lion" in Hebrew) for the mystic Rabbi Isaac Luria (1534–1372, b. Jerusalem). Tzaddik's niggun—The wordless song (niggun) of a righteous person (tzaddik). Also spelled nigun in English.

What I would like you to do, Reb Zalman says, Is to look around you, don’t Stare at your watch so often, light A candle each night, Two on shabbos before you pray, And how you should pray. I want You to think about the real way to get into The Zohar. It won’t be through your head, But through your heart, the way A comet enters the solar system, penetrating The darkness with a single solitary blinding flash Of light as if a spark from the moment of Creation. Get Out of your head, do you get that? The Ishbitzer rebbe says to always burn the moon While engaged in study. Oy. What Exactly does that mean? You Think about it and get back to me. It is good That you have conversed with the Ari, that You did your only mikveh in his mikveh, even if The people who witnessed you are narrow minded and do not Realize the enormity of the place and time, what It means in history, how Best to pray so that a beam of light shoots out Into the holy cosmos and reflects back through your eyes, But only when you have surrendered yourself to the sunlight Illuminating each leaf in the forest you say you have lived in Since you were a child. Abandon your books, The concentration in chokhmah; light up the heart chakra. No, That’s not what I really meant, but maybe that’s the only way you can Be not where you think you should be but rather Where God means you to be. Close your eyes and contemplate Precisely why you did not travel to Meron even though you might not Have slept much or at all or perhaps even burnt up in a bonfire. Do you get that This is the way of the Ari and his followers? You could have come sooner. But I did not want to bother you. Perhaps, but I can sense your heaviness Even at a distance, and certainly when we are in the same room, or sitting Next to each other. I know which books are yours Now even without the stamp with your name. Not all Of them, of course, but certain ones. They belonged to another time. I Realize that, or you would not have left them behind, though Maybe you have memorized them Or do not need The physical book. Let us davven

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 118 Together, and I will show you. Thank you for your siddur. Although I will have a hard time reading it, still It will inspire. Reb Zalman said, Look around and check your watch less often. What Time is it?

Terms and Names

Unless otherwise noted or obviously English, italicized words are Hebrew.

Ari—Hebrew epithet (meaning "lion" in Hebrew) for the mystic Rabbi Isaac Luria (1534–1372, b. Jerusalem). chokhmah—Wisdom. Also, one of the sefirot, the attributes of God that have parallels in human beings, in Jewish mysticism. davven (Yiddish)—Pray. heart chakra—The energy center located in the heart. The word "chakra" comes from Indian spiritual practice. Ishbitzer rebbe (Rabbi Mordechai Yosef Leiner (1801–1854, b. Poland)—Prominent rabbi in the chasidic tradition, a Jewish sect founded in the eighteenth century in eastern Europe. Meron—Town in northern Israel that has the tomb of the second-century Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai (d. 160 C.E.), to whom the Zohar is attributed but who most likely did not write it. mikveh (Hebrew)—Jewish ritual bath. Rabbi—Jewish religious teacher. Reb Zalman (Rabbi Zalman Schachter-Shalomi, of blessed memory, 1924–2014, b. Poland)— Founder of the Jewish Renewal movement. Reb Zalman is what he like to be called, "Reb" being an informal honorific. shabbos—Shabbat—the Jewish sabbath—with the Ashkenazi pronunciation. siddur—Jewish prayerbook. Zohar—The Book of Splendor (or Radiance), the most important Jewish mystical book.

I cannot talk to anyone Who cannot translate Amichai Each night before going to sleep I try but do not understand Each word yet manage To make some sense anyway Fitting into the spaces between words Where holy fire caresses Like migratory birds in flight Why I prefer this place The prayer of touching Thinking I can translate Amichai I do not know or why I cannot talk to anyone Who cannot translate Amichai In fact cannot talk at all

Names

Amichai (Yehudah Amichai, 1924–2000, b. Germany)—Famous Israeli poet.

A place where distance Between humans has been eviscerated By a blinding flash of recognitions Between brush strokes Splashes of light Remembrance of fire that was I loved to sit in that room Turn my back on the natural world Finding a far-superior grace On Friday I dissipated myself A community of one in a small Silver cup, overflowing into a fine-china dish Imported from that other world, within A time of its own In my eagerness I knocked Over the candles, setting fire A shoddy, bumbling buck Trodding a heavenly garden Scaring off all the lovely beige does In the waterlily room where not so long ago Fire reigned almost eternal Yes but could not help myself so was doomed To wonder in my enthusiasms

Terms

Waterlily Fires—The title of this poem comes from the title of a poem of the same name by the American poet Muriel Rukeyser (1913–1980), in which she describes the immolation of some paintings by the famous French impressionist artist Claude Monet that were in the Museum of Modern Art, in New York.

Into the Mojave I drove In my AWD wagon Camping in hard-packed dirt Dry as Ezekiel’s bones. Beer cans are everywhere, And jumping cholla, California scorpions, Dung beetles, broken glass, charcoal. You get the picture. There was little more In this empty, desolate place as I began to doze Under an empty, desolate sky, Forsaken by mortals these many years, Under a few scant stars, ruminating On the legions of beer-swillers Noble hunters, Isuzu troopers And troops of party poopers who once Had been here, Their memories upon memories Overflowing the dry riverbeds With scores of wars, "fores!," smores, whores, and bores. And so, as I was saying, I nodded off, or so I thought, Since, whaddya know, more real than real An old girlfriend’s face pops up among the litter Of dead brain cells, the mother of all recollections. Long, tall, mean, dirty blonde, and rangy Wearing fading Levis and a holy T-shirt With the word ODE front and CAMEL back, And, wouldn’t you know, a cross around her neck. Her perfume struck me Like the delicate scent of a camel in heat. I asked her, "Gazelle, my gazelle, Bring me some Chateau Lafite." Not to spoil the visage with too much Vintage reality, I woke up, not sure where, who, Or why I was, except that before me Was my faithful camel. She was long, tall, mean, dirty blonde, and rangy. Her calves bulged, her eyelids drooped, Her thighs were lithe, her ears music To mine. Not only that But being a connoisseur of camels I knew, though dazed, that mine Was the fairest of all, fairer than any gazelle,

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 122 More worthy of fawning over. Yes, and her name Was Orpah, a nice Jewish name in a God-forsaken place, A familiar face with a trace of a smile Like the Mona Lisa herself, Which reminds me of you, my lustrous patron. You are, O friend, beyond hyperbole in your brilliance, For even at your dimmest you outshine the sun, moon, and stars Together. For sure you are brighter than my camel. I cannot praise you enough, just as I cannot braise A camel steak enough before eating it. I cannot laud you enough, just as I cannot think Of sublime rhymes all the time, doggerel be damned. Your bloodshot eyes, your long nose, your missing fingers— These cannot be over-described Like young singers on their first tour With the right stuff. But this is fluff compared with you. I cannot even compare you to a summer’s day Since it is always summer here, And so not knowing how it will all turn out, How to end this panegyric, I will get me to the barbecue.

Terms and Names

Ezekiel's bones—A reference to the Valley of Dry Bones in Ezekiel 37:1-14. Gazelle—Poetic term with much symbolism, for example, a beautiful woman. ODE—A poetic form (ode). Orpah—Name of a women in the Book of Ruth in the Hebrew Bible (all of the biblical books except those in the New Testament). panegyric—A piece of writing, like a poem, praising someone. Qasida—Poetic form originating in north Africa and popular in medieval Spain and other countries. It contains the following features, although there are variations: The poet is in a deserted campground and daydreams about his (or her) beloved. Then he praises his camel and his patron.

Alongside the River Gros Ventre There is a view to die for And I will one day

Over the years something is of a piece, Something in the structure remains The same in a context of differences

There is inside, and outside, what Can be felt along the river, what Is underwater, alone beyond understanding

That is the first emanation, the Understanding from within, along The flow of water that, over the years, Remains the same but different

Do my friends grasp this? Changes come slowly, meandering, Altering the landscape surely and decisively, Distinctly but over millions of years

Some of the unchanging motes Lie in the personality, some Cannot be so quantified.

I see myself entering a bar With a large smile and a lack of fear In my heart, toughness written over the smile, The self-assurance men spend their lives seeking

I approach beautiful women, confident, Sexual, magnetic, William Holden, perhaps

Yet whatever this repeating frame, It is never this way, since Another frame intrudes, so There are two frames, superimposed. . . .

In the second emanation is the color of light Needed to see these frames as one, a Bright white light dancing bulerias

It is early morning along the Gros Ventre. I Bathe in the cold but not freezing water. It is Difficult to explain why underwater feels Different from the surface, but it does.

In the temple beyond duality there is a sweet song Of survival, accompanied by dancer and guitarist. This Song emanates through the gates through The Holy of Holies. Yes:

I was the High Priest, forgotten among forgotten. How Do I know this I know this I know from the feeling In my river when I view his breastplate And when I contemplate the ecstasy of the high priest on Yom Kippur

Bifurcating emanations one and two is that tough, sinewy, almost Neural river pouring forth from its mountain source. I splash blood this way and that, up, down, back, front, like Lulav. In the fields the bison stomp around, preparing to mate.

Will I grow old alone? Will someone be with me When I die, when my parents die? Will my being Finally coalesce and find cohesion and peace? Does Someone understand, or Is it enough to find a swimmer?

I approach the Holy of Holies. The Seal of Solomon guards everything. I am marrano, living in Córdoba. I approach The cloud of fire attached to the world By a white thread that might turn red.

The view is to die for. We camp In utter simplicity along this late-summer river, My friends and I and their son. There is No rain, only One good sunset, Water in the warm spring, Love in the flames, coolness In the water, precious Understanding surrounding sparks Flying from the fire into the skies

Antonio Gades (1936–2004, b. Spain)—Renowned Spanish flamenco dancer. Bulerias (or Buleria)—A very intense, highly rhythmic flamenco genre ("palo"). breastplate—What the High Priest wore, which contained jewels and magic buttons. Diego del Gastor (1908–1973, b. Spain)—Spanish flamenco guitarist whose specialty—at least in my opinion—was bulerias. Emanation—A term from Neoplatonic philosophy, a system originating with the Greek–Egyptian philosopher Plotinus (ca. 204–270 C.E.) that influenced Jewish and Islamic thought. flamenco—The quintessential Spanish music and dance artform. High Priest—In ancient Israel, the head priest. Holy of Holies—The innermost part of the Temple in Jerusalem. Manolo Sanlúcar (1943–)—Well-known Spanish flamenco guitarist. marrano—Literally, "pig" (Spanish) but an epithet for Jews who converted (often or usually under pressure) to Christianity during the Inquisition, during which time Spanish Jews were persecuted, killed, and expelled from Spain.. River Gros Ventre—River in Wyoming, in the United States. Seal of Solomon—The six-pointed star of David, the main Jewish symbol. Yom Kippur—The Day of Atonement in the Jewish year.

The Gematria Dictionary, organized by number The Reverse Gematria Dictionary, organized by word

The Omer Dictionary, organized by day of the Omer The Reverse Omer Dictionary, organized by meaning of the day

The Omer Game, organized by both number and word

Terms

Italicized terms are Hebrew.

Gematria—Jewish numerology. Omer—The sheaves of barley counted during Passover. There are 49 days during which the Omer is counted, beginning on the second night of Passover. The numbers have mystical significance.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 127 Counting the Omer a man is in his field counting measures of barley—the Omer— is he thinking kabbalistic thoughts does he even know what these might be or what kabbalah is all he knows is that soon he will be receiving and celebrating by waving his harvest in gratitude to the giver of light the giver of water the giver of grain the giver of plenty

Terms

Italicized terms are Hebrew. kabbalah—Most important flavor of Jewish mysticism. kabbalistic—Having to do with kabbalah. Omer—The sheaves of barley counted during Passover. There are 49 days during which the Omer is counted, beginning on the second night of Passover. The numbers have mystical significance.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 128 The Extra Sabbath Soul on shabbat the sabbath we receive an additional soul the neshamah yetirah it takes over during shabbat so that our everyday soul has a chance to ascend to the lower garden of eden to be refreshed before having to descend at havdalah this is the meaning of the apparent paradox: on shabbat we receive an extra soul and our soul ascends to the upper garden of eden there is no contraction: one soul ascends the other descends on a deeper level the descending soul is the Shekhinah the feminine presence of God and our own soul stays put to be elevated by its merging with the Shekhinah it is a dualistic interpretation on an even deeper level on shabbat we realize that we are one with God God's presence, the Shekhinah, is always with us but only on shabbat do we experience this and with the experience realize the oneness not just realize but remember the oneness we once had since shabbat is a taste of the olam habah the world to come this prepares us intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually for the future however, since this future world to come is just a construct and shabbat a kind of instrument the highest of souls on earth know this oneness right now they live in it every moment

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 129 and so are already in the timeless infinite infinity on another level: the extra soul acts as a kind of placeholder coming down to hold the soul place in our beings while our everyday regular soul can ascend and receive the goodies it is too busy and forgetful to receive during the other five days as a week also: this extra soul descends to help the everyday soul ascend and what about the emptiness that is left in us? it is not really emptiness or not negative emptiness since it has no qualities or content it is ayin, nothingness, no-ego, cannot be described and so leaves room for the infinite God, Ein-sof, to enter us, or for us to be(come) aware of it: the soul has left leaving a place for the Shekhinah may i ask since there is no soul no ego, nothing but our body what then is aware of this? who is there to experience this? it is a kind of cosmic consciousness a place of merger with the infinite or a realization if you will that there is no distinction between you and everything else and so there is nothing to experience this just pure awareness and as deepak chopra says: awareness, consciousness, is the universe sat-chit-ananda: truth-consciousness-bliss what keeps us from realizing this or knowing this in the first place? in hinduism it is called maya: the deception that there is a distinction between the finite and the infinite the world exists, it is not just projection, but on shabbat is when the veil of maya is lifted allowing, as blake said, the doors of perception to be cleansed so that universe can be seen as it really is: infinite

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 130 the extra soul is the window washer that allows this to happen—emerson called this the Oversoul taken from Vedanta—the oversoul is the cosmic soul, God, if you will that sometimes we are aware of even though it is with us, or us, all the time thus no contradiction between ascending and descending souls on shabbat or at other times, especially at death further: the extra soul is not really an extra soul that comes down to us on shabbat rather it is awareness that in us first we already have that extra soul and second that there is no extra soul that it is the higher part of our own soul— after all, the soul is indivisible— that is always there but that we are not aware of the rest of the week when we recognize this symbolized by the lighting of the two shabbat candles— when viewed end to end there is just one flame— our regular soul—we, our whole being— becomes at peace and radiates a special glow which is our own glow enhanced by the glow of the Shekhinah or just the Shekhinah and we sink into ourselves bathed in bliss

Terms and Names blake (William Blake (1757–1827)—important English poet. deepak chopra (1946–)—Indian doctor practicing Ayurvedic medicine, a form of medicine originating in India but now having a worldwide following. doors of perception—Line from a poem by William Blake and also title of a book by the English writer Aldous Huxley (1894–1963), whose most famous book was Brave New World (1932). emerson (Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882, b. Boston, Mass.)—Transcendentalist philosopher influenced by Indian philosophy. havdalah—Literally, "separation" (Hebrew). The end of shabbat, the sabbath. maya—Sanskrit word meaning "illusion," although a one-word definition doesn't do the concept justice. sabbath—shabbat, the Jewish day of rest. sat-chit-ananda—Truth–consciousness–bliss in Hinduism. shabbat—The Jewish sabbath (Hebrew). Shekhinah—The presence or feminine presence of God (Hebrew). Vedanta—Ancient Hindu scriptures.

You want me to love You With all my heart and all my mind Even though You Are infinite and beyond understanding How can I love

An abstraction Even if I pass through The ten gates of light And hold fast To the middle gate

What if When I see myself in the mirror I see You conflated With myself in a divine flash You planted a kiss

On the Rambam And at the moment of death Appeared to him in a dark cloud How do you explain The Book of the Love

The dark beauty of the Song of Songs Love among the patriarchs If You had form I could love You With all my heart

And all my might But You don't And since You are formless I must content myself With earthly love

Terms and Names

Ahavah—Liturgical poem based on the Hebrew word for love. a kiss—Reference to the divine kiss given Moses at the moment of his death. See Deut. 34:5. The Book of Love—Sefer Ahavah in Hebrew. The second book of the Mishneh Torah, the code of Jewish law written by Rabbi Moses Maimonides (1135–1204, b. Spain), seminal rabbi (Jewish religious teacher), philosopher, Jewish community leader, physician, and author of Moreh Nevukim, the rationalist–philosophical masterpiece Guide of the Perplexed. See The Code of

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 132 Maimonides. Book Two. The Book of Love. Trans. Menachem Kellner. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2004. Love among the patriarchs—A take on Autumn of the Patriarchs, a book by the Nobel Prize-winning Colombian writer Gabriel García Márquez (1927–2014), whose most famous book is One Hundred Years of Solitude (Cien años de soledad). Rambam—Acronym for Rabbi Moses Maimonides. See third entry.

Here’s a story you’ve been waiting all year to hear. It’s from the nineteenth century and concerns Reb Chaim Soloveitchik of Volozhin, a city in what is now Belarus. Reb Chaim later moved to Brest, called Brisk by Jews, and was the grandfather of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik—called the Rav—one of the most important Orthodox rabbis of the twentieth century, who lived and taught in New York.

Reb Chaim created a new approach to Talmudic study, called the Brisker method—highly intellectual Talmud study combined with strict adherence to the text. Laws are broken down into precise components and assembled into new combinations, creating new legal possibilities.

Reb Chaim also was a Litvak, a Lithuanian, even though he wasn’t, strictly speaking, from Lithuania. And, he was a mitnagid, which means "opponent"—the mitnagdim (the plural of mitnagid, if you couldn't figure this out on your own) were opponents of the chasidim, whom they felt had deviated from the true practice of Judaism.

Reb Chaim also was a shochet and a mohel—able to perform both ritual slaughter and ritual circumcision. That is, he knew how to cut both a cow and a foreskin, and he had the tools for both. He liked to call his tools for circumcision his bris-kit. His specialty in the butcher business was, perhaps not surprisingly, preparing the cut of beef called brisket. Thus his nickname, the Brisket Rabbi.

One day new parents asked him to perform a bris, a ritual circumcision. Since the mother knew that Reb Chaim was hard of hearing and forgetful, she reminded him to bring his knives for the bris, his "bris-kit." It was a Friday morning. Before the circumcision, she had ordered and had delivered to her a large brisket from Reb Chaim. That afternoon she made cholent, the Sabbath stew, by cooking the brisket—the cut of meat, not the meat cutter—onions and garlic, potatoes, carrots, turnips, beans, salt and pepper, and even a dash of wine, plus a secret ingredient her sainted mother had given her on the latter’s deathbed but who died before telling her what it was.

Reb Chaim, a little under the weather and perhaps a little too much Slivowitz (plum brandy) and exhibiting the aforementioned manifestations of age, was preoccupied with a challenging passage from the Talmud dealing with shatnez—the laws governing mixing different types of fibers in the same garment—for example, a vest made from wool and silk, even if only one silk thread, is not kosher. Although he already had prepared the brisket, he forgot and thought she said "brisket," not "bris-kit." He brought a slab of meat and his large schechting knives (Kosher butcher knives) instead of the much more delicate instruments for performing circumcisions.

After offering Reb Chaim the first taste of the cholent, which he said was wonderful, the parents conferred with each other. Needless to say, they were alarmed about the knives and told Reb Chaim to come back another time.

That very afternoon, the famous rabbi, of blessed memory, unexpectedly died, of unforeseen circumstances, sparing the parents the embarrassment of trying to find a way to tell the rabbi they were going to look for another mohel. It seemed a sign from heaven.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 135 After Reb Chaim died, that same day, in fact, the parents found another mohel. He was not famous but was only a mohel, and reputedly had both good eyesight and a sharp memory. It was said that while preparing for his bar mitzvah he had memorized both Talmuds, along with the Shulchan Aruch—the authoritative code of Jewish law—as well as the Tanya, the kabbalistic bible of the chasidim.

Are you surprised I said chasidim? Yes, the mohel was a chasid, but not just any chasid. He was descended from the Chernobyl Rebbe, Grand Rabbi Menachem Nachum Twersky, known for his book Meor Einayim—"Light of the Eyes"—who in fact was called by the title of his work. Reb Twersky was a disciple of both the Baal Shem Tov and the Baal Shem’s main disciple, Rabbi Dov Baer, the Maggid of Mezritch.

Although the parents were Litvaks, a strange impulse had compelled them to use this chasidic mohel. That same afternoon the mohel came by to meet the parents. The mother offered him a taste of the cholent, and the mohel praised her cooking to the skies. The mohel, feeling compelled by a similarly strange impulse and knowing the parents were not chasidim and their first choice of mohels had been Reb Chaim, decided it his calling to perform the bris. Everyone decided that Sunday would be the best day for the bris, even though a bris can be performed on Shabbat.

Sunday came around, and the parents, the baby, and the guests were all ready for the show. There was a slight problem, however—though young, and in spite of his prodigious youthful achievements, also turned out to have memory issues and forgot his instruments, which had never happened before. It was almost as if the unseen hand of the Maker had been directing his actions. Since he lived in a neighboring village and didn’t have time to go home to get his own instruments, he had to borrow some. As it turned out, the closest set was at the home of Reb Chaim. Feeling nervous about asking to borrow instruments from this household, the chasid took a gift of some of the cholent and—if he hadn’t been a Jew—almost felt tempted to cross himself.

He gave the cholent to Reb Chaim’s son Velvel, the future Brisker Rov, who took a taste and exclaimed it the most wonderful cholent he had ever eaten, bar none. Then, as if directed by the Holy Ancient One, and in shock from the sudden death of his esteemed father, he graciously loaned the chasidic mohel the instruments Reb Chaim had forgotten. The Brisker, too, had felt something strange when the chasidic mohel came knocking, as if a veil had been drawn over him by an unseen hand, obscuring the longstanding hostility between sects.

The instruments arrived, and the new rabbi did his job. The mother served the remaining cholent, as an appetizer, to all the attendees, who all proclaimed it the best they had ever had.

A further wrinkle emerged that afternoon: The baby and its parents were actually distant relatives of Reb Chaim. The mohel had performed the sacred mitzvah on an infant who probably would grow up to heap invective on his chasidic brethren.

Several months after the bris, to avoid future such mixups, the Brisker Rov—Reb Chaim’s son Velvel —made a ruling in the name of his father and his son (but not the holy ghost, in case your thoughts were drifting in that direction): A person can be a shochet or a mohel, or even both, but not at the same time. This was based on a novel interpretation of the same Talmudic passages dealing with shatnez that his father had been studying when his memory went kaput. You may remember that these dealt with the prohibition against mixing alien fibers.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 136 A generation later, the grandson of Reb Chaim, Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik—the Rav—with great simchah, witnessed his daughter’s marriage to a chasidic rabbi descended from the same mohel who performed the bris that his grandfather never performed. And this chasidic rabbi was not just any chasidic rabbi but the Talner rebbe, Rabbi Yitzchak (Isadore) Twersky, the Nathan Littauer Professor of Jewish Studies at Harvard University and a descendant, yes, of the "Light of the Eyes," that first Twersky.

The Talner rebbe was chair of Jewish studies at Harvard and oversaw the graduation of many PhDs, including the graduate adviser of the narrator of this story and himself the grandson of a famous Talmudic scholar, Louis Finkelstein. And, the Rav was Rosh Yeshivah of the orthodox Rabbi Isaac Elchanan Theological Seminary at Yeshiva University in New York City. He is said to have ordained about 2000 rabbis during his fifty years there.

In other words, both the chasid and the mitnagid had distinguished pedigrees and were important scholars.

Oh—did I forget to say that oddly Professor Twersky, the chasidic rabbi, was one of the preeminent scholars of the rationalist philosopher Moses Maimonides—who influenced the Rav and his ancestors? Or that he wrote his PhD dissertation on the medieval Talmudist RABaD—Rabbi Abraham ben David of Posquières—father of the early French kabbalist Rabbi Isaac the Blind? Or that the Rav wrote his PhD dissertation on the German–Jewish philosopher Hermann Cohen and that in his classic book The Lonely Man of Faith he melds Jewish and existentialist traditions?

Do you see how a little slip like bringing the wrong instruments to a circumcision could lead to a reconciliation of mitnagdim and chasidim after several hundred years of enmity?

You might be forgiven for thinking that a new interpretation of the law about mixing different fibers would have been forthcoming from a Rabbi Soloveitchik or Rabbi Twersky, but such was not the case, and to this day you may find a shochet or a mohel, but he won’t be practicing both specialties.

While this may seem puzzling—given the propensity of both rabbi–scholars to explore new Judaic territory—the ruling honors Jewish law on one level and a deeper reading of the law on another, namely, that at a deeper level there are no differences among fibers—they are all made of the same universal substance. Similarly, there are no distinctions between human beings, their religion, their sects, or their souls: there are no binary opposites, no chasid and mitnagid, no such things as rational and irrational, mystical and intellectual. And of course behind it all is the unseen hand of the Holy One of Blessed Countenance. Remarkably, this teaching is based on a teaching the narrator heard from Rabbi Mordechai Twerski, formerly of Denver and now living in Brooklyn, another descendant of the "Light of the Eyes," Grand Rabbi Mordechai Nachum Twersky.

And now: Let us partake of the wonderful chlolent!

Terms and Names

Most but not all Italicized words are Hebrew. bar mitzvah—Coming-of age ceremony at age 13 for Jewish boys. Now also for girls: bat mitzvah.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 137 both Talmuds—The Babylonian Talmud (the Bavli) and the Jerusalem or Palestinian Talmud. The first one is the more utilized version. bris—Ritual circumcision. Also spelled and pronounced brit. chasid—See chasidim. chasidim—Followers of chasidism, a Jewish sect founded in the eighteenth century in eastern Europe. Also written hasidim and hasidism, respectively. cholent—Shabbat (sabbath) stew, usually started before Shabbat so that the stove or oven or other source of heat doesn't need to be turned on or off during Shabbat. Hermann Cohen (1842–1918)—German–Jewish philosopher. Holy Ancient One—God. A term (in Hebrew) used in some mystical texts. Meor Einayim ("The Light of the Eyes")—Book on chasidic thought written by Rabbi Menachem Twersky (1730–1787, b. Ukraine), the Chernobyl rebbe (rabbi). mitnagid—Opponents of the chasidim, who thought the latter were going against normative Judaism. mitzvah—A biblical commandment or just a good deed. mohel—Ritual circumciser. Rabbi Abraham ben David of Posquières (1125–1198)—Important French rabbi and scholar. Rabbi Chaim Soloveitchik of Volozhin (1749–1821, b. Belarus)—Famous Orthodox rabbi, disciple of the even-more-famous Vilna Gaon, and scion of the Soloveitchik family of illustrious rabbis. Rabbi Isaac the Blind (1160–1235)—French kabbalist. Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik ("the Rav") (1903–1993, b. Russia)—Prominent and influential Modern-Orthodox rabbi, Talmudic scholar, and teacher at Yeshiva University, in New York. Reb Chaim—See Rabbi Chaim Soloveitchik of Volozhin. Rosh Yeshivah—The head of a Jewish seminary or other Jewish school. schechting—Kosher slaughtering and butchering. See shochet. shatnez—Laws governing the mixing of "alien" fibers in material. shochet—A butcher or slaughterer practicing kosher methods to ensure adherence to Jewish law. Slivowitz—Plum brandy. Talmud—Teaching, stories, conversations, and laws of the ancient rabbis compiled about 500 C.E. Talmudic—Having to do with the Talmud.

Here is the untold story of a remarkable, unforgettable, unique woman whose light illuminated all corners of the European Dark Ages and whose brilliant mind tackled and solved some of the most unsolvable problems in Jewish scholarship. You also can read a somewhat older though not that much different version (trust me just this one time, I beg of you) of this on the web site of the Boulder Jewish News, thanks to David and Cheryl Fellows, the BJN publishers. Although this story is not a Purimspiel, you just might want to take a look again at "The Wonderful Cholent," the preceding story, if you didn't read it already, to read a real Purimspiel to find out why what you now are reading isn’t a Purimspiel, if you even know what that is. But remember, this year’s story is definitely, emphatically, NOT a Purimspiel, even though it sure sounds like one. But, don't take my word for it: Read them both at the same time and see for yourself. This work is dedicated to the memory of my late father, Bernard Rasof (1918–2017), an engineering professor who also was a poet specializing in playfully humorous verse. And by the way, he collected crank letters sent to CalTech, where he earned his PhD, and to UCLA, where he taught for a while. And, now, whatever you are thinking, crank letters, although they sometimes may sound like Purimspiels, are meant to be taken seriously, even if the authors sound like—I will leave the rest of this sentence and thought to you, a discerning reader who can tell a faux Purimspiel from a real one and also a crank letter from a Purimspiel, faux or real, and a serious person from a misguided moron. Got that? In case you are confused, and if you are I won't blame you, regardless of the business about Purimspiels, what you are reading at this very moment (these very words) is most definitely NOT a Purimspiel, even though you might be tempted to think otherwise. It also is not a crank letter, whatever you may think, since it was not written by a misguided moron—misguided, maybe (like most of the rest of humanity, other than you, of course), and sometimes a moron, yes, especially when it comes to love. But I will leave the decision of who’s who, who’s what, and what’s what to you, the highly intelligent, discerning reader—after all, you are able to read, even if your tv is on in the background or perhaps, God forbid, even the foreground—so that you can decide on your own. God help you if you can’t get through this sentence, which I got lost in too, so if you had a hard time, don’t feel too bad. This kind of sentence has a name, which I forget, and was popular in England several hundred years ago in the writings of authors like Henry Fielding, who you may or may not recall wrote the novel Tom Jones, which has nothing to do with anything here or, for that matter, anything anywhere. What it is, though, I will leave to you to decide. And by "it" I refer to the whole of life—the whole megillah of existence, if you will—not just Purimspiels, non-Purimspiels, crank letters, and misguided explanations. Good night. Oh—one more thing, if you don’t mind: Let all of this go or else you most definitely will need extra sessions with your shrink the morrow, even if you don’t think you will. Yes, "shrink" rhymes with "think," even though it wasn’t intended, and like everything you have just read, has nothing to do with anything worth knowing or remembering, or just plain-old knowing or remembering, and since your memory may be flagging, it’s probably a good thing—about the remembering, that is, not the knowing —since there’s nothing here worth remembering anyway. Now, where was I? Saying "Good Night," I think, having just reread the above ten times. So, "Good Night."

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 139 But, hold on! Don't you want to read about this remarkable woman in what for the last time is not a Purimspiel, what you or I or anyone might think? Say yes, and read along, starting just after the short row of asterisks. ***** Come and see. (Or don’t. See if I care.)

In medieval Spain, in the thirteenth century, when all things kabbalistic were hopping, there lived a woman named Diamante de León, perhaps a relative—possibly an older sister—of Rabbi Moses de León, who scholars today believe (and traditionalists do not believe) wrote most of the holy Zohar, the Book of Splendor (or Radiance, if you prefer), the Holy Grail of kabbalah, the most important strain of Jewish mysticism. By the way, some of you may be wondering if Diamante de León or even Moses de León was related to the conquistador Ponce de León, who is buried in Florida. If so, go ahead and wonder, because you won’t get an answer from me, at least not this year, and maybe never, unless I have nothing better to do, which I do at the moment.

No ordinary woman, or ordinary Jewish woman, was Diamante. No, legend has it that she was one of the thirty-six righteous tzadikkim—the hidden righteous ones, or lamed-vavniks (whatever you are thinking, these are not people fanatical about the Hebrew letter vav)—who hold the world together, something the world certainly could use in our own troubled and troubling times.

Although she lived during a time when Spain was full of Jewish women, little is known about them or their lives. Precious few of their writings have survived, and although many of the women were quite educated, we do not know how many could write or read.

We do know of Jewish women who were doctors, midwives, and herbalists, and we even know the names of some of them, sometimes along with the names of their patients. Na Floreta, for example, who lived in Catalonia, in northeastern Spain, was the personal physician to a queen. We also know of some women poets and have some of their poems.

For the most part, however, not much is known about these women, which is hard to grasp by us moderns, given what the enlightened among us now know and believe about women.

In our midst in the Republic of Boulder, for example, we have women rabbis, teachers, rebbetzinot, student rabbis, and wise women, some of whom also are authors and at least one of whom has written a book about medieval and ancient wise women. There also are and have been even more wise-women- behind-the-scenes, who allow their husbands to appear smarter than their husbands really are—You know the old adage that behind every man . . . but that’s another story.

A more relevant story was told in Colorado a number of years ago by a member of the prominent family descended from the Chernobyl rebbe, who—the Chernobyl rebbe, not the member of the prominent family descended from this rebbe—was a disciple of both the Baal Shem Tov, the founder of chasidism (also spelled—in fact most of the time, I tend to think, although maybe I just think, not tend to think, if anyone cares—without the initial "c"), and his chief disciple, Rabbi Dov Baer, the Maggid of Mezritch. You may remember that last year’s Purimspiel—"The Wonderful Cholent"—by yours truly involved members of this family. To distinguish among the members of this family, you will need to know that the name of the Chernobyl rebbe is spelled with a final "y"—T w e r s k y—while the

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 140 name of the descendant who visited Colorado and told the story, along with his nephew, Rabbi Mordechai Twerski, who once lived in Colorado and has since moved to Brooklyn of all places—is spelled with a final "i"—T w e r s k i. Got that? Do you think maybe the spelling with the "y" is kind of asking, "Why? Why is my name spelled the way it is?" Or perhaps the spelling is meant to direct us to a larger, metaphysical "Why?" In case you’re wondering whether this story is a Purimspiel, wonder away! Oh, yes: A rebbe is just a rabbi.

At any rate, the Twerski now referred to—spelled with a final "i"—the one who told the story and who was visiting Colorado, not his nephew, who lived here at the time but has since returned to Brooklyn of all places—when asked about the secret of his parents’ long marriage, said that his mother once told him: "He’s the head, and I’m the neck." "Nu?" he asked. "The neck turns the head," she replied.

Considering that the first time this couple had met was at their wedding, one wonders if things would have turned out differently had they had a long courtship or at least met the previous day, or—God forbid—lived together before getting married. It is unlikely they asked why they were getting married, since their name was spelled with the final "i."

By the way, although these spellings are just transcriptions or transliterations, depending on how you define the terms, it is important, although you may think otherwise, to pay attention to them: To remind you: Twerski has a final "i," Twersky a final "y." They sound the same but really aren’t. The first Twersky, the Chernobyl rebbe, spelled with a final "y," was called "The Light of the Eyes," after the English title of his book Meor Einayim, and surely we could use some of that light to illuminate not just the dark days of today’s world but also the lost significance of variant spellings in the names of chasidic rebbes. But, in case you claim to know the significance of this variant, I can definitively say the secret of the long marriage was not the "i" at the end of the name of the other Twerski.

Anyway, these special women in our own community in the Republic of Boulder—You all know who they are, or who you are, and since I would be afraid to omit anyone if I attempted to list them, or you (plural), all here, I don’t dare to do so. I also would fear for my life if I named even one of them or of you (singular or plural, take your pick) in this story, which after all is supposed to be about Diamante de León, so I won’t.

I said before that you could wonder away about whether this story is a Purimspiel, so maybe I should explain myself a little more, for those of you who don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m sorry to have to say this, but God help you if you don’t know what a Purimspiel is and what it is not. All I really want to say on this matter is that the story you just read—"The Wonderful Cholent"—was indeed a Purimspiel and this year’s is not, as you will be reminded a number of times along the way, just in case you become increasingly forgetful. Okay, I will give in a little and help those of you who need things spelled out more clearly. A Purimspiel is a story or play or skit, or somesuch, that has something to do with the Jewish festival of Purim. That said, may God help you if you don’t know what Purim is, even though God doesn’t appear by name in the Megillah of Esther—the whole megillah, by the way—the scripture that describes what this festival is all about, so don’t count on Him—or Her, which you may prefer—to help you. And if you don’t know Who or What God is, God help you, because if God can't help you, then certainly I cannot.

Now that I have clarified matters, I feel obligated to add that "The Wonderful Cholent"—capiche?— and this story have nothing to do with the holiday of Purim, except perhaps that both of the texts

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 141 dripped off my pen around that time. And no, the author was not and is not drunk, as is obligated on Purim, although the wiseacres among you might insist that these pieces of writing were meant to reflect the spirit of Purim. Ha ha ha. By the way, I forgot to tell you that Diamante’s Hebrew name was Esther. And no—whatever you might think, even though her Hebrew name was the same as that of the biblical Esther, the heroine of Purim, that doesn’t make the current narrative a Purimspiel, does it? Not any more, I don’t think, than a similar-sounding name automatically makes Ponce de León related to either Diamante or her relative or younger brother Moses, to whom the Zohar, the most important kabbalistic work in the Jewish canon, is often attributed in one way or another, except by traditionalists, who would have you believe otherwise.

Now, where was I? Diamante de León, as I recall.

She is reputed, though only by legend, to have compiled the first dictionary of gematria—Jewish numerology—and to have calculated the exact date of the end of the world. As with many documents from the period, this one disappeared, though possibly the self-same Moses used it in his own work. As for knowing the exact date of the end of days—The Talmud says we are not supposed to make such predictions, since only God knows, or is supposed to know, although many have made such predictions —many human beings, that is—including the famous financier and biblical commentator Don Isaac Abravanel around the time of the expulsion (often capitalized, by the way, though inexplicably not here) of the Jews from Spain, which you all know happened in 1492, the same year Columbus sailed the ocean blue. And no, I’m not going into whether he was Jewish—Columbus, that is, not Don Isaac. I also am not going to tell you what the Talmud is, since even a lot of Christians now know, so if you, who presumably are Jewish, don’t know by now, consider turning to the nearest Christian for help, who in this town just might be your husband or wife, which is not surprising given the number of Jews in interfaith marriages or liaisons dangereuses.

Speaking of Don Isaac Abravanel, who was born in Portugal but fled to Spain after annoying someone there and one of whose descendants was a conductor of the Utah Symphony—believe it or not, Utah actually has a good symphony orchestra, if you care about such matters, since you probably won't be going to Utah to listen to classical music—what you may not know is that one of Don Isaac’s ancestors —his father or grandfather—converted to Christianity, as did one of King Ferdinand’s ancestors who probably had been, yes, Jewish. As for Queen Isabella—whose body I hope suffered the same fate as Jezebel’s—I won’t speculate about her, though many have done so over the years. You probably know who Isabella and Ferdinand are from grammar school—the queen and king, respectively, of Spain before, during, and after they forcibly had converted a lot of Jews; expelled all unconverted Jews from Spain; burned those who stayed and couldn’t avoid being rounded up; and also tortured or killed those who converted but continued to secret practice their Jewish faith. By the way, their names are often spelled differently from the way they are spelled here, but I will spare you the details, even though I’m sure you’re dying to know. Whether "expelled" and "spelled" have any connection, also, I will leave to the pedants among you, since frankly I don’t know. Maybe they were expelled because they couldn’t spell the names of the queen and king.

Oh, a new question just arose in my addled brain: If one of Don Isaac's ancestors converted to Christianity, wouldn't that make him Christian, not Jewish? Well, only if it wasn't his mother, since in the Jewish faith you're Jewish if your mother is. And, do you know why? Right. You guessed correctly: We usually know who our mother is but not necessarily our father. Unless of course someone mixes things up at birth, in which case it's anyone's guess, including the stork's, if you believe in such things.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 142 as for Ferdinand and Isabella—if they had Jewish ancestors, I will leave it to you, the highly educated and intelligent reader, to figure out their religion. And no, there were no test-tube babies in those days, at least as far as I know. Of course, you being so smart might know better.

Now I must beg your indulgence, dear friend, and digress for just another moment, or maybe two, or even three or more, since I was discussing Diamante and some other stuff I can't remember. Or maybe "digress" is not quite the right word: Maybe we're just back to where we were before. Whatever the case, please remember that if you’re thinking this narrative is a Purimspiel, you’re mistaken, since clearly it is not, based upon what has been and will soon be said.

Remember also what I told you in "The Wonderful Cholent" about my buying a wedding ring for the woman who is now my ex—my ex-fiancée, that is, may her life today be flooded with blessings. It is probably the one piece of information—the business of the fiancée and the ring—in that story based even vaguely on something even minimally truthful. Of course, that is why that story was called a Purimspiel and not, say, a historical narrative or, as the academics would say, a hagiography, such as this narrative, which heaps praise on its subject or subjects.

But, if you don't remember, recently I seemed to remember—though I could be wrong—that an associate of the rabbi–mohel–jeweler who sold me the ring took me aside after the purchase and offered some advice on the whole megillah of engagements and weddings. A mohel, in case you don’t know, is a Jewish guy (or perhaps even a gal these days; no, not what's-her-face, which is something else) who does ritual circumcisions to, depending on your point of view, fulfill the biblical commandment intended to create a covenant between Jewish men and God or traumatize male Jewish babies and both physically and emotionally scar those same Jewish men they grow up into for life. The author—that is, yours truly—was, for the first time in his life—ready, willing, and able to listen to, accept, and even take such advice. For what it’s worth, the whole transaction took place a quarter-century ago, so remembering anything about it or even that I was engaged, is remarkable, don’t you think? And as for female mohels, well, I will leave the associations to your fertile imagination, in case it needs watering. Oh, and those italicized words—nothing to do with Italy, mind you—they are here because they might be foreign to you, though again, not Italian foreign, if you know what I mean, which I hope you do, but if you don't, tough luck.

Unfortunately, something of a cloud appeared during that tête-à-tête, muffling the sound, distorting the sound, totally obliterating the sound, so that not one word from the esteemed associate entered even the most outermost parts of his—my—ears. And this communication issue, I can assure you, from personal and intimate knowledge of the whole embarrassing business, was the reason the engagement—if it happened in the first place—fell through, the bride-to-be splitting faster than a mouse chased by a hungry cat, leaving the poor bereft author once again a single, unconfirmed or perhaps confirmed bachelor, however much some of his critics thought he deserved what he received or, if you prefer, received what he deserved, in case you think there’s a difference. Nevertheless, in her haste the poor woman forgot her diamond, or dropped it, so that he—that is, I—could return it for a full refund, at least on the diamond, not on his hurt and disappointment—that is, on my hurt feelings and disappointment. As you know, no refunds are given for these kinds of things.

But, as the advisor in the jewelry store told me when I returned the ring: "It probably was all for the best. It wasn’t meant to be. It’s God’s will"—the kinds of unhelpful words and phrases she probably also used when discussing, say, the Spanish expulsion over a glass of sherry.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 143 And the diamond ring—does its change of hands and eventual return signify anything deeper? Are diamonds really a girl’s best friend, as the title of this story asks? In this case, some smart people have told me, it indeed was this girl’s best friend, and mine too, though they hesitated to tell me their reasoning, forcing me, since I can say no more, on the advice of one of my trusted advisers who is the mistress of tact. To once again use a tried-and-true cliché, however, I am allowed to say that "sometimes a diamond is just a diamond." If you don’t mind, let’s just leave it at that, okay?

Eichah—Alas!—we Jews say on the saddest day of the year, Tisha (or Tishah, if you prefer) b’av, when the destruction of the ancient Temples, the expulsion of the Jews from Spain, and other specifically Jewish calamities are piled up so that we don’t become buried in grief and drown in our tears the rest of the year. For yours truly, however, the pain of regaining his temporarily lost bacheloric status—confirmed or unconfirmed—overshadowed the pain of all those other tragedies, although some of his so-called friends did say, based upon so-called observational studies, that he actually should have been relieved to regain that status. Of course, some women and even some men were less than relieved upon learning of this change in status, confirmed or unconfirmed, though not for reasons anyone might be able to think of.

Nevertheless, let us return to Diamante de León, the medieval wise woman, who many in the halls of academia believe shared a lot of important genes with her relative or younger brother Moses and wore them well, considering that in those days women’s genes, however loaded with DNA, didn’t express too well, or if they did, we don’t know anything about such expression. In her case, however, she wore her genes well, perhaps because her ancestors were of the tribe of Levi—pun unintended. No, her brilliance, like that of a diamond, was no laughing matter. And no, in case you were hoping or wondering, she was not a mohel, although we’re not really sure.

Perhaps as a result of these genes, she also, according to legend, was able to solve the enigma posed by the famous sage Rabbi Akiva in a tractate of the Talmud. That tractate says that four rabbis entered paradise and then that Rabbi Akiva, who was one of them, told his three companions: "When you come to the pure marble stones, do not say ‘water, water.'" This is the enigma. And by the way, if you aren't familiar with this famous story, it's here in the book in the earlier section called, simply, "Zohar" (although the Zohar is anything but simple) and is called "The Zohar on Talmud Tractate Chagigah 14b, 'The Orchard.'"

You undoubtedly have heard this story, since on it is based everything mystical now taught in our Boulder synagogues and homes, whatever the denomination of their members or owners, respectively, since there is a serious outbreak of kabbalah classes in Boulder and its surroundings. The Talmud then says that one of the sages died, one went mad, and one rejected his religion, becoming what is called an apostate, which could be translated "apostle of disbelief." Only Rabbi Akiva escaped these unpleasant outcomes, some say because he was married, causing him to be more grounded than the other rabbis, although of course one could interpret marriage in other ways, creating the need for an alternative solution, and it is this solution, along with the understanding of Rabbi Akiva’s enigmatic statement, that our medieval wise woman came up with, though again we lack the details.

However, here and there in badly damaged manuscripts recently found in Girona, on the eastern coast of Spain north of Barcelona, and on display at the Nachmanides Institute there, the careful observer can find subtle references to an interpretation in an unknown hand that says, in so many words and with tremendous self-confidence, the marble stones were really—yes, you guessed right—diamonds, and not

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 144 just any diamonds, but of the highest quality. As you know, we Jews, because we were always on the run, often held our wealth, if we had any and could, in diamonds and other precious stones, which are light and compact, can be carried on our person, do not lose value, and are valued the world over, which may explain why they are valued so highly in a country like India, which as you know has had— or rather, had—a Jewish presence at least since medieval and possibly also since ancient times. Of course, metaphysically speaking, it also could be said, and was said by Diamante, that we should value our souls as if they are diamonds, and our diamonds as if they are souls."Brilliant!" the British would say, and boy does one hear this Britishism a lot these days in our republic, from highly educated people who should know better. By the way, in case you’re wondering, Nachmanides was a famous medieval Spanish Jew—a rabbi (a Jewish religious teacher, in case you didn’t know), biblical interpreter, mystic, and community leader, and the supreme Jewish authority of his day—but although he was brilliant, he never used the word in any known language.

Diamante—to return to her—had been married and happily so, but one day her husband set sail for the Orient—possibly India, though that country is not in the Orient, if there is such a place—on a trading adventure and never returned, leaving her in halakhic (Jewishly legal, if you didn’t know) limbo, one of the unfortunate twists and turns of Jewish law in those days that continue to our own day in many circles. Fortunately she was, in addition to being an astute exponent of midrashic exegesis (a type of interpretation, just in case you’ve never seen those words), an astute businesswoman, known in particular for successfully and, one might be excused for saying, brilliantly managing her own brand and thus branding everything in sight, creating a kind of harmonious oneness in her sphere, so she wasn’t in danger of starving to death. But, even if starving to death had been in her cards, Diamante de León was not intent on remarrying, especially to her late husband’s oldest brother in a ceremony called chalitzah in which, to spare the reader the myriad details, she could refuse by throwing one of his shoes on the ground, which she did. Other men were interested in her, too, but legally they were forbidden from approaching her, and she from approaching them. Just in case the teeth of the law became dull or the authorities turned a blind eye or the eleven other brothers decided to propose, she kept a large collection of shoes handy.

Yes, she was a desirable woman, since in addition to being supremely learned, she was beautiful, kept an almost obsessively tidy household, raised two beautiful sons mostly on her own, had three lovely young granddaughters, and cooked a mean cholent. Yes, you heard me right—cholent, that quintessential Jewish Shabbat stew or casserole featured in "The Wonderful Cholent" that seemed to work magic on people harboring longstanding animosities and suspicions, like chasidim and their opponents, the Litvak mitnagdim and others of their ilk, no offense meant, since you probably are not a Hasid, and I wouldn’t want to alienate you, at least not too much, at least while you're still so engaged in the story at hand. Remember too that this story is not a Purimspiel, whatever you might think.

As I was saying, Diamante was able to hold out until one day she happened upon a distant ancestor of the author of this narrative, whose name by now, over the centuries, has been lost in the mists of time, but who was well known in his days as a brilliant writer and performer of Purimspiels, and to whom she took a fancy. No, not my name but my relative’s name was lost. This man—the relative—was the total opposite of her husband. For one thing he was scrawny, unlike her husband, whom women today might call a "hunk." He also was slovenly, easygoing, simple in his habits and thinking, religious, and ungrounded—otherworldly, in short. In spite of his creative brilliance, he tended to be silent more than he spoke—in short, resembling a simpleton, no offense meant to any of you. Silent except when he got going, in which case no one could shut him up. Here he differed from her husband, who never spoke.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 145 Still, Diamante took a fancy to him, just making sure she was somewhere else when he revved up, at which times she began to miss her husband. And when she did, she sometimes began to wonder if her husband—who had disappeared—also had had a secret, loquacious side to him, did reach India, and decided to stay so that he could constantly stay revved up. More likely, of course, he had fallen overboard on the way home or contracted malaria and was rotting away in some tropical hospital while she was doing her wondering. At those moments she began to wonder also whether she should send her new man to India when he became overly talkative so that he could do his revving up there and perhaps find her husband and report back to her what he was up to, if indeed he was up to anything, or even up. Although I’m sure you have a sense of humor, since there’s a fifty-fifty chance you’re Jewish, you probably won’t like my saying that Diamante was, if nothing else, yes, a wondering Jew.

Please do not think I am being cynical or skeptical or sarcastic or snide in my portrayal of this remarkable woman, who clearly was operating on all her cylinders—levels of soul, you mystical types call them, and in all the four worlds, you mystical types might say—for I am not. It is just that she was a complicated human being, a complicated woman, a complete woman and human being, who in every way was so far above her fellow human beings—men and women alike—that her description sounds like caricature, although it is not, and the language used to describe her only sounds ironic.

To illustrate further the depth of her intelligence, I must tell you that Diamante de León also was known to have contemplated, in a very deep way, the mystery of what happens to our soul after we die: Do we or do we not retain our individuality? She apparently argued, according to some more recently discovered kabbalistic manuscripts, this time in Ávila, Spain, and dated to the time of her relative or younger brother Rabbi Moses de León, that just as the word duality is embedded in the English spelling of individuality, our soul maintains its individuality after death. Of course, she didn’t speak English, but I present this idea in a familiar language, rather than in one you probably won’t understand, however many advanced degrees you have and smart and linguistically proficient you are or think you are.

She also fully understood and explained a serious contradiction in how the extra Shabbat (the Jewish Sabbath, in case you didn’t know) soul is described in the rabbinic and kabbalistic literature, namely, that one text says we gain an extra soul—the neshama yetira, or neshamah yetirah, spelled with a final "h," which the perfectionists among you may prefer (or even some combination thereof), although it doesn’t matter, and you know it doesn’t, whatever you say to the contrary, which you probably do just to show off or be contrary, which is more likely—and another text says our soul ascends to be close to God and have a taste of the next world. The contradiction is: Why eat for an extra soul if there might not be one? This was something scholars had been aware of for nearly a millennium and, until the discovery of these manuscripts, was a pressing question both in rabbinic seminaries and in secular universities, including the University of Colorado at Boulder, where a whole contingent of scholars and their students had been working on the problem for nearly twenty years and even hosted an annual conference on the subject, held, of course, on Shabbat so that the participants could test their various theories. Unfortunately, this whole industry went kaput, leaving the scholars and students devastated and forlorn, having to reinvent their lives and find a new purpose to live.

Her reading was quite simple and anticipated the argument used years later by the French philosopher– mathematician Blaise Pascal, famously known in metaphysical circles for his wager that it is better to believe in God and act accordingly, than not to—just in case. According to the aforementioned manuscripts, she supposedly said it is better to eat as if we will gain an extra soul on Shabbat. In other words, don’t take any chances. Apparently Diamante herself always cooked extra cholent, a whole pot

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 146 of it, in case there was an extra soul and it was extra hungry, or overweight, or a glutton, or brought along a friend or two. Sometimes, knowing a Shabbat guest was argumentative and might tangle with another guest, she would throw in a special ingredient. Yes, if you remember, a special ingredient was at the heart of "The Wonderful Cholent," but whether Diamante’s special ingredient was the same one is anybody’s guess, and of course the story of Diamante is not a Purimspiel, so attempting a comparison is like trying to compare apples and oranges. And speaking of that taste of the next world, just one small bite of her cholent gave the taster such a taste, without having to involve that pesky and possibly nonexistent additional soul.

Back to those diamonds. Knowing, then, that the paths and streams in paradise may be lined with diamonds and that souls are like diamonds, Diamante, according to one passage in those kabbalistic manuscripts, apparently had posited that the only substance that could polish a diamond was another diamond and eventually decided that my ancestor, with whom she was smitten, would make a good husband but needed quite a lot of polishing in order to create clean-cut features, so she sharpened her own edges and facets in anticipation of secretly asking the shadchan—the matchmaker—to subtly encourage my ancestor to propose to her—Diamante, that is—though her family and some of her friends did not understand her motives or why this man or type of man so interested her, in spite of her clear statements to that effect. Of course, she needed to bypass the restrictions imposed upon women in those days who could not remarry because their husbands had disappeared for any reason whatsoever. Jewish law did not, and today in some circles probably still does not, distinguish among causes or motives. Not a problem, of course, with that special cholent ingredient at hand.

Here is one last example of her intelligence, perhaps the supreme example: Diamante also was said to have penetrated both mysteries laid out by the great medieval Spanish–Jewish rabbi–philosopher– physician Moses Maimonides—the secret of the work of the chariot—metaphysics—and the secret of creation—physics—with the help of the enigmatic Enoch, just after he was transformed into the angel Metatron, who came to her in a dream and explained to her mysteries that never before had been explained and that never again would be explained to any human being. Unfortunately, since her discovery was not written down, all we have is the tantalizing generality that she had penetrated the secret of secrets, surpassing in brilliant insight even that of Maimonides, of whom it was said: "From Moses to Moses, there was never another." Perhaps, then, we should say, "From Moses to Diamante, there was never another."

Do you see where all this is going, dear friend? If not, neither do I.

I now need to say something that might or might not surprise you. That man of whom Diamante was so enamored—he was not only a distant ancestor of mine but also a less-distant one of the baby introduced in last year’s Purimspiel and whom I promised I would discuss this year. This is the baby all the fuss was made over with Rabbi Chaim Soloveitchik of Volozhin, later, Brisk, the Brisket rebbe, or more accurately, I suppose, the Brisker rebbe, who as a result of his failing sight almost sliced off the whole nine yards of the poor baby he was about to circumcise, if you get my point. Fortunately for many of us the mitnagid mohel who subbed for Reb Chaim insured that the baby, after he grew up, would be able to observe the first biblical commandment—"Be fruitful and multiply." If you need to, skip back to "The Wonderful Cholent." Just remember that this story—the one you're supposedly reading right now, if you're paying attention—is not a continuation of that story, which was a Purimspiel, while this story is not, although you might think otherwise, which of course you are entitled to do. After all, it’s a free country, but even so, you still would be flat-out wrong.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 147 Some of the distinguished women in our community today who in no way are related to any of these people have told me that had I married the woman to whom I gave the ring and from whom I received it back, I never would have met the woman to whom I am presently not engaged, a woman who, like Diamante de León, does not want to get married again, especially to someone like myself who, like my distant ancestor, is not a hunk, and who shares other similarities except for one: I like to talk a lot and can’t be shut up, though in my own defense I will say the gift of gab is highly valued in the Jewish world, where strong and silent does not facilitate survival among the brutal and noisy of this world.

Oddly, I sometimes think I should head to India when I feel the urge to prattle, though I am afraid of what I might find—for example, some heretofore-unknown ancestors, or news of Diamante’s first husband, or Indians who do not understand English. I also am worried I might fall for one of the Indian gods—say, Vishnu, or one of his avatars, like Krishna—and wind up in the same spot in Golden Gate Park I was in fifty years ago when I was chanting "Hare Krishna" when I should have been davvening in Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach’s House of Love and Prayer in Berkeley. One of those distinguished women I just alluded to—the same one in fact who wrote about medieval and ancient medieval wise women in her book The Receiving, which though not directly inspired by my experiences, sounds as if it is, which is flattering to someone like myself who might think otherwise. Of course, you all clearly understand the connection between this title and everything said up to now. If so, please drop me a line.

Finally, I need to interject one last time—Diamante was known to have obtained precise knowledge of the influence of shamanic rituals and yoga on the development of kabbalah, as could only be speculated by the preeminent scholar of Jewish mysticism, Gershom Scholem, in the twentieth century. How we know she knew this, is a riddle of its own, but legend has it that she was visited by a maggid who was an incarnation of Rabbi Joseph Gikatilla, an earlier Spanish–Jewish mystic, a maggid who in previous lives had traveled widely in India and Siberia, picking up esoteric information and practices from yogis and shamans, and who had pieced together an account of the development of kabbalah that scholars today—and there are a lot of them—who reject the study of comparative religion would poo-poo if they could, which they can’t since maggidim (plural of maggid) can’t write and only transmit information to select human beings like Diamante de León, and as has been said, all we know about what she knew is that she knew something we do not know since most of what we know about her is based on rumors, stories, legends, and what scholars call secondary sources, which even nonscholars like the rest of us know are bupkis, like the notion, for example, that in India this maggid located Diamante’s missing husband and filled her in on his—the husband's—activities. As an aside—I hope you don’t need to be told what a maggid is, since the meaning should be obvious from the context. If it’s not, you probably know someone who does know. What about those kabbalistic manuscripts mentioned earlier? They are, of course, secondary sources, but in their case they seem pretty reliable, though of course the information cannot definitively be verified.

Why this story has taken so long to tell, and why it has taken such a circuitous, meandering, wandering, longwinded path, is something whose answer I am sorry to say you will have to wait for until next Purim, when I will spill all the beans, assuming I have any left to spill. Remember, too, that writers, like mohels, don’t like to cut things too short, even if other people may feel they are too long. However, I decided to end this paragraph now, to make it easier for you to follow—the paragraph, that is.

And no, the answer has nothing to do with brisket, or circumcision, or Reb Chaim, the star of "The Wonderful Cholent," but again, hold on to your seat until the time comes for full disclosure. And please do not forget, for the last time, that although that story was indeed a Purimspiel, this new story most

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 148 definitely is not, since I have provided numerous caveats when the facts are not known, rather than idle speculations of the kind indulged in by many of my friends in Boulder who should know better, who value intuition over facts, preferring to sing "la de da" loudly in order to convince their skeptics that they—the skeptics—should be skeptical of their own skepticism.

But—and I am so sorry—again I digress, but fortunately for you, it will be the last time, at least until the next time, which might be sooner than you think, if you are the thinking type of person, which I am sure you are. Well, mostly sure.

Oh—did Diamante de León marry the man, and if she did, did she polish the diamond in his dowry of family jewels so that he became the mensch he was meant to be, or not to be, or became, and that we will never know anything about due to his anonymity? Will the woman in my life who does not want to get married be able to polish my rough edges and turn me from an uncut diamond into a clean-cut one that is her best friend? Will I make the cut, so to speak, so that I can speak a little less without risking the survival of our people, or do I too need to go to India? That, too, will require waiting, since as everyone knows, just as a watched pot—watched pot, not watched spot or watch pot—won't boil, so does cholent require a long time to prepare. Oh and by the way, did I tell you that these two women share not just personality traits but genes—and I don't mean blue jeans, the kind people wear? If not, you probably guessed or knew it already, undoubtedly through your infallible intuition.

Note: This story is based on medieval legends and other documents unearthed by yours truly, who has shaped them into the text you have just read and forgotten (he has forgotten, you haven’t, forgotten how he shaped the text, not forgotten you, the reader, although by now you may wish he would have forgotten you and just moved on, instead of continually and constantly embroidering things, though not for any reason he can think of, but if you can find a reason, please let him know, and he will put in a word for you with the powers-that-be, whoever or whatever they are)—sorry, and forgotten just how he did it, lucky you, or else the text would be even longer than what you have almost just finished reading, if you have been reading and paying attention and haven’t fallen asleep before finishing, if you even care.

Terms and Names

Italicized words are Hebrew unless otherwise identified. avatar/avatars—In Hinduism, an avatar is the earthly form of a god. Baal Shem Tov (ca. 1698–1760, b. Eastern Europe)—Literally, "Master of the Good Name," Rabbi Israel ben Eliezer, founder of the chasidic movement. Members of the movement were observant Jews but valued feeling and intention above strict practice of Jewish law and who also were mystically inclined. Blaise Pascal (1623–1662)—French mathematician, philosopher, and scientist. bupkis (Yiddish)—"Nothing" or "nonsense." chalitzah—A ceremony in which a childless widow can avoid marrying a brother of her late husband by removing one of his shoes and throwing it on the ground. This is a barebones description. chasidic—Having to do with chasidism. chasidim—Members of the chasidic Jewish sect. See chasidism. chasidism—A Jewish sect founded in the eighteenth century in eastern Europe. Also written hasidism.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 149 Chernobyl rebbe (Grand Rabbi Menachem Nachum Twersky (1730–1787, b. Ukraine)—Important rabbi known for his book Meor Einayim—"Light of the Eyes"—and in fact called by the title of his work. Reb Menachem was a disciple of both the Baal Shem Tov, the founder of chasidism, and the Baal Shem Tov's main disciple, Rabbi Dov Baer (or Ber), the Maggid of Mezritch (or Mezeritch). cholent—Shabbat (sabbath) stew, usually started before Shabbat so that the stove or oven or other source of heat doesn't need to be turned on or off during Shabbat. Come and see—The words (in some English translations) with which many passages in the Zohar begin. Diamante—Spanish for "diamond." diamonds—For people on the run a lot, like Jews, these were a convenient medium of exchange and also very "clean." Don Isaac Abravanel (1437–1508, b. Portugal)—Important biblical commentator, philosopher, financier, and statesman, active in Spain during the Inquisition and who fled to Italy, where he died. Enoch—Figure in the Hebrew Bible and extracanonical biblical books. gematria—Jewish numerology. Gershom Scholem (1897–1982, b. Germany)—Renowned and pioneering scholar of kabbalah. halakhic—having to do with Jewish law. "Hare Krishna"—Indian devotional song praising the Indian God Krishna and popular in the 1960s with American "Krishnas" in the Hare Krishna movement. Hebrew Bible—The Tanakh: Torah, Prophets, and Writings. Called the Old Testament by non-Jews. All of the biblical books not in the New Testament. Jezebel—The Phoenician wife of the biblical King Ahab who led him astray from the worship of God and to the worship of other deities. She met a gruesome death. See 1 and 2 Kings in the Hebrew Bible. kabbalah—The most important strain of Jewish mysticism. By the way, since there's a good chance that you, who just might live in Boulder, Colorado, and be a BuJew—a Buddhist Jew—I will offer the following brief clarification, even though you didn't ask for it—unless maybe you secretly did. Even though the Hebrew word kabbalah rhymes with the Sanskrit word Shambhala, which pops up in Buddhism, especially Tibetan Buddhism, of which there are many adherents in Boulder even though only a few of them are actually Tibetan and a lot of them just might be Jewish by birth, there is no connection other than the pronunciation, unless you accent the last syllable in kabbalah, which many people do. Got that? So there! Now, back to your meditation cushion. kabbalist—Practitioner of kabbalah. kabbalistic— Having to with kabbalah. King Ferdinand (1452–1516, b. India)—Also known as Ferdinand II of Aragon and Ferdinand V of Castile. Consort of Queen Isabella. Krishna—An important avatar of the Hindu god Vishnu. lamed-vavniks—Hidden righteous Jews. maggid—A teacher or wandering teacher-spirit. Maimonides—Moses Maimonides (1138–1204, b. Spain). Rabbi, seminal Jewish philosopher, codifier of Jewish law, Jewish community leader, physician. Author of Moreh Nevukim, the rationalist– philosophical masterpiece Guide of the Perplexed. megillah—A scroll in the Hebrew Bible. The whole megillah means the entirely of something. Megillah of Esther—The book in the Hebrew Bible that tells the story of Purim.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 150 mensch (Yiddish)—A Man or a good human being. Meor Einayim ("The Light of the Eyes")—Book on chasidic thought written by Rabbi Menachem Nachum Twersky (1730–1787, b. Ukraine), the Chernobyl rebbe (rabbi). Metatron—Although not mentioned in the Hebrew Bible, thought to be the highest of the angels. midrashic—the adjectival form of a type of interpretation, usually of something in the Hebrew Bible, from a Hebrew word meaning "to dig." Ya dig? mitnagdim—Literally, "opponents," these were rabbis who thought the chasidim had deviated from the true path of Judaism. mohels—Ritual circumcisers. Nu (Yiddish)—"What?" "Huh?" Purim—The spring Jewish festival based on the Book of Esther in the Hebrew Bible. Purimspiel—A story or skit inspired by Purim. Queen Isabella (1451–1504, b. Spain)—Isabel I of Castille, who ruled from 1474 until her death and whose reign coincided with the Spanish Inquisition, which persecuted, killed, and expelled Jews from Spain. Rabbi(s)—Jewish religious teacher(s). Rabbi Akiva (50–135 C.E.)—One of the most important of the Talmudic sages. Reb—Jewish honorific, usually used with a first name, like Reb Chaim. rebbe—A rabbi. Reb Chaim—See next entry. Reb Chaim Soloveitchik of Volozhin (1749–1821, b. Belarus)—Famous Orthodox rabbi, disciple of the even-more-famous Vilna Gaon, and scion of the Soloveitchik family of illustrious rabbis. Also called the brisker rebbe. Rabbi Dov Baer, the Maggid of Mezritch (1704–1772, b. Eastern Europe)—Chief disciple of the Baal Shem Tov, the founder of the chasidic movement. Rabbi Joseph Gikatilla (1248–1305, b. Spain)—Kabbalist and contemporary of Rabbi Moses de León. Rabbi Moses de León (1240–1305, b. Spain)—Likely author of the major part of the Zohar. Rabbi Shlomo Carlebach’s House of Love and Prayer in Berkeley—A synagogue founded by the Orthodox/chasidic rabbi and singer-songwriter (1925–1994, b. Germany) in San Francisco in the 1960s aimed in particular at the counterculture (read: hippie) crowd. rebbetzinot (Yiddish)—Plural form of rebbetzin, a rabbi's wife. Shabbat—The Jewish sabbath. shadchan—Matchmaker. Talmud—Teaching, stories, conversations, and laws of the ancient rabbis compiled about 500 C.E. Talmudic—Having to do with the Talmud. The Receiving: Reclaiming Jewish Women's Wisdom—A book by Colorado rabbi and psychotherapist Tirzah Firestone. (New York: HarperOne, 2004). Tisha (or Tishah, if you prefer) b’av—A fast day in the Jewish year commemorating the destruction of the ancient Jerusalem Temples and other calamitous events in Jewish history. tzaddikim—Righteous people. Vishnu—The "preserver" god in the three-god pantheon in Hinduism: Brahma is the Creator, and Shiva the destroyer. Zohar (the Book of Splendor, or Radiance)—The most important Jewish mystical book, probably written in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 151 The Kamah Sukkah Kama is the enjoyment of appropriate objects by the five senses, . . . assisted by the mind together with the soul. It is the awareness of pleasure arising from contact between the sense organ and its object.—The Kama Sutra

This long-thought-to-be-lost manuscript translated by the late (very late, actually) Anonymous Botch (or possibly Anonymous Blotch, since scholars aren’t sure), which I recently found in a crumpled old shoebox in front of a Chabad House somewhere in Israel, or maybe in Boulder, Colorado, where you may or may not live or want to live—I don't really know—is so outré that some of you discerning readers might think it originally was meant as a Purimspiel (if you know what that is, and if you don't, keep reading and you just may find out, if I recall)—and indeed it might or might not have been meant that way. Whatever the case, you may be shocked to learn it indeed is Jewish, shocked not just because of its somewhat risqué content but because it has to do with Sukkot, our Fall festival, even though I am presenting it to you around the time of Purim, our Spring festival. And of course by "our" I mean Jewish, if you know what that is, and if you don't, I don't have the time or space to tell you more than to say it's not the same as Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, or Zoroastrian, although there are some similarities, which is not surprising, but again I really don't have a whole lot of time to provide the details, so you are on your own.

At any rate, this text— a spiel, or perhaps not—is entitled The Kamah Sukkah and seems inspired by the famous (or infamous) Hindu book The Kama Sutra, a love-and-sex manual aimed at the Indian (from India) in need of guidance in such affairs, even though love and sex happen only in affairs, if you get my point, and if you don't, I can't help you here either—so sorry. Try not to be confused by what I’m saying and what you may read (if you decide to take the plunge, so to speak, even if you don’t speak or know what is meant by "plunge" in this context, or in any context as a matter of fact), will you, since the deep and weighty matters embedded in this ancient text are esoteric and as such intended only for the select few . . . like yourself . . . and deep and weighty matters must be presented in such a way as to discourage misuse by individuals who might be associated with the dark forces of the yetzer hara, the evil inclination. Therefore while reading this text, in order to inoculate yourself against such forces, be sure to read the text while leaning toward the right, the yetzer tov, the good inclination, whatever you might remember from the Passover seder, which for some reason seems to have the opposite instructions. Just be sure to lean the correct way during Passover, and to know which way that is, defer to your rabbi or, if you don’t have one, to your inner rabbi, if you know what I mean, or if you don’t have an inner rabbi, or even if you don’t know, or don’t know what a rabbi is, or Passover for that matter, or for any other matter, for that matter.

It is an odd book—the original Kama Sutra, that is, not our Kamah Sukkah, which, when you ponder the matter at length, is not especially odd, given the oddities surrounding us in today’s crazy world, if you know what I mean—it’s an odd book to emerge from a culture that seems, to this day, oddly puritanical, but that’s water under the bridge, and not the kind of bridge that may be holding your teeth in place. The naive reader will of course ask: What could such a book offer me, a modern, liberated Jew or anyone else reading this, who knows everything about such matters, beginning with the biblical injunction to be fruitful and multiply? I could answer that question very quickly and easily but have decided not to, for reasons I can’t remember. Oh, before I forget: Sukkah can also be spelled Succah, but Kama and Kamah can never be spelled Comma or, God forbid, Calma or Calmah, but whatever

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 152 your preferences or however deviant you are or aren’t, the meaning of the text you are about to read—if you decide to read it—won’t change. I can assure you of that, but frankly, not of a whole lot else. And one more thing, for the mystical numerological types among you—which probably includes you, especially if you already happened to have come across this text in the Boulder Jewish News, the official or perhaps unofficial organ of the Boulder, Colorado, Jewish community, which comprises primarily mystical numerological types probably like yourself, if indeed you are a member of that community. Yes, I repeated "mystical numerological types" for emphasis, which as the Bible experts among you know is a biblical feature, although that has nothing do with this introduction, which also has nothing to do with introducing this year’s text, whether or not it really is a Purimspiel, which I said already and probably will say again, for emphasis.

Moving right along: In case you are not familiar with Purimspiels or non-Purimspiels, if I don’t forget (please remind me if I do), I will refer you to the real McCoy, so to speak, even though the real McCoy is not Jewish and doesn’t speak any more, having been silenced long ago. . . .

Oh, sorry to interrupt: If you read the intro to "Are Diamonds Really a Girl’s Best Friend? The Story of Diamante de León, a Medieval Spanish–Jewish Wise Woman" just above—assuming you read these in order, if you read them at all, or if you even can read—you might be thinking after you read this intro that you are in some sort of deja-vu space, since the two intros are so similar, in fact often identical. And you might be asking yourself why bother reading the same thing twice and also wondering why their idiot author didn’t make them different or even just make one shorter and refer you to the longer version. If your memory isn’t so hot, these questions probably won’t arise, but if your memory is still sharp, they probably will arise, like bubbles in a pool used to train deep-sea divers, in which case that sharp memory of yours just might puncture some of those bubbles, creating a problem, if you get my drift—and no, I’m not referring to drifting deep-sea divers. However, that said, I am going to go ahead with what I was saying before I so rudely interrupted your train of thought with this lengthy interruption, which I decided is easier to write than revising the actual intros would be. Oh, in case you don’t know, "intro" is short for "introduction," and I’m sure you know what that is. And one more thing: If I can unscatter my brain I might decide it is more elegant and literarily satisfying to do the revisions I just said I decided not to do now, necessitating this long excuse for being lazy and unfocused—in short, a Purimschlemiel, to coin a word, since most people write it as two words— which I hope you will forgive me for, even if the time of year to forgive most likely is not happening at the moment, meaning you most likely will have to wait for another opportunity, unless you are someone who is always in a state of forgiveness or, God forbid, you have a lousy memory and don’t really care about the repetition or didn’t notice the repetition until I pointed it out to you or perhaps because some mysterious dark energy surrounded you, making you forget everything you just did, which I hope is not the case, since that is not a very good place to be, literally or figuratively. Okay, then, here we go.

Whoah, Nellie—sorry again to interrupt the narrative flow. If you don’t need to compare, just skip ahead—actually, behind, to the title above—to the actual text. I should have said this earlier, I know, and so sorry, but again, I’m just not functioning too well at the moment, so I hope you have it in you to forgive me for extenuating circumstances beyond my control.

Okay, now I’m ready, but for what, I can’t quite remember Oh, yes, now I do, lucky you. I was going to refer you to a real Purimspiel, so that you can compare what you now are reading with the Real McCoy (you thought I forgot, but see, I didn’t), and I will now do that, so look at "The Wonderful

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 153 Cholent," the first item in this section of this book. But remember, this year’s story—The Kamah Sukkah, in case you already forgot—may or may not be a Purimspiel, whatever you or I or anyone else may think. I am referring you to a real Purimspiel in case you didn’t read it already, or, if you did, may have forgotten some of the details and so, horror of horrors, might be totally, utterly lost reading this story, which I am sorry to remind you so soon may or may not be a Purimspiel, even if it sounds like one, and if you aren’t sure, you can try to read them both at the same time and see for yourself the difference and not just take my word for it. And, if you don’t know what a Purimspiel is, God help you, and if you do know what it is, God help you. And if you don’t know Who or What God is, so help me, God, you are in trouble, so help me, God, and no Purimspiel or non-Purimspiel, however authentic, can help, even if you don’t know what a Purimspiel or non-Purimspiel is, or, God help you, what Purim is, for that matter.

Now, where was I? Since I can’t quite remember, I will just move on along to the next thought that comes into my head, which as it turns out is the same thought that came into my head last year or maybe the year before. Just imagine yourself rummaging in your freezer for the cholent you cooked last year or maybe the year before and defrosting it for your guests on Shabbat. Guests that could be human beings like yourself (I assume) or additional souls of the kind described in rabbinic literature and (lucky you!) just above in this section of this book in "Are Diamonds Really a Girl’s Best Friend?," who join us on Shabbat and, after not eating human food for a week while they sojourned in the next world, are so hungry that leftovers taste heavenly, especially leftover cholent, and most especially leftover cholent of the magical kind, which undoubtedly is the kind served in your household.

This labor of love, which as I said I found totally by accident (even though I was on the lookout that day for long-lost manuscripts like this one), is dedicated to the memory of my late father, Bernard Rasof (1918–2017), an engineering professor who also was a poet specializing in playfully humorous verse, unlike oh-so-serious yours truly, who couldn't tell a Purimspiel from a non-Purimspiel if his life depended on it. And by the way, he—my late father—collected crank letters sent to CalTech, where he earned his PhD, and to UCLA, where he taught for a while. And, now, whatever you are thinking, crank letters, although they sometimes sound like Purimspiels, are meant to be taken seriously, even if the authors sound like—I will leave the rest of this sentence and thought to you, a discerning reader who can tell a faux Purimspiel from a real one and also a crank letter from a Purimspiel, faux or real, and a serious person from a misguided moron. Got that? In case you are confused, regardless of the business about Purimspiels, what you are reading at this very moment (these very words) is only the introduction to what may or may not be a Purimspiel, even though you might be tempted to think otherwise. It also is not a crank letter, whatever you may think, since it was not written by a misguided moron—misguided, maybe (like most of the rest of humanity, other than you, of course), and sometimes a moron, yes, especially when it comes to love, which is probably why the long-lost manuscript of The Kamah Sukkah caught my eye. But I will leave the decision of who’s who, who’s what, and what’s what to you, the highly intelligent, discerning reader—after all, you are able to read, even if your tv is on in the background or perhaps, God forbid, even the foreground—so that you can decide on your own. God help you if you can’t get through this sentence, which I got lost in too, so if you had a hard time, don’t feel too bad. This kind of sentence has a name, which I forgot, and was popular in England several hundred years ago in the writings of people like Henry Fielding, who you may recall wrote the novel Tom Jones, which has nothing to do with anything here or, for that matter, anything anywhere.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 154 What it is, though, I will leave to you to decide. And by "it" I refer to the whole of life—the whole megillah of existence, if you will—not just Purimspiels, non-Purimspiels, crank letters, and misguided explanations. Oh—one more thing, if you don’t mind: Let all of this go or else you most definitely will need extra sessions with your shrink the morrow, or maybe even two-morrows, even if you don’t think you will. Yes, "shrink" rhymes with "think," even though it wasn’t intended, and like everything you have just read, has nothing to do with anything worth knowing or remembering, or just plain-old knowing or remembering, and since your memory may be flagging, it’s probably a good thing —about the remembering, that is, not the knowing—since there’s nothing here worth remembering anyway. Now, where was I? Since I really don’t remember, I will step out of the way and let you ease your way into this year’s maybe-or-maybe-not Purimspiel and try to decide for yourself what the heck it is, and if you can't, so be it.

Here goes!

Oh, first just a little glossary of terms used for those of you not in the know, Oh, most italicized words, unless otherwise noted or obviously not, are Hebrew.

Adam kadmon—Primordial human being. aphrodisiacs—Sexual stimulants. If you are a guy, you might have tried one of these on your girlfriend when you were in college in the 60s or 70s, if you went to college, and if you didn't go to college, you might have tried one of these anyway. If you are a gal, you probably didn't need one of these during that time because your boyfriend would just take one look at you and be ready to jump through the roof. And if you are trans, I can't help you. asiyah—The physical world in the kabbalistic four-worlds model of Creation. atzilut—The spiritual world in the kabbalistic four-worlds model of Creation. beriah—The intellectual world in the kabbalistic four-worlds model of Creation. Bu-Jews—Jews with Buddhist practices or beliefs. chais—The Hebrew letter chai, whose numerical value is 18, meaning "life," often cast in gold and attached to neck chains. chazan—Cantor/Jewish religious singer. cougars—Oversexed older women who chase younger men. davven (Yiddish)—Pray. double chais—See chais above. This would be two times 18, or 36. etrog—The citron fruit used during Sukkot; shaped like a large egg. first world—Asiyah in the kabbalistic four-worlds model of Creation, the physical level of reality. five worlds—A take on the kabbalistic four-worlds model of Creation. fourth world—Atzilut in the kabbalistic four-worlds model of Creation, the spiritual level. four-worlds model of Creation—This kabbalistic model posits four worlds, four levels, from lowest to highest: asiyah, the world of action, physical; yetzirah, the world of formation, emotion; beriah, the world of creation, intellect; atzilut, the world of emanation, spiritual. frums (Yiddish)—Religious Jews. gematria—Jewish numerology. Hebrew Bible—The Tanakh: Torah, Prophets, and Writings. Called the Old Testament by non-Jews. All of the biblical books not in the New Testament. HindJews—Jews with Hindu practices or beliefs. Hoshana Rabbah—The end of the Jewish Fall festival of Sukkot. HuJews—Humanistic Jews.Yes, there is such a sect.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 155 kabbalist—Practitioner of kabbalah, the main stream of Jewish mysticism. kabbalistic—Having to do with kabbalah, the main stream of Jewish mysticism. kaftan—A robe. kavannah—Intention. kippah—Head covering worn usually by Jewish men but also by some Jewish women, cardinals (not the birds!), and by the Pope. kosher—Meeting Jewish dietary laws; more loosely, used as slang for "acceptable." LGBTQ—Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transexual, Queer. megillah—A scroll in the Hebrew Bible. The whole megillah means the entirely of something. The Megillah of Esther in the Hebrew Bible tells the Purim story. ménages à trois—Threesome. That's French, by the way, the official language in France. mitzvah—Good deed or biblical commandment, or perhaps both. mohel—Ritual circumciser. MuJews—Jews with Muslim practices or beliefs. nymphomaniacs—Oversexed women, sometimes welcome, sometimes not. oui oui (French)—Yes yes.No, it's not what little children say when they want to go to the bathroom. Purim—The spring Jewish festival based on the Book of Esther. Purimspiel—A story or skit inspired by Purim. schav—A soup made with sorrel, which makes it sour. schmaltz Yiddish)—Rendered chicken fat, with a secondary meaning of "corn." second world—Yetzirah in the kabbalistic four-worlds model of Creation, the emotional level. sheitel (Yiddish)—Wig worn by some Orthodox Jewish women. s(c)hvitz (Yiddish)—Spray. spetzele—Small egg-noodle dumplings. streimel (Yiddish)—Round fur hat worn by some Orthodox Jewish men. sukkah—Small booth built to celebrate the Fall festival of Sukkot. tallit—Prayer shawl traditionally worn by men but now also by many women. tallit katan—A small version of the shawl just described. Talmud—Lengthy collection of rabbinic conversations and rulings compiled about 500 C.E. tantric—A term from esoteric Buddhism, having to do with channeling one's sexual energy into spiritual energy. tefillin—Phylacteries (no, not prophylactics; Jewish ritual implements containing prayers) worn on the arm and forehead. third world—Beriah in the kabbalistic four-worlds model of Creation, the intellectual level. tsuris (Yiddish)—Trouble. ushpizin—The ancestors we Jews invite into our sukkahs on the fall festival of Sukkot. lulav—Palm branch waved during the fall festival of Sukkot. yarmulke (Yiddish)—See kippah above. yetzer hara—Evil inclination. yetzirah—The emotional world in the kabbalistic four-worlds model of Creation. Zohar (the Book of Splendor, or Radiance)—The main book of Jewish mysticism.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 157 Announcing the first translation of a medieval guide suitable for the whole Jewish community, from frums to bums, including BuJews, HuJews, MuJews, Hindjews, Self-Hating Jews, Non-Jewish Jews, Foodie Jews, Converts, & Conversos.

Shack up in the Jewish Love Shack with Your Main Squeeze (or maybe your whole community) and Davven with תּ THE KAMAH SUKKAH ﬡ THE DEFINITIVE, ULTIMATE, ONLY FIVE-WORLDS GUIDE TO SEX IN THE SUKKAH by the Tzaddik of Plotznitzkyovitchky: The Second-to-Lust Kabbalist of Plotz Translated by Anonymous Botch (or Blotch or Crotch, if you prefer) Edited by Henry Rasof

What your parents didn’t, wouldn’t, shouldn’t, couldn’t teach you • Everything you are dying to know & afraid of knowing • Tips & tricks from marvelous mystics • How to fulfill all 613 commandments in one shvitz (how about that!)

I. The First World: Asiyah: The World of Action 1. Why this book? Satisfying the first commandment to be fruitful and multiply. 2. Who is the Tzaddik of Plotznitzkyovitchky: The Last Kabbalist of Plotz (sorry: not a relative of the late Sadie Plotznick) 3. By the way, what is sex? 4. What is a sukkah (succah, if you prefer, or love shack, according to a prominent British-American rabbi)? If the Kama Sutra were a Jewish book, the sukkah might be called a "pleasure room, decorated with flowers, and fragrant with perfumes." 5. How to build a sexually ergonomic sukkah and furnish it to satisfy your guests with special needs. 6. The mitzvah of hospitality: How to get started: Singles mixer in the synagogue sukkah? Better ask the rabbi. 7. Serving or servicing your guests? Gluten or gluten free? No quiche, please, but how about sukkahtash? 8. To wear or not to wear: Over, under, around, in, + the first-ever gender-neutral Sukkot guide to waterproof apparel. 9. Jewelry: Charms and amulets, chais, double chais, gold chains, diamond tiaras, turbans, rings, kosher piercings. 10. To wear or not to wear: Kippah or yarmulke, shtreiml, kaftan, tefillin, tallit, tallit katan, midi-skirt, miniskirt, panties, bra, thong, jockstrap, bikini, underwear, briefs, sheitl, long sleeves, knee socks. 11. Shabbat in the sukkah. Special blessings. Special situation: What to do about that pesky second Shabbat soul?

II. The Second World: Yetzirah: The World of Formication 1. Positions your mother and great-aunt never told you about. Special positions for tiny sukkahs. 2. Toys and enhancers. Toys, not goys. And no, schmaltz and schav are not lubricants. 3. Shake it, baby: How to use the lulav—How about Myrtle on the right, Willa on the left, Lulu in the middle, spreading Joy and peace?

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 158 4. Cosplay/role playing, including how to celebrate Purim in advance without being too forward 5. Menages à trois and more (oui oui!). 6. Ushpizin: How to decide which ushpizin to invite (erotic dancers?) so as to avoid the uppity ones (ex-mates) . 7. Sukkahs and the single girl and guy. 8. Don’t forget that etrog before it’s good for nothing but compost. Hold it in your right hand. Oh, and what's an etrog, or esrog, if you prefer? Some say it stands for a heart, some say testicles, some say an ovary, and some just say it doesn't stand for anything, it's just a citron, from which you make candied fruit for pineapple upsidedown cakes. Oh, sorry: Some folks collect them after Sukkot and make jelly to rub on pregnant women's tummies. 9. Aphrodisiacs for beginners: What to spike the chicken soup with. 10. Which way to lean to attract more of the yetzer hara. 11. Tantric shmantric: What’s all the fuss with the frumsters? 12. Special advice for every type of Jew, from atheist to zionist. 13. Blessings and prayers. 14. Ancient Jewish love charms, notions, and potions to be sukkahsexful.

III. The Third World: Beriah: The World of Creation 1. From Temple Tart to Sukkah Slut: How to deal with greedy female guests and ushipizin. 2. From Stiebele Shlump to Sukkah Stud: How to deal with greedy male guests from this world and ushpizin from the next world. 3. Nymphos and Cougars. Careful, because could be a problem for women and men. 4. Challenges for princesses and obsessive-compulsive women so they don’t break a nail or scrape their knees (knee pads recommended). 5. Resurrection and the aging man: He can raise the lulav, but that’s about it. 6. LGBTQ.

IV. The Fourth World: Atzilut: The World of Enemanation 1. Tips from the Talmud and Zohar and from the Holy Holy Holy Mothers. 2. Counting & aligning with those heavenly bodies: Using gematria (Jewish numerology) and astrology in your kavannah (intentions)

V. The Fifth World: The World of Adam Kadmon 1. Saying farewell to the sukkah, cleanup, and more. What happens in the sukkah stays in the sukkah. 2. Hoshanah Rabbah—Using the lulav one last time for that something very special.

Appenditzitis: The World of Tsuris 1. Spetzele situations: What if the following come on to you, or vice versa: The rabbi, Hadassah rep, Hebrew school teacher, board president, chazzan, ushpizin, whole sisterhood, men’s council, local Catholic priest, butcher, mohel? A non-Jew, someone you went out with once 10 years ago, a gay or lesbian or transgender congregant, one or more of the kabbalistic sefirot? 2. Unwanted pregnancies and social diseases: Because you are doing a mitzvah, you are protected. No other protection needed. See somewhere in the Shulchan Aruch, the authoritative code of Jewish law.

In the year 1250 by the Western calendar, Père (Father) Jean and Rav (Rabbi) Henri were ambling along in the south of France discussing, as they always did on their ambles, the differences between Judaism and Christianity and which was the superior religion. They had been doing this for forty days and forty nights, since they were in their twenties. This day was special, since it was Father Jean’s birthday.

Periodically Père Jean would look at Rav Henri and begin cracking up, which was contagious, so that Rav Henri began cracking up as well, and both laughed hysterically for a few moments.

Père Jean asked: "Do you remember when we used to listen to Bishop Vincent and begin laughing uncontrollably?"

Rav Henri nodded his head up and down: "Yes."

Père Jean then said: "What would you ask if the Messiah showed His or Her face right now?"

Rav Henri replied: "Is this your first time here, or have you been here before?"

Père Jean began laughing hysterically again. "How would you know it’s the Messiah?" he asked.

Rav Henri replied without a pause: "Because a special rainbow would appear in the sky at the same time. The Talmud says this is one of the signs."

Père Jean said: "You Jews have everything figured out, don’t you?"

Rav Henri said: "Proving we have the superior religion."

Père Jean said: "If so, why would you ask that if it was His or Her first time? You would know it was the Messiah’s first and only time."

Rav Henri thought a moment before replying: "Just to make sure it was our Messiah and not a false Messiah like yours."

Père Jean said: "You mean there could be two Messiahs?"

Rav Henri said: "Just one true one and lots of fakes."

Père Jean began cracking up again. His broad face turned red, and his habit began shaking.

Rav Henri was concerned: "Father. Be careful or you might bust a gut."

Père Jean said: "Thank you for your concern. I’m a devoted Christian, but personally I think the whole Messiah business is overrated."

Père Jean said: "To hinge the authenticity of a whole religion on one facet of it is a stretch. Plus, the End of Days might be so far in the future that everyone on Earth is dead or not yet resurrected, so no one will know if there’s a Messiah, and if so, if it’s His or Her first or second visit. Or, maybe the Messiah will have been here many times, not just once before.

Rav Henri said: "So it wouldn’t necessarily be the Second Coming. It might be the tenth, or hundredth, or thousandth, or millionth."

Père Jean said: "Right."

Rav Henri said: "Would it matter how many times?"

Père Jean was silent.

Rav Henri then said: "That’s why our religion is better than yours. We are a religion of deeds, not beliefs. It doesn’t matter if there is a Messiah, and if there is, how many times He or She has shown up, or even whether He or She shows up at all. We still have to live our lives and be good people."

Père Jean began laughing again.

Rav Henri asked: "What’s so funny, my friend?"

Père Jean said, after calming down: "The whole conversation is absurd. Is there a Messiah? If there is, how many times will He or She show up, if He or She shows up at all? Sometimes I think all believers, Jews and Christians, are crazy. To think there is more to life than meets the eye—this seems nuts. There is no way to prove any of this, so why argue about what are really the fine points of nonsense."

Rav Henri said: "I’m shocked to hear you say this, Father. I thought you were a devout member of the cloth.

Père Jean began laughing again, turning red. "Looks deceive, Rav Henri. Let’s have a glass of wine together and toast to our friendship, ideas be damned!"

"Good idea," Rav Henri said.

They then walked arm in arm to the wine cellar at Rav Henri’s vineyard, popped the cork on a bottle of old Bordeaux, poured two large tumblers of wine, and toasted "Le Chaim. To the mysteries of the Universe." After toasting, both of them began to laugh hysterically, and for a short time, laughter was all there was.

"Oh," said Rav Henri: "I almost forgot: Happy birthday, Père Jean! May you live to 120! That is how we Jews wish people happy birthday, and how I have been wishing you happy birthday these forty years."

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 161 In a Beginning, God Created Adam, Lilith, La Petenera, and. . . . I am destined to wander, by the book of God, and to roam over every land. For all who are fated to exile move about like Cain and flee as Jonah.

In a beginning, God created Adam and Lilith, Adam's first wife.

Everything was fine until Lilith decided she wanted to be on top, after which Adam sent her away and received a more submissive wife in exchange—Eve, whose story will not be told here.

Wounded, enraged beyond belief, and out for revenge, Lilith was blamed for a lot of ills and quite literally was demonized, becoming an actual demon and the bane of men and their wives. She entered their homes, had sex and procreated with the husbands, had demon babies, and sometime ate the babies. Not only that: She caused any pregnant wives to have miscarriages. And she often caused men to spill their seed, a big no-no in Judaism.

After her demotion, did Lilith stay put in the Holy Land and sit around baking bread and keeping house? No, she moved to Spain with the other Jews who went there in ancient times, and when she was in Spain, she transformed herself into La Petenera, femme fatale and the bane of Spanish men. She rampantly seduced and abandoned, shapeshifting from a beautiful prostitute to a virgin and yes, to an angry Jewess out to avenge the fate of her people still in the Holy Land. In site of her rage, Lilith/La Petenera remained loyal to her people.

If La Petenera just seduced and abandoned, this doesn't seem sufficient to build a whole mythology around her, since love is often about seduction and often about abandonment. Most people in their pursuit of love or marriage get jilted or at least disappointed or hurt at one time or another. Still, La Petenera perhaps epitomizes or embodies this feature of love. She is an archetype. The trope of the spurned woman is not the invention of any one culture, the desire for revenge a basic human instinct.

La Petenera became the subject of a whole category of songs—specifically, flamenco songs—called peteneras. Most peteneras have pretty much have the same chord progressions and melodies, and the lyrics, though not all the same, are "Jewish" in only two versions I have heard. The flamenca Carmen Linares sings one of these "Jewish" peteneras about a crying woman who has lost her home ("Pasa una mujer llorando"—"A Crying Woman Passes"). Curiously, she sings her petenera to a different melody from that of most of the other versions, that of the famous Ladino—Judeo–Spanish—song "Los Bilbilicos," "The Nightingales." Here is an English translation of some of the lyrics of her petenera:

Ay, what lament in all of Spain For all the Jewish neighborhoods . . .// Through the streets of Judea A crying woman passes by They say she is from Sefarad (Jewish Spain). . . .

Was Lilith an only child? No, she had a "sister" called the shekhinah, a name derived from the Hebrew word for dwelling, an English word meaning both "abode" and "thinking a lot about." The shekhinah usually is thought of as the feminine presence of God, or His daughter, or His bride.

When Adam sinned in the Garden of Eden, when the Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed, when Jews in

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 162 ancient times sinned, the shekhinah often was blamed—by God. Her punishment was exile. Exile from Earth to one of the heavens, or from one of the heavens to earth, or from God's side. On the other hand, when the Jews were exiled from the Holy Land to Babylonia, the shekhinah also is described as going into exile with them, but not as punishment. If the shekhinah followed her people into exile in Babylonia in ancient times, why not also to Spain over the centuries?

The shekhinah going into exile is described as crying. Is she the crying woman Carmen Linares sings of in her petenera? The famous Spanish painter Pablo Picasso did a painting called "The Weeping Woman," which you might say, if you have an active imagination like mine, was his rendition of the shekhinah going into exile, although probably he never had heard of her.

The focus of peteneras and La Petenera in Spanish culture seems to be on the dark side, on the wounded woman acting out and seeking revenge, just as the focus with Lilith seems to be on her dark side, even though some artistic reproductions show her with owls, symbols of wisdom. Perhaps, then, Lilith is not all bad but encompasses both the good and the bad, the light and the dark. I will argue the same about La Petenera, that she is not all bad but instead encompasses both the good and the bad: When she is scorned or feared, she becomes dark, and when she is loved, she becomes light. She perhaps symbolizes all human beings, who want and need to love and be loved and who get caught up, at one time or another, in the emotional tangle that usually accompanies those wants and needs. And, of course, most human beings encompass a dark side, which some psychologists call a shadow. The peteneras celebrate, in song and dance, those emotions, drives, and complexities.

Curiously, the words petenera and peteneras—whatever their idiomatic usage—seem to be used almost interchangeably, suggesting that La Petenera indeed has a dual identity, comprising both Lilith and the shekhinah, the dark and the light, the two sides of humanity, of life and existence. Think yin and yang, from Chinese philosophy. Light and dark are inseparable, intertwined aspects of everything that is. Who else but a knowledgable Jew could have created such a human being or folk figure!

Many writers on flamenco claim Jewish origins of flamenco in general, which would lead one to conclude that peteneras too had Jewish roots. Although at first one might doubt that authors of peteneras knew or know anything about Lilith or the shekhinah, and the scholar Einat Davidi (see Further Reading below) argues forcefully that the petenera in particular is not Jewish in origin, I propose the opposite. Spain once had a lot of Jews, and Spanish Jews were persecuted and then forced to convert, or killed, or forced to leave Spain. Possibly some petenera authors were openly practicing Jews or conversos (converted Jews), or crypto-Jews—secret, or hidden, Jews. Since apparently about twenty percent of Spanish men today have some Jewish DNA, this theory is not totally implausible.

Making peteneras "Jewish," as is done in the lyrics of peteneras like Carmen's, is a good way to deal with the tragic history of Spanish Jews, as is discussed in the article by Einat Davidi just referred to. In the other "Jewish" petenera the singer asks, "Where are you going, beautiful Jewess?," he then refers to her as a healer, and she responds, "to the synagogue." This could just be man-talk, or it could be a subtle allusion to the shekhinah. And, whether peteneras are simply a vehicle for the expression of certain ideas and emotions, and La Petenera the inspiration for a whole genre of flamenco, I don't think anyone really knows.

Interestingly, La Petenera somehow might have made her way to the New World, specifically South America, Mexico, and later on New Mexico. What is the evidence? A host of stories swirl around a

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 163 New World folk figure, La Llorona—"the weeping woman." Could this be the weeping woman that Carmen Linares sings about in her petenera or that Picasso painted? Not the same flesh-and-blood one, of course, but an incarnation. La Llorona's husband abandoned her, she drowned their children, and as a ghost she wreaked and continues to wreak havoc wherever she goes, wandering around searching for her dead children. This is not the same story as the story of Lilith, or the shekhinah, or La Petenera, but there are similarities.

When did the legend of La Llorona first surface in the New World? Possibly in the mid-sixteenth century, indicating that if she did come from Spain, it might have been then. And if so, why did she leave Spain and go to the New World? Given the time frame, perhaps she was fleeing the Inquisition in Spain and went to the New World along with other refugees, including many conversos, Jews who voluntarily or forcibly were converted to Christianity. Another reason, I would argue, is the shekhinah's devotion to her people; If she followed them to Babylonia and then Spain, why not the New World?

This suggests that La Llorona herself—and La Petenera—originally might have been—yes—Jewish, or a converso or crypto-Jew. After all, if her pre-Spanish heritage is Jewish, why not? And, since La Llorona is an active figure in today's Latino community but people don't think of her as Jewish, perhaps she too could be described as a crypto-Jew. If this is so, I find it remarkable that Lilith and the shekhinah have made their way so far while traveling through alien cultures that often didn't or don't recognize her true nature, and that her manifestations in those cultures have been so pervasive, influential, and powerful. The crying woman made her way from ancient times to the present, changing forms along the way in adapting to the cultures she found herself in.

At the same time, it could be argued from a different perspective that the weeping woman, in all her forms and stories—Lilith, the shekhinah, La Petenera, and La Llorona—is a creation of our own psyches or of our collective human unconscious. Whatever her origins, however, let us recognize, appreciate, and empathize with the weeping woman wherever we find her, including in ourselves.

Notes I don't want to complicate matters—at least not too much—but if you read more about peteneras, La Petenera, and La Llorona, especially on the Internet and in many of the books about La Llorona, you will find all kinds of contradictory and speculative information, plus parallels made with ancient Greek myths and with other New World myths and legends. Additionally, the dates you will find are all over the place. At first I thought that maybe La Llorona was older than La Petenera, killing my idea that La Petenera became La Llorona in the New World, but since I am not convinced, I decided to exercise poetic license and stick to my guns in what I wrote.

In some ways perhaps the timeline doesn't matter, since sometimes widely disparate cultures create similar ideas, even at the same time in history, and the basic truths of these stories are what's important. Additionally, the spirit of Lilith and her "spawn" just might have been and continue to be immune to the temporal rules that bind ordinary human beings. In the world of literary criticism, some critics argue that our current reading of a long-dead author actually influences that author and what s/he wrote, so that perhaps historically La Llorona might have preceded La Petenera but our understanding of the former was influenced by the latter. As I said, however, the dates are not agreed upon, so this line of reasoning, like the others, seems suspect. Finally, I am very cynical about anything I read about Jews in Spain, and this includes what I have read about peteneras and La Petenera; a lot of it seems made up: For example, there is a marker in Seville, Spain, telling the story of a Jewish woman from at least five

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 164 hundred years ago and calls the story a "true legend." Well, legends may contain a kernel of truth, but that's about it as far as I'm concerned.

I used the word spirit in describing Lilith and her "progeny," not thinking of the way the famous Spanish poet Federico García Lorca (1898–1936) uses the Spanish word "duende," which translates as "spirit" but which he interprets in a much deeper way. His duende is almost a hypostasis, a philosophical term meaning something like underlying reality or essence. However you want to define the word spirit, there is an essence, a basic reality, underlying all of the manifestations of Lilith and the shekhinah. Tragically, Lorca was assassinated by the Spanish government. Was this the work of a behind-the-scenes jealous or frustrated La Petenera (about whom he wrote the poem "Gráfico de la Petenera," "Sketch of the Petenera") because he was very handsome but gay?

These stories and variations contain the same basic themes, however, as was pointed out, and at least to me, these are what are important, and recognizing them might be the only way to navigate the morass of attempts to place the stories in a historical context. Still if you want to try, be my guest!

Acknowledgments I am grateful to Victoria Lauren Smith for helping me identify and translate peteneras and information about them, and to Gideon Weisz for assistance with the epigraph.

Note on the URL Web Site Links Below Clicking on these should take you to the Web sites, but if not, you'll need to cut and paste them into your Web browser.

Sources of Quotations p. 162. "The Wanderer," in Jewish Prince in Moslem Spain: Selected Poems of Samuel Ibn Nagrela. Introduction, Translation, and Notes by Leon J. Weinberger. University, AL: The University of Alabama Press, 1973, p. 21. Ibn Nagrela is the Spanish–Jewish poet Shmuel Hanagid (996– 1056), aka Samuel the Prince. p. 162. The English lyrics for "Pasa una mujer llorando" are at https://translate.google.com/translate? hl=en&sl=es&u=http:// www.tomaflamenco.com/en/tracks/236&prev=search. The Spanish lyrics are at http://www.tomaflamenco.com/es/tracks/236. The performance by Carmen Linares is at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b3Tm7fb_CiE. Llorando is just a different part of speech from llorona. p. 163. "Where are you going, beautiful Jewess?" See https://translate.google.com/translate? hl=en&sl=es&u=http://tomaflamenco.com/en/lyrics/9819&prev=search for a weak English translation, http://tomaflamenco.com/en/tracks/3642 for the Spanish lyrics, and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t-Ay-Yg_sz for an intense performance of the song by Rafael Romero (vocals) and Perico del Lunar (guitar).

Further Reading Davidi, Einat. "The Jewish Petenera: Profile of a Spanish Myth," in Partial Answers: Journal of Literature and the History of ideas. Vol. 61, No. 1, 2018. Hammer, Rabbi Jill. "Lady Flying in Darkness." https://www.myjewishlearning.com/article/lilith- lady-flying-in-darkness/. Article about Lilith. Hayes, Joe. La Llorona: The Weeping Woman: An Hispanic Legend Told in Spanish and English. El Paso, TX: Cinco Puntos Press, 2004. An illustrated children's book that focuses on the basics.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 165 La Llorona. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/La_Llorona. Lorca, Federico García. "Gráfico de la Petenera" ("Sketch of the Petenera"), in Federico García Lorca, Poem of the Deep Song/Poem del Cante Jondo, translated by Carlos Bauer. San Francisco: City Lights Books, 1987, pp. 56–71. Written by the famous Spanish poet. Lorca, Federico García. In Search of Duende. New York: New Directions, 1998. Schwartz, Howard. Tree of Souls: The Mythology of Judaism. New York: Oxford University Press, 2004, pp. 47–63 (shekhinah) and 216–225 (Lilith). Excellent, scholarly, and eminently readable.

Recordings Many singers, guitarists, and dancers have recorded peteneras, and many are available on YouTube on the Internet), including Camarón de la Isla (vocals) and Paco de Lucía (guitar), Esperanza Fernández (dance), Fosforito (vocals), José Menese (vocals) and María Pagés (dancer), La Niña de Los Peines (vocals), Luis de Córdoba (vocals), Paco Peña (guitar), and Victoriano de Málaga (vocals).

The Mexican Petenera There also is a Mexican petenera, which some writers say originated in Mexico and went to Spain after 1492. See for yourself if the two peteneras are related with these examples: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iF3otLcmkkQ. Mexican https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ao9_AW3rXIo. Spanish

Is "Eli, Eli" a Petenera? Finally, "Eli Eli" ("My God, My God"), a poem by the Hungarian Jewish resistance fighter Hannah Senesh (or Szenes), was set to music in 1945 by David Zahavi. The melody and chord progression sounds awfully like those of most of the peteneras. Whether there is a connection is something I will let you, the discerning listener, decide for yourself: *Here's Ofir ben Shitrit singing "Eli Eli": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QgEHWyQsi_k. *And Luis de Córdoba with a petenera using the most common chord progression and melody: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ao9_AW3rXIo.

Petenera Festival Concurso Internacional de Cante por Peteneras. Held in Paterna de la Rivera, in Cádiz, Spain. https://www.guiaflama.com/festivales-flamenco/concurso-nacional-de-cante-por-peteneras- paterna-de-rivera/. Thanks to Isidoro Cascajo and José García Quiñones for their help.

An angel manifested on Earth as a human being in order to guide a woman who had lost her long-time husband.

He was a goodly angel but not entirely pure and without karmic residue on his wings—unfinished business (karma) from a previous life or lives.

He was successful at his task in some ways but a failure in others.

The problems began when the angel became attached to the woman, and because of his karmic baggage began acting strangely and unangelically. He forgot his mission and lost himself in the relationship and in so doing began to manifest, for purposes known only to God, some of the unangelic, unbecoming behavior he had brought with him from one or more previous lives, or from the fragments of other people's souls he had inherited.

The original plan, to guide the earth woman, had included, as a bonus, burning off the last of his own karmic residue so that after he shed his earthly body he could ascend to heaven and stay there once and for all. In other words, his mission to guide the woman was meant to help her and also himself. Aren't all such missions like this? We are here for the other and also for ourselves, or vice versa. Is this not the meaning of besherte—a match made in heaven for a specific purpose?

Having burned off a great deal but nowhere all of his karma, the angel had hoped that this deed would be the last before he was set free from his body in his lifetime as a human being. He had been allowed to incarnate this one time through his deeds caring for and guiding his mother into the next world.

These deeds had negated a good portion of the selfishness he had acquired in past lives. He had begun as a human, died who knows how many times, then been allowed to return to Earth in order to purify himself so that he could return to and remain in the world-to-come.

Although he was in love, things were not going well between him and the woman. Still, he was unable to detach himself from her and also from his previous karma, forcing the woman to terminate him as her angel. She had fallen in love with him too but because of her karma could not allow him to be with her any longer. This was painful to her, too, for she had become attached to him as well.

After the breakup the angel realized the woman also was an angel, sent to heal him, to help him burn off his karmic baggage. He had had a sense that this was the purpose of their meeting and falling in love. She did not know that she too was an angel, just as she did not know that he was an angel.

Her mission as an angel was to guide him through the last months and eventual death of his earthly father and also to help the first angel burn off the karma that was the cause of the difficulty he had opening his heart fully to love. The idea was that her guidance with his father would open him to fully loving her and allowing her to love him.

Both angels had incarnated in human bodies just before they met.

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 167 She guided the other angel successfully for a while and also helped him with some health-related tasks and healing from some other relationships he had had both in past lives and in his current incarnation.

She wanted a relationship with him that would fully heal both of them, but unfortunately the combination of his karma and hers kept this from fruition, and she had had to end it. Part of her karma dictated that she become very bound up in earthly matters to the point of forgetting and not even being interested in getting in touch with her angel nature.

She had become very attached to her human life and enjoyed being a human woman. She had had a good, long marriage to an earth man, given birth to two sons, and had granddaughters.

These angels were half-human, half-angel, and as such were unique in the angel world.

As was said, she was not aware that he was an angel, nor that she was an angel, and he was aware that he was an angel but only later in the relationship became aware that she was too.

This kind of angel blinked on and off, off and on, moving from angel to human and from human to angel, then back to human, and so on. They were never either just angel or human. The problem with these angels was that all was fine when they blinked on, but when they blinked off and reverted to their human forms, there were problems. If both had been aware of their angel–human dual nature, they could have burned off each other's karma and also been happy human lovers, healing that part of both of them, since although they were angels, with varying degrees of self-awareness, both wanted to be happy in human bodies on earth, at least in their lifetime, and then ascend together to the world-to- come.

The first angel desperately had wanted to incarnate in order to burn off his remaining karma, so that he could fully love again, something he had been unable to do over many lifetimes. He had been given yet another chance to do this by being incarnated on earth—actually, he asked to be incarnated—and connecting with the earth woman who wasn't aware of her angel nature. His task had been to guide her earth self through the remaining phases of her grieving period, enabling her to love again, and also to awaken in her the awareness that she too was an angel. And of course she wanted to be able to fully love again, and so she had hoped that the man—the other angel—whom she didn't know was an angel —would be her partner in this.

Alas! Their work was incomplete. The man would need to incarnate again (and perhaps again and again) in order to fulfill his yearning to fully love and be at peace with himself. The woman would need more time and help to fully let go her husband, realize her angelic nature, and herself fully love again.

Alas! Eichah! Their relationship was not meant to be.

Eichah!

4/11/18 to 11/27/18

RIVERS IN PARADISE: JEWISH POETRY AND PROSE © 2019 BY HENRY RASOF 169 ABOUT THE AUTHOR/EDITOR Henry Rasof has degrees in music, creative writing, and Jewish studies and has been writing poetry since 1964. After a long career as an editor in book publishing, he taught creative writing at the University of Denver and the Boulder Jewish Day School. His own work has appeared in Beatitude, HaLapid, Jewish Currents, Kansas Quarterly, Midstream, Numinous, Partisan Review, Poetica, X-Peri, and the Boulder Jewish News, among other print and online publications.

He has published four previous books in print editions, including Souls in the Garden: Poems About Jewish Spain (2019); Here I Seek You: Jewish Poems for Shabbat, Everydays, and Holy Days (2016); and Chance Music: Prose Poems 1974 to 1982 (2012); and The House (2008). He also has published three previous .pdf books on his web site henryrasof.com: Bees in the Garden: Poems by the Masala Mystic (2019); The Persian General: Wartime Letters from a Medieval Persian General to His Wife (2019); and The Wit, Wisdom, and Whimsy of Bernard Rasof (2019), humorous poetry and prose by his late father. And finally, he hosts, in addition to henryrasof.com, www.medievalhebrewpoetry.org.

He was born in Santa Monica; has lived in San Francisco, New York City, and Boston; and currently lives in Louisville, Colorado. He has traveled to Israel, India, Japan, Europe, and Latin America.

The author/editor in Patagonia, at the tip of South America.