You vs. You (vs. You)
There is a danger of too often stressing the limitations of translation.
We always want the door to be open into Judaism instead of closed, and
constantly raving that our texts can only be appreciated in Hebrew can be
off-putting to those that have struggled to learn Hebrew or those whose
relationship with Judaism comes primarily through other gateways than through
Hebrew texts. Still, there are moments where there is a particular joy at
learning or teaching something that simply cannot be seen outside of Hebrew
context.
One of my favourites is contemplating the singular and plural uses of
“you” in the first two paragraphs of the Shema. The first paragraph, the
V’ahavta, exclusively uses the second person singular while the second, the
“vayim shemo’a” uses the second person plural. Unless you are from certain
southern states in the USA where “y’all” can be used or in Philadelphia where
“yous” is entirely appropriate, we read both identically in English as “You
shall love the Eternal your God with all your heart, with all your strength and
with all your resources,” and then “It shall be that you shall continuously
hearken to my commandments that I command you today.”
It seems subtle, but the first paragraph with the singular voice is
speaking of the responsibility of teaching commandments and the second of
fulfilling them, meaning that every individual has the personal mitzvah of
Talmud Torah (the learning of our sacred texts and obligations) while we are
collectively “judged” for how we collectively succeed or fail at bringing that
into practice. Looking solely at the word “you” in English removes this
delicious subtlety from our exploration of the text.
This week in Ki Tavo we can point to nearly any section of the text and
go deep into interpretation around the nature of the “you” that is used in the
Hebrew. One that I had never seen before comes in the first few verses. In the
first two verses of the parashah we read: “When you enter the land that the
Eternal your God is giving to you (1) as a heritage, and you possess it and
settle in it, you shall take some of every first fruit of the soil, which you
harvest from the land the Eternal your God is giving to you (2), put it in a
basket and go to a place where the Eternal your God will choose to establish
His name.” But this time the difference is not singular vs plural. The first
italicized passage in Hebrew is “notein lecha,” second person masculine, and
the second is “notein lach,” second person feminine.
Since English is a non-gendered language, we miss the opportunity to ask
why this one switch in gender happens. The rest of the sentences following are
exclusively second person masculine, which is the linguistic norm in the Torah
when speaking to individuals in general. Seriously, the “notein lach” nearly
looks like a mistake.
The usual commentators that deal with the clear meaning of texts, such as
Rashi and Ibn Ezra are conspicuously silent on the gender shift. You have to
get a little obscure to find commentators directly dealing with this. Rabbi
David Rabinowitz-Teomim z”l, a 19th-century Lithuanian rabbi commented that the
female “you” is used specifically to mean “you and not them” where the “them”
means thieves and other sorts of criminals. Essentially, the “notein lach” is
rendered, “When I give the land to you as opposed to those who will not wish to
follow my laws.” An 18th century Yerushalmi rabbi, Haim Yosef David Azulai z”l
or “the Hida,” however, delves much more deeply. He says that the switching of
gender reflects the mitzvah of the verse, that of bringing the first fruits to
temple, and reminds us of a woman giving birth and dedicating the firstborn to
the Eternal. He further explains that because of the mutual joy between the
Eternal and a woman at childbirth, thus shall be our joy at giving first
fruits. He concludes by saying that the act of tilling the soil (when the
produce is something that will be dedicated to the Eternal) should be done with
the complete soul as in childbirth.
I think there is a profound hidden truth in this that comments accurately
on our contemporary attempts to bring about relevant Judaism with passionate
and dedicated community members. We no longer have a temple system that
requires first fruits, but we nonetheless have our communal centers of Jewish
life that have become the ersatz for the temple—our homes and our synagogues.
When we bring our toil to our Shabbat table at home or into the synagogue
itself, what is the attitude of our sacrifice?
The reality is, regardless of what it is we are doing, there is nearly
always something else in that moment that we wish to do. It is a product of
having evolved to have our choices limited to the world around us that we can
see and the survival techniques needed to exist in that place. Now I have
seventeen simultaneous series that I am trying to get through on Netflix, and
if I don’t get back to it, I am going to forget the storyline(s). Have we ever
waited forever to get tickets to that concert or play and then while there
found ourselves thinking of what was happening afterward? We are overloaded
with choices which constantly bombard our “present” and our attempts to stay
present in the present with the other things that we could be doing. It doesn’t
mean those things are better, they are just there. Certainly, that bleeds over
into our communal religious gatherings. One of the greatest honors is to be
called to Torah, but how many times have we been to some shul and seen someone
treat the honor as if it was a burden? At a certain time in history that aliya
would have been a peak experience, to be talked about among family members to
glory in the moment of public acknowledgement. Today, it is probably not more
interesting than a really well-posed selfie.
Of course, I am being sarcastic and possibly even playful, but it is
worth thinking of the Hida’s explanation. If our fulfillment of communal sacred
obligation had the same gravity of holding a child and dedicating that child to
“holy” purpose, how would we respond to our distractions in the moment? Would
our minds wandering to an upcoming football game have as much power over us to
wish the moment to pass quickly or would we be more encouraged to pull
ourselves back into the present and be present? And then what does our communal
space and what do our collective rituals and activities look like when we
approach our altars with the gravity of bringing a child into the world? The
beautiful thing is that Torah is talking about “you.” Which means me. Which
means us.
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