I want to write from the root.
Someone once told me when I was sad and really didn't feel like 'wearing the mask' of pretending to be happy: "The actions you take to become happy again are only vessels. It's ultimately up to G-d whether happiness will fill those vessels or not." In other words, I can dance, sing and jump around like a maniac to get happy, but it won't necessarily make me happy. The outcome of my actions is simply beyond my control. Just like with forcing yourself to remember something; the Gemara Megillah says that whether or not you understand a Torah lesson that you just studied depends directly upon the effort you put into understanding it, but whether or not you remember that lesson is completely unrelated to your effort; that depends exclusively on whether G-d wants you to remember it or not.
Happiness and memory (and, as the Gemara tells us, livelihood!) are gifts from G-d that we must build the vessels to receive, but we are not guaranteed to receive those gifts once we've built the vessels. We have to hope and pray that we'll receive them, and when we do finally become happy or start to remember our learning (or start to make money, G-d willing!) -- we must not fall into the mistaken impression that we achieved these things through our own efforts and merit, or that these gifts actually belong to us; we still must acknowledge that they were emplaced into our midst from beyond, and can be removed just as mysteriously.
I want to write from the root.
During the course of writing this, I periodically review its narrative structure, and edit, manipulate, delete, consult the thesaurus, reorganize paragraphs and revise sentences. I just reorganized this version again, adding this sentence for self-referential effect. I'm involved in building a vessel to hold… what? What does my writing hold within it? Can it truly hold and give form to the stirrings of my soul? Can the written word truly claim any correspondence with the complex emanations that originate from the core of my essence, an essence that stretches past my own body, past my own time-frame, beyond any boundary or concept of boundary that I could ever hope to grasp and that, in its purest and simplest form, swells and undulates with the timeless longing of a fragmentary shard attempting to find its place within and reunify itself with the shattered composite-soul of all humankind? If so, should I be editing or manipulating any of this at all? Shouldn't I just let it all come out, not change or adulterate a single impulse, and allow whatever happens to just happen, because that's the truest and most honest representation of my root-soul's innerworkings?
The Midrash Rabbah tells us that all of our individual souls originated in one soul, that of Adam HaRishon (the First Person). As a result of this single, primordial soul's untimely choice to investigate G-d's capacity to differentiate, delineate and create particularity, it became shattered, fragmented, its pieces strewn throughout the history of the world. Our own souls, these 'strewn pieces,' come from different 'places' within this original soul; the Midrash likens these 'places' to body parts and organs. For instance, my soul could've come from the 'eyes' of Adam HaRishon, and yours could've come from his 'ears;' thusly, says the Midrash, my main avodah (spiritual task) in life might pertain to watching and seeing, while yours might pertain to listening and hearing.
It is essential for each of us to investigate our own origins in the spiritual anatomy of Adam HaRishon, in order to know our true purpose and place within the world. As the Midrash tells us, Iyov (Job) criticized the design of G-d's world because he felt that his suffering had come upon him arbitrarily and undeservedly. In response to Iyov's criticism, G-d asks, "Where (Eifoh) were you when I laid the earth's foundation? Tell, if you know understanding (38:4)!" In other words, G-d is asking: "Where is the primordial root of your soul? Do you truly know where you came from within the spiritual anatomy of Adam HaRishon? Only through a knowledge of this, Iyov, will you be able to comprehend My design of the world and your own place and purpose within that design."
Which organ does writing correspond with?
In this week's parsha, Moses makes a few requests of G-d; he wants to A) know Him, B) find favor in His eyes, and C) insure that Israel will be His people. In order for these three things to happen, Moses knows that G-d's Shechina (Indwelling Presence) must accompany him and the people of Israel. He rhetorically asks G-d, "If Your Presence does not come along (with us)… how then (eifoh) will it be known that I have found favor in Your eyes…(33:15-6)?" The M'or VaShemesh notes here the superfluity of the word eifoh (translated as "then" in this verse), and connects it to the word eifoh quoted above from Iyov (where it's translated as "where"). He says that without the "eifoh" of G-d's Shechina dwelling among us, we couldn't possibly connect to the "eifoh" of the roots of our souls. In other words -- we can work to develop the frameworks necessary to sense, identify and live according to the dictates of the root source of our soul, but whether or not we ACTUALLY GET TO CONNECT TO THE ROOT AT ALL is ultimately G-d's choice. If He chooses to allow His Presence to dwell among us, we will connect; if not, we won't.
Writing, speaking or any form of expressing "from the root" does not necessarily involve "flowing with the moment" or the equivalent of the Surrealists' stream-of-consciousness-inspired "automatic writing;" I believe it involves the preparation of a vessel within which the truest and most authentic representation of your soul's stirrings can manifest. Our unconscious souls don't just rattle-off disjointed psychobabble drawn from the far-flung anticosmos; the emanative flickerings of the soul are specific enunciations of a highly delineated purpose -- to rectify and perfect the functionings of a particular spiritual component within the anatomy of our splintered soul-nucleus, and to join with other souls in the collective reassembly and reintegration of that nucleus. The more we prepare, the more ready we and the world will be to receive rootedness and connection. The final question to ask is: how does one build a fitting vessel for this? Rav Eliezer Shore suggested searching within the Torah for a mitzvah, halacha, verse, story or character that you feel particularly connected-to, and investigating it with scrupulous depth and detail. I suggested that perhaps the mitzvahs, halachas, etc. that are the most difficult and challenging for you, from which you feel the most alienated and distant, might provide you with the greatest opportunity for building, fixing and receiving insight about your true nature. Perhaps this question itself is a vessel waiting to be filled…
Jerry Silverman
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Jerry Silverman is a former student of Yeshivat Bat Ayin. He is working in new media, designing and managing media projects. He lives in Riverdale, NY with his wife Sarah and their two children. |