A book I had
ordered on the web about ten days ago arrived today – from Jerusalem. That is at least as efficient as would have
happened with books ordered from NZ or Australia, let alone USA or the UK. The book is called Nehalal Siddur Shabbat. It
is a Jewish prayer book. It is in both
Hebrew and English, it is beautifully illustrated, it is full of instructions
and explanations, and like any good Hebrew book it starts at the other
end. I am delighted with it.
Some years ago
when I was with Mary at one of her medical conferences, this one in Sydney I
think, a colleague of Mary’s invited us to her home for dinner. They were a couple in late middle age with no
children. We had not realised in coming
that it was Sabbath Eve, Friday, and it was with awe and delight that we sat at
table while our hostess lit the candles and said the Hebrew prayers which
welcome the Sabbat. It is the loveliest
of moments, the quiet prayers of gratitude, the gentle candlelight. It is a special moment for the woman who
presides -- her hands moving to scoop the light into her eyes.
Now I am so
glad to have this book. For one thing it
helps me refresh my Hebrew. We always
felt somewhat guilty as students in Hebrew or Greek, using any book with the
text and translation on the same page. I
think these were called diglots – or cribs.
But never mind… I still have handy in my study my hefty Biblia Hebraica,
the formidable Kittel edition, in which whatever is not in Hebrew is in Latin. They gave it to me when I was awarded the
Cameron-Muir Scholarship in Hebrew. The
Biblia Hebraica still delights me for all its austere authority. And in any case when you turn 80 years of age,
I have decided, you can use a diglot any time you want.
But It is much
more than language study. This book, Nehalal Siddur Shabbat, squarely relates
Jewish prayer with Jewish history. On
page 484 is a photo of the relentless, day-long humiliation of Rabbi Moshe
Ben-Yitzchak Hagerman, of Olkusz, Poland, on Black Wednesday, 31 July 1940 (25
Tamuz 5700). The Nazis herded all male
Jews to the town square at 5 am, where they were abused, beaten, terrified,
until 7 pm. The photo shows Rabbi
Hagerman, among his people, dressed as he had been for morning prayer, clearly
exhausted, being ridiculed and harassed.
I do not know how you continue to give praise and thanks to God in such
circumstances. But the Jews do. They have always done – and like the best of
the Psalms their prayer is expected to be said with sorrow and anger at times,
even despair. So we have the Hebrew inscription
on a wall in Auschwitz, from the Book of Job:
O Earth, cover not my blood,
May my cry find no resting place.
Walter
Brueggemann points out that even in the abyss it is God with whom we have to
deal. Hebrew prayer and the Hebrew
Psalms help me to understand and do that, for myself or for others. There is nothing in these prayers in denial
of reality. Reality is all too
present.
God is present
also, in the heart of the reality and the heart of the prayer. All Jewish prayer can be seen as yearning,
hoping, in the presence of God – yearning for a restored humanity, for peace
and shalom, for prosperity and enjoyment of creation, for forgiveness, for
justice upon all…
Lately I have
been fascinated by the Chasidim, the
ultra-orthodox Jews of Mea Shearim and other parts of Jerusalem and around the
world. They seem to be a thorn in the
side of the government of Israel with their rigid defence of Ha ‘Aretz, the
Land, against the Palestinians and anyone else who threatens it, their
insistence on both inward and outward piety and adherence to religious
customs. They certainly look
strange. There are over 30,000 Chasidim in the area of Stamford Hill in
London. I remember well seeing groups of
men in Jerusalem with their curious circular fur hats, long coats and white
gaiters. At least some of them are
exempt from military service in Israel.
They fascinate
me in their courage, living this way in a secular milieu in which cynical and
bitter opposition to any religion, especially an overtly pious one, is pretty
well a reflex. Their reward must be the
strength and peace of prayer and discipline.
Whatever… I incline far more to the Chasidim than to the numbing
superficiality of the sport and entertainment culture. At 80 years, I decide that it’s not that
there is anything wrong with me – but that I might be on to something.
