Rabbi Dr. Zev Zahavy Photos

Photos Rabbi Dr. Zev Zahavy

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September 8, 1918 - May 1, 2012

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On my father's Yahrzeit my thoughts on his immortal soul

At the breakfast at the Park East Synagogue this morning in honor of my dad's yahrzeit I spoke briefly about the dimensions of the immortality of his soul. I explained that by observing the mourning customs and reciting Kaddish for the soul of the departed, we seek immortality on its behalf in heaven above and on earth as part of the eternal Jewish people. Last month I summarized my thoughts on this process as follows below.

Is the Jewish soul immortal? Yes, tradition teaches us that if the proper procedures are followed, the Jewish soul is immortal. And the immortality is redundant. The soul of a departed loved one lives on in a vertical immortality in heaven and in a horizontal immortality as part of the collective of the Jewish people.

To guarantee the duplex immortality of a soul, a mourner must say the Kaddish prayer for eleven months in the synagogue. As an agent on behalf of our father's soul, we are completing that process this week for the recitation of the Kaddish for our dad, who passed away last year.

We previously wrote in our book, God's Favorite Prayers, about the connection between the vertical immortality of the soul and the recitation of the mourner's Kaddish.

This lilting and poetic passage does have a certain unique cadence, yet it seems to us in its words to be no more than a standard glorification of God, nothing about death or dying or the deceased. Why then is this prayer especially apropos for a mourner? Because reciting this heavenly angelic Aramaic praise is the epitome of a mystic’s liturgy. It is a stand-in enactment by the mourner on behalf of the departed loved one. The mourner stands in place in the synagogue and recites the words.

But acting in the mode of the mystic archetype, the mourner advances to the next level of mystical prayer. She is not just addressing God with the outpourings of her personal anxiety and vexation, but imagining that she is standing aloft in heaven, representing the soul of her beloved departed, knocking on heaven’s door to seek entry for that spirit into a secure, eternal place close to the divine light and near the warmth of God.

Now to add some new thoughts on that the other horizontal dimension of the immortality of the Jewish soul, we ask why the requirement to recite the Kaddish for eleven months in the synagogue? Why the obligation on the mourner to lead the services in the public in the community?

To present adequate answers to these questions we will need to write a book. For now let us advance the main thesis.

The Jewish soul achieves a horizontal immortality, going forward eternally through time into the future, by its membership in the people of Israel. One might think that the membership of the soul of the departed Jew after his death in the community of Israel is a certainty, a given, automatic, and nothing need be done further to solidify that.

But that is not how it works. To secure a place for a departed soul in the community of Israel, we Orthodox believe that we must recite the daily Kaddish in the synagogue for eleven months. By doing that, we firmly embed the soul of the departed in our community. And as long as that community, that people endures, that soul will have a horizontal immortality as part of the collective body of Israel.

It's been both an onerous obligation and a privilege for us to have that obligation over the past eleven months to recite Kaddish in public on behalf of our dad. And in a few days we will rest from that daily recitation of Kaddish, certain in the continuous duplex immortal life of our father's dear soul, in the eternity of heaven and in the everlasting perpetuation of the Jewish people on earth.

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What is Kaddish?

We said Kaddish for our dad this past year. Some writers responded to their year of saying Kaddish by writing books about it. Four good ones are shown above.

We published a popular book about prayer a in July 2011, so we don't feel the need to go ahead and write another one about our Kaddish year.

In fact in that book, we resolved our main understanding of the meaning of the Kaddish. We have not changed our mind. Here is some of what we said in "God's Favorite Prayers" as explained by our archetypal mystic, Hannah, on pages 59-61:

Hannah invites us to examine next the well-known and practiced Kaddish prayer, a second case of the entry level mystic’s prayers.

There are several varieties of Kaddish recited in the synagogue, enough to confuse the beginner. One of them, called the Half (chatzi) Kaddish, because a few sentences are left off of it, is recited by the leader of the services as a framing mechanism to mark the end of each major section of the liturgy. And, coincidentally, the term ‘half’ (chatzi) relates to the Hebrew word for a dividing or framing action.

The second Kaddish variety, called the complete one (shalem), marks the very end of the services proper.

The best-known Kaddish in the synagogue though is the mourner’s Kaddish (yatom), the one that is employed as a mourner’s doxology (i.e., a praise of God). The practice of associating this prayer with a mourner first appears in the thirteenth century. The synagogue authorities endorsed the custom that mourners during the first eleven months after losing a close relative ought to rise and recite a Kaddish on their own. In the case of this Kaddish Yatom, the mourner rises in his place in the synagogue and recites the doxology at a few appointed times in the daily, Sabbath, and festival services.

I ask Hannah, What is it that the prayer tells us? And, in particular, what makes the prayer an apt mystical enactment for the mourner who recites it? She explains that the substance of the prayer is not at all philosophical or deep. It is a litany, as a mystical prayer is wont to be, of the right words of praise of God in the correct order. She shows us the mystical component of the Kaddish, those lines that cite for us the adoration that is recited by the angels in heaven.

Hannah explains then that reciting the Kaddish provides an appropriate vicarious association for the mourner—to stand and recite a prayer on behalf of the departed souls of the dead:

Magnified and sanctified may his great name be in the world he created by his will. May he establish his kingdom in your lifetime and in your days, and in the lifetime of all the house of Israel, swiftly and soon—and say: Amen.
May his great name be blessed forever and all time.
Blessed and praised, glorified and exalted,
raised and honored, uplifted and lauded
be the name of the Holy One, blessed be he,
beyond any blessing, song, praise and consolation
uttered in the world—and say: Amen
May there be great peace from heaven,
and life for us and for all Israel—and say: Amen.
May he who makes peace in his high places,
make peace for us and for all Israel—and say: Amen.
(Koren Siddur, p. 178)

This lilting and poetic passage does have a certain unique cadence, yet it seems to us in its words to be no more than a standard glorification of God, nothing about death or dying or the deceased. I ask again, why then is this prayer especially apropos for a mourner? Hannah proposes that it is because reciting this heavenly angelic Aramaic praise is the epitome of a mystic’s liturgy. It is a stand-in enactment by the mourner on behalf of the departed loved one. The mourner stands in place in the synagogue and recites the words.

But acting in the mode of the mystic archetype, the mourner advances to the next level of mystical prayer. She is not just addressing God with the outpourings of her personal anxiety and vexation, but imagining that she is standing aloft in heaven, representing the soul of her beloved departed, knocking on heaven’s door to seek entry for that spirit into a secure, eternal place close to the divine light and near the warmth of God. 

I pressed Hannah on this matter. I asked her to clarify to us what is going on when she recites the Kaddish. Is she addressing God from her pew, using the words authorized by the angels on behalf of the deceased? Or is she imagining her ascent to heaven to plead there for the soul of the departed?

Hannah did not know the origins of the Kaddish as a mystic’s prayer on behalf of the soul. Alan Mintz explained that this association began in the Middle Ages (Hurban: Responses to Catastrophe in Hebrew Literature

In the generations immediately following the First Crusade the ceremony of remembering the dead began to be practiced not only in the case of renowned rabbinical martyrs of public persecution but also simply for all who died natural deaths, entirely irrespective of the conditions of persecution. A bereaved son would recite the Kaddish, an Aramaic doxology, for the memory of his recently departed father or mother, in the conviction that such recitation had the power to save the deceased’s soul from tortures beyond the grave. The practice gained headway in the thirteenth century and by the fifteenth a new custom emerged: the Yorzeit, the recitation of the Kaddish on the anniversary of the death of a relative. And soon there was further established the Yizkor or Hazkarat Neshamot, the Kaddish together with various supplications for the souls of the departed, recited on the Day of Atonement and the last days of the Pilgrimage Festivals. Taken together, this amounts of a kind of cult of the dead that began in medieval Ashkenaz and later spread to all of world Jewry.

Mintz commented further about the deep personal attachment that Jews have to this prayer:

The astounding tenacity of this outlook is observable in the simple sociological fact, known to all, that in the process of secularization, and especially in the acculturation of Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe to America, the recitation of the mourner’s Kaddish with its attendant rites is the very last particle of tradition to be given up.

Without knowing anything about the historical development of the Kaddish, the entry-level mystic in the synagogue does engage in some prayer, emulating the angels and sending praises and petitions heavenward. She also may practice an intermediate form of mystical prayer, an imagined ascent to stand in another realm and importune her case before the angels and before God....

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The Master Talmud Performer: Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik

In honor of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik's 20th yahrzeit we present this excerpt from our 2011 book - God's Favorite Prayers...

The Master Performer

L

et me give some background about my mentor, Rabbi Soloveitchik. His followers extolled him with a reverent nickname. They called him the Rav, simply the Master. I consider the Rav to be a master performer par excellence of the synagogue liturgy (when on occasion he led the services), a great pedagogue in the classroom, a scholar of note and interpreter of the substance of the performances of the synagogue. And finally, he was an amazing beginner.

In my family, we venerated the Rav above all other rabbis. We spoke of him with the utmost reverence that one would bestow only upon a truly saintly man. And he was one of the great Orthodox rabbis of the twentieth century. He was born into a rabbinic family in Eastern Europe. After mastering all of rabbinic literature, he studied philosophy at the University in Berlin. He was known not just as a rabbi but also as a Gadol—a title reserved for person of the greatest stature in Torah learning and highest authority in Jewish religious matters.

As a Yeshiva College senior, I started four years of learning in Rabbi Soloveitchik’s Talmud shiur. In my three post-graduate years of study with the Rav, I earned my ordination and became a rabbi.

I received in those four years so much from the Rav: a methodology of learning the Talmud, a theology of Judaism grounded in philosophy, and some secrets of exceptional pedagogy.

Let me expand on this last point. The Rav would sometimes, in an occasional moment of gently deprecating and surprising self-reflection, refer to himself as a poshutte melamed, the Yiddish description of a simple teacher of beginners. That statement puzzled me. Surely the Rav was the greatest Orthodox Talmudic sage of his generation. How could he represent himself in this ordinary way?

One day, I accidentally discovered what he might have meant. We rabbinical students convened at the fourth floor of the college building in an oversized classroom for our shiur, to begin studying a famous Talmud passage that was a discourse about the laws in Tractate Shabbat. That day, I was using a Talmud volume from a small, bound set that my uncle Rabbi Noah Goldstein had used when he studied in the Rav’s shiur. I found interleaved in this hand-me-down book a page of my uncle’s notes from the Rav’s discourse on this same Talmud passage, fifteen or twenty years earlier.

As we started reading the text, the Rav sat at his desk at the front of the class, as usual, with books of the Talmud arrayed all around him. He opened to the page for the day and began to perform the pedagogic magic in which he was so skilled. He started the class: “All right. Where were we?” He made it seem to us all as if he was looking at the text for the very first time. He made every question he raised appear as if he was discovering a problem afresh. Every answer and each explanation that he examined in the medieval commentators, Rashi or the Tosafot, he made appear to us as if it were new to him—a complete surprise.

Over the course of a class that lasted more than two hours, the Rav dramatically unfolded a complex and intricate exposition of the sugya, the text and its topic—and each stage of the discourse seemed so original and alive. Yet, as I followed along and read my uncle’s notes, I saw that the Rav was repeating—in order—each and every element of the shiur exactly as he had given it years before, insight by insight, question by question and answer by answer. He had all of us students in the room convinced that he had just newly discovered every element of his learning. Yet I had proof in front of me to the contrary.

I saw that day how the Rav had the ability to make every act of learning a new, exciting and living revelation. I have striven to emulate him ever since, to replicate this ability and to achieve as a learner and as a teacher some small element of this revelation.

Hanging over my desk where I write, I have a quotation from the great German poet Rainer Maria Rilke, “If the angel deigns to come it will be because you have convinced her not by tears but by your humble resolve to be always beginning: to be a beginner.” I believe the Rav echoed that sentiment in his teaching and learning and, certainly, in his praying.

The Rav’s ability to find the freshness in learning and in praying inspires this book. In part, in this extended discourse, I try to present content for fresh solutions to the frustrating issue of how to escape the monotony of the repetitive rituals of prayer. Indeed, it is a challenge to rediscover meaning and insight continually within the routine. It’s easier said than done—to be a beginner.

I try here in this volume to present as new my humble discoveries of voices and personalities in the prayer book to satisfy my own need to find what is fresh in what I repeat daily, weekly and annually. And in the spirit of my teacher the Rav, I aspire throughout this volume to provide you, the reader, with insights that will allow you to discover your own ways to always be a simple beginner in the appreciation and practice of your own praying.

To help us appreciate an important representative example of the expression of the artist-poet-musician archetype in the synagogue services, I now turn to a sample of the Rav’s comments on a few of our liturgy texts.

A Shofar Opera Libretto

H

ere, then, is the traditional libretto of a shofar opera in three acts. These texts are more familiarly known as the foundational High Holiday prayers in the Musaf Amidah. I interleave into the prayers below a selection of a few basic examples of the insights that the Rav and other interpreters of the past have taught about the Rosh Hashanah Additional Service.

In fact, this is not a complicated section of the Jewish liturgy. To expand on what I said just above, the Kingship-Covenant-Revelation liturgy—Malchiyot, Zichronot and Shofrot—accompanies the sounding of the ram’s horn in the additional service on Rosh Hashanah, as follows.

Act 1: The prayer opens with the Aleinu, a text that characterizes the dramatic archetype whom I call in this book the celebrity-monotheist.

Historians of the liturgy believe that the Aleinu originally found its way into Jewish prayer as this inaugural segment of the Malchiyot—Kingship prayers. Later, it was appropriated into the daily prayers and became the closing liturgy of every service.

In this Rosh Hashanah context, the Aleinu announces the theme of God the King and the section after it provides us with our first set of selected biblical passages:

It is our duty to praise the Lord of all things, to ascribe greatness to him who formed the world in the beginning, since he has not made us like the nations of other lands, and has not placed us like other families of the earth, since he has not assigned unto us a portion as unto them, nor a lot as unto all their multitude. For we bend the knee and offer worship and thanks before the supreme King of kings, the Holy One, blessed be he, who stretched forth the heavens and laid the foundations of the earth, the seat of whose glory is in the heavens above, and the abode of whose might is in the loftiest heights. He is our God; there is none else: in truth he is our King; there is none besides him; as it is written in his Torah, “And you shall know this day, and lay it to your heart, that the Lord he is God in heaven above and upon the earth beneath: there is none else.”

We therefore hope in you, O Lord our God, that we may speedily behold the glory of your might, when you will remove the abominations from the earth, and the idols will be utterly cut off, when the world will be perfected under the kingdom of the Almighty, and all the children of flesh will call upon your name, when you will turn unto yourself all the wicked of the earth. Let all the inhabitants of the world perceive and know that unto you every knee must bow, every tongue must swear. Before you, O Lord our God, let them bow and fall; and unto your glorious name let them give honor; let them all accept the yoke of your kingdom, and do you reign over them speedily, and forever and ever. For the kingdom is yours, and to all eternity you will reign in glory.

The theme of the Aleinu announced above is that God is King, he is One, there is no other and that all the peoples of the earth will come to acknowledge that. I will explain at length below, in the chapter called “The Celebrity’s Prayers,” that this prayer speaks for a particular archetype of the synagogue. The viewpoint and personality it communicates believes in the coming of an age of struggle that will see the ultimate victory of the Israelite people over all the nations, of the Lord over all the contending gods.

And, now, let us see how the liturgy writer makes the ten assembled verses that follow in the New Year prayer try to articulate this theme.

The Rav observed that the verses, as we shall now see, are drawn first from the Torah, then from the Writings, then from the prophets. He asked why this is so, considering that the canonical Tanakh, the Hebrew Bible as we have it today, is ordered Torah, Neviim (Prophets) and Ketuvim (Writings). To answer, he says simply that the prayer writer wanted to address God’s actions in chronological order, past (as found in the Torah), present (as found in the Writings) and future (as foretold in the Prophets).

The first three verses from the Torah do not express the complete idea of the liturgy. In fact, the idea of a King-God triumphing over other gods and the coming of an ultimate era where all peoples will worship him is not found in the Torah. Instead, the verses pick texts that have echoes of God called “King” or of his “reign.”

[1] As it is written in your Torah, “The Lord shall reign forever and ever (Exodus 15:18).”

[2] And it is said, “He has not beheld iniquity in Jacob, neither has he seen perverseness in Israel: the Lord his God is with him, and the trumpet shout of a King is among them (Numbers 23:31).”

[3] And it is said, “And he became King in Yeshurun, when the heads of the people were gathered, the tribes of Israel together (Deuteronomy 33:5).”

The next three verses from the Writings do express more of the ideas of the complete narrative embedded in the liturgy. In fact, the idea of a King-God ruling over other nations is a present theme in the Psalms. Yet the story of the coming of an ultimate era where all peoples will worship God is not found there. The verses again pick texts with echoes of God called “King” or of his “reign.”

[4] And in your Ketuvim it is written, saying, “For the kingdom is the Lord’s, and he is ruler over the nations (Psalms 22:29).”

[5] And it is said, “The Lord reigns; he has robed him in majesty; the Lord has robed him, yea, he has girded himself with strength: the world also is set firm; that it cannot be moved (Psalms 93:1).”

[6] And it is said, “Lift up your heads, O you gates, and be you lifted up, you everlasting doors, that the King of glory may come in. Who, then, is the King of glory? The Lord, strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle. Lift up your heads, O you gates; yea, lift them up, you everlasting doors, that the King of glory may come in. Who, then, is the King of glory? The Lord of hosts, he is the King of glory. (Selah.) (Psalms 44:7-10)”

The last of the Psalms citation is actually four verses. The Rav notes that they express a single kingship theme, a “challenge to humanity to voluntarily recognize the dominion of God.”

The next set of three verses is from the Prophets. They do express the complete idea of the liturgy because the idea of a King-God triumphing over other gods and the coming of an ultimate era where all peoples will worship him is derived from the prophetic works of ancient Israel. The verses from the books of Isaiah, Obadiah and Zechariah directly support the notion of the ultimate triumph of our one true God over the others after a day and time of judgment over the nations of the earth.

[7] And by the hands of your servants, the prophets, it is written, saying, “Thus says the Lord, the King of Israel and his Redeemer, the Lord of hosts: I am the first, and I am the last; and beside me there is no God (Isaiah 44:16).”

[8] And it is said, “And saviors shall come up on Mount Zion to judge the Mount of Esau, and the kingdom shall be the Lord’s (Obadiah 1:21).”

[9] And it is said, “And the Lord shall be King over all the earth: in that day shall the Lord be One and his name One (Zechariah 14:9).”

The final verse is again culled from the Torah, a bookend closing off the set of ten. It cites one of the best-known verses of the Torah and a centerpiece of the liturgy itself, the first verse of the Shema, Deuteronomy 6:4. That passage also does not express the complete idea of the liturgy because, while, in fact, it does declare the monotheistic unity of one God, it does not relate a struggle with the other deities or hint at a coming age when the oneness of God will be realized for the whole of the earth. For the purposes of this kingship liturgy, it appears to be enough that the verse declares God to be one. Specifying literally that God is King is not a necessary component for the inclusion of the verse.

 [10] And in your Torah it is written saying, “Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is One (Deuteronomy 6:4).”

The Rav says that the tenth proof text verse in each of the three sections is part of the closing appeal of the liturgy. The first part concludes with a reiteration of the basics of the main story line, and a “request” that God will reveal his reign as king over all the earth. The closing petition of the prayer then continues:

Our God and God of our fathers, reign you in your glory over the whole universe, and be exalted above all the earth in your honor, and shine forth in the splendor and excellence of your might upon all the inhabitants of your world, that whatsoever has been made may know that you have made it, and whatsoever has been created may understand that you have created it, and whatsoever has breath in its nostrils may say, the Lord God of Israel is King and his dominion rules over all.

[Our God and God of our fathers, accept our rest.] Sanctify us by your commandments, and grant our portion in your Torah; satisfy us with your goodness, and gladden us with your salvation: [and in your love and favor, O Lord our God, let us inherit your holy Sabbath; and may Israel, who hallow your name, rest thereon]. O purify our hearts to serve you in truth, for you are God in truth, and your word is truth, and endures forever. Blessed are you, O Lord, King over all the earth, who sanctifies [the Sabbath and] Israel and the Day of Memorial.

[And then the shofar is blown.]

Act 2: The next theme of the Rosh Hashanah Musaf to be announced is Zichronot, that God remembers his covenants with Israel. This theological statement begins with a liturgy that states an underlying assumption of the High Holidays, namely that an all-knowing God will judge all nations and all individuals on this day, the day that he created the world. God also knows all the thoughts and merits of each individual and judges them. And then the prayer switches abruptly to Noah as the example of one man who was spared the harsh judgment brought upon the earth and whose covenant with God protects us from destruction:

You remember what was wrought from eternity and are mindful of all that has been formed from of old: before you all secrets are revealed and the multitude of hidden things from the beginning; for there is no forgetfulness before the throne of your glory; nor is there anything hidden from your eyes. You remember every deed that has been done: not a creature is concealed from you: all things are manifest and known unto you, O Lord our God, who looks and sees to the end of all generations. For you will bring on the appointed time of memorial when every spirit and soul shall be visited, and the multitudinous works be remembered with the innumerable throng of your creatures.

From the beginning you did make this your purpose known, and from aforetime you did disclose it. This day, on which was the beginning of your work, is a memorial of the first day, for it is a statute for Israel, a decree of the God of Jacob.

Thereon also sentence is pronounced upon countries—which of them are destined to the sword and which to peace, which to famine and which to plenty; and each separate creature is visited thereon, and recorded for life or for death. Who is not visited on this day?

For the remembrance of every creature comes before you, each man’s deeds and destiny, his works and ways, his thoughts and schemes, his imaginings and achievements.

Happy is the man who forgets you not, and the son of man who strengthens himself in you; for they that seek you shall never stumble, neither shall any be put to shame who trust in you. Yea, the remembrance of all works comes before you, and you enquire into the doings of them all.

Of Noah also you were mindful in your love, and did visit him with a promise of salvation and mercy, when you brought the waters of the flood to destroy all flesh on account of their evil deeds. So his remembrance came before you, O Lord our God, to increase his seed like the dust of the earth, and his offspring like the sand of the sea.

The Rav finds in the liturgy several themes. First, God’s dominion over humankind crosses all of time from the beginning to the end of days. Second, God sees all and remembers all, every act of every individual. Third, God relates uniquely through the covenant to the Jewish people.

And, now, let us see how the liturgy writer makes the ten assembled verses in the prayer try to articulate the themes. The first three verses are from the Torah. They do not express the complete idea of the discursive liturgy but appear to focus on God remembering his covenants with Noah, and with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob.

[1] As it is written in your Torah, “And God remembered Noah, and every living thing, and all the cattle that were with him in the ark: and God made a wind to pass over the earth, and the waters subsided (Genesis 8:3).”

[2] And it is said, “And God heard their groaning, and God remembered his covenant with Abraham, with Isaac and with Jacob (Exodus 2:24).”

[3] And it is said, “Then will I remember my covenant with Jacob; and also my covenant with Isaac, and also my covenant with Abraham will I remember; and I will remember the land (Leviticus 26:42).”

The next three verses are from the Writings. They also do not express the full range of ideas of the introductory prayer. Each verse alludes to remembrance of a covenant:

[4] And in your Ketuvim it is written saying, “He has made a memorial for his wondrous works: the Lord is gracious and full of compassion (Psalms 91:4).”

[5] And it is said, “He has given food unto them that fear him: he will ever be mindful of his covenant (Psalms 91:5).”

[6] And it is said, “And he remembered for them his covenant, and repented according to the multitude of his loving-kindness (Psalms 106:45).”

The final set of three verses is from the Prophets. Again, each verse alludes to remembrance of a covenant:

[7] And by the hands of your servants, the prophets, it is written saying, “Go and cry in the ears of Jerusalem, saying, Thus says the Lord, I remember for you the kindness of your youth, the love of your bridal state; how you went after me in the wilderness, in a land that was not sown (Jeremiah 2:2).”

[8] And it is said, “Nevertheless, I will remember my covenant with you in the days of your youth, and I will establish unto you an everlasting covenant (Ezekiel 16:60).”

[9] And it is said, “Is Ephraim a precious son unto me? Is he a caressed child? As often as I spoke against him, I earnestly remembered him. Therefore my heart yearns for him: I will surely have mercy upon him, says the Lord (Jeremiah 31:20).”

The Rav develops a homily based on the choice and order of the three verses above. The first two promise that God will remember Israel as innocent and worthy, as young people who have not yet become corrupt. This is like a father’s love, says the Rav. His compassion is aroused when he remembers when his children were young.

The nuance in the third verse is that Israel is depicted as though still a child. This is like a mother’s love, says the Rav. A mother can always vividly see her children as her babies and thereby have compassion for them more immediately.

The last verse, below, is again culled from the Torah, a bookend closing off the set of ten drawn from a chapter in Leviticus where the idea of the covenants is treated in detail. The verse is embedded in the closing liturgical statement, at the end of the paragraph that evokes the dramatic covenant of the Torah that God made with Abraham at the binding of Isaac on Mount Moriah:

Our God and God of our fathers, let us be remembered by you for good: grant us a visitation of salvation and mercy from your heavens, the heavens of old; and remember unto us, O Lord our God, the covenant and the loving-kindness and the oath which you swore unto Abraham our father on Mount Moriah: and may the binding with which Abraham our father bound his son Isaac on the altar appear before you how he overbore his compassion in order to perform your will with a perfect heart. So may your compassion overbear your anger against us; in your great goodness may the fierceness of your wrath turn aside from your people, your city and your inheritance.

Fulfill unto us, O Lord our God, the word in which you have bidden us trust in your Torah through the hand of Moses your servant, from the mouth of your glory, [10] as it is said, “But I will remember unto them the covenant of their ancestors, whom I brought forth out of the land of Egypt in the sight of the nations, that I might be their God: I am the Lord” (Leviticus 26:45).

For you are he who remembered from eternity all forgotten things, and before the throne of whose glory there is no forgetfulness. O remember the binding of Isaac this day in mercy unto his seed. Blessed are you, O Lord, who remembers the covenant.

[And then the shofar is blown.]

Act 3: The final section, Shofarot, blasts of the horn, deals with the notions of God’s revelations to Israel at Sinai. The Rav emphasized that Maimonides directly linked the shofar to repentance. Its sounds rouse the Jew from his slumber to recognize his sins and seek forgiveness. And recall that the shofar itself is bent, says the Rav. According to the Talmud, this symbolized a person humbly bent over in prayer.

You did reveal yourself in a cloud of glory unto your holy people in order to speak with them. Out of heaven you did make them hear your voice and was revealed unto them in clouds of purity. The whole world trembled at your presence, and the works of creation were in awe of you, when you did thus reveal yourself, O our King, upon Mount Sinai to teach your people the Torah and commandments, and did make them hear your majestic voice and your holy utterances out of flames of fire. Amidst thunders and lightning you did manifest yourself to them, and while the shofar sounded you did shine forth upon them.

The theme is clear and unambiguous. God revealed himself to Israel, and the shofar accompanied those events. The first three verses from the Torah spell this out:

[1] As it is written in your Torah, “And it came to pass on the third day, when it was morning, that there were thunders and lightning, and a thick cloud upon the mount, and the sound of the shofar exceedingly loud; and all the people that were in the camp trembled (Exodus 19:16).”

[2] And it is said, “And the sound of the shofar waxed louder and louder; Moses spoke, and God answered him by a voice (Exodus 19:19).”

[3] And it is said, “And all the people perceived the thundering and the lightning, and the sound of the shofar, and the mountain smoking: and when the people saw it, they were moved and stood afar off (Exodus 20:15).”

The next three verses from the Writings extend the theme of the prayer. The shofar is used in celebration and praise of the Lord, God the King. The set concludes with an added bonus set of verses from Psalms.

[4] And in your Ketuvim it is written, saying, “God is gone up with a shout, the Lord with the sound of a shofar (Psalms 47:16).”

[5] And it is said, “With trumpets and sound of shofar shout joyously before the King, the Lord (Psalms 98:6).”

[6] And it is said, “Blow the shofar on the new moon, at the beginning of the month, for our day of festival; for it is a statute for Israel, a decree of the God of Jacob (Psalms 81:45).”

[6a] And it is said, “Praise you the Lord. Praise God in his sanctuary: praise him in the firmament of his power. Praise him for his mighty acts: praise him according to his abundant greatness. Praise him with the blast of the shofar: praise him with the harp and the lyre. Praise him with the timbrel and dance: praise him with stringed instruments and the pipe. Praise him with the clear-toned cymbals: praise him with the loud-sounding cymbals. Let everything that has breath praise the Lord. Praise you the Lord (Psalms 150).”

The Rav explains that the verses above describe how revelation from God is not confined just to a past event at Sinai and a future messianic time. A more subtle form of revelation is accessible in the present to every Jew who can experience God’s presence and know that he is not alone. The Rav calls this need to find God in the here-and-now a “halakhic imperative”—a requirement of Jewish law. To pray properly, a person must feel he is in proximity to God.

The Rav adds that the last set of verses [6a] breaks the structure of the prayer. The verses are not just proof texts of the theological theme of the section. They are a burst of song in God’s presence. The Jew today must visualize himself as if he was at the Temple in the days of old in the presence of God. And, hence, he needs to break out in song.

The last set of verses from the Prophets extends the message. The shofar is not just a sign of God’s revelation to Israel. It heralds God’s ultimate, universal revelation to all the nations of the earth. In this manner, the final section here serves as a bookend to the opening section of the first part of the liturgy above in Malchiyot, where God’s dominion over the nations of the earth is announced.

[7] And by the hands of your servants, the prophets, it is written saying, “All you inhabitants of the world, and you dwellers on the earth, when an ensign is lifted up on the mountains, see you, and when the shofar is blown, hear you (Isaiah 18:3).”

[8] And it is said, “And it shall come to pass on that day, that a great shofar shall be blown; and they shall come who were lost in the land of Assyria, and they that were outcasts in the land of Egypt; and they shall worship the Lord in the holy mountain at Jerusalem (Isaiah 27:13).”

[9] And it is said, “And the Lord shall be seen over them, and his arrow shall go forth as the lightning: and the Lord God shall blow the shofar, and shall go with the whirlwinds of the south. The Lord of hosts shall be a shield unto them (Zechariah 9:14).”

So be a shield unto your people Israel with your peace.

Our God and God of our fathers, sound the great shofar for our freedom, lift up the ensign to gather our exiles; bring our scattered ones among the nations near unto you, and gather our dispersed from the ends of the earth. Lead us with exultation unto Zion, your city, and unto Jerusalem the place of your sanctuary with everlasting joy; and there we will prepare before you the offerings that are obligatory for us.

And again, the last verse is culled from the Torah, and embedded in the concluding liturgy, and extends and associates the shofar with the sacrifices of the Tabernacle.

The Rav points out that [8] implies at the end of days that God himself will sound the shofar. Hence, this suggests that the revelation of the future in the age of the messiah will replicate that of the past when God revealed himself with the sound of a shofar at Mount Sinai.

As is commanded us in your Torah through the hand of Moses your servant, from the mouth of your glory, [10] as it is said, “And in the day of your gladness, and in your set feasts, and in the beginnings of your months, you shall blow with the trumpets over your burnt offerings, and over the sacrifices of your peace offerings; and they shall be to you for a memorial before your God: I am the Lord your God” (Numbers 10:10).

For you hear the sound of the shofar and give heed to the trumpet-blast, and there is none like unto you. Blessed are you, O Lord, who in mercy hears the sound of the trumpet-blast of your people Israel.

[And then the shofar is blown.]

There’s much more to be said about the theology and artistry of the prayers. My purpose is to show, through the liturgy of the dramatic central part of the Rosh Hashanah additional service, how the performer—the artist-poet-musician—weaves Bible verses together to create from many Bible-strands some elaborate liturgy-fabrics, the cloth of the expressions of synagogue prayers. 

I discovered along my spiritual journeys that the other ideal people that I met in the synagogue took all of this biblical material and much more and performed it so as to express their inner—sometimes mystical—longings in accord with their distinctive, slightly otherworldly personalities, as we see on the next leg of our journey, when we meet the mystic and her prayers. 

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Passover Shabbat Bris for baby Zev Zahavy

We welcomed Barak and Miriam's son, Elana and Maya's Brother, Shaiel, Yair, Gavi and Eitan's cousin, Yitz and Julie's nephew, our grandson Zev Mendel Zahavy, at his Passover Shabbat Bris today in Brooklyn, where he was named after my father Zev of blessed memory, who passed away 11 months ago.

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New Yorker: At His Birthday Party Philip Roth talks of Death

New Yorker has been churning out amazing content in the past few issues. David Remnick continues that flow with his account of Philip Roth's eightieth birthday celebration in Newark.

Remnick explains that death was Roth's main topic in his birthday remarks. An odd choice for a birthday festival for most folks but not for Roth.

Now, we usually don't dwell on the subject of death in our thoughts. But today we conclude our recitation of Kaddish for our dad. And that put us face-to-face with the subject. As we said in another post, we feel that through the public synagogue Kaddish ritual we firmly rooted our dad's soul into the community of Jews that he so loved and served with such dedication. As the community of Israel lives and flourishes, so does the energy of our dad live on. One form of immortality.

Dad's body rests in a cemetery in Israel on Har Hamenuchot overlooking the hills of Jerusalem. His presence there roots his soul in the Zionist dimension of our collective reality as a people. As the State of Israel lives and flourishes, so does the vitality of our dad live on. Another form of immortality.

Roth eloquently writes of the stones in a cemetery in New Jersey and the memory of his family. Roth has certainly rooted his soul in a public vital body of writing that will live on for a long time. A Rothian form of immortality.

Here is Remnick's teasing conclusion to his essay:

...Roth is the author of thirty-one books. His favorite, he has said, the one in which he felt the most free as he wrote it, is “Sabbath’s Theater.” Laughing a little to himself, Roth said that the novel, which was published in 1995, could easily have been titled “Death and the Art of Dying.” Its epigraph is Prospero’s line in Act V, Scene 1 in “The Tempest”: “Every third thought shall be my grave.” And within is the line from Kafka: “The meaning of life is that it stops.”

“The book is death-haunted,” Roth said. Mickey Sabbath, the turbulent, profane, and libidinous hero, is a man who is beyond discretion and taste, whose outrageous adulterous behavior is, Roth said, “his response to a place where nothing keeps its promise and everything is perishable.” As a boy, Sabbath lost the person closest to him in the world—his older brother, Morty, whose plane was shot down, in 1944, over the Japanese-occupied Philippines.

With that introduction, Roth read pages three hundred and sixty-three to three hundred and seventy of “Sabbath’s Theater,” one of the most stunning passages in all his work. He was not about to let us forget what eighty means. In the novel, Sabbath has gone south (“Tunnel, turnpike, parkway—the shore!”) to visit the Jewish cemetery where his grandparents, parents, and brother are all buried. I will not ruin it for you. To get the feel of the night, you must read the passage in full—or, better, read the novel entire. And imagine that this passage—with its great elegy of gravestones, with its memories of life lived, of a life cut short, and all of it in particular—imagine that this is what Philip Roth chose, very deliberately, as his birthday message, his greeting, his farewell. These were not his last words—please, not that!—but they were what he chose. Death-haunted but assertive of life. The passage ends with his hero putting stones on the graves of the dead. Stones that honor the dead. Stones that are also meant to speak to the dead, to mark the presence of life, as well, if only for a while. The passage ends simply. It ends with the line, “Here I am.”

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Roman Vishniac Photographs Exhibit at the International Center of Photography

The photographs of Roman Vishniac are on display at the ICP at 6th Avenue and 43rd Street.

We don't expect that Vishniac's portrait of our dad is in the exhibit.



Portraits of Albert Einstein and Marc Chagall made it into the exhibit.

    

The portrait selections in the exhibit are just one part of a larger collection. The catalog describes the portraits this way:

Portrait Studio and Nightclubs, New York

Upon arriving in New York in 1941, Vishniac turned to photography to support his family, opening a portrait studio on the Upper West Side. Always resourceful, he mined his connections in the Russian and German-Jewish expatriate communities to secure famous subjects for portraits—Marc Chagall, Albert Einstein, and Yiddish Theater star Molly Picon among them. These photographs of well-known artists, intellectuals, and performers helped establish Vishniac's reputation in New York, attracting a broad clientele to his studio, including Jewish émigré dancers, actors, musicians, artists, intellectuals, and scientists. His success in portraiture ultimately allowed Vishniac to pursue photomicroscopy, biology, and scientific research—fields that would become his primary focus over the next fifty years.

Vishniac also turned his camera to the city's nightclubs, where war- weary New Yorkers, abetted by a swell of immigrant performers and off-duty servicemen, sought distraction at a frenzied pace. His dynamic and skilled work, focusing on jazz musicians, actors, comedians, and dancers, exhibited here for the first time, incorporated highbrow and lowbrow, popular and avant-garde, focusing primarily on three Jewish- owned nightclubs: New York's first integrated nightclub, Café Society, The Village Vanguard in bohemian Greenwich Village, and the burlesque joint Leon & Eddie's. Much like his earlier work in Eastern Europe, Vishniac's portraits of Jewish émigré intellectuals and performers capture the vitality and resilience of Jewish life, this time from the perspective of a different segment of the diaspora, facing its own set of challenges.

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Thanksgiving Sermon of Rabbi Zev Zahavy 1943

Here is my dad's sermon from 1943 for the holiday of Thanksgiving.

Click here for Rabbi Zev Zahavy's 1943 Thanksgiving Sermon, published by the RCA, Rabbinical Council of America.





A big hat tip to Zechariah for finding this and sending it to us.

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The Theological Cosmology of Rabbi Dr. Zev Zahavy - on Kindle from Amazon

Talmudic Books has published for Kindle, "Whence and Wherefore" a major work of theological cosmology by Rabbi Dr. Zev Zahavy, of blessed memory.

Here is the final chapter of the book:

14 THE PLIGHT OF THE PARTICULAR

A very sagacious cocoon for emergent life was spun on Planet Earth by Mother Nature. However, her main concern seems to be the fostering of species, and ensuring their perpetuation. Nature patently ignores the trials and tribulations of the particular. Nature is clement toward her family, but obdurate toward its individual members. Small wonder, then, that an analysis of the human situation reveals wholesale anguish and anxiety as the forerunners of despair and hopelessness.

Such forlorn attitudes are quite prevalent in contemporary society. The atheist-existentialist, for example, moans about the vacuity of human existence. There is no logical explanation for the inanity of man’s being. In fact, it appears that nature played a cruel hoax on its supreme product, man. It endowed man with an intellect, with which he was enabled to perceive the utter futility of his own essence.

It is not easy to suffer the awareness of a meaningless existence. No organic specimen, other than man, has been inflicted with such a prepotent imposition. It hardly inspires a zest for life when one observes nature smiling broadly upon the species as an entity, and favoring the biologically superior product, while brusquely turning her back upon the tortured human psyche. Why was man chastised by being granted a brain that may apprehend all this?

Has man’s superior mental apparatus brought him greater security or happiness? An ego-awareness faculty, such as man possesses, becomes a hollow mockery in face of the emotional torment it causes him to endure. His intellect weighs upon him like a burdensome albatross. It would have been a far better thing for man to have been deprived of such a keen, discerning thinking-equipage, because as a simple biological creature, he would never have comprehended the sordid plight of mortal existence. If man were nothing more than a menial biped, he would have been spared the voluminous psychological stress and emotional sorrow to which he is presently subject.

Now that man, through his superior intellect, has unlocked a Pandora’s box revealing the gross human condition in all of its misery, to whom may the pitiful individual turn for comfort, solace, and sympathy in the dark hours of isolated suffering and loneliness? Shall he call upon Mother Nature? But Mother Nature could not care less about his pathetic predicament. If the distressed subject persistently squints at the world through a constricted, agnostically dominated vision, then, indeed, there is no one to turn to but himself. Life, as seen by the atheist-existentialist, is an absurd carousel. It comes from nowhere and it goes nowhere, all to the accompaniment of a garish musical clatter. Existence is a kaleidoscope of crazy-quilt patterns; and because it makes no sense, being may be equated with nothingness.

Accordingly, the atheist should not misrepresent the fact that in the eyes of Mother Nature, the plight of the particular evokes little sympathy. Once nature’s callous demeanor toward the particular is acknowledged, the atheist becomes hard-pressed to offer a sensible explanation for the evolution of a unique human ego. If man, as a biological product, is nothing more than the chance eruption of a peculiar specimen, whose only function as a particular is to interlink another element of the human concatenation for the simple perpetuation of an irresolute species, then what is the purpose of endowing him with a faculty for self-conscious awareness?

This question becomes an especially thorny issue for the Darwinians and contemporary behaviorists, who conceive the cosmic cycle of nature as operating through a doctrine of “natural selection,” so that nature only produces that which is required for the survival of the species. If such is the case, the highly developed brain of species Homo sapiens serves no valid purpose. In fact, in view of his marked penchant for fratricidal demolition and global suicidal behavior, modern man represents a blatant antithesis to the law of “natural selection. “

There was no biological compulsion on the part of the evolutionary process to produce a rationally minded, egoconscious, and self-analytical specimen. It would have been more within the operational design and function of nature to generate an emotionally sterile and rationally supine creature bearing the same image as man. Such an anthropomorphous being could adequately populate a planet through the instinctive procreation of a subintelligent, but psychologically tranquil, species, “Homo simpleton.” A species “Homo simpleton” would have been the logical Darwinian progression beyond the higher primates, and endowed with an appropriate set of animal instincts necessary to conform with the survival pattern of nature, it would have made a logical capstone for the evolutionary process. Not Homo-sapiens, but “Homo-simpleton” should have populated this planet, because nothing more than an exceedingly shallow-minded folk should have appeared at the end of the long, Darwinian chain.

The facts of life, however, are otherwise. Modern man emerges as a paramount prodigy of the extensive cosmic scheme of nature, and this poses a baffling situation. In the eyes of the atheist-existentialist, man’s appearance is inexplicable; in the sight of the honest scientist, he is an anomaly. Furthermore, the human acquisition of a high-grade intellect discredits the theoretical structure dogmatically developed by the Darwinians and the latter-day behaviorists.

Why should a universe emerging through the rigorous throes of pure accident and sheer chance evolve an intelligent specimen of matter who has the ability to analytically contemplate his own ego structure? As a product of mere coincidence, the formulation of an advanced, rationally equipped entity makes little sense. Even from an orthodox pantheist’s point of view, the chief purview of nature suggests a desire to activate a biologically thriving universe, which requires nothing more elaborate than a variety of creatures endowed with instinctive awareness for survival and propagation. An emotionally turbulent, psychologically complex, and intellectually superior human species should never have appeared on a cosmic menu, if it is assumed that the Master Chef is nonexistent. Under such conditions, man is not only unnecessary, but in contrast to rationally deficient and mechanically or instinctively motivated matter, he appears to be an incongruous absurdity.

The absolute emergence of rational man, therefore, indicates that the cosmos is not the consequence of an accidental cataclysmic catastrophe. This conclusion, however, does not yet explain the circumstance of the disaffected particular. The impersonal, mechanistic disposition of nature toward the individual embodiment of a species remains a disturbing enigma. Why does nature hardly exhibit any concern for the destiny of the specific particular? Her only interest is to preserve a particular so that it may service and perpetuate the species.

Nature’s lack of interest in the particular is quite evident in the area of propagation. Nature disperses its seeds in such generous proportions that one may chide her for exercising impetuous wastefulness. For every seed that takes root or that germinates, there are many dozens, hundreds, and thousands that are scattered uselessly, and their fruition never sees the light of day. Furthermore, man is appalled at nature’s indiscriminate exercise of her powers. Her destructive fury may strike forth against the wicked and the innocent alike. Why, indeed, does Mother Nature display a heartless amoral attitude toward the struggling particular?

This brings us to a vexing dilemma that determines the entire outcome of man’s personal relationship with God. Since the Divine Personality radiates its message through nature, does the lack of biological concern for the welfare of the particular, as found in the cosmic scheme of nature, reflect the divine will of God? If it does indicate the divine attitude, then the abyss between man and God can never be bridged, and the human endeavor to address the Supreme Being is hopelessly futile.

An understanding of man’s position as a particular must be two-fold. On the one hand, man is nought but an innocuous particle of nature, and in this respect his particular identity is of slight consequence. However, man is also something else; but this supernumerary status depends upon the point of view man, himself, assumes toward the cosmos.

If man decides that he will occupy only the biological lowlands where the law of the jungle prevails, then his particular existence fades in importance and diminishes in its specific significance. Neither Brute Biological Man, nor Domesticated Biological Man, nor Civilized Biological Man can file a claim for meaningful existence, because they choose to identify solely with the base biological thrust of life, where the particular survives in an impersonal atmosphere of dispassionate instinctive awareness.

In the valley of selfish biological survival, man fails to perceive a higher ego identity. It is when man arrives on the Theological Plateau, and certainly on the Prophetic Summit, that a distinguished ego consciousness comes into view. Lower Biological Man, however, is so busily engaged with matters of the flesh that he ignores the opportunities to reach the higher spheres in life. Resolutely, he prefers to occupy his sordid environment, where the chief occupation is to satiate crude biological appetites and, principally, the sex drive. Lower Biological Man swings with nature-in-the-raw, and in so doing, he slips to the nadir of existence. As a particular in that realm, he commands an insignificant status.

Despite its shortcomings, the domain of Lower Biological Man appears to be exceedingly popular. It attracts vast numbers of the global population to its banner, and they render it homage fit for a deity. Formal philosophical schools of thought have been devised to accommodate the mass penchant for a life-style extolling the biological motif above all else. Atheist-existentialism stands out as a notable example.

The atheist-existentialist relates the particular to the en soi category of biological instinctive awareness. For this reason, the atheist-existentialist deems life to be a futile struggle. Human existence is confined to the biological valley of the three lower biological specimens: Brute Biological Man, Domesticated Biological Man, and Civilized Biological Man. The upright two-legged creature is conceived as nothing more than an educable beast. Man must struggle along for survival with all other instinctively aware creatures in nature. As a consequence, despair, anguish, and futility prevail.

In a broader sense, man is more than an instinctively aware creature. Man has developed the unique ability for self-conscious cognition. With the inimitable capacity to identify his own ego, man advances to a higher status of existence. He becomes superior to the common category of organisms who thrive through instinctive awareness. Simply stated, man, alone, knows that he has an ego. Only man is cognizant of an ego within himself and within his fellowman. An important facet of ego-cognition is the aptitude to perceive that, within a fellow human being, there also resides the power for ego-cognition.

The intellectual expansion of man through his power for ego-cognition inspires within him an intrepid resoluteness to identify his own particular being as an essence of vital significance in the universe. His self-knowing skill convinces the individual that he is endowed with a sense of special importance and purposefulness.

If the outlook of man is a criterion, then an ego-cognizable specimen finds existence unbearable unless the particular is invested with meaning. If no purpose is evident for the creature blessed with ego-cognition, then life becomes a harrowing drama of grievous anguish and wearisome despair. To the atheist-existentialist, who nullifies all raison d’être, existence becomes a burdensome exercise in futility. Man finds it difficult to endure a situation whereby his particular essence is merely meshed into the survival pattern of non essential flotsam floating along a stream of cosmic residue. Man cannot abide the existence of an en soi if life is to convey even the slightest apparition of meaning. Unfortunately, the atheist-existentialist, in directing man toward a pour soi essence, fails ignominiously to provide the human specimen with a worthwhile prescription for achieving a valid goal in life. The pour soi directive of the atheist-existentialist is as empty, vapid, and nugatory as is his otiose en soi.

A creature possessing the potential for ego-cognition represents an extraordinary breakthrough in the normal functional pattern of nature. Heretofore, all existence was either inorganically automated, or if organic, instinctively motivated. One could hardly anticipate the emergence of a human specimen with the power to rationally analyze and influence nature’s organic and inorganic operation.

Man is indeed an anomaly. In one sense he is a biological product with hardly any redeeming features to warrant special notice. In another sense, however, he stands squarely above all nature as a regal and supremely intellectual giant. As a percipient persona, man cannot sustain a limited state of simple instinctual awareness. He feels impelled to generate an essence that may transform his existence into a meaningful adventure.

Although the psychological essence of human ego-cognition is biologically dependent, it nevertheless encourages man to assume that he is the proprietor of a unique being, and therefore, he is vastly superior to the diverse miscellany of nature. Man asserts that his particular essence does qualify for a distinctively respectable status of incomparable significance. Because he is equipped with such a highly proficient intellectual talent, man makes bold to declare that his particular being arises as a purposeful event in cosmological history. In fact, man knows that he does relate meaningfully to the stars, the galaxies, and the universe.

Ultimately, it dawns upon man that the special endowment of a profound intellectual capability is not merely a fatuous license for his own sophisticated, biological amusement; rather it is an imperious mandate charging him with the obligation to search beyond nature for the source of all things. Man’s ability to postulate the query “wherefore” imposes upon him an imminent responsibility to seek the “Who.” The process of this search for the Grand Master is marked by a somewhat devious route. Man must first embark upon a penetrating, introspective ego analysis before he may acquire a discerning revelation of the universal absolute.

The circuit to the Divine Personality commences with the unfolding of the mortal “I” ego. Through ego-cognition, man may assume that he holds a more valid status in the cosmic identity. His existence exudes the quality of a vital essence. His particular ego occupies an eminent category in the unfolding destiny of the universe, because man knows that he relates historically to the first proton. By reason of this primary awareness, he recognizes that he shares in some small fashion in the determination of cosmic eschatology. Man discovers a unique relevance in tracing the source of his own being. By further extension of the faculty for self-conscious cognition, man is able to discern a meaningful premise for his own identity.

How does man proceed to certify his endorsement as a meaningful particular in the cosmos? He records his biography from generation to generation, and he ratifies his book of existence as an important volume in universal eschatology. In fact, he believes that each individual record in his encyclopedia of life is an essential text in cosmic history.

Man concludes that his existence does leave a mark upon the world. He is convinced that the consequences of his own particular adventure stamp an indelible imprint on the destiny of the cosmos. His being is a microcosmos reflecting the macrocosmos. His life is not a mere shadow flitting from insignificance to nothingness, because through the remarkable identification of his I/mortal ego, he can postulate the divination of God. Indeed, through the awareness of his own “I” ego, he can infer the presence of a Divine “I” ego. Authentic existence is thereby within the reach of man. To qualify for authentic existence, the self-conscious cognition faculty expands its comprehension of the particular “I” ego, and eventually, it becomes possible for man to conceive God as an “I” Divine.

Man’s particular being, therefore, is vitally significant, and the diminution of his “I” ego through his passing is a tragic event. Moreover, if man ever becomes extinct as a result of his own malevolent disposition, no front-page headline type will ever be large enough to justifiably herald such a horrendous catastrophe. Of course, no typesetters will have remained, anyhow, to record such a disastrous event.

It is therefore reasonable for man to consider the emergence of his ego-cognition faculty as an indication that such a largess is a special grant from a power beyond the instinctual, automated operational design that is so clearly manifest in nature. There is no doubt but that the species Homo sapiens arises as an unusual phenomenon in the universe. Here is a strange particle of matter of the cosmos that developed the skill to comprehend its environment; the ability to contemplate itself; and the proficiency to search for its source in time and space. Could such a being be the quite accidental consequence of an impersonal, natural occurrence? The rare thinking organism could only conclude otherwise. Man’s appearance had to be the divinely inspired and divinely ordained consummation of a cosmic scheme.

Rational man refuses to credit a blind, coincidental interaction of impercipient atoms with the competence to formulate its own paradigm for the emergence of a specimen able to contemplate itself. The appearance of a self-conscious awareness factor in nature must have been conceived through the grace of a higher intellect. On the entire horizon of nature within the periphery accessible for human analysis, man alone stands out as a specimen who may study his “I” ego. No other organism known to man can recite the apparently simple first-person pronoun, “I,” and comprehend its significance.

The special human capacity for ego contemplation opens the intellectual gateway for the postulation of a Divine Personality iridescently resplendent within the sacred folds of its own Supreme “I” Ego. In taking this bold step forward toward a more personalistic identification of an Eternal, Immutable God, man presumes to impart a distinctive and meaningful quality to his own particular being. No other creature exhibits a personalistic analysis of its own ego. No other living specimen known to man discerns the concept of God, let alone a Divine Ego. The exclusivity of this profound eruditeness achieved by man is reason enough for him to assume a superior posture of purposefulness.

With such a keen analytic aptitude, man rises above the vortex of nugacious biological existence and invests his individual appearance with meaning. He refuses to accept the nondescript designation that Mother Nature customarily imposes upon her offspring. Man substantiates the claim for individual pertinence by endowing each particular with its own characteristic name. The particular’s importance and singularity are confirmed by assigning each individual member with a personalized nomenclature. This practice certifies the distinctive identity of the I/ego. In a similar vein, man assumes that God must also be known by name, so that His all-meaningful being may remain supreme in the eyes of His creatures. Subsequently, the custom of name-calling is applied to the rest of organic and inorganic matter, but this measure is undertaken by man merely for the sake of establishing a convenient means of description and identification by which they, too, become part of a universe of meaning.

The fact remains that man, alone, communicates through the process of names. Man, alone, resists nature’s impersonal attitude toward the individual specimen. Man defies nature’s callous disposition toward the particular by providing the persona with purposeful significance through a historically applicable relationship involving the cosmos and the Creator.

Man may take pride in the fact that his unique cognitive ability is withheld from every other earthly, organic creature. The singular manifestation of ego-cognition accorded to man, therefore, marks him as a distinguished and purposeful existent being in nature.

A more profound revelation of ego-cognition occurs with the enunciation of the divine Decalogue’s first commandment: “I am the Lord, thy God....” God is identified as exhibiting a self-conscious awareness faculty. Inasmuch as self-conscious awareness is evident only in the intellect of man, its parallel source must be located in a superior realm, namely, in the domain of the divine. It is therefore considered to be a divine gift to be able to enunciate the word [. Man has been so blessed, only because he reflects the image of the Divine Personality. The revelation of a divine ethos in the universe becomes possible when God’s identity is formulated and expressed as Supreme “I.” The I/mortal may then relate to the I/Divine, following which, man may proceed to perfect his intellectual prowess so that he may discern the universal moral directive within the design of a divinely inspired universe.

The unfoldment, then, of the I/mortal leads to an apocalyptic unveiling of the I/Divine. When man discovers that he is an “I,” he feels impelled to adduce a similar transference of ego manifestation to the Divine Personality. If man displays an “I,” then God must surely exhibit the Supreme “I,” and it is through the omnipresence of the Supreme “I” that man may experience a divine revelation. Thus, the divulgence of the I/Divine enables man to perceive the will of God in the universe.

The quintessence of authentic existence resides in the essence of divinity. God’s being is the purest and most perfect form of existence. If man could reflect some aspect of the Divine Being, he possibly may acquire a modicum of authenticity for his own mortal being. If man gains even a whit of authenticity in his life, he may justly claim a token of special respect and meaning for his particular identity.

In what manner, then, may man demand to be distinguished from the ordinary existence of a commonplace substance whose particular is of little interest to Mother Nature? How may man garner the appropriate esteem so that he may claim a meaningful measure of relevance for each single human specimen? Such a role is fulfilled when mortal ego-cognition basks in the resplendency of the I/Divine. Since the I/Divine formulates the basis of all authentic existence, the I/mortal, by emulating the divine essence of ego-cognition, justifiably may conclude that in the Divine-mortal ego-similitude, human existence acquires authenticity. When man, in enunciating “I,” perceives that he is afforded the awareness of his own humble mortal ego only by virtue of the beneficent grace of the supremely Divine “I,” then he may infer the unfoldment of such similarities in personality structure as being a coadunate concomitance of authentic existence.

God emerges from His role as the transcendent composer of the glorious cosmic epic, and reveals Himself as the supreme I/Divine, whose particular essence manifests a unique singularity and individuality. By emulating the ego cognition evinced by the I/Divine, the I/mortal, although trivial by comparison, nevertheless, through the privilege of imitatio deus, assumes for its own mortal particular a singular quality of unique identity and significance in the cosmic drama of the universe.

As indicated, an interpretive analysis of the self-conscious awareness faculty encourages man to conceive himself as bearing an I/mortal ego that is a minute reflection of the I/Divine. Man should not be too harshly criticized if, subsequently, he boastfully announces, as is recorded in an early Genesis passage, that he was made “in the image of God.” Indeed, if both man and God exhibit ego-cognition, then an imagery parallel between them is not too facetious a pronouncement for the ancient biblical scribe.

A sharp contrast becomes evident as life casts its flickering shadows across the screen of existential reality. Whereas in the broad sweep of nature the particular is of little concern, on the Theological Plateau and on the Prophetic Summit of man’s domain the particular is never regarded as blithely expendable. Nature exercises a cold, impartial attitude toward the particular. The single specimen is of interest only as it serves to sustain the propagation and continued survival of the species. On the higher plateaus of man, however, the particular enters into a covenental relationship with God. The particular speaks to God; the particular considers the mysterious personality of God; the particular ponders on the problem of life’s purpose, and therefore, searches assiduously for the divine message. This rapport and communion that the I/mortal endeavors to establish with the I/Divine helps to convince man that he is granted the privilege of considering his ego-being as engendering a meaningful significance. Man cannot help but conclude that he is a vital link in the chain of cosmic destiny as outlined by the recondite master plan of the Supreme Being.

The enlightenment that man derives on the upper intellectual plateaus in relation to the identity and aspirations of the ego, fills him with a true sense of worth. He deems it valid to pursue the enigma of life, and in this metempirical search, he hopes to gain authentic existence. Man is convinced that authentic existence is within his reach. Where, however, does it seem most propitious to encompass it?

The lower Biological mode of subsistence offers small hope for capturing the authentic in life. Little wonder, then, that the particular on the lower Biological levels is so ruthlessly ignored and so harshly disdained. One must climb, therefore, to the intellectual plateaus, and particularly to the Theological and Prophetic heights, if one is to discern authenticity. In the rarefied atmosphere of the upper Intellectual realm, the distinctive recognition of the I/mortal ego, and its relation to the revelation of the I/Divine, invests man with a noble posture for living.

As man descends from the upper Intellectual spheres along the incline leading to the Majestic Biological Plain, he feels that his life is filled with a sense of meaning; his singular appearance is important; and his particular identity has purposeful value. A basic element in man’s search for authentic existence, therefore, is the appropriate identification of the I/mortal ego, so that it may fulfill its function in the establishment of a meaningful relationship with the I/Divine. The I/mortal must strive to reach the plateau that is most promising for a rendezvous with the I/Divine.

In a frantic desire to reach God, man has applied his creative talents to the maximum, hoping thereby to arrive at the proper formula. As a consequence, a plethora of ritualistic doctrines were developed over the centuries, and these were designed for the purpose of making available to man a prescription for divine communication. The rituals established in the course of many generations as a means of reaching God now possess the distinguished characteristic of tradition. In addition to his many other traits, man is a decidedly sentimental creature, and an identification with tradition, therefore, promotes a more favorable psychological climate for intrepid living.

Assuredly, both ritual and liturgy are important elements in man’s search for authentic existence. They are essential as expressions of his determination to reject the stigma of expendability that nature stamps upon the individual specimen. By pridefully addressing God, and this is usually accomplished through established ritual and liturgy, man asserts that he is not expendable. He declares in stentorian tones that his particular ego identity is not a passing fancy in the wind. His essence, although mortal, has value, significance, and purpose.

Man, however, recognizes that he is weak, both physically and psychologically. He therefore requires the gracious guidance of a higher power to aid him in securing a significant essence. In order to win a seal of meaningful approval for his own humble status, man suppliantly turns heavenward and implores that his own “I” ego—his own I/mortal-may relate in parallel conjunction to the I/Divine. Just as the I/Divine is unique and supremely indispensable in its particular identity, so does man beseech that his mortal “I” may reflect a spark of this uniqueness, a spark of this indispensability—in short, a spark of meaningfulness in the dispassionate cosmic panorama of the universe.

The classic outcry of the Psalmist, “Bless my soul, O God!,” well reflects this notion. It suggests through implication: “Exhibit Thy awareness of my essence; of my egoidentity; because only through my relationship with Thee, O God, does my life assume extraordinary value. Grant unto me the privilege of being acknowledged as a significant particular. Do not cast me into the melting-pot of estranged biological phenomena. Do not relegate me unto the meaningless maelstrom of lower biological subsistence, where the particular is measured only in terms of its pragmatic biological efficiency. I implore Thee, O God, bless me with a more meaningful cognizance of Thy Being, so that my own being may thereby acquire a greater degree of authenticity.”

Thus, by pleading for a demeanor of worthiness, man hopes to find the way to perfect his own existence so that it may be authentically developed. The alternative is to float aimlessly along the broad, impersonal stream of purportless, particular matter scattered throughout the universe. Man, however, is impelled to presume that his being is different, because he is the only identifiable specimen possessing the rare quality of ego self-cognition.

Man’s particular identity, therefore, is important. His unique essence has significance, and somehow, man concludes, his being does affect the destiny of the cosmic drama. Man interprets his appearance as the crowning-point of nature; and why should he not assume such a regal stature? Consider, in all of creation to which man has access, there appears no other creature endowed with the unique capacity to conceive through a self-conscious awareness of a mystifying, mortal personality, a glimmer of the ineffable I/Divine. As a fitting climax to such a profound revelation, may not man boldly presume to endow the whole universe with meaning?

Therefore, man should not be branded as being overly arrogant when he concludes that nature produced a whole cosmic panorama of matter, so that one of its products may look in on itself; analyze its own condition; declare its independence from the apparent absurdity of the en soi; identify itself by name; perceive the Divine Being; and furnish its own particular entity with meaning by relating in a personalistic manner, through confrontation and dialogue, to God.

The problems that arise at this point become quite profound and abstruse. How near can man come unto God? How much of the Divine Personality can man truly discern? How involved a dialogue can the human persona develop? The analysis of these enigmas calls for the most concentrated application of human rational perspicuity.

In order to comprehend the futility of any mission, it is necessary to attain a high level ·of knowledge in that specific field of endeavor. The incongruity of advanced mathematical equations that have no solution can best be understood by one who has achieved the astute sagacity of an expert mathematician. The futility of the quest to discern the ultimate secrets of nature that lie beyond the reach of the human finite mind can best be appreciated by those who explore the domains of the higher plateaus.

Technological Man gains a modicum of awareness of the formulation of nature through a patient, persistent, and thoroughgoing analysis of the universe of relational knowledge. He finally learns “how” nature operates. Although he does not learn the “why” of things, because he lacks the inspiration to know the “who,” Technological Man nevertheless makes an extremely valuable contribution to the storehouse of human knowledge by developing man’s ability to compose the necessary question—to arrange the puzzling equation that has no answers.

In his “how” research, Technological Man peers into the complicated strata of nature, only to discover that the configurations and the aspects of relational knowledge eschew any semblance of personality. Within the limited accommodations of a “how” investigation, Technological Man may find an “it,” but never a “who.”

Philosophical Man, in his search for “why,” finds that the answer points to the mysterious “who,” and identifies this being as “He”—the hidden Divine Personality—or more appropriately, for Philosophical Man, the Supreme Being. Technological Man never confronts a personality, and therefore, he can never perceive a “He.” It is a concept beyond the most advanced cognitive faculty with which Technological Man is concerned on his domain.

Theological Man, searching for a Divine Thou, soon learns that man can never attain the answer to the ultimate “who.” At best, all that Theological Man can hope to achieve is a proper phrasing of the question. The essential significance of the Personality Mysterium is beyond human comprehension.

In view of the fact that his quest is so hopeless, shall Theological Man succumb to a mood of despair? Decidedly not, because a knowledge of certain aspects of the personality of the Supreme Creative Intellect may be derived from finite nature. The perception of the glittering rays of the Divine Intellect sparkling within the bosom of nature like precious gems is reward enough for the soulful human rational faculty.

Although the Master of the Palace seems to be beyond the pale of immediate recognition, nevertheless, the aura of His Divine Presence pervades its stunning, elaborately designed chambers, which exhibit the grandeur of elegant accoutrements. Consider the experience of entering a magnificent, yet strange mansion. In the owner’s absence, one may strive to ascertain aspects of the owner’s personality through a visual assessment of the architectural design, decor, and furnishings. The excitement of recognizing within each artifact a reflection of the taste and possibly personality of the owner becomes an intriguing task in itself.

So is it with God. As the Supreme Creative Intellect, the Divine Persona may never be known; and it therefore appears that a direct confrontation is impossible; nevertheless, we continue our search, and we are delighted when we discern a fresh facet of the Divine Personality emerging from our scrupulous analysis of definitive clues in nature.

Ultimately, we find that not only is a normative structure visible in the universe, but a unified communion of matter becomes more logically evident. A single strand of causal relationships appears to flow from the atom to the far-flung galaxies—in the refrain of the learned astronomer: “ ... the existence even of stars and galaxies depends in a delicate manner on the force of attraction between two protons”—and the radiant glow of the Divine Personality emerges. To such a Personality, we may find it possible to relate.

An ensuing dialogue between two personalities—one mortal-and One Divine—becomes not alone a possibility, but moreso, a human responsibility; and again, the strain of the learned astronomer resounds: “A remarkable and intimate relationship between man, the fundamental constants of nature and the initial moments of space and time seems to be an inescapable condition of our existence.”

From this “remarkable and intimate relationship,” there arises a discernment of moral law and order. It is the consequence of an exercise of extraordinary cognition between the I/mortal and the I/Divine. Man communicates with God, and majestically rises to the Prophetic Summit, from whence he may carry away divine tables of testimony inscribed with a meaningful ethos; as the lyrical prose of the learned astronomer avers: “Human existence is itself entwined with the primeval state of the universe and the pursuit of understanding is a transcendent value in man’s life and purpose.”

As man regards the grandiose panorama of his universe, and struggles to fathom its meaning, he is struck by the innate apperception that one of the great miracles of man is his ability to comprehend. Physiologically, the human rational organ consists of a complicated myriad of nerves, tissues, and brain cells. It has no rival on this planet in its capability for conscious awareness. Man is so greatly impressed with his own thinking mechanism that it appears correct for him to assume that his cognitive apparatus is a keystone target of the universal design. Through this faculty of prodigious perception, species Homo sapiens is able to postulate meaning for existent matter and life.

Under the spell of sentimental romanticism, literary artists have assumed that God created an impressive universe for an awe-inspiring apprehension by man. They ponder: To what avail is the glory of creation and the imposing majesty of nature, if there be no other aesthetic consciousness to appreciate its splendor besides God? Empty, cold, and foreboding is the vast spectrum of starry space, if no conscious mind other than God perceives its ineffable beauty. Furthermore, man’s appraisal of nature yields significant principles for conduct. It will be a tragic moment in the universe when human consciousness disappears, for then aesthetic judgment subsides, moral apperception fades into oblivion, and the comprehensible schema radiated from nature is lost to mortal awareness.

The learned astronomer taught that “the pursuit of understanding is a transcendent value in man’s life and purpose.” The measure of man and his status in relation to the universe and the Divine Being depends upon the manner of understanding that he seeks.

Biological Man achieves existential awareness of the crudest sort. He knows that things exist. Technological Man gains existential consciousness. He comprehends “how” things exist. Philosophical Man cognizes abstract awareness. He acknowledges a “why” in the universe. Theological Man attains moral perception. He searches for the “who” beyond the universe. Prophetic Man conceives moral discernment, for he discovers a Divine omniscient deontology operating behind the facade of the natural universe. He discerns the ultimate “Who,” the Divine “I.”

Finite man eventually comprehends the futility of seeking knowledge beyond the limits of human cognition. Although man becomes resigned to the hopeless situation of “never to know,” nonetheless, he is ever impelled to set forth on the quest for the ultimate source of all knowledge time and time again.

It is important that a perversion of the distinctive levels should not occur as a consequence of careless behavior. Such an event betokens a pathetic absurdity within the ranks of human existence. When Philosophical Man cavorts in the manner of Brute Biological Man, he distorts the human image and may be chastised for succumbing to idiotic behavior. When Domesticated Biological Man presumes to determine policy and practice for Theological Man, he may be castigated for appropriating unto himself an arrogance of license.

In a logical situation, from both a personal and communal standpoint, the higher plateaus should inspire and direct the lower categories so that they may endorse a humane and beneficial subsistence. However, when a superior sphere is subjugated and controlled by a lower level, a travesty of rational behavior may result. Life, then, becomes meaningless, and a fearful absurdity of being overwhelms the human population. Man cringes under the burden of existential insecurity; his survival is imperiled; and all hope for the future subsides. An illogical hierarchy convulses the stability of human development. The dire consequences evoke a mood of deep anguish, leading to futility, despair, and inauthentic existence.

What is the key to authentic existence? How shall man overcome the ominous threat of anguish and despair? Man must determine that all is not futile and hopeless; that it is possible to “apprehend the ethos of the evening star”; and that this noble task may be accomplished by drawing ever closer to God.

Man must seek to relate to God in a personal intimate fraternity. If intimacy suggests a romantic affair with God —so be it. Indeed, man has the capacity to indulge in an affair of intellectual romance with the Divine Personality, and he should not overtly evade this splendid opportunity. A romance-experience with God directs man to his finest hour of authentic existence. There are, however, certain prerequisites.

The Divine romance-experience cannot be fulfilled on the lower Biological Plain; nor can it be consummated on the Intellectual Plateau in the regions of Technological and Philosophical Man. Lower Biological Man sees only his own ego; with him, narcissism is possible, but not romance. Amour is futile on the Technological Plateau, because it is absurd to establish an affair of the heart with an “it.” Philosophical Man is deficient, because one cannot enter into a reciprocal love affair with a “He.”

The first meaningful opportunity for a Divine romance occurs on the Theological Plateau. A liaison becomes possible when God is envisaged in an “I-Thou” relationship. On the Prophetic Summit, where man exercises his maximum intellectual capacity by aspiring for an “I/mortal—I/Divine” encounter, the Divine romance-experience blossoms into its fullest expression.

Where should man seek his rendezvous with God? The atmosphere of the research laboratory is hardly conducive for such a demanding encounter; nor is the marketplace any better; nor is the mystic atmosphere of a guru parlor propitious for such a courtship. Where, then, indeed shall man turn? The answer is remarkably simple.

In view of the unique nature of the human aesthetic character, the most desirable appointment for a Divine meeting occurs in the House of Prayer. Man’s ability to experience and express deep-felt emotions makes it appropriate, as well as practical, to identify with a respectable and a well-established theological discipline. The individual passion for Divine adoration is best suited to the milieu and format of formalized religion. A more meaningful religious experience may be developed in a theologically dominated environment. Although a Divine communion may be consummated almost anywhere, God seems to be more readily accessible in a respected place of worship.

Plainly stated, the gateway to God is available to all. To reach it, one need only seek the Divine Thou as echoed by the fervent cry of His dedicated servant, the prophet Jeremiah. In a historic hour of deep anguish and despair, he implored with heartfelt simplicity: “Turn us unto Thee, o God, so that we may return.”

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