A couple weeks ago I got very excited by the idea that the name for our historical priests ("Levi") was very similar to "Lah-vi", which means "my heart". Further research dispelled this notion; there are two letters that make the "v" sound, and the similarity of the two is merely coincidental, not indicative of a linguistic link. Still, the idea intrigued me enough that I wanted to spend some time playing with it.
Following the link in one direction, the priests become the heart of the community. The vital organ that keeps blood and life flowing through our communal body. While the modern rabbi is very different in many ways from historical priests, this part remains the same. More than leading prayers, more than teaching the youth, the rabbi's job is to keep the vital energy flowing through the congregation, spreading prayer, education, and administration where they are needed like nutrients through the bloodstream.
Moving in the other direction, I love the image that each of us has our own personal priest residing in our chest. We do not need external clergy to regulate our connection with the divine; we can create prayers, interpret the law, and talk or listen to god all on our own. This is the voice inside us that reminds us what is right and what is wrong. Beyond the written Torah and the oral Torah we have this inner Torah; we study the others just to remind ourselves of what our hearts already know.
It's probably because of my love of puns, but I am less willing to believe in pure coincidence than most scholars when it comes to words sounding alike. Granted, every language has words they assimilated from other cultures, which greatly heightens the evidence for "coincidence", but one of these terms is a name. That means at some point someone said, "I like the way this word sounds! I want to be called that for the rest of my life." Someone else, knowing the meaning of the name, chose it for their child. Interestingly, the name "Levi" is translated as "joining"; some sources attribute this to Leah's desire for Jacob to join with her. Even if it is a coincidence, there is a very pleasing resonance between "joining" and "my heart".
Showing posts with label Hebrew. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Hebrew. Show all posts
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Doubt
Don't worry; Merryl Strep does not appear anywhere in this post, except in this first sentence here and you don't have to worry about this one because it's going to end now.
Things I learned this week in Hebrew class (I'm not at the computer that has the Hebrew fonts loaded and my cheat-sheet on the keyboard, so just imagine this has actual Hebrew. I'll fill it in later if I remember.):
1. The root samech-fey-koof means, loosely, "to provide".
2. The words deriving from this root have related meanings; such as, "I have enough", or - work at this one a bit - "we will get there on time".
3. The same root - or at least the same letters, it's not entirely clear - makes the word safek, which means "doubt".
I'm a little surprised I never learned this before; it seems the type of apparent contradiction that rabbis live for. It's possible I did hear and wasn't listening, or forgot. Regardless, we played with this duality for a while in class.
Our teacher suggested it means that when you are content, it creates doubts that you will continue to be content. A variation on the idea that the more you have, the more you have to lose. Or possibly looking forward to say, "Today I have enough; will I tomorrow?" I pointed out a more scholarly bent; to whit, have you ever heard a Jewish scholar be happy when s/he lacked for a doubt? Certainty teaches us nothing; it is doubt that teaches us by driving us to answer it. A bit too much "the rose and the thorn"? Maybe. But likewise it is that fear of scarcity, that doubt, which drives us to achieve contentment; the two concepts are very linked.
There was another idea I liked better, though. To me the connection is a bit of an ironic one. I could easily see it emerging as a joking piece of slang. Or perhaps the irony is a bit deeper than that; perhaps it began as a prayer. When we express a doubt we are, in some way, asking for contentment. We are looking for answers, for reassurance, for security.
This idea exists elsewhere in Jewish teaching; I recall a midrash that tells us when we complain, God says, "You think that's bad? Check this out!" Likewise, when we talk about how good life is, God says, "You think that's good? Check this out!"
Safek could work the same way; an inverse dayenu, if you will. "God," we say, "I am content. I have all the food, shelter, love, and answers that I could ever need." God replies, "Oh yeah? You think so, do you? I bet I can make you even more satisfied with your life!"
Our doubts are our prayers. When we express them, we ask a question. Salesmen, good ones at least, love questions; they know that each one is an opportunity to draw you a little closer. Each doubt we raise, each question we ask, draws us closer to God, closer to perfect contentment.
Things I learned this week in Hebrew class (I'm not at the computer that has the Hebrew fonts loaded and my cheat-sheet on the keyboard, so just imagine this has actual Hebrew. I'll fill it in later if I remember.):
1. The root samech-fey-koof means, loosely, "to provide".
2. The words deriving from this root have related meanings; such as, "I have enough", or - work at this one a bit - "we will get there on time".
3. The same root - or at least the same letters, it's not entirely clear - makes the word safek, which means "doubt".
I'm a little surprised I never learned this before; it seems the type of apparent contradiction that rabbis live for. It's possible I did hear and wasn't listening, or forgot. Regardless, we played with this duality for a while in class.
Our teacher suggested it means that when you are content, it creates doubts that you will continue to be content. A variation on the idea that the more you have, the more you have to lose. Or possibly looking forward to say, "Today I have enough; will I tomorrow?" I pointed out a more scholarly bent; to whit, have you ever heard a Jewish scholar be happy when s/he lacked for a doubt? Certainty teaches us nothing; it is doubt that teaches us by driving us to answer it. A bit too much "the rose and the thorn"? Maybe. But likewise it is that fear of scarcity, that doubt, which drives us to achieve contentment; the two concepts are very linked.
There was another idea I liked better, though. To me the connection is a bit of an ironic one. I could easily see it emerging as a joking piece of slang. Or perhaps the irony is a bit deeper than that; perhaps it began as a prayer. When we express a doubt we are, in some way, asking for contentment. We are looking for answers, for reassurance, for security.
This idea exists elsewhere in Jewish teaching; I recall a midrash that tells us when we complain, God says, "You think that's bad? Check this out!" Likewise, when we talk about how good life is, God says, "You think that's good? Check this out!"
Safek could work the same way; an inverse dayenu, if you will. "God," we say, "I am content. I have all the food, shelter, love, and answers that I could ever need." God replies, "Oh yeah? You think so, do you? I bet I can make you even more satisfied with your life!"
Our doubts are our prayers. When we express them, we ask a question. Salesmen, good ones at least, love questions; they know that each one is an opportunity to draw you a little closer. Each doubt we raise, each question we ask, draws us closer to God, closer to perfect contentment.
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