D’var Torah – To raise the voice and weep

Written by Rabbi Josh Levy — 6 November 2020

One of the things that we sometimes overlook in our tradition, with its focus on study and intellect; with its detailed legal framework – the product of dialectic and argument; with its insistence that we can control our yetzer hara, our evil inclination with the power of our will…

One of the things we sometimes overlook when we consider all of this, is just how raw it can be.

The level of emotional honesty in our texts is extraordinary. Read our narratives and you will find moments of real, uncensored emotion.

 

This week’s portion is a good example – Abraham confronted with the pain of a difficult choice – to reject the instructions of his wife and God, or to send away his son into the wilderness: va’yera hadavar m’od b’einei Avraham al odot b’no – this thing was greatly distressing to Abraham on account of his son;

Hagar, having been sent away, desperate in the wilderness with her son, places him down, va’tissa et kolah va’teivk – she raises her voice and weeps.

Pain and love, sadness and loss are openly displayed in our story. Our ancestors call out, and they cry.

As well as being a legal, intellectual, rational tradition, ours is also an emotional tradition. It recognises that to be fully human is to acknowledge and express the emotions – God-given – that we contain within us.

 

Of course, this is not always easy. It is far less exposing to keep tight control of our emotions. It is easier to hide our emotions behind declarations, to find people to be angry at, people to blame.

Rather that than be willing to say: I am sad, or scared, anxious, disappointed.

In our modern world, rarely do we feel the safety to say how our experiences are making us feel.

 

But for many of us, our emotions are very raw as we experience our world at the moment. Not all of us. We are, all of us, different in our responses of course.

But for most, this year has been testing to say the least. This month is living up to its Hebrew name – MarCheshvan, bitter Cheshvan – so called as it has no festivals or rejoicing. And this week is more challenging still: having seen us go into another lockdown, with events in Vienna and Washington very present in our minds

Our sadness at what we cannot do, the loved ones with whom we cannot be, mixed with anxiety at what we see in the world around us.

The word I keep hearing is ‘heaviness’. A heaviness that sits upon us, within us.

 

So how do we make it lighter? What can we do to ease it?

The insight of our tradition is that the way to do so is not to pretend it isn’t there, but to name it; to find the strength, as our tradition does for our ancestors, to be emotionally honest.

 

There is much that I want to ask of you this evening: to be patient, to be sensible and safe, to keep looking out for each other

But most of all, perhaps, to give one another, and ourselves, permission to be honest about how we are feeling.

For those who need, to name that heaviness which we encounter and through naming it to find shleimut, emotional wholeness.

 

There’s a thing that happens in many of the psalms: ancient poems which are truly in touch with their own emotions.

Many of them begin with pain, fear, loss. With heaviness

But through the expression of these emotions, the tone changes. The psalmist finds hope, finds the ability to raise the voice and sing.

There’s one on your supplement, Psalm 13.

It cries out ‘how long will I have cares on my mind’ but it ends with words of joy ‘I will sing to God, for God is good to me.’

 

Through the next few weeks, may we find it in ourselves to name how this world is making us feel. And to give others the space to do so, too. And through doing so, may we, like the psalmist, find the ability to sing.