~At the Edge of the Deep~ 

In a dream,
God took me to the swamp,
The formless deep,
Roiling with anticipation and desire,
From which divine yearning
Created us all.
Everything held in nothingness,
Light confined in darkness.
Life calling out in song,
Souls calling out in prayer.
Seeds of beauty and terror,
Seeds of history and eternity.
God asked me:
“Shall we make Human in our own image?”
Confused, I replied, “You’ve already made me.”
“Oh, dear one,” God said,
“Before I created you
You called out to Me from the deep,
You yearned for Me,
You courted Me,
And I fell in love.”
© 2023 CCAR Press from “These Words: Poetic Midrash on the Language of Torah” by Alden Solovy 

 It seems that while the G-d keeps saying Ki tov, it is good, in the Bibilical text we begin reading again this weekend, all the way back at Genesis 1, according to the midrash, while something isn’t quite right. Something happened in this world that seemed so perfect. That was called the Garden of Eden, Paradise, that we call heaven. Something went wrong.  

Here is a new poem by Danielle Coffyn that won the Pushcart Prize: 

If Adam Picked the Apple
There would be a parade, 
a celebration,
a holiday to commemorate 
the day he sought enlightenment. 
We would not speak of 
temptation by the devil, rather, 
we would laud Adam’s curiosity, 
his desire for adventure
and knowing.  

We would feast 
on apple-inspired fare: 
tortes, chutneys, pancakes, pies.
There would be plays and songs 
reenacting his courage. 

But it was Eve who grew bored, 
weary of her captivity in Eden. 
And a woman’s desire
for freedom is rarely a cause 
for celebration. 

After they eat the apple, probably a pomegranate, when G-d asks “Ayecha, Where are you?,”they try to hide. Hide from G-d? Interesting idea. How can you hide from G-d? Doesn’t G-d everything? Doesn’t G-d know where they are? 

It could have been perfect. Something happened. So G-d degrees they will be expelled from the Garden. They are going to have to work by the sweat of their brow.  By the time we pick up the story, there is sibling rivalry and the first murder. G-d asks Cain almost the same question G-d asks Adam and Eve. “Where is your brother?” Doesn’t G-d know? Or is like the mother who finds the broken cookie jar and says, “Who broke the cookie jar?” knowing full well who! Cain famously asks “I do not know. Am I my brother’s keeper?” And the implication is YES. You are your brother’s keeper. You are accountable for his actions, and your own! There has to be accountability. We have to take care of one another.  Jealousy is bad. Sibling rivalry is bad. Murder is bad. Is that clear? 

Next week, we read the story of Noah. G-d is really frustrated with the world G-d created. We know the story. At G-d’s command, Noah builds an ark. It rains and pours for 40 days. That storm destroys everything on the earth, except the ark and those on it. This is not the first time G-d gets angry. In the midrash G-d created and destroyed 974 worlds before this one. (Midrash Tehilim 90:13) This time, G-d makes the first covenant. A sacred promise. A contract. G-d promises to never destroy the world again. At least by water.  

This is a week we think a lot about rain and water. G-d separates the water from the dry land. We add a prayer for rain. Water has the power to heal and to destroy. I was relieved that we got through Sukkot with very lovely weather. Being in the Sukkah was nearly perfect. Yet, we desperately need rain in this climate. This is not the first time where there is a dought. Even in the ancient land of Israel.  

There is an old Talmudic story about Honi the Circle Drawer who lived in the first century BCE. We often tell one of the stories about him around Tu B’shevat, the New Year of the Trees. Seems that he had a special relationship with God and his prayers were quite effective. There was a terrible drought in the land of Israel. The rainy season had ended with no rain and the Israelites were about to enter the dry time of year. When rain is plentiful, it’s an afterthought. During a drought, it’s the only thought. The people needed rain.  

The people sent for Honi to pray for rain because they knew that God listened and answered Honi’s prayers. Honi prayed, but no rain came. Then Honi drew a circle in the dust around himself and told God that he would not leave the circle until G-d sent rain. A little audacious. A little chuztpidik, perhaps. It began to rain, but so little and light that the people complained to Honi. They kvetched. They told him that it was raining only enough to release Honi from his vow, but not enough to end the drought.

Honi turned his face to heaven and spoke to God, “Not for this type of rain did I pray, but for rain which would fill wells, cisterns and ditches.” The skies opened and the rain came in torrents. Again, the people came to Honi. Again the people kvetched. This time they cried that the rain was beginning to flood and damage the land.

Honi turned his face to heaven once more and prayed, “Not for this type of rain did I pray, but for rain of your favor, blessing, and graciousness.” This time, G-d heard Honi’s prayers and answered with a rain that refreshed the land. It’s like the Goldilocks prayer for rain.  Of course, like much in Judaism, there are two sources for this, both from the Talmud, Taanit 19a and 23a. 

“Like water, teshuvah is both destructive and creative. It dissolves the person you were but simultaneously provides the moisture you need to grow anew. It erodes the hard edges of your willfulness but also refreshens your spirit. It can turn the tallest barriers of moral blindness into rubble while it also gently nourishes the hidden seeds of hope buried deep in your soul. Teshuvah, like water, has the power both to wash away past sin and to shower you with the blessing of a new future, if only you trust it and allow yourself to be carried along in its current.” Dr. Louis Newman 

In the old days, as part of the end of Sukkot, on Shimini Atzeret precisely then that we add the prayer Geshem. You wouldn’t want to say it too early. You wouldn’t want those paths home from Jerusalem to be too muddy. Today we began to add it’s echo in our Amidah, “Mashiv haRuach u’Morid haGeshem, “Who causes the wind to blow and the rain to fall” 

Rabbi Jacob Fine teaches that, “the complete dependence of life on water is powerfully conveyed through the Hebrew root ג-ש-ם (gimel-shin-mem), which can mean both rain and physicality. Lest we forget that we are made up of nearly three-quarters water, the Hebrew reminds us that without geshem (rain), there is no gashmiut (physicality). Or in other words, without mayim (water), there is no chaim (life).” 

This is a prayer that is specific to the land of Israel, although we desperately need rain here. Still. Even after the storms of Thursday night. When Shira was studying this prayer, she was reminded of something Yossi Klein Halevy wrote about the fact that Jews spent centuries praying for the rain and dew in season for the land of Israel, even though most of them never travelled there. But his point was that we never abandoned our land. 

Here is a classic cantorial recitation from Cantor Azi Schwartz at the Park Avenue Synagogue.: 

https://www.facebook.com/watch/?v=610600010807967  

Here is a video of this important prayer. I know a number of people featured in it, but we found it thanks to Shira. It may even contain a glimpse of Margot Seigle.  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=imxxAEHaG5g&t=28s 

This year, there was at least one rendition that added extra stanzas to beg G-d for rain for the merit of the victims of October 7th: 

“Remember the children who returned to their land, like streams of water. On a day of wrath, the wicked overwhelmed them like a flood of water. As they grasped the handles, their tears flowed like water. Hear the cry of their blood, spilled like water.
For their sake do not withhold water. 

Remember the thousands who rushed to battle on the day of the prayer for water. For the sake of their brothers, they entered fire and water. In love for Your people, their hearts stirred like the sound of flowing water. Their bravery flowed like a river of water.
In their righteousness, grant the grace of an abundance of waters.
Remember the captives, men and women, on the eight day, judged by waters. Like a leaf, they were caught in a current of water. In distress, in the darkness, in a pit without water. Have mercy and redeem them , like the flight of doves and like clouds of water.  

For their sake, do not withhold water.” (Rabbanit Shlomit Piamenta)

Powerful words. Please G-d hear them.  

Yet, there is a little more here we need to do. We pray for rain through the zecut, the merit of our ancestors. People have talked about our responsibility to the earth as it relates to this prayer. G-d promised to never destroy the earth again with water. You might want to check with any of the people who have endured the floods and hurricanes of this year, whether they still think this way. 

How are we accountable? Do we have any responsibility? 

Today’s Torah portion teaches that we are partners with G-d in creation. We have an obligation to take care of this earth. In Deut. 20 it teaches this very concept, the Jewish value of bal taschit, do not destroy. We are not to destroy fruit trees if we siege a city. From that we extrapolate that we are not to destroy anything. Earlier in Deuteronomy, in the paragrpah that we deem the second paragraph of the V’ahavta, we are told that  “If, then, you obey the commandments that I enjoin upon you this day, loving Adonai your God and serving Adonai with all your heart and soul, I will grant the rain for your land in season, the early rain and the late. You shall gather in your new grain and wine and oil— I will also provide grass in the fields for your cattle—and thus you will eat to contentment.” (Deut. 11). 

We need to do more than pray for rain. We need to work for a time where we are accountable for not destroying this glorious world.