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Section 5 of “Shekhinah: The Presence” by Joseph Zitt
This is an unedited scan of the text, courtesy of Josh Ronsen
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Six words.
We say them clearly
distinctly
our hands closing our eyes
as we enunciate
each letter
each unwritten vowel
each silence between words
One letter wrong
and the meaning is blasphemy
One wrong vowel
and the meaning is in doubt
One misplaced silence
and the meaning is at best obscured.
Six words.
We focus on the One Creator,
the Unity,
forgetting for the moment
all manifestations
all simple evidence
even the solidity of
his Presence.
She, alone,
floats above us,
weightless,
glowing,
rejoicing,
joining in our proclamation.
Her love and power pour down on us
like the gentle rain
that does not disrupt
the white-globed dandelions
and she turns
facing in all directions
yet at all times facing east.
She, too, chants clearly,
showing no envy
towards the One of whom she is
a partner and a part
a mate and an emanation
showing her closeness
to us and to the One
at a careful distance
so that we may concentrate fully
on the One without distraction.
She floats,
her love and focus
joining with ours
as we chant
Six words
in the ancient sacred language
(though like so many words
they expand and lose some focus
when moved away into other tongues):
Hear
We chant aloud
as our words sail forth
beyond the solid chambers of
this sacred hall.
We chant aloud
these ancient words
going back
to the ages of the Holy Books
to the days of Moses
to the nights of Solomon
back to these words
which rose from the lips of believers
from the lips of martyrs
always making sure
that they were heard
by other believers
and potential believers
by our tormentors
as a sign
that their iron combs
could not flay our spirits
by the One
as a proclamation,
and, for some,
as a prayer that the One
might believe equally in us.
Israel
and most importantly,
that we heard ourselves and each other
proclaiming unity
of the One
in the One
for the One
proclaiming ourselves
to be of the ones
who chose,
or were chosen by,
or chose to be chosen by,
the One we follow.
"We will do them;
we will hear them"
our ancestors said of the
forthcoming laws
conveying trust
(or perhaps extreme self-confidence)
that whatever the One would command us
we would promise to fulfill.
"We will do them;
we will hear them"
in that order.
The stars arranged themselves
above Mount Sinai
as a dotted line
and, with an invisible quill
made of feathers
of all the doves
who would give their souls
in sacrifice
with weightless ink
comets-tail white
made of blood
of sacrifice and martyrdom
blended with the tears
of Sarah,
believing Isaac was no more,
of Hannah,
who prayed that, like Sarah,
she might someday see a son
of all mothers
who died, and saw others die,
in pogroms,
wars, and
holocausts,
with a giant hand
formed of the will of generations
its lifeline stretching
from the past to the unknown
its fingers spread
in the secret sacred salute
to which, when our priests
repeated it in blessing,
the Presence would come,
for a moment, to rest
its pulsing veins
arrayed in the emulation
of the brief holy name
that the leather strands
around our merely human hands
now follow
we signed the eternal covenant
and met the strong hand
and outstretched arm
of the One
and shook on it
reaffirming the contract
made with Noah
and bonded by the rainbow
made with Abraham
in the field of visions
where the flaming torch
and smoking oven
moved among
the half-animals they sacrificed
made with Jacob
at Bethel
before his favorite son
was born
before his wife and his father
died
before
(emboldened by the knowledge
that he would share
in his fathers inheritance)
he joined for one last
peaceful moment
with his spurned angry brother
to bury their father,
embracing Esau at Hebron
before their sons resumed
their interminable wars.
"We will do them;
we will hear them"
and with these words
our ancestors changed
from a random band of refugees
into a people
still to have to wait to find a land
still to have to pass through cycles
of conquest
exile
wandering, and
return
still (their name showing that
their ancestor had wrestled
with messengers of the One)
wrestling with their own beliefs
trying to find adaptations
interpretations
re-creations
to make the ancient words fit
the changing worlds
in which we must survive.
The Lord
Despite the insistence
on clarity
accuracy
consistency
we do not
spell this word as spoken,
speak this word outside of prayer
(with even the substitutions
we speak now)
write this word in such a way
that we might deduce
from simple letters and from vowels
how we would pronounce it
if we were to dare
disobey the warnings
of teachers and mystics
that from these four letters
miracles are made.
Even the way we pronounce it
within prayer
within readings of the holy books
is a mystery.
The Name of the One
seems to be plural,
not, as we translate the Name,
"Lord"
but rather,
"Lords"
as if showing that within
One is All,
as if saying that
the One that commands
the One that blesses
the One that gives
and takes away
all are the One
and, as we pronounce it,
the Name is personal,
not a simple distant object
"The Lord" [NOTE FROM JOSH: remove the comma, as
above?]
but rather
"My Lords"
as if showing the connection
in a single word
as if saying that
the One that creates
the One that watches
the One that rewards
and disciplines
all speak to us
is our God
and now, another name
this one softer,
pronounced as spelled
whereas, they say,
the first name denotes judgment,
this name denotes mercy
and the holy books
use first one name,
then another,
showing, some say,
aspects of the One
visible in that part of the story
showing, according to others,
who wrote that part of the story
and when
and, perhaps, why
and this name, too,
is strangely plural,
as is the hidden verb
nestled between the names
"My Lords are our Gods"?
the struggle
between meaning and vocabulary
between statement, sense, and syntax
between the words on our lips
and the feelings in our hearts
compels up to drive onward
The Lord
again,
again stating the first name,
the ineffable name,
spoken from the depths of sacred mystery
with the sounds of an unrelated word
spelled, through our teachers
well-intentioned indirection
with the vowels of the spoken word,
leading those who dared to speak them
devoid of special powers,
the ashes of the burnt husk
of what seemed to be the name
dry and bitter
on their erring tongues
and even these mistake
were judged unsafe by our teachers
who told us not to speak the holy name
nor even to utter the second name,
the mask that hid the Tetragrammaton,
except in carefully controlled
environments
except when at the height of prayer
instead we only say "The Name"
as if, by saying the name of The Name,
we name that
to which we mean to refer,
the One who rests
under layers of onion skin
inscribed by those
schooled in the sacred,
removed from being one with the Earth
by layers of metaphor
in which he is clothed
by the emanations and manifestations
which mediate and interfere
making sure that only the purest souls,
the most stubborn,
pierce through the symbols
and come to rest
in the highest of heavens
next to the throne of the One
while we down here are comforted
by his partner self,
his Presence,
sheltering us as we speak the words
(the strangely plural,
the misleadingly pronounced,
the ineffable)
that proclaim the Unity,
the identity,
of the name we dare not speak
is One
of the One
At last it rests on this:
that in all the confusion
of names and numberings,
of inscription and pronunciation
of the repetitive
the hidden and
the oddly plural
the One,
who is named by every sound
whose image resonates with
the paths of planets and stars
whose scent is carried
by every breeze that
drifts through memories,
masking, for the moment,
the mundane truth
transmitted by the air,
is One.
And our teachers have told us
to say this twice each day
with the intent to make it seem
that this simplest of statements
the core of all we speak in prayer
is a new revelation
never before heard
never before exposed
now brought again to light
for us to contemplate.
and we pause,
then whisper the prayer that Moses
was said to have learned
from the angels:
"Blessed is the name
of the glory of his kingdom
forever."
(again we say that the Blessed is blessed
again we speak of the name, not the One,
and of his kingdom which is everywhere
the Creator is;
that is--
everywhere)
then speak of the places and times
where we have been commanded
to remember six holy words
and the source of the shawl
and the boxes and the straps
with which we wrap and bind ourselves.
And the Presence spins and lowers,
weaving a bright sheer web of holiness
above our leader
then, gently,
she brings us together
after our grand statements
our bold proclamations
there will soon be silence
with her tiny, powerful hands
with her seemingly fragile fingertips
that carved the words of the One
with letters of fire
into slabs of stone
she transfers a kiss of silence
to our minds
our lips
our hearts
our hands
and we all stand together
we each stand alone
all as one in her eyes
all made equal by her touch
each locked
in a silent secret focus
by the power of her kiss
as we stand and face the east
and her beauty blends with the rays
of the now risen sun
as we prepare ourselves for these meditations
together
alone
in silence.
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