There’s a painting in our office in the new apartment we are still finishing in the high rise building near the mall in the city where we rented our first apartment when we came here what now feels like a long time ago and it was. It is a gaggle of men studying. I started to say a group of Rabbis but why do I assume only Rabbis study. I guess you could ask why only men but that’s a different discussion. They sit pretty close to each other, breathing disagreements and questions on each other’s faces. Things we notice now.
I replaced the glass and the matt after the glass cracked in our move. It’s been with us ever since I was a student Rabbi in Vicksburg, Mississippi in 1965-66, a gift from the congregation after my one-year internship with them. They were incredibly warm, gracious and proud Jews of the South and put up with this naïve and inexperienced young Yankee from Boston. The congregation had been founded officially in 1865. But Jews have been living in Vicksburg for almost 200 years.
It is a Zvi Raphaeli Litho. (Whatever that adds to this story. But in Jewish tradition it is imperative to quote your sources and name your teachers.) And they teach, these lines of color, strokes from a paint brush of the artist’s creativity. They teach about time and Torah; they teach about nostalgia and memory; they teach about an eternal quest to make sense of this life we have been gifted. One man is sleeping, maybe just a quick nap. Or maybe it is the Rabbi and they learn more from his silence than his words. I know about silence. Sometimes it is distant and cold, angry and bitter. Sometimes it is reflective and soft, harmonized compassion. Sometimes it is wise. I try to remember that simply refraining from speech opens up the moment to unforeseen potential. Speech is populated with words I already knew; silence celebrates that there is more to learn from each other.
My men are not silent. They are arguing about tomorrow. What will be its shape and how will we rise from this table piled with ancient tomes? I would recommend to them The NYTimes article “No One Knows What’s Going To Happen” (Mark Lilla) as a worthwhile antidote to the hints they scour in the texts before them. In a way it is an echo of what happens when you are willing to live with the silence. Everything we say about tomorrow is a guess. Some guesses are more educated than others, but our predictions depend on so many variables including will my scholars in the portrait wear a mask when they leave the House of Study. Including will my scholars pray with their deeds and not just their words.
There is a very hard lesson to be internalized here. “Human beings want to feel they are on a power walk into the future, when in fact we are always just tapping our canes on the pavement in the fog. A dose of humility would do us good in the present moment. It might also help reconcile us to the radical uncertainty in which we are always living.” (NYT: Lilla. 5/24)
Scary this uncertainty. But if we are honest, we were never in control. We just lived as if we were. It was way more comfortable and settling. This stuff is tough but you all know that and didn’t have to read this far to hear me say it. But back to my scholars. I think what got them through is they had each other. If nothing else that was a constant worthy of emulating.
rabbiunplugged 
Wonderful reflection, as always. Thank you.
I didn’t know you had a connection to Vicksburg. My roommate at Notre Dame was from Vicksburg and I visited him and his family there over Easter in 1962. He practiced law there for many years, and we visited him there in 1976. Lovely city. Blessings, Tom
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Very beautiful along the Mississippi
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“What got them through is they had each other.” I’ve been working on a piece about companionship. But, darn it, you put it all in one sentence.
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Thankyou Rabbi. Indeed we are in “interesting times”. Your thoughts evoked a response in my center most part of my soul. That being that it seems what we all seem to have in common is uncertainty. Others might name it chaos. Whichever words we use they do seem inadequate don’t they? What struck me in your teaching was the phrase, “will they pray with their deeds?”. Thankyou for this. I would venture that my sources are far to numerous to state but I offer thanks to Torah, you and for the search for the ability to be constitutionally honest with myself by using prayer, meditation and self-inventory. I am grateful for today. Shalom to all..
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You are welcome -grateful for today is good
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Being grateful for today is “huge”
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Thank you, Rabbi for the reminder. Covid-19 is the latest, arguably one of the most stark reminders that we’re not in control. We get reminders of this reality throughout of lives. Creates a lot of anxiety but it’s necessary for us to preserve some humility. Another silver lining is that the acknowledgement of lack of control can remind us to enjoy the present because we don’t know what will happen tomorrow.
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Best ever rabbi unplugged. Maybe because it makes me think that it’s about art, when it isn’t.
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Skillfully crafted piece with impactful last sentence which reflected the voids of isolation so meaningfully.
I loved it.
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Dear Howard,
Very sweet and wisdom-filled piece today. Do you mind if I quote you on Facebook?
*I try to remember that simply refraining from speech opens up the moment to unforeseen potential. Speech is populated with words I already knew; silence celebrates that there is more to learn from each other. *
Thanks and warm regards,
Howie
“We don’t stop playing when the game is over. The game is over when we stop playing.” *Satchel Paige*
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Thanks for the nice words and of course you can quote me wherever — gracias
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Being able to connect, one human to another(even on zoom) these students seem to know this, oh the discussions, discourse that might arise from being together! We are understanding that importance more than ever! Thanks for another moving, thoughtful piece!
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It’s with you over 50 years and you find new relevance. Now that’s a meaningful piece of art!
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What a great writing. First, I loved the thought of connecting seriously and not so seriously but lovingly with friends and colleagues. And Second, your writing today caused me to walk around my house, looking at many of the paintings I have bought, received as gifts, inherited from my family. Why are they important to me? What do they say? One day, when we can meet again, I will tell you of the courage I receive from the large Calman Shemi rug that hangs above my fireplace- a picture of a young girl in the darkness about to walk into a beautiful room with bright colors, and flowers. It reminds me always that when we are in a dark place, just on the other side of the door is something beautiful, enriching, exciting, and new. Thank you for reminding me of the messages in so many of my pictures.
Love ya,
sharon.
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We love Calman Shemi – we could never afford him when we were in Israel back then
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Your blog entry certainly brings out the dilemma of philosophically reacting our place in this crazy world.
Being a person of simple thoughts, I hearken to Omar Kayyam;
Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse—and Thou
Beside me singing in the Wilderness—
And Wilderness is Paradise enow.
Please pass me the “Thou”
Larry
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.” I know about silence. Sometimes it is distant and cold, angry and bitter. Sometimes it is reflective and soft, harmonized compassion. Sometimes it is wise. I try to remember that simply refraining from speech opens up the moment to unforeseen potential. Speech is populated with words I already knew; silence celebrates that there is more to learn from each other.”
Powerful. I will be sure to quote you, my teacher, when I re use this beautiful teaching.
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Thank you – that means alot
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