ויכל משה מדבר אתם ויתן על־פניו מסוה
Shemot 34:33
When Moses had finished speaking with them, he placed a covering over his face.
In this week’s parashah, we find a fascinating passage concerning Moshe’s descent from Sinai. We are informed that Moshe decided to cover his face with a mask after realizing that his facial skin had become radiant, causing people to withdraw and not dare to approach him. Moshe walked daily throughout the Israelite camp with his mask on.
What is utterly surprising, however, is that when Moshe had to convey the words of God to the people, he deliberately took the mask off, revealing his luminous face. Instead of accommodating them by making it easier to approach him, it seems he wanted to bring them into an altogether different spiritual setting before repeating the words of God as he had heard them.
When Moshe took off his mask
By taking the mask off only when he had to repeat the words of God, he exposed them to this divine radiance, which caught them completely by surprise. The purpose, then, was to catch them off guard.
Human beings can quickly become desensitized to even the most astonishing stimuli once they get used to them. The wonder wears off. For Moshe’s radiance to have an ongoing effect, it had to be hidden so that when he would reveal his face the Israelites would be deeply moved by its luminance. Only under those conditions could they fully appreciate and value God’s words, realizing that every word Moshe spoke in the name of God was authentic. Otherwise, even the words of God would become mediocre and dubious. Familiarity breeds contempt.
Religion is the art of knowing what to do with amazement. To ensure that it does not fall back into complacency, it must never become everydayness. In fact, this has been of the greatest challenges to Judaism in the last few hundred years. While in the days of Moshe and the prophets, Judaism was experienced with deep religious excitement, as a majestic representation of the new, over the centuries this wonder has been replaced by a devastating familiarity. Judaism has put on a permanent mask that is never removed.
Retaining our capacity for surprise
The famous physicist Max Planck wrote passionately about the sense of wonder:
. . . This feeling of wonderment is the source and inexhaustible fountain-head of his desire for knowledge. It drives the child irresistibly on to solve the mystery, and if in his attempt he encounters a causal relationship, he will not tire of repeating the same experiment ten times, a hundred times, in order to taste the thrill of discovery over and over again . . . The reason why the adult no longer wonders is not because he has solved the riddle of life, but because he has grown accustomed to the laws governing his world picture. But the problem of why these particular laws and no others hold remains for him just as amazing and inexplicable as for the child. He who does not comprehend this situation misconstrues its profound significance, and he who has reached the stage where he no longer wonders about anything, merely demonstrates that he has lost the art of reflective reasoning.[1]
Thoroughly misunderstanding what life is all about, and believing that we have solved most problems concerning its mystery, we become mentally cut off from the possibility of the extraordinary and unprecedented. We dull our capacity for surprise.
And indeed, this is what has happened in our religious life. With the passing of time, we have turned Judaism into an institution, a dogma, and a ritual into which everything needs to fit neatly. But Judaism is really about an upheaval in the soul and the need to break with all sorts of idols. It is about living with spiritual trepidation in which we realize that while we were created from dust, we have the ability to reach Heaven. Whether or not we succeed will depend on our willingness to stand in awe.
We have turned Judaism into a religion that comforts but does not challenge. We have made it into a lame doctrine in which the courage to shatter callousness has been sidetracked. It has been transformed into a sweet and comfortable religion in which man can slumber and never wake up.
Today’s Judaism has paradoxically made us believe that divine revelation is impossible. How, after all, can it claim that the Divine can enter our world when it has utterly rejected the notion that surprise is the great spiritual mover for authentic religious life? How can one uphold a belief in the revelation at Sinai when one simultaneously has bought into spiritual stagnancy by thinking that scientific investigation is all there is, and that wonder is no longer to be part of our experience?
Revelation is sui generis
Revelation’s power is a function of its infrequency. Its authenticity and truth are to be found in its being different from all other experiences. Its uniqueness is that it cannot be compared to any other event. It is sui generis. Once we attempt to explain it, it loses its very essence and purpose. If we extinguish the spark of its singularity, it is reduced to insignificance.
Wonder is problematic for the law. The application of law would be much easier if the world were stagnant and consisted of endless repetition. The real difficulty arises when the sudden and the unconventional emerge. Such moments take the law by surprise.
Definite judgments become irrelevant when they cannot cope with the new and the unheard-of. In such cases, the lawmakers are forced to leave their comfortable ivory towers. Either they admit that the law has nothing to contribute, or they become inventors and show that the law leaves room for the unprecedented and the notion of wonder.
Sterile Halacha
This is the great challenge for today’s halakhic authorities. Are their decisions made in a sterile vacuum, in which every surprise is ignored and even suppressed? Or are they made to stimulate a religious condition in which we live in a state of great awe, and through which we can grow and feel Halacha’s inner spirit?
Most Jews today are no longer observant; nor are they even inspired by Judaism. To them, it has become irrelevant and outdated. The reasons for this tragedy are many, but no doubt a major cause is the failure to convey Halacha as something exciting and ennobling, like the music of Bach, Mozart or Beethoven. Only when a Jew is taught why halacha offers him the musical notes with which he can play his soul’s sonata will he be able to hear its magnificent music.
Just as great scientists are fascinated when they investigate the properties of DNA, or the habits of a tiny creature under a microscope, so should even a secular Jew be deeply moved when he or she encounters the colors and fine subtleties of the world of Halacha.
Many religious Jews are nearsighted and in dire need of a wider vision. Is making sure that a chicken is kosher all there is to kashrut? Or, are the laws of kashrut just one element of a grand worldview that defines the mission of the People of Israel; a mission whose importance surpasses by far the single question of a chicken’s kashrut? Such inquiries are but one small component of a larger question concerning the plague of consumerism and mankind’s obsessive pursuit of ever-increasing comfort.
The first requirement of today’s posek (halakhic decisors) is to live in radical amazement and see God’s fingers in every dimension of human existence, including the Torah, Talmud, science, technology, and above all the constant changing of history, which may well mean that God demands different decisions from those of the past. Today’s halakhic living is severely impeded by observance having become mere habit. As Avraham Joshua Heschel put it so beautifully:
Indeed, the essence of observance has, at times, become encrusted with so many customs and conventions that the jewel was lost in the setting. Outward compliance with externalities of the law took the place of the engagement of the whole person to the living God.[2]
Are today’s rulings transformative, or do they promote stagnation? Shall we have prophetic Halacha, or “sterile” Halacha?
What we need is a new approach. We have to re-create Jewish Law so that it once again becomes the manifestation of holy deeds that generate marvel and amazement in every part of our lives. We need religious teachers and decisors who can teach us to “take off our mask” — which by now has merged with our skin — and show us the original glow of God’s word, as Moshe did.
Questions to Ponder from the DCA Think Tank
- Rabbi Cardozo says that people “can quickly become desensitized to even the most astonishing stimuli once they get used to them. The wonder wears off.” Do you think that the religious system encourages desensitization by insisting that we say blessings every time we eat? Or, rather, do the blessings force us to stop and consider the astonishing variety of foods available, and the fortune of a full plate? Does prayer do a better job of making us consider the wonder of the world or dulling us to wonder by the demand to engage in it three times every day? Would it be better for us to say blessing only once in a while, when we are moved to do so? Should prayer be spontaneous and unrehearsed?
- Rabbi Cardozo asks, “How can one uphold a belief in the revelation at Sinai when one simultaneously has bought into spiritual stagnancy by thinking that scientific investigation is all there is, and wonder is no longer to be part of our experience?” Do you think that scientific investigation is or can be driven by wonder? Do you think scientific investigation can be religiously moving?
- Rabbi Cardozo says that the authenticity and truth of revelation “is to be found in its being different from all other experiences. . . . Once we attempt to explain it, it loses its very essence and purpose. If we extinguish the spark of its singularity, it is reduced to insignificance.” Can the truth or authenticity of a proposition lie in the fact that it is different from the norm? Can the truth value of a proposition be changed by its being known or explained, or do these things affect the shock value of a proposition, rather than its truth value?
- Tertullian’s Fideist approach, rejected by the Catholic Church, relies on the mysterious or improbable nature of a proposition for proof of its truth: . . . Mortuus est Dei Filius, prorsus credibile est, quia ineptum est; et sepultus resurrexit, certum est, quia impossibile. ( . . . The Son of God died: it is by all means to be believed, because it is absurd. And, buried, He rose again: it is certain, because impossible. De Carne Christi V, 4.)
Should we rely on the singularity of an event for proof of its significance? What do we do with greater and greater exposure from other cultures to stories and myths similar to our own? If we cling to the conviction that our stories are unique and that their uniqueness is the source of their value, then will we ultimately be forced to lose our faith in the face of mounting evidence, or to further barricade ourselves? If we accept the universality of some of our stories and symbols, and seek the subtle twist or difference of the Jewish message and emphasis, will we erode our religious wonder or refine it? Is wonder dangerous by definition, and if so, does the potential reward outweigh the danger?
Notes
[1] Max Planck, Scientific Biography and Other Papers, trans. Frank Gaynor (NY: Philosophical Library, 1949), 91-93.
[2] A. J. Heschel, God In Search of Man: A Philosophy of Judaism (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1976) p. 326.
