“When God will return the captivity of Zion, we will be as dreamers (Psalms 126:2).”

Everyone dreams. What is different between our dreams and those of our enemies? Why will we be “as dreamers,” rather than dreamers?

In 1918, after one final military assault that fails, Germany is defeated. Young Adolf Hitler, blind after a mustard gas attack, and humiliated after the Fatherland’s defeat, vows to enter politics:

“As the train took Hitler to a hospital in the Pomeranian town of Pasewalk, his own pain and despair obliterated any such aspiration, but after several weeks of medical treatment be began to regain his sight. Inflammation of the mucous membrane and swelling of the eyelids had receded; ‘the piercing in my sockets’ began to diminish and ’slowly I succeeded in distinguishing the broad outlines of things about me.’ With sight came an end to depression and the mental instability that had required special treatment from a consulting psychiatrist, Professor Edmund Forster, chief of the Berlin University Nerve Clinic. Little was known about mustard gas and Hitler’s inexplicable recovery confirmed Dr. Forster in his diagnosis of the blindness as hysteria. In fact, the patient had experienced the usual symptoms of moderate mustard gas poisoning – burning, swelling, moaning, depression – and recovery in several weeks.

“Sight also brought Hitler hope and renewed interest in the events of the day. Berlin itself was in a state of virtual siege as the new Chancellor urged the Kaiser to abdicate so that an armistice could be signed. Hitler had heard stories of rebellion throughout Germany but discounted them as rumor until a delegation of Red German sailors burst into his ward early that November in an attempt to convert the patients to the revolution. … Indignation was followed by shock. Hitler took to his bed. ‘I lay there broken with great pains, although I did not let on how I felt; for it was repugnant to me to cry out at a time when you could feel that the collapse was coming.’ A little later, on November 9, a dignified elderly pastor arrived at Pasewalk hospital to confirm news of the uprisings. Revolution had even broken out in Munich.

“The patients were gathered in a little hall and the pastor, so Hitler recalled, ’seemed all a-tremble as be informed us that the House of Hohenzollern should no longer bear the German imperial crown; that the Fatherland had become a ‘republic.’ ‘ As the aged speaker eulogized the services rendered by the Hohenzollerns, he ‘began to sob gently to himself – in the little hall the deepest dejection settled on all hearts, and I believe not an eye was able to restrain its tears.’ The pastor went on to say that the war must now be ended, that all was lost and they had to throw themselves upon the mercy of the victorious Allies. To Hitler the revelation was intolerable. ‘It became impossible for me to sit still one minute more. Again everything went black before my eyes; I tottered and groped my way back to the dormitory, threw myself on my bunk, and dug my burning head into my blankets and pillow.’

“It was the first time he had wept since standing at his mother’s grave eleven years earlier (she had died in agony of cancer), in the churchyard of the Austrian village of Leonding. He had borne the fear of blindness ‘in dull silence,’ endured the loss of so many good comrades. ‘But now I could not help it. Only now did I see how all personal suffering vanished in comparison with the misfortune of the Fatherland.’ Out of his black despair came a decision. ‘The great vacillation of my life, whether I should enter politics or remain an architect, came to an end. That night I resolved that, if I recovered my sight, I would enter politics.’ There was no medical reason for Hitler’s second blindness and Dr. Forster reinforced in his initial conclusion that his patient was definitely ‘a psychopath with hysterical symptoms.’ Hitler, however, was convinced he was permanently blind.

“The shame of Germany’s surrender on November 11 in the forest of Compiegne overwhelmed him. Life seemed unbearable, but that night, or the next, Hitler was abruptly delivered from his misery, as he lay in despair on his cot, by a ’supernatural vision’ (perhaps deliberately induced Dr. Forster). Like St. Joan, he heard voices summoning him to save Germany. All at once ‘a miracle came to pass’ – the darkness encompassing Hitler evaporated. He could see again! He solemnly vowed, as promised, that be would ‘become a politician and devote his energies to carrying out the command he had received.’”

(John Toland; “Adolf Hitler”)

Hitler ysv”z, dreamed as a response to tragedy. The verse describes us as dreamers after the troubles are over and all is well. What were we before God returned the captives of Zion? Were we not dreaming all along?

Our dreams are not a response to tragedy, but maintaining a sense of reality and perspective. We will be “as dreamers,” when we have the privilege to see that reality is even better than what we believed. There will be a day when we look back on our visions of redemption were simple dreams in comparison to reality!

We remind ourselves now, that no matter how clear our vision, we will one day know that we were only dreamers; we know that there is much more to see. We are aware, even now, that our vision is limited. We want to see more. We need to see more.

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“There on the poplars – Aravim – we hung up our lyres (Psalms 137:2).” In view of the bitter experience of the exile, especially prior to Ezekiel’s revelations, there would have been ample reason to destroy their harps since they had nothing about which to sing and be happy. After the news of Ezekiel’s visions, and the guarantees of their future redemption, they hung the harps on the Aravim, the kind of trees whose very name has the dual meaning of guarantors and willows. This is why they did not hang them on any other type of tree.

The reason they did not destroy their musical instruments altogether was so that they would be able to play those instruments once the time for redemption would arrive (Romemot El, Rabbi Moshe Alshich).

Tools: Meta Prayer: Praying to Become a Better Davener

We have the idea of praying even when we don’t feel like praying, just as a marathon runner will practice running before the big race. We practice singing songs in response to redemption; we hang our musical instruments within reach, to be fully prepared for the proper song when the time arrives. We are praying for the privilege of singing the song of redemption.

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I received an e-mail this morning asking why I am relying on so many secular sources for this commentary to the Siddur. My intention is for this commentary to be an expression of our prayers in exile, specifically, our ability to find moments of transcendence even in the darkness of exile. As stated in the commentary to the fifth paragraph of the Hallel for Rosh Chodesh Av, our job in exile is to become Spark Collectors.

“Who spreads out the earth upon the waters.”

I saw the world and yesterday!

A flight of Angels tore

It’s cover off and Heaven lay

Where Earth had been before.

I walked about the countryside

And saw a cricket pass.

Then, bending closer, I espied

An ecstasy of grass.

(Elizabeth B. Rooney; Eschaton)

Kavanah:

Even when we do not have the Beit Hamikdash through which to view the Heavens, we can still bend down and find, “an ecstasy of grass,” sparks of Heaven sprinkled throughout the world; sparks through which we can glimpse Heaven.

“Who firms man’s footsteps.”

“These men asked the pilgrims whence they came; and they told them. They also asked them where they had lodged, what difficulties and dangers, what comforts and pleasures, they had met with in the way; and they told them. Then said the men that met them, “You have it but two difficulties more to meet with, and then you are in the City.” (John Bunyan; The Pilgrim’s Progress)

Kavanah:

We acknowledge that with each difficulty with which You present us, You are moving us forward toward our ultimate goal.

“Who has provided me my every need.”

O sweeter than the marriage-feast,

‘Tis sweeter far to me,

To walk together to the kirk

With a goodly company! -

To walk together to the kirk,

And all together pray,

While each to his great Father bends,

Old men, and babes, and loving friends,

And youths and maidens gay!

Farewell, farewell! but this I tell

To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!

He prayeth well, who loveth well

Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best, who loveth best

All things both great and small;

For the dear God who loveth us,

He made and loveth all.”

(Samuel Taylor Coleridge; The Rime of the Ancient Mariner Part VII)

Kavanah:

“He prayeth best, who loveth best

All things both great and small;

For the dear God who loveth us,

He made and loveth all.”

We are celebrating the powerful role of prayer in empowering us to thrive in exile: By providing us with prayer; the ability to speak to You and to know that You are listening, You have provided us with a means to address our every need.

“Who girds Israel with strength.”

Three Silences there are: the first of speech,

The second of desire, the third of thought;

This is the lore a Spanish monk, distraught

With dreams and visions, was the first to teach.

These Silences, commingling each with each,

Made up the perfect Silence, that he sought

And prayed for, and wherein at times he caught

Mysterious sounds from realms beyond our reach.

O thou, whose daily life anticipates

The life to come, and in whose thought and word

The spiritual world preponderates.

Hermit of Amesbury! thou too hast heard

Voices and melodies from beyond the gates,

And speakest only when thy soul is stirred!

(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow; The Three Silences of Molinos)

Kavanah:

We acknowledge our ability to catch the “Mysterious sounds from realms beyond our reach,” which has given us the great strength to survive the devastating challenges of exile.

“Who crowns Israel with splendor.”

G. K. Chesterton’s “The Man Who Was Thursday,” features a plot to infiltrate the Central Council of Anarchists, whose 7 members are named for the days of the week, Sunday, Monday, etc., The main character Gabriel Syme finds himself recruited as a spy, first by a regular police officer and then by a mysterious man in a dark room, whose face he never sees.

“Are you the new recruit?” asked the invisible chief, “all right. You are engaged.”

Syme, quite swept off his feet, made a feeble fight against this irrevocable phrase.

“I really have no experience,” he began.

“No one has any experience,” said the other, “of the battle of Armageddon.”

“But I am really unfit–”

“You are willing, that is enough,” said the unknown.

“Well, really,” said Syme, “I don’t know of any profession of which mere willingness is the final test.”

“I do,” said the other, “martyrs. I am condemning you to death. Good day.”

Thus it was that when Gabriel Syme came out again into the crimson light of evening, in his shabby black hat and shabby, lawless code, he came out a member of the New Detective Corps for the frustration of the great conspiracy. Before he had finally left the police premises his friend provided him with a small blue card, on which was written “The Last Crusade,” and a number, the sign of his official authority.

Kavanah:

There are times when our job as, “A Light unto the nations,” seems a death sentence, and yet, we, as does Syme in this story, carry our “small blue card,” with pride in our authority as official members of the corps to battle the great conspiracy of evil.

We declare with this blessing, the pride of our Crown of Splendor, despite its great costs.

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“By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat, sat and wept, as we thought of Zion (Psalms 137:1).” The placement of this Psalm immediately following the Hallel haGadol, Psalm 136, indicates that if Israel will merit it, it will be able to recite the former, if it will not merit it, it will have to recite this Psalm, lamenting what could have been and what should have been.

We are told in the Zohar that the exiles in Babylon were death like, as zombies, having been brought from a life of great comfort to the depths of deprivation. They refused to accept any attempts to comfort them, to offer them consolation.

This is why God revealed visions to the prophet Ezekiel on the Euphrates, showing him in God and His entourage, in order to convince the exiled Jews that they had not been abandoned by the Divine Presence, and that in fact, the Divine Presence was exiled alongside them, as well as the Angels. These acted as guarantors, the Aravim, of verse 2, that He Cool would free the Angels would also free the Jewish exiles in due course.

When Israel heard all this, it began to regain its composure. This is the background against which we read that the Jews, “sat alongside the rivers of Babylon,” meaning, they are they experienced some degree of relief having been told Ezekiel’s vision.

On the one hand, they rejoiced, but on the other hand, “we cried,” when they fought back to Zion. (Rabbi Moshe Alshich; Romemot El)

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What is life but a form of motion and a journey through a foreign world? Moreover, locomotion – the privilege of animals – is perhaps the key to intelligence. The roots of vegetables (which Aristotle says are their mouths) attach them fatally to the ground, and they are condemned like leeches to suck up whatever sustenance may flow to them at the particular spot where they happen to be stuck…

In animals the power of locomotion changes all this pale experience into a life of passion; and it is on passion, although we anemic philosophers are apt to forget it, that intelligence is grafted.

George Santayana: The Philosophy of Travel

I rejoice in Santayana’s words and luxuriate in the power of locomotion and rejoice in the endless possibilities of journeying through life. I am pleased to be free of roots in a way that a vegetable cannot. I shudder to imagine having my roots so numerous, long, twisted, and deep that I am unable to move and limited to the sustenance of only one place.

I have lived on the East Coast and the West, the Midwest, North and South. I have been to too may countries to count. Each place was an experience. Each experience was enriching.

Why would we, who so benefit from locomotion, dread exile? Do we fear the movement or the instability of exile?

All the stops on our long exilic journey live and breathe and give us life and breath. When I study the Rambam – Maimonides – I feel my roots stretching to Spain and Egypt. I can snake my roots to Lithuania to the small dark room of the Vilna Gaon and draw sustenance from him. The roots are like tentacles twisting their way into Safed to nourish themselves in the Beit Midrash – Study Hall – of the Ari, the Ramak and Rav Yosef Karo. My roots stretch all the way to Sura and Pumpedita in Babylon where they can absorb the wisdom of the rabbis of the Talmud. They twist around the Arabian Peninsula and snake their way up to the France of Rashi, the Germany of the Maharam, and with more curves and tangles make their way to the feet of the Chatam Sofer in Hungary.

Yes, we have lived in exile for a long time, but we have never become vegetables stuck in one place. Our roots cross mountain ranges, continents, oceans, centuries, millennia, and tens of languages. There are no kinks or blocks in our roots no matter how far they stretch across time and space. The nourishment flows directly into our souls and feeds us. We have been in locomotion for 2500 years since the destruction of the first Temple, and we have never become vegetables.

We suffered in our exile. The world does not have a shining history in its dealings with us. Wars, pogroms, crusades, blood-libels, have penetrated the roots in every time and place, but they have not limited the available nourishment. They could not kill the roots.

Is Santayana correct that locomotion feeds our passion? Have we not grown in each village hovel and great study hall to where we extended our roots?

What has empowered our roots? How are they so strong and thick? How can they stretch so far? How have they withstood the challenges of our 2500-year journey through a foreign world?

They begin in Israel, in Jerusalem, from the Holy of Holies. Our roots are not natural. They derive their strength from a place that is itself rooted under God’s Throne. Our roots do not begin with us: They began in Israel.

Perhaps exile, the one we fear, is the loss of connection to those magnificent and powerful roots. Yes, we have thrived in our power of locomotion. It has fed our passions and made us stronger and more determined. But only as long as we understand that being rooted in the Temple is not to be condemned as a vegetable, but blessed with roots that stretch across all time and space and connect us with our Source.

We only fear the loss of that connection. That is the exile we fear.

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I just read “Room,” by Emma Donoghue and haven’t been able to stop thinking about what happens when Room opens. Room, totally enclosed except for a tiny skylight, is the entire world of Jack, a five-year old prisoner who lives in Room with Ma. Room has everything Jack needs and desires, and Ma and he use their imaginations to fill their days, until Ma, who has been imprisoned for seven years, wants more for her son and they plan their escape.

I cheered for Jack as he affects their rescue, and was so focused on his experiencing Outside that I wasn’t prepared for how frightening and difficult it was for him to adjust to life outside Room.

Jack insists that Ma take him back to see the storage shed that was Room: “We step in through Door and it’s all wrong. Smaller than Room and emptier.”

This poignant novel reminded me that it is important to reflect on our exile from Jerusalem from the perspective of the people who experienced it, not just the suffering and horror stories, but the adjustment from Room to Outside:

Room opened for the Children of Israel on the 17th of Tammuz, when the Babylonians breached the walls of Jerusalem. Their Room was a tiny walled city; the center of their universe. Kings came and went. Invaders attacked, failed and left. Room remained a magically safe world. Life in their Room could not have been easy. Jerusalem was not in an agricultural area. It was not on any major trade routes. It was Room only because it was Jerusalem, the home of the Beit Hamikdash.

Three weeks after Room was opened, the Temple was destroyed, and Room’s inhabitants were introduced to Outside.

None of us would question whether Jack was better off Outside, with medical care, regular food, clothes, playgrounds, and other people. It’s shocking to read how unsafe Jack and even Ma felt Outside, and yet, we finally appreciate the intense challenge of leaving Room for Outside.

The world opened for the exiles. Their lived harsh and brutal lives eking out a living while their king and armies from far away places would regularly turn their lives upside down. But Jerusalem was their Room, and it took them time to adjust to living a far richer life in Babylon, Persia, and eventually all over the globe.

Life in the United States for a Jew is better than life in pre-WWII Europe. The Ghettos were our Rooms, and it took us time to adjust to Outside. It was difficult to lose Room no matter how harsh a world it was. All the rules are different. They were as confused as Jack about what was real and what was not.

Should we focus on how much we lost when Room opened? Shall we mourn over how much has changed because we no longer have our Room?

I suspect that the Three Weeks of Mourning that begin with the Seventeenth of Tammuz, from the opening of Room till the destruction of the Temple, are for us to focus on our adjustment to Outside: How much of Room did we take with us? Was the loss of Room a painful transitional adjustment to something better? What of Room do we miss?

Are we trying to recreate Room in Outside?

Life in the Jerusalem Room was not a perfect environment, just as Jewish life in the cities and villages across Europe was not paradise. When the walls of our Room were breached, we had an opportunity to consider which parts of Room we would take with us to Outside.

I wonder what I would have chosen to take.

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There was no way she would allow people to pray for her precious baby to die! (See ‘An Uncomfortable Conversation: Part One’) She read every newspaper published in Israel from beginning to end. She watched the BNN all day, and listened to the all-news station on the radio. Then, one day, it happened:

Someone was sentenced to exile in one of the Cities of Refuge for having killed accidentally. She packed a food basket, rented a car and drove straight for the city.

When she arrived, she was surprised to learn that the guards at the city gates were expecting her. “The Kohen Gadol’s mother always comes. Your mother-in-law used to come all the time with giant fruit baskets.”

They gave her directions to the man’s apartment. She was nervous. She was sure that the man wanted to return home and was already praying for her son to die.

She thrust the fruit basket into his arms, and said, “Take this as a gift. I’ll keep on bringing you baskets as long as you don’t pray for my son to die.”

“Don’t you think I have had enough death already? I don’t want your son to die.”

“Don’t you want to return to your family?”

“My family is here with me. They even sent my Rebbi with me to teach me while I am in exile. No, I need this time away from my previous life.”

“Isn’t it my son’s lack of merit that got you here? He’s a good boy, not perfect, but a good boy.”

“No. Your son’s lack of merit would not explain why God let it happen that I killed someone. It was my own lack of merit. But, you can keep on bringing the baskets. My kids love Reeses Peanut Butter Cups, almost as much as my Rebbi loves them!”

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She was incredibly proud that her son had succeeded her husband and was appointed the Kohen Gadol – The High Priest. Most of her friends congratulated her, but her oldest friend asked a strange question: “What are you going to do about all the people praying for your son to die?”

“Why would anyone pray for my sweet boy to die?”

“Because anyone sent into exile in one of the Cities of Refuge must remain there until the Kohen Gadol dies.”

She ran home to call her son. His secretary knew to put immediately put his mother through.

“Is it true? Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“Is it true that people are praying for you to die so they can leave the Cities of Refuge?”

“Hopefully, not yet. It only affects people who accidentally killed while I am Kohen Gadol. If I am worthy of the position and serve as I should, my merit should prevent accidental murders.”

“Listen, you’re my son, and I love you, but you are no saint. How can anyone expect you to have such merit to protect an entire country and nation?’

That’s the point, Ma. God wants me to strive to reach such a high level.”

“Well, I’m going to do something about it!”

The Kohen Gadol smiled. He knew exactly what his mother intended to do. He even remembered how his father’s mother acted to protect her precious son.

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