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http://www.jewishworldreview.com --
ON ROSH HASHANAH, the rabbi told us not to think too much.
It was a suggestion I welcomed, as by the second day of the holiday,
my head was beginning to pound, mainly from cramming some last-minute
soul-searching in order to induce the proper mood.
"When the head works too hard, it's time for the heart," the rabbi
continued. "Pour out your heart to G-d; that's what Rosh Hashanah is all
about."
Pour out my heart to G-d. That's certainly easier, I thought, than
engaging in a methodical process of taking mental inventory, noting the
areas of dissonance, and devising a means to rectify it. And not only is it
easier, but more importantly, it doesn't require intensive thinking. Simple
words and simple contrition were the order of the day, and I dutifully
replaced the work of the head with that of the heart.
At the simplest level, the text is a way -- really, the only way --
for me to communicate with G-d. The old joke is very telling: someone who
talks to G-d is religious; but if G-d talks back to him, he's psychotic.
Studying the books of our tradition, from the narratives of Genesis to the
vivid admonitions of the Prophets to the love imagery of the Writings,
provides an avenue for divine interaction. And the study of the numerous
commentaries on those texts, from the Talmud to Rashi to modern-day
scholars, supplies me with a myriad of ways to understand that interaction.
All the better that Ramban disagrees with Ibn Ezra; it gives me two rather
than one model for perceiving G-d's world.
And ideally, that integration of text into our lives is the goal of
Torah study.
Lo hamidrash haikar, elah hamaaseh, says the mishnah.
It is not the study that is essential, but rather the deed.
But perhaps the study can fuel the deed. When asked last year to
detail the influence of Torah study on my life, I wrote that it informs my
conception of life in general. Aaron's silence at accepting his sons'
deaths, Moshe's lack of silence in the face of G-d's impending anger at the
Jewish people, King David's reaction to being confronted with his sin, the
deception Jacob must have suffered for years at the hands of his
father-in-law, Chana's despair at not being able to conceive -- are these
not emotions that we all face in our lives?
Indeed, there is, I believe, a biblical character and a biblical situation
that speaks to all of us at one time or another. It can do so in its
simplicity or complexity; in the bare text, or through the layers of
commentary. And if you'll take my word for it, there is no greater
vindication than uncovering that sense of familiarity in the divine word
that has been scrupulously passed down throughout the generations. All you
have to do is study with an open
Jewish World Review Oct. 19, 1999 / 9 Mar-Cheshvan, 5760
Heart and soul
By Brigitte Dayan
But the trick, of course, lies in a balance between the heart and the
mind. And while that balance will vary from person to person, for me, it is
skewed heavily in favor of the texts and the mind's interaction with them,
my Rosh Hashanah experience notwithstanding (hence the title of this
column). 
I've long thought that there are two types of people: Isaacs and
Jacobs. Isaacs accept their lot and live in relative tranquility; they are
not initiators. Jacobs, on the other hand, feel no tranquility; their souls
are in constant struggle. That conception is wholly based on my reading of
the biblical stories involving these characters. Those narratives have
created, in my mind, a means to understand myself and those around me.
JWR contributor Brigitte Dayan is managing editor of the
JUF News, a monthly published by the Jewish Federation of Metropolitan Chicago. Contact the author or the magazine by either clicking here, or calling (312) 444-2853.
