A Celebration Of The Number Eight

Two of my many eclectic interests dovetailed nicely this week; the High Holiday festival of Sukkot of which much has been written* and the art of juggling; specifically as practiced in the ancient but less familiar custom of Simchat Beit HaShoeva (Water Drawing Celebration).

Sukkot began in the mostly agrarian society of ancient Israel as a seasonal harvest celebration when a portion of fresh produce was offered as tribute to the Temple in Jerusalem. After the destruction of the first and second Temples, this holiday became characterized by a ‘sukkah’ or three-walled temporary ‘house’ and a ‘bouquet’ representing the four species associated with the holiday as mentioned in the Torah.**  These ‘arba’a minim’ are: an etrog or citron fruit, one sprig each of myrtle and willow and a palm frond or ‘lulav’. These are held together and blessed in a special way upon entering the sukkah’. In addition to offering prayers, meals are shared with family and friends during the eight days of the holiday. In time, the Sukkot holiday acquired deeper significance as a beautiful spiritual recognition of life’s finite nature and of the importance of living joyfully despite hardships both natural and man-made. And here is where my interest in juggling, particularly as it relates to Jewish history, comes in.

Though I do not have the requisite skills, I’d become interested in the art of juggling and its colorful traditions many years ago when one of my sons demonstrated a special talent for it and turned professional at age nine, maintaining his career and associated travels until beginning college. But I first learned about jugglers in Jewish history upon reading a fascinating article by Raphael Harris in a 1995 edition of Juggler’s World***, one of the magazines my son received as a member of the International Jugglers Association.

In it, Mr. Harris, who was a professional juggler in Israel at the time, describes the ancient custom of Simchat Beit HaShoeva which occurs during the Sukkot holiday when waters are drawn from a spring near Jerusalem for use in the Temple service. It seems that juggling at joyous occasions was inspired by the prophet Isaiah (“with joy shall you draw water out of the wells of salvation.” –12:3) and practiced by several distinguished sages and scholars such as Shmuel bar Abba (180-275 CE), Levi bar Sissa (150-220 CE), Abaye (280-339 CE) and Rabbi Shimon Ben Gamliel (10BCE-70CE), the titular head of the Sanhedrin or High Court who was the earlier juggler mentioned.

Rabbi Ben Gamliel was known for his ability to juggle eight lighted torches. He would toss them in the air in a pattern to ensure that they never touched each other. In addition, he would then prostrate himself on the ground, raise himself into a headstand and manage to kiss the ground before standing up again, an unheard of feat until then. Juggling eight of anything, let alone flaming torches is a masterful feat but I became curious as to the significance of that number and eventually came upon a 2002 article by Calgary Rabbi Eliezer Segal.

Writing in  the Jewish Free Press, Rabbi Segal relates that juggling eight objects, symbolically represents various aspects of Jewish learning and observance during the eight days of Sukkot such as the eight disciplines of Torah study: Bible, Mishnah, Talmud, Aggadah, received traditions, scholarly debate and the secret doctrines surround the Creation story (Genesis Rabba) and Ezekiel’s vision of the Merkabah (mystical Chariot). He also notes that, “one Rabbi Henokh Zundel observed that the juggling of torches served as a demonstration of how the scholar had mastered (grasped in his hands) all eight disciplines. Tossing them into the air represents the spiritual and intellectual elevation that comes through study. The fact that the torches never got confused symbolized the sages’ ability to apply the distinct mode of learning that is appropriate to each area, without mixing them up into an indistinguishable mess.”

All of this led me to portray Rabbi Shimon Ben Gamliel and his eight torches for the illustration above as part of a new series of drawings in tribute to the art of juggling that I’ve been developing during the past few months. In addition to the ‘The Art of Juggling Dangerously’ (published here on August 10th, 2015) which also addresses fire torch juggling but from a different perspective, I’ll post some of the others here at Imaginarius as they are completed.

Meanwhile, I wish all who observe and/or appreciate the Sukkot holiday much joy in its remaining few days ahead !

*https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sukkot

**Leviticus 23:40

*** http://www.jewishmag.com/7mag/juggler/juggler.htm

An Illumination Of Blessings Update: On Moonlight And Memory

Science and religion have always been strange bedfellows, each occupying neighboring compartments in our minds, yet ever distrustful of each other.

A quotation attributed to Albert Einstein offers some insight: “A legitimate conflict between science and religion cannot exist. Science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind.”

Nevertheless, they remain eternal antagonists, each perhaps seeking an impossible validation from the other.

This observation is far from new, but it came to me as I considered how to approach this blessing for the moon, an ancient source of wonder until July of 1969, when American astronauts walked on the moon. They became at once part of its history and its future in human perception.

Although they seemed to prove that the moon was physically no more than a rather large, cratered and lifeless asteroid, unworthy of the age-old mysteries attributed to it, still, they changed little for most of us earth-bound creatures in terms of our romantic, spiritual or prophetic predilections. We still love to invest the moon with human qualities in our arts and culture or laugh at the idea that it is made of green cheese.

Yet, whether we are romantic or pragmatic, we can safely admit there is a certain subtle beauty in the presence of the moon; it’s there to light our paths at night and in a numinous way, to remind us that we are not alone or without purpose in the dark.

These ideas might be part of the foundation underlying religious rituals created around the moon. In Rabbinic tradition, the newly minted Israelites were commanded to sanctify the new moon upon their delivery from Egypt. “This month shall mark for you the beginning of the months; it shall be the first of the months of the year for you.” (Shemot/Exodus 12:1-2)

This practice directly conflicted with Egypt’s officially sanctioned sun worship. It also ensured that the moon would not become an object of worship; instead, its cycles became the basis of the Jewish calendar, a valuable tool for timekeeping and agricultural foresight.

In this system, each month defines one lunar cycle as the moon completes one orbit of earth. One hallmark of the lunar calendar, the Rosh Hodesh* holiday is observed with prayers and blessings at the point in the moon’s orbit when it is suspended directly between earth and the sun so that a thin crescent of it is visible to all, marking the beginning of a new month and/or season.

Metaphorically, the appearance of the moon as it progresses through its phases, illustrates our ‘deliverance’ from spiritual darkness to light. It would seem that such ‘enlightenment’ included recognizing the importance of women in early Israelite culture, yet I wonder, does it also tell us that the story of human existence would always be written in alternating chapters of darkness and light?

It is interesting to note that the monthly cycles of both women and the moon figured in the establishment of Rosh Hodesh as a holiday. Perhaps this reflects the idea that both women and the moon are capable of rebirth or renewal and must be honored as such. But two references in the Babylonian Talmud perceive it as a special one for women in particular while an 8th century midrash provides the backstory.

The first reference, in Tractate Megillah (22b) states that women must be exempt from work** on this day. The midrash, Pirke De Rabbi Eliezer*** suggests that after the incident of the Golden Calf, women were given a work-free holy day as a reward for their refusal to contribute their jewelry to the construction of the idol. Later, the French medieval Torah commentator Rashi (Rabbi Shlomo Yitzchaki) specified that the exempt work included spinning, weaving and sewing since these were the skills that women freely contributed to the construction of the Tabernacle (Mishkan) following the Exodus from Egypt.

The second reference points to a related monthly prayer called Kiddush Levanah****, or The Sanctification of the Moon in which we express our appreciation for G-d’s celestial gifts. It is traditionally performed outdoors in the moonlight (preferably under a cloudless sky) at the end of the Sabbath from 3-7 days after the new moon is visible. So, in Sanhedrin (42a) Rabbi Yochanan teaches that one who blesses the new moon in its proper time is regarded as one who greets the Shechinah (female aspect of the Divine Presence).

Although Rosh Hodesh celebrations have an ancient history, it wasn’t until the early 1970’s that such celebrations became popular. They were one of the ways in which Jewish women could explore and express their own spirituality while enhancing their communal roles. These events gave birth to support groups for various lifecycle issues and forums for women’s studies.

In my illustration for The Blessing of the Moon, I have visually addressed both the Rosh Hodesh and Kiddush Levanah rituals. The sun has just set beyond the distant mountains and on a hillside above the sea. A woman wearing a tallit, or prayer shawl is dancing to the rhythm of her tambourine as she raises a cup of water in tribute to Moses’ sister Miriam and to all women among the Israelites who crossed the Red (Reed) Sea after the Exodus from Egypt. It was the first performance of a song-prayer, Shirat HaYam (Song Of The Sea) that is now part of the morning prayer services worldwide. The letterforms on the cup spell ‘Miriam’ in paleo-Hebrew, an early form of modern Hebrew.

I’ve shown four phases of the moon as it turns from new to full, from darkness to light, tracing its path along the ethereal form of a nocturnal quadrant, used in medieval times for astronomical navigation, perhaps on a ship like the caravel that is arriving with the tide. The ship and quadrant represent the human curiosity and ingenuity at the core of both science and religion while the woman on the hill knows deep within that love, peace and gratitude will mitigate their conflict if only we pay attention to the gifts we have been given.

* head of the new (month)
** except for work which cannot be left over for the following day, (ex.child care)
*** Chapter 45 in this collection of Torah exegesis and folklore
     http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pirke_De-Rabbi_Eliezer
**** More information on Kiddush Levanah may be found at these links:

http://www.chabad.org/library/  article_cdo/aid/1904288/jewish/The-Sanctification-of-the-Moon.htm

and http://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/607391/jewish/Thank-G-d-for-the-Moon.htm