I’ve always loved the Priestly Blessing.
As a child, I would run through the crowds of Rosh Hashanah and dive under my
dad’s Tallis and peek out at the hooded figures on the Bimah. As a Rabbinic
student I learnt the reason – so we would not be distracted by facial imperfection
of those we gazed at. That reasoning made sense to me. Back in those ‘usual’
times. Before all this.
Nowadays, of course, we daven on
Zoom, and the only thing to see is … the imperfection of faces. Actually, it’s
not all bad. “I love it like this,” one regular shared, “I love seeing people’s
faces when we daven together.”
The French philosopher-Talmudist,
Emmanuel Levinas (d. 1995) devoted his career to the significance of
encountering the face of others. He would have loved Zoom. For Levinas, the face
of the other is the beginning of all ethics. Seeing another face, wrote
Levinas, makes us doubt our own supremacy over the world. We see, in other
faces, fragility and mortality and we are moved.
On Zoom, I see the face of a member
who wasn’t allowed to attend the funeral of their father who died from COVID.
He’s been coming every day to say Kaddish. There’s another member who is at
home alone, for whom we’ve provided a tablet and WiFi connection. She’s here for
a sense of community. Was that a yawn I saw on the third screen in from the
right, fourth row down? On Zoom we are all imperfect together, sharing and
staring at the imperfection of perfect human creation.
The Chassidic master, Naftali
Tzvi Horowitz (d. 1827), prefigured Levinas in a teaching on revelation (Zera
Kodesh, Shavuot p.40). He begins with a tradition of his teacher, Menachem
Mendel of Rimanov – that the sound of revelation on Sinai was the sound of the
first letter of the first of the Ten Commandments. That’s so good it’s funny –
the first letter of the Ten Commandments is an Aleph, a silent letter. Horowitz
goes on to suggest that Moses, therefore, experienced revelation not as a sound
at all, but a vision; the vision of God’s face. After all, God does speak to
Moses, ‘face to face.’ And the Divine face is that Aleph, with the constituent
strokes of the Hebrew letter making up a nose and two eyes. Indeed, all be-faced
humanity, carries the imprimatur of God on our face. This is the meaning of our
creation in the image of the Divine. We carry godliness in our face, in our
beauty, in our imperfection, and most of all in the beauty of our imperfection.
Sometimes, when I’m davening on
Zoom, I gaze out at these faces, gazing at me; each of us in our little Zoom boxes.
And it does feel I’m gazing at the image of God. It’s bloody awful, this
lockdown existence. But it’s not all bad.
Dedicated to the New London
Synagogue Zoom Shacharit Minyanaires
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