In a class on Psalm 76, we were asked to write a poem reinterpreting a verse.
Today (the eighth of Tevet) is the anniversary of the order by Ptolemy for a translation of the Hebrew Bible (and apocrypha) to be made into Greek, resulting in the Septuagint. According to legend, he took 70 or 72 Jewish translators and put them in separate rooms and, miraculously, they all produced the exact same translation. The Septuagint is important for scholarly biblical study and was used by many Jewish and Christian communities as scripture (and still is today in some Christian churches).
Yet this translation is regarded as a tragic event by the rabbis and is even commemorated in the selichot, or penitential liturgy, for the Tenth of Tevet, a fast day observed two days later, among other events being mourned. The prayer states, “A Greek king compelled me to translate the holy Law into Greek; the plowers plowed upon my back, they made long their furrows.” (The second half of the prayer is taken from Psalm 129.) Ironically, this is taken from an English translation of selichot from 1912, and there are certainly translations into the vernacular of the Torah put out by even the most Orthodox communities. Anything that increases people’s access to sacred scripture can only be seen as a blessing – even as anything that takes people away from the original text leads to a loss of understanding and access to that text.
Having studied Hebrew, I can attest that there are layers of meaning that are not accessible in other languages. Something is, indeed, lost in translation. Learning the original language is important to plumbing the depths of the text and understanding its riches. There are connections between words in Semitic languages such as Hebrew, Aramaic, and Arabic that are not readily apparent in other languages – there are even puns! The study of Hebrew is a very worthwhile pursuit for anyone wanting to read the Bible.
But I think the commemoration of the translation of the Septuagint as a tragedy points to something deeper – which is that the communication of Divine revelation must always be translated into language understandable by human beings, and there are depths of meaning and revelation that are inevitably lost. Even if one sees the Torah or other sacred scripture (regardless of one’s religious tradition – this applies to the scriptures of any and all religions) as being a perfect revelation, there is a translation that occurs by those who read it into their own life experiences – even by those who have a perfect understanding of the language. There is a gap between Divine revelation and human understanding – and even more between revelation and living out the commands we are given by that revelation. We have an obligation to understand and act in response to God’s communication to us to the best of our ability – even knowing that in this world, those will always be imperfect.
So may we rejoice in revelation wherever it is to be found – even as we mourn our imperfect understanding and response to that revelation.
I have a little dreidel,
Of plastic it is made,
And when I spin it for my kittens,
Their interest does not fade!
Parashat Vayeishev would be a perfect parashah with which to play Pin the Mussar Tail on the Parashah Donkey – if you were blindfolded, turned around three times, and sent to put your finger on any random verse in this Parashah, you would have no problem easily constructing a Mussar lesson or d’var Torah from it. From the arrogant way Joseph treats his brothers, to their kidnapping him and selling him into slavery and letting their father think he had been killed, to Potiphar’s wife framing Joseph for a crime he didn’t commit, to the chief cupbearer forgetting Joseph’s interpretation of his dream and leaving him to languish in prison, there are many instances of people acting in accordance with their yetzer hara and not their yetzer hatov.
One particularly shameful episode occurs in chapter 38 with Judah and Tamar. Judah has two sons, Er and Onan. Er marries Tamar but is displeasing to God and dies. Onan then marries her in a levirate marriage and refuses to father children in his brother’s name and he too dies. Judah promises Tamar to his son Shelah who is too young to marry. As time passes, Tamar despairs of this marriage happening and so she sets out to dress as a prostitute and seduce Judah.
Judah does indeed sleep with her. By doing so and agreeing to reduce what should be a loving act to a commercial transaction, he engages in self-absorption and treats her as nothing more than a commodity that exists for his pleasure and not as a human being. This is an act of sexism and misogyny, in which he sees a woman as nothing more than a plaything, rather than as a human being made in the image of God whose burden he is called to bear. Verse 16 states that he did not know that she was his daughter-in-law, and while she was in disguise, nonetheless this points to a lack of genuine relationship with a member of his family and speaks to his failure to accept his obligation to her.
After they had completed the act, she asked for payment and he promised to send it to her. She asked for his seal, cord, and staff as surety. The seal was a metal cylinder with unique markings identifying him, that could be pressed into clay as a form of signature. It was worn on the cord around his neck. Similarly, the staff likely had markings that were unique to Judah, identifying him. These were the equivalent of our passports or driver’s licenses – proof of identity. But on a deeper level, his willingness to relinquish them speaks to his willingness to abandon his higher self, his neshamah, for momentary pleasure gained at the expense of another whose neshamah, dignity, and creation in the image of God he refused to recognize.
A few months later, Tamar became pregnant. Furious, Judah wanted to have her executed, but she said, “The father is the one whose seal, cord, and staff these are” – and he recognized with shame what he had done and agreed to take care of her and her children (she gave birth to twins). His recovery of his symbols of identity point to our recovery of our highest self, our neshamah, when we engage in cheshbon hanefesh, accounting of the soul, considering our “Mussar moments” when we have failed in our obligations to others, and do teshuvah, repentance, by changing our behavior to recognize other people as made in the image of God and accepting our responsibility to bear their burden.
May we learn from Judah and take care not to lose our identity in acts of self-absorption but rather build our character and hear and accept the call to serve others by bearing their burden, doing teshuvah when we miss the mark.
