Exodus 27: In Writing

From the hollow 
between the words
In silvered longing
I extend to the winds

Golden dreams 
tarnished longing
in a mixed world of bronze

***

At the edges 
at the corners
in solid sides 
closed up ribs 


The beating hollow
of the space before breath 
where longing is desire 
desire longing 
weaving pieces together 
with fragile fingers 
and spun dreams 

Exodus: Chapter 27

Tablets of stone

Hollow spaces

Object and surrounding come together

With expanses around

An eternal flame













[For full chapter, click here
We arrive finally at the altar that closed both visions of Sinai. Here too, it acts as a sum-up to the "vision on the mountain" being made of concrete. The divine Tablets (luhot) of the Ten Commandments, here become actual, physical: "hollow with tablets (luhot) shall you make it." It is the merging of the visions of the previous chapter, bringing together the point/counterpoint of object and negative space: it is both a furnishing, and the hollow within, defined by the "sides" (tzela) that characterized the building.
Once again, the altar acts as a transition from the sacred space into the wider world. The altar is followed by the extension of the Dwelling into a broader court, that unfurls--as does the altar--to four sides. From incorruptible gold, we move to a space of silver and bronze. The asymptitic  longing of the keruvim--a single while, yet always apart--extends outward. "And their pins shall be silver--ve-haskukhem kesef" also means "and their desire shall be longing."
This chapter deals with these liminal edges. Its key words are "tzela" (side, in the concrete sense of a slab, plank, or a rib) and pe'ah (side, in the more abstract sense of space). Both come together in the concrete luhot (tablets/plank) that is navuv, hollow.]

Exodus 26: In Writing

Twinned, intertwined
discrete
at the edges of being
we reach towards each other
to build a house of longing

Exodus: Chapter 26

A unity in multiplicity 
or pieces into one 

Connections,  linkages,  

duality 
Close together

 but apart

[For full chapter, click here

This chapter is both the direct continuation of the previous one, and its counterpoint. 

We move from the furniture of the Dwelling to the construction of the Dwelling itself. The move from object to context creates a change--

from male to female (the keruvim in the previous chapter face “each man to his brother” while the curtains and planks are connected “each woman to her sister); 

from a “single solid” (miksha)  to separate pieces that must be linked

Connection--hovered/ mahveret/ ve-haverta—is the leitword of the chapter.  

While the separated sections are attached so that  the Dwelling “becomes one” (vehaya ehad), this is a unity haunted by separation, very unlike the eternal; “single solid” unifying the seemingly multifarious keruvim and Menora of the previous chapter. The plank holders are “twinned,” and full of duality. The chapter closes with the creation of dividers—the  parokhet and masakh , and with a series of opposites: within/without, north/south . 

Yet this is a space that is also full of keruvim, interwoven into the very walls of the Dwelling, and into the dividing curtain. It provides the placement for the previous chapters isolated elements,the parameters for interaction.]

Exodus 25: In Writing

Shelter me in the shadow of yearning

The spaces between our gaze

Can I catch your wing with outflung nets

Of interwoven dreams?

Within and without

A box of gold

harbors the answer.

From the edges of being

We watch each other

over infinite expanses of longing

Exodus: Chapter 25

Translations of place

a dwelling within

From the mountain down

A multiplicity that is one

a single shaped solid

Concrete witness, face to face

[For full chapter, click here

We begin a second stage in defining the long term reverberations of Sinai. Revelation is here translated into physicality. If in the previous chapters, Sinai was explicated into the nitty-gritty of everyday life, now it is embodied in the very minerals of the earth. The “Presence of God” that dwelled on the mountain will now “dwell” within the Children of Israel: “And they shall make Me a dwelling and I will dwell amongst them”. Sinai becomes open to human creativity. The “doing” (maase—a leitword of chapter 23) that was to be gathered to the altar, here  forms the very sanctuary itself. 

After the covenant of the previous chapter, we enter a fraught space of shared creativity. The chapter is animated by a tension between freedom and command, human and divine action: “Speak to the children of Israel, and the will take an offering for Me” implies an imposed tax, yet “From every man who’s heart donates, take My offering” continues the verse, modifying the demand to a gift. The Dwelling (Mishkan) is to be “made” (maase) by man, yet defined by the pattern revealed by God, human creativity translating the divine vision into the physical realm.  It is to be a place of “face to face” (panim) encounter. The keruvim have their  “faces to each other”, the showbread is “Face bread” (lehem ha-panim), placed before God’s face (li-pnei).

A joint divine-human work, the Dwelling is a single solid (miksha)—as must be the keruvim and the Menora—but containing multiple parts. The two Keruvim, created of a single block are a perfect  embodiment of this relattionship. Placed on opposite sides (katze), their wings reach towards each other, creating a shade over the space of the Ark, within which lies the "testimony". They face each other, in asymptotic striving, always one, never unified.]

Exodus 24: In Writing

Within the single voice

A pause of emptiness

The one who ascends and does not return

In a sapphire gleam

I drink you down

Swallows your substance

A force eating within

Consuming and consumed

Your blood beats through my feet

Sap rising

Spread of sinew and bone

Can I hold you within

A burning brand?

Exodus: Chapter 24

 Return to the place

You were before

And know it truly

For the first time

Who do you approach

What things do you say?

[For full chapter, click here

After all the translation and explication, we return to the place we were before. Sinai revised, in a chiastic closing that is also a transformation. “Everything that God says we will do” becomes  “we will do and we will hear.” We repeat the pattern of juxtaposing the revelation at Sinai with the creation of the altar. But whereas before, the laws of the altar were cerebral, dealing with stones, respect, nakedness, this altar deals with blood and the animals that played so central a role in the preceding chapter; it is an altar built of twelve stones, representing the twelve tribes of Israel, and is run not by modest priests, but by boisterous youths. This presentation of Sinai bears the marks of the human realm. This time, the overwhelming voice belongs to Israel: “and the entire people answered with one voice.” Aaron, his sons, the seventy elders, and the “youth of Israel” all play a part.   

The carefully maintained boundaries begin to disintegrate, as the nobility of Israel see the “eating fire (esh ohelet) of God” and “eat and drink.

Moses, however, is even more starkly “alone” (levado) against the backdrop. He “ascends to God” and “is there.” If for Israel the Sabbath was redefined as a day of rest for the vulnerable parts of society, for Moses it is here defined as utter communion: “and the cloud covered the mountain six days, and He called to Moses on the seventh day.” The chapter ends with Moses swallowed in the mists for forty days. A consummation—in both senses of the word—but will the nation be able to  survive without their liminal conduit?]

Exodus 23: In Writing

Take a deep breath

the exhausted alien, ensouled

do not exhale another name,

en-hear it on your lips

Do not ingest birth and birther,

consumer and consumed,

Beginning and end

Let mealy-mouthed vulnerability  be

Gather to me

the first glimmer of acts

at the opening and closing

Gather it in

Mouth to mouth

Entwined

I enemy your enemies

Narrow your narrowers

We circle in negation

around the murmuring hollow

stirred to life

Exodus: Chapter 23

Do your own doing

And bring them to me

Reflexive relationship

We take on each other

Send forth and return

Where is a name?

Carried within, on your lips and hands.

[For full chapter, click here

We continue the translation of Sinai. This time, it is “Thou shalt not carry the name of God in vain” (lo tisa shem…la-shav) and “Remember the Sabbath” that are brought down to earth. Lo tisa shem…la-shav is transformed into lo tisa shama shav-- “Do not bear false report,” the “name” (shem) becoming “rumour” (shema). This becomes a section on preserving justice, relating to the hated, and protecting the weak, from the animal up (the relationship to animal becomes a central leitword of this section). The name of God translated to justice on earth, with the Sabbath redefined from a day of holiness, consecrated to God, to a day that allows rest for the weak—from the animal, to the slave, to the alien: “six days thou shalt do thy work, but on the seventh day thou shalt rest; that thine ox and thine ass may have rest, and the son of thy handmaid, and the stranger, may be refreshed.” Man’s “deeds” (maase) become central. It is they that are celebrated during the holidays, and what must ultimately be brought to God. The section closes chiatically with a return to the “name”: “Make no mention of the name of other gods, do not make it heard with your mouth.” The “name” burns within the angel that will lead Israel to “the place that I have prepared.” He will not “carry” (tisa) sin, “for my Name is within him.”] 

Exodus 22: In Writing

Who started the fire

that stalks the fields

finding the found

the hidden

the husks

brooding blood and sap

Drop and adore

the flame in a wilderness

everything consumed

O blazing power

lying in wait

ready to leap from the ditch

bloodless and unaccounted

 encompassed by the silent listener

beating the nightdark heart

pressing a cry of all you have taken,
forgotten

what you swear

do not make

the nightingale  pierce the night

set a space aside

for its plaintive rise

a cold spring in the virgin forest

welling deep hunger

Exodus: Chapter 22

What is found

 the unexpected

 and our gods on earth

 local and small

flaming out of control

a field consumed

Oaths by the Name alone

that hears, responds

and is waiting

It continues to resonate

a pressured scream

[For full chapter, click here

The chapter continues the translation of revelation to the everyday. The further details of “Thou shalt not steal,” with detailed restitution.  The translation of “God” (Elohim, lit. powers) to the earthly realm: the elohim of the courthouses of temporal justice, the local gods that must not be worshiped—but should not be cursed. A curious ambiguity and merging between divine and temporal gods.

Most of all, a translation of the “Name that brought you out of Egypt.” He is the God of faithful oaths—the one who kept  his promise to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob is the name that must be used for our own promises. And the continuing resonance of the exodus from Egypt: The first borns “belong” to God; Do not mistreat the alien, the widow, the weak. If you “press”  (lahatz) them as you were pressed, they will “scream” (tzaka) as you screamed, and God will once again answer. The national redemption will continue on a personal level.

This new reality to local gods, of granting sanctity to the human realm, gives further resonance to human action. The leitword of the chapter is “found” (motze) implying the appearance of the unexpected. “If a man causes a field or vineyard to be eaten (yaver—also, “set fire”) “ “if a fire goes out and finds thorns…the one who set the fire (mmaver ha-be’era) shall pay”: our actions can take on their own reality, moving from passive to active.  These local powers are dangerous, eating all in their path (in contrast to God who burns the thorn bush, but leaves the “bush unconsumed”). The chapter closes by enjoining to “be holy” and abstain from eating that which is carrion in the fields. Some things that are “found” should not be used.]

Exodus 21: In Writing

Reparation

redemption

set loose in the being-sea

bob, swirl,

touch at the tips

float away in

an infinite subjunctive

And if

And if

Circle, spark

fall into each other

a watery skin

a devouring glance

too dear for possession

the air bubbles between

Exodus: Chapter 21

Beating the bounds of ownership

exchange, reparation
redemption

How can  you stand in place?

eye for eye, face for face
















[For full chapter, click here

From the heights, to the nitty-gritty; all-consuming revelation to the stuff of everyday life. “These are the laws you will put for this.” This chapter is a direct continuation of the previous one, despite the change of ambiance and tone. The translation of the overwhelming Voice. We reiterate parts of the ten commandments, in detail, and with consequence. “He that smites his father and mother shall die” “he who steals a man” “and the one who curses his father and mother.” The central motif is the same: the focus on labor (avoda), and limitations of bondage (avdut).  “I am the Lord your God who brought you out of Egypt, out of the house of bondage (beit avadim)” God identifies Himself “do not serve (te-avdem)  [other gods]” “Six days you shall work (ta-avod) and do all your labor, the seventh is a Sabbath for God.” This translated into limits on bondage, the leitmotif of the chapter. You may buy rights to labor, but damage the body, and the bondsman “goes free without money.”

The key words are pidyon, redemption, exchange, standing in the place of; and tahat—beneath, under, for: “if a man strikes the eye of his slave/bondsman…he shall set him free, under (tahat) his eye”; “and if there is a tragedy, he shall give a nefesh under (tahat) a nefesh,  an eye under (tahat) an eye”. We enter a strange fluidity, where things may stand in for each other. A return to the redemption (pidyon) of the firstborn in the wake of the final plague, where life can be exchanged, redeemed, but can it be fully possessed?]

Exodus 20: In Writing

See voices

Flame like torches

A fiery damp

That coats within,

Can I call your name,

When the air shimmers

Every place lit?

You are the breath in my lungs

The warm dark of my lids

fluttering on my cheek

beating in my chest

Oh God, my God

            ***


Be mine
be here
fill the hollow
peer in the crevice
smash the rock
break me free

Now the airs simmers you
above, below, within
Can I be,
when you fill
my eyes, ears,  dreams?
Your name on my lips
your breath in my mouth
batter my heart
and I die

\

Exodus: Chapter 20

I am your God

Specificity of connection

Do not desire that
which is not yours

"Wherever you call my Name
I will come to you
and bless you"


A dance of approach and retreat











[For full chapter, click here

Be careful what you wish for;  it might come true. If before Israel “tests” (nisa) God, demanding signs of His presence, now God test/exults (nassot) Israel with revelation: “You have seen that I have spoken to you from the heavens.” And mow all the children of Israel want is “distance” (rahok--a key word) from the overwhelming voice. “Speak you to us, and we shall hear / Let not God speak to us, lest we die” they beg Moses. The boundaries and warnings of the previous chapter are indeed needed.

Again, Moses becomes a stand-in and conduit for this overwhelming intimacy, approaching the “mist” alone. And despite the public nature of this spectacle, intimacy seems to be the key: “I am the Name, your God” is the first declaration, which closes chiasticaly: “Do not bow to them, or serve them, for I am the Name, your God, a possessive God.” This intimate Name, which God revealed to Moses, cannot be spoken lightly. Wherever it is called, God will appear. This is the name connected to the exodus(“I revealed myself to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, and with my Name I did not make Myself known)—and God indeed identifies Himself through the relationship set into place by “taking you out of Egypt.” Specificity is central: Set aside the Sabbath; don’t desire something that is another’s—whatever it may be. Idolatry is a sin between “I” and “Thou”: “Do not make with Me / gods of silver and gods of gold / do not make for you.” This is a meeting between God’s “face” (al panai) and Israel’s face (al peneihem)

The chapter closes by offering another, less fearful  conduit to God. Jethro, the priest of Midian, created a system to allow distance between the nation and Moses, "so you will live, both you and the people" after which he brings offerings to God. Now come the rules for creating an altar, so Israel too can bring offerings. Here, boundaries will be protected. “Do not come up with your nakedness”.  ]

Exodus 19: In Writing

Beating wings

brooding overhead

a call too piercing to answer

have and enwrap

break forth and leap

over the edge of being

Within the cry

the flame

the silence

Set forth a space

at the banks

where our waters lap each other

Where our lips press

inhale, exhale

bound in their tenuous skin

Exodus: Chapter 19

Going up

and coming down

The moment of connection

When all must be kept apart

for fear of breaking forth

[For full chapter, click here

We finally reach “this day,” “this place.” We are back—as promised—at the “mountain of God.” The circle is complete. The gaping uncertainty filled. We leave the nadir of Refidim, with its existential doubt-“Is God amongst us or nothingness?” Now God has “brought you to Me.” A promise of an everlasting relationship: “you will be treasured from all people, a kingdom of priests”—which takes on new meaning in the aftermath of Jethro-the-priest’s visit. There is a brief moment of perfect harmony. Heaven “comes down” to earth. For once, the “entire” nation “answers together” to affirm rather than complain.

But in the background, looming danger. The consummation devoutly to be wished for carries its own danger. In the place of uncertainty, the desire for possession, to take, to have. “Do not touch” the people are warned again and again, and the “boundaries” are set into place and emphasized. Moses is again the liminal figure, going up and going down, binding heaven and earth. The mountain flames in a recreation of the burning bush, and the question is: who will be consumed? “Do not get close to a woman”—there is no place for human relations when surrounded by the encompassing Voice. Everything is on “edge”. And those who touch the "edge" will be destroyed by the "breaking forth" of the carefully contained power]

Exodus 18: In Writing

"Why did you leave the man?

Call him here, that he may eat..." Exodus 2:20

You saved us then,

Water-giver

Why did you leave the man?

At the edge of the whispering well

I left you

You will be a bridegroom of blood to me

I knew then

You locked in combat

Against, within,

The looming mountain

At the moment of rest

crushed in intimacy

of clutched gazes

locked arms

I threw the oath between

Lonely island

In the sea of man

Rising, breaking

Against your shoals

Receding tide

baring empty banks

of imprinted sand

alone, in an alien country

the God of my fathers is my help

my children, circled in my arms

I wing above

Forgotten

Exodus: Chapter 18

The return of the past
what we do comes back
sink beneath the burden of loneliness



Stand between
and beyond












[For full chapter, click here

This chapter in some ways follows seamlessly from the previous one. We return to the leitworts of “standing” “sitting” and “weight”. Moses’ “heavy hands” here become the crushing “weight” that must be “lightened” with the help of judges.  As he did when he climbed the mountain, Moses stands in a liminal space “before God,” both part of the nation, and apart.

Yet in some ways, it is a discontinuity, as Moses’ old, personal life abruptly breaks in with the appearance of his family: his father in law, his wife, and her two children (no longer referred to as “his”, perhaps to indicate the gaping gulf).  We return to the beginning of Moses’ mission, with the repeated word “hatzel—to save”—recalling both Moses’ initial meeting with Tzipora, and his accusation that God has “not saved” His nation. Now the initial linkage that God set up between “hearing” “seeing” and “knowledge” is complete. “Now I know,” says Jethro. There is a poetic beauty in the completed Exodus, with the Egyptians destroyed through their very instruments of oppression: “in the very thing with which they had acted intentionally.”

Yet a price is paid. Moses sits “alone”. “It is not good” Jethro says, recalling the primal “not good” of the Bible: “It is not good that man should be alone.” “You will wither, you and the people with you.” A system of judges is set up to relieve the burden. Yet while Moses no longer acts alone, he is even more isolated, lacking intimacy even with the people who “come to seek God.”]

Exodus 17: In Writing

Nothing has a weight

a grey slate

Nothing had a taste

of chalky waste

of cracked-tongue thirst

coating the collapsed hollow

of my mouth

Are you here, within

or nothingness?

Does something survive

this parched expanse

of lost sands

limp arms

wailing want?

Finger the crevice

press against

the solid barrier

blocking you

in the sinking weight

am I here?

With your arms

lift mine, 

bear me through these tides

a memory

a song

a figure on a mountain astride

Exodus: Chapter 17

Water to stone
Stone to water

Hold me up,
or crush me down

We test each other
Are you inside me?

The crevices
of incompleteness













[For full chapter, click here
The chapter continues seamlessly from the first, a further fall, an exacerbation of desperation and bitterness. And the underlying fear is at last revealed: "Is God amongst us or nothingness?" God's "testing" of Israel with constant uncertainty is answered by a need to "test" his presence. A young relationship, tearing itself apart.
The complaint is a chiastic closing to the series of complaints that followed in the immediate wake of the Splitting of the Sea. From hunger, we return, once more, to thirst. Now the children of Israel do not merely complain, they "fight" with Moses. Again the hint of distrust and acrimony. "Why did you take us out from Egypt, to kill me, and my children, and my cattle, with thirst?"--an intensification and personilization of "For you have taken us out to this wilderness, to kill this whole assembly with hunger."  Moses indeed feels threatened: "What should I do for this people, soon they will stone me!"
This "stone" becomes thematic, an sad link to the seemingly-forgotten Song of the Sea, where the Egyptian  "sank like a stone" and  enemies grew silent "as stone."
Now, Moses smites the stone to bring forth water; his heavy tired arms must be propped by stones on each side. Yet his arms remain "faithful" (emunah), a return to the "faith" that closed the Song of the Sea.]

Exodus 16: In Writing

“Who would give our death by the hand of God in Egypt, as we sat by pots of flesh, and ate bread to our fill? 

You took us out to this wilderness to kill this multitude with hunger!"

Just once

to hold your hand

hard and crushing

and swoon to sleep

Rather than stand

wilderness surround

starved for sight

a gaping hole

Breathing to wing-beats

trapped in my fingers

the dew

that melts in my hand

Never to have

never to hold

stench of  heaped hopes

before the final ingathering

I dream of full-bellied pots

puffing peace

fleshy and full

firm to the touch

rather than leaping at winds

as they fling past

knowing the wings that bear me

can leave me

the unrelenting question

day to day

month to month

year to year

Will you be here?

Measured to the soul

Always wanting

 I search for you in distant clouds

a desert of longing

Exodus: Chapter 16

Vanish with the sun
fly with the wind

What?

The enigma
rather than knowledge


Bound always to
the time between

Caught between the eves











[For full chapter, click here
The long road to freedom. The brief moment of joy and faith after the crossing of the sea disintegrates further. If before "the nation"  complained against "Moses," now "the entire congregation of Israel" complains against "Moses and Aaron." There is a profound ennui, a death wish, a desire to escape to the cocoon of slavery in face of the unrelenting, uncertain, wilderness  "Who would give our death by the hand of God in Egypt, as we sat by pots of flesh, and ate bread to our fill? You took us out to this wilderness to kill this multitude with hunger!"
Hints of dangerous similarity between Israel and Egypt abound. Once more we return to the triplet of "know" "See" and "hear" that opened Moses' mission to Pharaoh. "Till when will  you refuse (ad ana me-antem) to keep my commandments and law?" God demands, an echo of his warning to Pharaoh "Till when will you refuse (ad matai me-anta) to send this people forth?" (10:3). Like the stench that coated Egypt as the first the waters and then the land rotted (hivishu), the manna kept against God's command rots (hivish). 
It is one month after the exodus, yet Israel must be told "Evening and you will know that God took you out of Egypt" "You will know that God is your God." They are permeated by a profound uncertainty.  That is the great "test." There is nothing that can be kept, no security. The food must be gathered "every day's on the day." "Nobody can take more," everything is measured by the number of "living souls."   Anything stored, spoils. And once a week, nothing falls, and one must live on the faith that this day, it will stay. "The God that gave you the Sabbath gave you food." It is a hard training in the terror of living on the edge, consumed by a God who is all-encompassing, but never fully present. Better indeed to die by His hand, and at least know Him.
In place of "knowledge", a question: "What is this?" (man hu?). The definitive name for their food, Man/manna is "What?" . An echo of Moses and Aaron's own existential: "and what are we?" (ve-anahnu ma?) ]

Exodus 15: In Writing

There is a breath that stirs

the salt seas

melts the frozen heart of the deeps

a sinking stone

in a wall of silence

I break through solid waters

Cast forth the dead tree

so starved roots

grab the sky

turn tears to song

standing to dance

salt waves to sweet waters

turn windy dreams

castles on clouds

to a place founded on bedrock

Exodus: Chapter 15

 from the depths
to the far reaches

The heart of the deeps

The breathing wind

What do your
own hands do?

The shifting gifts
of the salty seas

make walls of water
to walls of stone









[For full chapter, click here
The Song of the Sea--a poetic response to the Exodus recapitulates in succinct symbol the central components of the process:
The identification of God by name; while seeing him within the context of a reverberating relationship: "the God of my fathers"--a reiteration of God's initial exchange with Moses.
anger--first God's at Moses' for his hesitance, then  Moses' and Pharaoh for his intransigence
wind--the repeated, portentous eastern wind that brought the frogs, and the locusts, and split the sea becomes the "breath" of God's "nostrils"
the focus on "standing"--the repeated order given to Moses; on the heart; on the "hand"; on sending forth; on spoil.
The binding together of all the elements of redemption is empowering. The enslaved children of Israel become, in the course of the song, a nation among the nations:
"You have guided in your love, this nation have You redeemed" "Till Your nation passes forth, till this nation that You possessed/created [kaniya] passes." No longer have they simply "left", in song they have already arrived, have already established the Temple. Past and future conflate into a single reality--a reality perhaps best expressed in the circles (mehol) of dancing women, led by "Miriam the prophetess."
Yet the redeeming salt seas take on an ominous cast at the closing of the chapter, when the children of Israel are unable to drink because the water is salty(marim)--a play on the singing Miriam's name. A cast tree renders the water drinkable, but the  path from exodus to full redemption is no longer so simple. What has hurt Egypt can hurt Israel as well. They must not be like Pharaoh, who refuses to listen and see. "If you will listen... and do what is just in God's eyes, all the disease that I put on Egypt I will not put on you"
The chapter closes with the comforting arrival at Eilim, with its twelve springs of water, one for each tribe. Water once again is a source of blessing]

Exodus 14: In Writing

To walk within lurking deeps

liquid towers

dissolve on touch

Seek for solid

in  shifting reflections

haunted by children lost, children come

To follow that dimming pillar of fire

lone light signing

 the shadow way

between looming talons

the teethy mouth

what price  freedom?

A reverberating scream

And you will be what you will be

a distant fire on a flooded path

As the waters break

to spit us out

on the sandy breast of faith