Deuteronomy 26: In Writing

Gather the given.

Let it swell

full globed and weighty,

let it fall in your palm

like a heart

like a fist.

Can you carry it

without spaces

cracking between your fingers?

Can you carry it,

unbroken?

Can you leave it

untaken?

Unwitnessed,

have I spoken?

Listen to the sound of my voice,

the fall of my call,

I say you today

and you are here

and you say me

and I am here,

full to bursting

like a pod 

heavy with seed

Swallow the seeds

like the earth

like the water

feel roots shoot

and take hold

round your heart

that spurts and bursts

 Like that first day

when I first felt flesh break

the juice spurt

It was good on the tongue

and burned going down

and I felt my skin  turn translucent

till I wrapped it with words

with leaves

stripped the trees

to cover me, cover me, cover me quick.

And now I ask,

If both our voices wander

on the heat of the day

can we bloom in the space between?

Deuteronomy: Chapter 26

I say you
You say me.

 
Reciprocity

 
To take what is given 
and give it on

[For full chapter. click here
This chapter continues with the focus on memory. If the previous chapter demands "do not forget" this chapter calls on each and every Israelite to declare before God "I have not forgotten" (26:13). If previous chapters spoke of leftover produce forgotten in the field, this chapter focuses on the first fruit, consecrated from the moment they bud, and gathered together.

The focus is on narrative as the vehicle of collective memory, the creator of history. As soon as Israel "comes to the land which God has given to you, and you possess," one must go up to the "place that God will choose" and bear witness to this fact: "I profess this day unto God the Lord that I have come to the land that God swore to our fathers to give to us."

After attesting to the human priest regarding the faithfulness of God's ways, one must attest to God regarding the history of human ways: "And thou shall speak before God your Lord: "An Aramean lost was my forefather, and he went down to Egypt." Narrative becomes reciprocal: one must speak to the divine regrading the human, and to the human regarding the divine. The two become completely intertwined: "You have avouched God today (he-emarta, lit. "spoken")... and God has avouched for you (he-emircha)" (26: 17:18).

In additional to attesting to national history, one must also attest to faithfulness in one's personal history. And in making a place for the personal, one also makes place for those who were previously forgotten. "You shall say before God: I have taken out the hallowed from my house, and have given it to the Levite, the stranger, the orphan, the widow...I did not forget." Rather than being fed from the forgotten leftovers, the more vulnerable elements of society are now fed from the "hallowed" tithes that were "not forgotten."

The key word of this chapter is "give" (n't'n--yet another key word of the Genesis story... we are returning to primal roots here).  Again and again it is emphasized that the land and the fruit are "given" by God. The human must "take" these gifts to the priest, who will "take" them and lay them back before God. Yet the mutuality of the human and the divine is not one of taking and giving back, but rather of overwhelming giving, which is then passed onwards. What was "given" by God is then "given" to the "Levite, the stranger, the orphan, the widow," so that ultimately Israel itself becomes "given high on the nations."]  

Deuteronomy 25: In Writing

Entwine

enfold

interweave.

Falling,  flaying

How do I carry you

How do I call your name?

To hold,

to cradle,

to clasp,

to grasp

the things you cannot

                             forget

or give.

Call a name to darkness

look for the distant flaming 

sword flipping around itself

a tree that hangs with words

will you reach out to take

or pull back

the clasp

to a gasp of breathe?

Deuteronomy: Chapter 25

Brothers

together

fall

enfold

fight

Who do you hold
Intertwined
What do you carry
And what cannot be grasped?

[For full chapter, click here

If the previous chapter closed with a focus of forgetting, on learning to leave things behind, this chapter focuses on remembering. “Remember what did to you on the way, when you came forth from the Land of Egypt” (25:7).  It is not only the memory of the path of national history that must be preserved, but also the individual names of those die “that his name be not blotted out from Israel.”

The forgotten are given to the forgotten: the left produce of the previous chapter are  left for those on the margins, for “the window, the fatherless, the stranger.” Memory is connected to belonging, to brotherhood—the leitwort of this chapter. Again, and again, the chapter speaks of ahim (brothers)—brothers, even if one is “wicked” (25:3); brothers, even if they fight. Brotherhood creates a space of “togetherness” (yahdav, another key word of the chapter).

  

Until now, Deuteronomy has focused on the socially vulnerable, insisting that the weaker parts of society—the widow, orphan the stranger—must be protected.  The lesson of slavery is providing a safe space for the weak. Yet now the focus on togetherness and brotherhood create a sensitivity to another type of vulnerability: the vulnerability of those who are “together” and alike to you. One must recognize the vulnerability of the guilty man punished in court, “so that your brother will not destroyed before you”; Amalek is condemned for attacking “all those who faltered behind” when the nation was  “enfeebled and weary.” A woman who “reaches forth her hand” (that terrible key phrase of Genesis) to grab a man's "vulnerable parts  (mevushav)" is to be punished by the loss of her own hand.

Which leads us to the fact that the place of women in this "together" space is questionable. The wife of a man who dies without children remains within the family space “she shall not go outside,” unless her husband’s brother does not wish to perform a levirate marriage that will “preserve the name of his brother.” Here, the wife becomes the glue in the continued “togetherness” of the brothers. Yet in the case of the a fight (“if men strive together, a man against his brother”), the woman cannot get involved: if she jumps in to protect her husband, she is punished. She is not to put her hand in the intimate space of their grappling together. Her own vulnerability is not taken into account.]

Deuteronomy 24: In Writing

Do not return for the forgotten

learn to leave the lost behind

do not pick over the beaten tree

rifle the flagging vine.

Leave a remnant in the shadows

to catch the gleam of the setting sun

a glowing globe in a temple of leaves.

Let the forgotten gather together

let the past take the other path

let the world unfold

as you dive within

feeling your breath flow

through the limits of your lips

feeling the weight of your day

coat you like the clothes on your back

giving your body shape.

Deuteronomy: Chapter 24

What do you remember 
what forget?
Things left behind, 
things contained. 
Sometimes there is no way back.

[For full chapter, click here
This chapter connects to the previous one through the leitmotif of the "coming sun"--a focus on a specific unit of time, a cut off point within infinity. If in the previous chapter, sunset allows those "outside" to re-enter sacred space, here "the day" serves to delimit social responsibilities: workers must be paid before the end of day; "pledges" that were confiscated must be returned before nightfall.
These limitations are thematic. Even the consequence of sin becomes limited here, prescribed to the  individual's boundaries-- "fathers shall not die for children, and children shall not die for fathers: each man shall die y his own sin" (24:16). The chapter closes with a series of limitations on property rights: one cannot return to gather forgotten grain, or pick over trees for leftover grapes and olives. There are no rights of possession for things left behind: they become common property, to be left for the "stranger, the fatherless and the widow."
The inability to return for what was lost creates a chiastic structure with the opening of the chapter, which prohibits a man to remarry his divorced wife after she has married another. One cannot return for an ex-wife, as one cannot return for lost grain (continuing the misogynistic bent of Deuteronomy, where women exist as aspects of men's property, to be "taken" and "sent").

Deuteronomy 23: In Writing

At the margins

at the outskirts

edge of your father’s skirt

where you cannot enter

barred by intangible bands

of light that give 

to the touch

Wait the falling sun's

slow tumble

the coming dark

that covers the crawling

creeping over earth's face;

that covers what comes from you.

Don’s ask, don’t seek

after what seeps

welling up your mouth

a geyser of giving.

swallow it till swells

grows heavy within

Deuteronomy: Chapter 23

What comes in

when you  go out

the redeeming tick of time

[For full chapter, click here
This chapter returns to the theme of inner and outer spaces--this time on a more metaphysical level. We no longer speak of coming in and out of the central space that "God will choose" but rather of entering the sacred space of the kahal, the assembly. Inner and outer spaces here become ingroups and outgroups: who is within the sacred congregations, who at the periphery, who outside.
One can be blocked for a myriad reasons: a damaged sexual organ, a problematic sexual background (mamzer, loosely translated as "bastard"), or a problematic national history. The impact of history becomes measurable, calculated by the shadow it casts over the future:  Moabites cannot enter the kahal "even after ten generations" ; Egyptians and Edomites can be admitted, but only after three generations of purification...
Once again, physical and metaphorical spaces intertwine.  The sacredness of the community is again expressed and reflected when it "goes out" to meet others: the laws of how to keep the army "encampment sacred" (23:15).  Again, and again, the boundaries of inside and outside are reiterated: a ritually impure soldier must "go out of the encampment, he cannot come within" (23: 11). on the physical level as well, time is the key to crossing the boundary: "and the sun will set, and he may enter."
What comes out, what is out of its place, must be covered: "you shall cover what comes out of you" (23:14).]

Deuteronomy 22: In Writing

what is found wandering
what winds astray

on what do you stumble
crumbled,

hovering like it can sway
what comes
away

  

are you lost

when you lost?

Find, finding, found

in quest to find

extreme

taken home

taken in, 

taken

constrained, contained

disdained

progress, possess

to whom do you 

belong?

be long

in longing

lingering, loitering

what do you count

when taken

to account

numerated, implicated, 

in census, by consensus,

censored

rant in silence

unspoiled by sound

dumb as stone

 do not see

as like a bird sent

away

betrayed

I fly free

Deuteronomy: Chapter 22

Who is lost

who is found

what you see 

what you don't see

and what is ignored

[For full chapter, click here

If the previous chapter closed with the elders swearing that their "eyes did not see," this chapter ironically opens with the commend "don't see"(22:1).  

Yet as in the previous case, the command not to see is reversed to actually demand to take notice: "Do not see your brother's ox or sheep wandering, and ignore them--you must bring them back to your brother." Once again, there is a demand to take responsibility for "blood," this time on an individual level: "do not bring blood into your home."

The chapter moves on in a point-counterpoint between taking responsibility for what is "found" (a key root, m'z'a) and repeated injunctions against mixing elements that should remain distinct--whether it is plowing with "an ox and a donkey"; planting a mixed vineyard; weaving together "linen and wool"; or blending gender distinctions.  The responsibility for another's property seems to be part of a wider framework of establishing boundaries, of non-adulteration.

Both themes comes together in the final sequence of of laws, which deal with slander, seduction,  rape and literal adultery. Each law is introduced with the question of what is "found" in the damsel, or if the damsel is "found" by her assaulter. Here, the young girl becomes an extension of the property laws that introduce the chapter. What happens to her is meaningful only in so far as it impacts a man's property rights--slander becomes a manner of monetary exchange between the father and the husband;  a rapist is punished only in so far as he damages "his neighbor's wife." The girl's voice has impact only in its silence--if she is raped within the city, she is held to blame for "not screaming"; only if she is assaulted in a field does "she not have a sin of death" because her voice cannot be heard.  

Some things are not to be noticed. ]