The Necessary Barrier of Language
The priestly blessing articulated in this week’s parshah Naso is one of the most ancient and poignant passages in the Torah. Every Friday evening, parents recite it to bless their children. It is included in synagogue services on important holidays, and if one is fortunate, they may merit hearing it at the Western Wall on a Festival Day.
יְבָרֶכְךָ֥ יְהֹוָ֖ה וְיִשְׁמְרֶֽךָ׃ {ס}
May God bless and protect you!
יָאֵ֨ר יְהֹוָ֧ה ׀ פָּנָ֛יו אֵלֶ֖יךָ וִֽיחֻנֶּֽךָּ׃ {ס}
God deal kindly and graciously with you!
יִשָּׂ֨א יְהֹוָ֤ה ׀ פָּנָיו֙ אֵלֶ֔יךָ וְיָשֵׂ֥ם לְךָ֖ שָׁלֽוֹם׃ {ס}
God bestow favor upon you and grant you peace!
God states that these blessings are being bestowed upon the people. It is very explicitly implied that the priests are a conduit of blessing, and that it is through them that these blessings are placed directly upon the people.
The Talmud in tractate Megillah is careful with these blessings; these are Torah verses that cannot be translated into active simultaneous translation. The reason, Rashi states, is found in tractate Berakhot: We shouldn’t let other people hear that God is “Yisa panav ישׂא פּניו” from the third blessing, which we see translated as “bestowing favor” but really means “lifting His face.”
This is a level of favoritism that is dangerous to show the public. God does not show predetermined favor to anyone:
כִּ֚י יְהֹוָ֣ה אֱלֹֽהֵיכֶ֔ם ה֚וּא אֱלֹהֵ֣י הָֽאֱלֹהִ֔ים וַאֲדֹנֵ֖י הָאֲדֹנִ֑ים הָאֵ֨ל הַגָּדֹ֤ל הַגִּבֹּר֙ וְהַנּוֹרָ֔א אֲשֶׁר֙ לֹא־יִשָּׂ֣א פָנִ֔ים וְלֹ֥א יִקַּ֖ח שֹֽׁחַד׃
‘‘For God, your God is the God and Sovereign supreme, the great, the mighty, and the awesome God, who shows no favor and takes no bribe.’’ (Deut. 10:13)
“Showing no favor” is actually the same language as “lifting His Face” from the priestly blessing. So this contradiction cannot be revealed to the world.
The explanation as to why God will show favor in any case is because the Jewish people will do the Blessing after the Meals even after eating something much smaller than a meal, something as big as an egg or olive. At least, that’s the explanation Berachot gives.
That the Talmud is concerned about this passage and what it may say to others is very interesting, considering that we are generally more concerned with other passages in our dealings with the non-Jewish world. We tend to have more of a problem with passages that talk about how Israelites are “chosen.” This is because being a “chosen people” sets us apart from others; there is an anti-Semitic trope that Jews are arrogant in their chosenness, not understanding that we interpret chosenness as the reason we are burdened with the Law.
If there is any reason to be arrogant, says the Talmud, it is because we are raised by God’s favor in this Priestly Blessing. But we know that others don’t see this as a threat because they interpret this blessing as reaching them too — it feels universal, even though it flatly isn’t. These tendencies are outside the anticipation of the Rabbinic mind, but not outside its scope.
The way the Rabbinic mind works is to resolve contradictions that trouble it; we accept that this is a solvable contradiction, but also that those who encounter it without the benefit of greater education will be at a loss.
Also found in tractate Megillah, in these passages, we see a tendency leaned upon in the literal Aramaic translations of Torah to explain away the most theologically difficult parts or hide them from the broader public. Language, then, is a barrier, so that only the people initiated in the content can be exposed to the true language, that they will be invested in the native world view of the text instead of looking to challenge with a foreign one.
I’ve been reading a work published in the 1960s by Avrom Golomb, a pioneer in pedagogy who started Yiddish schools across North America. In his book “Integrale yidishkeyt,” he argues for education in both Yiddish and Hebrew, believing them not to be at odds with each other. He makes the point that the languages are unimportant on their own; it is rather the material written in these languages that make them essential for the Jewish mind. That is, Hebraicists and Yiddishists should be less focused on the victory of their languages and more concerned with the fact that Jews who should have a Jewish consciousness, a Jewish perspective, will need to absorb the massive amount of content written in both languages, which does not inherently contradict each other.
Golomb, in his other work, complains that Jews tend to favor and side with the dominant culture at the expense of their own. He wonders what it will take for Jews to embrace their own identity as independent of a larger national one, and takes steps to create schools to do it.
I’m inspired by his work and his thoughts because I’ve come to understand that he is right. Language, as convenient as it is to communicate internationally, also has a role in guarding the intricacies of our worldview that will always be vulnerable to abuse by the uninitiated. I sometimes wonder how much more the Jewish community could accomplish if we held our conversations in languages that only we knew, that forced us to invest in the intricate and difficult conversations of our own history.
