As we continue to mourn the losses of October 7, and pray for the safe return of the hostages and the IDF troops, this week’s kavannot will focus on Israeli poetry and music.
There is a wonderful, albeit potentially apocryphal, story about a tourist looking for water in an Israeli grocery store. Interested in a particular brand, the tourist calls out: Hey, where is Mei Eden (“the waters of Eden”). Completely nonplussed, as Israeli checkout workers usually are, the secular woman sitting at the cash register responds almost immediately: Genesis 2, verses 10-14. Because, of course, that is where the waters of Eden appear in the Torah. It is a story that, to me, has always spoken about the deep connection between our ancient texts and this modern land, about the beautiful ways in which Jewish language and history plays out in even the most ordinary encounters in Israel today.
Over the past weeks, I have shared with many of your selections from the Psalms. I am always, but especially now, so deeply moved by the range of emotion that our ancients understood and shared. I am appreciative of the invitation to be angry, hopeful, despairing, joyful and more — and sometimes all at the same time. I’ve turned often to Psalm 121 (“I lift my eyes to the heavens”), to Psalm 23 (“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow”), and even to Psalm 100 (“Serve God in gladness”). But more than anything, I find myself returning again and again to Psalm 130.
Beginning in the depths, the words of the Psalm relate a deep, deep sadness. Crying out to God, the words of the Psalm demand to be heard, to be recognized in their pain. And, perhaps most beautifully, the words of the Psalm end with the knowledge and nearness of hesed, of overflowing compassion. It is no wonder, then, that Idan Raichel — the award-winning Israeli singer — used the opening words of this Psalm as the introduction to what became the 2005 Israel (AKUM) Song of the Year, turning the song into a love song. In his reimagining, the words of the Psalmist are a plea to a lover, asking for their love to provide happiness and protection. Even more powerfully, Raichel — an Ashkenazi Israeli — brings Amharic, the language spoken by Ethiopian Jews, into the melodies that blend East and West, Sephardi, Mizrachi, and Ashkenazi. Here, as in the grocery store, we see that special meld of ancient and modern that is unique to Israel, to Israelis, and to this beautiful culture.
Today, as the “first” day of sheloshim for the victims of October 7, I am feeling in the depths. Perhaps you are, too. And perhaps, hearing these words and this melody will help all of us feel a little closer to overflowing compassion, for ourselves and for a world that needs it.
— Rabbi Sari Laufer