Jacob.…
I confess to having rebelled against the Lord, but I have never repudiated Him.
Having studied the sublime, enchanting texts of the prophets, I make mine Jeremiah’s Lamentations, evoking the destruction of the first Temple of Jerusalem:
“You have killed [Your children] without mercy!”
“You have assassinated [Your people] without compassion!”
What? God, assassin? True, some of us protested against the divine silence. But none of us had the audacity to call God “assassin”!
On the third day, I feel the need to say my daily prayers. I ask Marion to bring me my tallith and tefillin.
To thank Him? To explain to God that I believe in Him in spite of Himself? My thoughts are still too nebulous to formulate a valid response on the subject of the Almighty.
I do, however, find a response, more personal perhaps: namely, that my commitment is an affirmation of my fidelity to the religiouspractice of my parents and theirs. If I observe the laws of the Torah by putting on the tefillin, it is because my father and grandfather, and theirs, did so. I refuse to be the last in a line going back very far in my memory and that of my people.
I know this answer is in no way satisfactory, or perhaps not even valid. But it is the only one.
All my life, until today, I have been content to ask questions. All the while knowing that the real questions, those that concern the Creator and His creation, have no answers. I’ll go even farther and say that there is a level at which only the questions are eternal; the answers never are.
And so, the patient that I am, more charitable, repeats, “Since God is, He is to be found in the questions as well as in the answers.”
23
ONE DAY at the beginning of my convalescence, little Elijah, five years old, comes to pay me a visit. I hug him and tell him, “Every time I see you, my life becomes a gift.”
He observes me closely as I speak and then, with a serious mien, responds:
“Grandpa, you know that I love you, and I see you are in pain. Tell me: If I loved you more, would you be in less pain?”
I am convinced God at that moment is smiling as He contemplates His creation.
24
PHYSICIANS WARNED me that the feelings of weakness and fatigue would last long after I left the hospital. And so, for several weeks I walk like an old man—after all, I am only eighty-two! I have to make a considerable effort to hold myself straight. Every few steps, I have to stop, short of breath, and rest a moment until I am able to go on. Also, the pain in my chest continues to prevent me from sleeping.
Among the interdictions imposed by the physician: no smoking. But I have not smoked for forty-two years, since I married. No alcohol either. It happens that I don’t drink; I never did. No exercise. Never did that either.
And then came the warning: “A bypass brings with it deep depression.” Why? I don’t know; it probably is linked to the many mysteries of the heart. In my case, it didn’t happen.
As yet.
25
A CREDO that defines my path:
I belong to a generation that has often felt abandoned by God and betrayed by mankind. And yet, I believe that we must not give up on either.
Was it yesterday—or long ago—that we learned how human beings have been able to attain perfection in cruelty? That for the killers, the torturers, it is normal, thus human, to act inhumanely? Should one therefore turn away from humanity?
The answer, of course, is up to each of us. We must choose between the violence of adults and the smiles of children, between the ugliness of hate and the will to oppose it. Between inflicting suffering and humiliation on our fellow man and offering him the solidarity and hope he deserves. Or not.
I know—I speak from experience—that even in darkness it is possible to create light andencourage compassion. That it is possible to feel free inside a prison. That even in exile, friendship exists and can become an anchor. That one instant before dying, man is still
I confess to having rebelled against the Lord, but I have never repudiated Him.
Having studied the sublime, enchanting texts of the prophets, I make mine Jeremiah’s Lamentations, evoking the destruction of the first Temple of Jerusalem:
“You have killed [Your children] without mercy!”
“You have assassinated [Your people] without compassion!”
What? God, assassin? True, some of us protested against the divine silence. But none of us had the audacity to call God “assassin”!
On the third day, I feel the need to say my daily prayers. I ask Marion to bring me my tallith and tefillin.
To thank Him? To explain to God that I believe in Him in spite of Himself? My thoughts are still too nebulous to formulate a valid response on the subject of the Almighty.
I do, however, find a response, more personal perhaps: namely, that my commitment is an affirmation of my fidelity to the religiouspractice of my parents and theirs. If I observe the laws of the Torah by putting on the tefillin, it is because my father and grandfather, and theirs, did so. I refuse to be the last in a line going back very far in my memory and that of my people.
I know this answer is in no way satisfactory, or perhaps not even valid. But it is the only one.
All my life, until today, I have been content to ask questions. All the while knowing that the real questions, those that concern the Creator and His creation, have no answers. I’ll go even farther and say that there is a level at which only the questions are eternal; the answers never are.
And so, the patient that I am, more charitable, repeats, “Since God is, He is to be found in the questions as well as in the answers.”
23
ONE DAY at the beginning of my convalescence, little Elijah, five years old, comes to pay me a visit. I hug him and tell him, “Every time I see you, my life becomes a gift.”
He observes me closely as I speak and then, with a serious mien, responds:
“Grandpa, you know that I love you, and I see you are in pain. Tell me: If I loved you more, would you be in less pain?”
I am convinced God at that moment is smiling as He contemplates His creation.
24
PHYSICIANS WARNED me that the feelings of weakness and fatigue would last long after I left the hospital. And so, for several weeks I walk like an old man—after all, I am only eighty-two! I have to make a considerable effort to hold myself straight. Every few steps, I have to stop, short of breath, and rest a moment until I am able to go on. Also, the pain in my chest continues to prevent me from sleeping.
Among the interdictions imposed by the physician: no smoking. But I have not smoked for forty-two years, since I married. No alcohol either. It happens that I don’t drink; I never did. No exercise. Never did that either.
And then came the warning: “A bypass brings with it deep depression.” Why? I don’t know; it probably is linked to the many mysteries of the heart. In my case, it didn’t happen.
As yet.
25
A CREDO that defines my path:
I belong to a generation that has often felt abandoned by God and betrayed by mankind. And yet, I believe that we must not give up on either.
Was it yesterday—or long ago—that we learned how human beings have been able to attain perfection in cruelty? That for the killers, the torturers, it is normal, thus human, to act inhumanely? Should one therefore turn away from humanity?
The answer, of course, is up to each of us. We must choose between the violence of adults and the smiles of children, between the ugliness of hate and the will to oppose it. Between inflicting suffering and humiliation on our fellow man and offering him the solidarity and hope he deserves. Or not.
I know—I speak from experience—that even in darkness it is possible to create light andencourage compassion. That it is possible to feel free inside a prison. That even in exile, friendship exists and can become an anchor. That one instant before dying, man is still
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