The Song of Silence

A Torah Scroll is our dearest possession. It is our Tree of Life through which we live eternally. Therefore every detail of how it must be written, its parchment, even its thread, is governed by Halacha (Jewish law). That is how the integrity of our Torah has been carefully maintained for thirty three centuries, with every scribe copying from a previously existing scroll.

In our holiday reading we encounter a format in the text which is very unusual. It is found in the Song at the Sea. First, the lines are written with plenty of open space between each phrase. Second, each successive line is staggered, so that underneath the open spaces are words, and vice versa. True this is the way it has always been, but what exactly is its significance?

In general, one of the main ways that topics in Torah are divided from each other is by using spacing. On a deeper level, spaces are used to depict a scenario without having to spell it out. Something akin to a pregnant pause, so that the full import of what has been said can be absorbed. 

In contrast, at the beginning of the Exile, in the Torah portion of Va’yechi (end of Genesis) we find no space between it and the preceding Parsha (Biblical section). Just as the open spaces in our Song are highly unusual, so is the complete lack thereof at the outset of Va’yechi. Rashi there notes this departure from the norm and quotes the Talmud that the Parsha is ‘closed’ (meaning it leaves no empty space at its outset) because, “The eyes and hearts of the Children of Israel were closed with the trouble of the enslavement.” This was still in the early days of Jewish assimilation in Egypt that began with the death of Jacob.  This tragic loss of the Patriarch constituted a turning point in the communal life of our ancestors.

The Jewish people were starting to experience their first exile. In Torah terms, exile is a state of being, characterized by apparent injustice in the world. Evil rulers with self-serving priorities dominate. Societies are led astray by amoral and hedonistic ideologies. G-d’s providence is hidden forcing individuals to question, “How can there be a G-d? If He exists, how could He remain quiet?” Eyes and hearts are closed. Hopes are dashed, and dreams are thwarted. When Jacob and his sons passed away, the influence of the Egyptian society began to be felt in the Jewish world. It spiraled downward until it became outright subjugation. All that had mattered to the original family of seventy souls became dulled through the onslaught of foreign influences. Confusion gave way to pain, suffering, and servitude.

Then G-d sent a redeemer with a bigger-than-life stick. With each plague the Egyptians were further blinded, while the Jews started to see more clearly. Deliverance culminated at the Sea of Reeds with the oppressor utterly defeated. G-d’s intervention was clear and there were no more doubts. Even the suffering was now justified. The experience was purposeful.

This is what is conveyed by the spaces. The spaces express the now obvious providence of G-d in the Egyptian exile. Until now the answers were ‘closed’, and out of reach. Now all is ‘open’ and clear. So much so, that now the entire nation can point their finger and declare, “This is my G-d.” It is He who is behind the mask of events. It is He, who cannot be captured in mere words, who fills the blank spaces in our Song at the Sea. In this case, the silence of what was not said is deeper and more profound than that which is actually expressed.

The Jewish calendar offers the sincere student of Torah a taste of these ‘openings’ between the affairs of our busy lives. That is, the Holy Shabbat or annual Festivals. The critics of our holy days argue that, “You are so restricted. You can’t do this and you can’t do that.” Typically our response is, “I don’t have to do this and that! Now I can turn to what matters in life. I can spend time with my family. I can study. I can stop and think.” / Most of us are honest enough to admit that we wouldn’t do it otherwise. We are so involved in the process of making a living, we forget about life.

Shabbat and Holidays are the times that we can stop and remind ourselves that we are more than producers and consumers. It’s a 24-hour or 8-day space of silence that shouts out so eloquently “There is someone out there Who doesn’t need words to be heard”