The Fall

I just read an article titled "The Wall Separating God and Israel," by Baruch Bokser in which he discusses BT Brachot 32b which reads:

וְאָמַר רַבִּי אֶלְעָזָר: מִיּוֹם שֶׁחָרַב בֵּית הַמִּקְדָּשׁנִפְסְקָה חוֹמַת בַּרְזֶל בֵּין יִשְׂרָאֵל לַאֲבִיהֶם שֶׁבַּשָּׁמַיִם

R. Elazar said: From the time the Temple was destroyed, an iron wall has cut Israel off from its Father in Heaven.

Bokser suggests that we have been translating the word נִפְסְקָה incorrectly and that the entire expression should in fact be read, "From the time the Temple was destroyed, the iron wall that was between Israel and its Father in Heaven has come to an end." In other words, he claims that the destruction of the Temple was an improvement in Israel's relationship with God. This reading is so subversive, it caused me to pause. The loss of the Jerusalem Temple is generally understood as the single cataclysmic event that shattered man's direct line of communication with God through the sacrifices. Here R. Elazar (as understood by Bokser) considers it an advancement in that relationship, as it allowed portals of direct access to open from any locale, not just the Temple in Jerusalem.

Is it right to read the destruction of the Temple in this way? Is it authentic? Morally appropriate? Historically sensitive? Is it demeaning? Does it belittle the tragedy? It’s not just that he found a silver lining to the destruction of the Temple, but actually read it as something cosmically good. A step up, instead of a fall.

I had a similar experience about twenty years ago in New York. I've always loved to dance and so when I first moved to the city to attend Stern College, I sought out an evening dance class. I had just returned from a year of religious studies in Israel, and while less brainwashed than some, I was sufficiently impressed by my religious instructions on female modesty to seek out an all-girls dance studio. Ironically, (and prescient, considering my future studies of the Middle East), the only appropriate class I found was an Arabic belly dance class. Yes, I was aware that it was strange to be a skirt wearing seminarian learning to shake to Arabic music, but one class in and I was hooked. The earthiness, the music, the celebration of rich sweaty femininity was the perfect antidote to the prim role I felt compelled to accept out of the studio.

One evening Amira, (the teacher, about whom more later), asked us to playact the story of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden. I was assigned to be Eve and threw myself headlong into the role, dancing through the garden, exploring its wonders. From the corner of my eye, I noticed Amira nodding appreciatively as I allowed the snake to lead me towards the Tree of Knowledge. I felt completely engrossed in the role. It was one of those wonderful moments when my body and mind were entirely in sync with the music and I was proud at how well I was doing. When I finally reached out to the Tree of Knowledge and bit into its fruit, I froze dramatically, allowing a sense of horror to wash over me. I gripped me chest and pulled my hair, spinning and writhing as in sudden pain. Then to my surprise, Amira paused the music. With everyone watching, she asked me what I was doing. This was not at all typical of her, so I explained, awkwardly, that Eve was sad having eaten from the forbidden tree. She looked at me directly and said, "Trust me, she wasn't sad. She was much much better off." I was confused, and embarrassed, but the class resumed. I can't recall now if I revised the dance, but I've been thinking about her interpretation of the story for years. The Bible clearly describes Eve's action as a sin, and certainly punishes her, but is it possible that she was better off after eating from the tree? Had Amira learned this somewhere? And if not, what gave her the audacity to tell it with such certainty?

Coincidentally, I gained some insight into Amira's perspective (if not to the larger truth in her statement) when she invited me some months later to join her belly dance troupe. I had to explain to her that (while deeply flattered) I did not feel comfortable belly dancing in front of men, nor would I be able to perform on Shabbat. To my surprise, she told me that she was raised in an observant Jewish home as well! She was born in Bnei Brak to a very traditional Sephardic family that proudly descended from a great sage, the Hakhan Daud, I believe. When she learned to dance, she knew that her community could not offer her anything as fulfilling and left it all.