Rabbi Chaim Lifshitz
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“Your
Camp Shall
be Sacred”
Our
Ambivalent
Relationship to Objects
Rabbi
Ze'ev Chaim Lifshitz
l'ilui
nishmat
Esther bat Mordechai
l'ilui
nishmat
Meyer Hirsh ben Laibel
Translated
from Hebrew by Dr. Sara Nathan
A Jewish
Philosophy
of Ecology
Jacob
and Laban are antithetical symbol, each representing an
opposite perspective on reality. Laban views reality as
a
relationship to objects, whereas Jacob rejects this
view. Jacob’s
children, the sages of Judaism, would call this view
egocentric or,
alternatively, pagan.
Being egocentric means that I relate
exclusively to myself, and it is from this perspective
that I form my
picture of reality.
“Laban replied to Jacob: ‘These
daughters are my daughters, and these sons are my sons,
and these
sheep are my sheep, and everything that you see is
mine’”.
(Genesis 31:43)
If it does not directly concern “me,” it
has no value. It holds no potential and generates no
interest. It is
a mere object. Whatever it may be – a human being,
an animal,
a landscape, the entire ecosystem – it does not involve
me. This
attitude includes ecology as well: The holistic balance
of systems is
only some irrelevant thing out there. Whether the
ecological focus is
environmental, national, historic, or even religious –
it does not
concern the egocentric.
Not that our generous-minded egoist is
incapable of bestowing value upon any phenomenon. He can
and he does,
but only if it is instrumental for serving his
interests. He may
suddenly crowd his pockets with amulets, and Psalms
books, and all
sorts of religious accessories, when trouble threatens.
He may just
as suddenly throw them all out and decide they are not
satisfactory.
They have not produced the results he expected. As soon
as an object
ceases to interest him – the moment it ceases to perform
as an
instrument that serves his interests – it has
become
garbage.
Pagan:
The pagan approach is no different than the
egocentric approach, in principle. There is one major
difference,
however: The egoist establishes himself as the universal
center of
gravity, toward which all of reality must necessarily
direct itself.
The pagan declares the object of his worship to be the
universal
center of gravity. He even nullifies his own autonomous
existence
before it. He perceives this object to be the source of
power and the
origin of all sensation. He would never – he dare not –
ignore
the object of his worship. He will always accommodate
it, and fulfill
its demands, no matter what the price. Is the price
worth it? Is it
not too high? Is it not an exorbitant ransom? These are
questions he
never considers. Would his idol demand the betrayal of
his most
cherished values, the sacrifice of his basic well being,
he would yet
obey.
Any object can qualify for pagan worship. Even
environmental issues. Legitimate concerns over landscape
use,
involvement in the preservation of our planet’s
resources –
indeed, anything that falls into the bag called “nature”
in
post-modernist terminology, can be turned into an idol.
The
sacrosanct status of this idol is soaring to the heights
at the same
rate that man’s godly image is losing altitude. We are
no longer
surprised, these days, when darling household pets
inherit millions,
bequeathed to them by their loving (and bored)
mistresses. Interred
in costly cemeteries, their priceless gravestones
inscribed with
phrases laden with love and devotion to such a degree –
we cannot
help but wonder: Had these heiresses lavished such love
and devotion
upon their own species, would not the world have looked
a happier
place? The prophet Hosea weeps over this degradation of
the human
image: (13:2.) “Those who sacrifice human beings will
kiss calves.”
This means that a reverse correlation exists between
man’s
attitude to his fellow human being and to his animal:
When human
beings are turned into objects to be exploited, the
value of the calf
rises. Destined by nature to serve man – as food, as
offering –
the animal is granted instead “human” value: It merits a
reciprocal attitude and an intimate relationship.
Please note
that the Torah’s attitude towards eating animal flesh
severely
limits eating meat for its own sake. The attitude
permeating every
discussion of the legitimacy of animal use is extremely
selective.
Strict limitations are placed on man’s right to take
from the
animal. There are permissible and non-permissible
species – the
kosher versus the non-kosher animal. Preparation
requirements are
even more stringent, to render even the meat of a kosher
animal
permissible for use. There is a rigid prohibition
against eating any
part of any living animal. There are stringent laws
defining kosher
slaughtering methods. Only trained professionals,
demonstrating
practical expertise as well as complete familiarity with
the laws may
slaughter an animal. After all this is accomplished,
there follow
complex procedures for koshering the meat. When the meat
is finally
permitted, it is subject to strict separation laws: Any
meat-related
product or vessel may not come in contact with any
milk-related
product or vessel.
On top of this, the sages of the Talmud
issue a declaration that has no match for effectively
limiting meat
consumption: “An ignoramus is forbidden to eat meat!”
Who can
confidently testify that he is not included in this
prohibition?
Let us hasten to reassure all those meat gorgers and
gluttons
among us. We will unravel this mysterious dictum: An
ignoramus is
defined as a person whose behavior is not guided by
goals based on
values. His actions are not “for the sake of mitsva.”
Eating
for the sake of a mitsva is entirely legitimate. It is a
mitsva in
itself. Mere ingestion of meat for its own sake is not
legitimate. It
is not only foreign to the spirit of Judaism, but it is
a perfect
example of that negative human tendency: Relating to
reality as to an
object.
Both egocentrics and pagans perceive reality as a
thing – as an instrument. We must remember that the
value of an
instrument – even from a purely instrumental perspective
– must
always decrease. It fades. One instrument is abandoned
and betrayed
for another. The moment the newer instrument appears,
the older one
becomes irrelevant.
The instrumental approach has been gaining
great grounds in our day. People are changing homes,
professions,
work places, spouses, etc. at an increasingly alarming
rate. When
they go, they leave all their furniture behind, and
their
photographs, and their intimately personal items. They
are no more
than discarded equipment. Many today do not seem
capable of
developing a personal relationship to the objects in
their
environment, even when these objects have served them
for years. A
bed, a desk, a pen… it is a Kleenex culture. Use it and
trash it.
Instant.
They eat fast food, which they have not troubled to
prepare. They relate to food as to a technically
required digestive
activity that concludes in a bowel movement: A flush of
the toilet
and it is done.
There is no thought of causes and effects. No
connection is made between the act of stuffing in and
digesting, and
a consciousness of Divine Providence.
There is no gratitude.
There is no perceiving the act of eating as a human
activity so
sacred as to be capable of evoking the Divine presence.
Since no such
perception exists, they cannot understand or justify the
Jewish
blessing over food, recited before eating. They cannot
understand or
justify the blessing of thanks, offered to “the One Who
formed the
human being in wisdom, and created in him orifices…”
that is
recited after digestion.
Making connections, being conscious
of cause and effect, experiencing gratitude – all of
these are the
antithesis of the tissue culture. They are based on
assumptions that
are entirely different, and need to be classified under
an entirely
different heading.
A phrase that captures the essence of the
Jewish perspective on a human being’s relationship to
his physical
environment is found in Deuteronomy: (23:15)
“Your camp
shall be sacred.”
A Jew relates to the worship of his
Creator as to the central issue of his life. Yet this
position is
widely misunderstood, by many who stand outside the
framework of
Judaism. It is also widely misunderstood – unfortunately
– by
many who stand well within the framework of Judaism.
The
Creator cannot be worshipped from a point that is above
and beyond
this world. This is a real error – the disdain for the
material,
the tendency to look down arrogantly, to attempt to
simply skip over
the cumulative trash heap called physical reality. Only
through
physical reality, and only thanks to it, can a human
being worship
God. Even the words of the Torah themselves, when
removed from their
physical context, become mere words: “Letters flying
through the
air.”
God’s presence can be evoked only through physical
reality. Please note that this process – whereby
physical reality
serves its true function, and is transformed to become
the vehicle
bearing God’s presence – needs man: Physical reality
plus a
little help from a human being.
Egocentric man takes the
opposite position. He does not care to transform the
conditions of
his physical reality into worship of his Creator.
Egocentric man
worships himself. He perceives himself as the ultimate
purpose of the
universe. Reality is there for him exclusively. Or, if
he is a pagan,
reality is there for its own ultimate purpose. Pagan and
egoist each
picture reality differently, but they share this in
common: The godly
dimension is completely absent.
Egocentricity is normal to a
certain extent. Every person creates an egocentric
circle around
himself, in order to be able to function and in order to
differentiate values. I, for example, am so unusually
sensitive that
I can even be labeled an eestenees, as the
Talmud terms the
person so excessively fastidious that “his life is no
life.” The
mildest imbalance of circumstances is exceedingly
distressing to an
eestenees.
Yet suddenly, here is a fist rudely thrust
into my beard, while a second fist snatches my glasses
off my face,
and I smile, with a pleasure that must surely seem
incomprehensible.
The aggressor is placed in my arms in the form of a
darling baby
girl. My sweet granddaughter punches me with her fists
and laughs
happily, obviously pleased with herself, her pair of
pearl teeth
gleaming from her sweet lips.
The Talmudic concept of
monetary compensation addresses the issue of relative
damage:
Compensation is relative to the relationship between
“the one who
causes shame and the one who is caused shame.” Had she
been a
stranger, I am not certain that I would have smiled. For
this one is
my own, whereas the other falls outside of my egocentric
circle.
All human beings share this tendency. An egocentric
circle is
essential and natural. Difficulties arise only when the
egocentric
circle grows exclusive. For then, the egocentric circle
denies all
other values, and becomes oblivious of universal truths.
At that
point, Laban superimposes his picture of reality over
Jacob’s
picture of reality, and threatens to obliterate it.
How is
Laban’s view of reality expressed practically? How is it
represented in the modern world?
The American nation has
undergone an emotional crisis in the wake of the Twin
Towers tragedy.
Its response to this tragedy provides an illustration of
the moral
fragility of the modern liberal. This nation has served
as the model,
as the moral exemplar for all nations. It has educated
the entire
world in matters of moral behavior. Its righteousness is
universally
acknowledged. While it moralizes, it simultaneously
shakes its
threatening fist at nations that live under the
perpetual threat of
terror, that are surrounded by wild beasts in human
form, creatures
that know no natural human limits of morality or
conscience.
Clearly, unambivalently, the “supremely moral”
nation instructs beleaguered citizenries around the
globe to respect
the “human rights” of others, even if they happen to be
brutal
terrorists. The rights and the privileges that these
persecuted
nations are required to grant their persecutors, must
parallel the
luxurious standard that the moralistic nation itself
enjoys, as a
land that had not known the fear of a savage foe for
hundreds of
years.
Imperiously, the moralistic nation commands the weaker
nations, languishing under terror, to bite the lip and
still the
agonized cry. These little nations must continue to bear
and to
suffer – to tolerate incessant and unceasing
bloodletting, in the
hallowed name of American liberalism – that value system
born and
bred of her own egoistic, hedonistic moral abandon.
Suddenly,
murderous terror strikes her. She herself is the target.
It is not a
media event. Nevertheless, compared to the continuous
bloodletting
endured by long-suffering nations, the blow is of
relatively small
proportion.
This pampered nation suddenly rises up, her
righteous Christian morality instantaneously shed –
gone,
forgotten. Viciously she strikes out at random – at
dubious
enemies, murdering thousands of helpless and hapless
human beings.
She bombs hospitals and schools and innocent citizens.
All who cross
her path are arrested and imprisoned without trial. No
one utters a
murmur of protest.
It may very well be that this is the only
viable response. Yet her behavior is in direct
contradiction to her
proclaimed values and to her expectations of others. The
judgmental
nation suddenly adopts the argument that persecuted
nations have been
pleading for decades – that mortal enemies must be
fought and
defeated.
The American press, “watchdog of democracy,”
shining knight of liberalism, does not protest and does
not condemn
these “torrential outpourings of brutality.” Yet how is
this? It
is the administration itself perpetrating these deeds.
This is no
mere case of the people taking to the streets to
demonstrate and to
express their supposed opinion.
American journalists are
questioned about their uncharacteristic silence. You do
not want to
raise a scandal? You do not wish to expose atrocities?
What of the
Geneva Convention?
The arbiters of the mass media respond with
sincere amazement: “But this time it’s for real. This
time it’s
us who’ve been hurt.”
Interpret this as follows: As long
as our situation is tranquil, we allow ourselves the
luxuries of
liberalism. However, when our own lives are in danger,
things change,
and the rules of the egocentric circle must apply. The
law of the
jungle then rules the day: Kill or be killed.
Here we must
point to a strange phenomenon:
In liberal societies, as mentioned
above, permissiveness has brought man to an extreme
state of
egocentric detachment from reality. Reality is worthy of
consideration only insofar as it addresses him, that is,
only insofar
as it falls within his own egocentric circle. If it
falls outside of
this circle, is merely an instrument. His attitude to it
is relative
to the utilitarian service it can provide. If it can
provide no
utilitarian service, it is actually severed from his
conscious
awareness.
Yet what sort of human being can this be? In what sense
is he called human? Can one be so immersed in one’s own
egocentric
circle as to be severed from every universal human
value?
This
total inability to perceive universal human values is
precisely the
“logic” that supports the suicide phenomenon. It is the
‘reasoning’ behind the utter contempt for life itself
that is
expressed by drug and alcohol abuse, and by the flock
migration of
youth to the most remote and dangerous corners of the
earth. Do not
imagine that these behaviors express a spirit of
adventure, or
courage and daring. Rather, they express an absolute
contempt –
unto despair – for the value of a human life.
Yet only
attack this atrophied, overindulged child, who cannot
even exert
himself to cherish his own existence, and he is
transformed into a
wild beast. Suddenly he is exposed, in all his ugly
hypocrisy.
Adding insult to injury, the enraged – still
supremely moral – child continues to moralize. He
continues to
brandish the gun of liberalism, threatening nations of
the world, who
continue to languish under terrorist threat: For me, it
is
permissible to respond to terror, he shouts indignantly.
I may and
must express my righteous wrath. All you others – may
not and dare
not…
Wherefore the double deal? How to explain such
mutually contradictory responses? On one hand, their
survival
mechanisms are atrophied to the point of complete
contempt for their
own existence – as a consequence of their extreme,
egocentric
detachment from reality. One the other hand, and
simultaneously,
their survival instincts are violently aroused. We
observe them with
amazement, as they rear their heads and bare their
teeth.
Two
antithetical responses occur at the same moment. Yet
both draw from
the same foul source: Both derive from an absolute
absence of
commitment to (or even consciousness of) universal human
values:
“God’s praises are in their throat, yet a double-edged
sword is
in their hand.” “The voice is Jacob’s voice, yet the
hands are
Esau’s hands.”
It is terrifying to observe moral
duplicity. Our forefather Isaac observed it in Esau,
“and he was
overcome by a great dread.” “He saw hell opening below
him.”
(Midrash)
The hypocritical culture – Esau’s legacy – is
symbolized by the pig: A pig lies on its back,
displaying its split
hooves for all to see: “Look, I am kosher,” it seems to
say –
publicly advertising its own purity. Yet its claim is
false: It is
not a kosher animal, for it does not chew its cud.
Apparently
hypocrisy is a uniquely human need, once man has lost
his humanity.
It seems that only animals are capable of a purely
animal existence,
openly devoid of values. Man cannot willfully allow
himself such an
admission. “Not on bread alone will man live.” To openly
avow an
egocentric worldview is impossible. If he disdains
values, he will
not be brazen enough to admit it. He will invest in
self-deception.
How? By subscribing to values that do not compel him to
deviate from
his egocentric circle.
To hide his moral nakedness, he
appoints himself moral guardian over his fellow. He
attends carefully
to his moral cosmetics, investing in elaborate
treatments for every
little wrinkle that appears in his grotesque face.
The life
of the double moral standard is a deadly camouflage: “He
saw hell
opening below him”. One is lulled into a feeling of
moral well
being. By taking refuge in energetic moral guardianship
over one's
fellow, one can avoid taking the reckoning of one’s own
moral
bankruptcy. What the righteous one sees, the wicked one
attempts to
ignore.
The moral guardian preaches rights and liberties for
all and sundry. He does not discriminate; objects,
plants, animals
and human beings – all are equal before him. “And man’s
superiority over the beast – is naught.” Hence the
zealous
preservation of nature at the expense of human beings.
HUMAN
ECOLOGY
VERSUS
THE ECOLOGY OF THE NATURE PRESERVE
Situated
somewhere along the vast expanse that stretches between
creativity
and destruction, is the ecological problem. Only the
human race could
create such a problem. Only human beings are
characterized by two
conflicting tendencies – the urge to create and the urge
to
destroy. All other creatures, lacking intelligence, are
limited in
their urges, and in their activities – in keeping with
the limited
capacities granted them by their Creator. Reason is the
root of all
creative growth, and also the root of all sin. As reason
increases,
destruction increases, and the capacity to create
increases
accordingly.
Yet the main arena of experience, of man’s
real creative activity, is the human arena. It is here
that the
crucial relationship between the individual and society
unfolds. In
this relationship, two separate spheres – “I” and
“other” –
must come together. This encounter is charged with
tensions, and
riddled with obstacles, and all but consumed by the
conflicting
drives, needs, and furies that attend it. Human
tendencies contradict
one another. Human drives and human emotions jog along
precariously,
holding on to the track that stretches – taut as a
violin string –
between the polar extremes of human need. Freedom
struggles with
belonging, self strives against ego.
Human relationships may
be laden with love, to the point of bursting. They may
be burdened by
hate, to the point of loathing. Ideally, they can be
wellsprings of
life-giving water. All too often, they are deprived of
love and
kindness. Neglect results in stagnation. They are soon
contaminated.
Overgrown with slime, they grow putrid, eventually
succumbing to the
well-poisoners, people-haters, and despoilers of human
tranquility.
Human ecology devours the larger part of human energy
and
intelligence. Interpersonal relations are the ultimate
energy hog.
You are left with hardly any reserves, when you finally
decide to
invest in the ecology of the environment. Only
environmental efforts
that relate directly to human ecology can reap success,
because
environmental ecosystems depend on the human tensions
that fluctuate
between the urge to destroy and the urge to create.
The
tensions themselves derive from man’s animalistic
tendencies, which
center round egocentricity. They know nothing of
consideration for
the environment. They know only the urge to survive at
the universe’s
expense, and more often, at another human being’s
expense. The
animalistic tendency leans toward taking rather than
towards
giving.
Human egoism is much more destructive, by far more
deadly, than the survival instincts of the other
animals. This is
because a human being can draft his godliness – that is,
his powers
of reason and his conviction that he is sole owner of
the universe –
into the service of his egoism. Endowed by his Creator
with a
conviction of ownership of the universe in order to bear
responsibility for the universe, as partner to the
Almighty, man
instead misuses this quality. He makes use of the
feeling of
possession – a corollary of personal responsibility – in
a
distorted manner. He chooses to view the universe as his
own private
property: It is there only to cater to his egocentric
whims. The
result: Rampant, rapacious, oblivious ecological
destruction.
His
powers of imagination and intelligence vastly expand his
destructive
urges. Their reach far exceeds the mere fulfillment of
his
existential needs. The other creatures take modestly
from the world;
they are satisfied with the simple fulfillment of
existence’s
humble needs. Whereas man, when his negative character
grows unruly
and uncontrolled, is capable of ravaging the fundamental
systems of
the universe. It is in man’s power to erase nature’s –
and
morality’s – most basic boundaries.
“Envy, lust, and
pride,” warn the sages of the Talmud, can deviate far
indeed from
the simple satisfaction of legitimate existential needs.
“If he has
a hundred, he wants two hundred.” “No one dies with even
half of
his lust in his hand.” “Whoever chases after honor –
honor
flees from him.” Pursuing these goals is like trying to
quench
one's thirst by drinking salt water. Rather than
fulfilling the need,
it exacerbates it. When envy, lust, and pride are man’s
main
motivators, then intelligence and creative imagination
become the
reinforcements and the servants of man’s capacity
to
destroy.
TORAH ECOLOGY
When the Torah raises a topic
that might be called supportive of an ecological slogan
– such as
the Biblical dictum “your camp shall be sacred” – it is
never
discussed as a separate issue. This is an important
point:
Environmental ecology is never separated from its human
context.
“Your camp shall be sacred” (Deuteronomy 23:15) is found
among
commandments that deal with other issues entirely, that
are
ostensibly focused on relations between human beings.
These
relations, in turn, are contingent upon the relationship
between man
and God. Therefore, although they seem to address social
ethics at
their most prosaic level, they are in fact “matters of
sanctity”,
incumbent upon anyone who would serve God.
There is a
prohibition against praying in a filthy location, found
together with
the prohibition against incest. “A shameful thing shall
not be seen
in you.” In the same context, “you shall not turn an
escaped
slave over to his masters!” And a prohibition also
against
prostitution, and other related issues. All of these
fall under the
same heading: Laws of Warfare!
War is the archetypal paradigm
of destruction. How can the Torah legislate moral
behavior –
between man and his fellow, between man and his God –
within the
context of battle, under conditions of mortal combat?
Just so.
The act of waging war is the most extreme condition of
risk for man’s
godly image. Therefore, it requires the most severe
prohibitions, and
the most extreme precautionary measures.
There is no higher
priority than human ecology, even in times of conflict.
The human
arena is the ecosystem most in need of perfect balance,
for
everything else depends upon it. Its tapestry must be
woven of the
finest threads.
Although it is an invisible force, human
ecology is the operative power vector in the ultimate
encounter: It
is where heaven meets earth. Two axial models intersect
in this
encounter: There is a vertical axis that connects man
with God, and
there is a horizontal axis that connects man with his
fellow.
In
its broadest sense, the Torah views ecology as a triple
encounter:
Man/God, man/man, and man/environment. Remove one side
of the
triangle, and you cause the entire triangle to come
apart, for each
depends upon the other. Ecology in Judaism is thus a
three-dimensional entity.
It makes no sense, and it is also
quite useless, to sever the dimension of height, of God,
from moral
discourse. Without “the [Divine] commandments
[regulating
relations] between man and his fellow,” morality is
emptied of
values. It degenerates, to become a pragmatic morality
that is
measured in dimensions of mutual egoism. “A love that is
dependent
upon something – when that thing is cancelled, then love
is
cancelled.”
It is equally useless to distance the umbrella
of godly values from the arena of human activity, for
this abandons
the world to the arbitrary whim of the man-beast. We
mean by this
irreversible ecological damage.
For when the godly dimension
is distanced, the human image is weakened, and then the
environment
becomes a burden upon man. He perceives it as a
confining and
restrictive framework. Gone are the vast, spreading,
wide-open,
seemingly eternal horizons, where his free and creative
spirit might
have expressed itself, had it been permitted a godly
dimension. The
environment is the enemy. One must either attack or
escape.
Thus
the world is abandoned, and gradually devoured. The jaws
of
destruction are inexorable, faithfully reflecting the
processes
described by the second law of thermodynamics, the law
of entropy:
All things move from a state of integration to a state
of
disintegration.
There is no antidote to this insidious
process. The law of entropy exempts no one and nothing.
This law
offers the best possible evidence that nature is not an
independent
entity. It cannot function on its own. Nature is
dependent upon the
Creator of the universe. It is also dependent upon man.
Yet
how can man protect nature from entropy when he himself
is subject to
the law of entropy?
With human dependency upon the law of
entropy comes the loss of one's inner personal vision.
This is
expressed in lack of consistency, in excessive openness,
and in
undiscriminating acceptance of environmental input. When
one operates
under these conditions, one is vulnerable to destructive
influences.
When functioning in the entropic mode, one is easily
brainwashed. One
accepts outside input to the point that one loses one’s
own
freedom. Entropy has the effect of blurring the uniquely
human
image.
Man’s destructive urge is capable of transforming him
into an enraged monster: When the sense of ownership, of
being
nature’s landlord, sheds its sense of obligation towards
and
responsibility for nature, the monster is unleashed.
There is no
peril greater than this.
Torah places man in a framework. It
requires him to observe mitsvot. It limits his liberties
as it were.
Yet its real effect is of a broadening and liberating
nature. The
commandments are designed, directly and indirectly, to
slow, to
arrest and even to reverse the process of human entropy.
Included in
this category are the commandments that relate to the
human
biological processes, such as the mitsva of immersion in
a mikva, the
prohibition against specific foods, and the mitsva of
Shabat. The
interpersonal mitsvot as well, “between man and his
fellow,”
contain this aspect: They protect man from entropy at
the
physiological, psychological and sociological levels.
At the
broadest level – and included in this are some of the
Torah’s
most well known ecological principles – we find
environmental
protection: “Resting the land,” the laws of the
Sabbatical and of
the Jubilee, etc.
The Jewish priority, then, is to invest
effort in inculcating a sense of responsibility. “All of
Israel are
accountable for one another.” “Let a man always view the
universe
as though it were poised in perfect balance between the
scales of
merit and liability. It awaits only his action, to tip
the scales.”
Thus we learn that both the privilege and the obligation
to decide
the fate of the universe lie in human hands.
Here we may ask a
practical question: Which comes first? Of the three
ecological
dimensions, what has highest priority? This is an
intrinsically
rhetorical question. It resembles the Talmud’s classic
unanswerable: “Is study great or is action great?” The
Talmud
replies: “Great is study, for it brings to action.” In
other
words “there is no ‘earlier’ or ‘later’”, no greater or
lesser priorities. Rather, “whatever mitsva comes to
your hand, do
not miss its opportunity.”
We must admit that ecology finds
the Jew in far from ideal circumstances. Immersed in a
hostile
environment, he does not control the surround. He
secludes himself in
his home, reinforcing the ghetto walls that sever him
from nature.
Compelled to this choice; he prioritizes the spiritual
and human
dimensions over those of environmental ecology – by
default and
through lack of options. He is also well aware of his
loss, in terms
of lack of access to the broad vistas that expand the
mind, that
illuminate the imagination and that heighten awareness.
Therefore,
the Jew yearns for redemption. He prays for personal
redemption, and
for the political redemption of the nations. In the
Jewish dream of
redemption, the sacred sanctuary is rebuilt, and the
ecological
vision is fulfilled: Balance is restored between the
lower worlds and
the upper worlds – between matter and spirit. “The
sanctuary
below” embraces “the sanctuary above.”
Jacob our
forefather is filled with wonder at this vision of the
parallel
sanctuaries of matter and spirit: “This is none other
than God’s
house, and here is the gateway to heaven.” Rashi
explains that this
refers to a total correlation: All vectors are balanced
between the
sanctuary in heaven and the sanctuary on earth.
(Genesis, 8:17.) It
is a paradigm for an ultimate state of balance between
the primary
ecosystems.
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