Dance Me to the End of Love

I trust most of us are familiar with the song by Leonard Cohen which bears the titular name.

Several years ago, I was made aware of the following quote by Cohen when he was asked about the meaning of that song:

“I don’t think anyone needs to know what gave me the image of the 'burning violin' but there were these little orchestras the Germans put together in the concentration camps. They played while people were being incinerated or gassed. If you want to read the song from that point of view, it becomes something quite different.”

That is the point of view I chose to read it from when I decided to teach it to my students before Yom HaShoah. And what an experience it was for all of us.

When I handed the song to them, I asked them to read it silently and share their impressions of it. To most of them, it amounted to no more than a love story between a man and a woman who have lived a full life sprinkled with episodes of joy, crisis, love and pain. None of them even remotely related it to the Shoah.

In order to make my choice of interpretation of this song clearer to them, I decided to focus on a few lines which, at least for me, reinforced the notion that I was trying to convey to them. I pointed to the first line.

“Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin…”

Though all my students were familiar with the history of the Shoah, many, unfortunately, were not aware of the quartets or “little orchestras” that the Nazis put together to welcome the new inmates of the concentration camps. They were composed mostly of violins.

Naturally, when considered from my point of view, the burning violin, mentioned in the first line, is a reference to the fate of many of the residents who were burned in the ovens of those camps.

“Dance me to the panic till I’m gathered safely in…” is the next line I drew their attention to. Of course, they have all been introduced to the conditions in which those doomed to death were brought to the camps. They have seen movies and photos; they have heard testimonies about the freight trains they were pushed and crammed into. They know about the poor sanitary conditions on cattle cars, the stench, the hunger, death and despair. Who would not be experiencing “panic” under such conditions?

What most of them did not know, though, is that the Nazis had lied to the Jews and promised them that the trains they were about to embark were for the purpose of relocating them to a “nice, safer place,” a “new home.” Many Jews believed these lies and were fooled by them. What reasons did they have to think otherwise? Hence, in my view, the shred of faith echoed in the words “till I’m safely gathered in.”

“Oh, let me see the beauty when the witnesses are gone…” is where many of my students realized why I chose to teach that song the way I did. They, like many other fellow Jews, are aware that those who witnessed the Shoah, those who lived to tell and share the horrors they had been through, abate in numbers. Soon, there will be none left. It will, then, be my task, as a daughter of two Shoah survivors, to ensure that “Never Forget” is alive. After me, it is them who will have to bear the torch of that vow and ensure that it is never extinguished. They are ready for that.

Finally, we reached the line referring to the children, our most precious asset. “Dance me to the children who are asking to be born…” a line that melts a frozen river in me, breaks a dam, frees the gushes of tears that surge in my eyes and blurs my vision each time I hear it.

The first time I read that line, I recalled Ryunosuke Akutagawa’s book Kappa, a science fiction describing Japan in the early 20^th century. One of the ideas discussed in this book is that, after they are presented with an overview of what life has in store for them, the soon to be born babies of Kappa can choose or refuse to be born. Most of them choose to be aborted.

Unlike the children of Kappa, Cohen’s babies are asking for practicing their right, and our duty to allow them “to be born.” After all, it is in accordance with that which the Torah commands us, “And you should choose Life!”

As I was about to finish the lesson, I looked around the classroom. The silence that prevailed, the bittersweet scent of the air we were breathing as the rays of the shining sun were alighting the room and their beautiful faces, I knew that from then on, this song will not be just another song they hear and enjoy. In Cohen’s own words, it has “become something quite different,” a more meaningful piece of poetry, one that connects them to our People’s past and their role in its future.

Shabbat Shalom 

Should We Remember or Never Forget?

This week Jews are preparing to celebrate the festivity of Purim. Unlike every other week, in addition to this week’s Parasha, Torah portion, Vayikra, this Shabbat which precedes it, we read a second one. It is Parashat "Zachor" (remember), from the Book of Devarim (Deuteronomy). I wonder how many stop to question why we are reading TWO Parashot and on this Shabbat before Purim.

Zachor is one of the most important tenets in our Jewish tradition, if not the most important. A few years ago, I wrote an article describing its centrality in our culture. (https://wingnsonawildflight.blogspot.com/2015/09/yizkor.html)

The question that is begging to be asked is, why do we need to Remember right before Purim? More importantly WHAT is it that we need to remember?

Parashat "Zachor" starts with the following words: “Remember what Amalek did to you on your way out of Egypt.” (Devarim 25).

Naturally, the Torah is here to teach us a very important lesson in our Jewish history.

Someone recently told me that though history is always there to teach us a lesson, we can choose which lesson we want to learn. I agree.

Parashat "Zachor," however, is read this week precisely because the Torah wishes to teach us a lesson that we, Jews, cannot CHOOSE to learn. It is a lesson we MUST learn. The word, “Zachor,” is delivered to us in the form of commandment in the Hebrew Grammar, the language of the Tanach. And that lesson is one that is closely connected to Purim.

We have all heard of the wicked Haman, one of the main actors in the story of Purim, the one who wished to bring an end to the Jewish nation. Haman is a descendant of Agag, the king of Amalek, the same enemy mentioned in Parashat "Zachor," that relentlessly tried to destroy us at our weakest point. The connection between Haman and Amalek can be seen in the following article which I wrote a couple of years ago : https://wingnsonawildflight.blogspot.com/2017/03/have-jews-learned-anything-from-story.html

As I am sitting here pondering the choice of the word “Zachor” (remember), I wonder if instead of it, the Torah should have commanded us to “Never Forget.”

Let me explain myself.

When we order someone to do something, we are trying to get them to do something that needs to be awakened in them and needs to be performed, something that is not normally or regularly there and is not an integral part of their behavioural pattern. Otherwise why command them? Why remind them that they need to do it? Why remind Am Yisrael that they need to “remember?” Likewise, once they perform that directive, does it stay with them much longer after it was accomplished?

On the other hand, Never Forget, at least for me, means a charge, a responsibility which is permanently engraved or etched in a person’s essence, one he/she cannot shake off or rid themselves off for even one split second. It becomes part of who and what they are, part of their genetic blue print, I would venture to say. A lesson that one never forgets is always there.

Whether we choose to Remember or choose to Never forget, may we all have a joyous Purim, full of laughter and only the best of every blessing.

Shabbat Shalom