Rabbi Akiva and the Talmudic Psychology of dancing to the beat of life ( even when it feels shitty)

Rabbi Akiva and the Talmudic Psychology of dancing to the beat of life ( even when it feels shitty)

Its Rosh Chodesh Menachem Av (the beginning of the Hebrew month of Av). Over the course of the next 9 days many people will recite or listen to the reciting of what’s known as a Siyum, A Traditional celebratory prayer recited in honor of completing a full tractate of Talmud. People time this occasion to coincide with these nine days to take advantage of an interesting Jewish legal perk. The “nine days”, leading up to the 9th, are somber days that recall the destruction of the beloved Bait Hamikdash (Holy Temple)in Jerusalem over 2000 years ago on this day. However, the Siyum, being such a momentous ocasion, overrides the prohibition on eating meat (still considered a Jewish culinary way of marking happiness, the way a glass of wine is lifted to toast happy times)

The joy of completing a tractate of Talmud however, is bittersweet, not unlike the feeling of reading the last words of a powerful book that you didn’t want to end. These mixed emotions come with their own trap. What happens when the bitterness over the ending of a high, outweighs its sweetness? How do we readrenalize for the unknown terrain that awaits us in the opening pages of the next book on our list? The beautiful tradition of the Siyum anticipates this trap and offers a unique trapdoor.

But first, some brief background on the prayer recited at the “Siyum” known as a Hadran ( found at the end of every book of Talmud) the structure of which is mysteriously similar to the liturgical framework of the Kaddish. The use of the same emotionally charged language used to memorialize our lost loved ones is by no means coincidental. The use of joint language to signal both the the end of life and the end of studying a Talmudic treatise is classic, signaling a deep symbolic correspondence with wisdom and life itself.

The words of the Hadran offers access to a place typically reserved for mourners. The Kaddish that we recite over the mini death of a light that shined briefly in us, by virtue of traveling to an actual place that was magical, and then having to leave, or traveling mentally to a holy land one can arrive at in ones mind, (and it’s loss once we arrive, for we can only arrive someplace once, for the first time) affords us a momentary peek into our own soul bared open in as if grieving, minus the actual grief. The Hadran is a rare opportunity to learn the costly lesson of the value of life, at a fraction of its actual cost! The most striking part of the Hadran language, is the way it adresses the real sense of loss despite the magnitude of the achievement.

Though we have finished the tractate of Talmud, we can always come back to it! This is where the similarities end for the Mourners Kaddish and the Kaddish of the Hadran. Unlike physical death, where there are no do overs, we can always draw on the magic of our euphoric moments. The name of the prayer itself says so much. It’s called a Hadran coming from the Aramaic “we will return.” The uplifting moments of our life are only dead to us if we allow them to be. Just because something ends doesn’t mean it has to be over. The powerful life message offered by the Hadran makes its relevance to the nine days far more poignant than a mere legal loophole that allows us to have a hamburger. The broader message seems to be adressing the struggles we all face with letting go of the painful memories of trauma we may have experienced. The destruction of the Temple can be seen as an archtype symbol encompassing the full spectrum of traumatic loss that we stand to face in the course of simply trying to live life in the best ways we know. When things go wrong, we get caught up in how great it all was beforehand, struggling to move forward with our lives. The magic of the Siyum lies in its abilty to strike a balance between an ideal past and an uncertain future. What does it mean to say we are done with a tractate of Talmud, and we will return to it? Its not just a way of saying lets get through the rough patch and then we can hopefuly find happiness again. Though that can serve as its own legitimate message, Its so much deeper than that. By making the Siyum on Tisha Bav itself, smack in the middle of whatever it is that is not as great as it used to be, we are encouraged to move past merely lamenting our losses. Instead we are urged to drill deeper and discover how to turn the sadness around. Offering ways to eat meat, when it is taboo, is code for offering the option to shed unexpected light.

When the Talmud tells the enigmatic story of a seemingly irreverent Rabbi Akiva dancing on the top of those ruins, it’s so clear to me that he was dancing a Siyum dance. He was not over idealizing the past nor was he sugar coating the pain of the present. He was merely embracing what was, how he was choosing to experience the reality he faced. Dancing atop those ruins was not a prayer for better days, these ruins WERE his new Temple, and his dance was his worship.

We can always return to the places that moved us. If we can’t return there right away we can dance the diaspora dance of hope and optimism that Jews have been dancing for over two thousand years.

The words “Hadran Alach Vedaatan Alach” — We will return to you remind us that the utopian alternative to a dystopian present need not be deferred to the future. We can “Return to You” right here, right now!

Much Love,

Rabbi Yossi