Tigers Above, Tigers Below: Pema Chödrön’s Strawberry and the Liminal Space Between Purim and Passover

There is a lovely quote from Pema Chodron. (actually an ancient myth)

There is a story of a woman running away from tigers. She runs and runs and the tigers are getting closer and closer. When she comes to the edge of a cliff, she sees some vines there, so she climbs down and holds on to the vines. Looking down, she sees that there are tigers below her as well. She then notices that a mouse is gnawing away at the vine to which she is clinging. She also sees a beautiful little bunch of strawberries close to her, growing out of a clump of grass.

She looks up and she looks down. She looks at the mouse. Then she just takes a strawberry, puts it in her mouth, and enjoys it thoroughly. Tigers above, tigers below. This is actually the predicament that we are always in, in terms of our birth and death. Each moment is just what it is. It might be the only moment of our life; it might be the only strawberry we’ll ever eat. We could get depressed about it, or we could finally appreciate it and delight in the preciousness of every single moment of our life.”

I was struck today by the paradox of the strange Post Purim— Pre Passover time frame we are currently in. A haunting spiritual strangeness hovering, existentially, over a heady blend of swirling dichotomous energies.

On one hand is a classic “relief motiff” in celebration of the (non miraculous) Purim miracle. It’s annual replay has evolved into an even more human than G-dly spectacle far surpassing the original in this regard. Alongside this is the impending arrival of Passover, and its reverse redemption featuring an undisguised G-d himself in the lead role; playing G-d himself.

I say alongside since we are clearly beginning our Passover countdown whilst still in the outer precincts of the Month of Adar.

The liminal space between relief and the foreknowledge of (impending) tightness constitutes the deep irony here. But in this paradoxical space lies a gift, A belated Shalach Manot for the soul, framed in the question we are seemingly being encouraged to ask ourselves.

The special reading of “Parshat Parah” suggests that it might be a feeling akin to what it feels like to be a Priest who can administer the “red heifer” rites to those in mourning, urgently in need of one who can forceps like retrieve them from the orbit of excessive grief. And yet this same Kohen, now, bearing the weight of the removed burden of the other, returns home “Tamei” — fatigued, consumed, and drained.

The space between Purim and Passover is the space between the heights and the depths, between redemption and slavery, between life and death, between the crime and the punishment or even the moment between the wound and the subsequent pain, where strangely enough, the wound itself is seen as a retroactive relief, compared to its own subsequent pain.

Is it as simple as the mask coming off to reveal what has been revealed all along, or is it like tearing the bandage off an unhealed wound?

I don’t think solving the riddle of thriving in the void is achieved by countering with uncertain certainty. Perhaps what we are being asked to consider is whether the key to finding balance depends less on what we seek and more on what we find. More of leaning into what is.

The answer, found in this weeks portion of Vayakel, a Post Purim reenactment of Esther’s request to Mordechai to BRING THE COMMUNITY TOGETHER FOR PRAYER AND SOLIDARITY AND THE COMFORT OF BEING IN THE COMPANY OF THOSE WHO SHARE OUR FATE: in the reading of the earlier Biblical version of the commandment to BRING THE COMMUNITY TOGETHER ( Vayakel - “and he Moses gathered the people” ) —is not an answer per se—it is more of a study in how we react to uncertainty. A response that shows us how to live even in the midst of all the mysteries that remain unsolved.

For ourselves, but also in our collective selves. A response that reminds us that we CAN survive whatever is behind us and whatever is in store for us by being more fully grounded in the here and now. And in recognition of the power of leaning on those who share our spot on the nibbled vine.

It is perhaps laughable in its simplicity. And yet it reminds us how laughter is never a simple matter. especially in the month of Adar.

The laughter of the woman hanging onto the branch beyond the precipice, is the laughter of the one who has masked the revealed and thus revealed the masked. Her infectious laughter is over the sacred absurdity of subsequently removing that mask to reveal what is now understood to be the mask beneath the mask. The laughter is an other worldly laughter. A preview of a world where the mask of all the other holidays are removed to reveal that they have all been Purim all along. All will be Purim. Only Purim remains after all tne masks come off.

Much Love,

Shabbat Shalom

Rabbi Yossi