Points to Ponder #20 (Tetzaveh) ⎸Translated by Leah Hartman
Painting: Royal Talens
Our experience of the self is one of the most perplexing things there is. On the one hand, there is nothing we experience more directly and with more certainty than our self. On the other hand, the deeper we enter into this experience, the more it slips between our mental fingers. Where exactly does the self begin, and where does it end? Are we really something distinct and unique, or are we but a collection of traits, memories, and desires?
A similar problem arises when we attempt to “actualize ourselves” or apply the common advice to “Just be you.” For some reason, the more we attempt to be ourselves, the less we know who we are, and what exactly we’re meant to realize. Why is it so complicated to understand and actualize ourselves?
Present in Absence
This week’s parashah (weekly Torah portion), Tetzaveh, touches on this exact point. Since the opening of the book of Exodus, which heralded Moses’ birth and the beginning of his leadership, Moses’ name appears in each parashah—except this one. It is the only one that doesn’t mention his name even once. Why is this so?
According to the Jewish Sages, the absence of Moses’ name is a retroactive fulfillment of his request of God in the following portion, Ki Tisa, in the aftermath of the Sin of the Golden Calf: “And now, if You forgive their sin [all is well], but if not, erase me now from Your book” (Exodus 32:32). Eventually, God does forgive the people and thus Moses’ name is not erased, but God nevertheless fulfills Moses’ request in a symbolic way by ensuring that in one portion his name is not mentioned.
But even though his name is not explicitly said, Moses’ character is most certainly present. Tetzaveh opens with the word “You,” and the entire parashah addresses Moses in the second person: “And you shall command,” “And they shall take to you,” “And you bring near to yourself your brother Aaron,” and so on.
In Hebrew grammar, the second person point of view is called the “present” voice (as opposed to the first person, known as the “speaking” voice, and the third person, the “hidden” voice). From this it follows that in this parashah, in which Moses’ name is not mentioned at all and he is referred to only as “you,” he is most “present”—present in absence, if you will. In other words, now that Moses’ I has disappeared, his innermost self (embodied in the word “you”) is revealed more fully.
The Ani and the Ayin
One of the most beautiful phenomena in the Hebrew language is that the very commonplace word ani (אני), which means “I” or “I am,” is composed of the exact same letters as the deep and mystical word ayin (אַיִן), which means “nothingness.” Ayin is the opposite and absence of yesh (existence), a state of non-being, but, because of God’s unknowability, is also used to describe Him. So, for example, the expression yesh m’ayin, “something from nothing,” not only describes how the world was created from nothingness, but also conveys that it was created from the Divine ayin. In a similar vein, the Baal Shem Tov suggested reading the expression ein mazal l’Yisrael (“there is no zodiac sign/constellation governing Israel”) as saying, ayin mazal l’Yisrael—there is a spiritual force governing Israel, and that force is the Divine nothingness itself.
On the surface, the words ani and ayin are total opposites: the ani is something tangible and clear, and the ayin is something hidden and ethereal; the ani is the earthly person, and the ayin is the heavenly Creator; and so on. But, in fact, many deep connections exist between the two words.
The first connection is related to the mystery of consciousness. In some way we do not yet comprehend, and perhaps never will, consciousness resides in the human brain. Somewhere in the physical, objective entity which is the brain, there exists a point of ayin, nothingness, where the dimension of soul intersects with the dimensions of space and time.1
An additional connection between ani and ayin is that humans, the only beings that possess the ability to say “I,” are also the beings created in the image of God and are able to (begin to) comprehend Him. This is the inner meaning of the prayer Jews say each morning “The superiority of man over beast is ayin.” According to the simple meaning of this phrase, humans have no advantage over animals; but on a deeper level it points to a superiority humans do have over animals: the ability to conceptualize the concept of the Divine ayin.
Furthermore, the secret of the ayin is reflected in another very similar word: ‘ayin (עין), which means “eye.” The eye is considered the window to the soul, the place where our I is projected outward the most. But in the center of the eye, there is a point of nothingness—the pupil through which light enters the eye. What’s more, in Hebrew the pupil is called ishon, literally “little man,” since the pupil reflects a miniature version of the other person (in English too, pupil is etymologically connected to puppet, a miniature simulacrum of a person). This symbolizes that at the point where the ani, the self, disappears and becomes ayin, nothing, room is made for the other, for another person’s ani.
A True Nullification
But the deepest connection between the ani and the ayin, and the one that most connects to Tetzaveh, is related to the Hasidic concept of bitul, nullification. The ideal of bitul says that the rectification of a person involves his nullification to something greater than himself, ultimately to God who created him and gave him life. In other words, a person’s rectification is to transform his ani into ayin, the self into nothingness, a being nullified before God. This is done by taking the Divine point, symbolized by the letter yud (י), and instead of postponing it to the end of the word, as it is in ani (אני), placing it at our center, as it is in ayin (אין).
Unfortunately, the concept of bitul isn’t properly understood today. People often think it refers to the erasure or cancellation of the self. But in fact, bitul is something completely different: it is not the canceling of the self, but rather the giving over of oneself to something larger, until our awareness is deflected from ourselves and we sense that we’ve become an inseparable part of this greater entity..
This idea is expressed in Tetzaveh. As we’ve seen, Moses does not disappear in it at all but is actually more present than ever. He appears as someone invested in leadership and the building up of others—his brother Aaron, Aaron’s sons, and all the priests who will be born from them. Moses is so dedicated to his mission that the Mishnaic phrase “A man's emissary is like himself” is fulfilled in him: he becomes God's emissary, and in so doing loses himself in the Divine. It is precisely here that his highest selfhood is revealed, his place as our eternal leader.
We all should learn from Moses: the more we dedicate ourselves to our Divine role, the more it will distract us from our preoccupation with our “I” and our desire to make a name for ourselves. In this way, the Divine nothingness will be able to shine through us, and our true self will be more and more revealed.
The description of the soul as dimension is based on Sefer Yetzirah, which describes the world as made up of five dimensions: three spatial dimension, one temporal dimension, and one spiritual dimension, the dimension of soul. Each dimension intersects with the others via a single, dimensionless point, i.e. a point of ayin, nothingness.