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Parashat Bereshit: Why Stephen Hawking Doesn't Rock My World

I recently heard a radio program about Stephen Hawking's new book, The Grand Design.  Written together with physicist Leonard Mlodinow, the book accounts for why things in our universe are so beautiful ordered.  Why the laws and conditions of our universe are suited for the development of life and human life.  Everything can be explained by the current state of theory in physics, without any recourse to a divine creator.  Though, the authors hasten to add, nothing in their theory refutes the idea that there might be a God.

I listened, but to tell you the truth, I yawned.

My own faith has nothing to do with whether the universe is expanding or contracting, whether there is life on other planets, whether the four basic forces in physics can be unified, whether quantum physics and general relativity can be integrated.  Or, for that matter, whether the six days of Creation in Genesis represent six metaphorical epochs, whether the "great sea monsters" of Genesis actually refer to swimming dinosaurs or ancient reptiles whose fossil remains have been discovered.

And each time a new observation arrives from Hubble, or a new bit of data emerges from a supercollider, I don't have to adjust spiritually.

I just don't think that the Torah is in any kind of quarrel with the physicists about the origins of the universe.  All the medieval Jewish commentators said, in one way or another, that the opening of the Torah is general, that it clothes deeper mysteries, that it is not a literal history.  To me the opening chapter is poetry and geometry, with its placid and unemotional description of the architecture of heaven and earth.  Then comes poetry and drama, as the humans spring into action and immediately change everything!

I do listen to the programs about physics and the origin of the universe.  I do think the discoveries that come from the atom are profound.  They are triumphs of the mind.  They lead to applications that, we pray, are useful for the good of humanity.  So I endorse the quest.

And I'm intrigued by comparisons between the Big Bang and the kabbalistic view of the universe emerging from a point of nothingness (Ayin).  Intrigued, but if the parallels weren't there I wouldn't lose any sleep.  The new book by Stephen Hawking, or new discoveries or theories, don't alter my foundation.

I experience Creator through the lens of this line in the morning service, right after Barchu:  Ham'chadesh b'tuvo b'chol yom tamid maaseh breishit.  We speak of "the One Who renews out of goodness, every single day, always, the making of the beginning."  More fascinating to me than the Big Bang is:  today.  We wake up, and the whole universe is here!  More mysterious than the atom are life, and awareness.

Science can describe them, model them, but the experience of them is beyond those descriptions.  The pulse of existence, awareness, aliveness, consciousness -- these are Creation.  The poetry of Genesis doesn't explain them, but it connects them.  The goodness we attribute to God:  that is the spiritual Big Bang, the first fact of our universe and each new day.

 

Sukkot, Water, and One-ness

From Yom Kippur, when we put aside our material existence by fasting and spending so many hours in prayer, we move to Sukkot.  Sukkot is by contrast a very earthy, material holiday.  The Sukkah booth itself, obviously, and the plant material that makes up its roof.  The Arba'ah Minim, Four Species as well -- the lulav (palm), the etrog (citron), the hadasim (myrtles), and the aravot (willows).

According to the Mishnah, Sukkot is one of the four Jewish New Year occasions, when "we are judged concerning water."  So many of the rituals of Sukkot involve water or praying for the winter rains (think about what it sounds like when you shake the Four Species together).  Here is an explanation that builds on work done by Nogah Hareuveni, who founded Neot Kedumim, a nature preserve in Israel dedicated to biblical landscape and agriculture.  (I think the interpretation is hers, but since I can't find it written exactly this way I'll take responsibility if it differs.)

Dr. Hareuveni notes that the four species represent the four different ways that plants can be watered.  The palm is a tree of the desert oasis; it draws from deepest groundwater.  The willows grow by a river, water constantly flowing on the ground.  The myrtles require rain -- dew or the periodic floods that go through a dry stream-bed (known as nachal in Hebrew or wadi in Arabic).  The citron is a cultivated fruit, requiring irrigation -- humans gathering and bringing water.

To the pagans living around our ancestors, each source of water came from a different source and could be traced to a different god.  The Canaanites actually used the same word, baal, to refer to the "master" of their pantheon of gods, and to the condensation of rainwater on plants.  In some texts, the waters of the deep are referred to as Mot, the god of death.  These are the deep waters in our Genesis stories that originally covered everything and had to be held back to allow the ground to be emerged, or that God released for Noah's flood.

But the Israelites came to understand that the four waters were one, and had only one Source.  So they bound the four disparate species together into one bundle, to symbolize the oneness of our God.  The Four Species are waved in all directions, indicating an understanding that the one Source of waters and life is present everywhere.

Water remains a basic need, even in our technological society.  It has been a persistent metaphor in our tradition for God and for Torah.  Water continues to be one of the most important matters of environmental scarcity on our planet today, and it continues to be in the center of the Israel-Palestine conflict.

If you are around Nashua, I'll be teaching more about Sukkot and water this Shabbat/Yom Tov morning in shul at Temple Beth Abraham.  Hag Sameach!