Radical Judaism_ Rethinking God and Tradition - Arthur Green [88]
Heschel learned about the secret and mysterious power of the mitzvot in the Hasidic world in which he was nurtured. The special love and devotion that Hasidic rebbes lavished upon the mitzvot is legendary; Heschel was surrounded by this in his childhood. He was not, however, a naive or literal believer. He understood the dangers of near-magical claims made for religious deeds, especially when treated in a mechanistic way. But he was also unwilling to abandon this dramatic sense of the cosmic importance of human deeds, which added so much to the value of human actions and the sense of divine/human partnership. He thus chose to undertake a very interesting shift in the way he read this part of the mystical legacy. When Hasidic rebbes spoke of the commandments as sublime secrets that affect the cosmic balance, they were usually referring to mystery-laden ritual acts: putting on tefillin, waving the lulav, sounding the shofar, performing ablutions in the mikveh, and so forth. Heschel agreed with his Hasidic forebears that God longs for us to do the mitzvot, that heaven itself is moved by our deeds. But he applied this first and foremost to the “commandments between person and person,” that second half of the decalogue that refers to the way we treat our fellow humans. God indeed needs you to do the mitzvot—to feed the hungry, to care for the poor, to do justice, to sustain widows and orphans. These are the essence of mitzvot. It is primarily through these that you become God's partner in the world.52
I take this transformative insight to be central to the power of Heschel's teachings — the reason why his involvement in social issues was so deeply impressive. But what does a person like me do with this legacy? I do not have Heschel's ability to speak unself-consciously the personalist and pathos-laden religious language of the biblical prophet. For me the personal God is a bridge between soul and mystery, a personification of the unknown, a set of projected images that we need and use, rather than an ultimate reality. My awareness of projection (even if I do know that it can be read in both directions) makes it hard for me to slip comfortably into biblical language, as Heschel was able to do. His theology was indeed personalist, enriched by mystical overtones. Mine is mysticalpanentheist, using personalist metaphors. The gulf between the two is not one I can ignore.
Yet I still affirm there is a God who seeks us out. The inner One, Y-H-W-H inseparable from existence itself, still wants to know where I am. It needs me (along with all the rest of you) as its embodiment (Dare I say “incarnation?”), called upon to do its work, to move the process of evolution ever forward, and, in our age as in none other, to help our planet to survive. I still hear the One ask me: “Where are you?” I respond to that question as a Jew, from within my people's covenant. This means mitzvah, an act in which I intend to be aware of God's presence, an act in which I still hope that the blessed holy One, mystery beyond all knowing, and shekhinah, the Presence that floods my heart, might be joined. In doing this, I retain a sense of partnership with the divine One, a conviction that the human deed makes a difference. I share the Kabbalistic faith that we humans (not just Jews, of course) are the other antipode that sends the charge back and reenergizes the One. Now more than ever.
Granted, the naive claim of God's essential humanity, including His providential concern for each widow and orphan, is a way of seeing that was lost to me at a young age, as I said at the very outset. A personalist religious language, when not unpacked or defined as symbol, leaves me behind. But that does not lead me to religious disengagement. The demanding voice — coming from a world far beyond words and language — is still