In Annie Dillard’s book “For the Time Being,” she tells the story of a British district officer named James Taylor in highland New Guinea, now Papua New Guinea. In the 1930s, Taylor made contact with a mountain village perched at 3,000 feet above sea level, whose tribe had never seen a trace of the outside world. One day, on the airstrip hacked from the mountains near his village, one villager cut vines and lashed himself to the fuselage of Taylor’s airplane shortly before it took off.
We say that clocks go tick-tock. But they don’t. They go tick-tick. We supply the tock.
This observation, made by literary critic Frank Kermode in his classic work “The Sense of an Ending,” is a product of the human need for endings. We can’t stand to listen to music without the final resolving chord; we don’t like movies that refuse to wrap up neatly. We check how many pages are left in the book until we get to the ending. Tock.
A charming story from the late, beloved Conservative Rabbi Mordecai Waxman. Once while visiting Greece, he was invited out to dinner. On the way, stopped to buy flowers for his host from a vendor in the street. He asked the price. The vendor said “26 drachmas.” When Rabbi Waxman reached into his wallet to pay him, the vendor said: “That’s not how it works.
Why is it that when we think badly of others, we are convinced of our smarts? How often have I spoken to someone who interprets another’s actions in a negative light, and when I urge them to consider the positive possibilities, I am answered by an indignant, “Rabbi, do you think I’m stupid?” Somehow believing the worst about another is taken as a sign of intellect; judging others the way the Mishna advises — that is, favorably — is thought gullible and weak-minded.
Until these past weeks, the only precedent for liberation in Egypt was leaving it. The exodus paradigm of liberation by leaving applies to many parts of life. There are abusive homes where one can only be saved by escape. Throughout history, persecuting nations have made it impossible to seek freedom within their borders; hope lay in running away.
‘Light is stored up for the righteous,” writes the Psalmist. In the Torah, light is created on the first day. Yet the sun is not fashioned until the fourth day. The Rabbis teach that the light of the first day is a mystical light; one day it will be liberated by our goodness.