It was my playful and rebellious voice that kept me smiling when thinking about 'Daf Yomi' having a Bat Mitzvah. Nonetheless, this was true! Tens of thousands of men completed, only three weeks ago, the twelfth cycle of learning all of the Babylonian Talmud. One double-sided page a day for seven and a half years. Two thousand seven hundred and eleven dapim (double-sided pages). Hence, twelve cycles translates, in my eyes, as a Bat Mitzvah and all these men, many of whom don't even celebrate their daughter's Bat Mitzvah in any public manner, unconsciously were celebrating their own Bat Mitzvah among tens of thousands of other Bat Mitzvah- men. You have to smile with me...
There were also, to my estimate, about two to three dozen women worldwide (I personally know of 18 women) that completed the Shas (the Talmud) as well. Never in my life did I think that I would be one of them. This is why when I stood up three Shabbats ago and addressed the community between the Torah reading and musaf (the additional Shabbat morning prayer) did I begin by saying: "First and foremost I want to thank the Rachamana (the Compassionate One), The Master of the World, for never listening to me! I want to thank God for leading my life in ways that I could've never imagined for myself." I continued by thanking the Rabbi, his wife and the community for their support since arriving in L.A. from Yerushalayim some eleven years ago.
Then I continued: "Often, when I'm asked to address high school students regarding the journey of my life as an Israeli-Orthodox-Female-Rabbi I hold up these two books and I ask them to guess what they are." The first book is easy - it is clearly a volume of the Talmud. The second is a bit trickier - it is blue, hard covered, and fits into my palm. The congregation called out: "a Siddur" (prayer book), "a T'hillim" (Psalms), "a Tanach" (Bible), "a pocket-Talmud" - answers the high-schoolers would also offer. One even suggested "a journal" - I especially loved that suggestion. Then, I took a deep breath and said: "A New Testament!" Silence in the synagogue. I take one more deep breath and ask: "What do these two books have in common?" Typically the responses evolve around theology and faith. I push one more time: "What do they have in common about my life???" Silence in the sanctuary. One more deep breath, and then I answer: "Growing up in Rechovot of the 1970's, only twenty minutes south of Tel Aviv, as an orthodox girl, both of these books were equally prohibited to me ... the Talmud and the New Testament!" In unison the congregation gasped!
"I hope you understand that this cannot be!" As shaking the Talmud in my hand, "It can't be that this book is prohibited! And it is, therefore, that doing 'Daf Yomi' for me was a coming home. It was claiming what was and is mine. Growing up I could quote sections by heart and refer to multiple discussions happening simultaneously in different tractates, but would sit at a distance from the table if the Talmud itself was opened. In a traditional way it was truly an 'oral tradition' for me. In my adult life," I continued, "I have been learning and teaching Talmud for years. Yet, There is something different when opening it on the first page and learning/reciting it till the last page to bring it Home into my mind, and honestly, more importantly, into my heart as belonging to me, and I belonging to it."
I asked the community to conclude that Shas with me. It was true that I had been learning for seven and a half years alone, but I need not finish the process alone. Why do we think that if we didn't start on day one we can't join in for the concluding celebration? What is that stingy-eyed voice inside of ourselves that turns on us and says that we don't deserve to celebrate if we haven't done all the work? Where did we learn to short-change ourselves, bound to the chastisement of the "All-or-Nothing" spirits??? Indeed, for most of the journey I schlepped alone, but I don't have to finish alone.
I smiled and comforted them. I suggested that if they can't wrap their mind around this healthy entitlement we could learn all of the Talmud together! No problem! "The first word of the Talmud is "מאימתי" - "Mei'ei'ma'tai" "From when" and the last word of the Talmud is "הלכות" - "Halachot" - "Laws." This is where the Talmud dwells - in the midst of a question: "הלכות מאימתי" - "From when are the laws". The Talmud, I believe is not a book of answers but rather a book of questions. It teaches us how to ask questions. Greater than the art of being able to offer answers is the gift of being able to ask questions. Is it not for this reason that first God turns to Adam with a question: "אימה" - where are you? Our everlasting, existential question. I propose to see the Talmud as a book of questions.
Then I suggested one alternative reading, that I know is not the literal meaning of the word, but strongly resonates with me. I cannot see the word "מאימתי" - "Mei'ei'ma'tai" and not read the word as "אימה" - "Ei'mah" - fear /trepidation. A word that is often used when addressing the month of Elul and Rosh Hashana / Yom Kippur. In the context of our discussion, the first and last words of the Bavli, I propose that the Bavli is asking of us, "When did you become afraid to ask questions? Where does the fear of asking questions come from?" This for me is the ultimate question and hence challenge - how do we embrace the freedom that is demanded to enable us to ask questions? Do we trust the intimacy that we have been cultivating so that we are liberated from the fear of asking?
Concluding the Bavli, entering into the concluding month of the year, both leave me with an invitation to ask questions. I can look back at the Bavli and in chastisement ask: "How much do you really remember? How much did you really understand?" or I can ask: "What was it like to never be alone one day of these last seven and a half years? What was it like to spend each day with different Sages, depending on who would show up on any given page? How does it feel now to smile every time you pick up a volume of the Talmud knowing 'I've been here...'?"
It is our choice what questions we will ask when looking back at the year that was. We can comfortably fall into the trap that limits the growth and triumphs of the year to our setbacks and mishaps. Or we can ask questions that enable us to embrace the totality of who we are. We can choose to ask questions that celebrate the trust and commitment that we exercised with those that we live/work with, with ourselves, with God. Three hundred and fifty four pages of our year.
Had I not asked Rabbi Artson seven and a half years ago what he was going to do the day after he concluded the eleventh cycle of the 'Daf Yomi' I probably would've not started the Bat-Mitzvah cycle of 'Daf Yomi' myself. Hearing myself ask him the question: "What will you do the day after?" I also heard myself asking myself: "What will you, Mimi, do the day the new cycle begins?"
If you are wondering... not that you asked... but if you are wondering ... the 'Bar Mitzvah' cycle of the 'Daf Yomi' will end in the beginning of 2020! And if you are wondering ... not that you asked ... the day after I finished the Bavli, I started a 'Daf Yomi' on the Yerushalmi - the Jerusalem Talmud, even though it is organized around a different principle than the Bavli. And like many of the more important endeavors of our lives, I have no idea when it will be completed... all I have today is today, and tomorrow I'll have tomorrow.
May this Shabbat, this month, this year that has passed and the one that has yet to come, hold us in our questions. May we support each other to ask from a place of freedom and courage!
Shabbat shalom and shana tova!