Pay Attention

So much of the medicine that is the SVARA method comes through its reliance on paying attention. When the news cycles through novel and terrible wonders more quickly than we can process them, in the beit midrash, learners from the front of the room to the eighth row are asked to pay attention to the needs of our chevruta, the others in the space, and our own bodyminds. Just as we tend to each other’s needs, we pay close attention to each word to find out how the parts make up the whole of our tradition. We do these things to be worthy players, participants in making the Judaism we hope will be passed down. 

Masechet Ta’anit is bookended with noticing. Its opening question asks: מֵאֵימָתַי מַזְכִּירִין גְּבוּרוֹת גְּשָׁמִים? From-where-when do we remember g’vurot geshamim, or “strong rains” (or, GG, as my Kollel cohort lovingly referred to them)? Or, even more outside, when in our calendar year do we add a mention of the rain to our Amidah prayers? The mishna records a debate – is it at the beginning of Sukkot or at its end? The gemara then invites us to think about what we’re doing when we mention rain: is it an ask, an observation, a secret third option? The sugya is exciting, and ends with a beautiful theological invitation that maybe these prayers invite us to pay attention, to notice the gifts of life that are in Hashem’s hands, not ours: rain, life, and its (theoretical?) resurrection. 

And as Ta’anit begins with paying attention to divine gifts, it ends with a call to pay attention to each other. On 26b, we learn:

אָמַר רַבָּן שִׁמְעוֹן בֶּן גַּמְלִיאֵל: לֹא הָיוּ יָמִים טוֹבִים לְיִשְׂרָאֵל כַּחֲמִשָּׁה עָשָׂר בְּאָב וּכְיוֹם הַכִּפּוּרִים, שֶׁבָּהֶן בְּנוֹת יְרוּשָׁלַיִם יוֹצְאוֹת בִּכְלֵי לָבָן שְׁאוּלִין — שֶׁלֹּא לְבַיֵּישׁ אֶת מִי שֶׁאֵין לוֹ. כּל הַכֵּלִים טְעוּנִין טְבִילָה. וּבְנוֹת יְרוּשָׁלַיִם יוֹצְאוֹת וְחוֹלוֹת בַּכְּרָמִים. וּמָה הָיוּ אוֹמְרוֹת: בָּחוּר, שָׂא נָא עֵינֶיךָ וּרְאֵה מָה אַתָּה בּוֹרֵר לָךְ.

Rabban Shimon ben Gamliel said, “There were no two days as good for the Jews as Tu B’Av and Yom Kippur,” for on those days, the daughters of Jerusalem would go out in a circle of passed down sparkling white dresses, so that none would be ashamed, and they would all go out and dance in the vineyards. All dresses went into the mikvah to become pure. And the daughters of Jerusalem would go out and twirl in the vineyards. And what would they say? “Hey hot stuff, look up, see what you can choose for yourself.”

The first time I learned this, I kept getting tripped up looking for the root of שְׁאוּלִין and וְחוֹלוֹת. I  thought that the ש in שְׁאוּלִין was a prefix, and went on a journey discovering that א-ו-ל and ח-ו-ל were closely related, according to Jastrow. Both could be traced back to a verb meaning, “to circle”. This was thrilling, and ultimately not quite right, because it turns out the root is of שְׁאוּלִין is ש-א-ל, “to ask, beg, or inquire”, and also, “to borrow”. 

I’m grateful for the closeness which the SVARA method invites us to learn because it took me on a winding journey to finding the “correct” root. I came to the text with a beginner’s mind. I had never seen the word שְׁאוּלִין before, but I’ve seen a lot of words with a ש- prefix! And once my chevruta and I had learned more, we circled back, and realized there might be another way, and found a better fit. 

But, had I not started with what I knew I might have missed the connective tissue between א-ו-ל and ח-ו-ל and ש-א-ל. What we’re offered here, if we pay attention, is a story about a group of people who engage in a circular exchange of goods amongst one another. Once a year, the daughters of Jerusalem restructured their relationship so radically that what was mine and yours turned on their heads.

Why? שֶׁלֹּא לְבַיֵּישׁ אֶת מִי שֶׁאֵין לוֹ So that none would be ashamed. There’s something so powerful about that. Why do we share what we have? The connective tissue in the roots teaches that it brings us closer to each other. When there isn’t room for us to see each other, we feel ashamed and isolated. But when we pay attention to each other again and again, these circular processes of care – visible in our ancient femme ancestors’ dress sharing, and of our commitment to the cycle of shiur-chevruta-chazara week after week – aid us in seeing one another more clearly and in the work of building resilient communities free from shame.

Another thing that I love about this sugya is the daughters’ insistence on being seen. They say “Hey choice one [בָּחוּר], if you think you’re hot, look at what you could have!” It’s a bold model for how I want to show up: proud of what I bring to the table, eager for connection. I feel that way when we clap each other up in our batei midrash here at SVARA. One of my favorite moments in a beit midrash was with a beloved chevruta who sent me a text after they read: “Did I get clapped up? Should I say something?” They did say something. They asked to be seen the way they wanted and we embraced them fully. 

Tu B’Av begins on Shabbat this week, and after mourning the pain and destruction caused by sinat chinam, baseless hatred from refusing to see each others’ wholeness, we are given a joyful opportunity to pay attention to one another, to notice that which makes the beloved in your life shine, and give them opportunities to shine. It’s an opportunity to share and be shared with, to mutually aid one another in building a new world. And as the 15th of Av signals a turn toward the new year, may this turn towards paying attention to one another make even our teshuva more joyful.