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THE "i" OF THE WORLD
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The knowledge of my own existence is not an intellectual thing.
Nobody has to convince me that i exist, and no one can persuade me that i am not here.
Knowing that i exist lies above and beyond any other knowledge that i have.
The vast majority of the things that we "know" are really the products of deduction. This
kind of knowledge is like a labyrinth. Everything we already know helps us to integrate new
information into the fabric of our overall world-picture. It's axiomatic, however, that there
must be some original point of cognition from which all other knowledge flows. If the majority
of comprehension is associative, there must be some point of pure knowledge that is selfevident,
known by itself and of itself. For without that elemental knowledge, without that
point of departure, we could know nothing else.
That elemental knowledge is the knowledge of "i." The very fact of our own existence.
The Torah commands us to never forget what happened at Mount Sinai. Several positive and
negative commandments stress the importance of not forgetting even one mitzva given at Sinai.
The Ramban explains that because the Torah is transmitted to us as a personal experience,
the truth of the Sinai experience will never be called into doubt. had we received the Torah
from Moshe alone, even though his prophecy was vindicated by signs and miracles, there
would always be the possibility that some other prophet might use his own signs and wonders
to contradict the Torah of Moshe. Doubt, says the Ramban, would then enter our hearts.
however, because we heard the Torah directly from God and our eyes saw at Sinai that there
was no intermediary between the Almighty and us, the lie would be given to such a false
prophet despite any miracle he might manufacture. Thus, says the Ramban, "our eyes and our
hearts must be constantly focused there." We are obliged to preserve the same level of clarity
that we had when we stood at Sinai.
This is a difficult commandment to understand. how can we hope to reexperience an event that
we never attended? We are, at best, the recipients of a tradition which, however scrupulously
validated, can never even approximate firsthand experience. God does not make unreasonable
demands of his people. how, then, are we supposed to fulfill this mitzva?
The Ramban himself answers that it is axiomatic that "we will not testify falsely to our children,
nor will we bequeath to them something that is untrue. They [the children] will have no doubt
whatsoever of the truth of our testimony to them."
But how does that answer our problem? The Ramban seems to be advancing a logical argument
that Sinai is true because it's axiomatic that parents don't lie to their children about essential
life information. however, he doesn't seem to address the central issue: how can someone who
was never present at an event believe with all the intensity of someone who saw it with his own
eyes and heard it with his own ears?
The Mishna in Avot begins with the words "Moshe received the Torah from Sinai..." The
wording of the Mishna is unusual. Did a mountain give the Torah to Moshe? Was it Sinai that
gave Moshe the Torah? Why didn't the Mishna say, "Moshe received the Torah from God?"
The Mishna continues, "and Yehoshua handed it down to the Elders, and the Elders to the
Prophets, and the Prophets to the Men of the Great Assembly." So we see from the continuation
of this Mishna that the style here is to talk of "handing down." Only the first step of the Torah's
transmission is called "receiving." Why was this first step different from all the others?
The first words of this mishna reveal the nature of the experience at Sinai. The Torah was not
received at Sinai as a book, however holy or unique. What Moshe received was something called
"Torah from Sinai" - a unique experience that altered each person's awareness of himself and
of existence itself.
What was received at Sinai was a new and higher perception of self. A redefinition of "i."
That existential clarity is called "Torah from Sinai." When our Sages teach us that the Jewish
people reached a level of clarity beyond any doubt or contradiction, it was not because they
experienced har Sinai by means of an external sensory knowledge. If that had been the case,
then the certainty of future generations could never equal theirs. Rather, each individual
received Torah from Sinai as an awareness of existence as incontrovertible as the knowledge of
self.
The Rambam calls the ninth of his thirteen principles of faith "the belief that the Torah was
transferred from Sinai." The hebrew word that the Rambam uses for "transferred" is muateket.
Muateket implies a literal copy - a facsimile, a one-to-one copy of the original experience.
The experience of Sinai is the Torah that was passed down. The revelation at Sinai is more
compelling than any empirical proof because it speaks to our a priori sense of existence, and
just as no one can cast doubt on the fact that we exist, so it is impossible to cast doubt on the
revelation at Sinai.
There are many well-documented cases of feral children who have, for one reason or another,
been separated from human society at crucial stages of their development. When redeemed
from the wild, they lack basic social skills. For example, they may eat with their hands at
a great rate, have trouble learning to walk upright, and display a complete lack of interest
in the human activity around them. They often seem mentally impaired and have almost
insurmountable difficulty learning a human language.
Essentially it is impossible to integrate a child who became isolated at a very young age into
normal society. In some basic way they lack an elemental knowledge of who they are, some
fundamental aspect of identity.
Our parents, real or surrogate, give us much more than life itself. Our sense of self is inextricably
bound up with the nurturing we receive from them. From our parents we receive an essential
part of our identity, our sense of "i."
in Massechet Sukka, the Talmud describes the great joy of the Simchat Beit HaSho'eiva celebration
in the Beit haMikdash. hillel says, "if i am here, everyone is here, but if i am not here, who
is here?" (Sukka 3a). At first glance this seems a rather self-centered remark; however, the "i"
that hillel referred to was not himself. There is another "i" in the world. In hebrew, Ani - "i"
- is a way of referring to God.
God is the "i" of existence. If he is here, everything is here, but if he is not here, who is here?
There can be no existence without the "i" of the world.
The Simchat Beit HaSho'eiva was the ceremony in which water was drawn up from the spring
of Gihon and poured on the Altar. On a deeper level, what was drawn up through this
celebration was a spirituality from the depths of being. The nature of true spirituality is always
the connection of my sense of existence to the Source of all existence, when "i" connects to the
ultimate "i." The absolute reality revealed at Sinai was that God is the "i" of the world. And just
as no one doubts the existence of his or her own "i," so at Sinai no one doubted the existence
of the "i" of the world.
This is what the Ramban means when he says that as parents "we will not bequeath to them
[our children] something that is untrue" and "they will have no doubt whatsoever in the truth
of our testimony to them."
As parents, we pass down to our children that sense of "i" that we received at Sinai, that
incontrovertible knowledge of God's being that is as inescapable as the knowledge of our own
existence.
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