Etz Chaim

            A sadness sits on the human heart, which Judaism names galut, or exile.  That sadness stems from a series of anguished separations: the closing of the way to Eden, the failure of human language, the burning of Jerusalem, the loss of our mother’s comforting arms and breast.

            The prophet Isaiah, when charged by God to “comfort my people,” did not sugar-coat the truth.  “The grass withers, the flower fades;” said the great comforter.  This world, our world, is a reality of exile, of separation and of loss. We cannot return to Eden; a fiery revolving sword stands in our way, blocking the path to the Tree of Life.

            “But the word of our God will endure forever.” (Isaiah 40:8)   Here is the comfort.  When we read from the Torah, God brings the Tree of Life to us in our exile, and plants it among us and within us.  We read, and eat from the Tree of Life; thus God gives us back that which we had lost.  Not as we had expected, and not perhaps all that we had hoped for; but in reading, in learning, and in teaching Torah, we walk the Jewish way to eternal life.