Today, we're dipping back into the world of Heikhalot Rabbati, one of the key texts of early Jewish mysticism. It's a wild ride, full of visions and intense spiritual experiences. And it raises a fascinating question: what happens when you encounter something so much greater than yourself?
Rabbi Ishmael, a central figure in these mystical traditions, lays down some pretty strict rules. He says that if you're lucky enough – or perhaps brave enough – to behold the Merkavah, the rules of earthly decorum go out the window. Normally, you’d stand up as a sign of respect before someone of high standing. But not here. Rabbi Ishmael states that someone beholding the Merkavah has no right to stand, except before royalty, the High Priest, or the Sanhedrin. Why? Because standing before the Merkavah, and then ALSO standing before someone else, would be punishable by death. It would lessen your days and cut short your years. Think about the implications. What could this possibly mean?
It suggests the Merkavah experience is so overwhelming, so transformative, that it transcends all earthly hierarchies. To stand up would be to diminish the experience, to somehow suggest that something else could possibly command greater respect. It's a radical idea, isn't it?
But what do you even say when you’re in the presence of such overwhelming divinity? Again, Rabbi Ishmael offers guidance. He tells us what songs to recite as we “descend to the Merkavah.” Yes, descend. While we often think of ascending to heaven, here, the language suggests something different. Perhaps it's a descent into the depths of one's own soul, where the Divine Presence resides.
He says to begin with the principal songs, "The beginning of praise and the commencement of song, The beginning of jubilation and the commencement of exultation." It's about setting the tone, preparing the heart and mind for what's to come. And then, the song shifts, becoming a dialogue between the mystic and the Divine. "Do the princes sing who serve each day The Lord God of Israel and the throne of His glory; They bear up the wheel of the throne of His glory."
And what do they sing? "Sing, sing for joy, supernal dwelling! Shout, shout for joy, precious vessel! Made marvelously and a marvel. Surely thou shalt gladden the King who sitteth upon thee, as the joy of the bridegroom in his bridechamber." It’s a song of pure, unadulterated joy and awe. A celebration of the Divine Presence and the intimate connection between the King and His creation.
The passage culminates in a personal declaration: "When I came to take refuge under the shadow of Thy wings In the joy of my heart which rejoiced in thee." It's a moment of complete surrender, of finding solace and joy in the embrace of the Divine.
What does this all mean for us today? Perhaps it's a reminder that even in our ordinary lives, we can encounter moments of profound awe and wonder. Moments that demand our full attention and respect. Moments when all we can do is sing for joy and take refuge in the shadow of something greater than ourselves. It is a reminder that humility and awe can reorient us in the face of greatness, whether external or internal. And perhaps, in those moments, we too can glimpse the Merkavah, the Divine Chariot, and experience a taste of the infinite.