Maybe you're trying to focus on something important, and suddenly the phone rings, or a notification pops up, or... a snake winds itself around your ankle? Okay, maybe not the snake thing. But the idea of it? That's straight from the mystical heart of Jewish tradition.
We're diving into a fascinating passage from the Zohar" target="_blank" rel="noopener" class="source-link">Tikkunei_Zohar" target="_blank" rel="noopener" class="source-link">Tikkunei Zohar, specifically Tikkun 73. The Tikkunei Zohar is a later, and some say more accessible, companion to the main body of the Zohar, which is a foundational text of Kabbalah, or Jewish mysticism.
This passage deals with interruptions – specifically, what interruptions are serious enough to break your concentration during prayer. It's a practical question, really. How do we balance devotion with the demands of the physical world?
The text starts by talking about “the life-force of worlds,” ḥaiy ‘almin. This refers to Yesod, one of the ten Sefirot, or divine emanations, in Kabbalistic thought. Yesod is often seen as the foundation, the connecting force that unites the higher realms (represented here by the divine name YHVH, or YQV”Q) with the lower realms (represented by ADNY, another name for God, often read as Adonai).
The Tikkunei Zohar then presents a fascinating connection: uniting these names, YQV”Q and ADNY, creates a combined form, Y-A-Q-D-V-N-Q-Y. If you add up the numerical value of the Hebrew letters in this combined name, you get 91, which is also the numerical value of the word AMeN. Amen, of course, is the word we say to affirm something, to say "so be it." So the act of uniting the divine names is tied directly to affirmation and acceptance.
Now, here's where the snake comes in. The text states that even if a snake is wound about his ankle, one should not interrupt when bowing at the word barukh, “Blessed.” Think about that for a moment. Snakes weren’t exactly cuddly pets back in the day. A snakebite could be deadly. Yet, the Tikkunei Zohar suggests maintaining focus on the prayer.
Why? Because the connection to the divine, the unification of these forces, is considered so paramount that minor (ahem, snake-sized) distractions shouldn't break it.
But hold on. There's a caveat. The text then references a passage from the Talmud (Berakhot 33a) which states an interruption is permitted for a scorpion. Why the different ruling for a scorpion?
The answer lies in another passage from the Talmud (Yoma 85b), which interprets Leviticus 18:5: "...and live in them..." The rabbis understood this to mean that the laws of the Torah are meant to be lived by, not died for. We’re meant to live in them, not die because of them. Preservation of life takes precedence.
So, while a snake might be a significant nuisance, a scorpion represents a more immediate and potentially lethal threat. The principle is clear: connection to the divine is vital, but not at the cost of one's life.
Ginzberg, in his monumental Legends of the Jews, often highlights these tensions between the spiritual and the practical, showing how Jewish tradition constantly grapples with the balance between devotion and survival.
What does all this mean for us today? Well, maybe you won't encounter a snake during your morning meditation. But you'll certainly face distractions. The Tikkunei Zohar isn’t suggesting we ignore real dangers. Rather, it’s inviting us to consider what truly warrants breaking our focus, what truly pulls us away from a deeper connection to the divine. It's a reminder to prioritize, to discern between the urgent and the truly important, and to strive for a balance between the spiritual and the practical in our daily lives. What snakes – or scorpions – are you willing to tolerate?