One of my friends has a beautiful explanation for why the Torah begins with the letter bet and not aleph. She says that before you begin anything, you must first have silence. So, although we don't see the aleph on the page, it really exists, it is just unwritten.
"But try to begin reading anything," she challenges, "without the silence at the start. You will find that every book begins with aleph."
Aleph, which also stands for "one", is the letter that represents G-d. One would think that G-d would be represented by a loud powerful letter, not one so unassuming that it is even made up of other letters - two yud and a vav - and quietly assists without making a sound of its own. This is a powerful lesson, with significant implication for our concept of self and G-d.
We live in a noisy world, full of things to entertain, amuse, teach and warn us through sound. Silence is something that few of us try to hear, and even fewer try to understand. When we ask for a response, we expect it. What does it mean when we demand a response and the answer is silence? Is silence an answer? Do we assume that silence is a negative answer, a positive answer or the lack of an answer?
Most of the time, our interpretation of what silence means has little to do with the reason behind the silence and everything to do with our own personal issues.
Ehud Olmert declared that this election would be a referendum on his government and the policy of ceding land to the Arabs - but a large bloc of voters answered the question of Olmert's policies with silence. What, precisely, does this silence mean?
Olmert, in his need to fulfill his own greedy plans for a place in history and a "peace prize" of his own, will, no doubt, translate the silence to mean that the abstaining citizens are in agreement with him and, therefore, felt they had no need to vote. This so-called referendum will encourage Olmert to brashly move forward in giving away large swaths of Israel, making coalitions with left-wing parties, and pushing to re-introduce legislation curbing the religious and right-wing concessions in education, Shabbat observance and military service.
Arabs will claim that the silence is due to their frustration. They will claim there is no use in voting, that they have no power to influence the "Zionist occupation", and that they cannot change Israel's government through legitimate means. This silence, they will claim, is just a symptom of their feelings of desperation and despair. This will become a mantra with them, leading to the continuous and overwhelming support, even among previously "moderate" Israeli Arabs, for terrorist actions, demands for large parts of Jerusalem, and the ongoing struggle to violently overthrow the Jewish nation, beginning with a renewed support and respect for the recently installed Hamas government.
Hareidi voters, especially those belonging to groups that tried to block polling stations in Israel, will claim that the silence is due to a growing understanding that the secular Israeli government has never been a legitimate government of Israel. They will insist that a large group of people refused to participate in the continuing and dangerous policies of a government divorced from religious and nationalist responsibility. Silence, they will say, has spoken volumes about the need for a true Torah government in Israel. There is even a group advocating a new king for Israel.
Political analysts tell us that the silence means that the Israeli public is fed up with the political system, that Likud needs to drop Binyamin Netanyahu, that Shinui shouldn't have self-destructed, that the religious parties are too busy campaigning for themselves to build a coalition, and that Olmert is too new to draw voters.
But the truth is that silence can mean anything, because silence is usually what you make it. The overwhelming silence in this vote speaks volumes, but at a volume that we are incapable of picking up because it is too weak, too fleeting, to sustain us. There are probably as many reasons behind not voting as there are voters who did not cast ballots, but they do share one commonality: they voted against the election. For whatever reason each had for failing to cast a ballot, they chose not to participate, not to take responsibility for the outcome.
Whereas G-d's silence is a powerful force that may be tapped into through the participation of a single human soul, the silence of these voters is an opposite force. Whereas G-d is an aleph, beginning every utterance and action in the world whether seen or unseen, the silence of these voters is a weak and negative limitation, a failure to take responsibility, to participate in the world. These voters may feel relief that others have spoken for them, but the truth is that they have abdicated a solemn duty and right. With freedom comes responsibility: the more freedom, the more responsibility. When we chose to be responsible - to G-d, to man, to country - we are free. When we chose to be silent, we are bound by the decisions of others.
"But try to begin reading anything," she challenges, "without the silence at the start. You will find that every book begins with aleph."
Aleph, which also stands for "one", is the letter that represents G-d. One would think that G-d would be represented by a loud powerful letter, not one so unassuming that it is even made up of other letters - two yud and a vav - and quietly assists without making a sound of its own. This is a powerful lesson, with significant implication for our concept of self and G-d.
We live in a noisy world, full of things to entertain, amuse, teach and warn us through sound. Silence is something that few of us try to hear, and even fewer try to understand. When we ask for a response, we expect it. What does it mean when we demand a response and the answer is silence? Is silence an answer? Do we assume that silence is a negative answer, a positive answer or the lack of an answer?
Most of the time, our interpretation of what silence means has little to do with the reason behind the silence and everything to do with our own personal issues.
Ehud Olmert declared that this election would be a referendum on his government and the policy of ceding land to the Arabs - but a large bloc of voters answered the question of Olmert's policies with silence. What, precisely, does this silence mean?
Olmert, in his need to fulfill his own greedy plans for a place in history and a "peace prize" of his own, will, no doubt, translate the silence to mean that the abstaining citizens are in agreement with him and, therefore, felt they had no need to vote. This so-called referendum will encourage Olmert to brashly move forward in giving away large swaths of Israel, making coalitions with left-wing parties, and pushing to re-introduce legislation curbing the religious and right-wing concessions in education, Shabbat observance and military service.
Arabs will claim that the silence is due to their frustration. They will claim there is no use in voting, that they have no power to influence the "Zionist occupation", and that they cannot change Israel's government through legitimate means. This silence, they will claim, is just a symptom of their feelings of desperation and despair. This will become a mantra with them, leading to the continuous and overwhelming support, even among previously "moderate" Israeli Arabs, for terrorist actions, demands for large parts of Jerusalem, and the ongoing struggle to violently overthrow the Jewish nation, beginning with a renewed support and respect for the recently installed Hamas government.
Hareidi voters, especially those belonging to groups that tried to block polling stations in Israel, will claim that the silence is due to a growing understanding that the secular Israeli government has never been a legitimate government of Israel. They will insist that a large group of people refused to participate in the continuing and dangerous policies of a government divorced from religious and nationalist responsibility. Silence, they will say, has spoken volumes about the need for a true Torah government in Israel. There is even a group advocating a new king for Israel.
Political analysts tell us that the silence means that the Israeli public is fed up with the political system, that Likud needs to drop Binyamin Netanyahu, that Shinui shouldn't have self-destructed, that the religious parties are too busy campaigning for themselves to build a coalition, and that Olmert is too new to draw voters.
But the truth is that silence can mean anything, because silence is usually what you make it. The overwhelming silence in this vote speaks volumes, but at a volume that we are incapable of picking up because it is too weak, too fleeting, to sustain us. There are probably as many reasons behind not voting as there are voters who did not cast ballots, but they do share one commonality: they voted against the election. For whatever reason each had for failing to cast a ballot, they chose not to participate, not to take responsibility for the outcome.
Whereas G-d's silence is a powerful force that may be tapped into through the participation of a single human soul, the silence of these voters is an opposite force. Whereas G-d is an aleph, beginning every utterance and action in the world whether seen or unseen, the silence of these voters is a weak and negative limitation, a failure to take responsibility, to participate in the world. These voters may feel relief that others have spoken for them, but the truth is that they have abdicated a solemn duty and right. With freedom comes responsibility: the more freedom, the more responsibility. When we chose to be responsible - to G-d, to man, to country - we are free. When we chose to be silent, we are bound by the decisions of others.