One of my favorite times of the year is early fall, when the leaves start changing colors and begin falling off the trees. And, as the winds shift, one can listen to the blowing of the leaves as they shuffle together creating a symphony of natural music. Even living in Southern California where we don't always experience the same change of seasons, I still think of that time as one of soothing comfort and promise and rebirth
So, as I read this week's Torah portion, Behukotai, the concluding parashah of the book of Leviticus, I find myself struggling to understand one particular verse which seems to present a very different image of the blowing leaves. In a narrative that is both poetic and troubling, the Torah presents the blessings that will be bestowed upon those who follow Torah and the devastating calamities that will result should the Torah be transgressed. Amongst the list of threats of retribution:
I will cast a faintness into their hearts in the land of their enemies. The sound of a driven leaf shall chase them in flight. (Leviticus 26:36)
Only one other place in all of the books of the Bible is the metaphor of a "driven leaf" ( aleh nidaf ) invoked. In the book of Job, as he suffers he inquires, "Why do you hide Your face . . . ? Will You harass a driven leaf?"
Aleh nidaf - a driven leaf - a leaf blown away by the wind, but whose sound, the commentators say is loud enough to invoke terror in the people. How is it that the sound of a driven leaf is to be compared to the horrors of the remaining threats of disease, death, hunger, and exile? What is there to fear in the sound of rustling leaves?
The early rabbinic Midrash Sifre on Leviticus recounts the words of Rabbi Yehudah ben Karchah: "Once we were sitting among the trees when a gust of wind caused the leaves to rustle. We got up and ran away, saying 'Woe is to us if the (Roman) cavalry catches us.' After a while we turned around and saw no one, so we returned to our places and said: 'Woe is to us for with us has been fulfilled the verse and the sound of a driven leaf... "
According to the midrash, it is not the leaves that ultimately instill terror in the people; rather it is the irrational voices heard in moments that could otherwise be soothing that are the curse and fear that terrorizes Rabbi Yehudah ben Karchah and those with whom he sat under the trees - as if they heard voices of the enemy, assumed any noise was the noise of those chasing after them to destroy them.
This kind of punishment, teaches Hillel Silverman, can be likened to the paranoiac affliction of the wicked 'who flee when no man pursues.' At times, we too, if we are not careful and diligent, can be plagued by the 'sound of a driven leaf' - imaginary persecution; fear of poverty, illness, or death; panic over success or failure; concern over a reversal of fortunes; or some other constant and crippling anxiety to which we can succumb.
So, how do we turn our heart back to recognizing the beauty of sounds of the leaves? How do we rid ourselves of the crippling anxiety?
Mastering our own fears takes ability, determination and truth. To those afflicted, such fears are as real as any physical ailment. So, we must confront them, reach the root and seek to heal them. As Emerson pointed out 'Do the thing you fear and the death of that fear is certain.' Any of us who has confronted our own fear or anxiety (even if only one amongst others that we have yet to master) knows what an incredibly empowering and restoring experience that can be. More than just reaching the roots of the fear, mastering the fear helps us reconnect with the root and essence of who we are and what it means to live.
Perhaps, then, it really is not so hard to see where holding on to Torah can help ward off such a terrible affliction. Perhaps it is for this reason that we are reminded of the Torah - Etz Hayim Hi - it is a tree of life to those who hold fast to it. A tree whose leaves sustain us and help us remember the sounds of success, achievement, comfort, and meaning.
Shabbat Shalom.