Again and again in this parsha, the Torah talks about gathering all the members of your household together to hamakom, to the place where God resides, and being sameach, joyful, there.
What would it feel like to gather in all the member of our internal household to such a place inside us?
Hamakom: A Place of Divine Spaciousness
What is this makom, this place? We should note that the name of the actual physical place is never mentioned here, but simply the word hamakom, “the place,” repeated 19 times in our parsha, and we should also note that the term hamakom becomes in rabbinic Hebrew another name for God, the ultimate place, or perhaps better understood not just as “place,” but as “space,” representing the divine quality of spaciousness. The place, then, that we are instructed to bring all of our inner and outer household members into is the divine realm of spaciousness and expansiveness, a place of radical inclusiveness. Bring them all, the Torah says, your son and daughter and servants and strangers and everyone in your household, bring them all. In this “place,” there is plenty of “space” for everyone.
The sense of this place inside is of an opening of boundaries, a widening of circles with plenty of air and space, a vast sky that can contain it all, sun, moon, stars and clouds, wide open space; anyone who knocks at the door is welcome. The ultimate makom, the Bet Mikdash, the Temple, was indeed said to have this quality: hordes of pilgrims would come to this place for the holidays, and the Mishnah says the people were tzefufim, “crowded,” upon standing, but somehow, when they bowed down, there were revahim, there was plenty of space for each one (Avot 5:7). You might notice if it feels crowded inside you right now, tight and cramped with lots of parts and feelings and intensity, and then try breathing the space inside a little bigger, asking God’s expansiveness to inhabit you, like the courtyard of the Bet Mikdash, crowded, and then, ahh, somehow expanding, lots of space between things. Your body becomes this makom, this divine spaciousness.
Solid As Well As Spacious: A Table
This space that we are preparing for our internal guests needs to be not just spacious, but also solid and strong in some way, a place that offers a sense of safety and containment as well as welcome and openness. The word is hamakom, the place with a heh, a definite article, a specific thing, something solid and defined, not just vast undefined space that we float around in, but something solid and specific and strong that can hold us. We can find this solidness inside us as well, in the place where God resides inside, that spot of strength and solidness at our center. It is somehow both a container, like the Bet Mikdash, and at the same time a center that radiates welcome and openness. Maybe it feels like a building or sukkah whose walls keep expanding, or maybe it feels like a solid wood dining room table standing at the center with lots of chairs around it, somehow an endless number, and endless space for guests in the space around it. Ta’arokh lefanay shulkhan, “set up for me a table,” we ask God (Psalm 23). Turn me into a table for the guests inside me.
Inviting Guests
With the table set, we can now invite members of our inner household to come forward and join us. Again and again, the Torah lists the people who come with you to this place, a whole entourage: אַתָּ֨ה וּבִנְךָ֤ וּבִתֶּ֙ךָ֙ וְעַבְדְּךָ֣ וַאֲמָתֶ֔ךָ וְהַלֵּוִ֗י וְהַגֵּ֛ר וְהַיָּת֥וֹם וְהָאַלְמָנָ֖ה אֲשֶׁ֥ר בִּשְׁעָרֶֽיךָ You and your son and daughter, your male and female servant, the Levi and the stranger, the orphan and the widow that are in your gates (Deuteronomy 16:14 and throughout the parsha).
Inner Children
Our first guests are atah uvinkha uvitekha, “you and your son and your daughter.” We can bring to mind our own inner children, sensing their innocence and sweetness and playfulness, and maybe also some pain and confusion and hurt, the core vulnerability and insecurity of being young, helpless and dependent. We can find them in our bodies or maybe bring to mind an image of them, and then beckon them to come forward, carrying them in our arms, or holding their little hands and leading them to that large open dining room table, and offering them each a seat there. Maybe one needs a high chair or a booster, or another is crying or hungry or tired – offering them a warm blanket or a pacifier or some cookies, making them comfortable at the table. Usually they are left out of these gatherings; let them feel how in this hamakom space they are truly welcome and wanted. And let them feel the solidness of the table and know they are safe.
Worker Parts
Next in the Torah’s list are the male and female servants, avdekha ve’ametekha. These are the worker bee parts of us that get a lot done in the world, managing our lives and the many concrete tasks that need tending to. Like real servants, these parts don’t always get a lot of honor or attention, and not much compensation or vacation time, either; they work nonstop. We can get a sense of them in our bodies, of their restless energy and maybe also of their overwork and exhaustion and depletion. We can invite them to pause what they are doing, relax and sink into a seat at the big oak dining room table, maybe offering them some extra cushions or an easy chair. These gatherings in the Torah happen mostly on holidays, on days when work has ceased. And the place that we are headed is also called in the Torah, hamenuchah, “the rest.” So we can let our worker parts rest here, in the divine hamakom and the divine menuchah (resting place) inside us.
Levi
Next is the Levi, whom the Torah says again and again does not have a helek, an inheritance, in the land. I think many of us have parts that feel similarly disenfranchised, that were not given a seat at the table in some way. We can invite them, too, into this divine space, offering them a seat here, in this inclusive, welcoming space.
Stranger
The ger or stranger comes next. This is the part of us that feels like an alien sometimes, that feels it doesn’t belong in any group, like an outsider, excluded and shamed. Don’t let this part sit in the corner or on the outskirts as it normally does. Help it find a seat right in the middle and give it a special welcome. Let it know – you belong here.
Orphan and Widow
The last to arrive are the yatom and almanah, the orphan and the widow. They are the parts of us that have suffered great irreparable losses, that hold grief and pain and a deep sense of aloneness. These parts feel that there is no one to support them and help them, that they are alone in the world and vulnerable. We can invite them, too, to sit at the table, and let them look around and notice all the others and notice us. They are safe and supported here, and they are not alone. No one is alone in this space.
Any Others? Bring Them In!
These are just examples the Torah gives. We are in a place of radical inclusiveness, and so we also invite in any others who are be’shearekha, “in your gates” at this moment – maybe there are hordes of hungry parts or sad or anxious parts inside you right now. We just keep adding leaves to the table and chairs to the circle, we keep expanding the walls of the sukkah and drawing the circle wider, so that we include them all, no one left out. Be’aspekha – the Torah says of Sukkot, the holiday of joy– “when you gather them all in.” We open our arms wide and gather them in. All are welcome. Breathe yourself bigger to include them all.
Joy
Vesamachta. You will be joyous. It is in this makom, this spacious welcoming environment, with all parts of you gathered around, that maybe you can begin to taste some joy. It is the joy of inclusion, of everyone belonging, no one left out. It is the joy of togetherness and of wholeness. You are a whole integrated person, all the ragged, worn out, hurt, excluded parts here and accepted. There is relief and there is joy, a joy that is more than the sum of its parts, this sense of inner completeness, of shleimut. Gazing at the table, you see the young parts and the stranger laughing together, the orphan playing cards with the worker bees, everyone talking and singing at once, like a big rambunctious family, a party inside you. Taste this joy. It is the joy of wholeness and belonging, both internal and external. You are whole, and maybe you also taste the possibility of radical societal inclusiveness, of what it would feel like to have such a table on the outside, too, in the world, to truly invite all the ragged, hurt, excluded ones to the table together with everyone else, the joy that might be ours if we lived in such a place of belonging.
Joy Despite The Mess
But maybe you also see someone crying at that table inside you. We can acknowledge all the hurt that is also still here, the young parts with their wounds and vulnerability, the exhaustion of the worker bees and the aloneness and exclusion of the others. This suffering has not and likely will not entirely go away. And that’s ok. Nothing has to change in order for us to feel joy in this moment. We come together and find joy not by getting rid of or denying the suffering, but by being together in the mess itself.
Vehayita akh sameach (Deuteronomy 16:15), the Torah says, which is normally translated as “You will be only happy,” nothing else. But I don’t think so. Here is another read: that word akh literally means “but,” so maybe vehayita akh sameach can be understood as: you will be “but” or nonetheless or still happy, meaning, despite it all, you will nonetheless be happy. Yes, there is loneliness and hurt and anxiety and exclusion, vehayita akh sameach, but you can nonetheless find some joy, you can nonetheless, right here, in the midst of the mess, in the midst of all those parts that each bring their woes, right here, together in this hamakom place of divine inclusiveness, right here, in this moment, with all the crying young ones and sulking older ones, right here, you can find joy, the joy of acceptance, the joy of togetherness, the joy of inclusion, the joy of connection. Maybe you can taste that joy right now – whatever burden you are carrying in this moment, bringing it to the table with the others, and being akh sameach, nonetheless, despite it all, joyful. Nothing has to change in order for us to feel joy in this moment.
Photo by Nicole Michalou at Pexels
