November 17, 2010: Hallowed Ground

Dear Chevre (Friends):

(Note: these comments constitute the final installment in a series on the JCOGS cemetery. Thank you for all the questions and comments I have received!)

The more I think about it, we should not call next Sunday’s inauguration of our new cemetery a consecration. From its Latin roots, “to consecrate” means to make holy. But how can we make a plot of ground holy, simply by walking around its perimeter reciting psalms? What is hallowed ground anyway?

According to the religious anthropologist Mercia Eliade, ancient cultures believed that certain specific sites provided direct access to the divine. (The Sacred and the Profane, p. 37) For example, in last week’s Torah portion: “Jacob awoke from his sleep and said: ‘How awesome is this place! This is none other than the abode of God, and this is the gateway to heaven.’” (Genesis 28:16-17) God’s presence rendered the place holy. For the ancient Israelites, one location upon earth was supercharged with holiness above all others—the Foundation Stone underneath the Temple at Jerusalem (which they associated with Jacob’s headrest). However, after the Temple was destroyed, it became necessary to be able to invoke God anywhere: “Once, Rabbi Yochanan ben Zakkai was leaving Jerusalem with his disciple Rabbi Joshua. Seeing the Temple in ruins, Rabbi Joshua cried out: ‘Woe to us for the place where Israel once drew close to God!’ Rabbi Yochanan replied: ‘Do not be distressed, my son. We have another way of drawing close to God just as effective—through deeds of lovingkindness.’” (Avot de-Rabbi Natan 11a) Nowadays, places are not considered to be intrinsically holy; rather, they become holy by virtue of the righteous human activity that takes place there.

Instead of a consecration, let’s call Sunday’s ceremony a dedication. The Hebrew word for “dedication” is chanukkah. Just as our ancestors rededicated themselves to Jewish tradition on Chanukkah, we dedicate ourselves to upholding the honor of the dead among us, an action that, as I stated in a previous column, constitutes one of Jewish tradition’s supreme examples of a deed of lovingkindness. It is not what we say that matters, but what we do. Abraham Lincoln said it best: “We have come to dedicate a portion of [this] field as a final resting place… But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate—we cannot consecrate—we cannot hallow—this ground. The dead… have consecrated it, far above our poor power to add or detract. The world will little note… what we say here… It is for us…, rather, to be dedicated here to [their] unfinished work …” (from the Gettysburg Address)
Rabbi Brian
rabbi.brian.besser@gmail.com