Shalom and welcome. Join us as we explore the living knowledge of the Torah and the rich history of the Jewish people.
A Synagogue Guide for Non-Jewish Visitors
On any given Friday night, most if not all the people in a synagogue are Jewish. They either grew up experiencing the rituals and traditions of the faith or they were diligently taught about them during the process of conversion. Occasionally non-Jewish visitors go to a synagogue as guests of congregants or as curious outsiders of a different faith who want to participate in a cultural exchange. For these newcomers the experience of services at a Jewish house of worship can be strange or jarring. This is a quick guide to demystify some of the unique aspects of ritual at the average synagogue for those who have never visited one before.
What is that hat and why are only the men wearing it?
The round skullcap worn mostly by men at a Jewish service is called a kipah (kee-pah) or a yarmulke (yah-mah-kah or yah-mul-kah, depending on region). It is worn as a sign of respect for the ritual space and as a physical reminder of the divine presence that is, metaphorically speaking, always above us. While it has long been the tradition for men exclusively to wear them, there is no rule prohibiting women from wearing them as well. In fact, in more conservative Jewish circles, the women do indeed wear kipot. As a non-Jewish visitor you are not required to wear one, though you'll appear more in-the-know if you do.
Another clothing question: What is that shawl with the fringes some people are wearing?
The traditional prayer shawl is called a talit (or talis in some Ashkenazi Jewish communities). Like the kipah it is a symbol of reverence and an acknowledgment of the ritual taking place. It represents an individual wrapping his or her self in the laws of Torah. Usually only those Jews who have achieved a bar or bat mitzvah wear talit. In some synagogues it is the custom to only wear talit when the Torah itself is being read. As a non-Jewish visitor, it will likely be seen as inappropriate for you to wear one, though there is no specific rule against it.
Why do the books open backward?
Most Jewish prayer books open right-to-left in accordance with how the Hebrew language, found inside the books, is read.
Why are some English parts of the prayer book italicized?
Congregant participation is vital to any Jewish ritual. At times throughout the service, those in attendance will be asked to read the italicized text together out loud in response to the plain text recited by the person leading the service.
What are those gestures people make during certain parts of the service?
During specific prayers it has long been the custom to incorporate certain movements, such as bowing or turning to face a specific direction. There are usually no instructions in the supplied prayer books concerning these motions, as they are usually passed down to new generations by observation alone. You are not obligated to mimic these movements, though it is polite to follow any motion instructions given by the service leader.
There's food after the service is over. Is it polite for me to eat some of it?
Absolutely. The refreshments after the service, called an Oneg Shabbat (joy of the sabbath), are provided for all congregants and their guests. The purpose of this post-service snack is to give those in attendance incentive to stick around, chat and meet new people. As a guest you are not only welcome to enjoy the oneg, you are encouraged to. Don't worry, the congregants won't take this time to preach to you. In fact, proselytizing is generally frowned upon in the Jewish community. Take the oneg as an opportunity to make new friends, ask any questions you may have and generally relax.
These are some of the most common questions non-Jewish visitors have during their first time at a synagogue. If you readers have any further questions, don't hesitate to ask them in our comments section.
Mysticism Demystified: 10 Sephirot
Jewish mysticism, commonly referred to by the name of its collected text Kabbalah, is a subject of contention and much misunderstanding. Much of it came out of the teachings of Judaic scholars in the Middle Ages who attempted to create a deeply spiritual component of Judaism in conjunction with the daily rituals of Halakha and the rabbinic law of Talmud. These scholars were travelers and students of many different modes of thought throughout Europe, North Africa and Muslim-controlled Asia, so their mystical concepts often reflect those influences. It is most important to remember that Kabbalah was never intended to be a system of magic or an explanation of natural phenomena. Rather, it is a deeply metaphorical set of concepts that require an understanding of many Jewish topics and texts in order to apply properly. One of the central concepts in Kabbalah is the Ten Sephirot.
The Ten Sephirot are a metaphor for how Middle Ages Jewish scholars interpreted the divine, specifically as observed in the act and nature of creation. These ten attributes represent those aspects of consciousness and action the rabbis considered holy, of the highest regard. While they are presented as attributes of God, most are things we can see reflected in ourselves and more importantly they are things to which we can aspire.
Keter, meaning "Crown", is often absent from most representations of the Ten Sephirot, as it was later replaced by Da'at, so strictly speaking there are eleven Sephirot but only ten regularly recognized. The crown of Keter represents the inaccessible divinity of God above and outside all else. The sages came to a general consensus that in order for there to be a God-like divinity, it had to be fundamentally removed from all else to make it clear how that divinity is not subject to the same rules and limitations of life.
Da'at means "Discerning intellect, reason". This indicates not just general intellect but the logic behind a particular subject, i.e. "da'at mekanit" would translate as "the logic of automobiles". It is therefore considered holy to have a functional knowledge of what one creates as one creates it.
Khokhma means "Wisdom", though it is different than Da'at by merit of an inherent holiness or general above-ness. There is a moral element to this. It is intelligence that informs right action.
Binah is "Understanding". The word shares a root with the word Ben, meaning "son". The implication of this common root is that understanding results from a sort of epiphany with a logical "parentage" of thought, that Observation+Existing Knowledge = Understanding.
Khesed means "Kindness". This word appears in key places in the Bible to describe a common but no less remarkable human warmth. It indicates kindness beyond custom and obligation.
Gevurah is "Courage" or strength of disposition in the sense of battle, actual or metaphorical. The implication is that creative action requires real mettle, that it's not easy.
Tiferet means physical, or more accurately, intentional beauty. It shares a root for the word for "decoration". It's also important to note that, grammatically, this shouldn't stand alone. The lone adjectival version is "tiferah", so this implies a connection to a noun to come afterward. For example, "Tiferet Yisrael" means "the beauty of Israel". It's an intentional fill-in-the-blank. If one must create, one should create with an aim toward the beauty inherent to the creation.
Netzach is the hardest of the Sephirot to translate. Roughly, it comes out as "forward momentum, continuation". It is usually translated as "infinity" but that's really off the mark. It more closely implies the continual nature of creation and a forward-thinking attitude. If one must create, one can only create for the present and future.
Hod means "Glory" in the sense of formal recognition by others. It is tangentially related to the word todah, meaning "thank you". This indicates respect between the creation and the creator.
Yesod is "Foundation", as in the noun version of "to found". It is intentional creation with a slight implication of intended permanence.
Finally, Malkut is "Kingship", the state of being a leader. This is another dangling adjective that needs a proceeding noun to make grammatical sense, so it would be "kingship of _______". It could very well come out as "kingship in the realm of knitting" or "kingship of music". No matter what is being created, one is ultimately responsible for the well-being of the creation.
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A Brief Introduction to Talmud
In the modern day we take the practice of non-geographic religion for granted. While there are still a few so-called "holy cities" left in the world, there is no such thing as a religion that is bound to any one locus. In ancient times, the inverse was true. Few religions that existed two to three thousand years ago could be fully observed in literally any location. Polytheistic faiths, like those practiced by the Greeks and Romans, were dependent on temples and the priests who were bound to them, mobile only insofar as an individual's ability to properly build an altar or in the form of quasi-religious Mystery cults. This was even further pronounced in the earliest Near Eastern cities where the worship of a particular god came and went with the city itself. It's not entirely certain how mobile the earliest incarnations of Judaism were, but by the time the Judaic kingdoms in Canaan were established, Judaism was solidly anchored to the Temple in Jerusalem. It was only after two periods of exile that Judaism became a traveler's religion.
The two greatest written traditions in Judaism came about thanks to periods of conquest and diaspora. First, the Babylonian Empire consumed the Levant and forced the Jews of Canaan to live elsewhere in Babylon, removing them from their national seat of power and culture for the sake of political stability. Faced with the task of maintaining Jewish culture without the benefit of a Temple or a priestly leadership caste, Jews began writing down their stories in what would eventually become the Tanakh, the written Five Books of Moses. It is from this tradition that today's Torah scrolls originate. It wouldn't be until the destruction of the second Temple in Jerusalem by the Roman Empire in 70 CE that the Talmud would come into being.
After 70 CE, Judaism shifted away from Temple-based worship almost entirely. The Cohanim (the priests who oversaw all sacrifice and, for a time, acted as supreme judges) ceased to be relevant to everyday Jewish life in the diaspora and were ultimately replaced as community leaders by the rabbis, learned individuals who act more as teachers and counselors than as holy men. The rabbis transformed the format of Jewish religious discourse from a purely spoken discussion to a written, compiled commentary. This transition didn't exactly begin at the Roman conquest. Rather, it was a natural evolution from the Judean system of courts and sages that came about approximately two centuries earlier. The texts we know today as the Talmud slowly came into being in this post-Cohanim period.
In its simplest definition, Talmud (which roughly translates as "teachings") is a series of scholarly discussions and commentaries posited by certain highly regarded rabbis over the course of several generations. It is the basis for most rabbinic law and many of the customary practices of modern Judaism. The most important thing to remember about Talmud is that it is not an end-all work of law. Rather, it is a compilation of the informed opinions of people who went about Biblical exegesis with academic rigor. Different sages express different interpretations of the same passage and none of them are deemed absolutely correct. At best, Talmudic texts display a consensus of opinion. It is not meant as a replacement or final conceptualization of Torah. Rather, it is a method with which Jews can understand the practice of their faith without deferring to an ultimate authority that is subject to change capriciously.
The Song of Songs (part nine)
The eighth and final chapter of The Song of Songs is also the most opaque. Its language is removed and full of stacked metaphors, a nigh-exhausted conclusion to the emotional rollercoaster of Rayati's fight for love and personal liberty. It is at once sad and hopeful, finding our heroine having learned the complexity of the world and fully coming of age as a result.
The chapter opens with the resignation that Dodi and Rayati will never be able to make a life together. In so many words, the lines express that social convention simply won't allow it, though it's not entirely clear what about their relationship is taboo, exactly. It may be that they are of two different nationalities, as much as distinct nationalities existed at the time, or possibly that they come from different social classes. This passage is an indication that their romance, while not ending, will never be official.
The next segment is cause for some debate. Depending on how it's translated, Rayati meets with Dodi under a tree either after Dodi has an argument with his mother, or possibly they meet under the same tree where Dodi himself was conceived. If it's the latter, then it's buried in the idiom of the time. Regardless, Rayati and Dodi are together in this passage and it's implied that they make vows to one another, even if a real marriage isn't in the future for them. Rayati says to Dodi, "Set me as a seal upon your heart, a seal upon your arm". This is a very clear reference to one of the oldest prayers in Judaism, the V'ahavtah, in which God tells His people to bind the mitzvot upon their own hearts and hands. Rayati and Dodi's relationship is posited here as nothing less than a holy covenant that trumps all other laws.
The reason they are making this covenant is because Rayati is about to become the property of King Solomon himself. In this segment the more traditional interpretation of The Song reads it as the official marriage of Solomon and Rayati, as if Solomon has always been Rayati's lover. This doesn't really follow, given the metaphors present here and the assaults on Solomon's character throughout the poem. Rayati mentions the vineyards of Ba'al-Hamon, how they were sold by Solomon for a 1,000 pieces of silver each. Now, Ba'al-Hamon is not a historical place. It's never mentioned anywhere but in this poem and its literal meaning (Master of the Multitudes) indicates another attack on Solomon. The vineyard in The Song is a symbol of personal fulfillment and natural joy. This line accuses Solomon of selling his own happiness as a ruler for material wealth, while the following line finds Rayati evoking her own vineyard, her own fulfillment. She implies that her vineyard will never truly be sold, saying, "The thousand is yours, Solomon".
And so The Song of Songs ends in quiet defiance. Rayati finds herself in the gardens (perhaps Solomon's gardens) and her friends ask her to sing a song. The song she sings is a measure from The Song of Songs itself: "Quickly, my beloved. Be like a gazelle or a young hart on the mound of spices". Though she is not with him, Rayati still holds out hope to be with Dodi again. Her song is this poem and with its help she is resolved to never completely relinquish her happiness for anything.
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The Song of Songs (part eight)
Chapter Seven, the penultimate chapter of The Song of Songs, is generally considered the moment in which the two lovers physically consummate their relationship. As with the rest of the poem, it isn't entirely clear whether or not the events therein actually occur. All we really see is Dodi and Rayati making plans together. That, however ambiguous, is actually a major development.
Chapter Seven is the only time in The Song when the two lovers seem to be hatching a plan in the same place at the same time. Throughout the poem they have both dreamed and fantasized, but only while they were away from one another. The lines in this chapter are such that they can only be conversational. After a long period of separation and a drama of errors that nearly kept them apart forever, Dodi and Rayati are ready to run away together.
There's something comfortingly humble about the lovers' escape plan. They simply intend to run away to the country. Rayati has gathered some early fruits of the harvest and left them at the doorway for Dodi. Basically, she put together a package of travel provisions. After all their grand, swooning romanticism and exhausting longing, Dodi and Rayati just want to retire to some small, rural village where nobody knows them.
I've written before about how fatigued the lovers, especially Rayati, sound as the poem progresses. They repeat themselves, they take less time to linger on one another's features and they generally seem less patient. In this fatigue is a sort of maturation. The planning in Chapter Seven isn't some great, romantic adventure.
Rayati once again mentions vineyards, though in a much more measured way. She says they ought to go down to the vineyards to see if they're in bloom, a subtle but important shift in the language. Recall in a previous chapter when she insists “our vineyards are in bloom”. If vineyards are the symbol of happiness and fulfillment in this poem, then Rayati's words in Chapter Seven suggest that she no longer assumes a relationship with Dodi will make her happy. Instead, she'd rather give it a test run. This isn't cynicism so much as it's Rayati approaching her life with a more adult sensibility.
Somewhat more disturbing is the inference in this chapter that Rayati is on the verge of becoming Solomon's concubine. In thinking of Rayati's beautiful hair, Dodi mentions (almost off-hand) that Solomon is “held captive” therein. Where Solomon factors into this story is made more clear in the final chapter. For now, he is simply something from which to run away.
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The Song of Songs (part seven)
Sometimes it seems powerfully geeky to get excited about the clever intellectual flourishes of biblical texts, but when a particularly stunning turn of phrase or layered reference pops up in a reading it's just too interesting to ignore. In chapter six of the Song of Songs there is an amazing reference. It's impressive not just because it has a many-layered implication for the poem and the time in which it was written, but also because it's remarkably easy to miss.
The chapter begins with a quick reiteration of where we left Rayati. The women around her are asking where Dodi might be found. Rayati tells them he is in his garden, which segues directly to Dodi in that exact place. Dodi assumes the role of the speaker, which he retains for the remainder of the chapter. His opening line is the most important of this section and perhaps one of the most important for the entire poem. In it, he likens Rayati's beauty to that of Tirzah. Who and/or what is Tirzah? Two things, actually. Tirzah was both a city and a fairly significant, if briefly mentioned, character in the Torah.
The city of Tirzah is potentially another anti-Solomon satirical reference. During Solomon's reign, Tirzah would have been most famous for being a city where the Israelites defeated and killed a king. Specifically, the last of 31 individual kings the Israelites killed under the guidance of Moses as mentioned in the Book of Joshua, Chapter 12. There is no shortage of both cities and biblical characters who were renowned for their beauty. We can't ignore the unsettling implication of invoking the name of a city that infers the deaths of nearly three dozen kings condemned by God. This line is doubly controversial as it ends with the phrase "fearsome as an army with banners". In an otherwise romantic poem, this military, regicidal language stands out. Considering how careful the rest of the poem is, it's hard to believe this line is a mistake.
As for Tirzah the character from the Torah, she was the youngest daughter of Zelophehad, a man whose death brings about an extremely important legal decision just prior to the Israelites' entrance into the Promised Land. Zelophehad had five daughters but no sons. Upon his death, Zelophehad's daughters bring their case before Moses concerning their right to their father's estate. Until this moment, the Torah's law stated that only men could inherit from their family directly. Moses decided it was only fair to give Zelophehad's daughters their family estate, establishing not only a revision to the gender biased rules of economy but also a precedent for the process of changing Toritic laws. For the Song of Songs to reference Tirzah is among its strongest feminist statements. This poem is, among other things, the story of a young woman fighting for her freedom and happiness. What better figure for Rayati's comparison than Tirzah, who went from most disenfranchised to legally uplifted?
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The Song of Songs (part six)
After The Song of Songs passes its halfway point, it takes on a certain air of melancholy. The language which began the poem as luxurious and exuberant slowly becomes desperate and oppressive. The most shocking turn happens in Chapter 5 when the narrative strays from the disconnected dialogue between the two lovers and starts to include an entreaty to outsiders for help, sympathy and understanding. Most tragically, the story's protagonists, especially Rayati, find none of those things.
In an earlier chapter, Rayati was described as searching around her city for Dodi, asking the city guards for help. I conjectured that this moment was in fact Rayati's dream and we can see in Chapter 5 why this is so. This chapter is something of a wake-up call, a harsh moment of reality as a counterpoint to the grand, sweeping fantasies expressed by the young, would-be lovers. At the beginning of the chapter Dodi actually arrives at Rayati's front door. When he asks her to let him in, Rayati freezes instead. Despite all of her pining and her plans of escape, when actually faced with the moment when it all could come true she loses her nerve. By the time Rayati convinces herself to open the door, Dodi has already gone away.
Realizing what has happened, Rayati thoughtlessly rushes out to the city in search of Dodi. When the city guards find her, they beat her. Why would this be? Simply, because in that time and place if a young woman walked the streets alone at night she was assumed to be a prostitute. It likely wouldn't have helped that Rayati would be wandering around searching for a man who wasn't a family member. Compared to Rayati's dream, this is an extremely dark moment. It is a fantasy turned into a nightmare, the happy ending of the dream replaced with Rayati injured and alone, begging those around her to help her find a man she may never see again.
The only response Rayati gets from anyone she asks about Dodi can basically be summed up as "What's so special about this guy? Why not just find somebody else?" Though Rayati goes on to describe Dodi in the same swooning language as she did in private in previous chapters, there's something sour about this latest litany. For the first time in the story, we're forced to see Rayati for what she truly is. She's a very young, very inexperienced girl who relies a bit too much on her own flights of fancy. She's rash, impractical and not nearly as brave as she imagines herself to be while locked up in her room at night. The Song of Songs is most certainly not so cynical that it aims to dismiss the very concept of young, romantic love. At times it does quite the opposite. Still, things aren't nearly as rosy and pleasant in this story as they seemed at the outset.
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The Song of Songs (part five)
In Chapter 4 of The Song of Songs we learn a lot more about Rayati, specifically that she lives in Lebanon. We must remember the era in which The Song was written before we can understand the implications of this. Modern scholars have dated the text to approximately 900 BCE, though its exact date would determine much of its influence. If it was written prior to 875 BCE, The Song would have come from the height of the Phoenician Empire when the region known as Lebanon was a cultural powerhouse. If it came after 875, it would have been born in a highly contentious period when Assyrian Greeks conquered much of the region and began oppressing the local population considerably. The city of Tyre, then a major sea port and the most important economic city in southern Lebanon, was one of two to rebel against the Assyrians and would have been the closest major city to Rayati's home, provided she didn't live in Tyre itself (or possibly the city of Dor which was nearest to the Israeli border).
Regardless of whether The Song was written prior to Assyrian rule or during it, Rayati's status as a woman of Lebanon has major implications for both the literal and allegorical readings of the poem. Most strikingly, if The Song of Songs is supposed to be a metaphor for God's love for Israel or its people, then Dodi's pursuit of Rayati implies a divine mandate for either the capture of Lebanon by the kingdoms of Israel and Judah or at the very least a call to all foreign Jews to leave their homes and establish themselves in the Holy Land. That Chapter 4 finds Dodi once again enumerating Rayati's many merits and comparing them to wonders both natural and man-made would mean that this call to domination or immigration is not just a matter of love, but of resource. This only makes sense, as ancient Lebanon was the jewel of the Levant. The city of Byblos is the oldest continually inhabited city in the world, Beirut has been a thriving metropolis for millennia and Lebanon's natural bounty gave rise to a people with such power and influence that they even conquered the political titan that was Egypt. As an increasingly pervasive cultural and military power, the twin kingdoms of Israel and Judah would have sought to seize the city-states of Lebanon just like the Assyrians, Babylonians, Persians, Macedonians and Romans did.
Taken as just a love story, Rayati's Lebanese heritage is no less important. At the time the people of Lebanon were ethnically Canaanite and many of them, especially those in the south, would have been Jewish or of a proto-Judaic faith so the love between Dodi and Rayati wouldn't have been a scandal. However, her position as a Phoenician would have undoubtedly made Rayati the more worldly, educated and impressive of the two. In an alternative allegorical reading, Rayati can be seen as the alluring influence of the Phoenician culture on the Jewish people. After all, the Phoenicians gave Hebrews (and eventually Greeks, Romans and modern English speakers) their alphabet and they were the gateway to trade with much of the civilized world. Perhaps the most scandalous thing about The Song of Songs is that it extols the importance of Phoenician civilization in Jewish culture in a time when it seems the only acceptable form of national literature was that with a nationalistic sentiment.
The Song of Songs (part four)
The third chapter of The Song of Songs is perhaps the strangest of the entire book. It has two distinct parts divided by the quasi-chorus ("do not stir up love until it pleases") that appears in some form or another throughout the entire poem. The first half details Rayati's search for Dodi, or perhaps a dream of her search for him, while the second half pulls away from the lovers entirely to describe a procession of King Solomon. These two segments at first seem entirely disconnected, but there is a tenuous narrative strand between the two.
Chapter 3 begins with Rayati in her bed at night, dreaming. This passage is often misinterpreted thanks to a fairly silly mistranslation. While the common translation is "By night on my bed I searched for him" this is incorrect because the word "night" is actually in the plural and there is no mention of a bed, at least not exactly. The word used is mishkahvi, more or less meaning "bedroom". The proper translation would be "In my room for many nights I tried to find the one my soul loves, but I didn't find him." This translation helps clarify what happens in the next few lines. While the usual interpretation is that all of Chapter 2 is a dream from which Rayati wakes, this makes no sense as Chapter 2 is in both Rayati's and Dodi's voice. Furthermore, the events in Chapter 3 are completely inexplicable. As it follows, Rayati leaves her home, wanders the streets looking for Dodi, asks the city guard for directions and then finally finds Dodi and either goes to bed with him or possibly introduces him to her parents.
Let's take a moment to consider this series of events. Even if Rayati could wander the streets, alone, in the middle of night safely (and we will see in a later chapter why this is impossible), we know from Chapter 2 that Dodi does not live in the same city as her. She would potentially have to cross a mountain range to find him. Were she to somehow find him, why would she bring him to meet her family in the dead of night? It should be clear at this point that it is the first half of Chapter 3, not the contents of Chapter 2, that is Rayati's dream. In her longing for Dodi, she dreams nightly of going out to find him. In this recurring dream she also gets her parents' approval, marries him and endeavors to start a family with him. To put a fine point on this idea, the dream description ends with a slightly altered version of the chorus, "Do not awaken, no stir up love until it pleases". "Do not awaken" is the added phrase.
The second half of the chapter begins with something of a stinging pun. While Rayati has her powerful, romantic dream in her own bed, the second half starts with an image of Solomon emerging from the woods on his lavish carriage. The word used for the carriage is mitahto, the word mitah meaning "bed". Solomon on his carriage/bed is surrounded by thirty armed men. They are described as each having a sword because of "the night's awe" or possibly "the night's fear". The later passages more or less describe Solomon with his well-known reputation as something of a philanderer, saying that he inlaid his carriage with "love from the daughters of Jerusalem". It then goes on to remind the reader that Solomon was technically crowned king by his mother and not by his father, David. Given this imagery and these references, it is hard to see this passage as anything but The Song's writer mocking Solomon.
There is an interesting parallel here. The chapter begins with the poem's heroine displaying passion, courage and a devotion to her one true love, then ends with depicting Solomon as both sexually impure and full of fear for the same mysterious night Rayati would gladly brave alone. If this poem is even partly an assault on Solomon's character, as I strongly suspect it is, this chapter is when The Song's writer stops pulling punches.
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The Song of Songs (part three)
The time scale of The Song of Songs is unclear. If the language is taken as pure metaphor the romance between the two speakers could be a very fast one, but if only a portion of the imagery is allegorical then Dodi and Rayati would have to spend potentially months apart. Whether their separation is brief or lengthy, the two lovers definitely demonstrate a shift in their language in the second chapter of the poem. There is an intensity in the words where in Chapter 1 there was only allure and curiosity. Their desire for one another escalates to the breaking point, but in Chapter 2 the lovers have not yet consummated their relationship.
The chapter opens with Dodi and Rayati speaking more or less at the same time. Were The Song to be sung as a duet, both singers would likely be singing two parts of the same measure. Rayati begins by describing herself as "A rose of Sharon, a lily of the valleys", which contrasts with Dodi's origins in the hills or perhaps beyond them. What is clear is that the two of them don't live in the same region, or at least that they both feel sufficiently separated from one another to liken unto such a separation. Perhaps they see themselves as being of two different nationalities, though they are both firmly Judaic/Canaanite in culture. Apart from one another, they describe each other as special, unique to those around them. Rayati is called "a lily among the thorns" and Dodi a lone apple tree in a grove of plain trees. In the religious reading, this passage describes the relationship between God and Israel as being exclusive to the rest of the world and being sweeter for it.
In their separation, the lovers fantasize about one another. Rayati imagines Dodi holding her in bed, with special attention paid to the description of his right and left hands. The image of the right and left hands of God are significant in Jewish mysticism, with the right hand representing Chesed (God's kindness) and the left representing Gevurah (God's strength). In the religious reading of The Song, Rayati, representing Israel, hopes for both the blessing and the protection of Dodi, representing God.
When Dodi returns from over the mountains, he comes to visit Rayati and implores her to come away with him. Their separation, if literal, seems to have been because of the winter. Dodi reasons that just like the coming of spring results in the blossoming of the fields, the returns of wildlife and the celebration of people, the new season should also result in the advancement of the lovers' relationship. It is in this segment that one of the most famous lines of the poem is found. Speaking together, at least as it seems in the text, Dodi and Rayati say, "Let us catch the foxes, the little foxes, that ruin the vineyards, for our vineyards are in bloom". Once again, the vineyard is used as a metaphor for happiness and prosperity. The lovers are expressing their readiness to move past all the obstacles between them. The time for hesitation has passed for them. In this passage, they are doing nothing less than conspiring to meet under cover of darkness.
There is a sense of danger to this story, of two young people flouting convention and tradition to be together. It is a very progressive piece of literature. If it is a secular story of two young lovers it is at least partially illicit and if it is an allegory about the relationship between God and Israel, then it posits that relationship as one in peril, even a forbidden one.
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