Lost In Translation?

Parshas Netzavim: Giving our tradition roots

Learning languages has never been my strong point. After two years of high school, I could only make one request in French: 'Please, may I take off my jacket?' I know, I know, not exactly a show of verbal prowess. So, to avoid admitting linguistic defeat, I resorted to borrowing Inspector Jaque Clouseau's comedic accent.

Inspector Jaque Clouseau, The République’s greatest detective

Language enables us to articulate nuanced and conceptually rich ideas. However, translating complex thoughts into foreign tongues demands difficult decisions between literal meaning and the author's intent. Around nine hundred years ago, the Rambam advised his famous translator, Ibn Tibbon, to avoid directly translating Arabic word-for-word. He instead instructed him to focus on conveying the writing's broader message. Google Translate's often amusing literal interpretations show the continuing relevance of Rambam's advice.

For years, my limited Hebrew vocabulary forced me to depend on translated texts to grasp Jewish concepts. It wasn't until I entered yeshiva that I realised how sensitive the issue of translation could be. A particular Rebbe was viscerally upset by an English rendering of the esoteric Nefesh Hachaim. He firmly maintained that conveying the original's nuances in an easy-to-read, non-Hebrew book was impossible. Such complaints were not limited to deep Jewish philosophies. While few oppose Artscroll's voluminous English Talmud, educators occasionally criticise it. Their concerns are similar to those mentioned before. Every folio contains several possible interpretations overlooked by a reductive translation.

But what I want to discuss here is a broader understanding of translation. Rather than focusing on the trading of one word for another, I intend to explore how we shift and adapt ideas by using contemporary mediums to convey them. When we translate material from one medium into another - words into music, books into film, speeches into paintings - more is at stake than merely swapping vocabulary. We must ask, how can the fullness of the original work be expressed in this evolving format? Will the redesigned model capture its essence? A work's subtleties and connotations slide from grasp even in the most skilful hands. Pinning down meaning is like wrestling an octopus - by the time you've subdued one leg, three more have slipped free. If this is the case with secular work, how much more is this true of Torah?

Bill and Tim just couldn’t quite pin down the Octopus.

Many look suspiciously at the proliferation of social media accounts, WhatsApp clips, and other modern mediums to convey Torah ideas. They argue that these abbreviated, streamlined platforms often degrade traditional Jewish texts, reducing profound ideas to generic self-help cliches.¹ If Judaism is to retain its richness, some teachings simply cannot and should not be boiled down into memes and soundbites. Accessibility is not an excuse for lack of rigour when conveying our Sages' legacy.

There are, however, pushbacks against this perspective. Others contend that creatively transmitting Judaism's essentials through contemporary channels can quench our age's thirst for purpose. Yes, these formats may erode the subtleties. But stern gatekeeping risks forsaking souls. Some seeds need gentle rain to take root, not storms to overwhelm them. This week's parsha tells us that:

"God will remove the barriers from your hearts and your descendants' hearts so that you will love the Lord your God with all your heart and soul..." {Devarim 30:6}

This verse mentions both "your hearts" and "your descendants' hearts." What is the purpose of repeating the words twice? Rav Kook answers that parents and children are inevitably different. Each soul seeks, struggles, and yearns in its own way. Each age group possesses intellects bursting and emotions swelling to overcome the obstacles of their day. And so, like a river flowing through time, every era charts its course. Though the divine source remains the same, new currents shape the landscape. The Torah is like a single ray of light that passes through a prism and refracts into multiple colours. Though unified in essence, it diffuses into numerous hues. A generation is a unique prism, revealing new dimensions within the Torah's eternal light. Those who inherit its gift renew its timeless wisdom.

“A generation is a unique prism, revealing new dimensions within the Torah's eternal light”

Both sides thus have valid arguments for and against embracing innovative Torah teaching methods. In addressing these perspectives, the Lubavitcher Rebbe draws insight from a Talmudic debate about where Moses placed his handwritten Torah scroll before his passing. Rav Yehudah teaches that a shelf extended from outside the Ark, and the Torah scroll was placed on it. Rav Meir says the scroll was laid beside the Two Tablets inside the Ark. The Lubavitcher Rebbe sees deep symbolism in their discussion. How so?

Our sages teach that the Ten Commandments, divinely inscribed on the Two Tablets at Sinai, encapsulate the full breadth of the Torah. Over the next thirty-eight wilderness years, Moshe unpacked their details, dictating the Torah's intricacies so the people could comprehend its meanings. The Chumash thus became the first "translation" of the Torah - transforming distilled Revelation into explicit instruction.

In light of this view of Moshe's Torah as the 'first translation,' we can now understand the earlier gemara as follows. Rav Meir insists the Torah scroll remain sealed within the Ark, bound to the original. Although the translation explains and clarifies, it must not exceed Revelation's essentials. Rav Yehudah rejects this, positioning the Torah on a shelf attached to the outside of the Ark. Certainly, it must faithfully render the original. This shelf, after all, is joined to the Ark. But it also must stretch beyond those parameters to draw in those still standing by the perimeter.

Whilst extending Torah's reach beyond its original bounds may be warranted - after all, many seminal Jewish works drew upon the cultural milieu, as with Maimonides' Guide for the Perplexed, the Spanish grammarians, or the Maharal's use of neo-Platonic language - the shelf remains critical. Rabbi Yehudah demands that the translation remain bound to its source even as it departs from the Ark. For once disconnected from its pedestal, the Torah drifts. It loses its gravity, its ability to anchor our ship through time.

What is this shelf? Or, more accurately, who is it? We received the Torah through Revelation; therefore, we must always bind it to that conduit and link it with its chain of luminous teachers. Torah spans generations, an endless conversation. Its shelves are those rare voices, our sages, who advanced understanding without fraying the original thread. We must meet the Torah at its entry point into our world to engage with it. The moment we sever that connection and detach it from its anchoring, it ceases to be Torah. We may speak with elegance, diction, and guile, but our utterances will not be holy.

For the word to retain its essence, it must perpetually join its source. Our task is to traverse deep waters while never severing the mooring. We want to stretch the scroll's reach without ripping the strands of the past. Perhaps we are condemned to learning and teaching the Torah in translation. But we must strive to ensure it remains rooted in our tradition.

Good Shabbos, and Keep Pondering!

1. At this point, I should probably dismount my high horse, seeing that I myself am writing a blog using silly AI-generated pictures for entertainment value.