I Live in Me and in You

In this talk Rabbi Aaron Goldstein explores Abraham Joshua Heschel’s poem that blurs the line between self, other, and the divine, arguing that every human being carries a spark of holiness. He connects that vision to the power of prayer, the moral weight of everyday mitzvot, and the restorative rhythm of Shabbat, while also reflecting on the recent loss of a veteran member of the Ark community. Listeners will come away with a deeper sense of how sacredness can be found in both contemplation and concrete action.

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What is Kolot: Voices from The Ark Synagogue?

Welcome to Kolot, the podcast of The Ark Synagogue, a bold, experiential and caring Progressive Jewish community in Northwood, London.

Through sermons, reflections and conversations from across our community, Kolot explores Jewish life, learning and values in the world we live in today. Rooted in tradition and open to new perspectives, these episodes bring together voices that inspire thought, connection and belonging.

Whether you are Jewish, exploring Judaism, or simply looking for meaningful reflection, you are warmly welcome.

To learn more about The Ark Synagogue, visit arksynagogue.org.

I and You

Transmissions flow from your heart to Mine,
trading, twining My pain with yours.
Am I not-you? Are you not-I?
My nerves are clustered with Yours.
Your dreams have met with mine.
Are we not one in the bodies of millions?
Often I glimpse Myself in everyone’s form,
hear My own speech—a distant, quiet voice—in people
weeping,
as if under millions of masks My face would lie hidden.
I live in Me and in you.
Through your lips goes a word from Me to Me,
from your eyes drips a tear—its source in Me.
When a need pains You, alarm me!
When You miss a human being, tear open my door!
You live in Yourself, You live in me.

This poem stands as the foundation for its author, Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel’s theology. Through the poem, one is unsure of whom Heschel is speaking. It could be me and you and it could be me and God or you and God. It expresses that the essence of a human is sacred; we are holy beings. As Edward Kaplan notes in his introduction to Heschel’s The Ineffable Name of God: Man, human and divine are inseparable. As we heard in our Haftarah, in the prophecy of Isaiah (54:1–10), God’s love never departs from us, nor does God’s covenant of peace. It is found in every person and fibre that is Creation. Our life is full when we can perceive the wonders that we are and that surround us, encompass and accompany us through life.

A path to recognition may be through prayer. As Heschel (I Asked for Wonder, 24) states:

“Prayer is a way to master what is inferior in us, to discern between the signal and the trivial, between the vital and the futile, by taking counsel with what we know about the will of God, by seeing our fate in proportion to God.”

Yet for Heschel, the social activist, worship and contemplation are as nought without action.

Our sidrah, Ki Teitze, contains a multitude of laws that are so real, even when a number distract us as they relate to an ancient society and lack the soaring, simple universality of others. The vitality of these laws is that they acknowledge the depths of human depravity and set guards against them; remind us that the most mundane actions are sacred and hint that having a mystery, something that is rationally unknowable, like tzizit, is good for the soul.

The safeguards and the mundane are foundational to a moral and secular society that, when we pause to contemplate, we might glimpse holiness.

The Torah is not naive but realistic in also being tribal and antagonistic. In passages that deal with the Israelites’ neighbours and their arch-enemy, Amalek, there is the cognisance of a sad reality. Societies may live peacefully in themselves just as war and conflict are not distant. This week, we laid to rest our most militarily decorated Ark Synagogue member, Jack Mann. Eulogies are available in all the newspapers. He was modest and humble about his military service and brutally honest about the nature of war:

“I can’t say I’m a hero. My job was communications and that’s what I did. But I tell everyone—my children, my grandchildren—never forget, because war is terrible. I know, because I was in it.”

Yet Shabbat, despite the knowledge that there is so much noise around us, provides us with a weekly treat. Shabbat is a gift for us to appreciate ourselves, the people we love and the community that enables us to soften sorrows and heighten happiness.

Once more on Shabbat this has been exemplified. We have commemorated life and celebrated new life, journeys and chapters. In each other we have found simple, yet profound sanctity that illuminates life and recharges us for another week ahead. It enables us to agree with the universality of the Psalmist:

הִנֵּה מַה־טּוֹב וּמַה־נָּעִים שֶׁבֶת אַחִים גַּם־יָחַד׃

How good and pleasant it is when sisters and brothers live together in harmony.

Psalms 133:1