As part of our celebration of Shavuot, we read the short, pastoral, beautiful Book of Ruth.

If you had been here on Saturday night, you would have heard Rabbi Harvey Meirovich teach about Ruth as a Jew-by-choice and of the ambivalence our tradition has about her. Others have pointed to Ruth as a lesson about acceptance of outsiders and as a counter-narrative to the exclusionary policies of the Book of Ezra. This short book certainly raises issues about Jewish identity in the Bible and in our age.

Aviva Gottlieb Zornberg imagines that Ruth’s ẖesed to Naomi and Boaz' ẖesed to Ruth make a tikkun to restore an historic family rupture that extends back to two tragedies in the Book of Genesis. Her acts of love and generosity toward Naomi elicit kindness and compassion from others.

There are countless jokes about mothers-in-law. For example,

My father-in-law was pulled over by a policeman. Walking up to my the car, the officer said, "Your wife fell out of the car five miles back."  My Father-in-law replied, "Thank God for that, I thought I'd gone deaf!"

But my friend and teacher, Rabbi Jack Riemer, sees Ruth’s devotion to Naomi as a narrative about the  Jewish ideal of respect and regard for mothers-in-law.

Certainly, Ruth may be understood as a story of return and responsibility, love for family and Eretz Yisrael. All these are restored in the four chapters of this exquisite story.

Today, I want to look at a small stylistic feature of the book. There are only 85 sentences in Ruth. All but eight begin with the Hebrew letter vav, usually translated as ‘and’. Literary scholars call this parataxis. Parataxis is a pattern of recounting a string of events without explanation. My colleague Rabbi David Wolpe, who drew my attention to this feature of Ruth, quotes E.M. Forster who wrote that, "the queen died and the king died" is a story; "The queen died and the king died of grief" is a plot.

How many of you have listened to children telling about what happened to them. Children tell plotless, paratactic stories: "and he said. And I said. And then...". Parataxis impels the reader to interpret. We are left to fill in the links and explanation.

As with life, when something is different, we take notice. When a sentence breaks the paratactic pattern, we take notice. One pasuk in Ruth that does not begin with "and" is "Where you die, I shall die." We read the Book of Ruth on the Shavuot day when we recite Yizkor. We all know that death breaks the continuity of "and."

Why do eight sentences in the book begin otherwise? Perhaps because the eighth day is what happens after. After the seven days of creation. After the first full week of of a Jewish boy’s life.

If we have experienced a good life, the only thing we might want is more. Parataxis in life, not just in literature. Perhaps that is why the rabbis teach that the harp of the messiah will have eight strings, seven and one. The eighth day points to more. A motivational blog, intended to help people ask or discover what they really want to accomplish, is called The Eighth Day.

Marek Hłasko’s Polish novella, The Eighth Day of the Week, gave voice to the disenchantment of a younger generation seeking love in a world dominated by the Communist. The two lovers want something more. The book was unavailable in Poland and the film version was banned for 20 years, but it still made its mark. The couple experience daily degradation as they seek to preserve an eighth day of hope.

Eight also figures prominently in songs that yearn for a better, future time. John Lennon and Paul McCartney wrote “Eight Days a Week” to express an overflow of love:

Oh, I need your love, babe
Guess you know it's true
Hope you need my love babe
Just like I need you

Hold me, love me, hold me, love me
I ain't got nothing but love, babe
Eight days a week

Love you every day, girl
Always on my mind
One thing I can say, girl
Love you all the time

Hold me, love me, hold me, love me
I ain't got nothing but love, girl
Eight days a week

Eight days a week
I love you
Eight days a week
Is not enough to show I care

Ooh I need your love, babe
Guess you know it's true
Hope you need my love babe
Just like I need you

Hold me, love me, hold me, love me
I ain't got nothing but love, babe
Eight days a week
Eight days a week

I love you
Eight days a week
is not enough to show I care

Love you every day, girl
Always on my mind
One thing I can say girl
Love you all the time

Hold me, love me, hold me, love me
I ain't got nothing but love, babe
Eight days a week
Eight days a week

Eight days a week

In 1958, the Hebrew poet and song-writer, Naomi Shemer, composed “The Eighth Day of the Week” as a hopeful song about a peaceful future.

The eighth day of the week
will be a regular day.
Like today, like yesterday,
It will be an eighth day of the week.
We’ll open an eye
before a fresh morning
and suddenly hum a new song.
We’ll walk on,
smiling
and in every rifle barrel, a flower will wave.
The guards are waiting at the gates
to give the thirsty a pitcher of water.

יום ח' בשבוע

זה יהא יום חול

כמו היום, כמו אתמול

זה יהא יום ח' בשבוע

עין אז נפקח

מול הבוקר הצח

ונזמזם פתאום שיר חדש.

במצעד נלך

אז הלוך וחייך

ובכל קנה רובה פרח ינוע

ובשערים יחכו השומרים

ולצמא כד מים יוגש. 

But meanwhile
pick up your feet
from the sandy earth,
Raise your voice, say yes sir!
Meanwhile, until night,
grit our teeth,
Raise your voice, a loud voice,
Yes, sir.

אך, אך בינתיים

שא רגליים

ובחול ארצה פול

וקולך הרם אחא, כן המפקד

כי בינתיים עד הליל

שן חרוק ומשוך

וקולך הרם אחא, קולך הרם אחא,

כן המפקד.

If the chief of staff
asks your opinion
what will the good times be like?
Answer and say -
It’s a little strange: there is no guard,
Grass is growing from the foxhole,
and battle-gear
hangs from a branch.
Every day we respectfully salute
the night sky and
at midnight we see
how the stars are arranged.
Lights out!

אם הרמטכ"ל

דעתך אז ישאל

על הזמן הטוב שהגיע

תען ותאמר -

קצת מוזר, אין משמר

ועשבים עלו בחפירות.

כל חגור הקרב

יתלה על ענף

לכבודו יום יום נחנו נצדיע

ובשמי הליל

בחצות נסתכל

איך הכוכבים עורכים

כיבוי אורות.

But, but in the meantime …

אך, אך בינתיים...

On a donkey’s back
we’ll go down to Gaza, and
at the edge of Jordan
we’ll quietly lie down,
On Shabbat we’ll walk
from Lebanon to Gath,
In Sinai we’ll form a kibbutz, and
from the jets
only doves will parachute.
This will be the eighth day
We’ll remove a wire
from the dirt path
and the future will run barefoot.

אז על גב חמור

אל עזה נעבור

ועל חוף ירדן חרש ננוח

מלבנון עד גת

נטייל בשבת

ובסיני נקימה קיבוץ.

מן הסילונים

יצנחו רק יונים

זה יהא יום ח' בשבוע

תייל אז יוסר

משבילי העפר

כי העתיד יחף שם ירוץ.

Eight represents “and”, eight is more, life piled on life, until the "and" of time.  Our task is to add “and” to our lives, to transmit a moral and meaningful direction that will continue after us. As I remember the people I love, even after death I can add “and” to their lives. And even after death, they can add “and” to my life. Let it continue. And….