Legend had it that the ancient city of Athens was founded by Theseus, a mythical king. Historians debate whether such a founder of Athens ever existed or was entirely invented by the Athenians. Certainly, many of the stories of his life were fabricated, but I would like to share one piece of the mythical Theseus’ legacy which has given rise to one of the oldest and most famous thought experiments in history: The Ship of Theseus.
If it is supposed that the Athenians kept the ship of Theseus in a harbor as a museum piece. As the centuries passed, they preserved the ship to maintain its seaworthy state. When any particular wood plank decayed, it would be replaced with a new one. Each year they would check the state of the ship, swapping out any rotting parts.
The philosophers of Ancient Greece proposed and debated the following paradox: as the centuries pass, and every single plank of wood has been replaced, to the point that not one piece of the original remains, is it still the same ship?
On the one hand, some reasoned that Theseus’ ship gradually lost its identity. After all, once all the part were replaced, it no longer has any connection to Theseus. Aristotle famously disagreed, arguing that despite being made of new material, the new parts make up the same Ship of Theseus.
How does Judaism handle this paradox?
In the Talmudic era, every verse read at public Torah reading would be followed by a recitation of a mitargem, there would be a person translating each verse into Aramaic.
But the Mishna in the fourth perek of megillah tells us that there are some select verses which should not be translated:
מַעֲשֵׂה רְאוּבֵן נִקְרָא וְלֹא מִתַּרְגֵּם.
The incident of Reuven sinning his father’s concubine is read but not translated. Rashi explains that we skip the translation out of respect to Reuven.
The mishna continues:
מַעֲשֵׂה תָמָר נִקְרָא וּמִתַּרְגֵּם.
The story of Tamar and Yehuda is read and translated. Even though Yehuda’s sin with a harlot may be embarrassing, the story ends with Yehuda’s character shining, as he admits fault and rescues Tamar.
We respectfully skip the translations of difficult texts to prevent the embarrassment of our heroes unless there is something to gain from it.
Then the mishna lists an episode whose translation you would expect us to skip:
מַעֲשֵׂה עֵגֶל הָרִאשׁוֹן נִקְרָא וּמִתַּרְגֵּם.
The episode of the Golden Calf is read and translated. The gemara explains that though the story is incredibly embarrassing for the Jewish people, it must be translated.
Why?
To receive atonement. Seemingly, those involved with the Golden Calf were never fully forgiven, and when we read and translate it, that embarrassment gives them a little bit more forgiveness.
We read the translation of the greatest sin of our history, the sin of the Golden Calf, hoping that the embarrassment caused will provide atonement to the perpetrators.
I would like to share two questions I have on this gemara.
First, who receives the atonement when we embarrass sinners who lived thousands of years ago. We are embarrassing those who died in the desert? They can’t even hear us! How are they embarrassed?
Second, if we assume that the dead can feel that embarrassment which in turn provides atonement, why not translate Reuven’s sin as well? Wouldn’t Reuven appreciate the embarrassment and atonement the same way that the generation of the desert would?
When we read and translate the episode of the Golden Calf, we are not actually providing atonement to the generation of those who worshipped the Golden Calf. We are not embarrassing those individuals who lived millennia before us.
At the Golden Calf, the nation of Israel sinned, and the nation of Israel receives atonement for the embarrassment it experiences when the passage is read. That nation of Israel did not live three thousand years ago; it lives today. It does not matter that the individuals who sinned are no longer among the living; the nation of Israel lives on, and as the decades, centuries, and eras pass, we are that nation. When we read of the Golden Calf, it is we who should feel embarrassed. It is we who should feel the weight of that sin.
Individuals like Reuven or Yehuda enter and exit this world, but our nation continues through every generation. Like the ship of Theseus, even when the parts are replaced, an identity is maintained. That same nation of Israel that sinned at the Golden Calf lives on today, albeit one made up of new individuals. We carry on the identity of Klal Yisroel. We study and contemplate our nation’s past to teach us about ourselves.
It is true about carrying the burdens of our history, but it is equally true for celebrating our past. We are that same continuous nation carrying on our traditions and legacy. It goes beyond nationhood: on a communal level, as the years pass and the faces change, the heart of a community beats on. Each of us is part of a family. Unfortunately, not every part of a family stays with us as long as we would wish, but everyone here in this room carries on the torch of his or her family.
We are moments from reciting Yizkor, when we remember those loved ones who are no longer a part of our lives. We remember them not just as part of our history, but as our present. Understanding that whomever you are saying Yizkor for today is a part of who you are today. We remind ourselves with Yizkor that our lives continue the legacies of those who came before us and those who were taken from us too soon. That they are part of us, and we are part of them.
Those who argue that an item loses its identity as its parts change over time have never met the Jewish people. We are a people capable of connecting to our past, celebrating our past, and mourning our past. We will do just that as we continue now with Yizkor.
(The Torah content of this post came from https://divreichaim.blogspot.com/2014/02/can-there-be-kapparah-after-death.html )
(See also fascinating gemara Eruvin 24a which discusses halachic applications of the Ship of Theseus paradox. For example, if a tamey item has each of its part replaced in succession, does it become tahor?)
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