Job and A Serious Man: Trials of a Generation

The Book of Job is a Great Book of Human Civilization. It is so finely crafted, so full of poetry and allegory, that we can read it a hundred times, and come away with a hundred different messages. The message I’ll explore today is only one possible interpretation. It’s influenced, of course, by the question I bring: How is the movie A Serious Man like the Book of Job?

The Coen Brothers’ movie A Serious Man is also full of visual and linguistic hints that convey many different messages. It’s not possible – or desirable — to come up with a single coherent interpretation. My interpretation is coloured by the fact that I am part of the key target audience. I grew up in Jewish organizations very similar to those you see in the film. At the end of the movie, I laughed so long and so hard that I could barely recover my breath.

And after that disclosure, I’ll get serious.

Job has what any parent would want: ten young adult children who love each other and hang out together. But Job is an anxious parent. Each morning he offers sacrifices in case his children get drunk at their gathering and do something stupid.(1)  Emotionally, he hasn’t released his children into adulthood: he won’t allow them to take responsibility for their own actions.

But Job’s inner dialogue reveals his doubts. One inner voice says, “Only you have the right moral code; hold fast to it!” Another inner voice says, “Your piety cannot protect your children.”  He dreams that he is eavesdropping on the heavenly court. God sits in the judge’s seat and says, “Job? Only he has the right moral code.” The prosecuting attorney says, “Job? He only holds on to this moral code because his life is easy. He probably thinks his luck is a reward for his piety! Let’s change his circumstances and see what happens.”

Here is what happens: The family “house,” so to speak, collapses on the children. They all die. Job refuses to cry out in pain. Job’s wife sees that his silence is killing him, so she says, “Curse God or you’ll die.”(2)   But Job’s old faith is the only spiritual model he has. So he tells his wife that she, not he, is spiritually dead.(3)

After seven days of silence, Job’s veneer of strength begins to crack. He tries to think things through out loud in a dialogue with his friends.

Eliphaz says, “Justice is perfect, but it takes time. Have patience. Make peace with God, and everything will be okay.”

Job says, “I can’t do that right now. I’m in too much pain.”

Bildad says, “God is powerful. God destroys the wicked and restores the righteous.”

Job says, “I’m not questioning God’s power.”

Zophar says, “Job, this pain comes from within you. Acknowledge and let go of the negativity that is causing it.”

Job says, “Shut up.”

Elihu says, “God communicates with people using dreams and visions. God probably tried that and you didn’t get it. So God is getting your attention using illness and suffering.” (4)

Job says, “So, come on God, communicate with me!”

God says, “Job, I have set the boundaries for every living creature in this awesome universe. You have reached the boundaries of your theology. Now what are you going to do about it?”(5)

Job says, “Until today, I lived by religious dogma I heard from others. God, this is the first time I have really seen you.”

And all the material joys of Job’s life are restored.(6) Again, he has ten children. It turns out his three daughters have beautiful, original names. Job writes a new will giving them each a share in his estate along with their brothers. He can finally allow all his children, even the girls, to become adults in their own right.

And now, a word from our sponsor. We, Rabbis and scholars at the Council of Yavneh, in the year 90, are bringing you this story. Two decades ago, the Roman army destroyed our capital city and religious center. We have been robbed, our children killed, our health lost. Our old theology was created around our now-fallen religious center, and it no longer makes sense. Our civilization has fallen down around us. 

We are trying to reassemble the pieces. We are creating an anthology of great Jewish writings that will help us figure out who we must become in this unknown future. This book will document our history, our spiritual wisdom, and our diverse array of theological teachings. [This book is now known as the Bible.] We are including the story of Job because we know Job’s realities.(7) 

You who are suffering and grieving, we recognize you. We too have been suffering, each of us individually, and all of us together as a people. Please know that suffering takes time, and that healing will come. Both change you in ways you cannot imagine. No one can tell you how long it will take or what your changes will be. You yourself must find your way. This is the experiential wisdom we offer.(8) 

Fast forward 1,877 years to another story.

Larry Gopnik is a serious man. As we say in Yiddish, he is a mentsch, a good person who tries to do the right thing. Larry, an American, is the son of Jewish immigrants from Eastern Europe. He became a young man the 1950s – a few short years after World War II and the holocaust, an era in which Americans craved stability. No doubt Larry’s parents had high expectations of his ability to live this American dream. Larry does his best to fulfill these expectations. He earns a Ph.D. in physics, marries a nice Jewish girl, buys a new suburban home, raises a girl and a boy, takes care of his unhealthy brother, and supports the synagogue.

But now it’s 1967. Rock music, marijuana, and free love are signs that social mores are loosening. Larry’s serious pursuit of stability cannot protect him from change. His wife Judith leaves him for Sy Abelman – a man as phony as Larry is serious. Larry’s student Clive bribes him just as the tenure committee is considering his case. His sick brother Arthur comes to live with him. His own health problems begin to surface.

Larry copes in the only way he knows: he continues to meet family expectations, no matter how outrageous they are.

But his coping only makes things worse.

Larry asks, “Why?”

His friend says, “Turn to our religious tradition!”

The young Rabbi Scott, who knows a lot about career expectations but little about catastrophe, says, “Look, I have problems, too. I’m the junior rabbi, no one respects me, and I have to look out the window at the parking lot all day. I’m working on seeing God in the parking lot. You should try it, too.”

Larry asks, “What message should I be seeing?”

The middle-aged Rabbi Nachtner, who no doubt fought in World War II, says, “There is no message. Life is absurd. Nothing means anything. I can even say that Sy Abelman is a mentsch – a serious man. Who cares?”

Larry says, “ But I believe the world is rational. Even though my explanation isn’t fully worked out, I’m still accountable to the structure of reality.”

Larry’s lawyer says, “Let’s just deal with each thing as it comes.”

And that’s as far as Larry gets in his quest for answers.

Meanwhile, Larry’s son Danny comes of age with a bar mitzvah ceremony.  At the bar mitzvah, Danny finds himself suspended in time. He sees the faces of his parents, full of expectation. He has learned his traditional Torah reading, but finds himself paralyzed. His time has come, but can he express himself?

Danny’s bar mitzvah earns him the right to see the elder Rabbi Marshak, a survivor from the old lost world of European Judaism.

Rabbi Marshak says, “Here is the question of your generation: When the truth is found to be lies, and all the joy within you dies: then what? Take the transmitter. Now it’s in your hands.”

And there the movie ends. And the trials of life continue.

And now, a word from our sponsor: We, the members of Danny’s generation, know that Rabbi Marshak was right. Our time has come – but can we receive the transmission that skipped a generation? Post-holocaust Judaism in North America was not a scene of joy. Communities and families were scarred, and had no way of naming the trauma. Many of our spiritual tools for confronting pain died in Europe when our spiritual teachers died. Philosophical thought did not help. The 1950s and 1960s produced the philosophy of existentialism – a cry of pain from a destroyed continent reminding us that life often seems meaningless. No wonder many American Jews buried themselves and their pain in familiar, unreflective routines.

We who have come of age exactly two decades after the holocaust must pick up the pieces of our civilization. Now we are old enough to be teachers and leaders. What are we doing? We are laughing our heads off at the movie A Serious Man – recognizing in it the absurd childhood spirituality we rejected. We are deeply engaged in studying traditional texts about suffering, like the Book of Job. And we are reaching out in many directions to craft a spirituality we can be passionate about.

Of course we don’t all agree on what this spirituality should look like. But we do agree that suffering takes time, and so does healing. Both are changing the Jewish world in ways we could not have imagined. No one can tell us how long it will take or what the changes will ultimately be. But we must find our way because, as Job’s wife says, our life depends on it.

Notes

1. A group of grade 8 students at Hebrew High in Charlotte, North Carolina (2003) pointed this out to me.

2. In Biblical Hebrew the conjunction vav can mean either “and” or “but.”

3. Job calls his wife neveilah – usually translated as “foolish,” but also meaning in Biblical Hebrew “corpse.”

4. Up to here, my summary of the dialogue relies heavily on Robert Gordis’ summary. Robert Gordis, “The Temptation of Job – Tradition versus Experience in Religion,” in The Dimensions of Job, ed. Nahum N. Glatzer (New York: Schocken, 1969), 74-85.

5. My summary of God’s response is based on my interpretation of Martin Buber’s comments. Martin Buber, “A God Who Hides His Face,” Dimensions of Job, 56-64.

6. Stephen Mitchell argues against the plain reading that Job is granted a new life with a new business, family, and fortune. Rather, he says, Job’s ability to relate to his old life is renewed, as Job is spiritually renewed. Stephen Mitchell, trans. with an introduction, The Book of Job (New York: HarperPerennial, 1987).

7. Marguerite Sussman’s view that the book of Job is about ancient Israel as a whole has inspired this interpretation. Marguerite Sussman, “God the Creator,” Dimensions of Job, 86-92.

8.Martin Buber (ibid.) says the book of Job is about experience, not theology. Leo Baeck argues that the hymn to wisdom in the middle of the book of Job shows that wisdom is the main point of the book. Leo Baeck, “Job and Kohelet: Books of Wisdom,” Dimensions of Job, 51-55. This is consistent with the chiastic structure of many ancient texts, in which the main point is expressed in the middle. Taking the opposite view, Harold Bloom argues that the book of Job expresses the impossibility of wisdom. Harold Bloom, Where Shall Wisdom Be Found? (New York: Riverhead, 2004). See especially pp. 11-30.

— Laura Duhan Kaplan, 2010

Image: www.nytimes.com