I opened Neil Douglas Klotz’s Revelations of the he
Aramaic Jesus: The Hidden Teachings on Life & Death, with the
expectation that it would provide me with a unique opportunity to approach Scripture
through the language that Jesus actually spoke. As I read the Introduction, in
which Klotz described the three C’s of his Lutheran upbringing (Chiropractic,
Rachel Carson and Edgar Cayce), language milieu (German, Polish and Yiddish) and
something about his earlier work (p. 6), I recalled a few members of my own
family whose backgrounds sounded similar and my internal NORAD went on yellow
alert. There are many gems in this book, and also many opportunities for the
reader to exercise discernment and challenge.
One such opportunity emerges immediately in the chapter
entitled Prologue: Heaven, Earth and Humanity. It describes the mythic
(using that word in a positive sense) context from which Klotz’s observations
flow. To the extent that his later explanations of what words mean in Aramaic,
this mythic schema provides a helpful interpretative foundation. I found it quite
speculative but appreciated it for its value as the basis for understanding what
was to come in the book.
The next chapter is entitled Frequently Asked
Questions. Klotz responds to strawman queries such as “did Jesus actually
speak Aramaic,” “what did the term ‘God’ mean to people of his time” and so
forth. Since the book isn’t hardcore biblical criticism, Klotz’s answers are
necessarily abbreviated.
We are assured that yes, Jesus did speak Aramaic and
the language has characteristics of Semitic languages shared by other nomadic,
hunter-gatherer communities. To my lights, this was the most important point to
be understood in this section. The structure of a language does indeed mirror
the interpretative structure behind the worldview of the people who speak it.
An aspirated name for God tells the reader much about
the connection between life and the speaker’s understanding of the presence and
action of God. It also sets the stage for later connections with mediations
that focus on the breath. Likewise, Klotz’s assertion (with many others) that
God is more a verb than a noun, reflecting Aquinas’ view that God is pure act,
though he does not reference Aquinas directly foreshadows the
mystical/contemplative narratives and exercises that follow. I found the nephesh/ruach
description familiar and dwelt for a while on the way in which the concepts
emerged in the Aramaic language.
I will confess to a dislike for apodictic summary statements
in the FAQ chapter such as “At Yeshua’s time, human beings felt
themselves less ’individual’ – separate from both nature and other humans –
than we do today.” (p. 22). Although such a statement helps us understand Klotz,
it also strikes me as untrue and arrogant. From whence comes this global, timeless
understanding of all humans everywhere?
I enjoyed Klotz’s remarks about Jesus and prayer,
especially as a means of “clearing or hollowing out.” It reminded me of the
kenosis described by Paul in the second chapter of Philippians, where Jesus is
said to have “emptied himself.” One empties something to make it available to
be filled by something else. Klotz and I would likely find common ground on
what that filler might turn out to be. As Jesus empties himself so that there’s
room for us, so are we encouraged to empty ourselves in silence for Presence.
The section on the “historical Jesus” is utterly
inadequate and might have been more profitably omitted. Multiple attestation is
a criterion, not a “doctrine”, used by those assessing texts, along with
embarrassment, discontinuity, coherence and other such criteria. I would encourage
readers to check out the introduction to the late John Meier’s series A Marginal
Jew if they want a good overview of the
historical method.
Chapter Two describes the Lord’s Prayer, as
illuminated by understandings derived from the nature of Aramaic. I was
intrigued Klotz’ handling of Abwun d’bashmaya. At one level, his
explanation mirrored that of many other mystical writers (e.g., Rohr, Keating, et
al.). Far more fascinating to me was the fact that Aramaic has no verb that
expresses the static form of the verb “to be.” The word used corresponds to “living”
rather than “static being.” This tied in very well with the earlier assertion that
God is more a verb than a noun. The language, it would seem, does not permit it
to be otherwise.
Klotz explains teyte malkutakh, “thy kingdom come”
as an urgent request, and I found myself in total agreement. It got better than
that. Klotz explains that malkutah “is what says ‘I can’ within us” (p.
35). It cannot be “wished away,” but it can be obscured by egotism and become
dangerous to our own welfare and that around us. I thought immediately of the
distinction many draw between “thy will be done” and “my will be
done.” Beyond that, the language connects us to the deeper reality in which we
are suffused. I thought of Isaiah 26:12, best expressed in the New Living
Translation: “…all we have accomplished is really from you.”[1]
Going deeper into what’s usually translated as “will”
is the Aramaic word sabyanach, which can be rendered “heart’s desire.”
For me the comparison of these two translations brought to mind the stark,
untraversable void between Nietzsche’s will to power and God’s utterly
tender will to love and make whole (e.g., Luke 5:12-13). One translation
expresses the notion of God as a dictator and the other of God as Love. Can any
of us imagine praying the Our Father and saying “your heart’s desire for us be
done?” To me, that would be a game-changer!
Moving on to The Beatitudes, Klotz uses his knowledge of
Aramaic to unpack Holy Wisdom. “Blessing” can be understood as “ripeness,” or “being
in tune with the melody of life itself – the Ever-Living.” From the very first
beatitude, things are placed in a different light. Klotz expresses it this way:
“Ripe are those who dissolve their small selves within breath (ruach),
they live in the shimmering ‘I can’ of nature and the cosmos.” (p. 50). With
very little modification, I found myself in total assent. Ripeness and the
intimate, trusting connection between small self and Big Self (Reality)
reappears again and again in the book. It’s worth the effort to ponder that, IMHO.
Those familiar with Bowlby and Ainsworth’s Theory of Attachment
will find a clear resonance between poverty of spirit as described by Klotz and
secure attachment. “The person ripening into life’s blessings is holding on to
and within breath (and through it the soul) as if their life depended on
it. From Yeshua and the Biblical prophets’ point of view, it did.” (p.49)
Indeed, one of the biggest corners we turn in our journey through life is to transfer
our attachment from mom and dad to God; from those who can’t perfectly supply
the fulness of what we need to the One who already has.
For those who find Klotz’s discussion of the second
beatitude attractive, I’d urge that you read Dick Schwartz’s book No Bad
Parts, which describes our psyche as an internal family system. Much of
what Klotz says will fit in nicely with what you read in Schwartz, and the
composite understanding that emerges can take you deep within the meaning of
this otherwise puzzling second beatitude.
Loving one’s enemies (p.80ff) is presented as an
out-of-harmony condition between people, largely based in the self-loathing of
the hater. I was put in mind of what musicians do to compensate for each other’s
errors while playing music, or what actors do when another actor flubs or
forgets his or her lines. They’ll depart from the script or the music, relying
solely on their own training and professional experience, to make the passage
sound good. It’s breathtaking to watch that in motion – both the one who made
the error and his or her bandmates work at bringing it back together again as a
team. No hatred’s involved, of course, but the remedy’s the same – working towards
re-establishing harmony and flow.
In his treatment of parables, stories and “difficult
sayings,” Klotz spends a fair amount of time on Luke’s parables of the prodigal
son. His earlier discussion of ripeness struck me as a bad fit from a
hermeneutic standpoint. When I taught statistics, I spent a fair amount of time
discussing the perils of confirmation bias – looking for statistics that proved
your point while ignoring anything else, especially statistics that questioned
it. Having discovered “ripeness,” it struck me that it was being applied to far
more than what pertained.
I felt similarly unimpressed when Klotz discussed
Jesus’ last words (where’s the Passover connection?), the sheep, the shepherds
and gates. That said, I acknowledge that I’m coming from a tradition that
understands these things differently, in different languages altogether.
The book is peppered with “Contemplations” that the
reader might choose to use to experience viscerally the material being
presented. My own prayer and meditation practices are quite different, so I did
not enjoy them as much as other people might. The “chiropractic” mentioned in
the introduction played prominently in most of them. Maybe if I were more
flexible….
I would recommend this book to people who wish to gain
some understanding of how viewing the gospels through the lens of Aramaic enlarges
their appreciation of what’s actually being said. The chapters on the Our
Father and The Beatitudes were particularly engaging and provide excellent food
for thought, study, prayer and rumination.
Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the author and/or publisher through the Speakeasy blogging book review network. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR,Part 255.
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