7. Taking an Oath by God’s Name

“I swear, it’s wrong what Israel’s doing in Gaza.”

This I overheard while waiting in line for a falafel.

“You know what’s wrong? What’s wrong is that they didn’t do it sooner. I swear: that’s what’s wrong.”

They were, I believe, fighting over who would pay the tab. “I’ll pay.” “No, I’ll pay.” “How could I take a gift from someone who thinks…” Et cetera. And so I waited.

By the time I got up to the front to order, I wasn’t sure what I wanted anymore. The woman said, “You’ve been standing in line for fifteen minutes—how could you not know what you want?”

“I think I knew what I wanted when I got here,” I said, “but that was a long time ago. Now I’m not sure.”

So I let the couple behind me go ahead while I reconsidered my order.

It’s a complicated decision. You’re not just ordering for yourself. You’re also ordering for the person you’re going to be five minutes from now when you eat whatever it is you order, and the person you’ll be twenty-five minutes from now when you’re done eating, a day from now when you’re exercising, thirty years from now when you’re going to the doctor for a check-up, fifty years from now when you’re reminiscing. You’re ordering, when you think about it, for a lot of people. And you want to please all of them, or at least as many as possible—don’t you?

To complicate matters, each permutation of you makes different choices depending on the choices you make today. So you can’t just jump ahead to a seventy-year-old version of yourself and ask him (or her) what he’d like you to order because his answer will be different depending on what you did.

Even worse, according to a recent psychological study, we generally view our past selves in a manner similar to the way most people view their parents: nothing we did was right. For example, if you’re a non-disciplined eater, in the future you’ll probably look back on your past self with disdain, blaming your past self for your current health problems. If, however, you’re a disciplined eater, in the future you’ll blame your past self for not having enjoyed life more while you were young.

And you think all this doesn’t come to mind when I’m standing in line to order a falafel?

So I’m wondering: how is it that these two guys who just left (still arguing) are able to come to definitive opinions about an issue that intermingles sensitive and complex aspects of faith, politics and mortality and I’m unable to choose my lunch?

“What’ll it be, then?” I still wasn’t ready, so I resorted to the incredibly absurd stall-tactic of objectifying tastes: “What do you recommend.” “The spicy such-and-such is excellent.” “Is it very spicy?” “Yes. That’s why it’s called…” “Right. What else is good?” “The tofu thing is good.” “But does it have a lot of tofu in it?” And so on.

It’s frustrating because there is an ideal solution here. Isn’t there? There must be one dish that will best serve all my needs, now and into the future. God knows what I should order. With some investigation and perseverance, I should be able to know, too.

What I would like to be able to say is, “I want the falafel.” Very definitively, with a sense of authority and calm.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I want the falafel. I swear: I want the falafel.”

I imagine this type of certainty is accompanied by an incredible sense of relief. The endless permutations of This Moment are reduced to one, clear path. All that remains is to take the necessary steps in the right direction. The horrifying image of an infinite number of compasses pointing North in an infinite number of different directions—with a blink, it disappears. North is North. “I swear.” (See, for example, Charlie Chaplin’s paper compass in ‘The Gold Rush’.)

But we are far too limited to attain such certainty. I can do my best but I will never really know what I should have for lunch.

So what, then, do we say when the waitress asks for our order?

“I’m sorry—I am far too limited a being to know what I will have for lunch.”

That won’t work. Humans can’t escape making choices. Even abstention is a choice.

“Since I will never know what I should have for lunch, I’ll have to choose randomly.”

But should a lack of complete knowledge cause you to dispose of or disregard the knowledge you’ve attained?

“Though I do not have complete knowledge, I must, for the sake of action, believe that the knowledge I have is sufficient for these purposes.”

On the other hand, should self-deception be necessary to live a productive life? Incomplete knowledge may be all we have but does that require us to imagine a certainty that doesn’t exist?

“Come on! There are people waiting: what’ll it be?”

We fumble through life with dimly lit candles, barely able to see a step in front of our eyes. With this restricted visibility, the people rushing ahead into the dark can often appear to be the brave ones. Some will be drawn to emulate them. After the fact, we may try to distinguish between the brave and the foolish but the variable of luck is irremovable. Those who cling close to the sidewall and tiptoe are no wiser: they waste what little wax their candle has. Maybe the only choice is to maintain a steady pace and, when asked, say with confidence, “I swear with God’s Name: I see just one step ahead, and hardly that.”

An oath taken with God’s Name is an oath taken without hubris. It is an oath that, from its very conception, makes mention of the All-Knowing, and so distinguishes us from our creator. In modern times, Rabbinical law has directed us away from the practice of taking an oath. It may be thought that we lack the confidence, the knowledge base, or the devotedness to swear with God’s Name today; I sooner think we simply lack the humility.

If it is appropriate to liken each individual’s intellect to a dull light, then it is certainly true that the wise person is “he who learns from all” (Pirkei Avot, 4:1) since it is then the wise person who makes use of the most candles. But still, this combined light cannot begin to compare to God’s Knowledge. Nevertheless, choices must be made, actions taken, paths formed. All in all, lunch must be had. But not with certainty. If we can regain this humble awareness of our limited vision, perhaps some day we will once again be able to swear in the Name of God.

And then maybe we won’t have to wait so long in line to order a falafel.