Those who have been reading these messages for a while will know that I count JRR Tolkien among my biggest literary and language influences. When I first read his works about 40-45 years ago, there was one particular passage in The Fellowship of the Ring that resonated deeply with me - with me especially as a believing Jew, as someone who even then had a thirst to understand and to internalize the lessons of Jewish history.
Tolkien’s character Bilbo Baggins (introduced in The Hobbit) shares a poem he had written about his friend Aragorn, also known as Strider. This character, of course, is the scion of a long line of chieftains and kings in Tolkien’s middle-earth, and will be a key element of the eventual, hard-won triumph of good in the novels.
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes, a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.
When I first read these lines, I was not aware of Tolkien’s deep philosemitism, his public rebuke of Nazi publishers seeking to publish The Hobbit in German (“...if I am to understand that you are enquiring whether I am of Jewish origin, I can only reply that I regret that I appear to have no ancestors of that gifted people.”) or his interesting back-and-forth with his friend and fellow author CS Lewis about the utility of a Mosaic (Torah influenced) vs Pauline (more New Testament influenced) mythological underpinning of their novels.
What I read and saw, very clearly, was the story of the Jewish people through history and their messianic impulse.
All that is gold does not glitter - we treasure our families, our stories, and our heritage above the trappings of wealth.
Not all those who wander are lost - though we endured countless years of exile, we always knew where we came from and would go back to.
The old that is strong does not wither - our rituals, prayers, tunes, and language keep us, as we have kept them.
Deep roots are not reached by the frost - we are the eternal people, and while leaves may fall, boughs may break, trunks may be cleaved, our roots are our foundation, upon which we will always grow and be regenerated.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken - not only the ashes of the Shoah, but of every evil deed done to us throughout our history. We will, and we have, come alight.
A light from the shadows shall spring - despite everything we have endured, and the darkness surrounding us, we must and we do bring light to the world.
Renewed shall be blade that was broken - our sovereignty was ripped away, and our capacity to defend ourselves was diminished to almost nothing. But our time to cower in fear is over, and our ability to fight for right and good has returned with strength.
The crownless again shall be king - we are once again sovereign, but also humble enough to know that majesty is not in crowns or diadems, it is in nobility of purpose and action, helping the vulnerable, defending the weak, as part of the enduring social contract we find in the Torah.
The signs and symbols of our legacy are everywhere, if you know where to look. They are in our Constitution and our Bill of Rights, in jurisprudence and social policy, in endurance, resilience, and hope. Despite everything we may see, hear, or read around us, they are the sources of our pride and the contribution our people make to perfecting this world we share.