Between the margins - 4- The Lion, the Gentile, & the Shofar

BS’D

Shalom!

In something new and old, I’ll share the different meanderings my mind goes through while learning and meeting the Daf.

Torah Tavlin and I am one of those that find themselves sick sometimes.

The Lion, the Gentile, and the Shofar

Good morning, Raboisai!

When I opened today’s Daf, something pulled at me. I knew I had to linger here. You’ll see why.

Avodah Zara 70a:

הָהוּא יִשְׂרָאֵל וְגוֹי דַּהֲווֹ יָתְבִי וְקָא שָׁתוּ חַמְרָא, שְׁמַע יִשְׂרָאֵל קָל צַלּוֹיֵי בֵּי כְנִישְׁתָּא, קָם וַאֲזַל. אֲמַר רָבָא: חַמְרָא שְׁרֵי, מֵימָר אָמַר: הַשְׁתָּא מִדְּכַר לֵיהּ לְחַמְרֵיהּ וְהָדַר אָתֵי.

A Jew and a gentile sat together drinking wine. The Jew heard the sound of prayer from the synagogue. He rose and left. Rava said: the wine is permitted, because the gentile assumes—any moment now he will remember his wine and come back.

הָהוּא יִשְׂרָאֵל וְגוֹי דַּהֲווֹ יָתְבִי בְּאַרְבָּא, שְׁמַע יִשְׂרָאֵל קָל שִׁיפּוּרֵי דְּבֵי שִׁימְשֵׁי, נְפַק וַאֲזַל. אֲמַר רָבָא: חַמְרָא שְׁרֵי, מֵימָר אָמַר: הַשְׁתָּא מִדְּכַר לֵיהּ לְחַמְרֵיהּ וְהָדַר אָתֵי.

A Jew and a gentile were on a ship. The Jew heard the twilight shofar announcing Shabbat. He disembarked to enter the town. Rava said: the wine is permitted, because the gentile assumes—any moment now he will remember his wine and return.

הָהוּא אַרְיָא דַּהֲוָה נָהֵים בְּמַעְצַרְתָּא, שְׁמַע גּוֹי, טְשָׁא בֵּינֵי דַּנֵּי. אָמַר רָבָא: חַמְרָא שְׁרֵי, מֵימָר אָמַר: כִּי הֵיכִי דְּטָשֵׁינָא אֲנָא, אִיטְשָׁא נָמֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל אֲחוֹרַיי וְקָא חָזֵי לִי.

A lion roared in the winepress. A gentile, frightened, hid among the barrels. Rava said: the wine is permitted, because the gentile thought—just as I am hiding, surely the Jew is also hiding and watching me.

The unignored sound of prayer

After rectifying the middah of listening during Av — training our ears to hear the destruction, the mourning, the silence between the notes — we begin, in Elul, to tune our ears again to a greater sound. A unifying sound. Sometimes it’s the Shema Yisrael we say twice daily (or more). Sometimes it’s an Amen Yehei Shmei Rabbah that rolls like thunder across a minyan. Sometimes it’s an Adon Olam sung soft and trembling. There is a siren-sound that stirs the Jewish heart — a kol that splits through distraction, that cuts through the wine and the habits, and calls us to rise and cry out. That sound is never solitary. When one Jew hears it, more Jews gather. It spreads, like ripples through the synagogue, through the generations. And yet — the Gemara reminds us — there is another perspective. The gentile sitting at the table assumes that the Jew, hearing prayer, will return unchanged. That nothing has shifted. That the cup will call him back. But we know otherwise. The wine is permitted because the call of prayer transforms the one who hears it. The Jew who rises is not the same Jew who sat. The sound itself reshapes him. What he leaves behind is not desecrated — because he has already become different.

The Shofar Before Shabbat

What if the shofar here is not only about Shabbat candles. It’s the sound before Shabbat — the signal at twilight. And we live in a multi-layered reality where that shofar is also the sound of Mashiach, the call of redemption breaking twilight which inherently is a time of doubt/safek/amalek to a space of clarity and vada’ut.

The gentile within us — the voice of habit, the one that expects we’ll always come back to the old cups — assumes we’ll return. But the Jew in us hears something else:

בֶּן אָדָם מַה־לְּךָ נִרְדָּם? קוּם קְרָא .
“Son of man, why are you sleeping? Arise, call out …!”

Maybe That’s Selichot. That’s Mincha before shabbat. The reminder that the call is not only to return to the wine but to rise, ascend, pray, because something is coming that is completely different than your current doubt-fileld reality. .

The Lion’s Roar

And then comes the lion.

The gentile hides in terror, but the Jew hears something else. As Amos says:

“אַרְיֵה שָׁאָג מִי לֹא יִירָא, ה׳ אֱלֹקים דִּבֵּר מִי לֹא יִנָּבֵא” (Amos 3:8).

The roar is not mere fear; it is awe. It is the cry of Av and Tisha B’Av, destruction and exile, now transformed into Elul, the month of Ani Ledodi Vedodi Li.

Yehudah himself was called a lion:

“גּוּר אַרְיֵה יְהוּדָה” (Bereishit 49:9).

The tzaddik is as fearless as a young lion:

“צַדִּיק כַּכַּפִּיר יִבְטָח” (Mishlei 28:1).

And the lion is etched into the very architecture of holiness, as the Rambam notes: the Beit HaMikdash was built in the form of a lion.

So the gentile parts of us can only hear the roar as terror, but the Jewish soul hears majesty — the Lion of Yehudah, the kavod of Hashem riding on the chariot of creation. That something is not only close, it’s here.

The Secret in the Wine

The wine represents what we leave behind. Sometimes it’s habits, sometimes dysfunctions, sometimes just the vessel of yesterday’s self. When the shofar blows, those parts assume we’ll come back. They wait loyally, as they always have.

But Elul whispers: you don’t always go back. Sometimes you hear the shofar as more than time. Sometimes you hear the lion as more than fear. Sometimes you rise.

And Rava’s comfort is this: the wine is permitted. What you left behind isn’t even ruined. It doesn’t define you anymore.

Selichot Day 2

So this morning ask:

What wine am I leaving behind?
Which parts of me still expect my return?
Do I hear the shofar as habit — or as the call of redemption?
Do I hear the lion as dread — or as majesty?

And Elul answers: Ani Ledodi vedodi li.

Have a beautiful day!

Best,

Moshe Haim

P.S. Trust is a journey, not a destination. Be patient, dear ones.

P.P.S. Healing and self-discovery continues. If you feel the call to deepen this work, to truly step into the light of your own being, I invite you to join us at the next Hineini Retreat. It’s a sacred space where these shadows can be fully explored, embraced, and transformed. Come, be a part of a community that supports you in this dance of reclamation and renewal. You deserve it.