In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

  • Snorkeling at Coral Beach/Fish in the Torah
  • Jacqueline Osherow (bio)

We don't find the names of fish anywhere in the Torah.

– S.Y. Agnon, Only Yesterday

Maybe God didn't want to steal Adam's thunder. Though why Anyone would stick by that inveterate nebish is beyond me: I bet he's still under that same fig tree, still stuck at antelope (Gnu? Oryx? Addax? Nilgai? Springbok?) Too bad he never got to see a map: with three seas (well, two alive) and one huge lake; He might have branched out and named a fish. I can see why God might not bother to mention lemurs, armadillos, yaks, iguanas, polar bears (though it must at least have crossed His mind to use a few as back-up from the whirlwind) – but never to identify one fish? [End Page 31] Not that the generic isn't useful (Jonah's whale is just big fish – dag gadol) but I thought God's great talent was to distinguish among specifics. And it's real-live spectacle, this Red Sea. Signs and wonders in continuation. God could have saved a lot of aggravation. Admittedly, ancient Israel had no snorkel, but compared to ten plagues, what's an aquarium? Besides, look at Mark Spitz – a Jew can swim. My four-year-old saw the colors from the shore; how could a whole people miss that lavender, that orange, yellow, mauve, electric blue? And what about the time we walked right through, an enormous wall of water on either side? Where were the lionfish, angelfish, clownfish? parrotfish? Needlefish? Picassofish? Some prophet could have used the new material. Who knows? It might at last explain Ezekiel: and the waters opened and I saw visions of God. Think about it. It's right up his alley: hordes of floating angels, eagles, lions, their vast assortment of translucent fins, his triple sets of incandescent wings. Remember the noise of many waters? It really happened! It was the Red Sea, not the Chebar River; I'm the first to blow Ezekiel's cover! And for years, I've accused him of seeing things, indulging himself in psilocybin mushrooms or – at the very least – the local hashish. But the only psychedelics were the fish, which turn out to be the inverse of hallucinogens [End Page 32] since they're real, and you don't believe your eyes. The Red Sea's the sapphire inner sanctum; white coral reefs, the throngs of rising bones. Where could you find a more affecting sacrifice than the way this utterly bereft horizon relinquishes its armory of colors: pleading with the sea to pull them under and shield them from a homicidal sun? The waves are flabbergasted, it's no wonder they'll take any excuse to clap their hands. They want to see what their diligent jewelers have left around their fingers this time: bands of emerald, sapphire, ruby, beaten gold. Who begrudges them their unchecked noise? They're only trying to clue us in to God's amazing ongoing balancing act: His earth, it turns out – like His Torah – is perfect! A streak of gorgeousness in every portion, if, at times, hermetically concealed. There must be hosts of things that aren't known to us: ruby, emerald, sapphire, beaten gold. At least, at the Red Sea, you can use a camera. So why would I want its beauties in the Torah where only the invisible is revealed? As if God would waste His lyric impulse On the obvious. Who can't see Eilat? So He created gorgeous fish. What else is new? And if I'm really so desperate to know every outlandish species' name I can use my free chart from the aquarium. The Torah is not a treatise on zoology; [End Page 33] God is far more subtle with His words. And I also owe Ezekiel an apology: that waters bit was a cheap contrivance; what opened up before him was the heavens. That's why the Torah names so many birds.

Jacqueline Osherow

Jacqueline Osherow’s fifth collection of poems, The Hoopoe’s Crown, is forthcoming from BOA Editions in October.

...

pdf

Share