This week in the Torah, we read Parshat Terumah, in which we receive specific instructions for constructing the Mishkan, a portable dwelling place or sanctuary for the Holy One. This parsha particularly delights me because I love home decorating and fancy architectural details (I’m a Libra rising). Sometimes I imagine it is like Project Runway in the desert: Tim Gunn is like, “Okay people, your assignment today is to literally make a portable home for G!d using only twisted linen, yarns of crimson, blue, and purple, with coverings of gold, copper, silver. You’ll find some acacia wood, dyed rams skins and tachash skin in the workshop. I hope you know how to work in cubits. Make it work, people!”
Artists and scholars and rabbis also love talking about the materials of the Tabernacle and some have even tried to create replicas. But where to find tachash skin these days? What even is a tachash you ask? Well let me ask you a question: are you actively trying to avoid an important task in your life or do you dive into the holy hole of internet searches as a form of emotional regulation? If so, please google “What is a tachash?” There is a lot of hot debate and speculation, as we do, with rabbis over the past thousands of years arguing about if the tachash was:
“the giant deer of the forest of Bei Ilai”
“possibly a rhinoceros, manatee, ermine, badger, seal, antelope, okapi, zebra or giraffe” or “a weasel from a foreign country”
“other rabbis said: ‘It was a clean [kosher] animal, and it lived in the wilderness.’
The earliest Aramaic translation, the Targum Onkelos, translates the word tachash with an equally cryptic Aramaic word, “sas-gavna” which later talmudists endeavor to unpack. The Babylonian Talmud: Tractate Shabbat 28a “Sas-gavna,” The word “Sas” comes from the Hebrew and means joy, “gavna” means colors. Its rainbow quality brings joy.
“The Midrash tells us that it was a large wild kosher animal that had a single horn, its skin was made up of six colors, and its length was 30 amot (nearly 50 ft.).”
Or finally, “Rabbi Abun said [of the tachash], “It was called a unicorn.”
My talmudic scholarly approach to these things is basically this: why would we deny ourselves the opportunity to imagine that G!d told our ancestors to make the most holy dwelling place out of the rainbow hued skin of a giant, wild, kosher unicorn? I mean, there’s a lot of heavy stuff in the Torah, can we just have this?
If that isn’t gay enough for you, here is an ancient queer liberation story about a movement ancestor prophetexx who really knew how to organize, Miriam, and her dalliance with the Tachash. It was inspired by one of my teachers Shoshana Jedwab, and her drash (delivered while wearing an inflatable unicorn outfit) about the tachash, in which she offers the possibility that the magical creature, a kosher sea unicorn, dwelled in the Sea of Reeds and assisted the Jews in their passage out of Egypt.
Please imagine this story told in the voice of an old, old, salty grandma/bubbe/baba/nonna/abuela, as this is a story usually told on a dark night, and has never been written down before. It is best read aloud, perhaps with friends or lovers, around the kitchen table, in bed, or in the bathtub.
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This evening I will tell to you the story of Miriam and the Tachash.
Tachash, you say? What is a Tachash?
What, you babies learn nothing in Hebrew school these days?
The tachash is a creature of holy joy and liberation- a giant, wild, kosher, one – horned, rainbow colored beast who lived in the Yam Supf, the Sea of Reeds. I hope you have at least learned the story about how our people, who had been enslaved in Egypt, crossed the sea to freedom. Did you know that it was the Tachash who guided them safely through the reedy sea? And did you hear the sacred gossip amongst the Queer Ones that it was because the Tachash had a thing for Miriam?
Weeeeeeellllll, when the Jews arrived on the shore, Miriam, who had been in endless dysfunctional organizing meetings basically all her life, was ecstatic. Overflowing with gratitude and joy, she picked up her tambourine and offered a dance and song. The tachash, who was still hanging around on the shore, could not take their giant unicorn eyes off of Miriam, as she traced circles on the sands with her feet.
Miriam felt as if there were flames licking at her limbs as the Tachash gazed at her. Through this fever, Miriam continued dancing hard. As she completed her dance and the people scattered, the Tachash beckoned Miriam closer with a guttural whinny. Miriam, who had faced the most murderous of men with willful grace, trembled as she walked towards the shimmering creature, her ankles ringing with copper bells at each step.
Not knowing the customs of the Tachash, she wasn’t sure how to greet this being, so she did what any prophet would do upon meeting a Shining One and bowed, lowering her gaze. Heat rose in her cheeks as her eyes rested upon strong kosher hooves. The Tachash leaned over and nuzzled Miriam back up to standing with hot, salty breath. The touch was so electric, a cloud of emerald flashed over the sea, casting a green glow on the face of the deep. It was so powerful that time stopped. Some say the people were held in this liminal freeze on the shore for 40 breaths. Some say, no it was 40 days! Others say, ah! It was so intense, it lasted for 40 years! Who am I to say? Time is a capitalist construct!
The creature tossed their head, and a lock of hair that seemed to change color moment to moment fell over one eye.
I am Keshet, the creature said.
Miriam took the beast in. The sound of water rushing inside her veins.
Now Miriam had had many lovers in her lifetime, lovers of all of the 36 genders, which was all they knew about at the time. But she had never met a beast.
Another thing you may not have learned in your useless education is that while humans in ancient times thought there were 36 genders, sea unicorns were known to express infinite genders- and Keshet, the humble, emergent leader of the giant, wild, kosher sea unicorns embodied all of them.
Come with me, said Keshet, I want to show you my kindom.
Miriam hesitated. My people, she said. I can’t leave my people.
I hear you, Miriam, and I honor your truth and also, look at them. They’re literally frozen. Please come?
Miriam looked. Yeah, okay.
So Miriam climbed onto Keshet’s strong, iridescent back and they dove under the water to the bottom of the sea. Miriam saw the most incredible creatures she had never even dreamed of in all her prophetic visions- jelly donut fish, temples of tangled and braided seaweed, yeshivas of gefilte fish, seahorses dancing in circles, and the ever elusive merjews.
Keshet guided Miriam into their collectively owned castle hewn of crystal and coral, through a courtyard of sea palm, into their home of acacia wood, inlaid with gold and copper and lapis lazuli. Miriam was introduced to Keshet’s extensive chosen family, they attended numerous underwater potlucks. The two stayed up all night talking and singing and laughing, falling deeper and deeper in love.
Some rabbis say their first kiss (don’t try to figure out the mechanics of it, some things are better left as supranatural occurrences that no rebbe can parse) shook the foundation stone and unleashed tsunamis and storms across sea and land. At one point, Keshet pulled away and suddenly got very serious.
Miriam paused and muttered nervously, what’s wrong? Is this working for you? I’ve never made out with a unicorn before, please tell me what you need.
Keshet said, Nothing is wrong, sweet Miriam. I just need to tell you something very important. You may touch me everywhere, anywhere you wish, but please do not touch my horn.
Miriam took a slow deep breath, trying to fix her face. I can’t touch your horn? YOUR RADIANT GLOW IN THE DARK RAINBOW HORN?
Keshet said, Yes Miriam. It’s serious. If you touch my horn, you will turn into a tachash, like me, and never be able to return to land, to your people, to your life.
Miriam said, I don’t care. I just want to be here with you.
Keshet sighed. Miriam, they said, you have work to do up there. You have a sacred purpose. You must return to your people and lead them. Liberation is a process, not a destination. I’m not your land of Canaan, sweetheart. You cannot stay here.
Miriam closed her eyes and saw all the visions she had received all of her life flash before her. She touched her own eyelids, her middle eye, her throat, her heart, almost as if she was anointing herself with her own purpose. She knew Keshet was right.
They made love for what seemed like hours and hours, days and days, years and years, but who knows how long it was because you know, time was stopped so I can’t pretend to understand how that works.
On the 40th morning (or whatever), Keshet said, Miriam, it is time for you to return.
Miriam looked around, drinking in every inch of the underwater palace with her dark eyes. Miriam got on Keshet’s back and they rode together one last time through the Sea of Reeds to the shore. There they lay in the salty reeds, half in water, half in the sun, kissing and cuddling.
Miriam said, Keshet, I don’t want to leave you.
Miriam, I will always come to you. Trust me. I will find you.
As they kissed goodbye, Miriam closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face. She reached for Keshet’s face, and some say by accident, others say, I’m not so sure, Miriam brushed Keshet’s horn with her hands. Keshet bucked and shook and whinnied and dove back into the waters, as Miriam’s hand began to burn and freeze at the same time. Miriam watched in fascination as her brown palms dissolved and transformed into gleaming, radiant almost metallic scales. Hands made of light.
Coooool, she said.
At that moment, HaShem snapped and time moved and the people thawed. They continued nursing their babies and tending to their animals and eating dry crackers etc and turned when they saw Miriam walking towards them from the sea, soaking wet. Now Miriam was always going for swims at weird times, so that wasn’t unusual, but their hearts filled with fear when they saw what lay behind Miriam.
Miriam turned her head to see what the people were shouting about and took in the swarms of bodies and weapons, a shiny army of men, advancing through the sea. Miriam took a breath and closed her eyes. She called to the One, raising her arms and opening her hands, like she always did when she courted visions. But then the strangest, wildest thing happened. Her hands lit up like two moons and rays of prismatic light shot out of her fingertips. Ribbons of rainbow wove around the people, encircling them in something like an invisible basket of protection. Some say that only the children and very old ones could see the rainbows, but everyone there felt a blanket of peace rest upon them as their fear dissolved. The light refracted in all directions and confused the army guys, making it impossible to see the escaped Israelites on the other side of the water. The men, blinking in disbelief and bewilderment, turned and urgently went home to eat with their families, a sudden hunger echoing in their bellies.
And so began the legend of Miriam’s hands. moonlight hands. magic hands. Miriam guided the people through the desert, laying her hands upon anyone who was ill or afraid or birthing or dying. The people called her glowing hands a miracle and after she died, they hammered out hand shaped talismans of copper and silver to recall and honor their magic.
But at this moment in our story, Miriam is still very much alive, and very much heartbroken.
One Friday afternoon, Miriam went for a long walk as she often did when she got irritated with her brother. As she walked, she could feel the tears begin to rise up in her and she let them come. With a fierce sob, she fell to the ground, her fat tears scattering like diamonds on the desert floor. She bowed her whole body forward, weeping and braying, laying her hands upon the earth. Suddenly Miriam began to feel cool water licking the palms of her hands. The water then pulsed so strongly that Miriam had to move her hand away, for a spring had emerged at the place where her hands touched dirt. The water rose and rose until it gushed like a fountain. Out of the waters, emerged Keshet, glorious, wet, and wildly bucking.
I told you I’d come to you. I will come whenever you call me, said Keshet.
Miriam threw her arms around Keshet’s neck and nuzzled her face into their wild hypercolor mane. They made love right there in the fountain, laughing and singing and splashing as the sun set.
Miriam returned to her people at twilight, her black hair dripping down her back and her brown skin shining wet like a polished stone. Miriam, they said, how can you be wet? This is the desert! Miriam winked and shook her hair out, sprinkling the children like sweet rain. She smiled broadly, proudly and invited the people to follow her. When they arrived at the spring, everyone danced circles and whooped and hollered and cried and kissed Miriam’s damp cheeks. Mayim Chayyim! they sang. Living waters! Miriam laughed, deeply pleased and grateful that her people’s thirst would always be quenched by this endless well.
And the people named this Miriam’s Well. And the people tended it and planted herbs around it. It was said that the waters of Miriam’s Well circulated throughout all the waters of the world every Friday night, bringing healing and miracles.
And the people said, how do we call upon these miraculous living waters? How will we draw water when you are gone, Miriam?
And Miriam said, This is the wellspring of liberation and it never runs dry. You call up this spring with your bodies, when bodies move together in collective joy. You call up this spring when you celebrate that all bodies are holy bodies and that everyone has strengths and needs that must be met.* You call up this spring when you work for the liberation of all beings everywhere and remember who you are, when you dream big dreams of freedom and love expansively. And you call up this spring when you laugh so hard you pee. When you do these things, Mayyim Chayyim, the living waters, will flow abundantly, bringing justice and healing to quench your thirst.
And some say that when we do any of these things that cause the Wellspring of Liberation to flow like a geyser, Miriam and Keshet are reunited and you can hear their laughter in the waters, like bells ringing and hooves galloping in ecstatic joy.
*adapted from Sins Invalid Disability Justice primer
