The Ritual of New Creation by Norman Finkelstein

only traditional literary scholars but theorists too, who continually probe such great edifices in all the human sciences to discover their methodological and epistemological foundations, with all their cracks and flaws. Scholem's expansive studies of Jewish mysticism would seem to invite such treatment, demonstrating, as do those studies themselves, equal measures of criticism and respect. But no: although Scholem single-handedly created the field of modern scholarship in the Kabbalah and with it an ongoing succession of dedicated and assiduous students, the appropriation of any aspect of his endeavors to different intellectual pursuits has been a surprisingly rare eventespecially for a thinker whose work, at least for Cynthia Ozick, "envelopes Freud's discoveries as the sea includes its most heroic whitecaps." 1
A slightly more plausible reason for the infrequent uses of Scholem's discoveries in literary rather than religious studies is the frankly Jewish nature of his investigations, linked, of course, to his lifelong Zionism. In the days when the Anglo-Catholic New Critics

 

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held sway, little more would have needed to be said. But today, in the midst of a great reconsideration of Jewish Scriptures, when prominent theorists freely acknowledge the Jewish roots of their work and when, more than ever, Kafka appears as the universal writer of our century, one would think that Scholem would naturally take his place in the critical pantheon. Furthermore, as Joseph Dan observes, "By ruthlessly dedicating himself to the comprehensive study of a historical phenomenon in its fullness Scholem presented a conclusion which is meaningful and relevant to any scholar in any field of study." 2 Scholem's very ruthlessness, his unapologetic emphasis on particularity, is itself worthy of critical consideration.
If the answer lies anywhere, we must look at the current state of literary knowledge; that is, we must consider what we know about interpretation. In the conclusion of "Structure, Sign, and Play in the Discourse of Human Sciences," Derrida states:
There are thus two interpretations of interpretation, of sign, of play. The one seeks to decipher, dreams of deciphering a truth or an origin which escapes play and the order of the sign, and which lives the necessity of interpretation as an exile. The other, which is no longer turned toward the origin, affirms play and tries to pass beyond man and humanism, the name of that being who, throughout the history of metaphysics or of ontotheologyin other words, throughout his entire historyhas dreamed of full presence, the reassuring foundation, the origin and the end of play. 3
What Derrida describes in this passage is meant to be understood as the universal situation of interpretation in the West: either one remains perpetually aware of the predicament of interpretation as exile or one accepts a home in the homelessness of free play, rejecting the origin that is also the goal. But Derrida's words also have a peculiarly Jewish, even kabbalistic resonance.
As I noted in the Introduction, the condition of Jewish literary activity in the Diaspora parallels the situation of the Jewish people itself. Jewish writing suffers what I call "the exile of the text." Traditionally, commentary and interpretation were meant to bring the student of Talmud or Kabbalah closer to the presence: indeed, the Shekinah, the female emanation of Deity that is said to represent the Jewish people in exile, also refers to "the Divine Presence." 4 For Derrida, we live in a period when we can no longer think of interpretation

 

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as leading us to the "ontotheological" experience of presence which we have traditionally desired. Faced with the possibility of passing beyond humanism into the realm of play, we avert our eyes as at the birth of a "monstrosity." 5 For Jewish literary concerns, this means accepting, even celebrating, a condition that is tantamount to permanent exile, a massive disruption of the