This week we begin reading a rather confounding book, much of it devoted to sacrificial worship and the rites and ritual associated with it. To say the least, sacrifice was a primitive form of worship in expressing one’s devotion to God. We aren’t the only culture to have instituted this form of worship. There were many other ancient civilizations that employed animal worship (as well as produce), to demonstrate their fealty to God or to the god of their choice.
There was a certain logic to the practice of sacrifice. It meant that you were willing to take something important, of value, and dedicate it to God, at great cost or sacrifice to yourself, with the hope that in so doing you were forging and sustaining a relationship with God. In our Temple an entire social class and economy grew up around sacrificial worship; from the purchasing of the animal to bringing it to the altar and having its remains left to the priestly class.
The Rambam in Moreh Nevuchim is concerned with the rite of sacrificial worship in that it was primitive. He comments that in essence, sacrificial worship was initially a compromise made with the Hebrews. In as much as they were part of the near eastern culture where animal sacrifice was normative, it would have been too radical to expect any other kind of expression of devotion. The Rambam was suggesting that sacrificial worship would be standard practice until the Hebrews would, through a natural spiritual and intellectual growth take devotion to a new level.
Tefillah, he suggests was exactly that. The disparity between the Tzedukim and the Perushim, while pivoting on numerous points also included this. Tefillah, prayer, became the approach by which the priesthood was no longer necessary as an intermediary or arbiter in reaching God. Every Hebrew would be able to reach out to God by reaching into the depths of his heart and praying to his creator. Prayer, as the Perushim intended democratized the people as far as having access to God was concerned. At first prayer was extemporaneous, later it became formatted and standardized.
The Rambam comments, however, that Tefilah won’t be the final form of devotion. As man becomes more sophisticated in his intellectual capacity and as his spirituality grows man will be able to meditate on God, and in so doing forge the bridge linking him to his creator in a much more powerful way than Tefillah is able to accomplish.
Meditation has become for many the method by which spirituality has become enhanced. Some of our great first and second generation Hasidic masters achieved great spiritual heights through this medium. Something to consider as we begin to read Va’yikra.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Sunday, March 2, 2008
A Muse: Pekudei 2008
Pikudei, where the building of the Mishkan is completed is oftentimes read back to back with Va’yakhel. As you recall in last weeks musings, it was suggested that the Mishkan is man’s delineation of temporal, sacred/mundane space as a cap to his creation of culture, be it spiritual or mundane. I assume this to be the case because of the very unusual language in our text beginning in chapter 35 verse 30-35 where language such as “chochmat lev” and “tevunah v’daat” are used, to the beginning of verses of chapter 36 where this same type of language is applied again. It is the language of a society in formation; a society that it is at the cusp of developing its cultural norms and values.
It is no coincidence that in chapter 40 verse 33 the text reads, upon the completion of the Mishkan “vayichal Moshe et hamlacha”, “Moses completed the work”. Sound familiar? Similar language was used at the conclusion of the creation story. In Bereshit, chapter 2 verse 2, at the conclusion of creation God said: “vayichal elohim bayom hashvii melachto asher asa”, “by the seventh day God completed His work which He had done”. Whereas the Shabbat is our non-temporal sacred space, given to us by God as the cap to His creation; the Mishkan is man’s delineation of temporal, sacred/mundane space as a cap to his creation of culture, be it spiritual or mundane. With the work of completing the building of the Mishkan, Moshe has also brought to closure the exodus from Egypt.
The exodus from Egypt wasn’t only a physical deliverance, but also a spiritual and intellectual journey. Otherwise why employ the language of “chochmat lev” and “tevunah v’daat”. The construction of the Mishkan, although physical had to symbolize not only the physical freedom, but the freedom from spiritual repression.
As the Hebrews turned their back on Egypt they looked to the future. If Egypt represented a physically, intellectually and spiritually repressive society, then the new one they were building would be an open society. As the Mishkan was built by those who exhibited “chochmat lev” so too, would their culture be one of “chochma” and “tevunah”. The Mishkan wasn’t a fixed structured embedded in place, becoming cumbersome and difficult to maneuver, but was light, airy and very portable. In a sense, flexible so that it could accommodate the climate and circumstances of a nomadic existence. It carried the message of its builders, men who were infused with “chochma” to be open and accommodating, exploring new ideas and concepts adapting to a changing environment, keeping the Word relevant for all time.
It is no coincidence that in chapter 40 verse 33 the text reads, upon the completion of the Mishkan “vayichal Moshe et hamlacha”, “Moses completed the work”. Sound familiar? Similar language was used at the conclusion of the creation story. In Bereshit, chapter 2 verse 2, at the conclusion of creation God said: “vayichal elohim bayom hashvii melachto asher asa”, “by the seventh day God completed His work which He had done”. Whereas the Shabbat is our non-temporal sacred space, given to us by God as the cap to His creation; the Mishkan is man’s delineation of temporal, sacred/mundane space as a cap to his creation of culture, be it spiritual or mundane. With the work of completing the building of the Mishkan, Moshe has also brought to closure the exodus from Egypt.
The exodus from Egypt wasn’t only a physical deliverance, but also a spiritual and intellectual journey. Otherwise why employ the language of “chochmat lev” and “tevunah v’daat”. The construction of the Mishkan, although physical had to symbolize not only the physical freedom, but the freedom from spiritual repression.
As the Hebrews turned their back on Egypt they looked to the future. If Egypt represented a physically, intellectually and spiritually repressive society, then the new one they were building would be an open society. As the Mishkan was built by those who exhibited “chochmat lev” so too, would their culture be one of “chochma” and “tevunah”. The Mishkan wasn’t a fixed structured embedded in place, becoming cumbersome and difficult to maneuver, but was light, airy and very portable. In a sense, flexible so that it could accommodate the climate and circumstances of a nomadic existence. It carried the message of its builders, men who were infused with “chochma” to be open and accommodating, exploring new ideas and concepts adapting to a changing environment, keeping the Word relevant for all time.
Friday, February 29, 2008
Comfort ye, Comfort ye…
During the past six months I underwent a very intense program in pastoral care called Clinical Pastoral Education. If there is one word that can best describe the impact that this program has had of my understanding and application to the ministry, it is “transformational”. Clinical Pastoral Education, better known as CPE has contributed prodigiously to my understanding of the word “comfort” within the context of Isaiah chapter 40 verse 1 when Isaiah says to Israel in their suffering: “comfort ye, comfort ye, my people saith your God…”: The vision I have is that a spiritual, loving and intensely sensitive prophet comes down from the hills of Jerusalem into the villages of his suffering people in an attempt to comfort and assuage them in their suffering. I understand the task of the rabbi, the chaplain in this light. To enter the room of the sick and to offer a measure of comfort. The tradition from which I grew and evolved was an intellectual environment, the emphasis more on the written word and less on the spiritual. If there was any need in relating to the spiritual side it was perfunctory and as the sages would say “latzeit midei chovato”, to fulfill one’s obligation, not necessarily out of love and genuine devotion, but out of obligation. To visit the sick, to empathize with those who are suffering and in need, to participate in humanity on the sensitive, spiritual and delicate level was a default duty, unavoidable in the scheme of things, but not necessarily a priority.
It wasn’t always this way, but somehow and through the course of history it devolved as such. This CPE course has taught me above all else that the teaching of our sages extolling the virtues of of ministering to the sick needs to be venerated and restored to it’s position of sacredness. CPE training has caused me to rethink and reconceptualize so many of our teachings, to read more into the text, more of the spiritual and less of the intellectual. The Midrash elating the following story could be seen as an intellectual exercise or as a spiritual challenge: R. Huna says: One who visits the sick lessens one sixtieth of the illness. It was asked of r. Huna: If so let sixty people visit and the sick will be healed. Said to them: Sixty! But only if the visitors love the patient as their own soul. But even without this the visit helps him. One could be tempted to intellectualize this ( Midrash Leviticus Rabbah 34:1) reference as the rabbi did, but one could understand the text on a spiritual level: The rabbis are saying that one’s compassionate presence can bring a small, but real measure of comfort. We can’t heal him, no amount of love and compassion can, but we can make as small difference: we can comfort him.
CPE has presented to me a new dimension within the theological concept of “tikkun olam”, roughly translated as making the world a better place, improving it. Tikkin olam, however is more profound than that. It is the Jewish approach by which we can become co-creators with God in making the world more complete. There are indeed many ways in which we can do this. Many of my coreligionists have fulfilled this theological precept by becoming “greener”; for others more philanthropic. For me CPE has offered another portal by which I can become a co-creator with God. Having been called to the O.R. to offer final prayers (vidui) was one of those sacred moments; it was there that I was totally confronted with the creative power of medicine and it’s limits. I believe that those in the operating room doctors, nurses and technicians were all in need of pastoral care at that very moment when their efforts at co-creation were discovered to be sorely limited. Frozen by the reality of the moment I ministered to the patient, but neglected those servants of God who in spite of their skills came up short. It showed on their faces.
My encounters and limited experience with pastoral care have given em new understanding of what prayer means within my tradition. In our faith there are fundamentally two forms of prayer: Tefillah- a sreructured well articulated formulary tha is the basis of our prayer book and Zaaka- extemporaneous unstructured crying out to God in our time of trouble and need. The hospital rooms, the ER, and the family rooms have all become sacred spaces because it is there where God can particularly be felt. These sacred areas are places where I have felt the Zaaka, prayer articulated by the sick and their families, not from formularies that have been sanitized by its redactors, but genuine heartfelt out pouring of the soul. It is this experience that has given credence and deeper understanding to the Talmud Nedarim40: a, which relates the following: “R. Helbo took ill. R. Kahana proclaimed ‘R. Helbo is sick but no one came to visit.’ He rebuked the others as follows, ‘did it not happen that one of R. Akiba’s students took sick and none of the sages came to visit?’ But R. Akiba entered to visit and because he swept and sprinkled the room before him, he recovered. ‘My master you have made me live’. Following this R. Akiba went and lectured ‘whosoever does not visit the sick is like a shedder of blood.’”
It wasn’t always this way, but somehow and through the course of history it devolved as such. This CPE course has taught me above all else that the teaching of our sages extolling the virtues of of ministering to the sick needs to be venerated and restored to it’s position of sacredness. CPE training has caused me to rethink and reconceptualize so many of our teachings, to read more into the text, more of the spiritual and less of the intellectual. The Midrash elating the following story could be seen as an intellectual exercise or as a spiritual challenge: R. Huna says: One who visits the sick lessens one sixtieth of the illness. It was asked of r. Huna: If so let sixty people visit and the sick will be healed. Said to them: Sixty! But only if the visitors love the patient as their own soul. But even without this the visit helps him. One could be tempted to intellectualize this ( Midrash Leviticus Rabbah 34:1) reference as the rabbi did, but one could understand the text on a spiritual level: The rabbis are saying that one’s compassionate presence can bring a small, but real measure of comfort. We can’t heal him, no amount of love and compassion can, but we can make as small difference: we can comfort him.
CPE has presented to me a new dimension within the theological concept of “tikkun olam”, roughly translated as making the world a better place, improving it. Tikkin olam, however is more profound than that. It is the Jewish approach by which we can become co-creators with God in making the world more complete. There are indeed many ways in which we can do this. Many of my coreligionists have fulfilled this theological precept by becoming “greener”; for others more philanthropic. For me CPE has offered another portal by which I can become a co-creator with God. Having been called to the O.R. to offer final prayers (vidui) was one of those sacred moments; it was there that I was totally confronted with the creative power of medicine and it’s limits. I believe that those in the operating room doctors, nurses and technicians were all in need of pastoral care at that very moment when their efforts at co-creation were discovered to be sorely limited. Frozen by the reality of the moment I ministered to the patient, but neglected those servants of God who in spite of their skills came up short. It showed on their faces.
My encounters and limited experience with pastoral care have given em new understanding of what prayer means within my tradition. In our faith there are fundamentally two forms of prayer: Tefillah- a sreructured well articulated formulary tha is the basis of our prayer book and Zaaka- extemporaneous unstructured crying out to God in our time of trouble and need. The hospital rooms, the ER, and the family rooms have all become sacred spaces because it is there where God can particularly be felt. These sacred areas are places where I have felt the Zaaka, prayer articulated by the sick and their families, not from formularies that have been sanitized by its redactors, but genuine heartfelt out pouring of the soul. It is this experience that has given credence and deeper understanding to the Talmud Nedarim40: a, which relates the following: “R. Helbo took ill. R. Kahana proclaimed ‘R. Helbo is sick but no one came to visit.’ He rebuked the others as follows, ‘did it not happen that one of R. Akiba’s students took sick and none of the sages came to visit?’ But R. Akiba entered to visit and because he swept and sprinkled the room before him, he recovered. ‘My master you have made me live’. Following this R. Akiba went and lectured ‘whosoever does not visit the sick is like a shedder of blood.’”
Sunday, February 24, 2008
A Muse: Va'yakhel 2008
Va’yakhel is a unique grouping of chapters in that it describes two classic conflicts concerning man’s relationship to God: How does man reconcile his duel need for spirituality and the mundane. In other words, how does man seamlessly move from the holy into the secular and then back into the sacred spaces where life is most precious, and how does man express his creative powers within, while recognizing his dilemma.
This first conflict can be viewed if we take notice of the juxtaposition of the mitzvah of Shabbat to the building of the Mishkan (Tabernacle). “Ein melachet hamishkan docheh et hashabat”, that is to say that the building of the Mishkan doesn’t trump the Shabbat. Whereas the Shabbat is our non-temporal sacred space, given to us by God as the cap to His creation; the Mishkan is man’s delineation of temporal, sacred/mundane space as a cap to his creation of culture, be it spiritual or mundane. I assume this to be the case because of the very unusual language in our text beginning in chapter 35 verse 30-35 where language such as “chochmat lev” and “tevunah v’daat” are used, to the beginning of verses of chapter 36 where this same type of language is applied again. It is the language of a society in formation; a society that it is at the cusp of developing it’s cultural norms and values.
The creation of the world is God’s creation and His gift of Shabbat provided us with spirituality. The building of the Mishkan was man’s creation of culture and society. God created the world out of tohu vavohu, out of the void, without borders other than those he super imposed upon the universe; man’s creation was made within given borders and confined to those proscribed by God and the natural order.
In a sense design and placement of the Menorah symbolizes this conflict between man and his frenetic attempt at finding a comfort level between the holy and the mundane. Of all the holy vessels enumerated in the text for use in the Mishkan, the Menorah is the only one without a specific purpose stated within the text. In Va’yakhel, verse 3, the command of not kindling fire on the Shabbat precedes the command to build and design the temple. The fire calls to mind the Greek myth of Prometheus, when fire is stolen from Zeus and given to man. For man, fire is the essential for not only existence and independence, but the expression of his creative ability. In our text man is being proscribed the use of this creative power in building the Mishkan on Shabbat. Man’s recognition of this is symbolized by his design and placement of the Menorah in the Temple.
The building of the Mishkan is God’s compromise with man in assisting him in navigating between the sacred space of the non-temporal and the mundane while at the same time granting man his desire for expessing his creative abilities. V’asu lee mishkan vshacanti betocham (build me a Mishkan in order that I may dwell amongst you) is God’s solution to man’s dilemma. Shabbat trumps the Mishkan, but it and the Menorah allows for the beginning of a new order, within man’s domain. God created man and his physical world, establishing the borders between the sacred and the mundane; man created the culture in which to live and develop, understanding and appreciating the borders between the sacred and the mundane.
This first conflict can be viewed if we take notice of the juxtaposition of the mitzvah of Shabbat to the building of the Mishkan (Tabernacle). “Ein melachet hamishkan docheh et hashabat”, that is to say that the building of the Mishkan doesn’t trump the Shabbat. Whereas the Shabbat is our non-temporal sacred space, given to us by God as the cap to His creation; the Mishkan is man’s delineation of temporal, sacred/mundane space as a cap to his creation of culture, be it spiritual or mundane. I assume this to be the case because of the very unusual language in our text beginning in chapter 35 verse 30-35 where language such as “chochmat lev” and “tevunah v’daat” are used, to the beginning of verses of chapter 36 where this same type of language is applied again. It is the language of a society in formation; a society that it is at the cusp of developing it’s cultural norms and values.
The creation of the world is God’s creation and His gift of Shabbat provided us with spirituality. The building of the Mishkan was man’s creation of culture and society. God created the world out of tohu vavohu, out of the void, without borders other than those he super imposed upon the universe; man’s creation was made within given borders and confined to those proscribed by God and the natural order.
In a sense design and placement of the Menorah symbolizes this conflict between man and his frenetic attempt at finding a comfort level between the holy and the mundane. Of all the holy vessels enumerated in the text for use in the Mishkan, the Menorah is the only one without a specific purpose stated within the text. In Va’yakhel, verse 3, the command of not kindling fire on the Shabbat precedes the command to build and design the temple. The fire calls to mind the Greek myth of Prometheus, when fire is stolen from Zeus and given to man. For man, fire is the essential for not only existence and independence, but the expression of his creative ability. In our text man is being proscribed the use of this creative power in building the Mishkan on Shabbat. Man’s recognition of this is symbolized by his design and placement of the Menorah in the Temple.
The building of the Mishkan is God’s compromise with man in assisting him in navigating between the sacred space of the non-temporal and the mundane while at the same time granting man his desire for expessing his creative abilities. V’asu lee mishkan vshacanti betocham (build me a Mishkan in order that I may dwell amongst you) is God’s solution to man’s dilemma. Shabbat trumps the Mishkan, but it and the Menorah allows for the beginning of a new order, within man’s domain. God created man and his physical world, establishing the borders between the sacred and the mundane; man created the culture in which to live and develop, understanding and appreciating the borders between the sacred and the mundane.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Sacrificing for the Moledet
For the past several months I’ve been extraordinarily busy with a new project that I am committed to. It has virtually left me little time to opine. However, there appeared in the op-ed page of the Forward this past week (Nov. 9, 2007) a piece co-authored by Tsvi Hersh Weinreb and Stephen Savitsky representatives of the Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations of America.
Their article, “We Cannot Forget Jerusalem”, is full of the usual clichés and platitudes reviewing our historical connection to Jerusalem through the ages. Of the eleven paragraphs 9 are a review of that connection and the last two paragraphs are critical of the upcoming Annapolis initiative.
Unlike Weinreb and Savitsky, I’m not taking a position as to the vision of the lack of it in regarding this latest initiative. I’ll leave that up to Israelis who installed Olmert as the prime minister and who allowed him to continue in that office even after the debacle in the summer of 2006. I do however take exception with the incredible temerity and dishonesty expressed by these two Orthodox Jewish bureaucrats. It has always been my position that “galus” Jews have no justifiable right to opine regarding the foreign policy of Israel whether it is regarding the surrender of Sinai, Gaza, the Golan or reaching an accommodation on Jerusalem. And for one simple reason: Only those people who live there, who have invested their lives and the lives of their families there have the genuine right to express their opinion regarding their future. Only the citizens of Israel who live under the constant threat of violence and the promise of peace at a significant price have the right to express their point of view. Those Jews opting to live in the lap of luxury whether it be in America or Europe, free of existential issues forfeit their right to any serious opinion; for they have not thrown in their lot with Am Yisrael choosing to live their Jewish lives vicariously and thus dishonestly.
Visiting Israel once or twice a year, buying an apartment in Jerusalem or sending your children to yeshivot for a year doesn’t earn you the right to opine about Israel’s future. The most stunning display of arrogance however was their statement in the concluding paragraph: “As Jews we are required to defend and rebuild Jerusalem, and if we do not take a stand now, history, and we believe, God himself-will judge us poorly…” Since 1948 Israeli’s have done the “dirty work” of defending and rebuilding Israel. While you sat smugly in your homes, planning your vacations to Israel, millions of Israelis lived the dream and defended Israel with blood. While your kids sat in yeshivot in Israel as though they were in extended summer camp, their Israeli counterparts were serving their country with pride, paying unfortunately, the ultimate price when necessary.
How dare these Jewish bureaucrats tell us what Jews are required to do? They have no monopoly on truth, values and core beliefs. Even within the Orthodox Jewish community there is a plethora of opinion; al achat kama v’kama amongst the other denominations, be they Conservative, Reconstructionist, Renewal or Reform. Furthermore, by what right have they too invoke God. We are all God’s children regardless of our faith tradition. It is precisely because of this myopic approach to religion that there is an almost continuous blood fest resulting either in jihadist or a rather pathetic attempt at understanding God’s will. If you are so convinced as to what is God’s will and the importance of a unified Jerusalem, then you ought to be investing your lives and those of your children in Israel. While I detest radical and fundamentalist Islam at least they have an ideology, albeit warped, by which they are prepared to live and die. What about you-are you willing to die for what you say you believe in?
Their article, “We Cannot Forget Jerusalem”, is full of the usual clichés and platitudes reviewing our historical connection to Jerusalem through the ages. Of the eleven paragraphs 9 are a review of that connection and the last two paragraphs are critical of the upcoming Annapolis initiative.
Unlike Weinreb and Savitsky, I’m not taking a position as to the vision of the lack of it in regarding this latest initiative. I’ll leave that up to Israelis who installed Olmert as the prime minister and who allowed him to continue in that office even after the debacle in the summer of 2006. I do however take exception with the incredible temerity and dishonesty expressed by these two Orthodox Jewish bureaucrats. It has always been my position that “galus” Jews have no justifiable right to opine regarding the foreign policy of Israel whether it is regarding the surrender of Sinai, Gaza, the Golan or reaching an accommodation on Jerusalem. And for one simple reason: Only those people who live there, who have invested their lives and the lives of their families there have the genuine right to express their opinion regarding their future. Only the citizens of Israel who live under the constant threat of violence and the promise of peace at a significant price have the right to express their point of view. Those Jews opting to live in the lap of luxury whether it be in America or Europe, free of existential issues forfeit their right to any serious opinion; for they have not thrown in their lot with Am Yisrael choosing to live their Jewish lives vicariously and thus dishonestly.
Visiting Israel once or twice a year, buying an apartment in Jerusalem or sending your children to yeshivot for a year doesn’t earn you the right to opine about Israel’s future. The most stunning display of arrogance however was their statement in the concluding paragraph: “As Jews we are required to defend and rebuild Jerusalem, and if we do not take a stand now, history, and we believe, God himself-will judge us poorly…” Since 1948 Israeli’s have done the “dirty work” of defending and rebuilding Israel. While you sat smugly in your homes, planning your vacations to Israel, millions of Israelis lived the dream and defended Israel with blood. While your kids sat in yeshivot in Israel as though they were in extended summer camp, their Israeli counterparts were serving their country with pride, paying unfortunately, the ultimate price when necessary.
How dare these Jewish bureaucrats tell us what Jews are required to do? They have no monopoly on truth, values and core beliefs. Even within the Orthodox Jewish community there is a plethora of opinion; al achat kama v’kama amongst the other denominations, be they Conservative, Reconstructionist, Renewal or Reform. Furthermore, by what right have they too invoke God. We are all God’s children regardless of our faith tradition. It is precisely because of this myopic approach to religion that there is an almost continuous blood fest resulting either in jihadist or a rather pathetic attempt at understanding God’s will. If you are so convinced as to what is God’s will and the importance of a unified Jerusalem, then you ought to be investing your lives and those of your children in Israel. While I detest radical and fundamentalist Islam at least they have an ideology, albeit warped, by which they are prepared to live and die. What about you-are you willing to die for what you say you believe in?
Monday, September 10, 2007
A Muse: Haazinu 2007
The Bible credits three songs to Moses, two of which are in the Bible: Az Yashir delivered after the crossing of the Red Sea, the beginning of Israel’s long journey, and the other, Haazenu, at the end of the journey. It is a beautiful poem which warns, instructs and gives us hope. The poem has another feature, in which it serves as a vision far into the future, which foretells of the Zionist vision and the return to Israel.
The author of the Kli Yakar, Rashal, comments on the 32nd verse of chapter 39. where the verse repeats the word “ani” twice. The Rashal comments that it is in the same spirit of “nachamu nachamu” in Isaiah which refers to the redemption on a dual level: physical and spiritual. The physical redemption relates to an independent Jewish state where our destiny will be dependent on our own will and the spiritual redemption when the negative side of our inner core, the yetzer harah will be sublimated to the yetzer hatov. The two together will work in tandem in order for the redemption to become permanent.
Incidentally, the Rashal also interprets the concept of “Tichiyat Hameitim” within the context of this futuristic vision of redemption. In the Diaspora, the Kli Yakar maintains, we as a people are without vitality, the collective life force drained from us, as though dead. The redemption will breathe life back into the people. It happened twice in the past, he maintains, but those were but momentary pauses in our history. The third redemption, based upon Hosea will be the last and permanent redemption. Sounds like a chapter out of Leon Pinsker’s Auto-Emancipation.
The author of the Kli Yakar, Rashal, comments on the 32nd verse of chapter 39. where the verse repeats the word “ani” twice. The Rashal comments that it is in the same spirit of “nachamu nachamu” in Isaiah which refers to the redemption on a dual level: physical and spiritual. The physical redemption relates to an independent Jewish state where our destiny will be dependent on our own will and the spiritual redemption when the negative side of our inner core, the yetzer harah will be sublimated to the yetzer hatov. The two together will work in tandem in order for the redemption to become permanent.
Incidentally, the Rashal also interprets the concept of “Tichiyat Hameitim” within the context of this futuristic vision of redemption. In the Diaspora, the Kli Yakar maintains, we as a people are without vitality, the collective life force drained from us, as though dead. The redemption will breathe life back into the people. It happened twice in the past, he maintains, but those were but momentary pauses in our history. The third redemption, based upon Hosea will be the last and permanent redemption. Sounds like a chapter out of Leon Pinsker’s Auto-Emancipation.
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Two Continental Plates
Ever since reading about Noah Feldman’s monumental choice I’ve been vexed by the finality of his decision and the inevitable consequences. Truth be told, Noah Feldman is of little interest to me. Rather it is what he symbolizes that is of deep and abiding concern. He represents a growing number of informed and Jewishly educated Jews, who because they are “Jews of Choice” understand their decisions and implications in a very different perspective than orthodox Jews.
There was a time when one’s Jewish identity was uncomplicated and unilateral. Defining oneself as a Jew didn’t require qualifiers such as reform, conservative, reconstructionist, renewal, modern orthodox, mainline orthodox, ultra orthodox, charedi or hassidic. A Jew was a Jew and when he intermarried, he married out. There were no options other than to suffer the castigation and ignominious exit from his community.
Only fifty years ago, while there was a mild amount of intermarriage, it still wasn’t the normative behavior of young Jews. But then again, that was before Jews understood themselves as a “Jews by Choice”. It was before the reform movement ruled on patrimonial descent. It was before Jews were seen as part of mainstream America and accepted unconditionally within the social fabric of America.
The rules of the game have changed. Being a Jew today doesn’t require the unconditional abdication of one’s personal choices for the greater good of the community. Today, we have multiple types of communities, and if one is no longer accepted or comfortable in one he can easily shift to a more accepting, more embracing community. In today’s world, where Jews are “Jews by Choice” they can opt to be practicing Jews of one denomination while their spouse may choose to practice Judaism according to the tenets and principles of another denomination.
There are a growing number of Jews of the twenty first century, who, although not intermarried, light the chanukia but also adorn a winter tree in their home. There are a growing number of Jews of the twenty first century married to non-Jewish spouses, raising their children with a Jewish identity and seeking confirmation and acceptance within the Jewish community. There is a rising number of Jew of the twenty first century, the products of intermarriage seeking acceptance, because of the opportunity afforded them through the reform ruling of patrilineal descent. There is a growing number of Jews of the twenty first century who wish not to marry, but to live together with or without raising a family, and seek acceptance within the Jewish community. There are growing numbers of Jews of the twenty first century who are choosing mates of the same sex, while seeking out a Jewish community in order to satisfy their justifiable and genuine spiritual needs. Jews of the twenty first century are “Jews by Choice”.
The rules of the game have changed, and where there was once a semblance of uniform and shared values, in the twenty first century there is a panoply of choices that in essence have redefined what it means to be a Jew today. A Jew today defines himself with many hyphenated qualifiers. He can split his identity into as many units as is necessary in order to navigate successfully through the labyrinth of choices open to him. Applying the old rules to the new game is counterproductive and ought to be counterintuitive. Orthodoxy Jews tend to be comfortable in the halachic rubric ruling and guiding their existence. And while this system is essential for our existence as orthodox Jews it does not address the needs of those Jews who define themselves independently of the halachic community.
Clearly the Jewish people have bifurcated into two competing communities. Those who define themselves by orthodox interpretation of halacha and “Jews by Choice”. It would appear that these two galactic poles are in confrontation with each other reminding one of the confrontational relationships between competing groups in the past. The manner in which we choose to respond to these new challenges, shifting mores and competing groups will determine the future of our community for generations to come.
The relationship doesn’t have to be confrontational. It has become that way because leadership within the orthodox community tends to be judgmental thus effecting confrontation. We have seen this in the past as with the confrontation between misnagdim and hassidim in the eighteenth century. Ironically “Jews by Choice” have no other choice but to personify who and what they are. Orthodox Jews, on the other hand have a choice. They don’t have to compromise their values nor renege on any halachic standards. What they have to do is practice their own teachings. To love and to embrace their co religionists would be the first step to fusing these two continental plates into one muscular and powerful unit.
There was a time when one’s Jewish identity was uncomplicated and unilateral. Defining oneself as a Jew didn’t require qualifiers such as reform, conservative, reconstructionist, renewal, modern orthodox, mainline orthodox, ultra orthodox, charedi or hassidic. A Jew was a Jew and when he intermarried, he married out. There were no options other than to suffer the castigation and ignominious exit from his community.
Only fifty years ago, while there was a mild amount of intermarriage, it still wasn’t the normative behavior of young Jews. But then again, that was before Jews understood themselves as a “Jews by Choice”. It was before the reform movement ruled on patrimonial descent. It was before Jews were seen as part of mainstream America and accepted unconditionally within the social fabric of America.
The rules of the game have changed. Being a Jew today doesn’t require the unconditional abdication of one’s personal choices for the greater good of the community. Today, we have multiple types of communities, and if one is no longer accepted or comfortable in one he can easily shift to a more accepting, more embracing community. In today’s world, where Jews are “Jews by Choice” they can opt to be practicing Jews of one denomination while their spouse may choose to practice Judaism according to the tenets and principles of another denomination.
There are a growing number of Jews of the twenty first century, who, although not intermarried, light the chanukia but also adorn a winter tree in their home. There are a growing number of Jews of the twenty first century married to non-Jewish spouses, raising their children with a Jewish identity and seeking confirmation and acceptance within the Jewish community. There is a rising number of Jew of the twenty first century, the products of intermarriage seeking acceptance, because of the opportunity afforded them through the reform ruling of patrilineal descent. There is a growing number of Jews of the twenty first century who wish not to marry, but to live together with or without raising a family, and seek acceptance within the Jewish community. There are growing numbers of Jews of the twenty first century who are choosing mates of the same sex, while seeking out a Jewish community in order to satisfy their justifiable and genuine spiritual needs. Jews of the twenty first century are “Jews by Choice”.
The rules of the game have changed, and where there was once a semblance of uniform and shared values, in the twenty first century there is a panoply of choices that in essence have redefined what it means to be a Jew today. A Jew today defines himself with many hyphenated qualifiers. He can split his identity into as many units as is necessary in order to navigate successfully through the labyrinth of choices open to him. Applying the old rules to the new game is counterproductive and ought to be counterintuitive. Orthodoxy Jews tend to be comfortable in the halachic rubric ruling and guiding their existence. And while this system is essential for our existence as orthodox Jews it does not address the needs of those Jews who define themselves independently of the halachic community.
Clearly the Jewish people have bifurcated into two competing communities. Those who define themselves by orthodox interpretation of halacha and “Jews by Choice”. It would appear that these two galactic poles are in confrontation with each other reminding one of the confrontational relationships between competing groups in the past. The manner in which we choose to respond to these new challenges, shifting mores and competing groups will determine the future of our community for generations to come.
The relationship doesn’t have to be confrontational. It has become that way because leadership within the orthodox community tends to be judgmental thus effecting confrontation. We have seen this in the past as with the confrontation between misnagdim and hassidim in the eighteenth century. Ironically “Jews by Choice” have no other choice but to personify who and what they are. Orthodox Jews, on the other hand have a choice. They don’t have to compromise their values nor renege on any halachic standards. What they have to do is practice their own teachings. To love and to embrace their co religionists would be the first step to fusing these two continental plates into one muscular and powerful unit.
Monday, September 3, 2007
A Musing: Nitzavim-Va'yelech 2007
Nitzavim is the shortest weekly portion of the Torah, without any mitzvoth “aseh” or “lo taaseh”, but nevertheless a portion which is powerful and compelling in its message. This parsha is composed of words of comfort and consolation spoken by Moshe, inspired and commanded by God on the eve of his demise. The portion is divided into three sections: A farewell speech ( 29: 9-28); consolation (30:1-14); and life’s choices (30:15-20).
A particularly interesting verse, found in the second section, verse 30:3 has confounded Biblical commentaries for centuries. This verse repeating the word “v’shav” twice seems to render a redundancy which is a typical of Biblical text. Throughout the centuries scholars have been challenged by this redundancy and have offered a variety of interpretations which would explain the redundancy of the term “v’shav”.
Many of the commentaries interpreted the meaning of the text to fit in with current events. Rashi, who lived during the first Crusades, understood the repetition of the word “v’shav” to indicate that God is with Israel whether they are in the Land of Israel or in Galut, He is, according to Rashi, with Israel even in their time of pain and suffering. The Abarbanel witnessed the Spanish Inquisition, and interpreted the repetition of “v’shav” within the reality that he lived. The Jewish people in Spanish Europe were basically split into two groups: Those who refused to compromise their faith and those who publicly renounced their faith while privately practicing their faith. The Abarbanel believes that the mentioning of “V’shav” twice refers to and represents these two troubled suffering communities of Jews.
Another interpretation explaining the doublet of “v’shav” is perhaps found in Rashi’s alluding to the difficulty in redemption. The Jewish people are made up of the collective but also recognized for each individual. The Talmud Yerushalmi, Berachot (4: a), refers to the redemption as “kimaa kimaa”, slow, arduous and one by one. Perhaps the redundancy of “v’shav” represents the community of Israel as well as the individual. The trouble that Rashi may have been referring to can be the difficulty the individual has of coming to terms with who he is and his relationship to his God. There isn’t a uniform principle we can apply to arrive at these truths, each of us has to come to it on his own terms and in his own time.
A particularly interesting verse, found in the second section, verse 30:3 has confounded Biblical commentaries for centuries. This verse repeating the word “v’shav” twice seems to render a redundancy which is a typical of Biblical text. Throughout the centuries scholars have been challenged by this redundancy and have offered a variety of interpretations which would explain the redundancy of the term “v’shav”.
Many of the commentaries interpreted the meaning of the text to fit in with current events. Rashi, who lived during the first Crusades, understood the repetition of the word “v’shav” to indicate that God is with Israel whether they are in the Land of Israel or in Galut, He is, according to Rashi, with Israel even in their time of pain and suffering. The Abarbanel witnessed the Spanish Inquisition, and interpreted the repetition of “v’shav” within the reality that he lived. The Jewish people in Spanish Europe were basically split into two groups: Those who refused to compromise their faith and those who publicly renounced their faith while privately practicing their faith. The Abarbanel believes that the mentioning of “V’shav” twice refers to and represents these two troubled suffering communities of Jews.
Another interpretation explaining the doublet of “v’shav” is perhaps found in Rashi’s alluding to the difficulty in redemption. The Jewish people are made up of the collective but also recognized for each individual. The Talmud Yerushalmi, Berachot (4: a), refers to the redemption as “kimaa kimaa”, slow, arduous and one by one. Perhaps the redundancy of “v’shav” represents the community of Israel as well as the individual. The trouble that Rashi may have been referring to can be the difficulty the individual has of coming to terms with who he is and his relationship to his God. There isn’t a uniform principle we can apply to arrive at these truths, each of us has to come to it on his own terms and in his own time.
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