The Fix-It Rabbi

A little bit of levity before my Gemara-mandated (Taanis 30b, of course) happiest day of the year, coming up Monday.

Why is it that rabbis think they should be able to handle do-it-yourself projects around the house? Is it because people look to us to patch things together in other areas, so that we convince ourselves that something as simple as the wiring in a wall socket (red wire goes here, yellow wire goes there) can’t be harder than patching things together between warring families (red family goes here, yellow family goes there)? Or is the rabbinate a self-selecting group of self-confident people who trust themselves to be able to fix anything, including household items?

I am guilty as charged, and to my rebbitzen goes much credit for tolerating the many projects I have botched in the past year. Yes, I have asked and received mechilah already.

This morning at shul we had 4 communal issues come up requiring rabbinic patching; I'm happy to report that 3 of them are under control. (I'm not so happy to report that the fourth is a royal mess and I don’t know what I’m going to do with it.)

But upon arriving home to help prepare for Shabbos I remembered a two-week-old do-it-yourself project I hadn’t completed, and decided that now was the time to finish it, rather than work on drashos for Succos or polish the silver I just polished last week. So I pulled out the drill, screwdriver, tape measure and assorted other items, and set to work improving our humble abode.

Let the record show that I did, in fact, succeed in this project. I did need to bend a few brackets to gain their cooperation - how much different is home repair from communal repair, anyway? - but the task is complete.

Let the record also show that when I cut a finger my rebbitzen’s first response was concern that blood not drip on the project. I was eventually offered a band-aid, the better to protect the project.

All hail the rabbinic do-it-yourselfer, who can now enter Shabbos secure in the knowledge that he is both Rabbi, protector of the community, and Alpha Male, protector of the home.

Tochachah / Rebuke, Part II


In Part I I talked about the difficulty of practical rebuke. The philosophy of rebuke is troubling, too.

I am fond of saying that one who rebukes improperly, so that the rebuke is not accepted. doesn’t fulfill the mitzvah. After all, the word תוכחה means “showing” - you have to show the other person that your perspective is correct. If you haven’t done that, you haven’t fulfilled the mitzvah.

The problem is that this is fundamentally incorrect. The Gemara and authorities make clear that if I see someone performing a wrong, and the wrongness of the deed is biblically explicit, then I have to rebuke him even if I know he will not listen. Indeed, as the Rambam emphasizes, I am obligated to hit him and shame him! If the key were to teach, and absent teaching there were no mitzvah, then I could have no obligation to hit and shame someone who was not going to listen.

Unless this is part of another element of tochachah - the tochachah of observers, lest they learn from this person? But no - this applies even in non-public situations.

This is not a simple mitzvah, at all…

The most difficult mitzvah?

An issue that rises in my mind every year before Shabbos Shuvah: The Torah’s mitzvah of הוכח תוכיח את עמיתך - You shall rebuke your friend.

Yes, honoring parents is usually considered the hardest mitzvah because of its extravagant scope, but for sheer difficulty this one ranks at the top. I receive more questions about this mitzvah than almost any other; how do you properly tell someone else that he’s speaking Lashon Hara or that she’s doing something wrong in davening?

Part of the difficulty is cultural; we live in a society that very much discourages religious paternalism, aside from invasion of privacy. Maybe they want to tell lashon hara. Maybe you have the law wrong. Maybe there’s an extenuating circumstance.

Part of the difficulty is that most people don’t like being rebuked; the gemara (Yevamos 65b) cites a passage from Mishlei (Proverbs) אל תוכח לץ פן ישנאך (Don’t rebuke a scorner lest he hate you) and concludes that there is an obligation not to rebuke someone who won’t receive the message well. But, on the other hand, the gemara (Shabbos 55a) also mentions that one must assume the target of rebuke will listen, if there is any room for doubt.

Part of the difficulty is in making sure to do it right. The gemara (Erchin 16b) says that we don’t have anyone, anymore, who can rebuke properly - the rebukers are too vulnerable to counter-rebukes to be effective. It's not for nothing that the great deliverers of mussar would say they were talking to themselves, and allowing others to listen in; this helped people accept the message. Remember: If it’s not accepted, it’s not a fulfillment of the mitzvah; it’s just an insult.

But rebuke is a necessity for the world's benefit (cf Tamid 28a), not to mention a biblical mitzvah!

As a rabbi, I have my own challenges in this regard. A rebuke on one issue may work well, but destroy opportunities for improvement on other, perhaps more important, issues in the future.

And for non-rabbis the issues are more personal: How do you send a message to a friend without alienating her?

Your thoughts welcome here… More to come when I have a chance to sit and type more.

We have met the enemy, and he is us (name the source without a web search, get two points!)

Tzom Gedaliah (The Fast of Gedaliah) always gets me; we fast for a day to commemorate the time we killed one of our own for working with (dare I use the loaded term collaborating with) the Babylonians. Can’t forget the dangers built into zealotry.

Pinchas (who killed Zimri and Kazbi - Bamidbar 25) is honored for his zealotry; Yishmael ben Netanyah (who murdered Gedaliah - Yirmiyah 40) is reviled for his zealotry. The difference between them is that Pinchas is upholding the Torah received by Moshe, while Yishmael is working against the prophecies of Yirmiyah.

The moral of the story: If you’re going to be a zealot, you’d better get it right.

Two and a half minutes

Last night someone from ptd.net visited the blog and read through the front page - which contained all my pre-Rosh Hashanah musings about self-improvement, etc - in two minutes and thirty seconds, before going on.

It's humbling to realize that my thoughts about Life, the Universe and Everything, can be scanned in so brief a time.

…and the worst of times

It’s Drasha Letdown.

You spend hours and hours putting together deep thoughts that express an insight into teshuvah, relationships, Israel, Jewish education, Judaism as a whole, whatever your theme. You spend many more hours creating a package that will attract the ear and hold people’s attention. You edit and re-edit and then edit again. You can ill afford to spend all these hours this way, but this is the sole opportunity to speak to a large crowd of people who aren’t going to be in shul again until next year, so you want to take advantage of this chance.

Your drasha is good, and delivered powerfully. You project to reach the back of an absurdly large space. You make eye contact during the speech. You enunciate and emphasize and make ad-lib jokes to help bring people back in after they’ve been wandering.

But the impact is never what you wanted it to be. People walk in and out during the speech. Kids cry. A few people snooze. One talks to the person next to him. (How is it that with hundreds of people in the room, your eye can’t leave the guy talking to his neighbor?)

Afterward, many of them tell you it was a great speech. Someone asks why you don’t publish it. (Answer: So I can re-use it when everyone forgets I delivered it…) The Yasherkoach’s are loud. You’ve always known a speech isn’t the right way to get to people, but you allow yourself to think that this time will be different.

Then comes Minchah that evening, and all the supposedly inspired people have vanished. And the next morning they come late and they’re talking during the davening and some of them aren’t there at all. And you know you haven't convinced them to try out a regular Shabbos in shul, and you kick yourself for letting them get your hopes up. And you wonder why you do all this, after all.

Speeches are a rotten way to reach people, really. If people are going to change substantively, it’s because of a one-on-one relationship, over time, dealing with their issues on a personal level. Speeches are the dumbest part of the rabbinate, if you ask me. So you should really know better.

And, in truth, the speech did hit some people especially well. Last June a local girl used part of my Yom Kippur talk in her valedictory speech. And people will quote back bits and pieces at odd times, years later.

Still, there’s an emptiness that comes after it’s over, and the emptiness colors the rest of Rosh Hashanah gray.

But, of course, you get up the next morning and climb back in the saddle. First, because despite your worst pessimism the speech really did hit someone, you know that. And second, because the real way to reach people is with that personal relationship, over time - and that’s the work of the next morning, the real work of the rabbinate.

The Best of Times…

Two highlights of kavvanah over Rosh Hashanah, both on the same theme:
1. Saying ובכן תן פחדך for the first time, Rosh Hashanah night, and hitting the line in which we ask G-d to impose His awe upon the world. I was just gripped by this feeling of “My G-d, I wish You would just impose Your awe upon me. That would be enough.”
And then on the first day, during Musaf, when I started to say Aleinu L’shabeiach in Shmoneh Esreih, I suddenly began to cry. It was just too much. “It is our responsibility to praise the Master of all.” What a responsibility!
It is our responsibility to praise the Master of all, and yet I spend so much time trying to satisfy myself. Let's be honest - what else is anonymity for? A lot of the things I do, even if they help others, are really an outgrowth of an attempt to satisfy myself, my personal morality or my ego or my need to feel valuable.
I didn’t daven for myself at all this Yom Tov, at least not directly. I davened for my kids. For my community. For Israel. For the world. But I couldn’t bring myself to ask for anything for myself, not even life. I’ve been given so much, more than I could ever understand, and I’ve done so little to deserve it, I can’t ask for more.
And beyond that, it feels cheap to use Rosh Hashanah as a day to ask for more. It’s a day to recognize G-d, to stop all of my personal craziness and just recognize the King. So that’s what I did.
That was the best of times; the rest will be in the next post.

Down to the wire

Did office hours, printed out the drashos and classes, went to mikvah, polished the silver, cleaned up in the house, did viduy and wrote up the new year's list of things to work on. Food's pretty much cooked. Guests aren't here yet, not quite bath time for the kids. In theory, I have a minute to breathe.

But I can't, because I don't feel like the teshuvah is complete yet. Not that it will ever be complete, but there are times when I feel like "Yeah, I got it," and I don't have that feeling yet. Oh, well. Looks like I might need Yom Kippur this year after all.

Anyone have a good recipe for leek? Karti is a big one on the list of special Rosh Hashanah foods, so I picked up a batch, but I don't know what to do with it.

L'shanah tovah nikaseiv v'neichaseim l'alter l'chaim tovim ul'shalom!

Tikkunim (acts of repair)

A partial list of the things I hoped to establish for this past year; perhaps they will help others:

• Install Cybersitter or similar software on my computer as a fence against trouble (didn't work; I couldn't find software that discerned well between safe and problematic sites)


• To concentrate properly during the first berachah of Shmoneh Esreih


• To concentrate well while saying G-d's Name at least twice during other parts of Shmoneh Esreih (pathetic that this is a goal, but at least I'm honest with myself)


• To be careful to eat Melaveh Malkah with proper honor for Shabbos (as opposed to a scarfed down bowl of cereal at midnight)


• To sit down when reciting a berachah after eating (both for halachic and kavvanah reasons)


• To smile each morning (had a hard time when I had to wake up at 5:15 today to get ready for Slichos)


• To stand still and say "Mah Tovu" when entering shul (very difficult for me, believe it or not)


• To call my parents at least twice each week

Some of these worked out, some need more work. And no, it's not the whole list; I had to leave out the juiciest ones.

Quite a few remain on this coming year's list of "new year's resolutions"...

L'shanah tovah nikaseiv v'neichaseim, I pray that we are all inscribed and sealed for a great new year!

An incredible writer on an incredible event

There was once a man; he had learned as a child that beautiful tale of how G-d tried Abraham, how he withstood the test, kept his faith and for the second time received a son against every expectation.

When he became older he read the same story with even greater admiration, for life had divided what had been united in the child's pious simplicity. The older he became the more often his thoughts turned to that tale, his enthusiasm became stronger and stronger, and yet less and less could he understand it.

Finally it put everything else out of his mind; his soul had but one wish, actually to see Abraham, and one longing, to have been witness to those events. It was not the beautiful regions of the East, nor the earthly splendour of the Promised Land, he longed to see, not the G-d-fearing couple whose old age G-d had blessed, not the venerable figure of the patriarch stricken in years, not the youthful vigour G-d gave to Isaac - it would have been the same if it had taken place on a barren heath. What he yearned for was to accompany them on the three-day journey, when Abraham rode with grief before him and Isaac by his side. He wanted to be there at that moment when Abraham raised his eyes and saw in the distance the mountain in Moriah, the moment he left the asses behind and went on up the mountain alone with Isaac. For what occupied him was not the finely wrought fabric of imagination, but the shudder of thought.

(Soren Kierkegaard, Fear and Trembling)

The "Shanah Tovah" Band

Click here for the sort of black comedy I love... and a great new year. (Note: Takes a little time to load.)

Tzedakah envelopes, Part II

For Part I, click here.

Today is one of the best days of the year in the office. Almost everyone knows that Rosh Hashanah is coming, so they don't choose today as the day to spill their guts all over my desk (well, except two people this morning, and I'm glad they did). The drashos for Rosh Hashanah are complete, Shabbos Shuvah is coming along nicely, and I have my idea germs for Yom Kippur.

So today I sit down and do the last of the current batch of tzedakah envelopes - knowing, of course, that more will pour in over the next couple of weeks before the Elul/Tishrei mailings ar replaced by the early Chanukah mailings. It's like the shopping catalog schedule - Autumn catalogs quickly give way to December catalogs.

The tally thus far: Innumerable envelopes tossed, 41 tzedakos supported. Special gifts to our local yeshiva and Jewish Family Service, as well as Mesamche Lev, HASC, Kayyama, Partners in Torah and OHEL, because of the great work they do.

It's wonderful to be able to give tzedakah.

The Persistent Vegetative State

One of the truly nightmarish topics I handle is the issue of hospital patients who are in a "persistent vegetative state." They are not dead; they are not even brain dead, as they exhibit detectable neural function. Thanks to our machines, patients can continue in this state for years.

Today, many families are loathe to maintain their parents, spouses and siblings in these conditions, knowing that their relatives are unlikely to emerge, and that even if they do emerge it will be to a greatly impaired condition.

This is an impossible case to argue with people. If they are committed to "pulling the plug," they're going to do it, and nothing you can say will stop them. Explaining that this is murder doesn't really do anything. Worse, many doctors push them to pull the plug, arguing for conservation of resources even when the resources are not needed elsewhere (yes, I've actually seen this happen).

It's also tough to argue because of my own emotions. How would I react, G-d forbid, if I had to deal with this not as a congregant's question but as a personal decision?

But last night I saw an article that may turn the tables: Woman in vegetative state plays tennis in her head. This remarkable research shows that people in a vegetative state might actually respond, in a detectable way, to outside stimulus. Not all people in such a state, but some, are responsive to voices, and their brains hear and process the information people are telling them.

A skeptic at the end of the article argues that the responses may be automatic rather than conscious, but to me this is irrelevant; we wouldn't end the life of a severely intellectually challenged person whose responses were automatic, why should we end this one?

It will be very interesting to see where this research goes.

Wow

Wow. Someone just came in here looking for help with a doozy of a story... too bad anonymity blocks my posting it. Too many layers of uniquitude to allow it.

Murder at the Minyan

Received a publicity notice for a new book, Murder at the Minyan. Concept is: A mourner kills people so that their kids will come say kaddish, and the shul will thereby have a minyan. Could this be one of those so-bad-it's-good books?

Linked!

It's funny for me, a rabbi for more years than I can remember, to see a non-rabbi's reaction to my thoughts... like here.

The joke’s on the Rabbi

Every year at this time I remember one of my first experiences in the professional rabbinate. I served as an assistant in a nice-sized synagogue, and was assigned to lead an auxiliary minyan for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur.

I showed up bright and early on Rosh Hashanah morning, nervous beyond nervous. I was the first one in the room; I took off my hat, put on my kittel, and sat down to review the order of the davening and my prepared remarks.

About five minutes later the baal tokeia (person who blows the shofar) came in. He walked over to me, bid me Good Morning, and then said something like, “Rabbi, we have certain customs here, that you should probably be aware of.”

I nodded, tense, worried about what halachic issue might come up. I had already noticed the potted tree next to the Aron, and was wondering whether it might be an asheirah problem (Devarim 16:21); what else might be introduced now?

He continued, deadpan, “We like to have our rabbis wear a yarmulka.”

I reached up and found nothing there; it had remained in my hat. He burst out laughing; I was just glad he had said something before anyone else could come in.

The tyranny of beauty

One of those posts that anonymity permits:

Am I the only person who intuitively associates aesthetic appeal with competence?

Twice in the past month I have taken one of my children for blood tests. The first time, the phlebotomist (I love that word) was older, overweight, somewhat unkempt, and frowning. I experienced an immediate doubt that this person could handle the job well. Today I went for a second time, and this time the phlebotomist was younger, slim, neat in appearance and smiling. It made a world of difference – I was sure my child was in good hands.

Beauty reigns over the mind; one of many reasons why we have so many laws governing the interaction of the sexes.

Advice for speakers, columnists... and parents

Good post at Cross-Currents on the importance of planning one's words. The original post is directed toward speakers and columnists, but I think it applies similarly, if not equally, to parenting.

Pope III: A gratuitous slam on Islam?

Having finally found the time to read through the Pope's Regensburg comments uninterrupted (you can find them here), I don't understand what he was thinking.

The Islam reference was superfluous, particularly the full quote of the Emperor. He could have made his point without it; what was he trying to do?

The true meaning of awe of G-d

A quick translation from R' Avraham Eliyahu Kaplan's b'Ikvot haYirah, which is available in pdf format here:

For example: When people say 'Awe' to a person, he translates it only thus: Head bent, forehead lined, eyes vacant, back bent, left hand trembling, right hand klopping 'al cheit', thighs knocking, knees buckling, heels stumbling. He does not know that this translation denies the words of one who knows Awe and its definition, its source and point of origin!

R' Kaplan approaches the buckling knee as an outgrowth of awe in certain situations, where appropriate, but argues that Awe is something much greater, much more sweeping and global, and - most important to me at the moment - something that is more likely to lead to joy than terror.

I think I'm in love. Also see a biography of R' Kaplan here.

The Pope, Rosh Hashanah and inspiring a secular shulgoer

I had all my Rosh Hashanah derashos ready well in advance this year; I was supposed to start working on my Shabbos Shuvah derashah today. Then the Pope went and made a hash of it.

Part of me wants nothing to do with speaking about the Pope and his Muslim playmates. First, Iranian conspiracy theorists notwithstanding, this has nothing to do with the Jews. And more important to me: I don't like speaking about current events for the sake of current events, as I noted here. It feels like pandering.

But people are asking for it, particularly from the secular group that's so hard to inspire with a more conventional Rosh Hashanah dvar torah, so I'm trying to find it: The inspiring note within papal insensitivity and muslim hypersensitivity. I already spoke about my wish that we, as Jews, were more sensitive about our religion, at the time of the Danish cartoon mess.

Any other thoughts out there?

Pre-Rosh Hashanah excitement

Older daughter: We're going to an apple orchard tomorrow!

Younger daughter: What about a honey orchard?

Ah, the joys of chinuch...

Pope vs. Islam - and where are the Jews?

With the Pope accused of slandering Islam and Muslims reacting by firebombing churches and making death threats, this Jew is grateful to be sitting on the sidelines.

But are we really on the sidelines? Iran doesn't think so; look here.

It was a lovely service

How should a rabbi respond to “It was a lovely service,” usually offered after a funeral or wedding or, most commonly, davening on Rosh Hashanah or Yom Kippur?

I get this all the time, and while I know it’s a compliment and therefore the appropriate response is a graceful Thank You and a smile, the idea behind the compliment still puzzles me. Take the Rosh Hashanah “It was a lovely service” – what, exactly, does it mean?

If it’s about the shofar blowing, I don’t blow shofar. If it’s about the liturgy, I didn’t write it. If it’s about the English prayers we inserted, I can’t take credit for those either. If it’s about the chazan, compliments are due the chazan, not me. Is it the decorum of the davening? Unlikely; the people who offer that compliment are generally the ones who most strain the decorum, bringing in their grandchildren to pass them around like a game of kindergarten Hot Potato. Is it about the speech? Is that fifteen or twenty minute oration what made a four hour experience into a lovely service? (Or is it the fact that the oration was only fifteen or twenty minutes and not dramatically longer?)

And yet the comment comes year-in and year-out, as regular as the stubborn Seder-leftover wine stain I discover on my kittel on Rosh Hashanah morning. I wonder how people would react if I were to ask them, straight out, what they meant. Would they be befuddled, awkwardly found out for the shallowness of the platitude? Or would I finally discover what these mysterious words meant?

Inquiring rabbis want to know.

ELUL!

Are you trying for perfection this year?

I've told any number of people over the years that they shouldn't try to accomplish everything, but simply improve one or two things at a time. Too bad I don't take my own advice; I list everything in my viduy (personal admission of sin) and want to correct all of it. I'm still too much of a child to believe that I'll burn out, so I want to do it all.

Besides: I'm the community role model. If I'm not aiming high, what's everyone else going to do? The more lax I am, the more lax that allows everyone else to be.

Music I'm now listening to: Blue Fringe, Piamentas, Belzers and a version of "ki lo yitosh" that came on a CD in a tzedakah envelope.

Elul: Of Slichos, Music and SAD

Slichos are coming up tomorrow night, signaling it’s time to switch teshuvah from the background ambience of Elul to the forefront of gearing up for Rosh Hashanah. Went through my cheshbon hanefesh from last Elul and made some adjustments. Made commitments to tikkunim (acts of repair) for the coming year.

Time to switch my music over. Not as a last-minute bribe to G-d; if I thought my secular music was assur I wouldn’t listen to it ever. But listening to music with a religious perspective frames my world differently during these days, so I switch over. Last song I heard was something along the lines of “If you want to change the world, shut your mouth and start spinning.” Something like that; I didn’t quite get the lyrics, and a quick Net search revealed multiple versions of the correct text. I like it, whatever it is.

This is also my season of SAD (seasonal affective disorder - depression brought on by lack of sunlight), regrettably; where I am within the time zone, sunrise is now later than the time we start shacharis each morning. Add in my pre-shacharis shower, and the extra half-hour for slichos, and I am getting up during pitch black darkness. Then we’ll have early davening for chol hamoed succos. By the time succos is done, even getting up at regular time will be well before sunrise. Bummer.

Shailophobia: The Fear of Answering Shailos

I don’t know whether my experience reflects that of other rabbis or not, but I become very nervous when faced with a shailoh (question of Jewish law).

Over the years I’ve dealt with such commonplaces as Living Will/Power of Attorney, brain death, organ donation, meat-lid/dairy-pot, mikvah chatzitzah (items on one’s skin that disqualify ritual immersion), personal eruv extensions, taharah (preparation for burial) problems, fertility treatments, etc - the sort of thing that every rav has to be able to handle, whether personally or with the help of a serious posek (legal authority).

I’m not nervous about the knowledge issues - Thank Gd, I know the Shulchan Aruch and poskim and I know where to look. If need be, I know who to ask for help. My problem is with the application to real-life situations, and the nuances of psak for real, sensitive, people.

It’s hard to know when people are up for the l’chatchilah (ideal answer) and when the bedieved (ex post facto leniency, often employed under duress as well) is called for. It’s about knowing what their background is and how they’ll respond here. It’s about the strength of their commitment. It’s about whether they can afford to buy a new one. It’s about how they’ll handle future issues. It’s about their friends, who will hear about this and make their own judgments as well as their own extrapolations to other circumstances. It’s about their cousin who’s a rabbi and who will hear my kula (leniency) and think I must be a lunatic lefty. It’s about their sister who will hear my chumra (stringency) and try to convince them I’m a right-wing nut. It’s about my own yom hadin, when I’ll have to answer for my mistakes in allowing that which was prohibited, or prohibiting that which was allowed.

There really is no up-side in psak (issuing legal decisions). At best you handle the situation correctly; at worst you fouled up her kitchen or his taharah or her tvilah or his tfilah, etc. Better for a judge to keep himself from litigation, as the sages taught; that original mishnah in Pirkei Avos deals with civil cases, but the same may be extended to overall psak.

On Clergy

The Meshech Chachmah comments that when G-d promises Moshe “וגם בך יאמינו לעולם” ('The Jews will believe you forever'), G-d is making a remarkable commitment to Moshe: I will take away your free will, so that the Jews will forever be able to trust you.

There’s a boatload of commentary on that line, but I want to take it at face value at the moment, as it relates to clergy in general.

A community needs to be able to trust its clergy for many things, and one of the most important areas of trust is ideological consistency. You can’t become a rabbi and serve a community that believes X and one day, after twenty years in the pulpit, decide you believe differently and want to do things markedly differently. Such a change would be a betrayal of your congregants’ trust; how could you tell them to do X for all this time and then, today, decide they should do Y?

I’m sure it happens, of course, and I assume the normal thing to do in such a situation is to abdicate rather than change the community, but even that step of protecting the community has its price. Won’t it rattle the foundations for people who have followed you for twenty years? I know mine would be rattled if one of my rebbeim from yeshiva suddenly decided that the hashkafah he had taught me was totally off.

But consistency is overrated if it comes at the price of honesty. How does a clergyperson honestly evaluate his belief and evolve as a spiritual person if all the big questions, the really good questions, are prima facie off-limits? And how can a clergyperson be a leader if he isn’t evaluating and evolving and growing?

Of course, this is an issue beyond clergy - it applies to anyone who occupies a position of trust in a relationship - but the clergy case appeals to me, for obvious reasons. Am I permitted to evolve? Or did G-d, so to speak, rob me of Free Will when I took Moshe's place?

Yeshiva and University

Interesting transcript of dialogue between Rav Herschel Schachter and Yeshiva College Dean Dr. David Strolovitz available on-line here.

Not sure what to make of it. YC/RIETS are my alma mater, but it's been a while and the place has changed a great deal, on both sides, in the years since I attended.

I'm a little perplexed about why the Yeshiva would want to end up certifying, or sanctioning, certain courses. As someone with more than a little experience in hashgachah, I know that in the world of kashrus and Jewish community institutions, the moment an organization permits you to certify Product X, that means Product Y can be glatt treif and they will feel no guilt for serving it. If the local JCC puts a product with your hechsher on Table A, then Table B can be shrimp. The same will be true here: If the Yeshiva stamp goes on one Bible course, then YC will feel no compunctions about having a competing Bible course that teaches whatever the Wellhausens of today want.

I'm also a little uncomfortable with the emphasis on losing students. Aside from reports that YC is gaining students overall, ought profit/loss to be the motivation in a university, the original model of the "ivory tower"?

See also Hirhurim here.

Does G-d want you to be rich?

That's the question Time magazine is asking this week, here. Seems a stream of Protestant thought, the Prosperity school, is teaching that if you're a believer then G-d wants to fulfill you your wildest dreams. Not to compare two religions that are vastly different, but I began to wonder what Judaism would think of Prosperity theology.

My first thought, of course, is that this is just self-deception in the name of self-justification. Not only does my indulgence in luxury not mean I'm a bad guy - it actually means I'm great! G-d loves me; if G-d didn't, I wouldn't own three cars and a mansion!

But every once in a while I accidentally think more deeply about a subject, and so I came back to this one (if only to avoid writing drashos for Rosh Hashanah and Shabbos Shuvah and Yom Kippur and...)

Consider this: Most, if not all, of our Tanach role models struck it rich, with G-d's blessing. Avraham and Sarah - rich, at G-d's hand rather than that of the king of Sdom. Yitzchak inherited the wealth, and G-d even gave him the original "Meah Shearim". Yaakov went through a poverty phase before becoming pretty wealthy himself. Yosef, Moshe, Dovid haMelech, Shlomo, Iyyov twice-over... all rich.

And, after all, we don't believe in promoting suffering as an ideal. To quote everyone from the Gemara to the Rambam to the Sefer Chasidim, a Jew is not supposed to seek suffering for himself. G-d prohibited that which He prohibited, and we are supposed to consume in moderation, but we aren't supposed to go for the suffering end of things. And don't we daven for osher v'kavod? Why daven for it if Hashem doesn't want to give it to youn in this world as part of being meitiv l'bruav, giving good things to His creations?

Ah, but what about Pas bamelach tochal (you shall eat bread with salt, drink water in measure and sleep on the ground) as the Pirkei Avos recommendation for achieving success in Torah? True - but that's what you take, not what you are given. Rabbi Yehudah haNasi is vastly wealthy, although he only takes little for himself. Rabbi Pinchas ben Yair contents himself with a measure of carobs and water for each week, but G-d is willing to give him much more!

So I'm willing to accept the possibility that G-d wants us to have plenty, even if we choose to eschew the luxuries.

What I won't accept, of course, is the corollary - that if I'm poor, it's because G-d is angry at me. Although the Torah is filled with warnings of poverty as punishment, we also have other reasons presented for poverty, from (1) R' Akiva's thought of enabling people to give tzedakah (efes ki lo yihyeh becha evyon vs. ki lo yechdal evyon mikerev ha'aretz), to (2) communal punishment affecting the individual to (3) yisurin shel ahavah to (4) family punishment affecting the descendant to (5) the natural economic cycle (galgul hu hachozer ba'olam).

All in all, an interesting concept, this Prosperity school.

To beard, or not to beard?

A congregant recently disclosed that he had always assumed I was politically conservative, albeit without evidence. As he put it, he was “judging a book by its cover.”

In truth, I’m neither righty nor lefty; I’m right-wing on Israel, left-wing on social issues. I’m pro-choice (for America), and against prayer in America’s public schools. On the other hand, I’m very much in favor of a robust foreign policy that includes the right of pre-emptive strikes. Frankly, I'd like to see a president who understood the meaning of the word nuance.

But that’s not the point. I want to know what “cover” it was that led this congregant to think of me as a George Bush conservative. My velvet yarmulka and black hat? Perhaps. But I suspect it was my beard.

I dislike my beard - it itches, it gets unkempt, I sometimes have to clean food from it. More to the point, a beard is an immediate turn-off to some people. I once shaved it off a few years ago after sefirah, and I remember how differently I was engaged in stores. It darkens my face and presents a certain stiffness. My wife dislikes my beard, too; she’d rather I got rid of it.

So why don’t I shave it? Because it’s hard to be taken seriously in the Orthodox rabbinic world if you don’t have a beard. Officiating at a wedding, interacting at a kashrus convention, taking care of a funeral - in short, in any circumstance where you encounter people you’ve never met before - they will make certain assumptions based on your beardedness, or lack thereof.

They’re not wrong, in my opinion - there are halachic sources on beardedness (beyond הדרת פנים זקן), and those sources do favor maintaining facial hair. Further, I do find that lack of a beard is often associated with a certain degree of non-seriousness in a rav. In some it’s also a sign of an overly energetic desire to be more modern and ‘with-it.’

So I keep it, under protest. But I wonder what I could accomplish without it.

Rabbinic Grief

I think congregants have a hard time dealing with rabbinic grief. No, not the grief the rabbi gives you for not coming to minyan; the grief the rabbi feels upon bereavement. Yes, this is going to be a serious post; feel free to skip a couple of posts down and read about Mark Messier instead.

Seventeen years ago, at this time of year, I lost a close friend. Every year, just before Rosh Hashanah, the memory comes back to me as clear as yesterday.

I remember the fun things we did together. I remember how he surprised me with his depth and energy when I was first getting to know him. I remember how I respected him. I remember how he simultaneously respected me and yet treated me as “one of the guys.” I remember how he was fiery, and yet he pursued peace. I remember how he hated committees, but he wanted to work for the greater good. I remember how he was simultaneously arrogant and humble, brazen and romantic. I remember how he wanted to learn topics from scratch, starting with the bare bones sources and working his way up.

I remember how he died and how I got the news while officiating at a bat mitzvah and how broken I was, a young rabbi just getting started, crushed in so many ways by the loss. Muddling through Slichos and Rosh Hashanah and Tzom Gedalyah and Shabbos Shuvah and Yom Kippur and Succos and Hoshana Rabbah and Shmini Atzeres and Simchas Torah because there was no choice.

And I remember how no one (outside of my wonderful family) knew what to say to this mourner-who-was-not-a-mourner, the rabbi who couldn’t really show how much this particular death meant because that would insult the families of others who had died and for whom the rabbi had not gone into extended mourning, the officiant for whom the show had to go on, who had to deliver a hesped, who didn’t have the option of passing it off on other people to sing the Kel Malei Rachamim.

Part of it was that few people had realized how close we were.

Part of it was that I felt myself the imposter; what could my loss be, compared to that of his parents, siblings, wife and children? I was embarrassed by my tears, and worried that they were an affront to the closest victims.

Part of it was just that people didn’t know what to say. Who comforts the comforter, and how? And, of course, guys don’t really hug, and women are automatically held at a distance, so the physical comfort of an embrace was not to be found.

I still cry over it. I’ve never gotten past it, never achieved that elusive closure toward which I try to guide others. I’ve never developed another friendship like that one, and as I near “The Golden Years” I doubt I ever will.

I’ve buried a lot of people in my years in the rabbinate, and I cry every time. I’ve never been able to build the wall that might protect me from the loss - and I know that’s a good thing, it helps the families I work with. But on some days I long for that wall, and wish I could put it up for just a little while. Especially at this time of year.

Darfur

Darfur is in the headlines again, with the release of Paul Salopek, an American journalist, from a jail there. The reactions when you talk about Darfur in shul are interesting.

The humanists are thrilled; part of me feels like I'm pandering to them when I bring it up, it makes them so happy. Rashi on the parshah, eh. Ramban? Interestzzz... Darfur? Did someone say DARFUR? Now we're talking!

I remember a rabbinic interview when I was first starting out, when someone asked me how often I'd speak about current events. I grew up with a rabbi who always spoke about current events and I wasn't such a fan of the style, so I told him it would be infrequent, maybe once a month. He was not pleased.

On the other hand, there's a large group in the shul who feels like talking about Darfur is, well, pandering to the humanists. They'd rather hear a nice dvar torah about the parshah, an insight into why Pasuk X and Pasuk Y are not in conflict. But I feel like they need to hear the Darfur piece.

Some point out that no one in Darfur is looking out for Israel's benefit, so why should we focus on their benefit? I enjoy shaking them up every once in a while on that point; my achrayus is not dependent upon the conduct of others. Kovrin, mevakrin, mefarnisin, as the gemara in Gittin says. (Don't get me into a discussion about moridin v'lo maalin; I'm quite aware of the issue.)

So every once in a while I throw in Darfur to rattle one group... and I use Ramban to rattle the others. It's good to shake things up a little.

Playing wounded

I admire athletes who play through pain. From Mark Messier to Willis Reed to Curt Schilling to the fictional Rocky Balboa, their displays of heart give me an adrenaline rush every time I think about what it means for them to skate another shift, run out on the court, stand on the mound and stay in the ring, defying their own bodies.

As a rabbi I don't get the chance to display my remarkable slap shot, outstanding jump shot, deceptive curveball and powerful left hook too often. My opportunities for heroics are more subtle, but I take them when I can get them.

So when I came down with bronchitis on Friday, coughing and snuffling and aching my way through the day, there was no way I was going to succumb. Cue the dramatic music... Time to play through the pain. Speeches, laining, classes and counseling, I can do it all. Repeat after me: No pain! No pain!

Sylvester Stallone, eat your heart out.

The Rabbi's Action Hero Complex

Halachic considerations limit severely which movies I can see, in terms of content, timing and even venue. Occasionally, though, I do see a movie.

So here's the list of the most recent 4 movies I've seen: Superman Returns, Batman Begins, Star Wars III, Spiderman. And I'm hoping to see Invincible. And my favorite film is Rocky.

What does that say about my fantasy life?

Delegating

One of my favorite songs is Superman, by Five for Fighting (a great name for us hockey fans). “I’m only a man in a silly red sheet / Digging for kryptonite on this one way street / Only a man in a funny red sheet / Looking for special things inside of me.” I can relate to that sentiment; on so many days I feel like I’m trusted to provide great counsel despite the fact that I’m just a pretender to the throne of greater predecessors.

This afternoon was like that. I can’t even talk about most of what happened, for my own anonymity as well as for the anonymity of the people with whom I dealt today. But one interaction revolved around the difficulty of delegating - a top-flight volunteer came to me for advice on how to deal with having too many responsibilities, and having assistants who don’t work well with him.

I am probably the last person you should ask about delegating; I’m horrible at it, mostly because I fall into the trap of thinking it’ll be easier and more efficient to do the whole job myself. That approach sacrifices long-term success for short-term goals, I know, but I have all the patience of a three year old with his eye on a cup of chocolate milk.

So my volunteer turned to me for advice, and I offered the best wisdom I could provide. I pointed out that he’s doing an amazing job (and that’s an understatement), I offered some advice on how to get others to help, I suggested allowing autonomy to some of the volunteers and just plain saying No to certain things. Most of all, I listened. I hope it helped.

I suspect I am part of the problem; I take my volunteers for granted all too often. Part of that is due to my paycheck. Granted I’ll never be paid enough for all the time and sweat and stress I put into things, and granted I volunteer for things that are nowhere near the job description - but I’m not a volunteer. I take these jobs as a matter of course, and I suspect I often take the volunteers as a matter of course, too. Yes, I try to tell them how much I appreciate what they do - and I appreciate it a ton and then some - but there are a lot of different sectors, and a lot of different volunteers, and I know I miss some.

Yet another thing I wasn’t taught to handle in rabbinical school. I guess it’s supposed to come with common sense (which my parents always told me I didn’t have).

Cheerful

Someone asked me the other day why I was suddenly so cheerful; they thought it was unusual.

Boy, was that depressing.

My problem with Dr. Dorff’s logic on ordination, Part II

I’ve been re-reading my original post on the proposed change in the Conservative stance on ordaining homosexual rabbis, and I don’t think my original words conveyed my problem.

Let’s start with a core premise with which I think everyone agrees: There is no prohibition against experiencing homosexual desires; the only prohibition is against homosexual activities. It should follow from there - I think - that homosexual rabbis may be ordained if they commit to follow halachah.

If this is correct, then nothing has stopped any group from ordaining “homosexual rabbis” until now. The question was really about ordaining rabbis who would not follow the group’s definition of prohibited sexual behavior - a question that had nothing to do with homosexuality. The same question would apply to rabbinical candidates who refused to keep the group’s definition of kashrut.

If so, then Dr. Dorff’s position simply expands the pool of prospective homosexual rabbis, by permitting more activities.

Now, Dr. Dorff has written here that his motivation is to promote monogamy (as a moral and medical good) among Conservative homosexual men and women. The logic is that permitting homosexual couples will encourage the forming of such couples.

Given that the above is accurate, I have two problems:

1. Frankly, I doubt that homosexuals who ‘played the field’ until now will suddenly settle into monogamy because the Conservative movement declares it legit; those who cared about the Conservative stance beforehand would not have been the type to ‘play the field.’

2. But more to the point - how will permitting ordination for homosexuals who pledge to follow this new definition promote monogamy?

Elul, Part I

Ever since I straightened out in yeshiva, I’ve had a pretty tame list of apologies for Yamim Noraim. I've made berachos without concentrating. I haven’t shown proper respect to my parents. I've upset my wife. This year’s list is like that, much the same as last year’s and the list from the year before.

And then I have an incident like this morning, when a woman (not from my shul) came to me to discuss what happened between her and a married man (also not from my shul).

And I hear about many of the supposedly hidden vices people have, in my unanticipated role of "father confessor" (abba confessor?).

And I hear about the scandals (although I retain the dan l’kaf zchus component as long as is reasonable) involving rabbis and rebbeim, in particular.

And then I look at the statistics for some of the crazy things people are doing.

And I wonder how I went from being a heckraiser to being the world’s last goody-goody. And I wonder what Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur are like for everyone else. And I wonder, just a little, a tiny, infinitesimal, batel b’shishim bit, what I’m missing. (And then you ask why I have to be anonymous? Honesty has its price.)

Question for the Rabbi: Do you have to add wondering to the Elul list now? (Perhaps; see Rosh Hashanah 3b, and more importantly Kiddushin 40b on toheh al harishonos…)

To be continued…

My friend in the hospital, part II

Went to see my friend in the hospital this morning - the one I rushed back to see last night, as per my post here.

His son came in while I was there this morning. It was bad; as wonderful a human being as the father is, that's how rotten the son is. I don't understand what went wrong there but, frankly, that's one of the reasons I wanted to rush back yesterday - I know how he can be.

Anyway, wow - was he ever rude. I sometimes forget how explicitly rude people can be, because it's rare that people are overtly obnoxious to a rabbi (behind my back is another story). He read me the riot act because people knew his father was in the hospital, as though it's my fault his father is immensely popular. Then he ushered me from the room.

Dan l'kaf zchus - maybe it's the tension of having his father in the ICU. Or maybe he was just having a bad morning. Or maybe he was annoyed that my kids drew pictures for his father.

Doesn't matter; to quote Chumbawumba, "I get knocked down and I get up again." Just smile and nod. I've been doing this a long time.

Or to quote my all-time favorite cinema hero, Rocky Balboa: "I didn't hear no bell." Gd-willing, I'll be back tomorrow for another round. Don't worry, I'll play nicely.

Conservative Movement Seen Ending Ban On Gays

Note 9/5/06: I have been reconsidering this post; after reading this post, please see my revised thoughts here.


First, see the Jewish Week article here.

Second, note that I’m not going to discuss the halachic aspects of the issue here. I’m never going to agree with Dr. Dorff’s remarkable reasoning on Jewish law in general and on this issue in particular, and I bring up the issue here in order to discuss a separate matter that emerges from his stance.

If Dr. Dorff’s argument is as presented in the Jewish Week - and there are no guarantees here, but JW's take does seem to match what he wrote at this page - then I must admit that I don’t understand his core logic on permitting ordination.

His thesis appears to be:
Premise: The Torah prohibits only one specific sexual act.
Conclusion: Ordination may be extended to homosexual people.

But the premise should lead to the following conclusion: Ordination may be extended to homosexual clergy if those clergy will not participate in that prohibited sexual act.

This seems especially clear given the following statement from the Jewish Theological Seminary’s Rabbinical School website:
The ideals and practices of Conservative Judaism are an integral part of the lifestyle and program of The Rabbinical School. All students in The Rabbinical School are expected to be committed to and live an observant Jewish life. Standards of personal and professional conduct and interpersonal relations are a significant part of the tradition to which the school is committed. Accordingly, the dean of The Rabbinical School reserves the right to deny admission, registration, readmission or ordination to any student who in the judgment of The Rabbinical School faculty committee is determined to be unsuitable to the profession of the rabbinate.

Yet Dr. Dorff doesn’t present this requirement. Why not? What happens when a JTS rabbinical candidate proclaims publicly that he practices the prohibited sexual act? If the goal is to maintain a loyalty to Jewish law, then Dr. Dorff should be consistent with his view of what Jewish law says.

On the other hand... if the goal is really to shed the unpopular homophobia label, then Dr. Dorff's logic (if not his halachic reasoning) makes sense. But then that reason should be acknowledged as the true motivation.

And then the logical next questions:
1. What other labels should be shed, and when?
2. If Dr. Dorff's view of Jewish Law can be abrogated in order to justify ordaining even those who violate his minimalist interpretation, then is there any limit on the potential changes?

Also worth reading on this issue: Cross-Currents.

Today

Had a terrible experience today, one that I’d wager every rabbi with a few years in the saddle is quite familiar with. I was attending a family wedding and received a phone call right before the chuppah, letting me know that a congregant was in intensive care at our local hospital. I’m a good three hours from home, chuppah about to start; what do I do?

There’s more to it. The patient is one of my favorite people in the entire world. Rabbis aren’t entitled to favorites, but he is, so there. Probably the warmest, sweetest, most sincere person I’ve ever met, and I’ve known a few. Loves my kids, they love him. I can’t say enough wonderful things about him.

And he’s intubated in the ICU. And I call three doctors I can think of who might be at the hospital today, and can’t reach any of them. And I call the nurses’ station in the ICU and wait ten minutes for them to locate his son, and they hang up without ever getting back on the line.

But it’s a family wedding, which means a lot of hurt feelings if we pack out. My kids have been promised french fries, and they did make it through a long drive to get there, not to mention the long drive we’re anticipating on the way home. And they never see their great-grandmother. And the baby isn’t going to like being juggled around this way. And I, as the rabbi-in-the-family, have key chuppah and sheva berachos roles to play. And the mitzvah of simchas chasan v’kallah (gladdening newlyweds) is huge; cf Shabbos 150b, Megilah 29a, Kesuvos 17a. And there’s a kiruv element involved. And I like them.

So we stuck it out for a couple of hours, and I did my best to be jovial. Was I convincing? Probably not for those who know me better, but what can you do? Like I said, I did my best. Then we skedaddled back to town to check on my friend. Think of him when you daven for kol she’ar cholei yisrael.

The High-Priced Holy Days

Seen on Jewish Jokes:

The rabbi is speaking to his lower East Side congregation and he says, "with Hashem's help we shall walk but first, we must crawl." The congregation replies to the rabbi with exclamations of "ahmein Rabbi, im yirtze Hashem we shall crawl."

The rabbi then says, "And soon we will, run but before we can run, with Hashem’s help, we must first walk.” Again, the pious members of the minyan all reply, "im yirtze Hashem, we shall walk."

The rabbi then works himself into a rhetorical frenzy as he exclaims, “And we shall reach the promised land. Hashem shall provide but first we must run.” The ecstatic congregation gleefully shouts back “Ahmein rabbi, we shall run. Im yirtze Hashem, we shall run."

The rabbi concludes his sermon by stating, "And we will reach that promised land if you dig deep into your hearts and checkbooks and make a generous pledge to the building fund!!" The congregation then replies, “Crawl Rabbi, crawl. Im yirtze Hashem, we shall crawl."

At the start of Kol Nidrei on Yom Kippur night we say אנו מתירין להתפלל עם העברינים, “We permit prayer with those who have sinned.” The tradition goes back to ancient times, when people who sinned grievously were cast out of the community; these people were welcomed back for the Day of Atonement. It’s a wonderful concept, marred only by the little fact that - at least in official policy - we only welcome in people who can afford tickets. Junk bond kings and options manipulators? Come on in! Pious people who can’t pay? Fuggedaboudit!

I remember a priest who, when told that Jews needed to get tickets to attend shul services, thought I was joking with him. His church is straining to get people in the door, not to lock them out!

Of course, in my shul anyone with a tale of woe can evade the cost of membership or a guest seat by coming to the soft touch rabbi (that would be me). And, in truth, even paying doesn’t have to be that expensive; people can become members and pay what they can afford, making appropriate arrangements with the shul finance committee. So it’s not really as bad as it sounds.

But BOY does it sound bad. All the anti-Jewish cliches come to mind: cheap, penny-grabbing, you name it. Want to come pray for Divine forgiveness? Sure, just join our synagogue. Or, prove you’re a member elsewhere and fork over some change for a guest seat. Frankly, it makes me want to flip over the table of the money-changers, if I didn’t think that might lead to Crusades a millenium later. I don’t charge families even for time-consuming things like teaching bar mitzvah leining and handling funerals/weddings (donations gratefully accepted, though), because I can’t stand the idea that people in need of religious services should go broke.

But: Paying for Judaism is old news, as old as Jewish communities and the half-shekel collection. The Gemara (Yoma 35b) tells of the great Hillel being locked out of the beis medrash [Study Hall] because he couldn’t afford the entry fee! So what’s been the justification all these centuries?

I think we haven’t looked at dues and tickets as charging for a religious service; we’ve looked at it as supporting the community. If no one pays, who’s going to cover the utility bills? The mortgage? The repair bill for the roof? The kiddush costs (especially high on Yom Kippur, of course)? The exorbitant salary that pays for my Lamborghini, second home and twice-annual vacation? We charge for tickets as a way of enforcing community on each citizen, whether he’s ready for areivus or not.

But times they are a-changin’ in two major ways:

Post 19th century Europe we no longer have an all-encompassing, self-governing Jewish community. There is no king granting the Jewish council the right of self-government and self-taxation. Civil marriage is readily available (outside of Israel, a topic for another time), and ex-communication in our communities is a joke. Shul presidents are taking a long time to catch up with reality, but no one really must join the Jewish community anymore unless they want to. So you can’t impose a fee like this; people will just opt out.

Second, Chabad and the breakaways have changed the way the game is played. Armed with hundreds of millions of dollars to fund their institutions, with grants to cover every kind of program their shlichim run, Chabad has no need to charge dues. Small breakaway synagogues don’t charge either, since their costs are low and what they really need is attendance. The result is that synagogues selling tickets lose a lot of people to the free Chabad or breakaway down the block.

So I’m of the feeling that ticket fees are going to go the way of the babirusa in a generation or so, if that long. Perhaps they’ll be replaced by some new fundraiser. Perhaps they’ll be replaced by community philanthropists who want to see free services for all who desire it. Or perhaps they’ll just cut my salary. Stay tuned!