A PR Push for Orthodoxy, Part II

As I re-read my post from Friday, I'm surprised by its stridency and self-importance. I suppose it comes from general frustration, and a couple of recent local events.

Over Shabbos I looked at an old Tradition, from Summer 1998, which ran a symposium on "The Sea Change in American Orthodox Judaism." I was struck by the fact that several writers wrote what I said on Friday, albeit more eloquently.

Rabbi Ilan Feldman writes about it in the context of "haredi" and "centrist" Orthodoxy and the way they relate to each other:
It is bothersome, therefore, that the one expression of Judaism that believes quite literally in Maimonides' twelfth principle of faith and awaits redemption from this physical and spiritual exile appears in its public forums, statements, and actions, to be so smug. Where is the humility, contritition, anxiety, and soul-searching of a group which states regularly before G-d that its exile status is, to a large degree, its own fault?...
What causes consternation is the tenor of the discussion. It is not just that it is not mentshlekh; it is that it reveals an arrogance and a closed-mindedness inconsistent with a spiritual persona. Such things brought us into exile.

Rabbi Daniel Lapin writes about the need to market Orthodoxy:
We could focus on demonstrating the authenticity of Orthodoxy rather than on claiming it. How? By focusing on kiddush HaShem. I am wondering whether we shouldn't try to beef up our kiddush HaShem commitment a bit. Couldn't we perhaps implement Abaye's approach in Yoma (see my last post), "How woeful is the condition of people who have never studied Torah?" Couldn't we demonstrate the corollary - that life with Torah is just better?

There were others, too. The theme is old. Frankly, the datedness of the theme bothers me, too; if great minds, people in positions of authority, recognized the problem and identified solutions long ago, why are we still in this boat?

The names on that Tradition magazine read like a roll call of philosophical movers and shakers in the centrist Orthodox world (titles excluded for space, not for lack of respect): Yitzchok Adlerstein, Marc Angel, David Berger, Rivkah Blau, Judith Bleich, Mordechai Breuer, Ephraim Buchwald, Reuven Bulka, Alfred Cohen, Ilan Feldman, Victor Geller, Menachem Genack, Hillel Goldberg, Matis Greenblatt, Rafael Grossman, Samuel Heilman, David Horwitz, David Klinghoffer, Daniel Lapin, Sol Roth, JJ Schacter, Marvin Schick, Mayer Schiller, David Shatz, Shubert Spero, Pinchas Stolper, Moshe Tendler, Berel Wein, Noach Weinberg, Avi Weiss, Joel Wolowelsky, Walter Wurzburger, Michael Wyschogrod.

These are people I respect, rabbis of congregations, teachers and professors, presidents of organizations, major writers and thinkers. And eight years ago they sat down and analyzed the state of American Orthodoxy, and not a few of them saw the same PR problem and its importance, and not a few of them saw the smugness and arrogance and understood its effect, and not a few of them saw that it is our job to stem the tide of secularism and reach out, and not a few of them identified positive steps for change.

And yet, here we are, still in the same boat. Rabbi Noach Weinberg wrote in that journal, "If 20,000 Jewish kids were being killed each year, we'd be jolted into action and launch a movement to save them. We'd take anyone committed onto our team, no questions asked. Why would we even consider divisiveness at a time like this?" He was speaking of divisiveness within the Orthodox community, but his focus, like mine here, is on the problem in the greater Jewish community and the need for us, Orthodox Jews, to reach out to others. And the need continues to grow.

Please find a way to show the world what it means to be an Orthodox Jew; let there be no excuse for the survival of stereotypes.
Please publicize the positives of our identity and our community.
Please become involved with the larger Jewish community; join your Federation/UJC/UJA/JCC board, for example.

Enough of the blind defensiveness, enough of the smugness. It's an עת לעשות, this is a time of crisis, we ought to be in crisis mode.

And here I am, all worked up and strident and self-important again. Oh, well; such is the situation. Sometimes crisis demands a calm approach, but when dealing with a sleeping population, crisis first demands stridency. And I am no one of huge importance, certainly in my anonymous state... but במקום חילול ה' אין חולקים כבוד לרב, we don't say 'After you' when dealing with Chillul HaShem. So, self-important and strident, let me add my voice to the mix.

A PR Push for Orthodox Jews

I don’t do politics, as has been noted. And I don’t claim to have any of, let alone all of, the answers. But allow me this one observation on the global Orthodox community, please.

I, along with a good 99% of the rest of the Jewish world have long been frustrated with Israel’s public relations activity, or lack thereof. Time and again we have grumbled about blown opportunities and opposition spin.

Well, at this point I’m almost equally frustrated with the public relations of the global Orthodox community – in America, in Israel, in Europe, you name it.

Our communal organs, from the Agudah to YU to ZOA, from Brooklyn to Yerushalayim, act with such total disinterest in מה יאמרו הגויים, in what the world will think, that it’s shocking. On issue after issue, from Kosher schechitah to metzitzah b’peh to sexual abuse, our putative spokesmen speak as though all the world ought to be honored to be their friends, as though “winning hearts and minds” is for sissies, and then cannot understand why there is backlash.

Mind you, I’m talking about PR, not about substance - we can and must advertise our successes to the world. And when we disagree, we ought to explain ourselves. Not with pap resolutions, but with real dialogue.

Examples:
Do you really believe there is no problem of sexual abuse? You’re entitled to think that – but at least do an investigation and address the issue openly, so that you’ll be able to show the world you’re right!
Do you really think Israel is wrong for Disengagement? Then get out there and argue the point in a civil, clearly worded manner, without name-calling and ad hominem!
Do you really want the world to understand that the Orthodox community is a bastion of Chesed? Then show them!
We cannot take the support of others as a given; we need to earn that support.


A Reform rabbi recently forwarded me the following fascinating email from the Reform “Ten Minutes of Torah”, written by Marc Rosenstein:
This year, as part of a larger event at our seminar center, a number of people signed up for a workshop exploring possibilities for those who define themselves as secularists to find meaning in the High Holy Days...
Not surprisingly, in the discussion of repentance and introspection, the comment was made that the problem with the Orthodox is that they are obsessed with ritual technicalities - but don't seem to care about moral behavior. This is a common sentiment among non-Orthodox Jews of all types, and one which the popular media do everything they can to reinforce... [T]here is something self-serving and self-righteous - and, it seems to me, unfair - in the glib assertion that the Orthodox, and especially the ultra-Orthodox, are somehow less moral than the rest of us, that hypocrisy is somehow built-in in the halachic system. Given the centrality of morality in halachah, and the time-honored and well-developed institutions of social welfare in the Orthodox community (see the recent, popular Israeli movie Ushpizin), it seems odd that so many Jews have adopted the anti-Semitic stereotype of ultra-Orthodox Jews as mean-spirited and dishonest.

Give the author credit for his ensuing defense of Orthodoxy – but there really shouldn’t be any way for people to make those claims about us. It’s not true! But the world has to see it, and we don’t let them see it.

One might argue that the Orthodox world is not suited for PR, that we are more concerned with substance than style. This is flat-out wrong. Witness the words of Yoma 86a (Bach’s edition):
‘v’Ahavta Es HaShem Elokecha’ – That the name of Heaven should be caused to be loved, by your hand. That you should read and study and serve Torah scholars and deal with others honestly. That your speech should be gentle with Gd’s creations.
What do people say about such a person? Fortunate is his father who taught him Torah, fortunate is his teacher who taught him Torah. Woe to those who have not learned Torah. So-and-so who learned Torah, see how pleasant are his ways, how refined are his deeds!
Regarding him the pasuk says, ‘And Gd said to me, You are My servant, Israel, in whom I am glorified.’

This is the definition of Kiddush HaShem, and its opposite is Chillul HaShem. Chillul HaShem is a yeiheg v’al yaavor, we must be killed rather than create it!

Hear the Gemara’s definition of Chillul HaShem, and wonder at the actions of so many of us:
One who reads and studies and serves Torah scholars, and whose commerce is not honest, and whose speech with Gd’s creations is not gentle, what do people say about him? Woe to so-and-so who studied Torah, woe to his father who taught him Torah, woe to his teacher who taught him Torah. So-and-so who learned Torah, see how corrupt are his deeds and how ugly are his ways! Regarding him the pasuk says, ‘It was said to them, This is the nation of Gd, and they departed His land.’

It is time for Orthodox Jews, both in their private lives and in their public institutions, to let the world see the beauty of the lives they lead.

I’m talking about joining the boards of Jewish community institutions, wherever mutar, increasing our visibility in the greater world. It’s harder to hate us, once you know us.
I’m talking about publicizing our Gemachs and Bikkur Cholim and Chesed Committees, so that people can see the lengths to which we go to help others.
I’m talking about using our tzedakah to help all Jews, in mutar ways.
I’m talking about advertising our successes in the Jewish newspapers that are so often our enemies – you know who they are, and you know the names of their reporters. Contact them for the positive stories, and let them hear about it.

In my community this is the norm, I'm glad to say and I thank G-d that my predecessor was wise enough to start the ball rolling in this regard. But it's not the norm in a whole lot of other places I've seen.

Kiddush HaShem is not optional, folks. Let’s get to it, please.

Update: Part II on this may now be found here.

Conversion V

(Side note: Overheard from my daughter last night: "My Abba knows everything, because he's a Rabbi." As long as she's talking about me and not any other rabbi, that's great...)

I wish I could say that the entire Jewish community fulfills "va'Ahavtem es hager" - "You shall love the convert" - as well it fulfills kashrus, Shabbos, etc. Reality, though, is somewhat different.

For some people it's a simple lack of empathy; they don't comprehend what others are feeling and what others have gone through. This, I'm glad to say, is relatively rare, but I still meet Jews who don't trust those who have converted, thinking that there must have been some secret ulterior motive involved.

For some it's a matter of personal insecurity, I suspect. These people wonder whether they would have made the same decision, and their self-doubt translates into hostility toward the source of that doubt. And they are further challenged by the way that many gerim take mitzvos very seriously, more seriously than those who have lived with mitzvos their entire lives. (cf Rashi and Tosafos on קשים גרים לישראל כספחת)

But for most offenders it's just a lack of sensitivity. They aren't trying to be rude, it just comes naturally. Like the person who asks at a Shabbos table, "So, what made you decide to convert?" as though that might not be a personal topic to the ger, who doesn't want it to be brought up in public conversation. Or asking the child of gerim, "So, what's it like to grow up with parents who are learning it all with you?" Or the all-time winner, "Is a cheeseburger/lobster/ham sandwich really good?"

When the gemara warns about the special sensitivity of those who convert, it's building on the few dozen times the Torah reiterates its concern for the ger and G-d's love for the ger. The Sefer Chasidim goes further and writes that G-d loves the ger more than the born-Jew, how do you like that? Saying, "I wasn't thinking" isn't a valid defense; as the gemara notes, אדם מועד לעולם, a person is always responsible for the results of his actions. Insensitivity = carelessness.

Further: Many Jews aren't aware of how many people around them are gerim, and so they speak insensitively. This is also not acceptable; we are responsible to be careful at all times.

In truth, this problem isn't with most of us. Most Jews, in my experience, are sensitive, and are positive in their approach to gerim and non-gerim, and for that matter to Jews and to non-Jews. The problem, as always, is that the insensitive ones are the loudest and the stick out the most.

Which just means that the rest of us have to re-double our efforts to educate, and to make sure our sensitivity shows. 'nuff said.

Conversion IV

They say it's hard to be a Jew. That may or may not be true, depending on your point of view - but it's certainly expensive to be a Jew (kosher food, meat/dairy/Pesach dishes, tuition, summer camp, Shabbos clothing, sefarim, supporting the local mikvah/eruv/school/shul, etc), and even more expensive to become a Jew.

Having a local Beit Din will save on travel expenses, but there's still a matter of finding a rabbi with whom to learn, getting a mohel for the males, mikvah fees, and the Beit Din's fee. This tab can run, easily, a sum of a few thousand dollars.

I try to make things somewhat easier, perhaps because I sympathize with the prospective gerim, perhaps because I'm just shy about charging; either way, I provide my services for free.

Still, it's expensive. I like the fact that it provides a barrier to test sincerity, but it feels odd to me for us to demand all these fees for conversion. It's reminiscent of cults stripping a person of his wealth, although I see the obvious differences.

One rabbi I know has a unique view on the costliness of conversion: It's for the ger's own good, since he needs to know what's coming once he converts. Better for him to be prepared for the expensive life he is committing to lead.

There's a lot of merit to this position. We don't want to create gerim who then are supported by the community; the community has enough people to support already. What do you do if a family of 4 doing nicely on 70K per annum converts, and suddenly realizes that this 70K isn't going to cover their sudden tuition costs of 20K per year? Better for them to realize up front that this is an issue.

And yet, I return to my doubts. I think about the sincere candidate who has been learning for a year or more, who has absorbed concepts, who has braved the cynicism of relatives and the stares of insensitive people in shul, who has overcome my own skepticism and proved herself to the Beit Din - and who is then told, "Cough up $750 for the Beit Din's hour and another $100 for the Mikvah." It bothers me.

And still to come, the finale (?) in this series - Conversion V, Acceptance in the Jewish Community.

Conversion III

The biggest disqualifier for conversion applicants isn't sincerity or learning, in my experience - it's stability.

This shouldn't be a surprise; it's not for naught that chazal asked why anyone would want to join the Jewish people in their exiled state. Many of the people who come to me inquiring about conversion are people who don't fit well in their current environment, who are lonely, who see Jews as people who protect their weak and defenseless. Some of them are in failing family situations, some in failing economic situations, some in failing health situations.

Which puts me in an awkward position.

First, it's awkward because I am supposed to reject the candidates at first, and sometimes that's a dangerous thing to do. It's one thing to turn down a stable person; it's quite another to turn away someone who is emotionally, psychologically needy. So, of course, I try to channel them to social services that can help them, while discouraging conversion. But on the other hand, if I don't turn the candidate down clearly, I'm leading him/her on.

Second, it's awkward because they often come to me with good, legitimate questions about G-d, religion, Tanach, etc. I have a difficult time, personally, turning people away without addressing their issues. And yet, teaching Torah to akum is very difficult to justify.

Third, it's awkward because I don't know what they will do in response to rejection. Recently, a would-be candidate received an answer he didn't want from me. He then turned around and emailed an excerpt, with his unflattering comments, to a bunch of other people. Of course, this is a risk when dealing with anyone, but people who want to convert are different because they generally seem to have fewer inhibitions, once they decide to go elsewhere.

I'm currently handling a case that I think is unlikely to go anywhere, but the candidate is most persistent. It's unlikely because I think he's mostly coming to us out of loneliness, and if he meets a nice non-Jewish girl his fascination with conversion will end. On the other hand, he says all the right things and does all the right things. He hasn't given me a solid reason to reject him, yet. So for eight months I've been delaying, asking him to read books like Donin's To Be a Jew and to read the Chumash (following the Sridei Eish's famous kula), and discussing those books with him.

I feel like I'm leading him on, but I don't see an alternative. And so it goes.

And there's more. Coming Soon (bli neder) - Conversion IV - The Money issue.

Conversion, Part II

In my last post I talked about a conversion horror story. I could share more nightmares, but in truth there are good stories, too.

A local Russian family approached me about 8 years ago and explained that in the former Soviet Union, you were persecuted whether your father or mother was Jewish; the anti-Semites were progressive in their thinking. So the wife, whose father was Jewish, had thought she was Jewish as well. It was only after coming to America and starting to learn a little that they discovered the halachic reality of matrilineal descent.

Learning with the family for conversion was a remarkable experience for me. They had vanishingly little background, on either parental side. They had little reason to embrace Judaism. And yet, they did... and last year they made aliyah.

In a sense, a conversion process is like pregnancy (minus the physical pain and discomfort). You begin without a clue as to what is going to happen. You put in a lot of sweat, there's a lot of stress and worry. You wonder how they will turn out, and you wonder what you can do after the "birth" to guide them properly. And it takes many years for you to find out whether you succeeded.

I've had successes and failures. I've had to halt some in the middle, and the jury is still out on some. I'm in pain from some, and I look at others with pride. (No, there haven't really been that many; in some cases I have both success and failure, pain and pride!) But it's always an experience, and I always come out changed.

And there's more to say... look for Conversion III, coming soon...

Conversion

The gemara informs us, לא נגלו ישראל לבין האומות אלא כדי שיתוספו עליהן גרים - that we were exiled to live among the nations so that converts might be added to us.

Note that we are not to add them, ourselves; the language is distinctly that the converts might be added to us. They see our lifestyle, they like it, they come join.

But oy, what a nightmare this can be for a rabbi.

I found out a few weeks ago that a family I was involved with at the start of my rabbinic career, whom I had taught for conversion, has now left religious observance. I hadn't done the conversion itself; that was done by a highly reputable Beit Din. I have no doubts about the validity of the conversion. My problem is with the results.

This is a serious issue - we took people who could have lived perfectly good Noachide lives and we helped them become poorly observant Jews. I spent months and months on teaching them, building a relationship, that led to something that is bad for them and bad for the Jewish people as a whole.

I have a lot more to say on this, but I needed to get that off my chest. More later today or tomorrow, perhaps.

Blissfully concealing ignorance

Also in the news today, a woman had her daughter call me to ask a halachic question on her behalf.

My telephone conversation with the pre-teen girl (PTG) went something like this:

PTG: Asks question
Me: Thanks PTG for the question. Asks for clarification of a facet of the question.
PTG: "One minute." Audibly turns to mother and asks for clarification. Mother replies, also audibly. PTG comes back on the phone and relays mother's clarification.
Me: Asks for another clarification.
PTG: Again, "One minute." Audibly turns to mother and asks for clarification. Mother replies, also audibly. PTG comes back on the phone and relays mother's clarification.

Believe it or not, this woman's reluctance to ask isn't because of me. Don't assume it's because I'm an ogre who humiliates people for asking questions. I'm pretty sure I don't do that. Rather, knowing the woman who did this, I understand what's really going on: She's embarrassed to let on that she doesn't know the answer to a halachic question.

This is actually a pretty widespread phenomenon, I find. Many people are afraid that asking a question will betray that they don't know something, and that therefore they must have been doing things wrong for umpteen years, and no one should eat in their home because, clearly, they must be doing other things wrong as well.

It's silly, of course; my favorite answer is "I don't know; I have to look it up." If I can admit it, why can't you?

To which the answer is that I, as Rabbi, am not in a position to be threatened by others. There's nothing wrong with admitting ignorance. Besides, people just assume it's humility behind my "I'll look it up," and that I really do know the answer immediately.

So I played along with the PTG, the same way I play along with the "My friend asked me a question" scenarios. It's easy to play dumb when you really are...

"Ya got beat"

Tonight I am living through something every rabbi lives through at one time or another, and generally many times. The fact that I share this experience with other rabbis doesn't make it any less excruciating, though. Today, to channel the late Leo McGarry, I got beat.

To explain the title: את חטאי אני מזכיר היום - I must tearfully acknowledge that I have, at times, watched episodes of The West Wing. It's the only television show I've seen in I don't know how many years, and of course it's off the air now, but there was a time when I was קובע עתים for this show.

I recall one episode in which a character, I believe Josh, did something remarkably self-destructive, I don't recall what. He was miserable afterward, and rightfully so. And Leo McGarry, the sage, experienced politico that he is, says with disgust, "Ya got beat."

I got beat like a drum today.

It all started with a meeting that included a person, "John", with whom I was very upset over a week-old matter I shall call Incident X. The meeting meandered along for two hours, the topic was dull beyond dull, and the whole time I could only think about the item I was upset about. I was exhausted and tense, which didn't help me focus.

So when the point came, almost two grueling hours after we had begun, that Incident X became suddenly relevant to the meeting, I pounced like a dimwitted tiger. I mentioned Incident X - without naming John, of course, but still - and connected it to the agenda.

It was only after I finished talking that I realized how lame I sounded - that no one else saw the connection, and no one saw the relevance of Incident X. It looked like I was venting some personal frustration at a meeting that was already too long.

But that is not all, oh, no, that is not all. John was annoyed that I had brought up the story - and he waited and nailed me but good.

I was at a community event a few hours later, and I walked up to John to apologize and clear the air. Well, John took it upon himself to turn the conversation into a public incident, complete with bystanders listening in and looking on at what must have appeared to be an unseemly squabble involving the Rabbi, who is supposed to be, by trade if not by birth, unflappable.

In truth, as I type this I realize that tonight's altercation is not the end of the world. Rabbis have been beat worse; I've been beat worse. Tomorrow something else will make headlines, and the night the rabbi [apparently!] got into a vocal fight at a public event will be forgotten. It's not a big deal. But what hurts is that I got lured into being stupid for a night.

Mind you, it all starts with my being stupid enough to bring up Incident X at the meeting. So I'm upset at John for Incident X. And I'm upset at myself for getting myself into this mess by bringing it up at the meeting. And I'm upset at John for taking advantage of my stupidity tonight. And I'm upset at myself for getting so thoroughly taken.

And what's worse: I wish I had someone I could talk with about it, but I can't. Talked to the Rebbitzen, who rightly pointed out all the errors I had made to bring me to that place. Not much sympathy there. I suppose I could call up one of my rabbi friends to commisserate, but the whole thing is just too embarrassing right now.

I got beat. So what do you do? Not a thing. Can't take it back. Can't find all the witnesses and tell them they didn't see what they saw. Just get back in the saddle tomorrow and keep right on going.

Or tonight, actually; the night is still young!

Shemirah Bidrachim Insurance Policy

Received this in the mail the other day:

Dear Traveler,
For a minimal contribution to the yeshiva in Ashdod, Israel, two thousand children will recite Tehilin and additional special tefilos of protection for you and your family.
The purity and innocence of their Yiddishe neshamos infuse their piercing tefilos with the power to protect you and your family from harm.
The proceeds from every policy help pay for Rebbeim and needed services...
Ordinary insurance can provide financial insurance in case of an accident, but Shemirah Bidrachim has the power to prevent an accident from ever taking place.


On the surface it's like an Mi sheBeirach recited in the merit of tzedakah, as per Rosh Hashanah 3a, but it still seems odd. There's something troubling me about this, but I'm not sure what it is. Thoughts?

The Greatness of Aharon haKohen

You know the story brought in Avos d'Rabbi Nasan, you've heard it since you were a little kid: Aharon was such a pursuer of peace that when he heard two people, X and Y, were fighting, he went to X and told him that Y was miserable and upset and really wanted to make up, then he went to Y and told him the same thing about X, so that X and Y came together, embraced, and lived happily ever after. (Of course, on the sitcoms that never works...)

But I never understood why this made Aharon such a standout role model. I know people who go to great lengths to reconcile people all the time! Hey, I do it myself, as a rabbi; been doing it for years! So why does this story, of all stories, make Aharon the paragon of pursuing peace?

Something that happened a couple of weeks ago showed me the truth behind the story. I had a case of two quarreling parties, each one sure that he was right and the other was wrong. I set about to make shalom without alienating either of them, and found that the best way to do it was to sympathize with each side. That wasn't particularly hard; both of them made good points, even if neither one was 100% right. Then I explained to each one (separately, of course): The other party is too stuck in his position to bend, is being unreasonable, is a little crazy, etc, so couldn't you perhaps please bend just a little and agree to a compromise?

It worked; I made peace. But look at the difference between what Aharon did and what I did. I told each side that the other one was unreasonable, in order to coax them into civil behavior. That was the easy route; each side already believed the other one was unreasonable! I just took advantage of their preconceptions to draw them into compromise.

In contrast, Aharon managed to make peace positively, to say good things about X to Y and about Y to X, and so have them be civil with each other. How did he swing that? With his visible sincerity? With the purity of his neshamah? With his persistence? With his good looks? Who knows?

To my mind, that's what puts Aharon haKohen in his own league - he made peace, and he elevated people in the process.

Catch-22

I am cheered by the realization that there are those who handle the isolation of Position worse than I do. Joseph Heller is great for a reality check in many areas, but at the moment I'm thinking of Catch-22, Chapter Nine: Major Major Major Major.

Now, there's a guy who can write!

Please don’t break the rabbi

It’s rare, unfortunately, that a rabbi can find honest conversation; often, for legitimate reasons, people censor what they say when they talk to me. I’m not talking about omitting lashon hara; I’m talking about omitting jokes or some of the more personal conversation, because the rabbi is surely so busy that he can’t spare time for it. So I value the conversations that are more open, when people talk the way they would talk to anyone else.

Having said that, there are times when I wish people would censor themselves - specifically, when I’m too brittle for the things they want to say. Criticism comes in many forms, sometimes openly but more often disguised as sarcasm or a comment that could be taken multiple ways, and when I’m brittle I can’t deal with it, especially because I'm not allowed to respond in kind.

This past Friday I found myself - in the midst of kicking off an unusually, bizarrely hectic Friday-Shabbos-Sunday schedule - counseling in four separate bereavement cases and another three serious cancer cases, one of which involves a child. Most of the cases were new with Friday, too, and had come on with little-to-no warning, and were following on the heels of a lost pregnancy Wednesday and a heart attack hospitalization Thursday. I was a wreck by the end of the day.

Thank Gd, I got through Shabbos with only one, relatively minor breakdown (how can you sing Al haNisim while people you love are enduring what they are enduring, and not be affected?), but through the course of the day there were definitely a few comments I could have done without. Little sarcasms, usually harmless, but not so welcome today.

Of course, it’s not like I broadcast to people, “Hey, I’m brittle, treat me nicely today!” So I’m not blaming anyone. And tomorrow or the next day I’ll be over it.

I guess I’m just noting that when a rabbi talks to people, he is supposed to plan sensitively and consider their possible states of mind. Remember that your rabbi probably deals with days a lot like the one I had on Friday, and keep it in mind when you talk to him. Please don't break the rabbi. Thank you for your cooperation.

Storm coming

The pressure is building, with Shabbos, Chanukah, shul programs, community programs, hospitalizations and simchos converging. I wish I could say more, but anonymity warrants silence. But the barometer is rapidly rising; I can tell by the number of times I've checked, in the past hour, to see whether I've accomplished the same task.

And then, out of nowhere, I hear the perfect song for the day:
If there's one thing I hang on to,
to get me through the night,
I ain't gonna do what I don't want to,
I'm gonna live my life.
Shining like a diamond,
rolling with the dice,
Standing on the ledge,
show the wind how to fly.
When the world gets in my face,
I say, Have A Nice Day.

Not so rabbinic, but good enough for the moment.

"Shivah - The Game" ?!

I don't know what to make of this off of CNN's website, but I thought I'd share this excerpt:

Rabbi the star of new video game
POSTED: 10:50 a.m. EST, December 13, 2006
In the murder-mystery game named after the Jewish mourning ritual, protagonist Rabbi Stone is having a crisis of faith and his congregation on New York's Lower East side is losing members and cash.
When he inherits a small windfall from a controversial congregant, Rabbi Stone must solve the mystery behind the gift and make sure it is not cursed...

???

Kind of reminds me of the book I mentioned a couple of months ago, "Murder in the Minyan."

Taking membership personally

I think it's normal for rabbis to take membership - a person's decision to affiliate with the synagogue, or to leave a synagogue - personally.

Part of this is because the decision to affiiliate or disaffiliate reflects on the rabbi, even if the ex-congregant insists that his decision has nothing to do with the rabbi.

But the bulk of it is because rabbis develop strong feelings for their congregants, so that their decision to leave is painful, a real rejection.

Why do rabbis develop such strong feelings?
1. The nature of people who enter, and stay in, the rabbinate. You can't decide to invest your life this way unless you develop those kinds of bonds with people.

2. Investment in the congregants' spiritual well-being. Spending time thinking about their needs, not to mention teaching and counseling them, a rabbi comes to feel close to the congregants.

3. The emotions of experiences - Pride in the congregants' accomplishments, sympathy for their suffering, etc. Families develop a bond through their shared experiences over the years; rabbis and congregants go through deep experiences together, and the rabbi comes to feel a strong connection through those experiences.

4. Most of all: Cognitive dissonance, to justify the amount of time spent on congregants. If the rabbi didn't feel a strong bond with the congregant, he would resent the way the congregant's needs pulled him away from friends and family and hobbies.

I don't mean this in a creepy, rabbi-as-stalker way; if there are boundary issues, we have problems. But hopefully, your rabbi is healthily interested in, and invested in, the life of your family, and feels warmly toward your family.

So when a congregant leaves for reasons other than a move, it really hurts, and it's personal. It's a rejection of the investment, of the shared experiences, of the amount of time spent. I'm glad it happens only rarely to me, but when it does happen, it takes a toll.

Everything to everyone

I can't stop learning with people, and this is not a good thing.

When someone asks to learn with me, I can't say No. I've tried, but no sound comes out; I can't generate the word. Even when my rabbinate reaches the point of diminishing returns, so that I'm hurting more than I'm helping, I just can't do it.

The result is that I now learn with a half-dozen individuals on a weekly basis, aside from the classes and everything else. It's absurd; the time I am using to learn with people privately could be used to greater communal effect, but I can't stop.

Similarly, I teach a monthly class at a nursing home, and I can't stop. Every time I go I tell myself it's the last time, and then I can't bear to do it. It's not even as though they are learning so much; I've gone over old material quite a few times without sparking any comments about how we've done that before. But I can't do it.

Why? For three reasons.
One is the altruistic feeling that I can't withhold Torah from people who want to learn it.
Second, the direct impact I can have in learning one-on-one with someone is greater than the diffuse impact I'll have in working on a community initiative.
And the killer third factor: The ego bug that is forever threatening to eat me alive.

Everclear had it right - "You put yourself in stupid places, yeah, I think you know it's true." I do it to myself. I advertise that I'm available for one-on-one learning.

The Joy of Ex-Congregants

Let me say at the outset that I have very few living, local ex-congregants; it is rare that we've lost a family here.

But I had a family leave the shul three years ago, over a fight they had with a member of our executive board and a gabbai. It upset me no end at the time. This was a family with whom I had sat in hospital rooms, whom I used to call to wish a good Shabbos, whom I reminded of upcoming yahrtzeits, etc. I thought we were on pretty good terms. In fact, we were on good terms; they told me so when they left the shul.

So I was pretty upset, at the time. Since then I've gotten over it, reasoning that you can't win 'em all.

Then, the other day, I was at an event and they were there as well. I know they saw me; I caught them looking at me several times. They looked like they were feeling pretty guilty, which was fine with me. I opted not to go over to say Hello; let them stew in their guilt.

Growing numb

One of my standard rabbinic "al cheit" admissions, year-in and year-out is for Chanifah, Flattery. Not the compliments I love to give volunteers - who deserve all the compliments I can give and more - but rather the business of making nice to people who deserve derision.

Recently I attended an event honoring someone who decidedly deserves derision (alliteration alleviates my agony). Not only was I there, but I was introduced as a dignitary and shared a dvar torah. I clapped when he was honored. Chatasi, avisi, pashati.

He's not someone terrible; he's just a little... slimy. Says nasty things about people and institutions behind their backs, as I know he has done about me. Always looking to aggrandize himself. An insecure ego-feeder.

My rebbetzin criticized me for going (not to mention spending on an ad for the dinner journal), pointing out that I was contributing to this slimy person's ego fix.

In truth, I didn't "need to go" - it's not someone from my shul, and in truth the person doesn't really carry much political weight, if any. I could easily have skipped the event, maybe taking the ad but excusing myself from the event. So why did I go?

I think I went because I'm becoming numb to things like this. I don't hate the guy anymore; I feel sorry for him. Mind you, not so sorry that I won't pound him to a pulp if he ever messes with me again, but sorry in the sense that I can see through his actions and I understand the neediness beneath. It doesn't upset me anymore; I've grown numb.

On the way home I heard a line on the radio, courtesy of Three Days Grace. I strongly dislike the song, but the line is good: "I'd rather feel pain than nothing at all."

Numb is not good.

The effects of slang on games of Geography

I'm playing geography with our younger daughter, when she gets a "Y". She's stumped.

I whisper "Yugoslavia" to help her out. (Yes, I know it's no longer called that, but I'm stuck in the geography lessons of my youth.)
She says "Slavia."
I try again, wanting her to learn. "Yugoslavia."
She says "Slavia."

It took me three rounds to figure out what she was doing...

To tell a halachic lie

I was raised to tell the truth - always. My parents drummed it into me. I can’t lie; on the rare occasion I tried as a kid, blushing or stammering or eye contact or something gave me away. So I became a solid truth-teller in childhood.

Then I learned about the halachic system and I was introduced to a world of gray. To wit:
• We don’t tell lashon hara, other than in certain necessary cases.
• We don’t tell people things that will upset them, if there’s nothing for them to gain from it.
• We lie for the sake of maintaining peace, if no practical benefit would come from telling the truth.

Of course, there’s a degree of paternalism in deciding that people don’t need certain information, that we’ll just keep it to ourselves. Who am I to decide what others should and shouldn’t know? But that’s exactly the evaluation halachah mandates.

I faced one of the hardest such cases last Shabbos, and I had to lie. I still feel slimy from it… but I really didn’t have an acceptable alternative.

The Eruv had been checked on Thursday afternoon and we had done a major repair on Friday morning, but a sudden storm sprang up, with big wind gusts, in the last minutes before Shabbos. I came to shul Friday night with a bad feeling about the Eruv’s viability; based on history, I knew that the Eruv wouldn’t survive persistent high winds. I announced in shul after Maariv that if the wind kept up, people should assume that the Eruv was down.

Personally, I opted not to carry, and I explained that to the few people who asked what I was doing. So far, so good. I noted two downed trees on my way home from shul and felt I had made the right decision.

But the problem came the next morning. My wife stayed home with our youngest, and I needed to figure out what to tell people in shul - people who had brought baby carriages, either because they hadn’t been in shul Friday night or because they had gauged that the winds hadn’t been too bad. What do you say?

On the one hand, carrying in our area is a rabbinic prohibition at worst, so it would be a safek d’rabbanan, and the rule is that we are lenient in such cases, especially in cases of hardship. Let them carry, don't say anything!

On the other hand, people might want to know, and might be insulted if they knew I was hiding my concerns.

But back to the first hand - If those people wanted to take their babies and young children home after I told them I wasn’t carrying, wouldn't they be embarrassed?

And further, don’t we say מוטב שיהיו שוגגין - Better for people to violate the law accidentally, rather than intentionally? If the Eruv really was down and they carried, pre-disclosure their violation would be unintentional. I would be turning them into intentional violators.

So I lied and told them our youngest was sick. It was clearly the halachic thing to do. Further, there’s a happy postscript: When we checked the Eruv this week we found no damage attributable to that storm. It appears the Eruv was likely all right.

But I still feel guilty.

Freezing to the Eruv

If Richard Simmons sweated to the oldies, I freeze to the Eruv. At least, I did this morning; I was sure I was going to lose a finger or two while hammering staples into telephone poles.

In truth, I have great volunteers who do most of the legwork and some of the repairs on our Eruv, but most repairs end up with me - as they did this morning, in single digit temperatures. While working a song lurched into my head; here it is, with apologies to the Who. (For the original lyrics, click here.)

I know my version isn't great, or even terribly funny. I never promised this blog would be anything more than the thoughts in my head.

No one knows what it’s like
to be the Eruv man,
To be the Pole man,
Behind the Eruv map.

No one knows what it’s like
to be stared at,
to be questioned at,
while on a pole in someone’s yard.

But my goal
Is not as suspicious
As it sure must seem to be
I have poles, and a route,
A hammer and staples,
And pieces of lechi.

No one knows what it’s like
To freeze your fingers,
Or hammer them numb,
Just becaue I’m a Jew.

No one climbs up as high
on a ladder,
None of my fear of heights
Can show through.

But my goal
Is not as suspicious
As it sure must seem to be
I have poles, and a route,
A hammer and staples,
And pieces of lechi.

When my fingers freeze tight, crack them open,
Before I lose them to frostbite.
When I get annoyed with a passerby, tell me to be patient,
Before I get into a fight.
If I get stuck on a ladder,
Talk to me gently and calm me down.
If I have a shailah bring me a sefer,
Call a posek with a kula for my town.

No one knows what it’s like
to be stared at,
to be questioned at,
while on a pole in someone’s yard.

Training Bar Mitzvah Parents

I meet with Bar Mitzvah boys once each week to check their progress, teach new things and give assignments for next week. I'm talking to a parent on the day his son is supposed to meet with me, and he mentions that his son hasn't practiced at all since the last meeting.

Now, I always set down the rules at the start of the 'program': "You must practice in between meetings. Otherwise, there's no reason to meet." The kids know it, and the parents know it.

It's a matter of getting the job done efficiently.
It's a matter of teaching kids responsibility.
It's a matter of teaching the kids (and their parents) respect for my time commitment.

I favor a terse, cut-and-dry presentation, not long explanations or tirades. I figure a parent should be able to figure it out, or ask if he doesn't understand. So I told him, "I don't want to meet with him today; let's try next week."

I have to admit that I feel somewhat guilty, as though I should have given the kid a second chance or something... but why? It's not as though missing a meeting the week will kill his chances for learning the material in time, especially since he didn't study all week long. It's not as though I owe it to them; the kid didn't do his work, and the parent didn't do his job of making the kid do his work.

But I feel guilty anyway. Such is the life of a rabbi.

Rabbinic Conventions

Received a fax today from AJOP (Association for Jewish Outreach Programs), advertising their convention in January. Some of the programs look interesting. None about blogging, or at least none directly advertised as such (although one session is titled 'Google it: How the Internet has changed everything').

I'm of two minds about rabbinic conventions.

On the one hand, I view identification as a rabbi the way a middle-aged male views identification as a middle-age male. Where middle-aged males purchase sports cars and marry trophy wives, I shun the company of other rabbis and pretend I can be legitimately anti-Establishment. For my seating preference at dinners, I write 'Anywhere but the rabbi table', as though that will fool people into thinking I'm a regular guy.

On the other hand, I have to admit that I've benefited from conferences I've attended. Getting together with other men (rebbetzin conferences are a whole different discussion) who are focussed on the rabbinate can be inspiring, especially for a guy like me who sees others' success as a personal challenge. When I hear someone started a new program and got twenty people, I kick myself for not having thought of it first, and then I go out and do it.

It also puts me in place a little bit, reminding me that there are people who know more than I do; when you're the ראש לשועלים (head of the foxes) you tend to forget that there are lions way out ahead of you. It's good to spend some time re-orienting to the bigger world out there.

But then I think of the time lost, all the things that are going to pile up if I take time off...

Who knows? I may show up in Baltimore for the convention. If I do, you may get a report here.

All jobs have stress

Every once in a while (or more often) I tell my wife I'm ready to try a different career, at which point she reminds me that all jobs have stress. Stress is a part of life, and we need to learn to deal with it.

The rebbetzin is right, as always. And the truth is that there's a lot of satisfaction in doing what I do. But I must insist that this is not like most other jobs; the schedule is more demanding, and the audience/boss-contingent is larger.

Today was a typical day, and I actually feel pretty good about the way it went. Here's the schedule:

6:00 Wake up, exercise, shower, email
6:45 Shacharis
7:30 Email
7:45 Two Gemara shiurim (consecutive, not simultaneous)
9:00 Answer shailos, change timers for shul lights, prepare flyers
9:30 Meeting I - Tzedakah project
10:00 Meeting II - Community project
10:30 Teach weekly "Jewish Ethics" class
12:00 Teach monthly Bioethics class at local hospital
1:15 Update person who carelessly missed Meeting I
1:30 Say hello to Amazing Rebbetzin, Eat lunch
1:45 Answer emails, write Chanukah column for local newspaper
2:30 Start on derashah for Shabbos
3:15 Work on an internet Torah project I'm involved with
4:00 Minchah/Maariv, Mishnah class
5:15 Dinner, baths for kids, homework time
6:45 Teach weekly Gemara class
8:00 See 3:15 pm (after interlude to write this post)
10:00 Workout, read, sleep

And tomorrow will be much the same, as the schedule is shaping up.

This is what rabbis do; I'm nothing special, and not any different from the rest of the rabbinate. And there are other people who are similarly round-the-clock - mothers of young children, and hospital residents, for example.

I'm just saying that yes, I think the rabbinate is unique in its challenges, that's all.

(And maybe I'm whining just a little... indulge me, please.)

On Divine Tests

Orthomom posts a link to a remarkable, powerful letter that appeared in the Jewish Press, from an Orthodox man who is dealing with his homosexuality.

A few thoughts on the question of how G-d could test a person with this kind of practically impossible challenge:

1. The letter is remarkable and articulate, and I admire the writer. That said, and in no way to take anything away from him, one should not make the mistake of thinking its writer is unique. There are many in this situation who, like the writer, have not abandoned faith and who are working hour by hour, day by day, to manage a most difficult situation.

2. The writer says it is cruel to claim that change might one day be possible. I am not a JONAH fan, but I am in the camp that believes that homosexuality is a spectrum; even if change is not possible for that writer, this doesn't mean that change is impossible for all people with homosexual impulses.

3. The word "fair" is not relevant when describing a world which is designed to test us. Bereishis teaches us at the outset that life is meant to be filled with hard-to-impossible challenges; why else does G-d put the tree smack in the middle of the garden, point to it and say, 'Don't eat from this?' If you don't want them to eat then don't make the tree, or don't put it in the garden, or don't put it in the middle, or don't make it attractive, or don't allow the serpent to cold-call Chavah... Clearly, we are being taught a lesson: This world is filled with tests, and they aren't going to be balanced or straightforward.

4. Some things that happen to us are reward. Some things that happen to us are punishment. And some things that happen to us are neither; they are circumstances G-d has created for one reason or another.
The Gemara is filled with cases of this; cf בעון נדרים בנים מתים - It's not a punishment for the children, they are simply caught up in another circumstance. I could give dozens more cases. Things happen for reasons other than simple reward/punishment.
This is why it is rank foolishness to try to read events as reward or punishment; quite often, it's simply neither.

On a related note: Mali Brofsky writes in the latest edition of Tradition (Vol. 39 No. 3, pg. 21), “The fact that over the ages so many answers have been proposed to the question of theodicy ultimately testifies to the unsatisfying nature of most of them.” I cannot agree; there are many answers because there are many reasons for suffering, each reason native to its own case. Some suffering may be due to the generation, some due to relatives, some due to a test, some due to an entirely different situation that somehow impinges upon this person's life, etc.

5. Rav Tzaddok haKohen of Lublin commented in Tzidkas haTzaddik that one may indeed be faced with a test one cannot pass - but that since we don't know whether that's true of any specific test, we have to view all of our challenges as surmountable.

Discrimination

A local community leader (whatever that means) has protested that our mikvah should have a non-Orthodox contact person because non-Orthodox mikvah users "feel uncomfortable about calling an Orthodox woman" to set up an appointment.

I have no problem with the contact person being non-Orthodox, but that's not the point. Take out "Orthodox" and insert "African-American" or "lesbian" in there. Why is this acceptable? Why isn't it this community leader's job to tell those people to get over their prejudices?

This one is likely to blow my cover locally, but I'm too annoyed. Maybe I'll delete it tomorrow morning.

Stand by your volunteers

A good rabbi, not to mention a smart one, stands behind his volunteers. No, not far behind them - right behind them, supporting them. The customer may always be right, but the volunteer is always righter.

It's easier, though, when they do their jobs carefully, not opening themselves up to trouble.

Which, obviously, isn't what happened today.

Which is why I'm writing this note.

Because today I received a phone call from an irate cemetery visitor, who was upset that the graves next to her late husband's grave were all occupied. She was certain that when he bought the plots over thirty years ago he bought two plots, one for himself and one for her; so how could the second one be occupied?

I went back to my volunteers - who insisted that the husband only bought one plot. But no, they don't have any paperwork from the original purpose.

So now I have two sides, volunteer and consumer, neither of whom can substantiate a claim. About the only one with a claim is the corpse buried in that plot, not to be crude about it.

Letter of the law? My irate caller has no leg to stand on; you can't claim ownership of a plot without some form of documentation. You certainly can't demand we exhume a buried body on the basis of your word, alone. But it would have been a lot easier to make this case if the cemetery directors had bothered to maintain accurate records.

Oh, well. Guess that's why they pay me the big bucks...