Riding high, Falling low

Riding high is dangerous for a rabbi.

My first major lesson in this regard came after a Tishrei early in my career. It was Simchas Torah. I was exhilarated at having gotten through the long Yamim Tovim, and looking forward to a Shabbos out. I was really on top of the world. As I left shul I made an offhand comment to one of the shul’s teens about something he had done that was inappropriate. If I thought at all, I thought I was being amusingly jokey, in a teen kind of way. (I hadn’t been an ex-teen all that long!)

The next thing I knew, I had a long letter from the boy’s parents. I had really hurt the kid’s feelings, the parents were miserable. I was beside myself. Once they mentioned the event, it was obvious to me that I had messed up in a big way… but what could I do? Absolutely nothing, of course. Oh, I apologized. I spoke to the boy. I spoke to the parents. I wrote a letter. But the relationship was broken; it was never really the same again.

It happened in large part because I was riding high, feeling really good about how things were going and therefore being slipshod in my approach to relationships – never a good idea. It wasn’t arrogance; it was just stupid carelessness. I’m still seething over it.

I’ve done it again, several times, since then. It’s gotten so that I can tell when it’s going to happen; the warning signs are obvious. I’m really happy, things are going well, I start being less guarded on my speech, less careful about details, and then, boom, someone tells me about something remarkably dumb that I’ve done. Then it’s cleanup time, and careful humility is restored.

It’s going to happen to me again, soon. All the signs are there – Thank Gd, the shul is going well, I’ve had a string of recent political successes, I’m feeling great about the Renegade Rebbetzin’s post in praise of Rabbi Without a Cause, Rocky Balboa (aka Rocky VI) was one of the greatest movies I’ve ever seen, my one local friend has been friendly lately… things are just too good. And I’ve already come close to political error a couple of times in the past few days. I’m going to fall soon, it’s only a matter of time.

And, of course, stay tuned so that you’ll know when it happens.

WOW

Wow. I was going to sit down and write a post about tying tzitzis strings for people, when I noticed some unusual names in my email. The joys of sitemeter took me back to this post at the Renegade Rebbetzin... and Wow.

I am so completely unworthy of the praise heaped upon me by the esteemed Renegade Rebbetzin here. It almost makes me wish I wasn’t anonymous, so that people could read her post and know that it was me, yes, me, being described in such glowing terms.

To address the content itself:
My blog is entirely not what the RenReb herself would write were she a male.
First, I am not nearly witty enough. Not even close. Not in the same universe of humor as the author of this.
Second, I’m not able to be as honest with myself and my blog as she is with hers. She is a beacon of light in a world of shameless self-promoters; I, on the other hand, hide the bulk of my sins in the shadows of my blog. For example: I will never admit here that I have seen the episode of The West Wing when CJ walks around in a spaghetti-strap dress (I think that's what it's called?) for much of the show.

And I have to admit that today’s paean in praise of Rabbi Without a Cause has disillusioned me somewhat; I used to think the Renegade Rebbetzin a fine judge of character, but here she went and called me “dignified.” I’ve been called thoughtful and introspective, candid on occasion (generally to my detriment) and even spiritual, but dignified? Way off.

Unless dignified means “not very funny,” which would then be the truth.

I do love the Renegade Rebbetzin, if only in the way that a peasant loves a princess (cf. Ibn Ezra to Shmos 20:13), an affection for this ideal and idealized royalty of the blogosphere, who surely possesses every fine quality imaginable, and a few unimaginables. Of course, she could do with a little less swearing, but still…

On the topic of rebbetzin adoration and vomiting: My rebbetzin is, I think, a bit disturbed that some other rebbetzin is heaping praise on me. Not to worry; I’ll post another article about how she is my role model just as soon as she finishes ghosting it for me…

In conclusion: I am awed to have been noticed, and ecstatic to have been praised. I cannot possibly live up to the compliments that have been heaped upon me. It reminds me of my Bar Mitzvah. But I will do my best to fulfill expectations… and to retain my dignified humility simultaneously.

Have I mentioned that you can see a copy of the glowing, out-of-this-world, rave review here?

Why do people come late to shul?

My parents raised me to be on time or early for everything, whether class or work or appointments, so I’m not in a good position to understand why people come late to shul. I just don’t understand the phenomenon; I would take it personally in my shul, if I didn’t realize that it’s ubiquitous.

In my own shul, on Shabbos morning, we reach Krias haTorah 45 minutes after we start. That’s a pretty respectable clip; we’re not wasting any time getting to that point. And yet, when we open the Aron we have maybe 25%-33% of the crowd who will be there when we finish davening 90 minutes later.

I’ve seen this tardiness in so-called left and so-called right, in young and old, in men and women; it appears to cut across all denominational, scholastic, gender and socioeconomic boundaries.

When I was a younger man I watched numerous rabbis do nothing in their shuls about this problem - even when they took on the other intractable issue of shul decorum - and I was sure I would do something about it when I ascended the throne.

Then I grew up and learned that this sort of problem (like the decorum issue) is not best handled in sermons and other forms of mass communication; far better to address it in personal conversation, one-on-one.

But in order to deal with it, I have to understand what’s behind it. I’m not talking about mothers of small children and people who are ill; what about the rest of us? Why do so many of us come late to shul?

I’ve thought of the following reasons:

Practical
I just come to shul for the kiddush, so why show up too early?
I just come to shul for the rabbi’s speech, so why show up too early?
I just can’t get up before ten o’clock on weekends - even if I get up at six-thirty all week long.
I’m waiting for the air conditioning to get up to speed.

Social
I’m agoraphobic and can’t take crowds for too long.
I have a hard time with the perfume/deodorant/lack thereof of the people who sit near me.
My friends don’t show up until ten-thirty.
My father never came before ten-thirty.
I don’t want to accidentally sit in someone else’s seat, so I wait until everyone else is there.

Religious
I don’t really understand the davening or its English translation in the siddur, so that big block of pre-Krias haTorah davening is pretty much unintelligible to me.
Davening just doesn’t matter that much to me.
I know that if I'm in shul too long I'm going to start talking to others.

Any other reasons I’m missing?

Flailing away at the boogeyman

Sometimes, out of nowhere, you get a sense of clarity and purpose, of rightness, that things are just going well and you’re doing what you’re supposed to be doing. You’re in the right place, at the right time, fulfilling a sacred task.

But then, sometimes you have days like today.

It wasn’t really a bad day. People liked the drasha, the classes went reasonably well, no one came forward to register offense at something I did six months ago, no one died, no one entered the hospital.

But after the kiddush this morning I was just overtaken by a feeling of bleah, of an almost-despair. I hate it when that happens.

I can’t think what triggered it today. A lot of people were away this Shabbos, which emptied the shul somewhat. I tried to say Hello to someone at kiddush, and was summarily snubbed. (No, I don’t think I was really being ignored; the person was just busy and didn’t notice me). It was a gray weather day. Most of the people in shul came in late. This past week was a long and stressful one, without any breaks for entertainment or even plain old human conversation with friends; I talked to one friend for ten minutes and it was the highlight of the week. I don’t know.

But I was just suddenly gripped by YUK, a feeling that someone else could be doing a far better job of rabbi-ing the shul than I am doing. That I’m not much of a darshan. That I’m not moving people forward, helping them grow. That I'm wasting my life. That I’m not doing justice to my children. Intellectually I know none of that is true, and I can point to plenty of examples of the ways in which things are going well, but it grabs me anyway.

I know other people get these fits of bleah (depression?) as well; I’m not foolish enough to think that my experience is in any way unique. But I do find it very difficult, because so much of what I do depends on a sort of hypomanic energy to help me keep up with my responsibilities; when the energy evaporates, I’m shot. And what are you going to do? There’s this chavrusa, that class, this meeting, that project… no time for a break.

So I slogged through, and here I am several hours later, Shabbos complete, sitting down at the computer to work on the week’s shiurim. I will take a break at some point, I know I need it. Until then, though, it’s just a matter of flailing away at the boogeymen, forcing them back so I can get to work.

What's the point of putting this on here? Two purposes come to mind: One, to let someone know, since I can't very well go around the community talking about being tired or depressed. Second, to encourage you to give your rabbi a little slack.

I read a post last week on another blog about someone being annoyed with his rabbi. Seems he buttonholed the rabbi on the "Good Shabbos" line Friday night to ask him for a deeper explanation of his dvar torah, and didn't get a real response. So he's upset at the rabbi, thinks this betrays a shallowness or callousness or some such defect. But, frankly, maybe the rabbi just wasn't up to it at that moment. It's hard to be "on" all the time... give the man a break.

Baal Mussar for this week

Last week Franz Kafka, this week Rocky Balboa...

I'm not sure how to make this link work, but here goes:


Corny? Sure, but I love it. Give that man a yarmulka!

The Ego Trap

I noticed that I won a prize, somehow: the Silver Medal for Best Jewish Religion Blog in the Jewish and Israeli Blog awards. Quite the farce, of course; I could easily count off a half-dozen Jewish Religion blogs that are far superior to mine, and I don’t even spend any real time reading blogs. There are probably several times that number.

But it did remind me to write about an issue I’ve been mulling for quite some time. The rabbinate, it seems to me, is an Ego Trap. Because so much of your work is performed with other people, and because there are almost no valid objective measures of your success, the response of your congregants becomes a barometer of the job you are doing as rabbi.

This is a terrible thing. As though rabbis weren’t already insecure and ego-hungry enough, we are now driven to become yet more insecure, as we look to our laity for approval. The personal need combines with the professional need, and many rabbis become addicted to ego, to the point that they become shameless self-promoters and self-aggrandizers.

I was witness to this just last week. I was sitting with a group of people, including another rabbi, and he began talking about how much work he had done to take care of a certain funeral. Now, I knew exactly how much work he had – and had not – done, because I was involved with the funeral and I had been in touch with the funeral director. To say this rabbi was exaggerating (on matters of simple fact!) would be a gross understatement.

I didn’t call him on it; there was no point in creating an embarrassing situation. Presumably, he continues to think he put one over on me and the others. (Then he wonders why I don’t send my children to participate in his programs!) I’m not even annoyed by his behavior; I’m just saddened by it.

The world shouldn’t run on ego, and the rabbinate certainly shouldn’t run on ego. A rabbi needs to develop his own self-image and self-esteem to the point where he doesn’t depend on the community for affirmation. If he does that, good. If not…

A fear of pioneering

One of my congregants once approached me after a drasha to convey his displeasure with my speech. In the course of our conversation it became clear that his problem wasn’t actually with my ideas; it was with my introductory “It appears to me.” Who are you, rabbi, to come up with a new interpretation?

In truth, I am always afraid of saying something new. I am not suggesting that all that is new is prohibited, but a certain humility is required before declaring something new - whether in philosophy or halachah, whether in commenting on a pasuk or explaining a story in the Torah.

But, at the same time, I take heart from a Yerushalmi passage, from the second perek in Demai. Take a look at this:

Preface: The Talmud says that King Chizkiyah destroyed the caduceus Moshe had created in Bamidbar 21, lest people worship it as an idol.

Rabbi Yehudah haNasi permitted purchasing all produce after the Sabbatical year [on the assumption that it had either grown outside of Israel, or after the Sabbatical year]. Everyone began to speak negatively of his innovative actions.

Rebbe said to them: Come, let us discuss this logically. It is written that Chizkiyah ground up the brass serpent. Was there no righteous person from Moshe until Chizkiyah to remove this serpent?! Rather, G-d left that crown for Chizkiyah to crown himself with it. Gd left this crown for us, that we might be crowned with it.

Interesting.

When it's best to say nothing

I've never been particularly good at keeping my mouth closed, which is a serious problem for a rabbi. There's so much I have had to learn not to do - from spilling confidential information (easy) to expressing natural reactions like frustration or incredulity (hard) to keeping opinions to myself (very hard). The most difficult, perhaps, is to refrain from responding to unconstructive criticism.

Example of constructive criticism: "I think we should work on improving the HVAC system in our shul. Here are a few things we could do..."
Example of unconstructive criticism: "The heat is never right in shul."

I have found that unconstructive criticism isn't actually criticism, at all; it's really an expression of personal discontent on some other issue. A man who is upset at his wife might not be able to safely vent his frustration at home, so he might come to a meeting and let off steam there. So responding to his remarks doesn't really do you any good: Responding on-point doesn't address his problem, and responding off-point is certainly no better. The best way to handle it, I have found, is to re-direct the conversation, and deal with the underlying issue at an appropriate time.

Sounds simple... but it's not so simple when the criticism is directed at you. As in, "The rabbi doesn't do enough to make sure that people who come to classes become members of the synagogue." Particularly when the remark is not even voiced in your presence, and you happen to be passing outside the room and hear the remark.

Not that I'm referring to anything that's happened to me personally or anything... but if that had happened to me, and if my response had been to hold my tongue for the moment, and if I had later found ways to make innocent, offhand מסיח לפי תומו comments correcting the criticism to the relevant parties, that would have been a reasonable way to have dealt with the situation.

Franz Kafka, Baal Mussar Extraordinaire

One of my favorite mussar sources is an essay by Franz Kafka, entitled "My Father's Bourgeois Judaism." He truly takes his father to task for the way his lackadaisical approach to Judaism influenced Franz's religious development.

Herewith a brief excerpt:
Four days a year you went to the synagogue, where you were, to say the least, closer to the indifferent than to those who took it seriously, patiently went through the prayers as a formality, sometimes amazed me by being able to show me in the prayer book the passage that was being said at the moment, and for the rest, so long as I was present in the synagogue (and this was the main thing) I was allowed to hang around wherever I liked. And so I yawned and dozed through the many hours (I don't think I was ever again so bored, except later at dancing lessons) and did my best to enjoy the few little bits of variety there were, as for instance when the Ark of the Covenant was opened, which always reminded me of the shooting galleries where a cupboard door would open in the same way whenever one hit a bull's-eye; except that there something interesting always came out and here it was always just the same old dolls without heads….
That's how it was in the synagogue; at home it was, if possible, even poorer, being confined to the first Seder, which more and more developed into a farce, with fits of hysterical laughter, admittedly under the influence of the growing children…
How one could do anything better with that material than get rid of it as fast as possible, I could not understand; precisely the getting rid of it seemed to me to be the devoutest action.

Devastating, just devastating.

Why are you Orthodox / Conservative / Reform / Reconstructionist / Other?

Every couple of years I'm invited by a non-Orthodox temple or Hebrew school to come explain to a class why I have chosen Orthodoxy as my path. I disdain labels, but it's a fun exercise. I tend to re-visit and alter my answer each time, checking it against my current opinions and life.

There are a lot of reasons why people choose a religion. Among them:

Sentimentality - This was Grandma's or Grandpa's religion; This is my cultural heritage; My wife and kids are into it...

Practicality - The system works for me; It provides a good community; I'm comfortable with it

Credibility - I believe in it; It isn't just what I 'want to hear'

My reasons are basically in the Credibility category; I believe in the authenticity of the masorah, the tradition. I am awed by Rav Yosef Karo's mysticism and legal expertise, by Rambam and Tosafot's encyclopedic knowledge of Gemara and Midrash, by Rav Saadia Gaon and Rav Hai Gaon and Rav Achai Gaon's responsa, by Rava and Abayye's dexterity in all areas of law, by R' Meir and R' Akiva, Hillel and Shammai, by Ezra and Nechemiah, by Yirmiyahu and Yechezkel, by the Jews of the first Beis haMikdash who witnessed miracles, by Shmuel, by Yehoshua, by Moshe.

I'm not really looking for a critique of my own position, which I've only very partially articulated. I'm more interested in you: Why do you do what you do?

Internet and Halachah

No, this is not a post about the permissibility or impermissibility of using the Internet. This is about an interesting twist the Internet has added to an old halachic problem.

Let’s go back 2000 years, to the way smicha (ordination) operated in the days of the Mishnah and Gemara. In those days the rabbinate was like a system of judicial seats: each location had its rabbi, and his location was solely under his jurisdiction. Smicha was not given to someone who passed tests, learned in kollel, or got married after X number of years in yeshiva. Rather, smicha was issued for the specific purpose of filling a municipal seat. (See Sanhedrin 5a-b for a primer on how smicha was given.)

Obviously, that has changed over time. Aside from the break in teacher-to-student smicha and the dynamiting of the entire Israel/Bavel smicha system, the past millenium or so has seen the development of multiple rabbinates in the same locale, and the evolution of smicha into a certificate of approval that has nothing to do with filling a specific community need for a rabbinic authority. Today, one may receive recognized smicha without having any desire to rule on law, let alone a constituency for whom to rule.

Why does all this matter? Because of the law that one may not rule on halachic questions while in the regional jurisdiction of another rabbi. That law may have worked fairly clearly and simply 2000 years ago, when each municipality had its authority, and Rabbi Yosi haGlili could say what he thought in Galil and no one could counter him… but what happens today? Breakaway shuls, assistant rabbis, competing marei d’asra, baalei teshuvah, migrant communities with their own rabbis, how do we apply the rule that one rabbi may not rule in another’s jurisdiction?

And then - along comes the Internet and blows the whole thing wide open. Now someone in Memphis or Melbourne or Meron can email me and ask me a shailah; am I permitted to answer? How do we define jurisdiction now?!

From a purely halachic perspective, it is possible to argue that I am allowed to answer long-distance shailos via email. The meaning of “jurisdiction” has evaporated. The concept and mechanism of smicha are altogether different from what they were in the time of Sanhedrin 5. The shailos I am asked over the Internet are usually not true “psak” questions, anyway; they are more about knowing Mishneh Berurah.

And yet, I don’t think it’s a good idea. One important piece of this whole jurisdiction issue is about the unity of individual Jewish communities, and I don’t think they benefit when receiving psak from multiple sources. It’s an אגודות אגודות concern; we don’t want to have people who can see each other, talk to each other, and daven together, following different practices. We are looking for shalom and unity. Better for people to share the same practices to the extent possible, working with a responsible halachic authority.

All of this comes up now because I recently received my first shailah from a blog-reader. I am flattered to be asked… but I have to refer you to your local responsible halachic authority. Trust me, it works better that way.

On Rabbinic Apologies

Over the years I've managed to mangle relationships in more ways than I can count.

The list includes, but is not limited to, overreacting to challenges, being patronizing, being selfish and being blind to the needs of others. In addition, there have been times when I was in the right but others were wounded anyway, and I was left wondering whether I could have handled things differently.

In my view, a rabbi never loses by apologizing. [Frankly, I don't think anyone loses by apologizing, but certainly not a rabbi.] A good apology assuages egos, particularly if it comes from a position of strength, from someone who isn't apologizing out of political necessity. It serves notice that yes, I understand the problem, and I'm going to correct it. It clarifies the apologizer's thinking for himself. It shows humility, which is, hopefully, authentic. And even if I'm not wrong, the experience is good for me. The result is a folder of apology letters I've sent over the years.

How do people respond to an apology from the rabbi? Generally, the response is either acceptance or silence. Acceptance of the apology is a good outcome. Silence is bad; that's the worst-case scenario. I've had a few of those. Outright denial of the apology, an extremely rare result, would be better, for the clarity it would provide. Today I had the best possible outcome: A sincere apology in response. Hence the post this evening.

I'm reminded of a beautiful thought by Rabbi Yissachar Frand in a Chofetz Chaim Tisha b'Av video a few years back: In the dispute between Moshe and Korach's crew, Moshe was 100% right and Korach's crew was 100% wrong. No one has ever been more right than Moshe was, no one has ever been more wrong than Korach and co. But Moshe went to Dasan and Aviram, personally, to try to set things right.

To which I add my own gloss: There has never been a leader like Moshe. I cry every year when I read Parshas Shmos and hear him refuse his mission, knowing how the story will end, knowing the hurdles he is going to face. I cry every year when I get to Moshe's death on Simchas Torah, thinking of the pain of his forty-year tenure, of all he endured. Moshe is the be-all and end-all of leadership.

If Moshe can go to Dasan and Aviram, I can apologize, too. Even if I'm [almost] 100% right.

Dawkins II - An observation

I was interested in how Dawkins-fans would answer my thoughts on "The Gd Delusion," so I posted my thoughts over there. You can see the thread here.

Fascinating to see that they are, for the most part, more civil than many of the concerned citizens who posted on the Gadol issue last week...

The Dawkins Delusion

I’ve been reading Richard Dawkins’ “The Gd Delusion” and enjoying the humor, but he has some very irritating habits. Among them:

Irrelevant Filler - The man has never met a tangent he could resist.
Whether addressing the question of how one would know an extraterrestrial signal came from an intelligent source (pg. 71-72), betraying his failure to understand the difference between separation of church and state and what he terms “society’s overweening respect for religion” (pg. 20-27), or trailing off into playground insults (pg. 80), Dawkins seems all too aware that he is trying to expand a five-page paper into a book of nearly four hundred pages, so that he needs every digression he can find.

Absurd oversimplification - Dawkins takes great pleasure in misstating philosophies so that he can then poke holes in them.
In a particularly memorable bit of misdirection (pg. 103-5), Dawkins ducks Pascal’s Wager by pretending it’s about religious belief rather than religious practice. According to Dawkins, Pascal argues that humans should believe in religion rather than risk the danger of guessing wrong and not believing. Dawkins then argues that this sort of belief can hardly be called true belief, and shouldn’t satisfy Gd; ergo, Pascal is wrong. But Dawkins is missing the mark [and doing so deliberately, unless he’s a total fool]; Pascal’s point is valid for religious practice, which is not contingent upon belief.

Pompous self-aggrandizement - Dawkins seems to be in the business largely so that he can say, “Look at me! I’m here to redeem you from your slavery to religion!” Never mind that Neitzsche already trod this road, and did a far better job; Dawkins is here to save us from those nasty theologians.
This leads him to spend many pages in Section 4 on the topic of “consciousness-raising,” which is the violence he hopes to wreak upon unsuspecting, religion-clouded minds. About the only good thing about this section is that he takes time to talk about Douglas Adams, who was truly one of the greatest writers I have ever read.

Groundless assumptions - It’s embarrassing to see the extent to which Dawkins, a scientist of all things, will rely on false assumptions to “prove” his point.
For example: On page 137-138 he suggests there are a billion billion planets, and then he talks about how staggering the odds are against the chance creation of DNA, and then he pins a laughable number on it: “Suppose it was so improbable as to occur on only one in a billion planets.” Why say one in a billion, Dr. Dawkins? Why not in a quadrillion, or a billion quadrillion? You offer no evidence to support the number - and then have the audacity to continue to say that ergo, DNA will evolve on a billion planets.
Or how about this piece of misdirection: On page 45 he writes regarding the US Congress, "Downey's documented evidence of the hatred and misunderstanding of atheists makes it easy to believe that it is, indeed, virtually impossible for an honest atheist to win a public election in America. There are 45 members of the House of Representatives and 100 members of the Senate. Assuming that the majority of these 535 individuals are an educated sample of the population, it is statistically all but inevitable that a substantial number of them must be atheists. They must have lid, or concealed their true feelings, in order to get elected." How many foolish assumptions can you find in that paragraph?
This, of course, is on top of his most groundless assumption: That if all life came from a Creator, that Creator must have evolved somehow, in order to be that complex. As though the Creator was subject to the rules of its creation? But such is life in a Dawkinsian universe, in which the principles don’t have to make sense as long as they support the pre-ordained conclusion.

Crowd-pleasing trifles - Dawkins is basically preaching to the almost-converted; he's looking to the put the almost-atheist over the top.
This leads him to stunts like seeing how many famous atheists he can cram into the first section of the book; he has about two dozen in the first 45 pages. Those he can't identify outright as atheists earn his approbation anyway; they surely would have been atheists, had they lived in our enlightened age.

Overall, I’m not terribly troubled by the book. He never really addresses the basic ideas of Judaism save an ill-tempered shot or two at the “Gd of the Old Testament,” a book that Dawkins clearly hasn’t read too closely. He draws his anti-OT criticisms from the standard canards of church teaching, which is a shame; one would have expected him to do his own research on it.
So, overall, it’s an amusing book, but it should not be confused for science.

Should faith be marketed like ice cream?

The above title is the central question asked by Naomi Schaefer Riley in her January 5th Wall Street Journal editorial, Reviving Judaism: Consultant-Speak Goes Religious. She describes JTS chancellor-elect Arnold Eisen taking a “listening tour” to “find out what Jews want - and, if possible, give it to them.” Triumphalists will gloat foolishly over lines like, “Religious groups that have grown the fastest in recent years (including Orthodox Judaism) are the ones that demand the most of their adherents, not the ones that offer religion (and refreshments) cafeteria-style.”

Basically, Riley’s point is that (a) religion is degraded when it is marketed to the tastes of the consumer, and that (b) such marketing isn’t even successful. I’d like to tackle the two points separately: Appropriateness first, Success some other time.

Appropriateness - Is marketing demeaning to religion?

We all market Judaism, if only in a low-key way. We give children prizes and incentives for their religious progress. We continue in adulthood by emphasizing user-friendly principles like the fact that human dignity overrides rabbinic laws (Berachos 19b), that the ways of Torah are supposed to be pleasant (Succah 32a), that a Torah scholar must interact gently and nicely with others (Yoma 86a). We teach a lot more classes on Parshah and Pirkei Avos than we do on Korbanos. We hold Beginners’ Services and Shabbat Across America and Read Hebrew America, etc.

Of course, one might object that this isn’t a demeaning sort of marketing; the demeaning approaches are the Star programs described by Riley, in which people choose between Medi-Torah, Torah and Yoga, a lecture, and a musical service followed by a latte cart. But if the difference is only a matter of degree, then is it a difference at all? And if we are supposed to introduce Jews to Judaism, if our goal is to teach and to encourage, then how could we be disturbed by the question of “demeaning” the religion?

In truth, I’m not comfortable with the latte cart, the idea that anything goes - but not because it’s demeaning. My discomfort is that I believe it misrepresents the religion, which is a whole different story.

The other day I saw a Chabad site that trumpeted Lubavitch’s empowering attitude toward women. That sent me sprinting for my Shulchan Aruch HaRav, Orach Chaim 46, in which we are told that women say the blessing of שעשני כרצונו as a form of tzidduk hadin - the equivalent of saying ברוך דיין האמת after hearing of a death. I know all the explanations for the berachah, and I’m fine with the berachah, that’s not the point - the point is that here we have an outreach organization fibbing about its approach to women, presumably in order to become more appealing to potential adherents.

I have the same discomfort with Aish haTorah’s Torah Codes. We know with certainty that Rashi’s Torah varied from ours by at least one letter [see Rashi to Shmos 25:22]. So did Rashi’s Torah have different codes? And I know the Aish answer that we have the Torah we have because G-d wanted us to have this Torah and find these codes… and still, I’m troubled by it.

This kind of approach reminds me of a dog catcher luring a dog with a soft voice and treats, when all the while a net is waiting behind his back.

So I don’t think the real issue is whether marketing is demeaning or not. Marketing is not, inherently, demeaning. The real issue is misrepresentation for the sake of marketing. Give people all the incentives in the world, but don’t change the religion in order to draw them in.

EMG (electromyography): Painful or Not?

Sounds like an odd question... unless you, like me, are having an EMG tomorrow. In which case it's a perfectly normal question.

The trouble is that I can't get a clear answer:

A. During EMG, small pins or needles are inserted into muscles to measure electrical activity. The needles are different than needles used for injection of medications. They are small and solid, not hollow like hypodermic needles. Because no medication is injected, discomfort is much less than with shots. (emedicinehealth.com)

B. You may feel some pain or discomfort when the electrodes are inserted, but most people are able to complete the test without significant difficulty. (Medline)

C. With an electromyogram (EMG) test, you will feel a brief, sharp pain each time a needle electrode is inserted into the muscle. Some people find this part of the test very uncomfortable. (WebMD)

D. Because of the needle electrodes, EMG may be somewhat painful or extremely painful to the patient. (Wikipedia)

What do you think?

G-d willing, I'll let you know tomorrow...

1/10/06 - Update: The answer is C.

The Temptation of the Clergy

I suspect I wouldn't write of this under normal circumstances, but I've spent the past two and a half hours trying to recover my computer from an all-systems crash and burn, and I'm now helplessly waiting for a program to do its blessed work, and the mind does tend to do odd things at this hour, as the gemara itself noted... [And I suppose the following issue comes to mind in a special way for me because I went to kasher a kitchen today. Those who have been reading me for a while will recall the yichud issue I faced when doing this some time back. This time, I made sure there would be no such issue.]

Saw this article at Shma Magazine, hardly a bastion of Orthodoxy, I know. Thought it strange at first, then re-read it. Then re-read it. And I found a certain compelling logic in it.

The article seeks to offer a unique answer to the question of why clergy get into sexual trouble. Basicaly, her thesis is that teachers create a passionate relationship between student and material, and sometimes mistakenly substitute themselves for the material. An interesting argument.

Obviously, part of the answer is also that clergy are human beings and subject to normal urges, and it's not as though clergy problems in this area outstrip the national average, but still, perhaps there is something inherent in the clergy/congregant relationship that actually opens up the possibility of inappropriate interaction. I have known two rabbis [one Conservative, one Reform, for those who love labels] who have faced accusation for sexual impropriety. In neither case would I have believed it absent the accusations and evidence; it certainly wasn't in their basic personalities. So, was there something about being clergy that helped this to happen?

In any case: I agre with the writer's assumption; there is something dangerous in the clergy relationship itself.

Aside from the point about passion and teaching, I see the following issues:
1. Quite a few clergy become drawn to power, over time. (No, I'm not talking gedolim here.) Entering this sort of relationship can serve as a power trip of sorts.
2. Many clergy enter their profession in part to deal with personal insecurity and lack of self-esteem. (Still not talking gedolim here.) If an admiring student goes too far, that insecure target of affection may have a hard time pulling back.
3. As noted by the writer at Shma Magazine, the clergy/congregant relationship is often intimate by virtue of the confidences shared. That leads to a blurring of boundaries.

Overall, an interesting issue. צריך עיון.

Fear of Aging

I am terribly afraid of aging.

My reasons are fairly standard: I see a lot of aging, and while some people age very 'well,' I also see a lot of suffering, a lot of frailty, a lot of what is popularly called 'low quality of life.'

Last Thursday I was about to start teaching a class at a local elder-care facility when I overheard the following conversation from the hallway:

Aide: Do you want to hear a joke?
Resident: mumble
Aide: A Joke! Do you want to hear a [pause for breath] Joke!
Resident: mumble
Aide: [loud] A JOKE! DO YOU WANT TO HEAR A JOKE!
Resident: mumble
Aide: What has eighteen legs- I said, DO YOU WANT A JOKE!

This went on for several more rounds before she simply gave up. I can't laugh at the absurdity of the scene; it isn't that many years before I'll fall prey to the same decline, if I'm fortunate enough to make it that far.

I think the punchline was "A baseball team," but I'm not sure.

Sensitive Language

Every year, Parshat Vayyichi reminds me of the need for care in our language.

It was a Vayyichi early in my career, and I was introducing the parshah. I pointed out Bereishit 49:2, in which Yaakov identifies himself as both Yaakov and Yisrael. I was having a good time, and I overshot my script. I asked, "What, is he schizophrenic?" in a tone that clearly linked "schizophrenic" and "nuts."

That afternoon I was approached by a man whose close relative - who had been present that morning - was dealing with schizophrenia-related issues. He was painfully polite, almost apologetic, in pointing out the inherent insensitivity of my comment and explaining the way he and his family had felt in hearing it.

I felt like dirt, or worse, but at least I learned something from the experience. Ever since then, I've cringed at hearing speakers use phrases like, "Is he nuts?" and "He was blind a bat!"

חכמים, הזהרו בדבריכם! That's one of the reasons I don't enjoy giving speeches; it's impossible to watch out for everything, to be aware of all of the possible implications and offenses. Still, we are obligated to speak, and we are obligated to be careful. Certainly, a rabbi has to be as careful in checking the words of his speeches as he is in checking his parsley and lettuce.

Cognitive Dissonance: Black, White and Gray

On my now-famous/infamous post in which I advocated respectful disagreement with gedolim, I received the following interesting comment from frummeyid:

“I think you have some cognitive dissonance to deal with here… To keep Rabbi Slifkin's books yet say that you have this amazing respect for those who said it was apikorsus, is incompatible.”

Are disagreement and “amazing respect” incompatible? I’m not so sure.

When Trembling Before G-d came out locally, I spoke at a local university’s showing of the film. One of my co-panelists was a noted activist for both homosexual rights and teen sexual and self-image education. After the program he gave me a compliment that is one of the greatest I have ever received. He said something like, “What I like about you is that you don’t always have to be right.”

I don’t know why this is; I have as much of a need for ego-feeding as the next guy, and maybe more. But I don’t feel like others have to accept what I say, in order for my point of view to be legitimate. It’s not pluralistic – I think they’re wrong, they think I’m wrong – it’s just that I can respect someone, even respect someone greatly and powerfully, without agreeing with him.

To be sure, there is cognitive dissonance. I live a lifestyle that involves kvod haTorah, and so I have a need to justify that in my [sub]conscious logic. But it’s also a matter of recognizing that I come to my conclusions with the best evidence I have, and whether I’m right or he’s right, I’m doing what I am supposed to do.

Or to put it as I said to my rebbetzin last night: Black and White don’t necessarily make Gray. Sometimes you can believe strongly in two opposites, without that resulting in being drawn to the middle. I suppose that’s what I am – Black and White, and not Gray.

Be careful what you wish for

Once upon a time, I had a small blog with an even smaller readership. I posted my thoughts on life and the rabbinate, and occasionally drew a comment from a reader. But occasionally, I, like many bloggers, dreamed of the day when more people might read my blog and post their thoughts.

I think quite a few of my past posts might have received a lot of comments, had they been widely read, but they weren't, and so they didn't, and I passed my days in peace, working hard and blogging in spare moments.

Then, last night, I posted a thought about Gedolim. After some consideration I thought this might be of interest to Gil Student, who I knew once in a long-ago incarnation, and so I dropped him an email.

Then I learned the danger of wishing, and acting on your wish... the floodgates opened... hundreds of readers... angry replies, most of which didn't make it into posts on the blog... a brick through my front window, with a note attached threatening horrible repercussions...

No, I'm kidding. It hasn't been that bad. But I don't have the time to respond properly to all of these emails as well as posts. I'm just not cut out for the give-and-take and back-and-forth, even though there are some great points being made.

So I'm going to drop out of the discussion. Not out of cowardice, not out of disrespect for my interlocutors, but just because I don't have the time to do the back and forth in the way it deserves. I'm currently on my way from one meeting to another, after which I have a congregant calling for some counsel, after which I have a shiur to prepare. I just can't do it. I hate to walk away from a good discussion, but I have to.

But, I do want to get rid of some red herrings and straw men:
1. To me, a gadol is defined by learning, actions, lifestyle, and sensitivity. Because of that, a gadol can un-gadol himself by changing that pattern of demonstrated behavior.
2. I believe that one may disagree with a gadol's position, but only with the greatest care and respect. And I think one ought to think thrice before disagreeing on an idea that emerges from Torah.
3. I, personally, am not from a camp usually associated with gadol-worship. Most if not all of the gedolim under discussion would look askance at me, if not put me on cherem, for my mechitzah, kippah serugah, etc.

Sabine613, I was better off when I stayed away from politics, no?

Out of step with the Jewish blogosphere

Note: Both Orthomom and Krum as a Bagel insist that their posts were not meant to be disrespectful to gedolim. I apologize for intimating that; it was what I took from their language, and it was not their intent.

It’s become commonplace for Jewish blogs, Torah observant blogs, to pick on the perceived foibles of rabbinic leadership. In the last few days I’ve seen posts ridiculing the Edah haCharedis for their stance on vocational training, laughing at the White List of tznius-compliant stores, and more.

I'm generally the last one to protect the Edah haChareidis. As a YU/RCA musmach, I don’t agree with them on a lot of things. My daughter will, G-d-willing, receive higher education, and there are no White List stores on our family's shopping list. I am regularly astonished at the obtuseness of Agudah proclamations, as well as those of other major Jewish organizations.

All the same, I have to express my extreme discomfort at the tenor of these articles and the criticism leveled at gedolim. I just don’t think that the average Torah-observant Jew has any clue what the word “gadol” means.

I’m reminded of Rocky (the original film), the scene when Rocky is in a bar, watching a television interview with World Heavyweight Champion Apollo Creed. Apollo is yukking it up and playing the dandy, telling kids to wear suits and carry briefcases rather than become a professional athlete. The bartender calls Apollo a clown, and Rocky turns on him. “You calling Creed a clown? You calling the heavyweight champion of the world a clown?” Rocky, the third-rate ham-and-egger, knows what boxing is about, knows the kind of work you put in to train and win a fight, and knows the work ethic, not to mention talent, that goes into becoming heavyweight champion. He respects it in a way that others cannot, because they’re not in the field.

That’s the way I feel when I hear people mock gedolim and question their Torah knowledge and their ethics. These are rabbis who have spent decades learning and teaching, eight, ten, twelve, fourteen hours per day. They’ve been dedicated to this their entire lives. They don’t take breaks and luxurious vacations, they don’t watch TV and movies or read paperback novels, they don’t hang out with their friends schmoozing. I’m not romanticizing it; this is the life.

There are some 2700 daf in shas, and the Gedolim can tell you what's on each page. They can quote Rishonim and Acharonim and debate and discuss the different sides of each argument. They know Shulchan Aruch, they know poskim and teshuvos.

And they know life. They answer questions from rabbis like me every day, with sensitivity and wisdom and creativity. They know how to be lenient, and they know when to be strict. They are quite familiar with the human condition.

So when you question the gedolim, keep in mind that you're talking about the Heavyweight Champions of the World. For gedolim, these decisions are all about ethics, and all about right and wrong, not about power and ego. Question their decisions, but don’t question their gadlus.

Granting a “license to hate”

Releasing anger is addictive; for most of us, there’s no such thing as blowing off just a little steam, once we get started.

Witness the tollbooth at which I was stuck today. I was about to pull up to an EZ Pass ONly toll when a car with out-of-state plates pulled in front of me…and got stuck there because he didn’t have EZ Pass. I honked once, annoyed that he had the chutzpah to cut me off, as well as the insensitivity to enter the EZ Pass Only lane without actually having an EZ Pass. But honking felt good, so I stayed on the horn, really leaned into it. Way overkill; the policeman who dealt with the car in front of me wasn’t very appreciative of the noise pollution.

Or witness sports fights, and the reaction in the stands. I grew up watching sporting events live at the self-titled Greatest Arena in the World, and my ears yet ring with the thundering chants and applause that accompanied brawls on ice and hardwood. It was licensed, so we all overdid it.

This may be a function of my personal repression of hostility. Judaism, and civilized society in general these days, frown on open expressions of anger… so when it’s licensed, as when the driver in front of me demonstrates personal jerkitude, I get a little carried away. But I’m not the only one; as at the game, as in traffic, most of us are guilty of getting carried away with our righteous anger.

Hence the danger in rabbis unintentionally licensing enmity when making a point. It’s easy to become a demagogue without really trying; all it takes is one passionate speech that villifies a person or group, and - presto! - you’ve licensed all listeners to blow off steam, release anger, and generally hate your target. Religious movements, political streams, anti-Semitic celebs, the rabbi can innocently turn them into Public Enemy Number One just by hinting that such enmity is halachically acceptable.

Once that spigot is open, it’s very hard to close the tap. I’m not just spouting here; I spent some time in yeshiva learning with a young man who would later become a notorious assassin. I can tell you with certainty that it’s very hard to close the tap of anger.

The problem, of course, is that rabbis are supposed to be passionate. We shouldn’t deliver milquetoast commentary on the Torah and its relationship to daily life; we’re suppose to inspire, to convey the fire inside us to our congregations. I wouldn’t want to be a member of a synagogue where the rabbi’s speeches lacked fire; I would fall asleep on him, and that would just embarrass both of us. If you believe it, teach it and don’t be timid about it!

So the challenge is to be passionate without being personally angry, and without licensing anger. Keep it positive, focus on our actions and goals, rather than go negative. Talk about Israel without being anti-Yishmael. Talk about Torah observance without being anti-secular. No; it’s not so easy.