Sarcasm gets me in trouble, again

A rabbi has to know his own strength, and not hit people too hard. That’s common sense, and not just for rabbis, but it’s especially hard for people who talk as much as rabbis do, and in as wide a variety of venues as rabbis do.

Here’s my latest debacle:

I was teaching a class (of adults), and I asked a pretty challenging question, “Given X and Y, is _________ a good thing to do?” A simple Yes or No answer would have been inadequate. Maybe or It depends would have been more appropriate. Immediately, though, a person in the group replied Yes! The same person, only two weeks earlier, had done the same thing in a very similar situation.

So, being glib, I replied, “Oh, X has the answer. X always has the answer.” I was grinning, intending it as a joke if I was thinking at all, and people laughed, and the discussion moved on to others’ answers.

After the class, though, X approached me and said my approach had embarrassed him, and that he doesn’t always think he has the answer. X was clearly very hurt.

I wanted to cry.
I wanted to dig a hole in the floor, climb in and pull the carpet back over the top.
I wanted to quit teaching.

Instead, I apologized profusely, made a mental note for myself to call X the next day to apologize again, and to apologize a third time in front of the class next time if I could find an opportunity that wouldn’t further embarrass X. (Easier said than done, of course.)

I know myself well enough to know that I had never intended to embarrass X. But I can hit pretty hard without realizing it – in terms of my expression and tone, and in terms of all the baggage that comes with my Rabbiness. Just by virtue of my title, I’m in a different weight class.

This is particularly true when one considers the person on the receiving end. Who knows what X’s history was with rabbis? Who knows what other things had happened to X in other classes? Who knows what sort of look someone around the table gave X when I said what I did?

I can’t squelch all of my sarcasm; having humor in the class, even of that lowest variety, helps beginners get into learning. And, frankly, I’m just not perfect. And to return to my opening point, the more words you speak – and I speak a lot of them – the more likely that you’re going to say something stupid.

I’ve said this before, but it’s still true. Rabbis have an obligation to speak, and an obligation to be careful. Even more careful than about kitniyos.

The frustrated marriage counselor

(Hey, this is post #200! Do I get a medal or something?)

(Addendum: The post below is not, in any way, meant to trivialize marital problems and divorce. Like many things I post here, it's just an expression of my personal frustration.)

When people come to me for marriage counseling, my general approach is to send them as fast as possible to a professional therapist. No, it isn’t only because I, one of the world’s absolute worst husbands, am hardly suited to offer people marriage advice (although that is a major factor). It’s more about the attitude of the counselees.

Successful counseling requires that the counselee approach the counselor with a sincere desire to be helped, and with a real commitment to an extended process of introspection and change.

Today, though, based on my own experience, people come to the rabbi after the marriage is on its last toe, often after attempts with a professional counselor have failed, and generally as a perfunctory step so they can feel that they have exhausted all options. They don’t want counseling; they want a get (document of religious divorce), and my rabbinic approval of their decision.

Oh, they come in saying all the right things: “We’ve been married for twenty years and we’ve had our ups and downs, but we’re in real trouble.” “We want to stay together.” “What about the kids?” “Something’s just gone wrong.” “It’s not her, it’s me.” “He’s right - it is him!” And in chorus: “RWAC, can you help us?” But the external words don’t reflect an internal commitment to work on real change.

Of course, there are exceptions. If you came to your rabbi and he just did a rotten job of listening and offering assistance, I apologize on behalf of your obviously substandard rabbi. He probably didn’t even have real ordination, let alone a real heart.

And, in truth, I have managed to muddle my way into helping some WACvillians over the years. But, primarily, my office has been a pit stop on the way to a 12-line piece of parchment that includes the key words והרי את מותרת לכל אדם. It's not my fault; blame the congregants.

And while I’m on the topic of divorce, there are some really odd myths associated with the get process, such as:

-The rabbi will always insist that the couple stay together.
As though I didn’t know that divorce is sometimes the right choice? As though I didn’t know the gemara on justifications for divorce?

-The rabbi will always side with the man.
Didn’t you read my post on Women? I don’t think I’m the only rabbi whose natural sympathies are with the woman.

-The get process involves some kind of torture for the woman.
This is particularly frustrating; the procedure involves nothing of the kind.
1. The man is interviewed to determine his proper names, and the woman is identically interviewed.
2. The man is interviewed to determine he is doing this of his own free will, and then he assigns the scribe to write the get.
3. The witnesses sign the get, confirming that they have witnessed the husband's charge to the scribe and to them as witnesses, and confirming each other's signatures.
4. The woman is interviewed to determine that she is accepting the get of her own free will.
5. The man gives the woman the get. Finished, generally in 50-75 minutes, most of which is in writing the actual get.
Is it traumatic? Sure; it’s the dissolution of a marriage! But not because of the get procedure per se. And yet, so many women come in with bizarre stories about friends of friends who have been humiliated and berated before being granted a get.

Hmm… maybe we should do an Outreach project on divorce to eliminate these negative stereotypes. Something along the lines of the big Taharas haMishpacha, anti-Lashon HaRa and Invite a Neighbor to Your Seder campaigns.

Aish could put together a seminar, maybe even offer divorces at the Kotel. NJOP could run a program, “Turn Marriage into Divorce.” Or “Get a Get America!” Chabad could do a telethon. We could even link it to a greater outreach program, something along the lines of “Come to us for a Get and we’ll give you a free trip to Israel.”

Hmmm…

Why I Love Pesach

First, just a random thought that keeps nagging at me as I read about the 15 British soldiers captured by Iran: I read Tony Blair’s repeated warnings to Iran, combined with his denials that he is considering military options, and all I can think of is Monty Python’s British police officer: “Stop, or I’ll say stop again!” Is there something in the European water that rots their politicians’ brains?

Second, before I talk about why I love Pesach I have to admit that up until the Seder actually begins, I can’t stand Pesach. I’ve already talked about the stress leading up to the big day, not to mention the physical exertions of getting the house ready, so enough of that here.

BUT, once we get to the Seder I love Pesach, because:

I get to spend time with the rebbetzin and my kids, especially on the long Pesach afternoons (yes, DST is appreciated here). Even with a nap, there’s still plenty of time left.

I love the taste of Shmurah Matzah.

Davening doesn’t involve the distracting complexities of Succos – no hoshanos, no naanuim, etc.

No meetings on Chol haMoed.

It’s corny, but connecting with thousands of years of Jewish history at the Seder is really amazing, if you stop to think about it. Yehoshua did it, they did it in Bnei Brak, they did it in Turkey and Spain and France and Yemen and Iraq and Iran and Brazil and Japan, and here I am doing it now.

I love the taste of Shmurah Matzah.

I can sit down to meals and eat and talk with my family without feeling rushed to go do work.

I enjoy lounging in my kittel.

Matzah with butter. Matzah with jam. Matzah with butter and jam. Matzah with scrambled eggs. Matzah with cheese. Matzah with schnitzel (but no cheese). Matzah with meatballs. Matzah with turkey. Matzah Matzah Matzah.

Dayyenu is the perfect time to stop and think about all the little things that go right each day, to enable us to survive. That sounds corny too, but it’s true.

There’s a great sense of accomplishment that comes, for me, if the seder goes well.

The anticipation of post-Pesach ice cream is delicious.

And for me, the high point of Pesach: Shir haShirim (Song of Songs) is beyond my ability to describe, it’s so passionate, so evocative, so wondefully descriptive of the beauty and pain of seeking Gd. As frightened as I get reading Koheles (Ecclesiastes) on Succos, that’s how inspired I am by reading Shir haShirim. I get especially teary every time I read the 5th chapter, especially, it’s just so heartwrenchingly beautiful, first the loss of Gd and then the description of Gd. There are no words in my lexicon.

Matzah Matzah Matzah Matzah Matzah!

I’m about to become very unpopular

Shabbos HaGadol derashah is almost done (and is very, very good, I might add), shiur for Shabbos haGadol afternoon is done. Shiurim and derashos for the first days of Pesach are complete. Shabbos Chol haMoed derashah is done. Derashos for the last days of Pesach are complete. Shiurim for Shabbos Chol haMoed and the last days of Pesach are still to come.

Time to wreak some havoc.

More havoc than my Trust the Gedolim post.

More havoc than Orthomom raised with Pamela Greenbaum.

More havoc than my previous post raised in the RWAC home.

It's time to talk Kitniyos.

Jameel, it was your mistake to invoke my name regarding Kitniyos and its potential revocation. I believe I may be the only Ashkenazi Jew in the world who will admit that the gezeirah against Kitniyos makes perfect sense.

A little background: At some point within the past millenium, the rabbis of various Jewish communities, mostly Ashkenazic, issued rulings prohibiting eating certain non-Chametz foods on Pesach, lest one accidentally eat Chametz. These rulings are titled the “kitniyos” rulings, for reasons beyond the scope of this post.

The rulings, by and large, prohibited foods that fit into three categories:
1. They were often used to make products that resembled chametz;
2. They were often ground into flour-like powders;
3. They often had chametz mixed in among them.
Foods commonly included in this prohibition are soy, rice, cumin and mustard, and many beans. American corn is usually on the list because of resemblances to European vegetation. Some wish to expand it to include New World items like quinoa and peanuts.

Today, it is fashionable among Ashkenazi Jews to moan about the tremendous hardship imposed by avoiding eating kitniyos, even as they pack their gullets with imitation pasta, imitation rolls, imitation pizza and imitation-just-about-every-delicacy-imaginable-to-mankind. Certainly, they declare, the Sanhedrin will eliminate this decree. It’s a hardship! And besides, we’re too smart to mix up those foods with chametz.

Don’t be absurd.

First, this is not a hardship. No one is starving due to the specific lack of rice, no one is missing any critical nutrients from their diets due to the absent soy (one might recommend that they replace all the chocolates and potato stuff with carrots and radishes), no one is being forced to fork over huge dollar amounts due to the kitniyos decree. Just the opposite - permitting kitniyos would mean more big-ticket delicacies on which people could waste their maos chittim (money contributed to help the poor afford basic Passover needs).

And second, who in the world can guarantee me that his rice doesn’t include wheat kernels, or that he could tell the difference between rice flour and wheat flour?

Let me tell you a story that happened to me several years ago. RWAC and RWAC were eating a salad made from Kosher l’Pesach Bodek vegetables, presumably bug-checked to the nth degree, when we found a kernel of corn. No, this wasn’t כשר לאוכלי קטניות; it was for good Ashkenazic boys and girls. They can find the leaf miners but they can’t find the corn, apparently. And I should trust that no wheat kernels make it into the rice flour?

Food manufacturing, packaging and distribution are all orders of magnitude more complex now than they were centuries ago. Mega-corporations prepare many different products in the same plant, cheap labor is untrained in anything beyond the mechanics of their specific jobs and quality control is often shoddy. How does this compare to the lone farmer who harvested his produce and brought it to the town mill six hundred years ago? I’d say the lone farmer had a better chance of keeping his produce separate.

In a day when every major kashrus organization has an absurd amount of egg on its face from one mistake or another, and every major food producer has mix-ups that involve serious allergenic issues, and the FDA itself acknowledges that its policies permit “acceptable” levels of all manner of contamination in foods, I can’t see the rationale for saying that kitniyos/chametz cross-contamination in foods is not a concern.

So I know it’s going to be unpopular, but that’s my stance.

Let me be clear: I would not expand Kitniyos, but I wouldn’t revoke it, either.

Jameel, I hope you’ll forgive me: No Rice on Pesach.

Pesach and Rebbitzens

The usual stresses are afoot as Pesach nears. Derashah fever, shailophobia, and some idiot (I use that word for this case without the slightest compunction) publicly insulted one of my favorite congregants in shul this morning.

But one of the hardest parts of pre-Pesach prep is dealing with the metamorphosis of my wife. Yes, my rebbitzen is absolutely my role model and queen, the person I admire most in all the world. But as Pesach nears, she becomes a very scary person.

Our kitchen is already clean for Pesach. Tomorrow, I have been informed, I am to kasher the sink, the counters will be covered, the oven will be self-cleaned, the whole bit. We’ll be living out of boxes and a couple of toaster ovens for the next week. All food for the few dozen people we are hosting at sedarim will be cooked by this Thursday, or so it seems.

Why so far in advance? Because she knows I’m going to be very little help (or less than that) this week with all the shiur and derashah prep, kashering counseling, etc. Because she has a passel of kids to watch, and several dozen appointments of her own this week. And because, in general, the stress is getting to her and she can't dump anything on me, so the coping mechanism is to do everything as far as possible in advance.

Come to think of it, she reminds me of myself; I respond to stress the same way. I wonder if she also gets the nervous-not-ready dreams in advance of the big day. I’ll have to ask her if/when she comes up for air.

Annoying Titles

First, sorry about the oversized font on the blog lately. I would like to blame Blogger for it, but I’m not really sure that I didn’t do something while playing with the template last week. I'm working on it, at any rate.

Someone told me today that she is the world’s worst Jew. Sorry, lady, but you’re wrong. I’m not really sure who the world’s worst Jews are, but (a) you can’t be, because you read my blog, and (b) I have too many others I’d like to include in that category.

High up among the world’s worst Jews are rabbis who insist on introducing themselves as “Rabbi”.

You know who I mean; I’m talking about rabbis who call and say, “Shalom aleichem, this is Rabbi Goldberg.” I know, I know, for some of them it’s probably not intentional puffery, but I can’t help feeling like they’re throwing the title out there just to sound official, building up their importance. I have had occasion to receive calls from, and to meet in person with, some great Torah leaders, and none of them have ever used a title.

What about Kavod haTorah (respect for the Torah)? Kavod haTorah requires that I treat you with deference, and that you treat yourself with dignity - but it does not require that you use a title. No less a personage than HaRav Shmuel Kamenetsky, shlita, has left messages on my answering machine, “Hello, this is Shmuel Kamenetsky…” So don’t tell me that Kavod haTorah requires that you introduce yourself as Rabbi.

Maybe it’s because they want to save me from some faux pas, some disrespectful approach I might use if I weren’t aware of their prestige? Well, don’t worry about it; I try to treat everyone equally, title or not.

And it’s so unJewish to insist on a title. What happened to anavah (modesty)? What happened to the descendants of Avraham being known as ביישנים, bashful people? Do you think Moshe Rabbeinu left messages saying, “Hi, this is Moshe Rabchem?” And remember the injunctions of Pirkei Avos against using Torah as a crown or a tool - let your words speak for themselves, and ditch the title at the door.

Doctors will fare no better with me, I might add. “Hi, this is Doctor Schwartz” is an immediate turnoff. Good, you’re a doctor, now go away. I don’t want to see you, I don’t want to know you, I don’t want to have anything to do with you. Just go away. Not just because I’m positive you’re the kind of doctor who keeps busy people cooling their heels in the waiting room for two hours, but because I’m thoroughly unimpressed by a title that is so insecure it needs constant reinforcement.

I also don’t like people who use a first initial, as in “A. Herbert Goldstein” (initial changed to protect the guilty) but that’s a whole ‘nother post. Good night.

The Cruelty of Alzheimer's

With Pesach so close, how can I blog? And yet, how can I not blog? The venting - not of anger or frustration, but of authenticity - is important for someone who has to restrain himself so much of the time. And besides, my new friend Jack is reading and wants consistent posts.

Had a few things to talk about, but today's been overshadowed by a visit I made to an Alzheimer's patient this morning.

No, that's a terrible turn of phrase. He's not an Alzheimer's patient. He's a research scientist, husband of over 50 years, father of two, grandfather of more. He's tri-lingual, at least, speaking with perfect fluency, grammar and accent in English, Hebrew and French. His Arabic's not bad, either. He was a regular shabbos minyan attendee, until just under a year ago. He has/had a sense of humor, a smile, sincere concern for others.

I had noticed some vagueness about him about 15 months back. Then, January 2006, he got lost on his way to shul. That was a nightmare, eclipsed a few weeks later when it happened again. Tests, re-tests, second and third opinions... A month later he entered a facility for Alzheimer's patients. He was very upset about checking in, certain he was going to come out. Frustrated with the loss of words from his tongue, with the need to deal with a nursing home staff and system, with the loss of so much of his familiar existence.

He isn't frustrated anymore; now it's everyone else who is frustrated.

He told me this morning, when I came to visit, that he was waiting for his parents to come pick him up and take him home. Jumping through time with remarkable facility, he told me that he was in a hospital where he had been working at his research, and that he had stayed overnight, and now his parents were taking him home. What was I, the rabbi, doing there? he wanted to know.

We talked about family; he told me his kids were growing up nicely, learning English and Hebrew because both were spoken in the home. We talked about Purim and Pesach; I prompted him as much as possible. He kept slipping into French; at times I could barely keep up, but his accent was so smooth and clear that it actually made understanding relatively easy for me.

I couldn't stay long; the whole thing was so horrifying. He couldn't remember his younger daughter's name, until I prompted him.

I know this is a cliche, that in our day of superannuation everyone, it seems, has an Alzheimer's relative, and everyone reports this same experience. What I have to say isn't anything new; I apologize.

The worst part is going to be when I speak to his wife next. I want her to know that I went to see him, so that she won't feel alone in dealing with this... but if she asks how the visit went, how can I tell her? I know she knows, I know the frustrations she deals with on a daily basis, and I'll emphasize the positives, his linguistic fluency and all that, but still - how can I tell her?

I know I'm supposed to be funnier... maybe I will be tomorrow... but to quote Latka Graves, "Hard to get happy after that one."

RWAC’s Four Students

The Haggadah, building on passages from the Torah and Talmud, presents four types of children - the Chacham (wise), the Rasha (wicked), the Tam (simple-minded) and the Eino Yodeia Lishol (one who does not know how to ask questions) - who are to be taught about the exodus from Egyot.

In my experience, most of my adult classes also include representatives of four types. To build on the Haggadah’s language:
“כנגד ארבע תלמידים דבר הרב: אחד אנטי-חכם, אחד רוסי, אחד טום ואחד שאינו יודע לשתוק.”
“RWAC teaches four types of students: The Anti-Chacham, the Russian, the Tom and the One who does not know how to stop asking questions.”

The anti-Chacham: This is the student for whom the concept of emunas chachamim (trust in the sages) is entirely foreign. Not only is he not sure he trusts the sages, he’s not even sure the sages existed. He’ll call the sages of the Talmud “guys” and refer to them as “Akiva” and “Yehudah.” At first I assume it’s out of ignorance, but as the pattern develops and he ignores corrections, it becomes clear that this is someone for whom the concept of Masorah is entirely foreign.

The Russian: This is student from Russia, who brings his own unique cultural heritage to the table. Specifically, he speaks as though he’s 100% sure that he is right, on any issue under the sun. Fine, I may be exaggerating somewhat, but my experience is that people from Slavic lands tend to be very assertive, whether in arguing about the mechanics of fish farming in Talmudic times, farming in Rashi’s day, the location of Scythia or the gemara’s view of Olam HaBa.

The Tom: Tom isn’t Jewish, but he likes to learn about Judaism. He’ll come to classes on anything from Hebrew to Yerushalmi. Frankly, he may well be the most consistent student! So you rely on the Sridei Eish and allow him to stay in the class and learn with everyone else, but all along you have to wonder why, exactly, he is so committed to being there.

The one who doesn’t know how to stop asking questions: I don’t just mean the standard questions about the class material, I mean any and all questions. About anything whatsoever. It’s like the Gemara’s flow of tangents; he’ll go from Point A to Point B to Point C, and it’s hard to see the connections, let alone to answer all of them.

Okay, all of the above is a little tongue-in-cheek, not to mention heavily influenced by the hysterical edge that builds as Pesach comes closer. So don’t take any of it too seriously, or personally. Please.

Because if I ever do get outed, I don’t want any Russians coming after me.

A friend, by any other name

I’ve mentioned off and on since the very start of this blog that I have no friends. Some well-meaning emailers have expressed their disbelief; how can it be that someone as witty, friendly, learned and handsome as RWAC have no friends? Impossible!

And, in truth, they’re right, it’s not quite true; everything depends on what you mean by Friend.

You know the old line about how Eskimos have 150,000 words for snow, to refer to snow of different textures and the like. And Arabs have a whole bunch of words for camel. Well, Hebrew has a lot of different words for friend: חבר Chaver, ידיד Yedid, יקיר Yakir, אהוב Ahuv, דורש שלום Doresh shalom, and more. English does too, for that matter - friend, acquaintance, comrade, colleague, and numerous modified versions of those titles (best friend, nodding acquaintance, etc). There are a lot of different types of friends, and each relationship has its own title:

The Doresh Shalom (greeter) - Yevamos 63b cites Ben Sira as saying, “רבים יהיו דורשי שלומך וגלה סודך לאחד מאלף - May many be those who greet you, but reveal your secrets to only one in a thousand.” The doresh shalom greets you, asking how you are doing.

Rabbis have thousands of these, people who really mean it when they ask how you are. Some of them offer to be confidantes, but taking them up on it is a poor idea, in my opinion; congregants should not be confidantes, as a matter of consistent policy.

The Chaver (colleague) - Chaver, as I understand it, is rooted in chibbur, or joining. The chaver friend is a compadre, comrade or colleague, someone you associate with regularly. You may not have much in common, but you learn together, work or commute together or hang out at the same bar.

Rabbis have lots of these, too, whether from students or other rabbis or just fellow mispallelim (daveners).

The Yakir (honored friend) - Yakir is a tricky word. The Gemara in Megilah identifies “Yakar” as Aramaic rather than Hebrew, and it refers to honor or respect. Onkelos translates kavod as yekar. A Yakir is an honored friend. A yakir must also be somewhat beloved, as in הבן יקיר לי אפרים, but the emphasis seems to be on the issue of respect.

Again, rabbis have lots of yekirim, people with whom they share a bond of mutual respect (I hope).

But Yedid/Ahuv is a relationship in a different class. These relationships center around yedidut (warm friendship) and ahavah (love), a belovedness that transcends occasional greetings, collegial relationships and mutual respect.

I feel yedidut toward certain people, such that I am thrilled to hear from them wherever and whenever, whether once a day or ten times a day. Whether because of kindred spirits, shared experiences, respect and admiration or something else, I feel so warm toward them that every interaction is a source of pleasure for me. But I can’t impose yedidut on others, and I can’t be upset at people when it’s not mutual. I can feel yedidut toward others, but it’s just wrong to expect reciprocation. And therein lies the problem for a rabbi, because yedid relationships are inherently very hard for rabbis to develop.

Part of it is the baggage; when you are also the counselor and posek, it’s hard for people to see you as the yedid. Part of it is that you’re generally so busy that people hesitate to disturb you by contacting you, or they are afraid of monopolizing you. Part of it is that you don’t necessarily have the time available to build such a relationship; you can’t just smile at people. It takes time, and doing things together, and rabbis don't generally have that opportunity.

My rebbetzin says my posts are getting to be too long, so I’m going to cut this short here. But now you know the truth: RWAC has friends, just not the kind he wants.

And it's not just me. When we talk about the Fringe Jew phenomenon, as we have several times before, realize that these people are not only looking for a doresh shalom or chaver type of friend; they, too, need something more, and that's why it's so hard for the community to meet their needs.

Like Choni haMe’agel, Rabbis and Fringe Jews are holding out for the kind of rain we want.

More Applause for the Rabbi sans Cause

Jack praises the RWAC blog here, citing me for honesty and consistency. I plead guilty to both charges, the former because the point of an anonyblog is to allow me to tell the truth, the latter because, well, it's true. (I don't know about the letting my hair down part, though; my oversized srugi keeps it pretty well in place.)

Lest you be concerned, fear not: I am in no danger of getting a swelled head. It's hard to be arrogant when you have hundreds of congregants reminding you of your fallibility. Not to mention a rebbitzen who's a thousand times smarter than you. And children who stubbornly defy your attempts at educating them in the ways of basic human behavior, aka derech eretz. Oh, and an extreme dearth and paucity of (read: zero) friends.

That's one of the unexpected benefits of anonyblogging: Because you don't really know me, I don't have to accept any criticism personally, but I can take the praise as personally as I choose.

I once had a senior colleague tell me that a rabbi should not take praise seriously, because if he takes praise seriously then he also must take criticism seriously. Me, I feel free to be hypocritical; I'll take the praise because the praisers (as in Jack) clearly are expert, but I'll disregard the critics because they don't have a clue.

So thank you very much, Jack! You have demonstrated your perspicacity, and I am grateful for your kindness. All other positive commenters and bloggers, feel free to weigh in as well.

The Importance of Active Outreach… and appropriate citation…

Saw a Yerushalmi passage this morning, with important ramifications for outreach.

The Mishnah (Demai 4:3) discusses the question of whether tzedakah distributors are allowed to distribute untithed produce to the poor. Beit Shammai requires tzedakah distributors to give unithed produce only to paupers who will then tithe it. When dealing with paupers who won’t tithe, one must give them pre-tithed produce.

The Yerushalmi there asks a question which is interpreted differently by different commentators. As the Pnei Moshe explains it, the Yerushalmi asks why I need to worry about whether the pauper will tithe; since he is in the habit of not tithing, do I really need to be righteous for him?

To which the gemara responds: If I help him out now, showing him that I am concerned about the food he eats, there is a chance that he will reform himself. On the other hand: If I demonstrate that I don’t care what he does, how can I expect him to change in the future?

I think that’s a remarkable lesson, and it comes from a source that’s rarely cited. That’s one of the reasons I love Yerushalmi - you find such incredible material, that’s not commonly known.

Which brings me to my second point, that of proper citation. Before posting this I wanted to see if anyone else had pointed out the Yerushalmi above, so I did a search for “Yerushalmi Demai”. Lo and behold, I found a January 23rd post here citing a Yerushalmi passage from Demai. It wasn’t today’s passage after all - but it actually was the same passage I had quoted two days earlier, on January 21st.

Not only that - in the comments section to my Jan. 21 post someone pointed out a parallel passage in Bavli Chullin, and then this other blogger updated his post to reflect the Bavli Chullin reference. So, yes, I think it's pretty clear that I was his source.

Mind you, I’m not exactly accusing him of plagiarism - there’s no copyright on quoting a gemara, after all - but introducing your comment with “early this morning I came across” without mentioning that you saw it on another blog strikes me as, well citationally inappropriate. דבר בשם אומרו and all that.

The Fiction of Rabbinic Authority

All governments are legal fictions invented and maintained by the governed populations. It’s true of civil authority, financial authority and religious authority - laws are only as powerful as their acceptance by the community.

Think of what happens in a classroom if the class decides to rebel against the teacher. Think of what happens on a sports team when the players decide they don’t want to play for the coach. The same can happen to any form of authority, whether we are talking about a federal government, a bank or stock exchange, or a rabbi or priest. When people get tired of playing by the rules, no human referee can force them to comply.

Back in high school, if the teacher didn’t show up right away there was one student who would immediately announce, “If we all leave now, nobody gets in trouble.” I imagine all schools have someone like that - and so do societies in general. Laws are only as legitimate as people think they are.

This is certainly true for rabbis and their authority; the power of a rabbi depends entirely on what the community wants to permit him.

Problem: Different segments of the community want to permit me different types of power. Even from president to president and from board to board, that allowance changes.

On the one hand a parent complains to me about the behavior of another WACvillian’s child, as though I am empowered to enter people’s lives and tell them how to parent.

And on the other hand another WACvillian doesn’t want me to check his locker for chametz when I search the shul before Pesach.

I could try to draw a very simple, minimalist line: The rabbi’s authority extends to the shul’s halachic function, and no further. But even that degree of clarity won’t cut it - what about personal halachic issues that go on in shul itself?

Two obvious cases: Talking in shul, and The Kiddush Club.
Talking in shul - Assuming that the talking is relatively quiet, so that others are able to daven, is there any grounds for the rabbi to tell people to stop talking during davening?
The Kiddush Club - If the rabbi can’t tell people “You must show up at 8:30 AM” or “You must stay in shul until the end of davening,” how can he tell people, “You can’t go out for a drink”?

On the other hand, rabbis do legislate all sorts of the personal halachic practices within the context of the shul. We prevent people from bringing in non-kosher food for personal consumption at a kiddush or a shul meal. We tell non-physicians not to bring cell phones and beepers into shul on shabbos. We don’t allow people to engage in behaviors that endanger children. But in each of these cases, there are clear issues of community interest; what about truly personal issues?

So I don’t think there is a clear line to be drawn.

Personally? I am against extending rabbinic authority, mostly because I believe that rabbis are best served by counseling and not by ordering. This might just be very American 21st century of me, or it might be a function of my shul’s unique character, but I find myself far more successful when I plant the seeds of ideas and coax them along; instructing is rarely effective.

The days of the effective communal cherem are centuries past, for most of the Jewish world. If a rabbi is to be influential, his best bet is to limit his exercise of authority on his own, understanding its limits and staying well-within them. Best to be an influence, not an authority.

The Rabbi is a Mess

I have to admit that I am one of the less tidy people on earth. Not because I prefer a mess, not because I can’t keep a desk straight, but because I have too many other activities I prioritize over clean-up time. It just doesn’t matter enough to me, so long as I can find what I want.

This is not all my fault. Some days it seems like my mailman runs his own paper mill, generating reams of material just so that he can dump it all in my office:
Tzedakah envelopes galore (“Thank you for speaking with us,” “Per our conversation” and similar lies scrawled across them in computer-generated handwriting);
Bulletins from organizations I’ve never heard of (CRUCIAL UPDATE! they scream);
Petitions sent by organizations ranging from Jonathan Pollard groupies to Christian Right-to-Lifers;
Bills, of course, and more bills;
My own shul’s gazillion mailings, piled atop those of the OU, Young Israel, RCA etc;
Flyers and commercial mass mailings advertising treif Chinese, fund-raising opportunities, pools and sun rooms, etc.
If the Post Office is ever privatized, someone’s going to make a bundle when he buys the rights to mail things to RWAC. I should have my own Zip Code. And then people wonder why I can’t keep my office neat.

Another part of the problem is that, somewhere along the line, the Rebbitzen became convinced that my study is our home's central closet. I know exactly how it happened: My study is the one place that the kids don’t have free rein, so it’s a safe area for all sorts of papers that really shouldn’t have crayon on them, clothing that shouldn’t get trampled and tossed around, toys that are off-limits without parental supervision and more. So my study looks like Martha Stewart’s worst nightmare, with clutter beyond clutter filling it to the gills.

And okay, some of it is also my complete inability to throw out anything to which I am in the slightest sentimentally attached, or to which I once was sentimentally attached, or to which I might one day be sentimentally attached. I can barely bring myself to throw out those automatic Thank You cards people write after receiving a Mazal Tov letter from me. Even the pre-printed ones. Postcards, letters, even landmark flyers all have a place in RWAC’s office. I'm proud to note that my children take after me; I pity my wife when the kids discover their 3-years-past doodles in the trash.

I’ll admit it: I am a little jealous when I visit other rabbis and I see their neat offices. I don’t understand how they do it. But I console myself with the assurance that those other rabbis can’t possibly be doing as much for their communities as I am. Kind of like the mother who sees other mothers’ neat homes and says to herself, “Well, that’s all right. My kids may have a messy home, but they’re happier and better adjusted than hers.” (Note to the gender-accuracy police: Yes, in some homes the father does the cleaning. I know that. Now go away.)

So my office looks a little, shall we say, unprofessional. No, a cluttered desk is not a sign of a cluttered mind. It's not a sign of godliness. It’s also not a sign of a busy mind. It’s just a sign that I don’t care enough, yet, to clean it up.

Hmm… maybe my graphic should be a desk piled high with books and papers? A yarmulka peeking out over the top?

Megalomania, thy name is Rabbi

Megalomania is not necessarily a bad thing, you know. See Dictionary.com, which offers two translations:
Psychiatry. a symptom of mental illness marked by delusions of greatness, wealth, etc.
and
an obsession with doing extravagant or grand things.

I don’t think I am guilty of the former; I have no delusions regarding greatness. But I certainly am guilty of the latter - I am obsessed with doing “extravagant or grand things.” I want my every action to be extravagant, grand, out-sized, in whatever way possible.

This drives me over the edge sometimes, as it really does border on obsession:
I remember a rebbe of mine saying that he is afraid to end shiur [class] one minute early, because if 30 people are present then that’s really 30 minutes wasted from Torah study.
I am the same way, and worse - because when I get to the end of the shiur, the real end when I’m supposed to stop, when people begin looking at their watches and a couple of them are none-too-quietly harrumphing [no one really does that, but I imagine they would do it to a lesser rabbi], I can’t stop - I feel like I don’t have the right to stop.

Yes, I do stop on time, because otherwise they wouldn’t come back next time - but it actually is a struggle.

For the same reason, I can’t bring myself to cancel a shiur. If one person shows, we learn. (See Rav Shlomo Hyman’s great explanation to a lone student on a snowy day - “I’m teaching you, and all of the people who will learn from you as well.”) If I’m feeling exhausted or sick or miserable over something, it doesn’t matter, we learn. The shiur goes on.

I teach a certain weekly class that takes a break during the summer, when many of the attendees go away. One year a regular attendee asked me why we stop during the summer. It tore at me - here’s someone who wants to learn, how can I say No? Yes, I know, the answer is that I’m not saying No to this congregant, I’m saying Yes to the needs of all the others who I will be able to help because I get a few weeks to take a break. But it still bothers me.

It’s foolish, because this way lies the burned out rabbi… but at the other end of the spectrum lies the lazy rabbi who doesn’t motivate himself to really get out there and teach, to do amazing things, to surpass his own abilities and extend himself beyond himself.

How will you ever achieve greatness if you aren’t willing to transcend the boundaries? If you knew who I am and what I do when I’m not blogging, you would have a better idea of why I can fool myself into thinking this is possible. I can do a lot, and I always think I can do more.

The answer, of course, should be to take the middle road… but who can define middle? Maybe I haven’t even reached the 50% mark yet! Who knows what my limits are?

Hence the megalomania. I want to be large. I want to accomplish large. And therefore I must dream large. I heard a song earlier, Everything, from a band called Buckcherry. Key line caught my ear, “I want everything.”

Yes, I know it’s foolish. And I don’t need Anonymous to tell me it’s self-defeating, and that I am of more use to my family and community when I am functioning at 100% than when I’m a beaten, bloody and exhausted 33%, although I'm sure she will. But always the Kotzker chuckles softly, “The middle of the road is where the horses walk.” Now there was a sadistic genius.

A graphic for the blog?

So, now that RWAC has somehow hit the big time, it has occurred to some people who shall remain nameless that my template is somewhat, well, stodgy. It needs livening up, some color, something that says Rabbi Without a Cause in just the right way.

I'm not so sure this is really necessary, but I'm willing to go along for the ride as far as finding a graphic to go with the title, and see what happens. I looked at some websites with James Dean pictures, but as much as I do look like a bearded James Dean, the shots just don't seem right for the blog. I doctored one with a gemara and a yarmulka, and that just made it look, well, weird.

Among the other suggestions I don't like:
An imitation-RenReb alternating graphic; she's in a class by herself;
Anything with a cute graphic of a rabbi with a long white beard;
Anything incorporating the logos of major Jewish organizations;
Anything incorporating small furry animals (well, no one has suggested that, but I'm just heading off the possibility).

Other than those considerations, I'm open to ideas; what should be included in a picture heading this blog?

On the use of blogs for Lashon Hara

An anonymous commenter tried to use a comment on my blog last night to link to a post elsewhere, with information degrading another blogger. I don't know whether this was malicious, or whether the commenter really thought the material was relevant. It doesn't matter; I deleted the comment.

The picture of the Chafetz Chaim in the upper right corner of this page is not a totem, some magic talisman to increase my traffic, or a replacement for a ב"ה. It's a reminder of the seriousness of everything we put on-line. This material is cached and indexed for searching, and even deleted posts generally end up stored forever. That's heavy-duty damage we can inflict, without even trying hard.

Dovid haMelech compared the tongue to a serpent, and with good reason; it's not just because of the serpent in Eden, it's also because, as the midrash explains, the tongue's wound can be fatal, and the speaker gets no benefit from the act other than destroying someone else.

I remember one night when I attended a class on issues related to lashon hara, and a person in the crowd raised her hand and asked, "With all of these topics off-limits, what will be talk about?" Sad, but true: Most people's conversation revolves around observations on the character of others. Ugh.

I'm not claiming to be entirely above lashon hara, but I do try hard to eliminate it. Not just because of the letter-of-the-law, but because of the philosophical principles behind it, as explained in the Torah. It's part of being kedoshim (holy).

Okay, I needed to get that out of my system; sorry, but that comment really annoyed me. Now I'll step off my soapbox.

“The Rabbi has a problem with women”


I’ll never forget the allegation of a woman in my first shul; she spread the rumor that I “had a problem with women.” When pressed (by others, not by me), she said that I looked at the men more often when delivering a drasha. That was it. The woman had a different problem with me, as it happened; this claim was just a way to try to get leverage. I’m happy to say it failed.

But I do have a problem with women, just not the one she meant. My problem, which I suspect I share with most males, is Gullibility.

Yes, it’s true; I tend to believe every word that a woman says, automatically. I suppose it’s biological, a built-in part of the hormones that make me male. On some level it’s “damsel in distress” syndrome. And I wouldn’t put it past my psyche for this to be something else entirely. But however you slice it, I am predisposed to believe women when they say something.

To wit: A woman comes to me with a claim that her husband is refusing to give her a get, because he wants a better financial arrangement in the divorce; could I intervene? So I hit him like a ton of bricks, and succeeded in getting him to agree to give the get.

Another example: A woman tells me about her horrible in-laws, who are terribly abusive toward her. They are rude and insensitive, and generally seem to go out of their way to offend her. I instinctively take her point of view and make it my own.

A third example: A woman comes to me to talk about her desire to convert to Judaism. She seems sincere, and I am inclined to accept her story at face value.

A fourth example: A group of women come to shul to collect tzedakah, with stories about their problems. I am inclined to skip the fact-checking, and would do so if I didn’t have an iron-clad rule about investigated all uses of communal funds.

In all four of the above cases, all of which are taken from reality, I was later given serious reason to question the women’s stories. At the time, though, I bought the women's account hook, line and sucker. I have to admit that I am generally fairly easy to gull, but particularly so with women.

I do think this is a general male tendency, and not my exclusive province. Why else does Mishlei use women to represent both good and evil temptation? It’s not about sexual imagery; it’s about the way that men have a natural tendency to accept what women say at face value.

So what’s the lesson here? רבנים דעתן קלות להתפתות. Be careful, RWAC. Be very careful.

And check everything with the rebbitzen.

An odd day for the rabbi


What a strange day.

Through a bizarre confluence of events, I had the day practically to myself - two early morning shiurim to deliver, one shiur to prepare, and that’s it. No one likes to program events for the day of the clock change, which helped. So did the cancellation of something major in which I was supposed to participate. No community events, no meetings, no major projects demanding attention today.

I’m terrible at handling days like this.

Me tough RWAC.
Me don’t need puny human rest and relaxation.
Me able to run 24/7.
Me need work, me thrive on work.

So I spent the morning antsily busying myself with Pesach derashos and taking care of minor fix-it jobs around the house. I wondered irritably why a friend of mine, the only non-family member who knows I am doing this blog, stopped reading it this past week. I tried to read a book and got nowhere, stopping every two pages to check my email.

It wasn’t until midday that I surrendered to having the day to myself, and took the older kids out to fly a kite. Lay on the floor and played with the youngest two. Decided the friend is just bored with my navel-gazing self-obsession, and will come around or not in good time as she pleases. Read the book I had been toying with this morning - Mirror Dance, for you Vorkosigan fans.

It was therapeutic, to say the least.

(The rebbetzin, I should note, is annoyed that we didn't do Pesach shopping.)

The problem is not that I think I’m not human; I’m not that stupid. The problem is that I simultaneously know I’m supposed to transcend being human; the goal is high, as it should be.

It’s not hubris, it’s my job:
1. A rabbi is charged with encouraging others to set their sights high. How can he do his job, if his own sights aren’t set in the stars?
2. More: How can a rabbi aspire to leading Jews, the most disorganized of organized religious groups, if he doesn’t expect to exceed the merely possible?
3. And there are always plenty of WACvillians who say things like, “My cousin is in the hospital three states away; I’m not saying you have to go see her, I’m just letting you know.” This right after they say, "Make sure you take some time to relax; we need you in good health!"

Bottom line: If the rabbi doesn’t know how to relax, the game’s over. A day like this is a good reminder of that.

A Chametz Song

I chanced to hear "Save Me" from Shinedown the other day, and the opening line grabbed my pre-Pesach attention: "I've got a candle, and I've got a spoon."

Now, the song itself is serious, talking about homeless drug abusers, so I feel odd writing a parody of it - but that opening line is just begging for it. So, with due apologies, a quick bedikas chametz song. Not exactly funny, but I'm the blogger here. For the real lyrics, see here.

Search Me

You’ve got a candle
And you’ve got a spoon
You look into every door
All of the rooms

On a windowsill
A crust of chametz was found
Another piece within the doorway
You make no sound

Somebody search the desk and bed,
And take away all this bread,
Please just search me, if you can,
Take the chametz from me, with a dustpan.

How did I get so crumby,
What went wrong,
Couldn’t keep the kids out all year,
Finding the chametz will take so long,

I can hardly remember,
How clean I was last year,
How can I be so full of chametz,
Cookies, cake and beer?

Somebody search the desk and bed,
And take away all this bread,
Please just search me, if you can,
Take the chametz from me, with a dustpan.

[Cool Instrumental]

Give the chametz to someone to eat,
Put it in a trash can on the street,
Burn it in the fire,
Just get it out of me.

Tonight at the Seder we’ll answer
The question of why

Why

Somebody search the desk and bed,
And take away all this bread,
Please just search me, if you can,
Take the chametz from me, with a dustpan.

Someone search me
Someone search me
Somebody search me
Somebody search me
Please don't neglect me

The Rabbi’s Stress Builds

Pesach is coming.

I know what you’re thinking: Of course Pesach is coming! What did you expect, when Purim is so last week!

But you don’t understand: Pesach is coming.

Five derashos - two for the first days of Pesach, one for Shabbos Chol haMoed, two for the last days. Not to mention another for Shabbos right after Pesach.

Divrei Torah for each night of Yom Tov, and Shabbos.

Shiurim for each afternoon of Yom Tov, and Shabbos, between Minchah and Maariv.

Krias haTorah for eight days, and a different one each day, including Chol haMoed.

Pesach is coming, I tell you.

And the shailos, oh, the shailos. How do I kasher my coffee-maker? What’s the latest on kashering microwave ovens? Does this need a special hechsher for Pesach? Why? Why not?

My grandmother used peanut oil and had no problem with it. My grandmother refused to use peanut oil, and would have spit on your Pesach kitchen.

What’s the story with mustard? Does meat need a special hechsher? What about fresh fish?

Rabbi, I’m away for Pesach; can I just do a bedikah on the front hallway of my house? How about just a bathroom?

Oh, yes, Pesach is coming, my friend.

The mass exodus of two-thirds of my shul to various relatives. We can't get anyone to come to our Seder. Maybe they go away just to avoid being invited to our Seder.

Somewhere, some community swells massively with the exflux of my congregants. And we don’t get nearly as many influxers as we have exfluxers; presumably the overflow is in the hotels.

Or worse: Maybe they all just say they're going away. They're hiding in their homes.

Pesach is coming to town.

“Yes, I know you’re busy playing Rabbi,” the rebbitzen will say to me one day very soon, “but how about playing husband a little, too? You know, cleaning up your study, the bedroom, the garage, the basement? Watching the kids for a while? Doing some of the shopping? And if you’re too busy to kasher our sink, why do you have the time to kasher everyone else’s?”

And my favorite: “You told Mrs. WACvillian she doesn’t need to cover that counter, and ours are the same - why are we covering ours?”

Pesach is coming; look on Pesach, ye mighty, and despair.

Yom HaAtzmaut will get short shrift.

As will Lag ba’Omer even though it’s a Sunday this year.

Yom Yerushalayim? Be happy we’ll say Hallel, pal.

Yom haShoah? I follow Rav Soloveichik that Tisha b'Av is the day for national avelus.

All of those dates will be ignored in the rush of PESACH, and by the time Yom Tov is over I’ll have not the slightest energy for planning more special events. We’ll be lucky if I get together an all-night program in time for Shavuos.

Pesach is coming.

And you know the worst part? It’s just five months from Rosh Chodesh Nisan to Rosh Chodesh Elul.

And then you wonder why I get drunk at the Seder.

Confessions of a Non-Open, Non-Modern Orthodox Rabbi

Confessions isn’t actually the appropriate word; I don’t really feel very apologetic about my non-Open Orthodoxy. I am non-Modern and non-Open, and I’m pretty comfortable that way.

To me, Modern/Open Orthodoxy looks like Peter Pan Orthodoxy, a kind of “I’ll never grow up” approach that says that you can have your theological cake and eat it, too. You can claim the masorah of sages of yesteryear where it appeals to you, but if it conflicts with modern needs then that masorah must bend. It’s an almost Kaplaneque “Past has a vote, not a veto” approach, but not as flippant toward the past because the past has its uses, too.

To take one example: A leader in the Open Orthodoxy movement wrote, "The phenomenon of women receiving aliyot in a mechitza minyan is currently being debated on both a halachic and communal level within the Modern Orthodox community." (I leave out his name because I don't want this to be about individuals and their institutions.)

The sources on this issue can be debated and discussed, certainly. And people may feel that women are being deprived of a privilege. But to say that this is a debatable halachic topic, and to say - as the author continues to say - that the issue of practical law on women's aliyot is open and not resolved, is to ignore two millenia of halachah going back to the Tannaim recorded in the 3rd perek in Masechet Megilah. Yes, there were less-than-a-handful of Rishonim with remarkable opinions written for unusual situations, but to claim that this makes the law as a whole debatable, because we today view male-only policies as restrictive and delegitimizing to women, resembles, to me, a Peter Pan approach. You can't dump the Rambam and Shulchan Aruch unceremoniously into the trash.

It's about more than the halachic process, too. Within this Modern/Open framework, we render new judgment upon past generations, cherry-picking what we like and dropping the rest. We love Rabbi Akiva, as a model of late learning, as a figure of post-Temple hope, as a sage who wisely understood that his wife deserved credit for his learning. We point to Rambam and Vilna Gaon and say See, Jewish sages can do science and math! We are proud of our ancestors Shmuel haNagid, Avraham Ibn Ezra and Don Isaac Abarbanel for their cosmopolitan character. But when those same sages say things like, “One who learns works of secular philosophy will not enter Olam HaBa (Rabbi Akiva)” “One may not teach his daughter Gemara (Rambam)” and "Dreams are a function of prophecy, not psychology (Ibn Ezra)" then we go all squeamish and quietly discard their views in the nearest potted plant like a black jellybean accidentally pulled from the candy bowl at kiddush.

This extends to halachic positions as well. To the Modern/Open Orthodox, classic rabbinic positions on every conceivable issue, from interfaith dialogue to women’s issues to Zionism, are open to review and rejection based on today’s needs. Majority opinions may be cast aside in favor of minority views. Leading lights like Chasam Sofer and the Vilna Gaon are cast as extremists, while figures who were never held up as poskei hador are venerated and their views exhumed for latter-day leniencies.

Shimon Peres (who should have taken his own advice), said, “If a problem has no solution, it may not be a problem, but a fact, not to be solved, but to be coped with over time.” He was right – and the clash between our tradition and modern values is often not a problem to be solved, but a reality with which we must cope.

The funny thing is that my own practices aren’t that different from those of the Peter Pan club. I say Hallel on Yom haAtzmaut (no berachah, though). I long for Israel to be ראשית צמיחת גאולתנו. I intend to have my daughters learn mishnah and gemara, should they choose to do so; my wife owns a Shas with her name embossed on the cover of each volume. But I’m not so confident that I’m right in any of my “modern” choices, and that those who are of the “closed” practices are wrong. I’m going with the judgment of my rebbeim, and with what I see in the sources, and hoping that my lishmah intent will carry me through my mistakes.

And maybe I’m all wrong, and the Peter Pans are right. Could be, I suppose. But I don’t think so.

RWAC is not leaving WACville!

Had a frustrating thing happen today, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

Seems a certain largish shul has been hunting for a new rabbi for quite a while now. They have four candidates, who have all come out for a Shabbos. (As it happens, I know three of them, and have the greatest respect for them as friends and colleagues. That shul would be lucky to have any of them.)

So today I received a call from a high muckety in my community, who heard through the grapevine that I had applied for that position. Not only that - he heard that so-and-so had given a reference!

Now, it’s entirely possible that I will, one day, move from my current community, but I haven’t investigated any options toward that end. I’m not going anywhere now. Yes, I’ve been approached with feelers by a couple of communities, but I’ve made it clear that I’m not going anywhere in the near future. So how does this come about?

Perhaps a conversation between the headhunter and a resident of WACville goes something like this:

Joe Rabbi-Hunter calls a noted WACvillian (note: that’s villian, not villain!): What do you know about this RWAC? I hear he’s pretty good.
WACvillian: Yes, he’s great! We all love him! We hope he stays here forever!
Joe Rabbi-Hunter: So you’d say RWAC is someone our shul should pursue?
WACvillian: You mean RWAC’s looking to leave WACville?
Joe Rabbi-Hunter: Well, I don’t know, but we’re talking about him in our shul’s search, so I thought I’d ask you for an objective reference.
WACvillian: Hmmm…

And there it goes, from one ear to the next, one meeting to the next, and before you know it the word is out that I’m looking to skip town.

If the day comes when I want to look elsewhere, I’ll let people know straight out. Until then, I’m here. But congregants have been burned before by others who have left before the end of their contracts, so they are suspicious… and regardless of the gemara’s famous observation about שקר, lies do have legs. So I’ll deal with it, like everything else, because I don’t have much choice.

On a more upbeat note: Thanks for the comments on the Purimfunk post; you've helped me get through it.

Thoughts from a Purim Stupor

And one more post for today, to make up for my funk post of last night. To quote Latka Graves, Hard to get happy after that one - but I’m doing my best.

Among the trails of thought that migrated through my alcohol-induced, inter-ear haze today:

Does Jameel observe Purim on the 14th, the 15th, or both? Where does he find the time?

Do pluralists drink on Purim until they can tell the difference between Arur Haman and Baruch Mordechai?

There’s a guy in a local asylum who calls my office whenever he can get to a phone. He likes to sing weird songs or recite poetry. At one point about two years ago he started calling my house, at which point we brought in the police, but he’s been pretty benign since then. He's also stopped demanding that I get him in touch with Ariel Sharon; I don’t know if it’s because he’s up on the news or because he’s lost interest. But I was wondering, today, what it would be like to go have a few beers with him some time. (Yes, I have met him; that’s another story in itself.)

Nisim = Miracles
Purkan = Redemption
Gevuros = Acts of might
Teshuos = Salvations
Milchamos = Battles
Can you identify the difference between these five Divine interventions? Are they just poetic verbiage, or is there something more here?

What a long, strange day it was. Time to work on a shiur, and then get to bed; going to the gym at 5 AM tomorrow.

Rabbi Without a Semichah

Note: You can hear the audio for this on the fantastic JBlogosphere carnival here! Thank you, Jameel and Ezzie, for your hard work on it!

It had to happen eventually; the only question was how long it would take the various Orthodox institutions to get together on it. This past week, an historic gathering of yeshiva leadership gathered at Yeshiva University in New York to formally strip Rabbi Without a Cause, RWAC, of his Semichah.

In a scene that would have been unthinkable in the past, the עם מפוזר ומפורד united for the sake of removing its Orthodox imprimatur from RWAC’s resume. Rabbi Zevulun Charlop of Yeshiva University’s Rabbi Isaac Elchanan Theological Seminary sat side-by-side with Rabbi Aryeh Malkiel Kotler of Lakewood’s Beth Medrash Govoha, and Rabbi Avi Weiss of Yeshiva Chovevei Torah rubbed shoulders with Rabbi Aharon Feldman of Ner Israel Rabbinical College.

The unprecedented display of unity was generated by concern over the anonymous RWAC, and the popular blog that has become his on-line pulpit. Whether offending the left by declaring unstinting respect for Gedolim, or insulting the right by saying that one may contradict Gedolim, whether mocking Tzedakah fundraising auctions or needling Kiruv professionals for their “Judaism-lite” sales pitch, RWAC has managed to annoy the leadership of institutions left, right and center. No single yeshiva will acknowledge his ordination as their own mistake, so the irked institutions are striking back, banding together to jointly revoke RWAC’s Semichah.

Said a spokesman for Beth Medrash Govoha, “It is most unlikely that he could have learned in a Lakewood beis medrash, someone who could compare Gedolim to Apollo Creed! But, then again, we have seen others leave our yeshiva to become bloggers, undermining Daas Torah. We hang our heads and beat our hearts, and we certainly revoke any semichah we may have given him בעוונותינו הרבים. Even as we recognize that he must have come from YU or that crazy lefty Open Orthodoxy upstart, not from any of us.”

Rabbi Dr. Chairman and YU President Emeritus Norman Lamm offered his own view, averring, “There is a greater likelihood of the next Nobel Prize-winning Talmid Chacham coming from Yeshiva University than from Lakewood, but there is very little likelihood that this caveman of a blogger attended our institution, except maybe to drop in at night seder. And if he did attend here, he certainly was among the bochrim who davened and learned in their rooms. I would certainly never have given him semichah. But if, on the off chance, this charlatan tricked anyone at our august institution into signing a klaf on his behalf, I hereby revoke that signature wholeheartedly.” At his side, President Joel nodded his head vigorously in agreement.

Apparently most offended by RWAC was “Open Orthodoxy” guru Rabbi Avi Weiss of Yeshivat Chovevei Torah. “I know RWAC can’t be one of our musmachim; he has far too great a command of Gemara, Rambam, Shulchan Aruch and Poskim. Further, he has yet to post anything in favor of women’s megillah readings, interfaith dialogue or mandatory organ donation. Frankly, I suspect he is one of those new-wave black-hatters at YU, who are so damaging to our Open Orthodoxy love of Klal Yisrael. Well, I didn’t found a brand-new institution dedicated to bashing all other Orthodox Jews in order to have this blogger insult women’s minyanim. I’ll chain myself to Belfer Hall before I allow this impudent RWAC to call himself Rabbi. Henceforth, he is just WAC.”

RWAC, for his own part, was amused by the fuss. “I’m hoping this will get me another post of praise from the Renegade Rebbetzin,” he admitted. “Besides, it could be worse,” he told this reporter. “They could have pulled a Pamela Greenbaum on me, right? I’m just glad to have stimulated this great show of achdus among klal yisrael."

ליהודים היתה אורה ושמחה וששון ויקר!
RWAC

Sorry, but this is a post of Purim Funk

Warning: If you want to stay in the Purim spirit, go to the Podcast here! Don’t linger on this page, or you’ll be annoyed at me for spouting a depressing rant on Purim.

While we wait for Jameel and Ezzie to put the finishing touches on the podcast, here are some distinctly non-Purim musings (that may or may not be alcohol-influenced, depending on who's asking):

I think I did a pretty good job of dressing up this Purim - not in terms of my costume, which wasn’t my best ever, but in terms of masking what’s going on inside me these days. We partied it up, as we will again tomorrow, and I doubt that anyone, even those who know me well, realized that I’m not exactly running at full steam these days.

The most frustrating problem is a general nervousness that has overtaken me. I don’t know what it’s from; I feel like I’ve ingested some kind of drug that has me bouncing off the walls, and I can’t relax. Example: Friday night I had a bizarre pre-Purim anxiety dream in which I was in shul trying to lain Zachor and I couldn’t find the place in the Torah. The oleh had made the opening berachos and I couldn’t find the spot. People started getting up and walking around, then they went outside, some left to go home for lunch… it was really weird. Clearly just an anxiety dream, but wow, did I wake up spooked.

A second part of the problem is the sense that I really am aging. I’m usually way UP for Purim; I’ve always loved this Yom Tov. I usually end up laining the megillah at least six or seven times, and I don’t get tired. Tonight I was tired after the second reading - and this without having to fast all day. The Rebbetzin points out, correctly, that I had all the duties of Shabbos today, but still… I can’t ignore the fact that I’m twenty years older than I was twenty years ago. At one point during the post-Megillah celebration I sat down at a table, and after a few minutes I was reminded by a nearby friend to “Get to work.” She was joking, I think, but the truth is that in an ordinary year I would be “at work,” circulating around the room, greeting people, clowning, etc.

And a third part of the problem: A general feeling that I’ve stopped accomplishing. Friday night, after dinner, I had a flashback to myself sitting at a Shabbos table after dinner seven or eight years ago. I wonder what I would have thought of myself seven years ago, had I been able to see myself now. I think I would be disappointed that I haven’t accomplished more of my goals. I’ve grown bored with myself; I don’t have enough new challenges, just the old challenges repeatedly.

So I didn’t feel 100% tonight… although, again, I think I managed to mask it pretty well. Not much choice in the matter, really; outside of my rebbetzin, I don’t really have anyone I can trouble with things like these.

I feel terrible for others who may also be depressed on Purim - not in a temporary funk-ish way like I am right now, but in a more serious, clinical way. I think of Rivka, obviously. I think of the people I know who are lonely or sick or miserable. It must be terrible for them, feeling isolated from the celebrating community. I hope they will receive lots of Mishloach Manos.

Don’t worry about me; I’m sure I’ll fight through this soon. I’ve been re-reading one of my favorite books, Memory (Lois McMaster Bujold). She has a character, Miles Vorkosigan, who reflects much of my existence and my angst. I like watching him get beat up, and watching him get back up again; it reminds me of myself. I intend to be out of this funk soon…

O Pamela

Just in time for Purim (but a few hours too late to get it into Jameel's JBlogosphere Purim Carnival)...

O Pamela (sing to the tune of "O Canada")

O Pamela,
Lawrence School Board Grande Dame,
True love of all Jews,
in all thy blogs command!

With fear in our hearts, we plead with thee,
Let Orthomom go free
From far and wide
O Pamela, we send our pleas to thee.

G-d, keep Orthomom,
glorious and free!
O Pamela, we send our pleas to thee,
O Pamela, we send our pleas to thee!


Q: What’s the difference between Pamela Greenbaum’s lawsuit and Canada?
A: Somewhere in the world, someone takes Canada seriously…

And stay tuned for the real (read: on-time) Purim Carnival Entry!