Responding to Shallow Waters with Shallow Waters

I approach this post with considerable trepidation; it is a criticism of an article by Rabbi Emanuel Feldman, for whom I have the greatest respect, no cliché intended. Rabbi Feldman’s writings are generally deeper and more insightful than anything I could ever produce, and he is so eloquent that I generally find myself agreeing with his opinions just because of the articulate beauty with which he expresses them.

Having said that: His latest Tradition piece (“’Plunging into mighty waters and emerging with a broken shard’: New Orleans and the Mind of Gd”) was disappointing.

Rabbi Feldman takes on the easily maligned, self-elected sages who are ready to explain every calamity as a function of a particular sin. They are an easy target; when he wittily mocks their self-righteous certitude, we all laugh. When he sings the praises of those who humbly acknowledge our human confusion, we respond with a choral Amen.

I, too, am horrified by Robertson-eque declarations of “New Orleans was sinful,” “This is punishment for legalized abortion,” and “He suffered a stroke because of the Disengagement.” But Rabbi Feldman goes to the opposite extreme, issuing a broad-based condemnation of this extravagantly unhumble approach, and in so doing he throws out baby, bathwater and bathtub.

To be sure, Rabbi Feldman does briefly acknowledge that our Sages - of the genuine, capital-S variety - throughout the ages have engaged in generational soul-searching to identify the causes of our suffering. But he writes it off as an attempt to bolster faith and improve our general conduct, “to strengthen faith and to lift spirits,” and I am not so sure this fits the evidence:

When Rav Huna’s 400 barrels of wine go bad and he defends himself to the sages, saying he has done nothing wrong, they reply, “Then is Gd at fault?” (Berachos 5b)

The very sages who watch the Second Temple destroyed are the ones who identify the culprit crime of Sinat Chinam. (Yoma 9b)

The students of Rabbi Akiva perish, and the Talmud itself identifies their sin as lack of respectful treatment toward each other. (Yevamos 62b)

There are many other such examples; see Gittin 55-57 on disasters associated with the fall of the second Beis haMikdash, and see much of Maseches Taanis on drought and other calamaties.

I find it difficult to dismiss these passages as faith-bolstering techniques, or as attempts to provide spiritual palliatives. I certainly cannot condemn the speakers, Tannaim and Amoraim, as hubris-filled. And they are not, I think, claiming to be superior to Moshe and Chavakuk and Iyyov, who were so troubled by man’s suffering.

Rather, those sages were walking a fine (centrist?) line. They understood quite well כי לא מחשבותי מחשבותיכם, that we cannot read the mind of Gd. And they were not trying to insult the victims, and they were not trying to self-righteously exonerate themselves and indict others. They understood that it is better for us to act to repair the damage we find, along whatever measure-for-measure means we can identify (Shabbos 105b).

Do I overextend myself in defense of the indefensible? I think not. I truly believe that the great majority of pontificators are trying to do right. They are, to borrow a phrase from Rabbi Feldman, trying to help us “live the Godly life.” Rather than write them all off as Falwells and Robertsons, I will weigh their counsel, accept that which fits the evidence, and move on, hopefully, an improved person.

JIBs update and The Scholar Scourge

JIBs
Looks like I’m going to lose in the 1st round on “Best Jewish Religious Blog.” Mah Rabu, which I must admit I hadn’t heard of before the JIBs, is way out in front of Dov Bear and yours truly, and Dov Bear is just in front of RWAC as well. If you haven't voted yet, go here.

As far as Best Small Blog, Life in Israel is way out ahead, and it’s neck-and-neck between RWAC and The Maggid of Bergenfield down the stretch for second place. To vote, go here.

The Scholar Scourge
I would love to retire and become a Scholar in Residence, an exhibit on permanently rotating display, floating from town to town and collecting checks as I go.

The scholar in residence has four, maybe five presentations that he recycles in community after community. His delivery is smooth, his jokes are well-rehearsed and on-point, he knows his text by heart. Why shouldn’t he? He’s done these talks so many times he could do them in his sleep. In fact, he often does give them in his sleep, thanks to the long hours he travels to get to the next city.

People gravitate to the scholar. His voice and face are new, he has a polished resume, he has no negative baggage, and he displays all of the warmth of a man who knows he has no further responsibility to the community beyond this Shabbos, so he can have a good time and relax until it’s time to leave.

But as much as I'd love to live the Scholar in Residence life, I hate bringing these Scholars into my own community.

This may surprise you; what could be better, for a rabbi, than having a Scholar in Residence program? RWAC moans all the time about the never-ending hard work of developing a meaningful and inspiring drasha, week in and week out… this is an opportunity for me to sit back and let someone else do the heavy lifting.

So why is it that having a Scholar in Residence drives my blood pressure through the roof, making me more nervous than Yom Kippur and Pesach combined? Three reasons:

-If he contradicts basic themes of mine, I have no recourse.
A friend of mine points out that a Scholar in Residence is a “Hit and Run” performer, saying whatever he wants and not having to stay to defend it. I prefer to call some of them “Smash and Grab,” as in smash the rabbi’s hard work and grab the honorarium.
I can promote certain ideas for months on end, like Jewish Unity or Zionism or an approach to women's issues, and then in comes this guy and he presents his own point of view, which directly contradicts mine… and what can I do?
Of course, after he's gone I can go back to pushing my agenda, but it does set me back.

-If he fails, I’m the one who looks bad.
I can research all the references and still get burned.
"RWAC, how could you spend the shul’s money on some guy who can’t project his voice past the first row?"
"I can’t believe you would bring in someone who has so little in common with his audience."
"It would be nice if he could put a grammatically-correct sentence together."
"For a guy with his educaiton, he still needs a good homiletics class."

-If he says something inane, I’m helpless.
I am so not into creative Gematria.
I am so not into politicizing Torah.
I am so not into oversimplifying complex biblical themes in a neat 40-minute package.
So you can imagine I'm really not into it when a putative Scholar employs creative Gematria to politicize Torah along the way to oversimplifying complex biblical themes in a neat 40-minute package.
About the only thing worse is when they do the same as the above, and they overrun the time limit on their neat 40-minute package.

And then you have the ones who just say foolish things and call them "homiletics" or "drush".
You’re sitting there listening along with everyone else, and you can’t believe your ears when the speaker says something that’s just wrong. I don’t just mean he makes a bad joke; he mis-quotes a pasuk and then uses the mis-quote as the linchpin of his presentation. As the host you can’t correct him, you can’t do anything at all to distance yourself from his presentation lest you embarrass him, so all you can do is slump down in your seat and hope he wraps it up soon…

And then, a separate point: I've spent so many years teaching, I've become an awful student. I once heard Rabbi Dr. Norman Lamm say that he has a hard time listening to speeches; if you don't get his attention in the first few seconds, there's no chance. I have that problem now. I just have to hope that no one tries to discuss the Scholar's presentations with me, lest people discover that I don't have the slightest clue what he said.

So for me, the whole experience is nerve-wracking. The best possible emotion I can feel when the scholar concludes is Relief.

Things you would never say to a Rabbi?

Had a meeting at a synagogue of a different flavor today, and in a pre-meeting talk someone said something to me that really threw me for a loop.

Without losing the family nature of this blog and descending into ניבול פה (verbal abasement), it was a graphic comment about how she taught her unmarried, collegiate children the importance of using contraception in their, um, interactions. And about how she personally supplied them the requisite materials. And about how it’s so important that all parents do this... don’t I agree?

I’m not naïve, I know what people are doing, and I have been in the position of offering halachic advice on the subject numerous times over the years. But still, I’ve never had someone tell me all about the way she taught it to her (apparently) active children.

So that got me thinking about other things I would never expect a WACvillian to say to me… and I couldn’t think of any. Very strange.

What I did think of, though, were numerous things that one might think people wouldn’t say to a rabbi, but people have actually said to me:

Organized religion is stupid (as though Judaism resembled "organized" religion in any way, shape or form), and learning Torah is dull.

Burn every tie you own. NOW. After the purge, we can start again. (Okay, maybe it wasn't that strong, but it was close. And she was right.)

You look way too young to be a rabbi. (Ah, for the return of those days.)

Maybe you’re just not cut out for the rabbinate. (Right again?)

Genesis was clearly written by human beings borrowing from other cultures, and not doing it very well.

Your breath smells.

Your socks smell.

You mean you don’t have a weekly day off? (This from another rabbi.)

Wow, you’re cute! (She was right, y’know.)

Hey, Rabbi, you should start a blog!

You need a vacation from us.

My daughter is marrying this non-Jewish guy she met in college; he’s the nicest son-in-law I could ever have.

My sister can’t convince my lesbian niece and her non-Jewish partner that their new baby needs a brit milah; could you talk them into it?

And, to round out the list, two favorite bits of meaningless fluff that people like to say:

Rabbi, it was a lovely service.

and

I hear such wonderful things about you.

There have been lots of others, too. Maybe one day I’ll post a follow-up with more fun things people say to rabbis…

Why my children will not attend Yeshiva University

Let me state at the outset: I am a proud product of Yeshiva University and RIETS, and I am deeply grateful to both institutions, to which I owe a great debt.
-My personal outlook on Judaism and the world is a direct product of those institutions.
-I have only the greatest respect for the Roshei Yeshivah - who I still consult regularly for guidance, decades after having received semichah (ordination).
-I admire President Joel for his vision and his commitment to promoting Judaism.
-I benefited greatly from the instruction of certain professors, in the secular side of my education.
-I expect that my children will attend college (although I will not require it of them, if they can propose a practical and sensible alternative).

And yet, to my great personal pain, I cannot see sending my children to Yeshiva University. Admittedly, this decision is still two or more years away, and things may change between now and then, and my own philosophy may change between now and then, but this is what I see at the moment, for two reasons:

First: Tuition. The cost of tuition, dorm, etc. for next year is $40,000, give or take a dollar.

Realistically, that may be the going rate for colleges with the quality of YU’s education, but it’s an obscene number when weighed against the cost of the yeshiva/college combination available elsewhere, not to mention Bar Ilan or another Israeli option.

Realize, as well, that T40K catalyzes another problem: Peer group. With costs this high, many quality students, including those with the outlook I want for my own children, are migrating elsewhere. Yes, scholarships and loans are available, but many of these students simply go elsewhere rather than rack up debt or rely on the uncertainties of scholarships.

Second: The uncertain philosophy of the institution itself. Put simply, there is not a commitment to the philosophical leadership of any specific rabbi or rabbis. Philosophical leadership rests in the hands of the board and its president.

Yes, the president can offer a philosophy, and yes, I have great respect for President Joel - but the philosophy I seek is rabbinic, accountable to Jewish tradition. The President can chart a vision of his own and justify it based on his personal beliefs, his board, and his track record of success. The Rabbi must do all that, and additionally justify his vision based on thousands of years of Jewish teachings. Between the two methods lies a world of possibility, in some measure promising and in some measure frightening. For examples of the issues involved, look no further than the YU Commentator's Reconciling Institutional Divides.

I'll go one step further - I am not looking for a Rabbinic Philosophy that matches my own, but simply a Rabbinic Philosophy at all. Even were it not my personal outlook, even were my personal "rebbe" not the steerer of the YU ship, I would feel comfortable knowing that the person in charge of the rudder was responsible to justify his philosophy from the sources that I respect above all.

I am not talking about the much-feared mullahocracy. I am not talking about a re-writing of YU's Constitution to fit an individual Rosh Yeshiva's view of Torah, or of Torah UMadda. I am talking about a Torah-based check on the direction of the institution. No, it's not for everyone - but it is what I am seeking, for the education of my children. Businesses have financial audits, and even ethics audits. Newspapers have "slant" audits. Jewish educational institutions should have rabbinic audits.

Reality check: I am fully aware that even in the heyday of Rav Soloveichik, YU did not hew to his every instruction. One need look no further than his own words when Einstein Medical School was founded. As cited in Community, Covenant and Commitment (pg. 86), Rav Soloveichik wrote in Tog Morgen Journal in 1954 (translated from Yiddish):
I do not know what my opinion would have been had I been consulted regarding the necessity and practicality of a medical school under the auspices of Yeshiva. However, my opinion was not sought during the opening stages of the project.

So I do not labor under the illusion that YU has ever been of a certain definite and definitive rabbinic philosophical path, and yet it has achieved greatness. But regardless of success past, I, personally, am not comfortable committing my children’s education to an institution that does not require of itself a rabbinic check.

And what will happen, where will the kids go? Good question... if I'm still blogging in a couple of years, perhaps we'll talk.

JIB Awards hacked! Is nothing sacred?!
and
The 5767 RCA Convention

So it seems that someone is, or someones are, trying to damage the JIB awards by messing around with the vote totals.

I have to admit that I am somewhat grateful; this way I can blame my utter defeat on rigged totals, which is clearly why I am so far behind the competition. I mean, do you really think DovBear has more fans than RWAC? (don’t answer that)

But, more seriously, the whole idea of messing up the awards is just foolish. It doesn’t demonstrate technical aptitude; even someone with my quite limited knowledge could mess around with it. And it doesn’t do anything to the blogs themselves, like shutting down those with a message the hacker doesn’t like. It’s just someone with a lot of time, and perhaps some bitterness at not being personally recognized. What a waste, and what a nasty thing to do to people who have worked hard to provide this forum.

On another Blogging note: I recently discovered an interesting way to get traffic. I was re-labelling posts en masse, and found that when I published numerous articles in rapid succession, Blogger linked to me in its “Next Blog” button. The result was a lot of hits from new visitors. Granted, most of them looked for a second and went on, but if I ever have a post that needs rapid exposure and will have mass appeal, that could be a way to generate the audience.

And on a completely different note:
The RCA Convention is coming up next week, in New York.
I am impressed at the changes made in the format for this year. It’s never been bad, in my opinion, but the changes for this year will make it more accessible as well as more attractive to more rabbis.
1. The conference is easily accessible for all the NY rabbis (there are a few of those, yes) because it’s in Lower Manhattan, and therefore cheaper because they won’t need hotel rooms.
2. The RCA has borrowed the AJOP method of identifying programs based on “tracks” – Talmud Torah, Leadership, and Networking, specifically.
3. There is a great Tuesday lineup of full-day programming with choice of Academic Scholarship, Hilchot Niddah and Practical Kashrut tracks.
As I said, I am impressed. Having more rabbis means having more opportunities to see friends and to consult and network. The chevra is what makes me go. If it were just the content, I could get that from reading and audio shiurim; the chevra is what makes the conventions.

About the only thing I really think is lacking is a talk from someone who is of the “Yeshivish” camp. I’d love to see a talk from Rav Reuven Feinstein, for example. Yes, I know the difficulties the RCA has had because of some hot-button issues of the past several years, but I wish we could find a way to surmount these purportedly insurmountable problems; the absence of a significant sector of observant Judaism detracts from the legitimacy of the RCA as well as from the convention experience.

In any case: Although I am not a big convention-goer, I may well be there for this year’s convention. Catch me if you can…

Good News, Bad News

Good news: Havel Havolim 113 is out, and aside from being kind enough to link to a post of mine from the past week, it links to a bunch of other truly interesting posts.

Bad news: After an initial good showing, I'm starting to get shellacked in both the Best Jewish Religious Blog category and Best Small Blog category. Granted there are 5 days left in the voting, I can see the trend coming.

I have to say that despite having not cared at all about being nominated in the first place, and despite the fact that I respect the blogs that are ahead of me (as well as quite a few of those that are behind), I still don't like losing. Oh, well.

For Yom haZikaron

As has already been established on this blog, I live with great guilt for not being in Israel. Look under the "Israel: Aliyah" label for more discussion of this issue, if you like.

Bottom line: I attended a Yom haZikaron program this evening, and it stirred up all of the old emotions. I need an outlet, so I wrote the poem below. It just came out, in the span of maybe 20 minutes.

It took me longer to write an English translation than it did to write the Hebrew. Frankly, the English doesn't match the Hebrew well at all; if you have any Hebrew skills, try the Hebrew.

I've also added footnotes to the Hebrew, to explain some of the references. (And yes, the Eich/Eichah reference is intentional.)

I don't know whether it will mean anything to anyone but me, but it's what I'm feeling at the moment.

איך
איך נשיר את שיר ה' על אדמת נכר
איך נבכה בכית הדורות בארצות הברית החדשה
איך נרים קול על אבלות שהיא לנו רק בתור שמועה רחוקה
איך היום נקרע בגדינו ומחר נחיה בשלום ושלוה

איך נעיז פנים לטעון מהקדוש ברוך הוא שהוא ברחמנותו יזכור
ואנחנו בתוך הגולה נשאר ובחיים של עושר ובטחון נבחור
איך נתגדל ונתקדש שמו הגדול ונקרא תהלים על האבודים
ונעמוד מרחוק במקום שאי אפשר להזדעזע מפצצת התילים

איך בנינו גדרות צאן וערים לטפנו בארץ לא להם
איך גרנו בחו"ל ונשתקענו כאן - מידכם היתה זאת לכם
יבוא יום רעדה של שחיטת ה"איך" ונתלהב ונצפה אליו
אבל קול דודי על לבי דופק אם לא עכשיו... אם לא עכשיו

Notes
Line 1: Tehillim 137:4
Line 2: Taanit 29a
Line 3: Moed Katan 20a
Line 4: Tehillim 122:4

Line 6: Yechezkel 1:1
Line 8: Shmot 20:17

Line 9: Bamidbar 32:16
Line 9: Bereishis 15:13
Line 10: Sifri Devarim 301 (cited in Haggadah)
Line 10: Malachi 1:9
Line 11: Yerushalmi Berachot 5:1
Line 12: Shir haShirim 5:2
Line 12: Avos 1:14

Rough English Translation

How
How can we sing the song of Gd while living on foreign soil
How can we cry the cry of generations in this land of the "New Covenant"
How can we raise a voice in mourning which, for us, is news from afar
How can we tear our clothes today, and live in quiet peace tomorrow

How can we boldly demand of Gd, that He, in His mercy, remember
While we ourselves remain in the Diaspora and choose a life of secure wealth
How can we exalt and sanctify His great Name and recite Psalms for those who have been lost
And stand in our places far away, where we cannot tremble as the rockets explode

How have we built sheep pastures and cities for our children in a land that is not truly theirs
How have we lived outside the land and sunken in here - this happened from your own hands
The day of trembling will come for slaughtering the “How” and we will passionately wait for it to come
But the voice of my beloved knocks upon my heart... If not now… If not now…

See also Jameel's Yom haZikaron post here.

JIB Awards - Please Vote

All right, here’s the drill - Voting begins Sunday night, 10 PM EDT.

I’ve been nominated in the following categories:

Best Small Blog

Best Jewish Religious Blog

Best Series of Posts (for my Conversion series) - [not ready for voting yet]

Click on the links above to vote. I know there are plenty of better blogs out there, I’ve even read a few of them. But if you want to vote for me, well… I won’t complain. I’ve got as much ego as more ego than the next guy.

RWAC Goes to Church

Let me state this at the outset: Do Not Try This At Home.
I am not your heter (permission) to enter a church. There are serious halachic reasons not to enter a church, whether its sanctuary or its general facility - issues of maris ayin (appearances), issues of participating in, strengthening or endorsing Christian worship, and more.
If you are Jewish and you are in a situation in which you think you need to go to a church, please consult a competent rabbi regarding your specific circumstances.

That said: I went to church recently.
It’s a very long story that would entirely compromise my anonymity. Suffice it to say that I had good halachic reasons to be there, that it wasn’t for a service, and that I didn’t actually enter a sanctuary containing any sort of icons, or even scripture. Really, it looked just like any auditorium. Honest.

Even still, it was way spooky for RWAC. Like a haunted house, but the ghosts wore fashionable suits and brightly colored ties, and had perfect teeth that gleamed when they smiled. Which was all the time, as though someone had spiked the punch.

I sat with a few other Jews, and I couldn’t stop myself from making little jokes to them every five seconds out of sheer nervousness.

Example: At one point during the program a speaker started talking about a recent personal crisis, and how her spirituality had saved her. She was serious and the crowd was listening seriously, but I couldn’t help commenting to my neighbor: “That’s why I don’t go to church - people talk to you about Gd.”

It was so non-synagogue. People were quiet and respectful (except for me). They hovered at the refreshment table, shy about being the first to dig in (like that would ever fly at our kiddush). They listened attentively to the speakers and applauded at the end.

But why does church spook me so?

Part of it is the history: two thousand years of barbaric torture, murder and oppression, generation after generation of people who would have burned me at the stake, expelled me from their countries, mocked me and isolated me and shut me off from society.

Part of it is the belief system: The church I was in was born-again fundamentalist, and I have real problems with much of their theology. It just disturbs me.

And part of it is the general wrongness of my being there, the feeling that church is just not the place for me to be. Secular Jews sometimes tell me they feel uncomfortable sitting in a synagogue; I think this is part of what they feel, too. I just don’t belong there.

So I sat there uncomfortably and cracked my jokes about the program, the content of the speeches, the facility, the little gift items left on the seats.

They happen to have great chairs, by the way; if we had chairs like that in shul, I could totally fall asleep. Church chairs (pews?) rock.

The churchers, for their part, were very welcoming. Four different people greeted me at the door with big grins and outstretched arms. “We’re so glad you could make it!” I don’t know if that was just for me with my big fat yarmulka and beard, or if that was the treatment that everyone got.

I toyed with introducing myself to people as the pastor of Church of the Assumption, just to see if they would believe me.

Please: Don’t bother telling me I’m a religious bigot; I already know that. And don’t bother telling me that this is too cloistered an approach for the modern world; I don’t agree. RWAC just doesn’t do church.

And coming up some time next week, if I can turn my thoughts into prose: RWAC on Platonic Relationships.

Cell Phone Rorschach

The hit parade of challenges goes on this week… today’s big fun is arbitrating a multi-generational family feud while trying to figure out what I can say on Shabbos about Virginia Tech that will have any meaning. Not sure which is more difficult, frankly.

Apropos of nothing, but I’ve had this thought in my head all week:

The cell phone is one of the great Rorschach symbols of our time, an image with such immediate relevance for so many people that we tend to pre-judge people for their cell phone use, based on our own experiences.

What am I babbling about? Here are three scenarios:

Scenario 1: The driver in front of you on the highway is going slowly, and veering somewhat. From behind you can see that she’s on a cell phone, but you could have guessed it, anyway.
A common reaction: Hands-free or not, legal or not, it’s rude, and you’re immediately annoyed at her lack of consideration.

Scenario 2: You’ve seen the picture of the guy at the Kotel, cell phone in hand even as he bends toward the wall.
A common reaction: What a lack of piety; can’t he wait until he’s somewhere else before he takes the call?!

Scenario 3: You’re in the hospital, recovering from major surgery. An acquaintance doesn’t come to visit; he only calls from his cell phone while driving from Point A to Point B.
A common reaction: How callous! How can I gain comfort from the fact that he calls when he has nothing better to do, in the car?

In all three of these cases, the common reaction is based on what the cell phone means to us, in our personal experience - generally, just a convenient means of communication. We look at the cell phone-shaped ink blot and see what it would mean for us, in our own lives.

But this view doesn’t take into consideration the possibility of a different narrative, a quite realistic narrative, for each case:
1. The driver is on the way to the hospital, and trying frantically to get directions at the same time.
2. The man at the Kotel has a direly ill, bedridden relative, and is davening at the wall while the relative is on the phone, listening in.
3. The acquaintance who calls the hospital from the car doesn’t know if you want visitors. His cell phone call is a step toward seeing whether his visit would be welcome.

Yes, this is a simple דן לכף זכות (judge others favorably) message, but forgive me my well-meaning simple-mindedness. I’m just annoyed because I was in the position of being judged by others recently for cell phone use - specifically, Scenario 3. Being a good rabbi, I can’t sound off directly to the offender, lest it sour our future relationship - so I’m sounding off here.

He’s not evil. We all make Rorschach pre-judgments based on our own experiences; it’s basic to self-defense. But it still bugs me.

Of Grooms, Brides, Feet and Dominance

I’ve been asked to comment on a post over at DovBear, about a wedding custom of the groom placing his foot over the bride’s foot, to indicate dominance. (I should note that the custom is not about stepping on her foot, it’s a theatrical foot-over-foot intended to demonstrate male dominance.)

Frankly, though, I don’t know much about this odd custom. You might take a look at Mail-Jewish posts here and here to see a couple of other people who don’t know much about it, either. I don’t yet have Daniel Sperber’s 8th volume, to be able to check his references on it.

But let's look at the rationale itself: What’s the male dominance thing about?

It certainly doesn’t reflect the reality of relationships in Jewish history. Tanach does not have a tradition of male-dominated marriages. Whether Avraham being told to listen to Sarah, or Rivkah manipulating Yitzchak twice-over, or Yaakov asking permission from his wives before leaving Lavan’s house despite a direct Divine command to leave, we don’t have any image of male-dominated marriages among our greatest ancestors. Same among later greats - see Batsheva and Dovid as a prime example. The same follows through in the gemara; we don’t have records of male-dominated marriages there, either. (And no, Tzipporah, בעל doesn’t mean “master”; I trust you were joking with that comment.)

But: The custom does fit the biblical statement, "והוא ימשל בך - he will rule over you." Chavah is punished for having given the fruit to Adam, with some kind of corrective that will help future generations get past that sin. Quite consistent with this odd custom, I must acknowledge.

And yet, I do question this odd custom: Since when do we feel the need to help Gd fulfill a punishment?!

In other words:

Gd tells Adam that he is going to have to sweat to bring produce from the ground. Does that mean we would be obligated not to use labor-saving means (had this punishment not been short-circuited after the flood anyway)?

Gd tells Chavah that labor will be painful. So do we ban epidurals? (I’m sure there are non-Jewish groups that do this - but I’m talking about Torah and Judaism here.)

I think we can safely say that no, we don’t feel the need to help Gd carry out punishments. Avraham didn’t, either, and neither did Yitzchak and Yaakov. And if so - why should any husband feel duty-bound to establish a dominant role, in order to fulfill this prediction?

So no, I'm not about to recommend this practice. And further, if any husband is foolish enough to try to assert biblical dominance, let me give you a piece of advice: Ask your wife's permission first.

Mini-post

It's been an exhausting week already, with much more to come. Too bad, because I've had a lot of bloggable things, including this exchange with my kindergarten-aged daughter:

We're reading the Berenstain Bears book on "Junk Food" (a term I truly dislike, for reasons beyond the scope of this post), and the father bear bends over and his overalls rip, a sign that he needs to start changing his diet. I say to my daughter, "Good thing Mommy and I don't have that problem." To which she replies, completely innocently, "Yes, because you and Mommy don't wear overalls."

And lots more interesting things, some funny, some sad, some exasperating. I've learned for the 1000th time that even if you have good volunteers working for you, you can't take anything for granted. I've learned for the 1000000th time that even people who mean well can do remarkably counterproductive things. And I've learned that even people who seem never to appreciate you, sometimes do - and will even, on occasion, express it unexpectedly.

And today, in talking to an elderly gentleman about his life as a Jew and its ups and downs, I somehow came out with the following bit of wisdom: "Being a Jew is not about what I am, it's about what I can become."

That line was weirdly inspired by the classic Batman Begins line (1:11 into the film, and reprised at 1:57), "It's not who you are underneath - it's what you do that defines you." But I still think it's true. To quote the Gemara at the end of Berachos, we never say "לך בשלום Go in shalom" to the living; we say "לך לשלום Go toward shalom," to continue to grow toward that end. It's about what we will become.

My Yom haShoah Dilemma

I’m relieved that my area has a community-wide Yom haShoah program; this saves me from the question of whether to hold a Yom haShoah commemoration for my shul, or not.

My problem with Yom haShoah isn’t the standard question of mourning in Nisan, or the disturbingly secular character of its establishment. My problem is entirely different:

An argument against:
Rav Soloveitchik, in his Tisha b’Av shiurim, noted that the day to commemorate Jewish tragedy throughout the ages was Tisha b’Av. This was why he opposed establishing a new day to commemorate the Holocaust.

On the other hand!
However, I am not entirely settled with that approach, for two reasons:
1. Rav Soloveitchik's point is somewhat ahistorical; European Jewry observed the 20th of Sivan, for centuries, as a day to commemorate massacres of Jews. This observance was endorsed by great rabbonim.
2. Moreover, and this is my greater problem, I am not convinced that the Holocaust is not something categorically new.

Yes, the tragedies of the past were devastating in scope and suffering. I am certainly not about to play a game of “Who suffered more?” in an attempt to evaluate them. In fact, I don’t think the point is the degree of suffering, or the number of deaths, or the percentage of Jewish communities wiped out in the Crusades, Inquisition, Cossack pogroms and Holocaust. Rather, the point is that the tragedies really were categorically different, and therefore a new day is warranted - just as we have separate days for the siege of Jerusalem (10 Tevet), the invasion of Jerusalem (17 Tammuz) and the fall of the Beis haMikdash (9 Av) because of their unique elements.

The destruction of the Beis haMikdash was about the conquest of Judea, and the downfall of the Jewish political entity in Israel.

The massacre of Jews in the Crusades was fundamentally about Crusader greed; the Crusaders sought to enrich themselves by plundering our communities. The religious element was really secondary, it appears from the history books.

The Inquisition was religious in character, clearly; economics played a very minor role.

The Cossack pogroms were economic, a class revolt in which the Jews were identified with the Polish overlords but were not protected by the Poles from the murderous Ukrainian Cossacks.

Which brings us to the Holocaust. The Holocaust was not about religion, or about economics or class, even though all of these played key roles. It certainly was not about a Jewish state or other legal identity. Rather, the fundamental issue was Race, and the elimination of the Jews as a race from the earth.

So I’m not convinced that the Holocaust shouldn’t have a day of its own, whether on the 27th of Nisan or on some other day.

But back to the first hand
But, on the other hand, establishing a new day does encourage people to forget Tisha b’Av, and the events of the past two thousand years. I know many Jews who would never think of missing a Yom haShoah program, and wouldn’t schedule parties on this date - but who would readily attend a barbecue on Tisha b’Av.

And further, if we accept the fundamental principle that all tragedies are in some way related to sin - understanding that this is hard/impossible for many to do with the Holocaust - then are any of those tragedies truly "different" enough to warrant a special day?

So I’m stuck, for now. May Mashiach come by this time next year, eliminating this problem once and for all.

Inspired by the JIB awards

Apparently I've been nominated for a JIB Award for Best Jewish Religious Blog. Thank you for the nomination. For those who would like to vote, you can do that here beginning April 22nd.

They also have a Best Post category, with all sorts of sub-categories for things like Torah posts, religious posts, humor posts, recipe posts... which led me to do my own kind of internal award for posts of the past several months. Feel free to use the comments section on this post to vote!

If any of these posts emerge as a clear favorite, perhaps I'll nominate them to the JIB awards...

Best Jewish Religious Post
The High-Priced Holy Days
Shailophobia: The Fear of Answering Shailos
Viduy
Out of step with the Jewish blogosphere
Cognitive Dissonance: Black, White and Gray
Annoying Titles
I’m about to become very unpopular

Best Torah Post
On Divine Tests
The Greatness of Aharon haKohen
Musings on Moshe Rabbeinu’s Yahrtzeit

Best Post Series
Conversion
Conversion, Part II
Conversion III
Conversion IV
Conversion V

Ignore this post
Ignore this post II

Best Humor
Changing the world, one rabbinic job interview at a time
The Rabbi’s Stress Builds
RWAC’s Four Students
Proper care and feeding of your rabbi

Happy voting,
RWAC

Of rabbis and children

One of the things that makes my job fun is the chance to work with children. Not in a classroom sense - I am entirely not cut out to provide formal education for children of any age - but rather in the sense of seeing them grow, interacting with them, teaching here and there, serving as a guardian of sorts, and taking pride without having to change a single diaper or enforce a single bedtime. Kind of like grandparenting in a tallis, and without the baggage of being their parents’ parent.

Some parents don’t understand the attraction the rabbi holds for their kids. The other night a pre-teen girl called me rather late with a question, and her mother didn’t believe her when she said she was on the phone with the rabbi. The mother actually got on the phone to verify that her daughter was, in fact, talking to the rabbi. (Yes, I explained to the mother exactly what we were talking about. And yes, I make sure never to be secluded with any child, of any age and of either gender. I’m stupid, but not that stupid.)

The rabbi/youth relationship is important for the rabbi's success, so important that I don’t think a shul should have a rabbi who doesn’t want to be close with the kids. It’s important for the kids’ sake, and it’s important for the sake of his relationship with parents and grandparents. I remember visiting my relatives with one of our sons when he was 4 or 5 years old, and introducing him to the rabbi. The rabbi, a significant talmid chacham in his late 40’s, made conversation with him, asked him about his class in school, and joked around with him about a classmate being eaten by a crocodile (long story). The bottom line: It made me feel closer to that rabbi, and I am certain it made my relatives feel closer to him as well.

And what could be more fulfilling - although also daunting - than being a confidante for a child? The cases in which they tell you about a parent hitting them, about scary strangers and indifferent teachers are among the most emotionally taxing a rabbi can face, particularly given his status as a mandatory reporter. But children are great readers of personality, I find, and I consider it an honor when a child reads mine and decides to trust me.

And at bottom, it’s about the fun. I can be myself, whatever that is, with a child. It’s harder with adults, who have all of that rabbi/congregant baggage, than with a child.

I have much more to say on this, but Shabbos is coming. Perhaps I’ll continue this another day.

JIB Awards

The JIB awards are back, and with them an interesting question of categorization: Is this blog a Torah/Judaism blog? Or is it a personal, slice-of-life type of blog?

I don't know, and I'm not sure it's really worth thinking about too much, but if you think this blog is worth nominating in any category, feel free to go here for blog nominations, and here for nominations of specific posts.

I refuse to nominate myself, for two reasons:
1. That's way too much hubris, and;
2. There are lots better blogs out there.

Which is not to say I'd mind if anyone else should choose to nominate me...

The Myth of Equal Time

Warning: Serious post ahead. Not a single joke in it. I’m sorry, I tried, but it’s just not funny. Actually, it’s pretty much a soapbox rant. Sorry.

Several years back, one fine spring Shabbat, we hosted a family whose oldest child was in the 8th grade of our local Jewish school. The father informed us during lunch that his son would attend public school in September, since it would be time for him to learn about the Real World and to have equal exposure to Judaism and secular society.

Let’s leave aside the issue of whether high school, public or private, actually represents “the real world,” and whether a teenager actually needs said educational experience; it’s not my point this evening. Rather, my point is that the father made a fundamental error in saying that this schedule would afford his child equal exposure to Judaism and secular society. Sure, he would have some 7 hours a day in public school, followed by hours of homework and extracurriculars, not to mention time spent hanging out with his public school friends. But where in his schedule would he find “equal exposure” to Judaism? Apparently, in attending Shabbat morning services as well as three weekend hours of Hebrew school.

Why does it matter? Because this is the "equal time" that is going to shape his decisions about Judaism. About choosing his friends. About dating. About Israel. About every life-shaping decision we make when we are far too young to be doing things that are this serious.

It is to laugh... or cry...

And many of us do the same thing.

Let’s take a man or woman who watches The Sopranos. Heroes. American Idol. American Runway, or whatever they call that thing. Dancing with the Stars. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. He reads popular fiction, or she reads romance novels. He watches the kids. She goes to work. They go to the movies. They eat out. They sleep, they go to the gym, they go out with friends, they attend Book Club.

They also go to shul on Shabbos. Maybe they go to minyan in the morning and evening. They go to a class on Shabbos afternoon. They review the parshah every week.

Where’s the balance? Roughly the same as for my poor high schooler, I think, although you can do the math yourself.

With influences at that level, running 80%-90% for the “real world” and 10%-20% for Judaism, how long will it be before their decisions, their values, are formed more by the “real world” than by their Judaism?

And it matters for the same reasons it matters for our high schooler. Because they are going to make decisions about their home's kashrus. About Shabbos. About Mikvah. About their shul. About the institutions for which they volunteer. And because they are going to make decisions about their children's education - just like the "real world" father did for his high school-headed son.

The balanced life certainly is possible - but it’s more along the lines of what the Rambam formulated. Yes, Maimonides, the poster rabbi for secular philosophy and natural sciences. He wrote (Mishneh Torah, Hilchot Talmud Torah 1:11-12, translation mine):

11 - One is obligated to split his study time in thirds - one third for the written Torah, one-third for the oral Torah, and one-third to understand and gain insight into the end of the matter from its beginning, to deduce concepts and compare concepts and understand the Torah’s hermeneutics, until he knows how the essential methods operate, how to produce that which is prohibited and permitted, and similar lessons that are learned from tradition. This is what is called Gemara.
12 - How? If he is a craftsman and he is involved in his work for three hours each day and in Torah for nine hours, then among those nine hours he should read from the written Torah for three hours…

Did you see what Maimonides did? He proposed nine daily hours of study. That’s the way to a balanced life. Remember, he also wants you to sleep eight hours each day (see Hilchot Deiot), which leaves sixteen waking hours (24-8=16). So of 16 waking hours, the majority (9 > 8) are in Torah study.

Mind you, he did not say the nine hours are obligatory. But he provided that as his example of a craftsman’s standard day.

Of course, for many people this is impossible. Most of us cannot work three hours each day and afford our rent, let alone day school tuition. But:

1. We can do our best to make our "secular" experiences into Jewish experiences, by incorporating Torah into our work. Whether by finding ways to learn without stealing time from employers, or by looking at our jobs as a way to apply the Torah we know, we can find ways to even the balance.

2. We can use our "spare time" to even the score, instead of running up the numbers on the side of the secular.

3. We can develop the intensity of exposure to Judaism during our Jewish hours, so that it will help make up for the intensity of immersion in a secular world during the other hours.

4. We can be realistic, and look at our world with open eyes. A Jew who has the strongest possible educational background as a child, and who grows up to spend 12 hours each week in minyan and 10 more in study, and 50-60 more in sleep, is still spending some 80 or so in secular life, whether at work or watching TV or reading blogs (other than RWAC, of course) or whatever. That 80/20 influence creates a bias, and we need to have our eyes open to that bias.

In my opinion, that father made a big mistake in the way he educated his child. But he made a bigger mistake, in my mind, in the way he framed it - as an equal-time arrangement.

I can’t kid myself, I face the same problem; I have to weigh my social work time against my study time, too. But - I look at it with eyes wide open, and I do think that puts me in a decent position to handle it.

This soapbox is now closed; bring on the Real World response.

Kohelet vs. Shir haShirim

Friday night I was thinking about Shir haShirim (Song of Songs), and I was startled to realize that I've changed my perspective on it.

I've always liked Shir haShirim, particularly the aching beauty of the fifth chapter, but in the past I viewed Kohelet (Ecclesiastes) as the better book, with its cynicism, its refusal to take shelter in standard Jewish philosophy, its cold, hard look at the world. I admired King Solomon's strength and honesty. But, looking at the books now as I age, I find a much greater respect for Shir haShirim.

Cynicism is easy; any teenager can look at the world with a jaundiced eye and criticize and find fault. Romanticism, from someone who knows the world, is much more difficult to come by and reflects real, fathoms-deep, thought and emotion.

Shir haShirim's description of love and loss, of rejection, of doubt, of longing, is so much more real. Its depiction of religious love in romantic terms, its embrace of drama and fire, its unabashed immersion in both ecstasy and pain, is mind-blowing. The way to read it, I think, is with both midrash and literal translation simultaneously; the midrash alone is numb and cold, the text alone is too repetitive in its imagery, but taken together they provide a tapestry that sings of every human emotion, each with perfect pitch.

Shir haShirim reminds me of a young man standing on a road in the middle of the night and staring up at the stars, and thinking about his place in the universe.

Shir haShirim reminds me of a man and woman who find the deepest resonance in each other's thoughts and expressions, but who live a continent apart.

Shir haShirim reminds me of an elderly man in a nursing home remembering the woman he loved and lost, the time he could have shared with her, had he only spoken up.

Shir haShirim reminds me of a couple's post-Chuppah or post-Mikvah embrace, the sudden permissibility of their touch stunning them more than the touch itself.

Shir haShirim reminds me of every longing I've ever felt, every loss I've ever suffered, every desire I've ever fulfilled.

I cried as I read it in shul this year. I could do nothing else; it's so beautiful. To quote Dave Bowman's last words in 2001: A Space Odyssey, "It goes on forever -- and -- oh my Gd! -- it's full of stars!"

Post-Pesach Miscellania

A few thoughts that could probably each be expanded to their own posts, but I want to cover them quickly and get on with post-Pesach life:

-Sometimes you go through something and wonder why you had to go through it, only to discover later why it was necessary. At last year’s second Seder I had a bad reaction to a strong wine, and ended up pretty disgustingly ill in the bathroom through much of Hallel. (Yeah, that must have been fun for the guests. “We were invited to the rabbi’s house and listened to him retch while we said Nishmas. Like we’re ever going back there.”)
So this year I was extra careful. It paid off when, toward the end of the second Seder, one of our attendees became sick and needed some pretty serious help. No way I could have done that in last year’s condition. Last year’s experience prepared me for this year’s situation; מקדים רפואה למכה.

-For all that we say the Seder is for children, it has to be for adults, too. It’s not a simple balance. More on this another time, perhaps.

-Went to the gym one morning during Chol haMoed, and had a first: Someone spoke to me. No one ever speaks to me at the gym. Ever. I don’t know if it’s xenophobia (the crowd is decidedly not a Jewish one), or if it’s because they see me as a priest-type and are uncomfortable seeing their “priest” outside of church, but they never speak to me. This one day, someone did. It was a woman, too, one of the very few who are there at the time of day I go. Rebbitzen, look out! It must have been because of my pre-Yom Tov haircut and beard-trim. I had just finished using a machine and was drinking from my water bottle, and she came up to me and asked, “Excuse me, are you done with that machine?” I nodded yes. I think she likes me.

-Been reading “Built to Last” by James Collins and Jerry Porras. It’s a fantastic book; two RWAC thumbs up. One particular quote reminds me of my Black/White/Gray post:
A highly visionary company doesn’t want to blend yin and yang into a gray, indistinguishable circle that is neither highly yin nor highly yang; it aims to be distinctly yin and distinctly yang - both at the same time, all the time.
Irrational? Perhaps. Rare? Yes. Difficult? Absolutely. But as F. Scott Fitzgerald pointed out, 'The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in the mind at the same time, and stil retain the ability to function.'

-A local woman hurt her foot on Yom Tov. I overheard another woman say to her, “This is a great excuse not to have to go to shul!” I think she was serious. Some days, I hate being RWAC.

-Had a shailah regarding an Alzheimer’s patient, and his obligations for the Seder. Plays on all my phobia. Some days, I really hate being RWAC.

-And then there was the guy who cornered me on Yom Tov to tell me how angry he was about something that happened five months ago, and then proceeded to unload a nasty, abusive, insulting tirade about me and the shul. He’s known for being nasty and abusive, so it didn’t really surprise me, and from a logical perspective I can deal with it, but it still hurt. Some days, I really, really hate being RWAC.

-On the other hand, I got to read Shir haShirim in shul. What an experience. I hope to write a separate post about that soon.

So Pesach is over. What’s next? Not much: Yom haShoah, Yom haZikaron, Yom haAtzmaut, Lag baOmer, Yom Yerushalayim, Shavuos, Summer Learning Programs, and more… And, maybe, maybe, a vacation? Stay tuned…

Pre-Pesach Once-a-Years, and Bloviation Vacation

Had our pre-Pesach once-a-years come in this morning - people who go to Minyan once a year, on Erev Pesach, to participate in my siyyum (celebration marking the completion of learning a significant portion of the Torah) and thereby escape Taanis Bechorim (the fast of the firstborn). [For more on this Fast of the Firstborn and Siyyum thing, email me. Or search the web. Or ask your rabbi; he has nothing better to do today.]

We’re talking about people who rarely, if ever, are seen in shul outside of Yahrtzeit or Yizkor, but they are here on Erev Pesach. Truly a bizarre phenomenon; it’s not as though they fast for Taanis Esther, or even Tisha b’Av!

I guess it’s because some of the Pesach glamour rubs off on this unique celebration, and this becomes part of the whole pre-Seder ritual, like standing in the supermarket’s Passover aisle and staring at boxes of Viennese Crunch, Fruit Slices and Seder Mints, trying to decide which ones to purchase for their Seder hosts. (Answer: None of the above. Try a nice bottle of an Israeli red wine, or grape juice for those who can’t have wine. You'll save us money and dental bills.)

In any case, I hereby declare my Bloviation Vacation; I expect that I won’t be blogging during Chol haMoed. I don’t believe there is any problem with blogging on Chol Hamoed - you can hardly call something like typing מעשה אומן when millions of people do it - but I am going to spend Chol haMoed working on a few projects I’ve been putting off:

1. My rebbitzen and I will be working on a chinuch program for our kids. We do this informally all the time, but I think it’s time we sit down and come up with something more structured, to make sure they are getting what they need.

2. We’ll also be working on drafting a full and formal “Bar/Bat Mitzvah” curriculum. We currently teach kids on a case-by-case basis, and it works pretty well, but I want something that is, again, more structured, to make sure that all of them get what they need. Your suggestions in the comments section would be more than welcome.

3. I’ll be reading and replying to old emails by the dozen, and putting labels on old posts. And, yes, I’ll be reading and replying to new emails as well.

So enjoy your break from this boring old blog, surf over to RenReb and check out a post that was surely worth the month-long wait, and enjoy a חג כשר ושמח, a happy and Kosher Pesach!

And remember, as you read Shir haShirim (Song of Songs) in a daze at the end of the Seder: We love Pesach!

Proper care and feeding of your rabbi

So you are the proud recipients of a new rabbi; congratulations!

Doubtless your community is excited at the opportunity to enjoy hours of endless fun with your fresh-out-of-the-package, dynamic new rabbi, but please take a moment to read the following guidelines. Following these simple and inexpensive tips could add years of life to your rabbi, and help make your experience much more fun and fulfilling.

First, do not allow your rabbi’s batteries to run down entirely before permitting them time to recharge.
Communities have trouble knowing when, exactly, to recharge their rabbi’s batteries, particularly because most models do not come with built-in charge readouts. Further, communities are loathe to permit their rabbis too much time off.
Fortunately, there is a simple, creative solution: Create periodic Rabbinic Off-Shabbos Weekends, in which the rabbi remains in town and is in his usual on-call mode, but he is relieved of responsibility for Torah reading, speeches and classes. Such weekends should be instituted by the board, to reduce any rabbinic guilt feelings associated with taking a break.

Second, eliminate causes of daily exhaustion for your rabbi’s batteries.
Tests show that the primary daily drain for many rabbinic batteries comes from making sure that the synagogue maintains a viable morning and evening minyan. Allowing this frequent insult to your rabbi’s power cells fairly guarantees their early demise.
Be smart; require that your board members take weekly shifts at the minyan. Your rabbi will thank you for it.

Third, avoid stress loads beyond the recommended maximums.
Our recommended maximums apply only to new models in their first six months; following this "honeymoon" period, acceptable levels drop precipitously. This is a particularly great hazard within 50 miles of Brooklyn. Fortunately, there are ways to reduce the stress burden upon your rabbi's systems.
For example: Remember that your rabbi is designed to enforce halachah (Jewish law) within your synagogue and community. If you continually badger your rabbi for leniencies, you cause a great burden of stress for his internal circuitry. This could lead to system-wide disruptions and even short circuits.
A second example: In maximizing rabbinic sensitivity, engineers left rabbinic empathy circuits vulnerable to hysterical congregants. The result is that repeated exposure to complaints will shorten the life of your rabbi’s systems. Please make sure to protect your rabbi from repeated outbursts of whining.

Finally, remember that your rabbi’s batteries have the ability to recharge “on the fly” by exposure to repeated praise.
Do not fear overloading the charge capacity; this has yet to be accomplished in the entire history of our product line. If you are unsure whether the compliments are justified, appropriate or welcome, err on the side of offering praise; you will not regret it.

Thank you for purchasing our product. Remember, there are no refunds. However, we do specialize in product exchanges; call now to have a new rabbi in place by Rosh HaShanah!