Historians often grant certain eras chronological labels that often lie outside said eras actual chronology: e.g., the twentieth century is theorized to have begun with the onset of World War I and have ended with the fall of the Berlin Wall; or, that the “Sixties” actually began with the Gulf of Tonkin Resolution of August 1964 and ended with Watergate. In a certain sense [leHavdil], Sefer Vayikra can be determined to truly begin with Parshas Teruma, where construction of the Mishkan—the first incarnation of “G-d's House”—is begun, and could almost be said to end in Parshas Acharei Mos, Chapter 18, where the halachic inclination of the Biblical text starts to move away from its almost heretofore exclusive focus on korbanos and other “kodashim”.
It is also this stretch of Chumash that, aside from being the more difficult and involved stretch inside, is also the least taught, at least in most conventional chinuch circles. As I discussed in Vayikra-Tzav: Cleanup, this is midly ironic, being that the first five pesukim in this week's parsha are, according to some strands of tradition, supposed to be the first ones to be taught. Expanding on the more particular “teachable moment” I illustrated then [to “use spiritual endeavors [] to illustrate the idea of why stealing is wrong”], one can generalize this notion, in a certain sense, to the idea about how to get one’s house in order before putting it to its appropriate use. Indeed, it might make sense that Ki Sisa interrupts between Teruma/Tetzaveh and Vayakhel/Pekudei: it took more than one shot to get it right [actual “mukdam/me-uchar” notwithstanding.]
Unfortunately, once again I have to digress into an inyan I’ve discussed repeatedly here [Re'eh--Dry Cleaning; Ki Savo--Child Predators: Makah Be-seser] that just doesn’t seem to go away.
It’s been posited that one of the reasons that moderns can’t relate to animal sacrifice—the linchpin of Sefer Vayikra—is that the ability to perceive its importance was dulled when the Anshei Knesses ha-Gedola slaughtered the Yetzer Hara of idolatry; there was a concomitant dulling of spiritual sensibilities [see Yoma 69b]. However, recent news indicates that there is still a lion in the mikdash, as it were. Right in Jerusalem.
Maybe there is a true, ironclad halachic due process for the trial and removal of predators in chinuch. However, what has emanated from the crisis of a prominent Jerusalem Rosh ha-Yeshiva who was exiled to the northern reaches of Israel rather than disciplined indicates that the emphasis is still on the “process” rather than the removal of potential harm to talmidim.
Also, while the recent treatment of the issue by Rabbi Nathan Lopez-Cardozo was somewhat closer to the mark, I have to disagree with one of his assertions: “should we now believe that all of Rabbi Elon's teachings were hypocritical and must be banned? Definitely not.” If allegations of misconduct can be proven, any offending educator’s entire derech and life work gets SHOULD get called into question: there is no way to elevate one’s students while inflicting this kind of harm on them at the same time. When a chillul shamayim beseser is nigleh like this, everything has to be reassessed.
I am usually loath to ever give credence to those to who would say that “because of X, Y happened”, as we have seen with certain declarations vis-à-vis the Haiti earthquakes; this is an unfortunate practice that should probably be left in the repertoire of minhagei American Fundamentalist religious right. However, I might be less prejudiced to an equivalent declaration to the effect that the inability and/or unwillingness to slay the contemporary “lion in the mikdash” correlates to any Jersualem crises. In any case, the impulse for clerical self-preservation will prevent such a thing from ever happening.
In anyone going to get this house in order?
Friday, March 19, 2010
Friday, March 5, 2010
Ki Sisa/Parah—Reboot
Ki Sisa might actually be the one parsha where I might welcome the “educational misimpressions” I have referred to in other posts, where I might have simply accepted that Bnei Yisrael actually worshiped the Egel, and that both the tshuva and the punishment were commensurate with the sin. Yet, like everything else, it’s obviously never that simple.
Even here.
Whether it’s Rav Dessler explaining that it might simply have been a question of timing, as the nachash nechoshes of parshas chukkas served as a Divinely commanded analog of what the egel might have been had it originated from On High [a major distinction, to be sure]. Or, one could take it as far as Rav Isaac Sher, who goes as far as to say that even the construction of the egel was not in and of itself a sin.
So—if such a miniscule amount of people were actually out-and-out guilty [0.5% percent of the eligible 603,550; none of the women, children, or Leviim were involved at all]—why the draconian Divine response? Why even the threat of kelaya? It starts to make sense that Ki Sisa and Parah follow immediately after Purim, the holiday where we celebrate the cancellation of such a gezera.
It all has to do with relationships. Among the assorted mixed metaphors attached to Matan Torah is, of course, the chuppah metaphor [one of which are the inability of a me-anes to ever divorce, and kfiah har ke-gigis being the ultimate “ones”…but that’s another discussion]. Consider that Matan Torah was the beginning of a very close relationship…and that any insult to that relationship, however theoretically slight, could damage it even if said insult was only one of perception [which could be exemplified by the various range of explanantions and/or “whitewashes” of the chet ha-egel, especially ones that deny that there was any “real” chet.]
To draw another analogy—and to further mix the metaphor—one can compare the beginning of a relationship to the onset of a pregnancy, when the smallest insult to the developing embryo can result in the termination of the pregnancy. Vis-à-vis relationships, anything one party does or says—even if not technically “wrong”—can but an end to the relationship. Something like that seems to be about to happen here, until Moshe’s extraordinary intervention.
And to even further confuse the picture, one can draw a thru-line of sorts that actually connects all of the arba parshiyot: shekalim in the beginning; zachor/Purim as a function of kimu v’kiblu and the actual giving of the Torah [31:18]; Parah as the chet ha-egel and its immediate aftermanth; and, finally, Chodesh as the renewal, the second giving of the luchos.
However, this is usually not the advised course of action with regard to forging a relationship. To employ yet another analogy [groan], it is advised that one not turn off ones computer and reboot if not necessary because of the damage it can do to the OS and hard drive. What we might have in the case of the egel was an unnecessary reboot.
Even here.
Whether it’s Rav Dessler explaining that it might simply have been a question of timing, as the nachash nechoshes of parshas chukkas served as a Divinely commanded analog of what the egel might have been had it originated from On High [a major distinction, to be sure]. Or, one could take it as far as Rav Isaac Sher, who goes as far as to say that even the construction of the egel was not in and of itself a sin.
So—if such a miniscule amount of people were actually out-and-out guilty [0.5% percent of the eligible 603,550; none of the women, children, or Leviim were involved at all]—why the draconian Divine response? Why even the threat of kelaya? It starts to make sense that Ki Sisa and Parah follow immediately after Purim, the holiday where we celebrate the cancellation of such a gezera.
It all has to do with relationships. Among the assorted mixed metaphors attached to Matan Torah is, of course, the chuppah metaphor [one of which are the inability of a me-anes to ever divorce, and kfiah har ke-gigis being the ultimate “ones”…but that’s another discussion]. Consider that Matan Torah was the beginning of a very close relationship…and that any insult to that relationship, however theoretically slight, could damage it even if said insult was only one of perception [which could be exemplified by the various range of explanantions and/or “whitewashes” of the chet ha-egel, especially ones that deny that there was any “real” chet.]
To draw another analogy—and to further mix the metaphor—one can compare the beginning of a relationship to the onset of a pregnancy, when the smallest insult to the developing embryo can result in the termination of the pregnancy. Vis-à-vis relationships, anything one party does or says—even if not technically “wrong”—can but an end to the relationship. Something like that seems to be about to happen here, until Moshe’s extraordinary intervention.
And to even further confuse the picture, one can draw a thru-line of sorts that actually connects all of the arba parshiyot: shekalim in the beginning; zachor/Purim as a function of kimu v’kiblu and the actual giving of the Torah [31:18]; Parah as the chet ha-egel and its immediate aftermanth; and, finally, Chodesh as the renewal, the second giving of the luchos.
However, this is usually not the advised course of action with regard to forging a relationship. To employ yet another analogy [groan], it is advised that one not turn off ones computer and reboot if not necessary because of the damage it can do to the OS and hard drive. What we might have in the case of the egel was an unnecessary reboot.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Mishpatim—Final Answer[s]?
Like I described in my post Eikev: Where Does It Say?…, the part of Matan Torah that appears at the end of this week’s parsha may serve as an example of an educational misimpression, in this that being that two of the central themes of Matan Torah—“naaseh v’nishma” and Moshe’s 40-day/40-night private shiur—are here, and not in Yisro [where “naaseh” appears, as opposed to the double formulation here].
As I discussed in more detail in Yisro—Bechira vs. K’fiya: Infantilization, this may have a lot to do with the fact that, as the Gemara Shabbos 88b details, the real k’fiya involved the “nishma”, or the ba’al peh part of Torah. So it’s no accident that there are both a “naaseh” in one place and a “naaseh v’nishma” in another: more specifically, despite another educational misimpression—that being that saying “naaseh” before “nishma” was an unqualified ma’alah—we see that the situation is more complicated. In a certain sense one can entertain a solid hava amina, at least, that it was easier to simply say “naaseh” if one could just never have to deal with the “nishma”.
Where these themes come together here can possibly be found in the Rashis on 23:2 [“Lo sihyeh acharei rabim le-ra’os”], which, when I took Intro to Bible at YU with Rabbi David Sykes, was held up as the paradigmatic stating-his-thesis Rashi, where he possibly picks the one pasuk in the Torah that, ironically, completely confounds his approach [not only that, but he says so beferush: he quotes most of the Gemaras explaining the various inyanim, but he says that “none of this explains the pasuk “al ofanav”, which he then declined to even attempt to do].
What might even more ironic is the theme of the pasuk itself: voting and other democratic procedures of Sanhedrin and batei dinin. This is as close to a “nishma” as a “naaseh”: that is, the centrality of this pasuk as both a linchpin of halachic jurisprudence and the ultimate resistance to Rashi’s penchant for p’shat indicate how much more process- than result-oriented Torah is.
To be sure, the results count for—a lot. In a shiur I attended given by Rabbi Jeremy Wieder about the halachic implication of free inquiry, one inescapable conclusion was that reaching certain conclusions were certainly halachically and hashkafically out of bounds. However, using Maimonidean examples from both Mishneh Torah [Avodas Kochavim 2:2,3] and Moreh Nevuchim [2:25], he showed that restrictions on said conclusions don’t always necessarily preclude the legitimacy of pursuing the inquiries that precede them.
Two further ironies, both touched upon by Rabbi Wieder: one, that Rambam needed to follow his own line of inquiry to arrive at the conclusion in Mishneh Torah where he expresses extreme misgivings about conducting said inquiries, and said line of inquiry certainly, on the surface, violated his own proscriptions; and two, that [like most such Rambam’s] reading between the lines leads you to a halachic conclusion other than the one ostensibly so strongly proferred. In this case, that would mean that restrictions placed upon inquiries can never be as proscriptive as those placed upon conclusions.
The more yeshivish contemporary conventions that militate against asking questions [despite the proclamations issuing from various publications from said corners that deny such mind-control tactics are being used in their chinuch approaches] may actually prove to be more counterproductive: it may actually ultimately lead to one reaching the WRONG conclusions when one doesn’t learn to ask the right—and wrong—questions. Or, even better: the key might be to learn how to turn what might be a “wrong” conclusion into just another question, so that the correct conclusion is eventually arrived at.
Just to sum up, the fact that the posuk upon which all this centers has to do with Sanhedrins and batei dinin indicate that this is not simply a “chinuch” issue. This eventually goes to the highest levels.
As I discussed in more detail in Yisro—Bechira vs. K’fiya: Infantilization, this may have a lot to do with the fact that, as the Gemara Shabbos 88b details, the real k’fiya involved the “nishma”, or the ba’al peh part of Torah. So it’s no accident that there are both a “naaseh” in one place and a “naaseh v’nishma” in another: more specifically, despite another educational misimpression—that being that saying “naaseh” before “nishma” was an unqualified ma’alah—we see that the situation is more complicated. In a certain sense one can entertain a solid hava amina, at least, that it was easier to simply say “naaseh” if one could just never have to deal with the “nishma”.
Where these themes come together here can possibly be found in the Rashis on 23:2 [“Lo sihyeh acharei rabim le-ra’os”], which, when I took Intro to Bible at YU with Rabbi David Sykes, was held up as the paradigmatic stating-his-thesis Rashi, where he possibly picks the one pasuk in the Torah that, ironically, completely confounds his approach [not only that, but he says so beferush: he quotes most of the Gemaras explaining the various inyanim, but he says that “none of this explains the pasuk “al ofanav”, which he then declined to even attempt to do].
What might even more ironic is the theme of the pasuk itself: voting and other democratic procedures of Sanhedrin and batei dinin. This is as close to a “nishma” as a “naaseh”: that is, the centrality of this pasuk as both a linchpin of halachic jurisprudence and the ultimate resistance to Rashi’s penchant for p’shat indicate how much more process- than result-oriented Torah is.
To be sure, the results count for—a lot. In a shiur I attended given by Rabbi Jeremy Wieder about the halachic implication of free inquiry, one inescapable conclusion was that reaching certain conclusions were certainly halachically and hashkafically out of bounds. However, using Maimonidean examples from both Mishneh Torah [Avodas Kochavim 2:2,3] and Moreh Nevuchim [2:25], he showed that restrictions on said conclusions don’t always necessarily preclude the legitimacy of pursuing the inquiries that precede them.
Two further ironies, both touched upon by Rabbi Wieder: one, that Rambam needed to follow his own line of inquiry to arrive at the conclusion in Mishneh Torah where he expresses extreme misgivings about conducting said inquiries, and said line of inquiry certainly, on the surface, violated his own proscriptions; and two, that [like most such Rambam’s] reading between the lines leads you to a halachic conclusion other than the one ostensibly so strongly proferred. In this case, that would mean that restrictions placed upon inquiries can never be as proscriptive as those placed upon conclusions.
The more yeshivish contemporary conventions that militate against asking questions [despite the proclamations issuing from various publications from said corners that deny such mind-control tactics are being used in their chinuch approaches] may actually prove to be more counterproductive: it may actually ultimately lead to one reaching the WRONG conclusions when one doesn’t learn to ask the right—and wrong—questions. Or, even better: the key might be to learn how to turn what might be a “wrong” conclusion into just another question, so that the correct conclusion is eventually arrived at.
Just to sum up, the fact that the posuk upon which all this centers has to do with Sanhedrins and batei dinin indicate that this is not simply a “chinuch” issue. This eventually goes to the highest levels.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Yisro—The Job
My Rav Muvhak, Rav Aharon Bina, used to always quote “ahz ze Blues Brozzers Movie” which was his favorite movie [“ahz for me is kosher movie cause I not understand all ze dirty words”] in his own inimitable way:
“Ahz we are on mission of G-d job”.
To [over simplify], one can use two ways to explain this concept, both from this weeks parsha.
The first: in explaining to my senior class at MTA why we shouldn’t go to rock concerts, Rabbi Mayer Schiller simply quoted two pesukim: Bereishis bara Elo-kim es hashamayim ve-es ha’aretz. Anochi Hashem Elo-kecha asher hotzesicha me-eretz mi-beis avadim. The second pasuk sets the demarcation line from the first; not all of Bereishis is for us. This basically qualified as a stronger re-statement of the first Rashi on the Torah [and it worked, a little; it was another four years before I attended my first rock concert.]
The second: the exhortation to be a “mamleches kohanim ve-goy kadosh”. Interestingly, Rashi has very little to say, other than to explain that “kohanim” simply means “princes” [as opposed to “priests”]. This has been one way to describe our “job”, or “mission”, as Jews, along with the occasional “tikkun olam” and “or lagoyim” one hears from time to time.
Like Rabbi Schiller, I am going to focus on current events to highlight a[nother] possible interpretation of what is not our “job”/”mission”.
The recent Israeli humanitarian efforts in Haiti have received a lot—and not nearly enough—press. Yet this may be an indication of the world’s grudging recognition of the fact that the Jews—and Israel—have a mission to fulfill; so—doing our “jobs” isn’t necessarily all that praiseworthy, even if it is “lifnim mi-shuras hadin”. It also doesn’t sell papers.
What might actually sell papers, however is the story involving 10 American Baptists arrested in Haiti for attempting to kidnap 33 Haitian children. Pastoral pronouncements that Haiti was experiencing divine payback for a deal with the devil wasn’t bad enough; taking advantage of tragedy to further one’s belief definitely does not fit into our mission, especially at the expense of children. [This is why I was fervently pro-prosecution in the Helbrans-Fima case years ago.] It’s cases like these where Hillary Clinton’s assertion that “organized religion stand[s] in the way of faith” actually make sense, and another reason for us to very wary of alliances—political, spiritual, otherwise—with the “religious” right.
Anu amelim, hem amelim.
“Ahz we are on mission of G-d job”.
To [over simplify], one can use two ways to explain this concept, both from this weeks parsha.
The first: in explaining to my senior class at MTA why we shouldn’t go to rock concerts, Rabbi Mayer Schiller simply quoted two pesukim: Bereishis bara Elo-kim es hashamayim ve-es ha’aretz. Anochi Hashem Elo-kecha asher hotzesicha me-eretz mi-beis avadim. The second pasuk sets the demarcation line from the first; not all of Bereishis is for us. This basically qualified as a stronger re-statement of the first Rashi on the Torah [and it worked, a little; it was another four years before I attended my first rock concert.]
The second: the exhortation to be a “mamleches kohanim ve-goy kadosh”. Interestingly, Rashi has very little to say, other than to explain that “kohanim” simply means “princes” [as opposed to “priests”]. This has been one way to describe our “job”, or “mission”, as Jews, along with the occasional “tikkun olam” and “or lagoyim” one hears from time to time.
Like Rabbi Schiller, I am going to focus on current events to highlight a[nother] possible interpretation of what is not our “job”/”mission”.
The recent Israeli humanitarian efforts in Haiti have received a lot—and not nearly enough—press. Yet this may be an indication of the world’s grudging recognition of the fact that the Jews—and Israel—have a mission to fulfill; so—doing our “jobs” isn’t necessarily all that praiseworthy, even if it is “lifnim mi-shuras hadin”. It also doesn’t sell papers.
What might actually sell papers, however is the story involving 10 American Baptists arrested in Haiti for attempting to kidnap 33 Haitian children. Pastoral pronouncements that Haiti was experiencing divine payback for a deal with the devil wasn’t bad enough; taking advantage of tragedy to further one’s belief definitely does not fit into our mission, especially at the expense of children. [This is why I was fervently pro-prosecution in the Helbrans-Fima case years ago.] It’s cases like these where Hillary Clinton’s assertion that “organized religion stand[s] in the way of faith” actually make sense, and another reason for us to very wary of alliances—political, spiritual, otherwise—with the “religious” right.
Anu amelim, hem amelim.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Bo-Beshalach: Protocol
Last week Dvarman ironically gave me the theme for this week’s d’var torah. He wrote:
“The Riva wonders why Moshe and Aaron waited until they were kicked out of the palace, when they could have left before it got to that point. The Riva answers that had Moshe and Aaron left before being told to leave, they would have shown a lack of respect for Pharaoh, thereby embarrassing him. Since it was Pharaoh that had originally invited them, and since he was the ruler of the land they were in, they showed him respect by not leaving until he told them to, despite their embarrassment.”
That might be true as far as it goes, but at least at this point in the discussion, a few things are left out: one, Moshe gets the last word by issuing his nevua re Makas Bechoros; two, he doesn’t exactly leave quietly [“vayetzei…bechari af”]; and, three, aside from simple “respect” issues, one might imagin that there were some diplomatic protocol issues involved, as might be evidenced even as far back as the Rashi on “Lechu le’sivloseichem” [Shemos 5:4], where it is explicitly stated that because the gezera of shibud was not chal on b’nei Levi, Moshe and Aaron came and went from the palace “she’lo birshus”. So the diplomatic protocol went both ways here.
In any case, what seemped to present itself as the link between last week’s and this week’s parshiyot vis-à-vis the aforementioned inyan was the “atzmos yosef”. It is noted in the halachic and midrashic literature that Yosef, when escaping from Potiphar’s wife, leaves his cloak behind when her importunations become almost too difficult to resist, and many of the ba’alei mussar say that it would have been “chutzpadik” for him to have ripped out his cloak when trying to resist, even if it might have cost him his life. Personally, I think this idea might need some more clarification [ala R’ Shimon Shkop on Yosef in prison, as I discuss in my Vayieshev—Raising or Passing The Bar.] After all, if a person accidentally walks into a rather disreputable place—as happened to me recently—conventional contemporary Yeshivish thinking would mandate running as far from the place as fast as possible with no regard for what might be termed “derech eretz”, even if said “derech eretz” is the kind the Mishnah in Avos refers to as the type that become the “ol” upon the person who sloughed off an “ol Torah”. For the record: a] it was not a beis avoda zara and b] I made a somewhat more graceful exit than conventional Yeshivishism would mandate. Again, my point here is that the issue is more complicated than one might read into a hava amina of a ba’al musar.
One might also think that, due to his rather lofty position [even as a slave] in Potiphar’s household at the time that the attempted seductions were taking place, Yosef was bound by a protocol other than what might be considered simple “derech eretz” in our circles [or, again, the “ol derech eretz” that juxtaposes the “ol torah”]. The reason the “atzmos Yosef” are so bound up with the conflict between protocol and dreceh eretz is related to us in the Gemara in Sotah 13b, where Rav Yehudah askes and answers Why was Yosef called bones ("You will take my bones with you") in his lifetime? Because he did not stand up for his father's honor; specifically, when he heard his father referred to as “avdecha avinu” he was silent. Protocol—even if maintained in this case as a pretense for purposes l’shem shamayim, as we evidenced from the whole story of Yosef’s revealing himself as well as his own recognition “Elokim chashva le’tova” [Bereishis 50:20].
My general point? The lines between protocol and “derech eretz” are very blurry.
A more specific point? This may explain why I’ve been single for so long, but I am going to vehemently disagree with conventional wisdom that states that, to end a short-term dating “relationship”, one party or another must make a phone call to end said relationship. [Usually the chiyuv falls on the guy, but that’s a whole other inyan]. I [respectfully, or otherwise] disagree. Unless a] specific promises or statements to affirming such a commitment have been made or b] something indicating a relationship is actually budding—lets say, for instance, there have been two dates. I would venture to say that if nothing is going to happen afterward no further contact between anyone is necessary. I will assert three reasons of “protocol”, or even “dating ‘derech eretz’”, to support my point here: 1) If there were simply dates and no other promises or—er—“extracurricular activity”, neither party should feel obligated to the other for any reason. 2) As dating and relationships involve issues that aren’t rational, no one should owe anyone an explanation as to why something didn’t “work out”. It either happens or it doesn’t. 3) In the same vein, sometimes avoiding the awkwardness of that phone call makes it easier for both parties to move on. I, for one, am sure some women who did not want to continue dating me were relieved when I didn’t make THAT call after the first or second date.
I would go as far as to say that sometimes the extra “rules” may be just another thing keeping singles single, for those who care. The questions raised in these two parshiyot may indicate that this is precisely the point; the obvious answer would be that it depends what you consider important.
“The Riva wonders why Moshe and Aaron waited until they were kicked out of the palace, when they could have left before it got to that point. The Riva answers that had Moshe and Aaron left before being told to leave, they would have shown a lack of respect for Pharaoh, thereby embarrassing him. Since it was Pharaoh that had originally invited them, and since he was the ruler of the land they were in, they showed him respect by not leaving until he told them to, despite their embarrassment.”
That might be true as far as it goes, but at least at this point in the discussion, a few things are left out: one, Moshe gets the last word by issuing his nevua re Makas Bechoros; two, he doesn’t exactly leave quietly [“vayetzei…bechari af”]; and, three, aside from simple “respect” issues, one might imagin that there were some diplomatic protocol issues involved, as might be evidenced even as far back as the Rashi on “Lechu le’sivloseichem” [Shemos 5:4], where it is explicitly stated that because the gezera of shibud was not chal on b’nei Levi, Moshe and Aaron came and went from the palace “she’lo birshus”. So the diplomatic protocol went both ways here.
In any case, what seemped to present itself as the link between last week’s and this week’s parshiyot vis-à-vis the aforementioned inyan was the “atzmos yosef”. It is noted in the halachic and midrashic literature that Yosef, when escaping from Potiphar’s wife, leaves his cloak behind when her importunations become almost too difficult to resist, and many of the ba’alei mussar say that it would have been “chutzpadik” for him to have ripped out his cloak when trying to resist, even if it might have cost him his life. Personally, I think this idea might need some more clarification [ala R’ Shimon Shkop on Yosef in prison, as I discuss in my Vayieshev—Raising or Passing The Bar.] After all, if a person accidentally walks into a rather disreputable place—as happened to me recently—conventional contemporary Yeshivish thinking would mandate running as far from the place as fast as possible with no regard for what might be termed “derech eretz”, even if said “derech eretz” is the kind the Mishnah in Avos refers to as the type that become the “ol” upon the person who sloughed off an “ol Torah”. For the record: a] it was not a beis avoda zara and b] I made a somewhat more graceful exit than conventional Yeshivishism would mandate. Again, my point here is that the issue is more complicated than one might read into a hava amina of a ba’al musar.
One might also think that, due to his rather lofty position [even as a slave] in Potiphar’s household at the time that the attempted seductions were taking place, Yosef was bound by a protocol other than what might be considered simple “derech eretz” in our circles [or, again, the “ol derech eretz” that juxtaposes the “ol torah”]. The reason the “atzmos Yosef” are so bound up with the conflict between protocol and dreceh eretz is related to us in the Gemara in Sotah 13b, where Rav Yehudah askes and answers Why was Yosef called bones ("You will take my bones with you") in his lifetime? Because he did not stand up for his father's honor; specifically, when he heard his father referred to as “avdecha avinu” he was silent. Protocol—even if maintained in this case as a pretense for purposes l’shem shamayim, as we evidenced from the whole story of Yosef’s revealing himself as well as his own recognition “Elokim chashva le’tova” [Bereishis 50:20].
My general point? The lines between protocol and “derech eretz” are very blurry.
A more specific point? This may explain why I’ve been single for so long, but I am going to vehemently disagree with conventional wisdom that states that, to end a short-term dating “relationship”, one party or another must make a phone call to end said relationship. [Usually the chiyuv falls on the guy, but that’s a whole other inyan]. I [respectfully, or otherwise] disagree. Unless a] specific promises or statements to affirming such a commitment have been made or b] something indicating a relationship is actually budding—lets say, for instance, there have been two dates. I would venture to say that if nothing is going to happen afterward no further contact between anyone is necessary. I will assert three reasons of “protocol”, or even “dating ‘derech eretz’”, to support my point here: 1) If there were simply dates and no other promises or—er—“extracurricular activity”, neither party should feel obligated to the other for any reason. 2) As dating and relationships involve issues that aren’t rational, no one should owe anyone an explanation as to why something didn’t “work out”. It either happens or it doesn’t. 3) In the same vein, sometimes avoiding the awkwardness of that phone call makes it easier for both parties to move on. I, for one, am sure some women who did not want to continue dating me were relieved when I didn’t make THAT call after the first or second date.
I would go as far as to say that sometimes the extra “rules” may be just another thing keeping singles single, for those who care. The questions raised in these two parshiyot may indicate that this is precisely the point; the obvious answer would be that it depends what you consider important.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Shemos—Genocides
At a seder a number of years ago, when the discussion turned to Pharaoh bathing in the blood of Jewish babies, the more grandmotherly types at the table—ones who were American-born and raised—said “Oy; this sounds like the Holocaust.” My father responded: “That’s exactly the point of the haggada. This was the first Holocaust.”
To be sure, the Pharaonic policy toward the Israelites was what we would term eliminationist anti-semitic, at least at first glance: killing all the male children, preserving all the females [a classic outgrowth of enslavement and genocidal policy: the conquering population’s males use the subjugated females to further propagate the victorious nation and diminish the conquered nation], and of course, the “avoda befarech” and the use of Jews as building materials.
In a superficial sense, there are only two differences between the Pharaonic and Hitlerite genocides. The first is that Pharaoh seemed to be in less of hurry, even if, like Hitler, he considered himself at war with the Jews [“ki sikrena milchama”]; he was willing to use the Jews and keep half the population alive to further his own ends; contrast this with the Nazis diverting badly needed resources from the front in the last years of WWII to keep the killing machine operating.
The second regards the nature of the Jews that both genocidal regimes put to work for them. In this weeks parsha [5:14] that the “kapos” of the time refused to enforce the Pharaonic production quotas and were punished accordingly—and, because of their sacrifices, became the first Sanhedrin [see Bamidbar 11:25]. However, the Netziv, in his haggadah, mentions that there were Jews during the Pharaonic slavery who actually enjoyed actual positions of power throughout [akin to what Alan Dershowitz terms “house Jews”], and were actually redeemed with the “zeroa netuya”—they didn’t want to leave. [This, aside from the myriads of Jews who perished during the 3 days of the plague of darkness.] There were not likely any Nazi house Jews.
In any case, it often comes up that whenever genocides are committed around the world, it is the Jews’ responsibility to proclaim “Never Again” regarding those affected groups. The first time I saw this was in 1991 during the Shiite and Kurd uprisings against Saddam Hussein in Iraq following the first Gulf War, in the New York Times Op-Ed pages [to the best of my recollection, it was Abe Rosenthal and Flora Lewis doing the exhorting]. I don’t remember any such other exhortation in the other genocides or attempted genocides that followed [Rwanda, Bosnia, Kosovo, Darfur] towards us, but I’m certain that there was plenty of “mussar” regarding our “mitzvah” to speak out. [Most likely, it came from other Jews. As one wag put it, if the Jews didn’t care about the Palestinians, no one else would.]
To be sure, our attitudes towards genocides, genocidaires and their regimes should not necessarily echo our esteemed State Department’s policy toward them, which, as documented in Samantha Power’s excellent “A Problem From Hell”, is always neutrality and inaction. [I’m aware that there are unconfirmed rumors that she referred to Israeli actions in Gaza as “genocidal”; after having read the book, however, I doubt it. There is no reference—even tangential—to anything of the sort in the book, Arab or "Palestinian", and nothing vis-à-vis the Palestinians would fit her thesis. I recommend the book highly.] However, I am inclined to be extremely chauvinistic in the use of “Never Again” as a slogan for anyone but us.
If we learn anything from our Holocaust, it is two things:
One, we NEED [and, thank G-d now, we have] our national polity, state, and army, and most of [if not all] the political tools to fight for, if not completely insure, our survival as a people and a nation. Any other nation/ethnicity in danger should try to emulate us [except, of course, for the Palestinians, who have tried to do so in a completely illegitimate manner, and will not succeed--if we don’t let them].
Two, it is emphatically NOT our responsibility to agitate for these unfortunate ethnicities’ self-determination, particularly where they are inimical to our survival. [This is an issue that I discussed last year: see my Miketz/Chanuka: Ethnic Tension. This is one reason why I believe it was legitimate for the Israelis not to take sides against the Serbs during the Balkan tensions; of the parties, they were the least anti-semitic. The Bosnians and Croatians contributed mightily to the SS during WWII, and independent Croatia’s first president, Franjo Tudjman, was a well-known Holocaust denier.]
In conclusion, even regarding how we see our own history, we may actually do ourselves a disservice to a point by focusing on our enemies’ success in destroying us. The actual experience of slavery takes up 5 of the 187 chapters of the Torah [and one parsha of 54]; G-d already declares in 6:1 that the geula has essentially begun. Even Amalek’s genocidal intent and attacks were notably unsuccessful.
It is true that it is not always the case that “They tried to kill us. We won. Let’s eat”. We didn’t always win. Nowadays, however, we have the wherewithal to win and survive. That should be our focus. On us--before anyone else.
To be sure, the Pharaonic policy toward the Israelites was what we would term eliminationist anti-semitic, at least at first glance: killing all the male children, preserving all the females [a classic outgrowth of enslavement and genocidal policy: the conquering population’s males use the subjugated females to further propagate the victorious nation and diminish the conquered nation], and of course, the “avoda befarech” and the use of Jews as building materials.
In a superficial sense, there are only two differences between the Pharaonic and Hitlerite genocides. The first is that Pharaoh seemed to be in less of hurry, even if, like Hitler, he considered himself at war with the Jews [“ki sikrena milchama”]; he was willing to use the Jews and keep half the population alive to further his own ends; contrast this with the Nazis diverting badly needed resources from the front in the last years of WWII to keep the killing machine operating.
The second regards the nature of the Jews that both genocidal regimes put to work for them. In this weeks parsha [5:14] that the “kapos” of the time refused to enforce the Pharaonic production quotas and were punished accordingly—and, because of their sacrifices, became the first Sanhedrin [see Bamidbar 11:25]. However, the Netziv, in his haggadah, mentions that there were Jews during the Pharaonic slavery who actually enjoyed actual positions of power throughout [akin to what Alan Dershowitz terms “house Jews”], and were actually redeemed with the “zeroa netuya”—they didn’t want to leave. [This, aside from the myriads of Jews who perished during the 3 days of the plague of darkness.] There were not likely any Nazi house Jews.
In any case, it often comes up that whenever genocides are committed around the world, it is the Jews’ responsibility to proclaim “Never Again” regarding those affected groups. The first time I saw this was in 1991 during the Shiite and Kurd uprisings against Saddam Hussein in Iraq following the first Gulf War, in the New York Times Op-Ed pages [to the best of my recollection, it was Abe Rosenthal and Flora Lewis doing the exhorting]. I don’t remember any such other exhortation in the other genocides or attempted genocides that followed [Rwanda, Bosnia, Kosovo, Darfur] towards us, but I’m certain that there was plenty of “mussar” regarding our “mitzvah” to speak out. [Most likely, it came from other Jews. As one wag put it, if the Jews didn’t care about the Palestinians, no one else would.]
To be sure, our attitudes towards genocides, genocidaires and their regimes should not necessarily echo our esteemed State Department’s policy toward them, which, as documented in Samantha Power’s excellent “A Problem From Hell”, is always neutrality and inaction. [I’m aware that there are unconfirmed rumors that she referred to Israeli actions in Gaza as “genocidal”; after having read the book, however, I doubt it. There is no reference—even tangential—to anything of the sort in the book, Arab or "Palestinian", and nothing vis-à-vis the Palestinians would fit her thesis. I recommend the book highly.] However, I am inclined to be extremely chauvinistic in the use of “Never Again” as a slogan for anyone but us.
If we learn anything from our Holocaust, it is two things:
One, we NEED [and, thank G-d now, we have] our national polity, state, and army, and most of [if not all] the political tools to fight for, if not completely insure, our survival as a people and a nation. Any other nation/ethnicity in danger should try to emulate us [except, of course, for the Palestinians, who have tried to do so in a completely illegitimate manner, and will not succeed--if we don’t let them].
Two, it is emphatically NOT our responsibility to agitate for these unfortunate ethnicities’ self-determination, particularly where they are inimical to our survival. [This is an issue that I discussed last year: see my Miketz/Chanuka: Ethnic Tension. This is one reason why I believe it was legitimate for the Israelis not to take sides against the Serbs during the Balkan tensions; of the parties, they were the least anti-semitic. The Bosnians and Croatians contributed mightily to the SS during WWII, and independent Croatia’s first president, Franjo Tudjman, was a well-known Holocaust denier.]
In conclusion, even regarding how we see our own history, we may actually do ourselves a disservice to a point by focusing on our enemies’ success in destroying us. The actual experience of slavery takes up 5 of the 187 chapters of the Torah [and one parsha of 54]; G-d already declares in 6:1 that the geula has essentially begun. Even Amalek’s genocidal intent and attacks were notably unsuccessful.
It is true that it is not always the case that “They tried to kill us. We won. Let’s eat”. We didn’t always win. Nowadays, however, we have the wherewithal to win and survive. That should be our focus. On us--before anyone else.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Vayechi—Making The Call II
In continuing and expanding on last week’s theme of leadership, as last week’s parsha illustrated how two paradigmatic Jewish leaders dealt with emergency situations, this week the brachos that Yaakov gives actually start with Yaakov castigating his three oldest sons for what he saw as consequences of leadership failures.
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks writes an extensive treatment on this theme regarding Reuven and his lost “potential”, not only as his father saw it, but more poignantly, from another incident, in Vayeshev, where Reuven saves Yosef from the rest of the brothers. At least, initially; 37:21-22 indicates that while he did throw him in the pit to forestall what seemed like imminent bloodshed [and got the requisite spiritual credit], posuk 22 also indicates where Reuven failed to “seal the deal”: he planned to “return him [Yosef] to his father], but as we see later in 29-30, while he’s otherwise occupied, Yehuda and the other brothers sell Yosef off, and Reuven’s first reaction is “va-ani ana ani va” [loosely translated: “now where do I go?”], which leads him to help in the ensuing cover-up. How much Yaakov knew about Reuven’s involvement is arguable; Rabbi Shlomo Riskin discussed Yaakov’s possible musings about his—and his sons’-- responsibility for Yosef’s disappearance, so it might follow that Yaakov referred only to Reuven’s initial misstep of removing his father’s couch from Bilhah’s tent as his evidence of Reuven’s lost potential, and a harbinger of his later failures. [As I mentioned last week, Reuven tries—in a very awkward manner—to guarantee Binyamin’s safety when the brothers are trying to convince Yaakov to send him to Egypt [see 42:37, 38]; Reuven’s idea—“my two sons will die”—causes Yaakov to think [pace Rashi on 38] “My firstborn is a fool [“shoteh”]. At this point there is no question in Yaakov’s mind that Reuven has no leadership ability, and it’s no accident—as we shall soon see--that it is Yehuda who steps into the vacuum with his guarantee, as we saw last week.]
So now we have an example of expected leadership lost: Reuven, the first-born, was not going to achieve the greatness for which he had been ostensibly destined for, even if only because of a perceived birthright. So, the mantle falls to Shimon and Levi.
Or does it? On the face of it, Yaakov is still sore at them for the massacre in Shechem; the posuk reads “be-apam hargu ish”—that they acted out of anger, and “birtzonam akru shor”—they took spoils willingly and with malice aforethought [contrast that with the later military operations in Esther: “uv-biza lo shalchu et yadam”—no profiting from bloodshed. Not for nothing did Yaakov complain in Vayishlach 34:30 that they had caused him a major PR problem: “achartem osi le’havisheni be-yoshvei ha-aretz”.] Yet Yaakov recognized that in their zeal to act—and, at least in the case of Shechem, there was ample justification—there was a contrast to Reuven’s tendencies to be both impetuous and hesitant. Therefore, as Rashi on 49:7 indicates, Yaakov’s apparent meted consequence of splitting them up and spreading them out [“achalkem”/”va-aphitzem”] was actually a device to channel their zeal into more productive leadership positions: Shimon became soldiers and teachers, while Levi became…Levites. The catch was: they never could be “top dogs”—Shimon was “condemned” to pedagogy and military, and Levi had to stay firmly on the religion side of religion and state, with terrible consequences when the Hasmoneans crossed that line.
From there we come to Yehuda. As we saw last week, he claimed his mantle by steeping into the breach at the eleventh hour with his guarantee to Yaakov for Binyomin’s, and then his following through on that guarantee at great personal cost. Ironically, Yehuda’s first “call” as a leader is rather dubious: he suggests that the brothers sell Yosef into slavery and profit, rather than kill him [37:26-27]. Yet even in this there is an element that hints at his effectiveness: the brothers listen to him and carry out his proposal, in contrast to Reuven’s “holding” action of throwing Yosef in the pit. As has been discussed at length in Rashi and midrashim, however, what ultimately gets Yehuda to his position is his experiences following the sale, particularly losing his two oldest sons and the Tamar incident, where he publicly confesses that he was in the wrong. Yehuda, unlike Reuven, has learned from his mistakes—and uses his undeniable leadership talent to correct those mistakes, as is finally revealed when he steps up for Binyamin. Additionally, as will be echoed when similar things happen to his Davidic descendants [David included], Yehuda also experienced the loss of his position, not to mention being force to take responsibility for the actions of his constituents, as evidenced by 38:1, “Va-yered Yehuda me-es echav”: as Rashi points out, the brothers blamed him for Yaakov’s pain: “if you would have told us to return Yosef to Yaakov we would have listened to you.”
The ultimate lesson here is not only regarding decisions made by leaders, however. It may be extended to anyone forced to make a “judgment call”, which may just be everyone, all the time. In a certain sense, the current global zeitgeist [a disingenuous one, to be sure, but still truistic, to a point] is, as the Crunch ads say, “No Judgments”. Ceratinly one should remember Hillel in Avos 2:4 not to judge anyone until you’ve been in the “same place”, or as Bartenura explains, until you’ve overcome the same obstacle that someone else apparently has not.
However, as Rabbi Mark Wildes once said in a pre-Rosh Hashana talk, a judgment means that the action being judged actually means something; in other words, if one is professing to never be judgmental, one is actually in a certain sense being ipso facto judgmental, by declaring nothing to be important. [Or, to paraphrase Rush [the band, not the EIB], if you choose not to judge, you still have made a judgment]. The question in this case might be: is the judgment call you [or me, or anyone] make in the spirit of “Reuven”, impetuous and not necessarily thought through; “Shimon/Levi”, proactive but sometimes destructive [Shechem may have been justifiable, but the initial idea to kill Yosef was theirs too]; or “Yehuda”, deliberate with the benefit of experience and mistakes? Finally, and ultimately, is one going to be ready to take responsibility for one’s own actions and judgments—even if and especially when they are influential regarding others’?
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks writes an extensive treatment on this theme regarding Reuven and his lost “potential”, not only as his father saw it, but more poignantly, from another incident, in Vayeshev, where Reuven saves Yosef from the rest of the brothers. At least, initially; 37:21-22 indicates that while he did throw him in the pit to forestall what seemed like imminent bloodshed [and got the requisite spiritual credit], posuk 22 also indicates where Reuven failed to “seal the deal”: he planned to “return him [Yosef] to his father], but as we see later in 29-30, while he’s otherwise occupied, Yehuda and the other brothers sell Yosef off, and Reuven’s first reaction is “va-ani ana ani va” [loosely translated: “now where do I go?”], which leads him to help in the ensuing cover-up. How much Yaakov knew about Reuven’s involvement is arguable; Rabbi Shlomo Riskin discussed Yaakov’s possible musings about his—and his sons’-- responsibility for Yosef’s disappearance, so it might follow that Yaakov referred only to Reuven’s initial misstep of removing his father’s couch from Bilhah’s tent as his evidence of Reuven’s lost potential, and a harbinger of his later failures. [As I mentioned last week, Reuven tries—in a very awkward manner—to guarantee Binyamin’s safety when the brothers are trying to convince Yaakov to send him to Egypt [see 42:37, 38]; Reuven’s idea—“my two sons will die”—causes Yaakov to think [pace Rashi on 38] “My firstborn is a fool [“shoteh”]. At this point there is no question in Yaakov’s mind that Reuven has no leadership ability, and it’s no accident—as we shall soon see--that it is Yehuda who steps into the vacuum with his guarantee, as we saw last week.]
So now we have an example of expected leadership lost: Reuven, the first-born, was not going to achieve the greatness for which he had been ostensibly destined for, even if only because of a perceived birthright. So, the mantle falls to Shimon and Levi.
Or does it? On the face of it, Yaakov is still sore at them for the massacre in Shechem; the posuk reads “be-apam hargu ish”—that they acted out of anger, and “birtzonam akru shor”—they took spoils willingly and with malice aforethought [contrast that with the later military operations in Esther: “uv-biza lo shalchu et yadam”—no profiting from bloodshed. Not for nothing did Yaakov complain in Vayishlach 34:30 that they had caused him a major PR problem: “achartem osi le’havisheni be-yoshvei ha-aretz”.] Yet Yaakov recognized that in their zeal to act—and, at least in the case of Shechem, there was ample justification—there was a contrast to Reuven’s tendencies to be both impetuous and hesitant. Therefore, as Rashi on 49:7 indicates, Yaakov’s apparent meted consequence of splitting them up and spreading them out [“achalkem”/”va-aphitzem”] was actually a device to channel their zeal into more productive leadership positions: Shimon became soldiers and teachers, while Levi became…Levites. The catch was: they never could be “top dogs”—Shimon was “condemned” to pedagogy and military, and Levi had to stay firmly on the religion side of religion and state, with terrible consequences when the Hasmoneans crossed that line.
From there we come to Yehuda. As we saw last week, he claimed his mantle by steeping into the breach at the eleventh hour with his guarantee to Yaakov for Binyomin’s, and then his following through on that guarantee at great personal cost. Ironically, Yehuda’s first “call” as a leader is rather dubious: he suggests that the brothers sell Yosef into slavery and profit, rather than kill him [37:26-27]. Yet even in this there is an element that hints at his effectiveness: the brothers listen to him and carry out his proposal, in contrast to Reuven’s “holding” action of throwing Yosef in the pit. As has been discussed at length in Rashi and midrashim, however, what ultimately gets Yehuda to his position is his experiences following the sale, particularly losing his two oldest sons and the Tamar incident, where he publicly confesses that he was in the wrong. Yehuda, unlike Reuven, has learned from his mistakes—and uses his undeniable leadership talent to correct those mistakes, as is finally revealed when he steps up for Binyamin. Additionally, as will be echoed when similar things happen to his Davidic descendants [David included], Yehuda also experienced the loss of his position, not to mention being force to take responsibility for the actions of his constituents, as evidenced by 38:1, “Va-yered Yehuda me-es echav”: as Rashi points out, the brothers blamed him for Yaakov’s pain: “if you would have told us to return Yosef to Yaakov we would have listened to you.”
The ultimate lesson here is not only regarding decisions made by leaders, however. It may be extended to anyone forced to make a “judgment call”, which may just be everyone, all the time. In a certain sense, the current global zeitgeist [a disingenuous one, to be sure, but still truistic, to a point] is, as the Crunch ads say, “No Judgments”. Ceratinly one should remember Hillel in Avos 2:4 not to judge anyone until you’ve been in the “same place”, or as Bartenura explains, until you’ve overcome the same obstacle that someone else apparently has not.
However, as Rabbi Mark Wildes once said in a pre-Rosh Hashana talk, a judgment means that the action being judged actually means something; in other words, if one is professing to never be judgmental, one is actually in a certain sense being ipso facto judgmental, by declaring nothing to be important. [Or, to paraphrase Rush [the band, not the EIB], if you choose not to judge, you still have made a judgment]. The question in this case might be: is the judgment call you [or me, or anyone] make in the spirit of “Reuven”, impetuous and not necessarily thought through; “Shimon/Levi”, proactive but sometimes destructive [Shechem may have been justifiable, but the initial idea to kill Yosef was theirs too]; or “Yehuda”, deliberate with the benefit of experience and mistakes? Finally, and ultimately, is one going to be ready to take responsibility for one’s own actions and judgments—even if and especially when they are influential regarding others’?
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