Women and Kippot

An incident has stuck in my mind for well over a year now that bothered me quite a bit. There was a women, a Rabbi, who was a guest at a Bar Mitzvah in our community. She was asked by the family to lead Maariv services. Despite her lovely voice, her ruach and energy, I could not help but be distracted by the fact that she was not wearing a Kippah. She wore a Tallit, her own, as the Shalicha normally does for Erev Shabbat, but she did not wear a Kippah. I asked later for an explanation and was told that she considers a Kippah to be a male garment and, as the wearing of a Kippah is a Minhag and not a Halachic requirement, she chose not to wear one.

I wonder, from the distance of time, what would have happened had I removed my Kippah, which I wear all the time, not just for services. I can imagine that someone would have politely reminded that I was not wearing my Kippah. I am sure that they would have assumed I had dropped it or forgotten to put it back on at some point. I imagine the conversation when I say that I see no reason that I need to wear a Kippah if the Shlicha, who surely has a greater obligation than me, chooses not to wear one. The consternation and unhappiness that would have resulted is palpable, even in my imagination.

The point should be obvious: it is not possible to celebrate an egalitarian approach to worship and insist on one's right to reject that which is normative in the community. Had this Rabbi been a member of the congregation, there would have been no issue, since we do not insist on women wearing a head covering when not taking a public role in our service. However, when serving as the Shlicha for the congregation, it seems all to obvious that she should have donned a head covering, whether a traditional Kippah or a more feminine alternative.

Instead, it seems to me, she was arguing, through her actions, that while she insists on her rights as an egalitarian Jew to be counted equally, she does not want the norms of the community to be imposed upon her. She insists, in her autonomy, that she should be treated with respect, yet she fails to respect the community as equally legitimate. Moreover, she seems to acknowledge that there are very real differences between men and women, differences that can be symbolized in clothing, such as a head-covering. If there are differences that are legitimate and worth noting and acting upon, then why are we so committed to the notion that within our service, we need to treat men and women with equal responsibilities and rights.

The answer appears to be that egalitarianism stops with rights and does not extend to responsibilities. Women are to be accorded the rights of men within the ritual space, such as being counted in a minyan, reading from the Torah and Haftarah and leading services. But when it comes to taking on the responsibilities on which these rights are based, it seems that these can be rejected on such flimsy premises that they are Minhag or that they are uncomfortable or that we might offend the sensibilities of some older members of the Kahal.

It is time for those who are egalitarian to insist on that the rights are subject and secondary to the responsibilities. Within Judaism, which is based on mitzvot, commandedness, and not natural rights, we must start with understanding our responsibilities to G-d, to our community and to ourselves. Only then, do we earn the rights that we covet.

Halacha and the Conservative Movement

Rabbi Andy Sacks was posted in Shefa (its not clear whether he wrote specifically for Shefa or whether this was posted from some other origin) writing an implicit response to Avi Shafran's charge that the Conservative Movement has abandoned Halacha. Rabbi Sacks writes, "The Masorti/Conservative Movement is indeed a Movement committed to deep respect for Halacha . Those that pay heed to the writings of the Movement in matters of Jewish law know that the level of scholarship is high and the respect for sources runs deep." He goes on to say that "Far too often those to the right, in particular those in the fervently Orthodox world, confuse Minhag (custom) with law. We find custom, which has a central place in our tradition, becomes frozen and somehow sanctified. This applies to the black garb that many Orthodox wear and it applies too much in the realm of the (in)active participation of women in public Jewish ritual life."

The rest of the article is an attempt to argue that the current debate about homosexual practices within Judaism is well within halachic norms. I have to say that I agree with Rabbi Sacks up to this point. I think that each of the statements he makes, except for his fundamental premise, is correct. I think that Masorti and Conservative Rabbis do, by and large, have enormous respect for the sources from which our traditions spring. I agree that the right-wing has become unable or unwilling to distinguish between Minhag and Halacha, though there is a strong argument that Minhag can become "like" Halacha (e.g., the requirement that men wear a Kippah at least when engaged in ritual activity). I would go farther to say that the right wing's fear of innovation has led to a defensive posture that manfiests itself in lashing out at anyone who would dare to engage in such innovation. I agree that debate on any subject, including homosexuality, is condoned and protected by Halachic standards. There was no subject off-limits to Chazal and there should be no subject off-limits to us.

However, I think Rabbi Sacks fails to make his basic point, that this debate, being within a Halachicly-recognizable process, will yield a valid halachic outcome. Rabbi Sacks fails to identify what he means by Halacha and how it is that the current (or previous) debates fell within that definition. Simply respecting the sources and using them in the context of a Tshuvah is not enough to make something Halachic. The arguments made and the conclusions reached are not Halachic only by citing enough traditional sources; a Halachic decision requires something more and Rabbi Sacks has not identified what it is (and neither will I, because I am not sure I know either).

But, let us say that the elites of the Conservative movement, both Rabbis and educated and engaged laypeople, do engage in Halchically recognizable and defensible debate; it is still too evident that the vast majority of the Conservative movement, with the acquiesence if not outright approval of the elites, have abandoned any serious commitment to Halacha in a practical sense. It is facile to point to the number of Jews affiliated with the Conservative movement who have abandoned any pretext of keeping Kosher or Shabbat. We can look to the elites of their communities for a more compelling argument. In how many congregations have large sections of the liturgy been abandoned to save time? In how many congregations have accommodations been made to allow photography, electronic music and other Shabbat-prohibited activities for the sake of a Simcha? How many Conservative communities have acted to build Mikvaot so that their members can fulfill be more closely bound to the mitzvot associated with the laws of Niddah?

In how many congegrations that call themselves "Egalitarian" has this come to mean that women can do, or not do, anything that they choose, without any concomitant responsibilities. Is the same expectation of Tallit and Tefillin placed on women that are placed on men? Are women who claim that Kippah, as a Minhag and not Halacha, is not obligatory making a valid point or have they lost any perspective of the damage that their decision does to the halachic understanding of the rest of their community? Certainly, there are some congregations that have applied Egalitarianism in a thorough way, but they are simply the exception that proves the rule. To argue on the one hand that Egalitarianism can be defended within Halcha and then to use it to abandon Halacha is simple hypocrisy.

There is certainly a place somewhere between the ossification of the right-wing Orthodox and the hypocrisy of the left-wing Conservatives. Whether it lays with the Modern Orthodox, who have not been able to find their way to a full engagement of women within ritual practice, or in the so-called traditional Egalitarian synagogues who struggle to explain their decisions to a laity that is unengaged with halachic debate, remains to be seen.

Pirkei Avot 4.14

Rabbi Yochanan the Sandler says: Every assembly that is dedicated to the sake of Heaven will have an enduring effect; but one that is not for the sake of Heaven will not have an enduring effect.

One has to wonder about the context in which Rabbi Yochanan made this statement. Rabbi Yochanan was a Tanna of the generation of Rabbi Akiva, which means that he lived after the destruction of the Second Temple and during the Bar Kochba rebellion. Looking backward at the destruction of the Temple, it is tempting to think that Rabbi Yochanan may have been castigating that generation for their sins that led to the destruction of the Temple. Looking at the Bar Kochba rebellion and its gruesome aftermath, Rabbi Yochanan may have had serious doubts about the efficacy of their task.

But, with the benefit of millenia separating us from those events, we can see that that Rabbi Yochanan was correct in the positive statement that he made. The purpose of Chazal (the sages), was always to create community that would last. They taught a tradition that was designed, by man and G-d, to create communities that could withstand the worst that the world could inflict upon them. Their teaching became that moral foundation of the Western world and has allowed Jews to remain Jews until this time. Certainly, one can look back and see that their assembly, which had everything to do with L'shem shamayim (the sake of heaven).

Our own building is on the verge of closing. Like the Jews of Rabbi Yochanan's time, though on a much smaller scale, we are about to find out what life is like without the geographic focal point of our Jewish community. For 18 months or so, we will be wandering around Caldwell from location to location creating sacred space wherever we find ourselves. It is our hope that we have created an assembly that is truly for the sake of heaven, for that joined purpose will create something that lasts long beyond this temporary dislocation

(Prepared for Congregation Agudath Israel, 9/15/2006)

Shafran and Shefa

Not surprisingly, the Shefa folks are up in arms about Avi Shafran's latest shot across the Conservative bow. Shafran writes in the Jerusalem Post that "a prediction I made in an article for Moment magazine more than five years ago - and for which, at the time, I was roundly pilloried - has been confirmed by recent events." What recent event could have confirmed Shafran - none other than the clear signal that a Conservative decision recognizing homosexuality is imminent. So, while Shafran could only predict 5 years ago that the Conservative movement would drop its adherence to Halacha, now he has his proof?

But that isn't what causes me to write. It is Bill Plevan's response. Plevan takes the standard way out of this accusation - he simply states that what Shafran understands as halacha and what the Conservative movement understands as halacha are different and therefore the accusation is baseless. Plevan says, "his [Shafran's] characterization of the 'halachic process of the millennia' is at best contestable, which is precisely what many rabbis and scholars within Conservative Judaism have argued for a "century." Of course, the only Rabbis who contest this are Conservative rabbis, who, having abandoned an adherence to traditional understandings of halacha have taken it upon themselves to define halacha to fit their own pre-conceptions.

Lets face it, Neil Gillman is write when he states categorically that it is time for the Conservative movement to abandon its tortured defense of its halachic bona fides. Gillman writes in this issue of Conservative Judaism magazine that a definition of halacha as loose and flexible as that of the Conservative movement can hardly be called halachic at all. I'm no fan of Rabbi Gillman, but I have to admire his candor. I surprised that Avi Shafran didn't quote directly from the leading philosopher of the movement.

Kavvanah

My son and I were talking last night about Kavvanah. His goal is to daven with Kavvanah at all times, but he finds this very difficult in his school minyan in which few are davening at all or in our shul minyan in which the pace is too fast for him to concentrate. We talked about whether it is really possible to strive to daven always with such concentration and intent.

I related a story that I had heard from a source now forgotten. A Rabbi in a Yeshivah asked his students how often they davened with Kavvanah. Answers ranged from "Every day" to "Once or twice a week." No student wanted to admit that Kavvanah was hard to achieve, at least on occasion. The Rabbi told his students, "I feel fortunate if I can daven with Kavvanah once or twice a year."

Kavvanah is something you can strive to achieve, but can not achieve consciously. Once you become aware that you are davening with Kavvanah, it is over. Kavvanah is an attempt to become joined to G-d, such that there is no difference between your prayer and G-d. As Rabbi Pinchas, a Hasidic master, says, "When a man who is praying thinks his prayer is something apart from G-d, he is like a supplicant to whom the king gives what he has begged from him. But he who knows that prayer in itself is G-d is like the king’s son who takes whatever he needs from the stores of his father."

Kavvanah is a spark that burns only for a instant. Its brilliant light catches our eye, if we are looking in the right direction, but then, just as we see it, we lose sight of it and it vanishes. All we can do is to keep trying to capture that spark each time we reach out to HaShem with our prayers.

Pirkei Avot 4.13

Rabbi Eliezer ben Yaakov says: He who fulfills a single mitzvah gains for himself a single advocate; one who commits a single transgression gains for himself a single accuser. Repentence and good deeds are like a shield against retribution

I found, in the ArtScroll Pirkei Avos Treasury, a parable (paraphrased) for this mishna that is worth sharing:

There was a man who had three friends. He loved the first friend very much and spent much time pursuing this friendship, sometimes to the exclusion of other friends. The second friend was almost as close and he felt very comfortable in this friend's company. The third friend was more of an acquaintance; the man would occasionally seek out this friend, but might go some time without his friend's company.

This man was summoned to appear before the court to be accused of a crime. The man, understandably concerned and wanting for someone to stand with him, approached his first friend, but this friend would not accompany the man to the court. The second friend was willing to accompany the man to the court, but only as far as the outside steps, not inside the courtroom. Desparate, the man approached the last friend, the acquaintance. This friend said that he would be happy to stand with the man in the court and help to defend him against the charges.

The first friend is like our money and wealth and all that we strive so hard and with such single-mindedness to accumulate. None of this will make any difference when we stand before our Judge and answer for our actions. The second friend is like our family who loves us and whom we love. They can accompany us only as far as the cemetery and no farther. They can not stand with us when we stand before the Judge. The third friend is our good deeds, our true repentence, and the mitzvot that we have strived to keep. These stand with us when we answer our accuser before the Judge of all. These are our witnesses that we have striven to live our life as G-d intended it.

As we approach the Yomim Noraim, we can keep in mind that even one mitzvah may be just what is needed to tip the scales of justice in our favor. A single mitzvah may be the advocate that we need to win a favorable judgment.

(Delivered 9/8/2006 at Congregation Agudath Israel

Pirkei Avot 4.2

Ben Azzai said: Run to perform even a minor mitzvah, and flee from sin; for one mitzvah leads to another mitzvah and one sin leads to another sin; for the reward of a mitzvah is a mitzvah, and the reward of a sin is a sin.

In their book, The Jew Within, Arnold Eisen and Steven Cohen write that most liberal Jews approach their religious obligations based on their level of comfort or appreciation for that particular form of observance. Those for whom a family experience is meaningful, which describes most Jews, will observe Passover and other family-oriented religious traditions. Those for whom a prayer experience holds value will find themselves at a synagogue on a more regular basis. Those for whom social action is a central part of religious activity will gravitate towards those kinds of activities and the communities that promote them.

Most liberal Jews, according to Cohen and Eisen, reject the idea that they are commanded to observe, and that in that commandment lies its own obligation. For most liberal Jews, the idea of sacrificing their autonomy to choose those activites that are most relevant to their lives and core beliefs is anathema. To sacrifice one's autonomy, especially to something as amorphous as a religious community, is to give up what is best about being a member of the American experience. It is our ability to choose our particular path, the one that speaks to us, that defines the modern experience, not only of Jews, but of all Americans in the beginning of the 21st century.

The Rabbis, by contrast, neither knew nor would they have understood the centrality and priority of autonomy. What they understood was that there were those who are in a position to command - kings and gods - and those who are subject to those commands. G-d may have given us free will (see Pirkei Avot 3.19), but that does not change the fact that we have been given a command, indeed 613 of them, and that our choice is only whether to obey or disobey the command and the Commander.

The essence of Halacha is the notion that we are commanded in the Torah, both the Written and the Oral Law, and that our only choice is whether we will obey the command. We may, in fact we must, study in order to fully understand the nature and the form of the command. We may understand these commands in a historical, theological or sociological context. We may apply modern notions sensibilities to these commands to observe them in ways that are consistent with our moral and social framework. What we may not do is reject them as irrelevant , unnecessary, or anachronistic. To do so is to reject the very framework of positive historical Judaism, the claim of the Conservative movement. When Conservative Jews choose automonmy over commandedness, Conservative Judaism sacrifices its claim to be a Halachic movement.

As Conservative Jews, we have an obligation that calls out to us. We are commanded to observe. As Ben Azzai says, in doing one Mitzvah, another will follow and that, in itself, is the reward.

Pirkei Avot 4.1

I am way behind on my posts, so I am going to skip to where we are currently and catch up on the older entries over the next few weeks.

Ben Zoma says: Who is wise? He who learns from every person, as it is said: From all those who taught me, I grew wise (Psalms 119:99). Who is strong? He who subdues his personal inclination, as it is said: He who is slow to anger is beter than a strong man, and a master of his passions is better than a conqueror of a city (Proverbs 16:32). Who is rich? He is happy with his lot, as it is said: When you eat of the labor of your hands, you are praiseworthy and all is well with you (Psalms 128:2). 'You are praiseworthy' - in this world; 'and all is well with you' - in the World to Come. Who is honored? he who honors others, as it is said: For those who honor Me I will honor, and those who scorn Me shall be degraded. (I Samuel 2:30).

Last week, I wrote about a friend who asked about my reaction to an article by Vanessa Ochs and the response that the newspaper received. To summarize, Ochs wrote that going to church on occasion can be an invigorating experience. There is a palpable sense of G-d's love for each individual person that pervades the atmosphere of the most exciting chuch services. (I suspect that this feeling is much more subdued in more mainline Protestant churches than in the Black Baptist or Methodist AME churches.) Readers, especially Orthodox readers, responded that she might find a similar level of intimacy with G-d in the Orthodox service and that a Jew would be better off looking at authentic avenues of Jewish expression than trying to seek something in the church experience.

I think that this response misses the critical point that Ochs raises, which is that each tradition brings something special and unique to the worship of G-d. To say that the church experience brings something that Ochs finds missing in her experience of synagogue services is not to disparage the synagogue, but to point to a uniqueness that is found elsewhere. Those who are threatened by such comparative approaches are diminished; those who understand the value that comes from understanding that which is Other are enhanced.

How does this relate to our Mishna this week? Ben Zoma says that the one who is wise is one who learns from all who would teach. How better to understand this point than to see that learning from the Other, those whose traditions and sensibilities are different from ours, is contained within the verse From all those who taught me, I grew wise. There is no limitation on who may teach me and I am encouraged to learn from all who have something to say. Conversely, we might say that he who limits his learning to only those who he would wish to teach him can not hope for wisdom.

Continuing in Ben Zoma's framework, strength is found in mastering one's passions. The passion that says that my tradition, my community, my prejudices, my preferences are right and correct and that those of the Other that are different are wrong weakens me. It weakens my ability to interact and grow through the Other. It weakens my community by denying it access to other truths. This does not mean that we need descend into relativism, but there are many more paths to truth than the one that I follow. I am strong when I can master the passion that would say that only my path can be the true path.

I am rich when I recognize that my path is also a path of truth. The Psalm says, When you eat of the labor of your hands... The fruit of our labor is the path on which we walk, made from the traditions of our people and the revelation that we have received. Our path is a path of peace and our Torah is a tree of life. To acknowledge that the Other path is also truth in now way diminishes the value in my path. My path to G-d makes me rich and it is the only path on which I can walk.

Finally, who is honored, one who honors Others. Can I truly serve G-d when I deny that Others too serve G-d, albeit differently. As I wrote here, we are all created b'tzelem elokim and we are all unique and equal and inifinitely precious. When I not only acknowledge and learn from Others, but honor them for their uniqueness, then I too am worthy of honor.

Going to Church?

A friend sent me an email suggesting that I read Vanessa Ochs' article in the New Jersey Jewish News (link here). Ochs writes, "It was Bishop Krister Stendal who illuminated the blessings of interfaith conversations with the concept of 'Holy Envy.'” The idea was to articulate what we admired about other faiths. Here is what I envy: the feeling I get when I go to church." Ochs' goes on to write about the feeling that G-d loves each individual churchgoer that is palpable in the church experience and is so missing from synagogue. She envies the deeply ingrained sense amongst church goers that they are, as specific individuals, the object of G-d's love. She writes that when she goes to synagogue, "I am so busy saying all the words of the prayers and noticing all the people I care about that it never strikes me that I have blown an opportunity to feel I am loved by God."

The point of my friend's email was that there were a several critical letters to the editor suggesting that church is no place for a nice Jewish woman. The letter writers, perhaps unfamiliar with Ochs' extensive knowledge of and commitment to her own tradition, suggested that she spend more time learning about Judaism and less time in the place of the Other. My friend wanted to know what I think.

My response to this is nonsense. I welcome, indeed I want to celebrate, all true expressions of faith in G-d. It is not enough to recognize that there are other paths to G-d, we should seek to understand those paths that are different from our own. Each path has something to teach us about G-d's love for the world G-d created and each of us in it. Understanding and celebrating those paths can broaden and deepen our appreciation for our own path.

In understanding the paths of the Other, we learn what is truly transcendent about G-d. We learn that there are foundations to faith that are independent of a particular ritual or community or tradition. We learn that a true faith is one that leads us, in Karen Armstrong's words, to an "active compassion." We learn that any faith that does not build up the world around us is not a true faith. That any faith that would tear down another in a selfish need to claim ascendancy as a truer faith is no true path to G-d.

We also learn about what distinguishes us. We learn why the Other is Other and why that path is not the path that leads us to G-d. We learn why our path is true for us by understanding the truth in other paths that do not speak to us. And we learn that there is much that other paths can teach us that strenghten, energize, and enliven the path that we have taken.

Ochs clearly understands that we have passed through a time when Jewish suspicion of the Other as stronger and bent on our destruction is warranted and necessary. There are still incidents that should concern us (growing anti-Semitism in Europe, hate in the Arab world, Israel-bashing in the world press), but here in North America, we have built a society in which the open exploration of traditions other than our own is not only possible, but will lead us to new understandings that will enrich us for years to come. So, I would say to my friend, go to church. You may find you are a better Jew for it.

Blogging the Bible: Abraham vs. God. By David Plotz

This is worth taking a look. Many of us have tried to read the Torah from cover to cover. I have started this project any number of times, but never stuck to it from beginning to end. Of course, as a regular shul-goer, I "hear" the Torah read every week, covering the entire Torah in the course of a Jewish year. But I have never successfully sat down to read it cover to cover.

Equally interesting is the attempt to read it without the help of commentary. I am skeptical that this is possible. The Torah is simply too ambiguous, too sketchy, and definitely too contextual to understand it without the lens of a tradition.

Nevertheless, I will keep reading. It is worth a look. You'll find it at: Blogging the Bible: Abraham vs. God. By David Plotz

Pirkei Avot 3.17

Rabbi Akiva says: Mockery and levity accustom a man to immorality. The Masora (tradition, Oral Law) is a fence for the Torah; tithes are a fence for wealth; vows are a fence for abstinence; a fence for wisdom is silence

Setting aside the reisha (head, first part), I want to look at the idea of fences and what they mean to Rabbi Akiva and to us. A fence can be something that demarcates a boundary. It can be protection against unwanted intrusions or an obstacle keeping those on the inside from getting out. A fence, in and of itself, has no moral standing. It is how we use that fence that gives it value and worth.

In the traditional view of fences, the intent of Rabbi Akiva's statement is to protect that which is inside the fence by creating a boundary around that which is precious and worth protecting. The Oral Law, which carries the same weight as Torah, is a protection against misinterpreting Torah law. The Oral Law teaches us what the Torah means when it uses ambiguous language such "a tooth for a tooth." The Oral Law teaches us that this is to be understood as monetary compensation, not a literal rendering of the text. In this way, the Oral Law protects us from misapplying Torah dictates.

Likewise, tithes provide a clear protection against the excesses of wealth. The Rabbis never considered wealth to be a bad thing, rather they were concerned, reasonably so, that wealth not be considered an end, but rather a means to do G-d's will. The requirement to give tithes from one's wealth is protection against the idea that the wealth that we achieve is truly ours.

However, we can look at these fences differently. Rather than to protect what is inside the fence (Torah, wealth, etc.) from us, the fence may be there to protect us from what is inside the fence. In our zealousness to have what is good and to do what is good, we require a fence to protect us. From this perspective, the fence around the Torah is to protect us from the zealousness of our desire to do G-d's will. The tradition creates a protective boundary, not to prevent us from "doing it wrong," but to prevent us from getting burned in the act of doing what the Torah commands. Therefore, we learn from the Torah that all belongs to G-d, but we learn from the Oral Law what that means to us on a day to day basis. We learn from the Oral Law how to restrain our thanksgiving and our grief, to balance our commitment to ourselves with our commitment to G-d, Israel and the world.

Tithes, then, may not be a protection against the notion that wealth is the end, but against the zealousness that might cause us to give all of our wealth away in an effort to do what is good. We might feel that if giving some to tzedakah is good, then giving more is better. But the Rabbis warn us that we may give only so much and not more so that we do not impoverish ourselves and become a burden on the community.

Vows are a fence against the zealous desire for abstinence. Abstinence has always been understood as a way to atone and to become closer to G-d. But asceticism has never been part of mainstream Judaism. Our Rabbis prized both worldly physical pleasures along with the more spiritual pleasure. Both were considered valuable. Indeed, we learn that without the yetzer hara (the impulse for evil) there would be no marriage and no trade. Vows allow us to limit and contain our spiritual impulse towards abstinence, thereby protecting us from ourselves.

Finally, the Rabbis cherished wisdom, but saw silence as even greater. Knowing when to speak is at least as important as speaking wisely. Silence preserves our wisdom in two ways. It raises the value of our counsel by making what we say rare and important, rather than plentiful and ordinary. Even more important, silence allows space for us to learn from others. As Ben Zoma says (Pirkei Avot 4:1), the wise person is one who learns from everyone. We can not learn if we are always talking. Silence is a fence that protects us from missing the opportunity to learn from others.

(As presented to CAI 5/7/2006)

Pirkei Avot 3:16

Still catching up. I had some real difficulties presenting this particular mishna, so this is not exactly what I presented, but some thoughts I have had in the intervening days.

Rabbi Yishmael says: Be kal (easy, yielding) to a rosh, noach (restful, pleasant) to a tishchoret, and receive every person cheerfully.

I have purposefully not translated "rosh" or "tishchoret" because understanding these words is the crux to understanding this mishna. Turning first to the seifa or the concluding thought, it is easy to understand the admonition to receive each person cheerfully. Certainly, this is a key to civil society, to receive those we know and those whom we do not know with good cheer. Not always an easy task, but certainly one that is worth striving for.

How then to understand the first two parts of the Mishna. The word rosh literally means "head." It can be the head that siits on ones shoulders, though that is unlikely in this context. More likely, it is the head of some group or community. This is reasonable and the admonition to be yielding or easy to the head of one's group or community is a suggestion that, in most cases, is also worth following.

The whole mishna, it seems to me, hangs on how we translate and understand the word tishchoret. Our sages had difficulty with this word because it is not used with any frequency and has a very ambiguous meaning. Rashi suggests that this word means a young(er) person. He understands the root to be shin, chet, resh, which means "black." One who is young is one whose hair has not turned grey - it is still black. Therefore, the traditional interpretation is that one should be pleasant to the young. Look back at the beginning, we might then understand rosh to be an elder and this leads to the traditional understanding that one should yield to an elder, be pleasant to the young and receive all people cheerfully.

However, this translation of tishchoret, which reasonable, is apparently not correct based on the usage of the word in other contexts. Rather, the tischoret appears to have been what we would call a "press gang." This was a group of Roman soldiers who would waylay Jews and send them on errands for the soldiers. While the Jews were generally not pressed into military service, they may have been made to suffer at the hands of these gangs of Roman soldiers.

In this understanding, we may have a more historical view of Rabbi Yishmael's recommendation. Rabbi Yishmael was,as a boy, a slave who was enprisoned by the Romans and redeemed by Rabbi Yehoshua ben Chanina. Rabbi Yishmael may be giving the advice that in the face of the occupier one should act in a positive and cheeful manner, so as not to give offense to the occupiers.

This is a difficult lesson and one that we very much doubt we would apply today. With the history of the Holocaust still fresh in our minds, even three generations later, we are wary of those who would tell us to be pleasant and accommodating to those who would oppress us. We have learned from the heroes of the Warsaw ghetto and others that Jews must be willing to defend themselves rather than yield to those who would destroy us.

Understanding, as we do, the danger in kowtowing to those who would inflict evil, we are even more obligated not to be bystanders in watching those who would do so to others. Whether we are talking about the genocide in the Sudan and other parts of Africa or the growing anti-Semitism in Europe and elsewhere, Jews can not afford to receive everyone cheerfully.

Pirkei Avot 3.15

I've been a little lazy about getting these up. I will be posting the next several over the next few days.

Rabbi Elazar the Moda'ite used to say: One who desecrates sacred things, who disgraces the festivals, who humiliates his fellow in public, who nullifies the covenant of our forefather Abraham, or who perverts the meaning of the Tora contrary to Halacha - though he may have Torah and good deeds, he has no share in the World to Come.

The question that immediately confronts us is how can someone who has Torah and good deeds not have a place in the World to Come (Olam HaBa)? Surely, these are the key elements to right living: to know G-d through the Torah and to put that knowledge to use through good deeds (ma'asim tovim). Shall one who has lived rightly not receive his reward?

In its historical context, it is clear that R' Elazar's list is an injunction against the beliefs of sects of Jews that did not accept certain key elements of Jewish law. It is not hard to see that R' Elazar is likely attacking the early Christian decision not to require circumcision of Gentiles. Prior to the wholesale departure of the Christian church from the Jews, the turmoil created by the decision of Paul, Peter and the other early Christians to relax this rule is similar to our own turmoil over patrilineal descent.

However, we need to not understand this mishna solely through its historical lens, for it speaks to us today. R' Elazar's list of infractions all involve public demonstrations of community participation. We can understand this list as an example of MiPhrat L'Clal, the hermeneutic principle that a list of specific laws followed by a general summary is to be understood as exmplary of the general law and not complete. In this understanding, we understand that these and any infraction of Jewish communal law is sufficient to render Torah and good deeds insufficient for a place in the World to Come.

Jewish life and relationships stand on three legs. Our relationship with G-d, our relationship with the children of Israel (Jews) and our relationship as Jews with the greater non-Jewish world. To the extent that we are bound to each of these, to that extent are we assured of a place in Olam HaBa. Torah is what binds us to G-d; it is how we hear G-d's voice and what gives expression to us as a religious people. Good deeds are what binds us to the greater world; they are what makes us a "light unto the nations." Our communal practices - holidays, circumcision, tolerance to name but a few - are what binds us as Jews to each other. Without this third, we surely sacrifice part of the world. We diminish what we, as Jews, can be and that in turns diminishes the World that we are commanded to build.

(Presented to CAI on April 21, 2006)

shefa : Message: Davening -- My Personal Journey (from Dan Kimmel)

Normally, I read the Shefa group to make sure that my blood pressure doesn't drop too far. It is good to get riled up once in a while. To my surprise, there is an excellent post (excellent because I agree with it) about the suggestions that music and other innovations are needed to liven up the service.

shefa : Message: Davening -- My Personal Journey (from Dan Kimmel)

The author, Dan Kimmel, makes a very nice statement about his own growing observance and the connection that he has been able to make to the traditional service. Like Dan, as I became more and more familiar with the traditional service, the less I wanted it to change. The liturgy has become a well-trod path with landmarks that I look forward to seeing. There is much more that I could say, but I think that Dan's post does a good job of covering the ground.

Pirkei Avot hiatus

I had a short break last week because of Pesach. I will post the next Pirkei Avot next week.

A No-confidence Vote?

In talking about the selection of Arnold Eisen as the next chancellor of JTS, Shmuel Rosner writes:

However, some tough questions arise from this choice. The first and most important one is: Where have all the rabbis gone? Aren't there any good enough rabbis to take on such a job? When one come to think of it, there once was a time in America in which rabbis cast a very long shadow (in a good sense) over the community - but these days are probably over, at least for the time being. Eisen's choice is a vote of no confidence in the new generation of rabbis.

Rosner hits the nail right on the head. Where is the next Heschel or Kaplan, Buber or Rosenzweig? Where are the Rabbinic thinkers who inspire, challenge and lead us to new and rediscovered paradigms? Is it any wonder that the Conservative movement has lost its way; there is no one to raise the flag and inspire us to follow. Who can articulate a vision for the Conservative movement that excites and inspires the laity?

Instead, we have factionalism and fragmentism. We have those who would abandon the basic tenets of the Conservative movement at the altar of modernity and pluralism. We have those whose adherence to a specific outcome decries the very notion of halachic evolution.

It is far too early to decide whether the selection of Arnold Eisen is a good one or not. But, I completely agree with Rosen that the selection of a non-Rabbi is the clearest signal to date that the Rabbinate is losing its relevance to modern Judaism.

(Update 5/9/2006 - Neither Buber nor Rozensweig were Rabbis, a fact of which I was aware, but neglected to point out in my original post. Perhaps, then, one should hope that a non-Rabbi can do what our current group of JTS Rabbis have been unable to do - to produce a vision that serious Conservative Jews want to follow )

Pirkei Avot 3.14

Rabbi Dosa ben Harkinas used to say: Late morning sleep, midday wine, children's chatter, and sitting at gatherings of the ignorant - remove a man from the world.

This is a difficult mishna to understand. If we take it literally, without any moderation, it seems quite extreme. Surely, there are times when a little extra sleep or some midday revelry are not only permissible indulgences, but can refresh and rejuvenate one for the serious task of life. Chattering with one's children, or with someone else's, can be meritorious. And the obligation to teach and to lift up our fellow Jews inevitably takes us into gatherings of those less educated. It is hard to understand what Rabbi Dosa seems to mean if we take his words at face value.

If we don't take them at face value and add that any of these things not taken in moderation can be dangerous distractions, the warning seems so obvious as to be trivial. Certainly one can not live one's life entirely in the realm of sleep, wine, children, and the ignorant. Life is serious business and the ultimate goal of life is to do G-d's will. Do we need this particular warning to remind of us of this fact?

Not knowing what to do with this text, I looked for other ways to relate it to our circumstances. It occurred to me that it was b'shert that we should reach this text immediately before Passover. The fours of Passover seem to be echoed nicely in this text. I thought that we could relate the four children of the Passover Haggadah to this text.

The child who does not know what to ask can be compared to late morning sleep. We have a duty to wake this child up. This child needs to start her learning and now is better than later.

Drinking midday wine, while it may seem like a simple indulgence, has clear overtones of anti-social behavior. Going from one drink to several is like the wicked child, for whom the rules of common behavior do not apply. The wicked child asks, what does this observance mean to you, not to me. Likewise, indulging in midday inebriation removes one from common society as if to say that those rules don't apply.

The simple child is like one whose chatter is that of children. The simple child needs our help to grow up, to mature and take his place among those who are obligated in G-d's mitzvot.

It is the wise child who understands that he will learn little by remaining amongst those who have much to learn. The wise child knows that he must seek out those who are wiser and more educated. Only by sitting at the feet of sages will he continue to grow in wisdom.

I am certain that Rabbi Dosa did not intend this connection, but this is the richness of our tradition, that it can be endlessly applied to each generation. Like the wise child, by frequenting our tradition and our sages, we continue to learn and grow.

(as presented to CAI, 4/7/2006)

The tail wagging the dog

A note about the posting shefa : Message: RE: [Shefa] Fwd: Why the Conservative movement in which the author writes:

1. how we determine halakhah should be driven by ethical


2. why we consider halakhah so important should be driven by ethical considerations.

This type of argument is so contrary to Judaism that it makes me cringe. How we determine Halachah is a process that has been handed down from generations dating back to before the destruction of the Second Temple. It is the process, rooted in our tradition, that makes the outcome sacred, not the other way around. The outcomes of that process are sacred because they have been sanctified by a process that is rooted in Torah and Oral Law. That is why the decision of the Law Committee to change the voting for a Takanah is so disturbing. Tweaking the process to achieve the desired outcome trivializes both the process and the outcome.

Judaism states that, by definition, what is in the Torah is ipso facto ethical. The Conservative movement, in dwelling on its "historical" approach has lost sight of the fact that no amount of historiography can determine which parts of the Torah are the right parts for our tradition and which parts can be discarded. The challenge that the halachic process was created to meet is to determine how to apply the ethics of the Torah. Obviously, understanding only the peshat is insufficient to this task. We need to understand the many other factors, most importantly the Oral Law, to apply the "simple" words of the Torah to our daily ethical quandries.

The purpose of Halacha and the purpose of Jewish practice is not to make us feel better or to bring us closer to G-d, though those outcomes are assumed. Its purpose is to do G-d's will and in doing so to be better people. The Halachic process is about finding out what G-d's will really is and then doing it. If we do that, then we can be assured that we are acting ethically.

The Efficacy of Prayer?

I have always been a little hesitant to join the line of those who add names to the Misha Berakh list. I wonder about when the right time is to add someone's name. Does the level of illness matter? Does the problem have to be life-threatening? When do you stop? After all, recovery is a relative thing.

Now there is a study that only adds to my lack of enthusiasm for this custom. William Saletan at Slate writes about a study that investigates the efficacy of prayer for those who are sick. Of course, the fact that this is a study that involved only Christian prayer might explain the miserable lack of success in prayer, but I wouldn't be the one to say that. (Just kidding, really :-) )

Rather, I suspect that the value of the Misha Berakh is not physical but spiritual. As the one who says it, I have taken perhaps the only concrete action that I can to "help" someone in physical duress. If I can't cure them and I have already done the chicken soup thing, what is left? There is prayer. Prayer may not directly lead to their recovery. In fact, prayer may do nothing at all to change the outcome of their sickness, but it does fill the spiritual need to be closer to both G-d and the sick person.

If I am the sick person, then prayer has a similar effect. Knowing that there are those who would pray for me, even strangers who say my name at a particular moment in a particular way, may bring me a measure of comfort. There is value in being part of a community. That value may not be medical, but it is value nevertheless.

Prayer may have nothing to do with healing, at least not of the medical kind. But is has everything to do with how we connect to G-d and to each other. We didn't need a study to tell us that.

Gay Marriage / Gay Divorce?

In a post on the Shefa Yahoo group, the writer raises the following issue:

It is also absolutely clear and inescapable that we will have to deal
with all of these issues [by which he includes the issue of determining whether the children of a homosexual couple are Jewish] (except, perhaps, gay divorce) whether or not we sanctify the relationships because whether we do or do not the relationships will be (are being) formed and children are being brought into them. Therefore the issues of determining the Jewishness of children brought into the relationship by any number of conceivable (ha!) mechanisms will have to be dealt with anyway (and not only in gay families by the way). So it is not at all true that refusing to sanctify gay marriages will avoid the necessity of dealing with these issues. We have to do that anyway.

Another writer responds and amplifies this post:

If we were to come up with kinyan/kiddushin or its equivalent for same-sex couples, depending upon the halachic basis for the ceremony, the relationship could require a get for proper termination, regardless of whether the civil authorities recognize it as a marriage or not (it's also possible that the requirement that "he" write "her" a get will be interpreted literally as not applying to any same-sex marriage).

Just as interesting is the implication for heterosexual marriage and its termination. We look the other way at the fact that halachically, the man acquires and "de-acquires" the woman; no matter how we try to make these things look and feel egalitarian, they are not. They were simply not designed in an egalitarian era, and they have been chiseled in stone since then. Thinking about their possible application to gay marriage throws this fact into stark relief. These involve two clearly equal individuals. Who acquires who? Who gives who the get?

Who knows -- maybe this is a heaven-sent opportunity to begin to break out of the kinyan-kiddushin-get formula of sanctifying and desanctifying relationships altogether. Tradition and change...

This is the worst kind of thinking on the subject. If the Conservative movement were consider any proposal that would equate a homosexual union with kinyan and kiddushin, it should be ashamed of itself. Personally, I am still on the fence with respect to how to address the issue of homosexual unions, but even if I were to accept that there can be quasi-religious commemoration of a homosexual commitment, e.g., a commitment ceremony, this is not a marriage and there is no Ketubah, no Kiddushin and therefore no Get.

If we accept that homosexuality is not a choice, but an innate preference and, further, accepting that G-d would not create homosexuals without providing an outlet for love and sexual fulfillment, we can reasonably conclude that our communities are best served when homosexuals lead committed lives and create family structures. If children are involved, there should be a stable home life with caring and committed parents, even when they are of the same sex.

But, in no way does this create a question of the Jewishness of the child. A child's Jewish status is determined by her biological mother. If the biological mother is Jewish, then the child is Jewish. If the biological mother is not Jewish, then the child must be converted. I see no reason that this issue should require any consideration in the issue of the place of homosexuals in Judaism.

Unfortunately, this is emblematic of the sloppy thinking of the Shefa crowd.

Reaching Gen-Y: The Jewlicious conference

This is an interesting article that discusses the pathways into Judaism for youg Gen-Y Jews. The real problem that is not identified in the article is not that young Jews are opting out of the traditional modes of Jewish participation. Rather the problem is that most of them have no idea what those modes are. They were raised by disconnected parents who themselves may not have known anything about Judaism except that it happens on Saturdays in a place that they rarely go.

Of course, having lost them, the question is how to welcome them back into Judaism without succumbing to the pressure to change Judaism to match their prejudices and uninformed stereotypes. The Orthodox are clearly the best at this as they command respect of kids who are at a crossroads by standing up for a principle. More than any other age group, it is the youth who respond to people who can articulate a clear and compelling vision, because that is what a young person is struggling to create for him or herself. They may ultimately reject a particiular vision, but they will have engaged with it.

The Conservative, with its constant pull to be more Reform, is losing this battle. The Conservative movement can offer little that distinguishes itself from Reform Judaism. The big non-Orthodox winner here shoudl be the Reconstructionist movement, which can articular the vision of diversity and flexibility with the trappings of traditional observance. Unfortunately for the Reconstructists, they lack any visible spokesperson to make their case.

Read more at jta.org/page_view_story...

Pirkei Avot 3.13

He (Rabbi Chaninah ben Dosa) used to say: If the spirit of one's fellows is pleased with him, the spirit of the Omnipresent is pleased with him; but if the spirit of one's fellows is iniot pleased with him, the spirit of the Omnipresent is not pleased with him.

On the surface, this Mishnah appears to be straightforward and simple. The quality of one's relationship with G-d is not secure without securing one's relationship with the community. We can not expect G-d to regard us with merit and compassion if we do not have a similar relationship with our fellows. G-d's greatest goal, peace and justice, are served only when we foster those goals within our community.

Yet, I worry that this places a great deal of power in the hands of others. Should G-d's regard for me be at the mercy of how others feel about me? Can I not merit G-d's favor, whether or not my good deeds are recognized by others?

There is a story of a wealthy miser who was known throughout his town for his refusal to give to the community charity fund. No matter how the elders of the community put their request, he would contribute little or nothing at all to help those in his town who depended on the charity of others. As the miser lay on his deathbed, the elders tried once more, arguing with him that his place in the World to Come may depend on his willingness to repent his miserly ways. He refused, turning his face to the wall. When the miser died, their anger against him was so great that the elders debated whether he deserved a place in the cemetery.

Then, a curious thing happened. The Rabbi noticed that the requests for assistance from the charitable fund started to increase. The tailor, who had never asked before, suddenly needed help to maintain his family. The cobbler too approached the Rabbi for help, as did others in the community. The Rabbi started to investigate what was causing this increasing need in his community.

The tailor told him that he had been able to stave off his weekly struggle to earn a living because every Friday morning he would find a small bag of money on his doorstep. He had no idea where it came from, but it made the difference between his small income and what he needed to feed his family. The cobbler told the same story. As the Rabbi investigated further, he found many who had been able to make ends meet because of an unknown benefactor whose support was found on Friday mornings.

The Rabbi came to suspect that the miser was in fact this secret benefactor, and with his death came the end of his largesse. The Rabbi prayed that the soul of the miser would forgive him for his misundertanding. In a dream, the miser came to the Rabbi and told him that he held no grudge against the Rabbi, but wished only for one more Thursday night.

I tell this story to illustrate the point that we can have good deeds that go unnoticed and unmentioned. These good deeds increase our merit in G-d's eyes, though they do not affect how others view us.

I want to argue that we can understand this Mishnah differently. Rather than placing power into the hands of others to determine our merit in G-d's eyes, this Mishna creates a responsiblity in others to judge us with compassion and understanding so that we may achieve merit. It becomes the responsibility of each of us to judge our fellow in the most positive light because it is our judgement that can affect G-d's judgement. As awesome as this power may be, it is equalled by the responsibility that it brings.

(As presented to CAI 3/31/2006)

Pirkei Avot 3.11, 3.12

11. Rabbi Chanina ben Dosa says: Anyone whose fear of sin takes precedence over his wisdom, his wisdom will endure; but anyone whose wisdom takes precedence over his fear of sin, his wisdom will not endure.

12. He used to say: Anyone whose good deeds exceed his wisdom, his wisdom will endure; but anyone whose wisdom exceeds his good deeds, his wisdom will not endure.

These two statements by Rabbi Chanina seem to be at odds with what we commonly observe. What do we remember about the great thinkers from Aristotle to Kant or our own Rambam and Rashi? We remember not their deeds, but their thoughts. Their deeds are but a prooftext for the wisdom that they passed down to us. Sometimes not even that - not all great thinkers were people of piety or good behavior. What endures is the depth and importance of their thought. It is for the sake of their wisdom alone that their legacy endures.

This is not to say that only thought can endure. Certainly, there are many figures whose legacy is assured not by the quality of their thought but by the importance of their deeds. Setting aside the many villians of history, whose deeds are remembered for the harm that they caused, there are many whose good deeds and fealty to their beliefs (stretching the phrase fear of sin) are the basis of their place in history. Those who can combine both transforming thought with exceptional deed are rare and important.

Few of us can rise to the level of great thinker or great actor. Most of us are well within the normal range of human intelligence and behavior, struggling to make a difference only within our small circle of influence. How are we, the regular persion, to understand Rabbi Chanina's statement, that it is one's piety and one's deeds that create the legacy of wisdom and not the wisdom itself?

We need to understand Rabbi Chaninah's admonition not as cautionary to those whose genius will overshadow whatever unappealing personal traits they may have had, but as a statement to the rest of of us. Few of us possess the kind of genius that transcends the example of our own lives. Rather, it is the way in which we live our lives that validates what we say. It is because we have engaged with others in ways that bring honor to G-d's name that what we say warrants attention. Otherwise, to those who would hear us, what we have said is empty.

We can look at the truly great teachers with reverence and awe, but for the rest of us, our legacy is assured not in what we teach, but in what we do. When we live our lives with dedication to performing good deeds in the spirit of honoring G-d's name, we create community and assure that what we have done with our lives will last. For the rest of us, it is how we live and not what we say, that will endure.

(As presented to CAI 3/24/2006)

Three human qualities

I recently heard Mark Borovitz (The Holy Thief) speak recently. He reminded me of something that Yitz Greenberg had said in discussing the commonality of people. It is worth remembering and thinking about. Greenberg said that the Torah starts by teaching us that we are created b'tzelem Elokim (in the image of G-d). This leads to three important and simultaneous conclusions:

• All people are infinitely valuable


• All people are equal


• All people are unique

All people are created in the image of G-d is demonstrated when G-d says, "Let us create man in our image." Each person is an image of G-d. How we understand this image, how we allow G-d's image to manifest in us is less important than understanding that the Other, each person who we encounter, is created in G-d's image, just as we are. Therefore, each one of us is holy.

All people are infinitely valuable grows out of the previous notion that we are created in G-d's image. If each of us bears the image of G-d, then each of us carries within us something that is irreplaceable and priceless. We are taught that when one save a single life, it is as if the entire world had been saved. This is easily understood if we start by understanding that each of us is infinitely valuable.

All people are equal because each of us is inherently equal in the eyes of G-d. No person can claim to have an inherent preference to G-d than another.. According to our sages, the Torah starts with Adam to teach that no one can say that "my father is better than your father," because we all come from the same source. Our equality is fundamental and transcends our differences in race, belief, or special capabilities.

All people are equal is the complement to the idea that we are all equal. Again, the sages illustrate G-d's greatness with an allegorical statement. They say that for a human artist, each copy made from a master mold will yield an exact replica. Yet, G-d, who created each of b'tzelem Elokim, in the Divine mold, turned out uniquely different individual people. No two people are identical (not even identical twins) and it is our uniqueness that should be celebrated.

Conclusion: It is a wonderful teaching that reflects both how we should view Others and how we should view ourselves. Each person that we encounter is holy, unique, and uniquely valuable. We, ourselves, are likewise holy, unique, and priceless. Together, all of us contain the image of G-d.

The End of the conservative Conservative

"We are in no need of another motto," said Schorsch, who is set to retire as chancellor in June. "What ails the Conservative movement is that it has lost faith in itself. Internally, we have already become Reform, and it will only be a matter of time before [externally] we appear like Reform."

Ismar Schorsch at the Mexico City RA convention (Quoted in the Forward http://www.forward.com/articles/7539)

If it were not for the constant peeking over their right shoulder, the Modern Orthodox might have embraced certain crticial understandings of Halacha that would allow a maximal role for women. There is still time and opportunity for bold Modern Orthodox leaders to make a statement that will attract large and core groups of committed Conservative Jews, who, if not for the egalitarian issue, would find themselves very content in a Modern Orthodox synagogue. The Conservative Movement will be very unhappy when they find that the core of their movement, those who attend shul, lead services, teach, and provide the essential services to the congregation move away from the leftward shift of the movement. When there is no difference between Conservative and Reform, there will no longer be a place for those Jews whose commitment to Halacha is uncompromising.

Melanie Phillips's Diary - Ken Livingstone at it again

Quoted from Melanie Phillips:

Is London’s mayor Ken Livingstone suffering from a form of Jewish Tourette’s Syndrome? Despite the fact that he is in the middle of appealing against his suspension by the Standards Board for an offensive remark made to a Jewish reporter, he couldn’t restrain himself from doing it again today in another extraordinary outburst. At a press conference on the Stratford city redevelopment project in London’s East End, which has been having a few problems, he said of a pair of Jewish property developers involved in the project, David and Simon Reuben: If they’re not happy here perhaps they could go back to Iran and try it under the Ayatollahs a remark which he repeated – with slight variations in the wording between the two comments -- when asked to explain himself. As it happens, the Reuben brothers were born in Bombay to Iraqi parents of Jewish descent and have lived in the UK for almost four decades. Had they actually been Iranian, the remark would have been the equivalent to saying to a pair of black property developers: ‘Go back where you came from’ – the defining verbal tic of a racist. Since they are not Iranian, the remark is the equivalent of saying to a pair of Jamaican property developers: ‘Go back to Africa’ – a possibly even more offensive variant on this tic. In any event, suggesting that two Jews should either shut up or push off to a regime which regards them as targets for genocide is simply an expression of a quite visceral prejudice.

One wonders why the voters of London put up with Ken Livingstone. Regardless of whether one sympathizes with his Jew-bashing, you would think that the average voter would be embarassed by the public mean-spiritedness. Or maybe that is just an American conceit?

Read more at www.melaniephillips.com...

Pirkei Avot 3.10

Rabbi Dostai bar Yannai in the name of Rabbi Meir says: Whoever forgets anything of his Torah learning, Scripture considers it as if he bears guilt for his soul, as it says: But beware and guard our sould exceedingly, lest you forget the things your eyes have seen (Devarim 4:9) Does this apply even if [he forget because] his studies were too difficult for him? Scripture says: And lest they be removed from your heart all the days of your life (ibid); thus, one bears no guilt for his soul unless he sits and removes them from his consciousness

The peshat (simple meaning) of this text is clear. Rabbi Dostai is speaking to his colleagues and students who learned Mishna and related traditions by heart, reciting them over and over with great care so that they would not lose these teachings. Since the great corpus of Jewish tradition was not written down at this point, it was essential that each sage and student be diligent in reviewing and practicing their learning so that they would not lose any of it. For Rabbi Dostai, to lose this learning was tantamount to losing one's soul. Whether the punishment was in fact, or only metaphorical, it is clear that the sages took their responsibility to preserve the Oral Law seriously

What can we, who are not Torah scholars and who have the great tradition of Jewish learning printed in ever increasing quantity, take from this exhortation? The more traditional commentators continue to expound the basic and direct lesson that Rabbi Dostai gave to his comtemporaries. They comment that study, review, reflection, and constant vigilance is part and parcel of Torah study. It is incumbent upon each scholar, whether ancient or modern, to continuously add to one's learning and not to allow that which was won to be lost through inattention or carelessness.

Rabbi Dostai concludes in the second portion of this Mishna that we are only held liable for that which we lose through such inattention. Where the teaching is too difficult or our skills are not honed sufficiently, so long as we pursue our learning diligently, we are to be forgiven for this is an unintentional "sin" and not something that we could have prevented.

Yet, I think that we can find something deeper in Rabbi Dostai's warning not to allow our learning to lapse. If we look at Rabbi Dostai's proof text, we find the following verse, quoted in full:

Only beware for yourself and greatly beware for your soul, lest you forget the things that your eyes have beheld and lest you remove them from your heart all the days of your life, and make them known to your children and your children's children (ibid)

The section in bold is what is not quoted directly in our Mishna, yet I think that it is the critical piece in understanding the import of Rabbi Dostai's teaching. For modern times, the issue is not that we will forget the basic teachings. Unlike Rabbi Dostai's time, we now have our great tradition written down. But what we are in grave danger of doing is failing to transmit our tradition to our children and their children. We live in an unprecedented time of danger for Judaism - not from our enemies, but from ourselves. It is incumbent upon us to transmit our traditions, our learning and our truths, to the generations to come. For if we do not, it will truly be lost. And the loss of Torah will result not only in the death of what we love, but ultimately in the death of Judaism. Our failure to do so, as Rabbi Dostai says, would truly make us bear "guilt for our soul."

(as presented to CAI Shabbat Maariv, Parashat Ki Tisa 3/17/2006)